Tag: rescue

Love Does

An Unexpected Grace

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“When we face a crisis, we can become angry or fearful for our own well-being, rather than looking to see what God intends to do through our circumstances.  If we remain self-centered we will miss so much of what God could do through our experiences, both for us and for those around us.”    – Experiencing God Day-by-Day  [pg 177]

Dear 2020, You broke me.  As an Enneagram six, I have a well developed propensity to project worst case scenarios for every day situations.  I have a deep need for safety and security.  Sixes are great people to know, because when disaster does happen we typically know what to do – we’ve thought this through a bazillion times before and there’s definitely a plan.   {They made a whole TV series about people like me}

Deep down, I just want to be a seven.  Sevens have more fun.

Obviously I want to have fun… in the safest way possible.

But in all my SIX glory, nothing in my brain could have predicted what we now live as the year 2020.  I would have laughed in your face if you told me this year would hold a pandemic, a tornado, a wildfire and murder hornets all before May.

I don’t mean to throw anyone under the bus, but, I can’t help but think it all started back when some guy named Popeye messed with God’s chicken sandwich.  🙄

I digress.

The year started out swell.  I saw great potential in all the possibilities before me.  I even dipped my baby toe into the pool of imagining writing something bigger than I could handle.  And in a matter of days the first tidal wave of disappointment came crashing in, realigning my priorities and focus.  I shifted quickly and before I could even catch my breath the world came to a screeching stop.  Just like when a car slams on brakes, all my carefully laid plans went flying in the air.

In the first month of the new reality if anyone asked me how I was, my answer was always – I’m dying. In the second month I began to be convicted of those words and chose to stop declaring the inevitable.  I started to recognize the need to release expectations of what I thought life – or even a day – should look like.

There was a lot of grappling.  A lot of questioning.  A lot of asking God, did you see this coming? I couldn’t reconcile how if he knew what was coming, why didn’t he prepare me –  or better yet, rescue me?  {obviously I mean us}

I recognize that in all of these situations the underlying feeling is a level of vulnerability that I do not like.  Vulnerability that is forced – not chosen.  I am comfortable with the vulnerability of the heart that I choose to enter. I do not like the feeling of being exposed and vulnerable when I have no choice in the matter.  A complete lack of control to change the outcome.  Cash me out.

As I frustratingly reflected on those days I bumped up against a familiar belief system – I did everything right, why did everything go so wrong?  If I do things right, have things in order, have my heart in the right place and engage with courage and love… then the result should be good.

AAAAHHH…  if 1+1 doesn’t equal 2… then what is the point of even living?  I can’t predict, control or even come through if the formula doesn’t work.  And as I follow that belief I realize there are so many layers being uncovered…

I didn’t do drugs.  I didn’t abuse or neglect children. I’ve never committed a crime.  –  Yet I live with the reality of these things every day.

If all my good efforts can’t keep me safe, if I can’t control all the other people I love to make good choices… then I cannot engage in a reality that doesn’t give me a fair shot.  It feels like everything is risky beyond what I can mitigate.

All I can do is surrender. 

I don’t have the energy to reconcile it. I must simply choose to believe that God is near.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me…

Slowly I begin to recognize a disconnect around grace and how I view it.  If everything was in order like it should be, then I wouldn’t need it.  And if all my people would manage themselves in an orderly manner and meet my expectations, I wouldn’t have to extend it.

I painfully see that my willingness to extend grace is sabotaged by my own ability to receive it… and this breaks my heart. I realize I don’t want grace, I want mercy… I want relief from the circumstances that force me to receive grace – I want control. It is a vicious cycle.

So here I am in 2020 learning like a baby taking first steps, to accept grace, to extend grace and to let go of this belief that there is some measure of being worthy of grace.

That’s the bottom line of grace, it’s unmerited.

As I slowly emerged from my pit of despair and self-pity I see the glimpse of his goodness.

There’s a peace that began passing my understanding.  A steadiness in the chaos and a new rhythm in our home.  We began to rest like we never have before.  Sure, there was some bribery in the early days as I tried to train the girls to sleep past 6:30.  After all, what was the point of even getting up??? We had NOWHERE to go.

Seriously though, a calm settled in that was not familiar, yet I have always longed for it.  Our emotional margin began increasing and our meltdowns decreasing.  We had longer stretches of stability that became comfortable and cozy.  I began to see a shift from us simply surviving to unexpectedly thriving.

Once I paused to reflect I slowly realized, what had turned my world upside down brought our family right-side up.  As our world became smaller, these girls felt safer and the fruit of it all tastes a bit like healing.

Isn’t grace amazing?

I couldn’t believe it.  I wouldn’t have chosen it.  I honestly thought we might not survive it.  But here I found myself not wanting to change it.  I’m not ready to go back to the old pace and race –  let me stay here a bit longer.  Let’s see how much God can do with two fish and a few loaves.

