Hope is a Who

As mentioned before, I’m in the process of learning how to let go—learning what it looks like practically and emotionally. During this process, I keep running into a word I’ve breezed past so many times before. A word so ethereal it makes my brain hurt to try and put physical words around it. But with Christmas just around the corner, and the weeks of Advent flying past, there’s no avoiding the word.

Hope.

It’s another seemingly nebulous word sprinkled throughout the Bible. A word we use on a regular basis in all the wrong ways. A word our world has no idea what it really means. Much like the word love is misused for all kinds of things like pizza, travel, and ideas, hope is seen as something to grasp for, always in front of us, just out of reach, just on the other side of the rainclouds lies the hope of a rainbow. We hope for an outcome, a positive turn to current circumstances.

The world’s hope is never realized. I’m learning mine is ever present.

I am learning hope is not a thing, it is an action in response to a Who. It is not a thing to attain, but an action to take in obedience. Hope is present anywhere Jesus is present. Hope is the proof of His presence. To have Christ means to also have hope. If Christ is in me, hope is also present.(Romans 15:13, Colossians 1:27, 1 Peter 1:3)

Before Christ, the psalmists wrote of hope in the Lord. Their hope was God’s words. God’s promises to them through the law and the prophets. Hope was something they chose to do in faith, believing God to be true to His word. When you read of hope in the Old Testament, it acts as a buoy for the believers’ souls. Putting their hope in God was a choice, an act done out of love and obedience in response to a God who kept His promises. (Psalm 39:7, 42:5, 130:5, Lamentations 3:24)

Then Christ came! The long-promised Messiah born of a virgin, who fulfilled hundreds of God’s promises to His people in His lifetime. Then He died and resurrected. Conquering death, the day Jesus rose from the grave was also the day hope was born anew. Before that point in eternity, hope had been conceived and grown in the womb of history until all of time was ripe for the birth of hope upon the resurrection of Christ, upon the defeat of death, upon the end to the destruction of sin. (Matthew 12:21, Romans 5:5, Romans 15:13)

The power of Christ is our hope. Hope is the action we take in response to the One who birthed its reality. And it doesn’t matter how many words I try to use to explain myself, I still fall short. (Exasperated sigh.)

I don’t hope for a better tomorrow. I live today with the hope of glory residing within me. (Colossians 1:27)

The idea hope is always coming--just out of reach, if you hold on just a little longer--is all wrong. Instead, hope is here, now, with you. Hope has arrived and is present. Hope is powerful if you choose to believe it now, not later, not tomorrow, not in the future. Believe Jesus is who He says He is today for this present joy, this present struggle, this present moment, and you will possess hope. You won’t have to hold onto it because it will be carried inside you like a light from within.

When I say, I have hope, I’m saying I have Jesus. The two are synonymous. I have hope for a brighter future for my children because Christ already resides in that future. He’s already there; therefore, I have hope, I can hope, I will hope.

To lose hope in any format, is to lose sight of Christ, to lose touch with the power of the Holy Spirit filling you with every breath. This is easy to do in a world where blinding lies and distractions vie for the attention of your heart, mind, and soul. Returning to Christ at any point for any reason is to reclaim the hope of your calling, to live fully once more. (Ephesians 1:18)

If truth is an anchor for the soul, hope is a buoy for the soul. It is a daily, present marker and reminder our God saves, He is faithful, and He keeps His promises. Hope is not in the future. It is something we possess now, something to keep us afloat for today because God came like He promised and made a way, a loophole around the sentence of death we chose for ourselves. The birth, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ made a way where there was no way before. So, if we carry the Holy Spirit with us, we carry hope with us.

When the world “hopes” it is a wish for better days, better things, better outcomes. A wish is whisked away on the wind with one breath—here today, gone tomorrow, often forgotten. True hope is the buoy on the horizon anchored to truth at its base. It is concrete and sure and immovable. Here today, tomorrow, and forever. It cannot be forgotten or lost because it never disappears. In our humanity, we often lose sight of it, but that doesn’t mean it’s not there.

To grasp the reality of having hope today, in this very moment, makes me smile from the inside out.

In all the ways I’m learning to let go, it is a relief to know hope is not something I have to hold onto for dear life. Hope resides within my very being, carried within me, alive and thriving and beating. The Holy Spirit is my hope. He simply needs to be acknowledged and credit given where credit is due.

When is the last time you considered where your hope comes from? When’s the last time you acknowledged and tapped into that hope? Who in your life needs you to share your ever-present hope with them today? Tis the season.

 

 

 

Questions People Ask

Do you miss California? Yes.

What do you miss most? Our entire way of life, but especially the people.

How do you like living in Georgia? We have a beautiful home that I love. Autumn is my favorite time of year, so it’s been a blessing to really experience it again.

