On Walking: In His Grace, Waiting for Glory

After Little Man left, I woke up every day for five days straight, went out my front door, and I walked.
I walked out "my demons" as they say {whoever "they" are}.
I walked through the pressures and stresses and anxieties and questions.
I walked until I felt I could find a way to make it through the day.

And.....it worked.

Burdens and inner conflicts slowly slipped away as oxygen filled my lungs and endorphins fired in my brain.

Mostly though, step by step, my spirit communed with the Father, consuming my heart into the heart of Jesus more and more each day.

Over the past four weeks, I have continued to walk, not always every day, but many days because my body cannot take the weight of this burden He has called me to carry.

I walk and sing and pray and cry.
Sometimes the crying looks like big, old, monster tears streaming down my face
{Hope I haven't scared the neighbors too bad yet}.

Most days, though, the crying is deeper, guttural, almost primal, albeit silent.
There are no words just Abba and Spirit and Jesus until there is a sliver of breakthrough and hope for that day.

From there, the choice to put one step forward in front of the other is just that: a choice.
Armed with His courage and His truth and His strength, life goes on.
Somehow, it goes on.
Even on the days when you wish the world could stop and give you time to catch up.

There...right there...smack in the middle of those scary, heart-wrenching moments is where Grace appears. Not just grace for me, but for all of those broken and rejected and abused and fighting to just keep their heads above water....right there is grace for them too.

And maybe that "them" is you......today......in this season.

Breath grace.
Deep.
Let's do it together.
Seriously.
{inhale slowly from the diaphragm and exhale...}

Repeat as necessary.

And then....

Wait for the glory.

It is coming.
I promise.
He said so.

For the Lord God is a sun and shield,

The Lord will give grace and glory.

No good thing will He withhold

From those who walk uprightly.

Psalm 84:11

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.

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...

I Am.....

I Am 

I am whimsy and prose 

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

I hear animals talk
 I see fairies in my forest 

I want babies to call my own 

I am whimsy and prose 

I pretend I am a prima ballerina 

I feel the smell of the Caribbean sun 

I touch the mountains of Hispaniola 

I worry about what the future holds 

I cry for heart breaks and sorrows deeply felt 

I am whimsy and prose 

I understand people are my most valuable possession 

I say Dream Big and Be the Best Version of YOU 

I dream about living an artful life 

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

I hope to show Jesus every day 

I am whimsy and prose

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She could not have known.

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

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

Mom, 

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

Thank you for being MY mom!

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

~John Wesley

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

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

In The Shadows

I have a fascination with shadow and light.

I try to capture the essence of what each moment means to me,

the beauty that I see there.

Sometimes I get it right, and other times, the picture cannot hold a candle to the reality of the now that I feel.

I have spent a few years living life amongst the shadows.

At first the shadow was small, apparent, yet not overpowering, but the longer it lingered, it seemed to loom larger until another shadow appeared, making the first seem insignificant. These two shadows vyed for the light, each taking more, in a battle to win the duel. And still yet another appeared, and then another, threatening to choke every shard of light from my life.

The war waged on, and I fought and fought to stand in the light, to hold my ground, to hang on so that I could fight again tomorrow.

And then one day, it was too much, and in spite of the warrior heart beating loud and true in my soul, I retreated into the corner of the shadows, sobbing and gasping for reprieve from these insurmountable foes.

The shadows are a scary place. Lonely, abandoned, heartbreaking....most people do not enter into your shadows with you. Sometimes they just cannot and other times like a scared, trapped, little animal we hiss and scratch at them until they just simply go away.

For me, shadow or light, it did not seem to matter, I still felt alone -- alone in my fight or alone in my misery.

And now, the shadows are still there, looming around me. Every day is a fight, sometimes hour by hour, just to push my face into the light and to SEE His goodness, to glimpse His grace.

And then there are days when I just fall down with exhaustion and anger. "Why does living in peace and joy and grace seem to be so daggone hard?"

So I pull into the shadows, for just a little while, but I have learned, am still learning....

The light calls to you, even while you are in the darkest of shadows.

The Scripture says it this way....

Deep calls unto deep...

Psalm 42:7

As a young girl, my artistic soul was always moved by these words, but only now through a bit of heartache and pain, do I truly understand the psalmist's heartcry to the Father. My whole being resonates with these words because I know that the deep is the one in a dark place crying out to the deepest part of the Father's heart.