I’ve spent weeks picking up the pieces of a year that seemed shattered, only to find they paint a different picture.  Where I currently sit, it looks like quiet waters and green pastures, we may have passed a valley that feels like death but there’s restoration on the horizon.  It’s a promise I’ve held closely.

My sister recently asked me, what does that say to you about God?  I paused to consider what I’m experiencing before answering, I’m overwhelmed by his kindness to me, his care for my family, his provision in this season and how he has turned something so scary into something so sweet and unexpected.  As the words came out, I felt my eyes filling with tears remembering the words I wrote over and over and over last year –

“Yes, I believe you are good, but this does not feel kind.”

It takes my breath away.  Truly.

A wilderness journey of me owning at the depths of my being that I question his kindness was nothing less than his pursuit to reveal his heart – that I may fully know.

We are reclaiming this year.  There’s been a turning point for me.  I do not discount the losses, the pain or the impact it has had.  This season feels like a balance of tension between major disappointments and savoring God’s goodness – holding both at the same time.  But I have to cling to the hope that we’re entering new territory.

Sweet friend, do not lose heart.  ❤

Much love, from a broken girl.  {formerly known as a six}

 

Love Does, My Story

Is this real life or am I dreaming?

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When pain and suffering come upon us, we finally see not only that we are not in control of our lives, but we never were.

Tim Keller, Walking with God Through Pain and Suffering

Two weeks ago I joined a call with our Board of Directors, our Executive Director and our Battle for the Heart Coordinator (aka my sister) as we grappled with reality and many unknowns, seeking to hear one another and make a decision about three events in three weeks, one of which was scheduled to begin the very next day.  We didn’t want to make decisions out of fear, but we wanted to be aware of what was at stake in the decision we were facing.  I would be lying if I said we all agreed…

But we all committed to a decision and moved forward in unity. There is strength in unity.

I am a leader.

Leaders have to make difficult decisions in how we will lead our people.  I’m grateful I don’t carry this weight alone. I walk with men and women, most of whom have many more years of experience than me… yet they invite me in to speak, to listen, to grow and to lead in the safety of community.  Leadership isn’t my natural bent.

My reality in that moment was also that I had four little girls in the backseat who had just been released for spring break.  They barely had an understanding of what was occurring in the world around them and the decisions being made even on their own behalf.  Life as we know it was changing.

I am a mother.

It’s a story line that also feels surreal. Sometimes I look at these three beautiful faces and I’m undone by this call to love and shepherd their hearts.  I didn’t grow into motherhood the way most do, I was thrown into it with rapid fire.  I’d say I just began to find my groove, our normal was starting to appear survivable.

As we began to face the reality of social distancing and school closures, every bit of structure I have built to give myself a sense of control has been dismantled.  I keep looking around for the wife that will help absorb the disruptions and I realize –

I am the wife.

This may very well be the only role I joyfully entered thinking, I have what it takes. Obviously that is because I had no idea what marriage really means.  That poor man of mine, he is perfectly patient, loving and has given me space to grow into the woman God created me to be.

Like many of you, we are navigating a life that looks much different than before.  There are fears, uncertainties, risks and rewards… so many unknowns of the long-term impact of the days we are living.

Each day I find myself wondering if this is really real.  Do you remember the movie The Truman Show that was sort of an experiment in reality television where the show’s creator seeks to capture Truman’s real emotion and human behavior – but the main guy, Truman, doesn’t know everyone else is acting and the world is watching his every move.

I feel like that. Like I’m about to bump up against the bubble of the set of this not-real reality and then a voice will say, it was all set-up to see if you would survive, good job Abby, you didn’t die.

But this that feels so surreal, is actually real and I can’t find my footing.  Yes, I navigate well enough to make it through each day, but I can’t figure out what next week is supposed to look like.  The past two weeks tell me that new information will change what I think is the next best thing.  This is incredibly disorienting for a control freak.

And everything feels tender, vulnerable, unsafe and upside down.  The fact that there is a literal pandemic adds a whole other layer of pressure to my need to get things right… because obviously, if I don’t – failure leads to death.

I fully own that my feelings are all over the place. I feel frustrated, disoriented, vulnerable and in some ways like everyone’s safety is dependent on me.

I long to surrender, to release the weight of the world, to see God’s faithfulness, to experience his nearness and to be a channel of his love to my girls, my husband and those in my sphere of influence.

I want to walk this path well… I want to glean every bit of growth I can from it.

In the moment, I’m totally overwhelmed by expectations that are not realistic. I’ve tried to give myself grace to do what I can do and release what I can’t… but then I get this email that I’ve been expecting about how I’m supposed to facilitate “continued learning” – which essentially means home-school the girls since we do not know when they will ever go back to school.

And I feel like I would have a better chance of surviving the lion’s den than be given this task.