How is Joey’s job? Good. He’s still adjusting to his new role, but it’s a blessing.

How are the kids? The kids are my heroes. We are full blown middle school years, and all the activity that encompasses. They are rockstars excelling at school and working hard at sports.

How are you doing?

….Uhhhhmmm. I’m fine. (Most days.) As good as can be expected. (What did I expect? What do you expect?) No complaints. (True statement, but I feel guilty for not being more convincing and excited about how God has provided for us.) I’m just here. Waiting.

I think if I was to be completely honest answering that last question, I need to say, “I don’t know.” But that brings an onslaught of conversation I don’t always welcome.

If I’m super introspective, I’m still grieving. And I know, grief is a dramatic word for a move. I get that. I’ve written about grief A LOT in the last decade. (Go click the "grief" label on my blog page!) It’s a deep chasm of emotion with so many nuances, and for some reason, I’ve experienced many facets of that chasm. But maybe because I have experienced so many sides to grief, I’ve learned to recognize it for what it is as well. It doesn’t surprise me like it use to. It doesn’t scare me either. It just is.

What does that look like? Sometimes I cry for no reason at all other than I just feel the presence of the grief. Sometimes I smile and make the best of my day knowing the grief is there, acknowledging it as my sidekick, but determined to be grateful and capture the joy-moments regardless. Sometimes it fades into the background for a breather, only to burst back on the scene like a rogue wave.

What I have learned is there’s no use ignoring it or shaming myself for feeling or experiencing the grief. I have learned to embrace it knowing it will subside. Hope lies on the other side of the chasm, and there is another side.

I do still struggle with the act of letting go. You see, all grief is a strange irony of wanting to hold on but needing to let go. To let go. It is a distasteful action in my mind. To let go of something you grieve, someone you grieve, feels like you are choosing to leave them behind. Depending on what it is you’re grieving releasing depends on how quickly and willingly it can be done. As with all things in life, some people move through the grief process quickly while others linger for a lifetime.

Here’s what I want others to say about me in my grieving:

She felt it all—deeply. She did not hide or run from the hard. She faced it all head on.

She loved Jesus well in the midst of her own struggles and those of others.

She shone with compassion and resiliency because on her good days she gave all the glory to God, and on her bad days, she stayed clinging to His feet. In either case, she loved Jesus well.

She was real. She was honest. She was true. With her Lord, with herself, and with others.

 

I don’t know if those statements reflect who I am today, but I know they reflect my heart’s desires.

In the letting go of what I grieve, I’m opening my hands wide to my Heavenly Father and trusting Him to fill them with good gifts. In holding on to what I grieve, I give Him less space in my life to pour His goodness.

In letting go, I’m trusting Him to fill me with the things and people He wants me to love today, now, presently. In holding on, I’m trusting myself more than Him to know what’s best for me.

In letting go, I am free to treasure the memory. In holding on, I am burdened by the weight of recreating what no longer exists, held captive by the past.

I long to be open, trusting, and free, not closed, disillusioned, and imprisoned.

So, I feel all the feels, but I stay close to my Jesus in it all because He came to set the captives free, to be light in the dark, and when I stay in the joy of His presence, I am protected from the darkness of despair, depression, and despondency.

If you asked me how I was doing, and I told you with a smile, “I’m still grieving, but my Jesus never leaves me,” what would you say? Would you pity me? Don’t. Would it make you uneasy, uncomfortable? Why? Would it make you want to walk big circles around me? Give me some space, instead of lean in closer? Those who grieve need the company of those who are willing to sit in the uncomfortable space and just be with them. There are no right words or actions. They just need to know they are not alone. They are seen. They are known.

My Jesus fulfills all these needs.   (My husband is pretty in tune as well after 20 years of studying me. He deserves a shout out for that.)

But it is my relationship with the Lord that must be enough. It must be the sustaining force. He must be my Source for all things first and foremost. I talk to Him as soon as the tears fall, and I thank Him as soon as I recognize a blessing. That’s the only way I’ve learned to navigate the chasm of grief.

I think I’ve said it before, but grief is more than an emotion. It is a thing. It has teeth and substance. It varies in degree of difficulty, but no matter the degree, it’s still a chasm to be navigated. In this day in age, it is my belief almost everyone is trying to navigate the crossing of a chasm of some size. The loss of a place, a thing, a job, of a dream, an opportunity, of a friend, a child, a spouse—anyone can be navigating more than one of these chasms at any point in time.