Like mine does.

In the shadows.

I do not know what shadow is overpowering your life today. Maybe you are feeling the loss of something once held or never known. Maybe you feel you have never experienced your life truly in the light of day. May I encourage you to find your hope in Him? Not because it is a cliche or because it is easy. Not because I have it all figured out or know all the answers, but because the light is calling out to you. If you really listen, you will even hear it calling you BY NAME. I promise.

Why am I discouraged?

Why is my heart so sad?

I will put my hope in God!

I will praise him again—

my Savior and my God!

Psalm 42:5-6

Read the entire Psalm here.

I promise the encouragement and REAL understanding

from the psalmist there will blow you away!

And just one more thing....please know ::

You are not alone.

Wherever you find yourself.

In the fight or in the shadows.

I would love to hear your heart on this in the comments or in an email {lindseyfoj (at) gmail (dot) com}.

Linking up with Imperfect Prose on Thursdays with Emily at CanvasChild.com.

Five Minute (Good) Friday {And Then Some}: Light

I almost didn't write today.

I have been "away" for about a week now, a bit heart sore, as my South African friends would say.

Heart sore about the way life is...or isn't.

The things that I am longing for, knowing that I need to be thankful for what I have but just tired of daily having to search and to look and to see His mercies and grace, when the big things that I have so desperately prayed for and waited for and yearned for, for SO long seem to always be JUST out of reach.

So I just hibernated, nursing my physical body as well as my ailing soul....and slowly have been making my way back into the world of words and wisdom and light and love.

And then I remembered, yesterday, I think, what this week was all about.
My memories of all the stories and Scriptures came flooding into my heart.

Emily Freeman said, "...anything we do on earth that brings any kind of delight or fullness was made possible by death, because first comes love," and it reminded that in the midst of all of this is His love for me...

Even when I sit in the car in the parking lot of my doctor's office, crying angry, unrepentant tears to my sister.
Even when I feel the change come again this month, blood red, and I feel my heart plummet with the sorrow.
Even when my head spins, my body aches, and my heart rages with a ridiculous virus.
Even when I know that I am different than I used to be, that I cannot do what I used to do, that I cannot be that girl that I was before, that people look at me differently...

Even then.....the death of me is good and perfect and lovely because His love came first through His death to show me that love.

And for a moment, though I feel that I am in a pit, there is a light, at the end of the tunnel, and I realize that it hasn't disappeared, like I thought it did. We just took a little bend in the road, a pause to surrender again or anew. I'm not sure which really, but He is here.

And in the distance light, I see a momentary glimpse of my future where I am stronger, helping others, and I can see He is molding me, breaking me, filling me again and again because I want to be like Him. I asked, after all.

And so in death, I focus on the Light, remembering not only the price He paid for my sins, but also for my future to be sealed with promises yet unseen, and I will not back down until He says it is finished, even if some days, I just have to cry for a little while.

Writing for Five Minute Friday {and then some}

today with Lisa-Jo and other Five Minute Friday word mavericks,

where we take a prompt {Today :: Light}

and just right freely without editing or over-thinking.

Join me??

Five Minute Friday: Empty Spaces

My mind is a jumble tonight as I sit to type out my 5 minutes.

I think about my week, my thoughts, my heartbeats that have led me up to this moment. I have shared here in this space about my aches, my worries, and my fears that maybe I am just not cut out for us.

I look deep into my heart and soul and come up empty, void because this heart loves much and hurts deep and this mind thinks long and works harder than it should to understand what only the spirit can truly know.

I wish I knew all of the answers, the reasons, the pathways of His crazy, radical, dizzy grace but I find myself often at a loss to know and understand.

And still somehow, even if it only seems to be in the margins, there His love shines through, like a beautiful splash of light across those hidden dark spaces of my soul, reminding me...when I will listen...

I am here.

Every Friday I link up with my pal, Lisa-Jo at The Gypsy Mama

where she and a few hundred or so other writers join together

and share 5 minutes of free, beautiful, unedited words

just letting then artist soul fly free and unfettered.

Join us?

Five Minute Friday {And Then Some}: Ache

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

Yet...it is.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Give all your worries and cares to God,

for he cares about you.

I Peter 5:7

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

For You will answer me.

Psalm 86:7

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

If you cannot see this video, click here.

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

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

Battle Scars & Crooked Toenails

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No, it was more of a, “Yes, but.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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