And it’s oh so painful to wade into these familiar depths once again… where surrender to the call on my life feels impossibly hard and unfair.  I fumble and stumble into the way of humility because my illusion of control has been dismantled and I learn once again the only way forward is in utter dependency… which feels so vulnerable.

It’s crazy as I consider…  The ones who want to help me can’t reach me. The ones who need me can’t help me. The ones who could release me don’t see me. And the one place I feel like I would be most likely to succeed… is the hardest to release.

I look to the left and to the right and realize, I’m not alone. The joke is not on me. We are collectively navigating this new normal, filled with uncertainty and unknown.  I feel a bit safer in the collective and want to be a voice that says, we are going to make it!

So I lean in to surrender.

I ask God what he is up to… in me and through me.

What is he saying?

And what does it look like to engage each day with courage, beauty and love?

I long to reveal his glory that others may see… he is good.

Sweet friend, you are not alone. This place we find ourselves, the collective vulnerability, as Brene Brown calls it… this is what gives us strength, breathes courage into our very lungs, gives us purpose to love one another in ways that seem counter-intuitive to our old life. For some it simply means staying home. For others it means showing up at the front lines.  For me… it means making space for this new reality where motherhood overlaps with ministry.

I shared with the girls one day last week, when we were basically all in tears, sweet girls, this is not normal and I am so sorry.  Life is not supposed to be this way.  It’s ok for this to be hard, we have to work together and we will get through this.  Let’s try to have fun in the midst of it.

It was a pep-talk even for myself.  But their response was priceless, What?? You mean we work for Wellspring now?!!??  😂

So let me introduce you to my new assistants, DSC_6666

They are super sassy, very disruptive, highly creative, love worship and are waiting for a paycheck.  [Don’t be surprised if I put them on donor development calls.]

I am humbled.

I grappled last night with what it means to be the woman God created me to be in this new normal.  We are all facing this – and the only thing we can control is how we choose to respond.

For me, I choose to believe his heart is good, this journey is purposeful, the destination falls nothing short of his promises… I have to believe… he is near.

Let me the voice that whispers to your heart of hearts, you have what it takes…. do not lose heart. ❤

Much love,

a broken girl

Love Does

No One Chooses the Wilderness – Except that one time

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Twenty-nineteen, the year that put me in therapy.

The year that broke me – and many others I know.

The grace is shaping something new out of broken pieces… the end result is yet to be revealed.

Did you know when the Children of Israel were freed from captivity in Egypt, God chose the path they would take?  There are two ways from Egypt to the land of Canaan.  One is short, a few days’ journey.  The other… much longer, through a desert. … this is the way the Lord chose for them. ¹

One might think the Lord could have saved a lot of time, [40 something years to be exact-ish], by choosing the shorter path.  He could have fulfilled a promise in a few short days.  I’m confident there would have been much less grumbling and complaining, at least one less golden idol and a lot less manna.

Jesus, it’s me, your resourceful, efficient, path of least resistance girl trying to show you there was an easier way.

If you ever dig into this story more, in Exodus chapter 13, verse 17 explains a little bit why God did this.  God did not lead them by the way of the Philistines, even though it was near; for God said, “The people may change their minds when they see war, and return to Egypt.”

In other words, the shorter, easier, path of least resistance was actually more than they could handle.

As I sit on the edge of 2019 looking back, I cannot help but see my year as one of a wilderness wandering journey that seemingly leads nowhere closer to his promises fulfilled… except maybe… I’m seeing that the work he is doing in me is much greater than the destination.

You see, the Children of Israel couldn’t handle the giants, and God knew that.  They had lived in captivity, their faith muscles were not yet developed.  They needed a journey in the wilderness to know who they are, who God is, and see his goodness in the parting of a sea, a cloud by day and a fire by night.  They needed to taste the provision of manna and stumble in the desert… they needed a journey that they would never have chosen on their own.  They needed a God to lead the way.

I apologize for being quiet so much of this year.  It is sometimes hard to find words that adequately express the work God is up to in my heart.  I’ve tried for months, yet only small pieces come together. I long to bring inspiration, but some days I can’t make sense of the tears.  Recently when someone was praying for me, she shared

…what he’s doing is, he’s drawing you deeper and deeper into another level of faith, too. Whereas if you could have it all organized and laid out, your brain would automatically try and figure out the next step or the next process, or the next thing that that needs to be done. But God did it that way so that you would deepen your trust in Him…

You don’t know me.

As she shared for minutes that felt like an hour, it was as if she was reading every word I had written in the past 12 months, weaving them together with threads of hope that this might be accomplishing more than I could imagine – that the pain of deep heart work would yield fruit for years to come.

It’s hard to say this was the most painful year of my life because it is drastically different than any before.  I can’t imagine anything topping the year I went from zero to three tiny people in a flash that literally solidified my need to color my hair every six weeks…. though I gracefully try to stretch it to eight.

This was a different kind of year.  The pain was a deep cry from within, questions that surfaced that I could hardly speak out loud… and when I did, nothing could hold back the tears.  I’ve come to see things in my own heart that slayed me.  I’ve been humbled as I grow in understanding my own brokenness and the way I saw God in the midst of it.

I realize I have a unique privilege to work in an environment that always presses me to dig into deep matters of the heart.  It is both a blessing and a curse. 😏  There is no hiding.  I must practice that which I quite literally preach… vulnerability and surrender.  Speaking of preaching, did you hear about that guy that said disgraceful things about women who preach?  :: table that for a whole other post :: dear Jesus please save him from himself [and a girl named Joy Wells – she’s got my back].

Oh my gosh, I’ve lost my path. I’m on the wrong platform.

Back to the wilderness.  That’s where I find myself again.

In September the deep work came to a soul shaking head that literally made me sick for a week as I faced what felt like a juncture of God inviting me to choose between my heart and my dream.  Both held parts of my heart for very different reasons, but to live out both directions seemed unachievable.  As I sat in the place of confusion I heard myself say,

God, I believe you are good but I do not believe you are kind. This is not kind.

As these words fell out of my mouth, tears poured out of my eyes and I was sitting on the familiar couch in the office of my therapist, she graciously held a safe place for me to fall apart.  I grappled with the path I am on and how I even got here in the first place, life was not supposed to be this way.  Now everything is up to me to get it right because failure is not an option.  I have stepped into the impossible, the journey has been pain-filled, not just my pain, but the deep pain of others.  She gently reminded me that failure is always an option… and I slowly began to breathe again.  Then she questioned if maybe what feels like is a choice between my dream and my heart might actually be a choice between control and faith.

Excuse me?

I mean. Whatever.

It sounds so much better when I am painstakingly weighing my dream against my heart instead of my control issues against my faith. Gosh golly. It was like a punch in the gut that took the wind out of my dream and painted it for very clearly what it was… a sense of control that I could cling to.

Y’all, my therapist does not waste time. She knows Jesus and she nailed me.

As I began to unravel more and more what was behind this I began to see the crisis wasn’t even about a choice at all… it was merely a catalyst for God to do a deeper work in me – how I see myself and how I see his goodness.  Kind-of like those children from Israel…

A sea didn’t split before me. Manna did not fall from heaven. I did not receive 10 commandments.

But I did hear his words over a period of weeks saying… I am doing something, you wouldn’t believe it even if I told you.  This path isn’t a mistake, it has a purpose.  I am strengthening your roots.  Please do not confuse my kindness with being nice – that is not the same thing.  I am much more concerned about what I am doing in you than what I am doing through you.  You are worth it… even if I never do anything else through you.

I found myself a bit disoriented at the end of it all, wondering what the journey was for to begin with. It seems we ended up in the same exact place where we started, except dreams had been stirred that were perfectly content being dormant.  While this remains unknown, I’m resting in believing there was a purpose.

In hindsight, as I’ve tried to connect some of the dots, I found an invitation into a new level of surrender.  Once again, I choked back tears at the thought of this word that feels so hard.  I don’t have much experience in surrender being easy.  Surrendering what I thought my life would be for the promise of what he has created me for has been costly at times. It is most definitely not a path of least resistance for which I am accustomed.  But it is an invitation to surrender to a plan that is beyond what I can imagine, believing that in my deepest place of doubt he is speaking, I have never doubted you.

This is 2019.  A wilderness journey. An unearthing of deep beliefs, questions and a growing in understanding truth and goodness; repenting of my own brokenness and surrendering to a call that is more than I can comprehend.

Some of you, like me, sit at the end of this year and breathe a sigh of relief to see it coming to a close. It has been brutal.  But sweet friend, you have persevered.  Beautiful one, you have given me courage as I watch you surrender to love in the midst of some of the greatest pains of your life.  I have no idea what his purpose is, but I do know his promise is much more than we can see or imagine.  Do.not.lose.heart.

One of the beautiful things echoed through my year is found in the closing of Psalm 23, surely goodness and mercy shall follow me … There are moments that clearly reveal goodness and mercy… while other places leave my head spinning, wondering what is even good. I consider the past year and feel like I’ve come a million miles in uncovering belief systems – as if God made it his sole purpose this year to pull off each layer like a flaky biscuit.  Just when I think I’ve stabilized, in his mercy, he brings greater revelation.  I feel pursued by God, almost relentlessly.

As I face the unknowns of life and at times even fall into fear of what may come, I hear the words again – surely goodness and mercy shall follow me… all the days of my life.  This isn’t just one day, or once upon a time – it’s a confidence that his goodness doesn’t expire. I can’t outrun it. It follows me. Until the end.  There’s goodness and mercy.  Both keep me humbled.  Mercy covers when I feel less than good enough. His goodness reminds me, it’s not really about me to begin with.

In the closing of this year, I invite you to remember, surely goodness and mercy shall follow you – all the days of your life. And for those of you, like me (and my sweet dad) who tend to see God’s goodness looking back… I invite you to consider turning around… and see God’s goodness going before you.

Here’s to 2020.  Let the goodness lead the way.

Much love,

A broken girl

¹ The New Matthew Henry Commentary
Love Does, My Story, Uncategorized

In Pursuit of Glory… It’s not about me

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…and it will come about, while My glory is passing by, that I will put you in the cleft of the rock and cover you with My hand until I have passed by.         Ex 33:23

Moses is one of the most fascinating people in the Bible, from where I sit.

Think about it… the enemy so feared his birth –  a whole generation of males was murdered.  Yet he was protected.

He would later be called out of the desert to lead his people who were captives into one of the greatest stories ever told – of hope, rescue and restoration.

In the midst of it all, as he faced the doubts of who God says he is, he pursued a heavenly father with such confidence that he would settle for nothing less than standing in his very presence.  And he did.

Following a cloud by day and a fire by night, he declared, “I will not move from here unless your presence goes with me…” (Ex 33:15)

I can’t help but parallel my own story with his… I mean, let’s consider the similarities here.

Born to a people enslaved by a nation, death marked his birth, vengeance overcame him, he ran away and hid, a bush burst into flames and he heard the voice of God…

Ok – maybe I’m nothing like him.

Except… he questioned God.

“Who am I?”

This has been the echo of my voice for the past five years.  Who am I, that you called me into these deep waters?  Who am I, that you place tiny hearts in my hands?  Who am I, that your words flow out from me?  Who do you say I am?

And this is where Moses and Abby meet.  In the place of deepest doubt and undeserved grace rests a promise, I will be with you – every step of the way.

The past four months have been a collision course of sorts.  I have watched our family stumble into scenes that trigger pain of past lives, point to loss of innocence that I desperately wish I could preserve and stir questions of why us? why these precious girls? why God?   – where is your goodness?

As we navigate the day-to-day life that brings to the surface unexplainable fears, responses and behaviors, we fiercely pursue comfort, peace and healing.  In January we began to face the reality that our school was not a place that could provide the emotional safety that is vital to the journey we are on.  We prayerfully considered all options and made the decision to make a major move, not knowing how we would even afford it.

But God did.  We took the first step and he parted the waters before us.  His provision left me speechless and in awe of a God who sees me.

Our hope was that this significant move would provide a new level of safety for the hearts of our girls and bring a bit of relief to the emotional pressure that was a constant simmer in our home.  After a smooth transition I had hoped it would decrease our demanding need for therapy.  Lord knows, we can’t afford both.

Last week I was overwhelmed with the reality as our dear therapist painted a clear picture of the path ahead.  I’m sure she could see the fear in my eyes as I unpacked the reality that I have nothing left to give…  there is really nothing else to squeeze and make this happen.

I shared through tears the sense of hopelessness to my mom on the other end of the phone.  The grapple with the truth I believe of a good God versus the reality of what I see as a long, treacherous, and quite honestly, expensive path.  I considered what he could be asking me to do differently?  Maybe just two children in private school instead of three? After all, one seems a bit more stable than the others.  Should we sell the home we love and live life differently?  Is there a path we haven’t considered that could be good enough to get us by?

Slipping into the sleep of night, my prayers sounded a lot like my friend Moses – God, don’t forget, these are your children. You aren’t surprised by our needs. You have been abundantly faithful – show me your glory.  There’s nothing else I can do.  It’s really up to you.

I asked a question in a small group of fellow foster and adoptive parents.  What options do we have for the long road ahead? Someone please give me a glimpse of hope…

It came in a short text from a sweet friend that said,

Tell me more.

“Could you share briefly what your girls need and why?”  Well of course I can my dear, how many words do you need 🙂

And as I let the words go I never imagined what God was stirring in the heavenlies.  I couldn’t see the wind.  But it was blowing.

The next day in the middle of a heart-connecting encounter a simple message arrives in my inbox from a name I didn’t know- you don’t want to miss this.

“We would like to cover the next few months of therapy and let us know if the need continues, which it sounds like it will.” and because God doesn’t just stop with provision, he goes on to show off a bit more… “And we would also like to cover six months of tuition as well.”

Chills flooded my being as I read the message over and again.  This is too much.  More than I could ask or even imagine.

Isn’t that just like God?

Exceedingly, abundantly more than I could ask or imagine.

I was slayed. Humbled. Overwhelmed by the goodness of others, advocating for us, revealing a Glory of a faithful father.

I stepped out of our meeting and onto a worn path, winding along a rugged fence, leading to a flowering meadow.  The rocks slipped beneath my shoes each step of the way.  I tried to soak it all in.  Taking deep breaths, small steps, looking at the spring flowers and hearing the sound of the river passing by.  The earth reveals His Glory.

What is it you want to say to me God?  You have my full attention. 

Like the spring wind, I sensed his quiet words say –

I see you.  You are my child and I love you.  I am so pleased with you. 

I stayed in this place on the path that leads to nowhere… knowing this would be a transformational shift in my life.  For the first time I could see, this was about me.  This is about a God that will move heaven and earth because of his love for me.  I have stepped into a part that he has for me to play, at times with fear and trepidation, not knowing how we will make it to the promise of resurrection, life and glory – but willing none-the-less.

My friend and I often refer to the journey as our “never-the-less” – like Jesus in the Garden, asking for this cup to pass by,  Nevertheless, your will be done.

Motherhood was not a cup I expected to drink from.  Fighting for the hearts of children my body didn’t bear, whose hearts bear wounds from a past they didn’t choose… at times feels like a cross I cannot carry.  In the darkest days I still find myself crying, who am I that you choose me?

This day the Lord answered so clearly that my heart connected with what my head had known, I am chosen for a purpose, I am not alone… and in the steps of obedience a favor follows.  Embrace it.  Live it. Breathe it. Share it.

It is humbling in a way that I cannot express.  It touches fear and doubt that I didn’t know existed.  I’ve been challenged to see that diminishing the favor robs the blessing.  Staying quiet stills the Glory.

It’s not about me.

But then it is.

It’s not because of anything I have done but because of who He is.  His love for me is overwhelming and his goodness knows no end.

The Lord descended in the cloud and stood there with him as he called upon the name of the Lord.  Then the Lord passed by in front of him and proclaimed, “The Lord, the Lord God, compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in loving-kindness and truth…                   (Ex 34:5-6)

It’s all about his Glory.

I teach in Reality 1 at the Battle for the Heart on this concept of glory which we are called to reveal.  It seems abstract, but it is simply his goodness to us and through us, his compassion, grace, loving-kindness and truth.

I dare you be so bold, as Moses was, to pray Show me your glory!

In my life I have found when I step into this boldness, it is often I find myself placed between a rock and a hard place…   “and it will come about, while My glory is passing by, that I will put you in the cleft of the rock and cover you with My hand until I have passed by.”  (Ex 33:22)

Don’t be surprised when he shows up.    He longs to show up.

If I’m honest, it’s quite humbling to tell our story.  This is my issue, not yours.  I’m growing in owning that there is a story to tell, a glory to reveal and a part that was chosen for me to play.  I grapple with goodness, truly I do.  I love to see it poured out on you… it’s a bit harder to accept for me.  Deep down, I know how undeserving I am.  I see the hard places of my heart, the doubts, fears, anger and sometimes even longing for the cup to pass me by.

But then, I would miss out on the Glory.

…I’ve come too far to quit now.

With much love, from a humbled girl.

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Love Does, My Story

When Hope Doesn’t Float and the Tears Must Fall

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It’s the sort of thing that wakes you up with tears in your eyes before they are even open.  It has nothing to do with the tiny human’s knees pressed tightly into my back.  She knows to come to daddy’s side, that’s the way of certainty to mommy.  Daddy doesn’t even know he let her in, but she cuddles closely to me.  My pillow must be cozier.

That’s not what woke me.  It’s the words and the story that has been percolating in my heart for weeks like a kettle on a stove, just before the whistle blows.  The words have swirled but I haven’t been able to make sense of them…. Until now.  At 3:45 am tears fall out of my unopened eyes, I realize the gentle pursuit of the Father who builds beautiful things from broken pieces.  The original artist.

As I sat in the waiting room of our therapist’s office a familiar song played, but the words felt so different in this season of life as she beautifully voiced,

This is what it means to be held – How it feels, when the sacred is torn from your life and you survive…

The verses name the unfairness of life, even as believers, leaving us to question his goodness.

In a season that surrounds me with pain, I shared this song with a few dear ones whom I know are navigating the darkest of nights, questioning where God is in the midst of it all.  In my own small story, I have felt an unearthing of deep places that were heavily fortified with protective strategies that beg you to believe…  I am worth loving, I am worth choosing, I am worth protecting, I am worth keeping… the core of my deepest longing that every action of my life one way or another points back to –  am I worth it?

I work hard to never put you in a position to have to say it directly, give no reason I could doubt my value in your life.  I will come through no matter what… I will love with everything within me… I will give all I have not just because I love you, but because I long to know you love me too….

It’s unsustainable… I am human as are you.  Life is hard and complex and filled with pain…  and one day I found myself in an unending flood of tears that reflect my deepest fear

… I am worth losing…

The old familiar voices: I didn’t love well.   I wasn’t understanding.  I was too honest.  I will never be enough…

And when my brokenness meets your brokenness the rough edges no longer fit – and I am left to believe, I am a loss worth taking.

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The words fell out of my mouth and took every bit of air with them… I had not understood the pain I was avoiding for so long.  It had been poked and prodded but anytime I got close, the fortified walls came up like the work of an engineer.

But something finally cracked this wall and like a dam… I broke…

I gave myself space to sit in the messiness of it all.  I owned the fears, I felt the pain, I repented of my unbelief and like a hurting child I sat in the presence of my kind heavenly father and asked,  what do you want to say to me right now? What do you want me to know is true??

Like a wave of peace, I heard the still small voice, You are worth EVERYTHING to me.  And he gently reminded me of specific times and places where he was echoing this truth through my life.  Through the ones who pursue me when I don’t want to be pursued. The ones who see me when I want to disappear.  The ones who hold me when everything I hoped has failed.  And the ones who sit with me in the pain of disappointment that I can’t make sense of….brokenmug

I long to be that echo of his voice too.  The jar of clay that reveals glory in the brokenness.

As I sat across the makeshift dining table with my salad that was fresh a mere three hours ago, inside I couldn’t help but wonder why I even have a place at this table.  There are obvious reasons that cause me to doubt if I should be here, but I realize one thing that connects us all is the transforming work of God to make beautiful things from dust.  That’s all we really are at this table, five broken people surrendering to a way of humility and trusting God for the part he has given us to play.

I’ve spent the greater part of my life avoiding pain at all costs, but I find myself in a place of facing what feels like the most tender places of my life.  As he shares bits of his story, I realize even my deepest pain cannot begin to compare to the road he has traveled.  Without even realizing it, I shift to deflective humor to ease the weight I feel – knowing I have nothing that compares.

He goes on to share how he is grappling with God… it’s evident to me this is a good thing, despite his reservation to even name it. What does it look like to live in authentic community and walk through hard things?  So much damage has been done by good people, who want to love well but in the face of pain cannot help but see through their lens of hope.

It’s human nature to believe each challenge is to be solved, we will reach the other side.  Our gospel story of rescue and redemption filters our view with a persistent hope – amid of which we have done a great disservice to one another in our places of deepest pain.

His words pierced through me so intensely I could feel my heart beating in my fingertips.  He was a real life, tangible picture of the pain I had caused.  For the first time I could clearly see the burden of my hope.  I began to crumble inside.  It was as if God painted a portrait and placed it right in front of me. My perspective had shifted, and I knew I would never be the same.

Hope is a beautiful thing.  I never want to live my life without it.  It truly is a gift.

However, when you enter into the sacred place of pain that forces you to face loss, grief, violation and broken dreams – there is a time that hope fails.

To be fully human is to own the pain, name the pain, feel the pain… and sometimes just accept that this pains you.

Don’t discount the pain. Don’t deny the pain; and as a friend, spouse, sister, mother – don’t discredit the pain with your quick draw of hope.

Hope that says this will all work out.  Hope that paints a better ending than the pit in which we sit.  Hope that speaks to your need for relief…

… in the dark place of the night, when the tears fall… lean in closely my friend… it’s ok to release the hope and allow yourself to feel the pain.

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After all, even Jesus had to let things die.

And he wept.

This is what it is to be loved
and to know that the promise was
when everything fell, we’d be held.

It’s hard for me to reconcile pain and I often find myself grappling with how to justify or wrap it all up in a pretty bow.  I am growing to see that this speaks more to my discomfort of pain and less to the truth of redemption.  Sometimes the only bright side is heaven, and that’s ok.  We were made for so much more – our very hearts ache for it…

As my heart unravels and I feel my own brokenness and failures, I am reminded of that night, holding my long-legged baby as her tears streamed down her face and thank God that when everything fell, she could be held.

She said hurtful things – as is a pattern in our journey.  When she is in pain, she needs everyone around her to feel it too.  She goes for blood.  It’s an exhausting ride and a heartbreaking reality in which we live.  In the dark car ride of silence following her pain-filled words, I quietly reached my hand to the backseat to find hers.  I heard a muffle of sobs and just squeezed her hand a bit tighter.  When we reached home, she ran straight upstairs and hid in her cocoon of a swing.  I peaked my head in and saw her sobbing face, I just want to be alone!  I gently responded, If you want me to leave you alone, I will… but if you want me to hold you, I can do that too. 

She untangled herself from the swing, climbed into my arms and I held this seven year old baby girl as she cried alligator tears of pain, regret, disappointment and loss…   she can’t possibly reconcile the emotions that stir in her heart – and I can’t begin to undo it.

But I can sit and hold her forever. It was the most tender of moments as my heart longed to bring relief to what swirls in her.  I never held this child as a baby – she wasn’t mine to hold.  This holy moment was as healing for me as it was for her.  A glimpse of the heart of a father, who gives us people that will sit and hold the pain we carry, not bringing a solution not even promising hope… just being present.

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My dear friend, I do not know what places you have journeyed, what pain envelopes you today.  I repent for the way I may have viewed your pain through my lens of hope… not fully seeing the depth of your pierced heart.  I am so sorry.

I cannot help but ask, is there room in the pit for me?

I will not fix it and I will try not to relieve it… I just long for you to know you are not alone in the middle of it.

If I may be an echo of a still small voice, please hear me say,  You are worth EVERYTHING.

And when you’re ready, maybe we can find hope.

 

*Lyrics from the song “Held” by Natalie Grant
Love Does, My Story

A Letter to My Girlies

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In a serendipitous way, two paths crossed and I met a beautiful new friend just over a month ago.  A mutual friend passed our names to one another.  We exchanged a brief phonecall where she cast vision into a project and I excitedly said “we’re all in”.

She is a photographer by day but a storyteller is stirring in her heart.  As we talked she said, I want to tell stories with more than just pictures, I want them to be living stories that inspire.   – you and me both friend.

We sat one Monday afternoon and she storyboarded a project to capture a glimpse of our life.  With tears in both of our eyes I shared the story of God building this family.  We talked about songs that were meaningful – as if I could limit it to just one – and somewhere along the way she asked if I would consider writing a letter to my girls?

I know, I thought the same thing…. am I dying?

There’s no way I can write a letter… where would I even begin and how could it possibly end?  I humbly apologized on the day of our shoot – I really just couldn’t do it.  But here are a few more songs we should consider.

As she began to build out the project, the pieces were coming together perfectly despite how awkward I am on a camera.  Lord save me.

Then a few days later she sent a text… something was missing…  Would you please try to write a letter to your girls?  Just tell them their story…

It turns out, if you aren’t dying and you just sit down… the words are already there deep within.  So here’s what was scratched out one night…

My sweet girls, let me tell you a story.

It’s your story… and mine, a perfectly written, beautifully broken, story of reckless love.

It started with a dream from a brave girl, who told me you would be coming.  I prayed and prayed and asked God how could this be?  I never wanted to be a mommy in a million years, but somehow I knew this dream would come true.

I was so scared, certain he had the wrong girl, but he gently breathed on what little bit of courage I had and said he would hold my hand every step of the way.

Then on that fateful day when the phone rang, with trembling voices, your daddy and I gave our best yes yet.

You had to have seen the fear in my eyes when I first saw your faces.  Your beauty was overwhelming.

Soon your laughter became the soundtrack of our life, your pain the backdrop of our story, and His love the hope of our future.

You uncovered a fight in me I never knew I had, a fierceness only a mother can carry and stirred a dream I never knew I wanted.

Many may think we rescued you, but the truth is, you rescued us.  You pulled us out of a smaller story into a greater purpose –  that reflects the Father’s heart towards his children.

A father who will move heaven and earth, soften the hardest of hearts and leave the 99 to make sure that one knows the depths of his love.

When I look in your big brown eyes, I see his love shining through.  When I catch a glimpse of our family, I know his mercies are new every morning.

I’m not pretending this was always our story.  This isn’t the way it was supposed to be.  But somewhere a faint yes turned into a family and here we are soaking in moments that take my breath away.

I know one day we will unpack the heavy things you have carried, the loss and the pain you don’t even yet comprehend… and when you question where God was, I pray our story always points you back to his unending love.

Sweet girl, you are worth every fear I overcame, every hard day we’ve faced, every pain that has pierced my heart along the way.

You reveal God’s goodness to me.  You make me brave.

I pray as our story unfolds you are drawn to the one who pursued you from the start – who wove a crimson thread of redemption and will never leave you.  I dream for you to become everything he created you to be, a woman who loves well, fights for what is right, stands for her beliefs and walks in courage, beauty and love.  My deepest desire is to love you, come hell or high water… that you may always know… you were worth it.

Love is.

I held my girls closely as I showed them the finished project and they watched the “happy tears” that filled my eyes.  They heard the words my heart carries for them as if they didn’t already know their own story.  It was perfect.

It’s only been a week but I keep going back and watching every detail that was captured almost as if I don’t get to see them every day.

And when we’ve navigated hard days and dark nights, it’s my own words I hear in my head reminding me that every pain is worth it.  I don’t know if it inspires anyone else, but I know it keeps me in the fight.

I’m sure there’s so much more I will want to say one day, but for now, the only thing left stirring is beautifully portrayed in the words of our current replay:

I hear you whisper underneath your breath.
I hear your whisper, you have nothing left…

I will send out an army to find you, even in the darkest night it’s true, I will rescue you.
I will never stop marching to reach you, even in the hardest fight it’s true, I will rescue you.

“Rescue” – by Lauren Daigle

It’s the fierceness birthed in me… even in the darkest night, sweet girl, I will fight for you.

I wish I could share the finished product… but for privacy reasons we have to keep it on the down low.  :: but if you know my mom, I promise she will show you 😉   ::

But I’ll leave you with this gem, let the words sink deep in your soul, consider a father who sends them just for you.   You’re worth it.