Jesus is the Bridge Who will help them cross; we can walk them to the Bridge. (1 Timothy 2:5)

Jesus is their Savior, only He can pull them out if they fall in the chasm; we can stand by with a rope and hold on while He pulls. (Hebrews 10:23-25)

Jesus will be their Light in the dark; we can shout encouragement into the night. (John 8:12)

Jesus will and has sacrificed Himself for their safety. He is their Protector; at the chasm’s edge, we can get our knees dirty in fervent prayers for a hedge of protection around them. (Romans 8:35-39, Job 1:10)

Jesus will never leave them; we can show up and be present, our physical presence a reminder they are not alone. (Deuteronomy 31:8)

Sometimes He sends us to be His hands and feet (Matthew 25:34-46). Sometimes we get to walk with them, hand in hand, for some of the crossing, but rarely for all. Grief must be crossed with Jesus. I’m not even sure you can ever make it to the other side of grief in a healthy way without Him.

So, who do you know that needs you to show up? How can you show support along their journey? Even in my own grief, I still ask these questions of myself because looking outside of myself is the best medicine for a downcast attitude.

I’m crossing this chasm with more determination and understanding than I have the last. More grace for myself and more grace for others. More focused on my Jesus instead of the waves. I want to acknowledge and celebrate that growth. I want to give God all the glory and credit for helping me learn, lean in, and grow despite the sadness. I’m grieving, but I’m okay, and that’s encouraging for me. Maybe it can be encouraging for you too. Jesus is willing, able, and fully capable to help you cross your chasms too. What step can you take today to trust Him a little more on that journey?

I’m learning to let go, and it’s a process and a journey, and I’m so very grateful I don’t traverse it alone in any way. 

Live Victorious

I have my own personal theory on how old the world actually is. I know, this is not an evolutionary debate, it’s a personal theory. You see, there are things I believe we will never know until God’s timing comes to fruition. The age of the earth is one of them. Some say millions of years. Young earth creationists say 3,000-5,000 years. I believe God created Adam with age, so why couldn’t He create the earth with age also? Does it really matter? I don’t know. But what I have always found intriguing is we date the passage of time forward and backward from 1 BC (Before Christ) to 1 AD. Anno Domini. The year of our Lord. The year Christ entered humanity. The year Christ entered our timeline.

So, here’s my personal theory, I believe my God is a God of order not chaos, a God of symmetry, perfectly balanced. You see examples of this all throughout creation. So, my personal theory is:

This present, physical earth will end exactly the number of days it took to come into its fullness upon Christ’s birth. Up until His birth, it was forming and waiting and groaning for a Savior. After His birth, it has been groaning to be set free from the bondage of sin plaguing its existence, longing for the day it will rejoice with God’s children upon His triumphant return. (Romans 8:19-23)

The rocks cry out. The heavens declare the glory of God even in their sin-burdened state. Can you even begin to imagine the song creation must be capable of singing when no longer burdened? When made new and whole? (Romans 1:20, Psalm 119)

So, if the earth is 3,000 years old, maybe we are closer to Christ’s return than we think. Another 1,000 years or so? But if the earth is millions of years old, we’ve got the gift of God’s abiding grace a while longer—long enough to tell more people about Jesus, to convince more to join the winning side.

Because that’s the point. Do you think it’s coincidence all of time and history are dated based on the year of our Lord? Either BC, before Christ inhabited His creation, or AD, after He came? When God allowed Christ’s birth to be our reference point for all time—time He doesn’t actually experience, nor is He limited by—God was making a statement.

Jesus literally changes everything. For all time, for all people, for everything. His birth, life, death, and resurrection mark the beginning of the end of death itself. He defeated death. He fought, bled, died, and lives to tell about it. He won. The battle for souls and eternity has already been won. If you choose to follow Jesus, you are in the encampment of the Victor. Your eternity with Him is secure. Death has no claim on your life anymore. (Hebrews 2:14, 1 Corinthians 15:54-57)

I want to live victorious. I desire to shine from the inside out with the glory of Jesus’ victory, with the joy of His triumph, with the hope of eternity with Him. My natural temperament is to be consumed by the hurt and burden of the lost, broken, and grief-stricken. My heart aches for those drowning in the dark sea of lies where I have almost drowned before as well. I see our world rejecting Jesus and His ways, and my heart screams, “Stop!!!! Wait!!! Come back! Go back!! Return!” I see our world hurtling toward the cliff of their own creation, an abyss into hell of their own choosing.

But no one hears anymore. Everyone is too busy shouting over everyone else. What can I do?

I can live victoriously, in my own life, within my own six feet of influence. I can choose to look up and focus unwaveringly on Christ (Hebrews 12:2). I can choose to study His words, knowing them so well they are ready on my lips to give an answer to anyone who asks (1 Peter 3:15). I can teach them to my children and build their foundation in the Lord strong and unwavering, so they know how to do the same for the next generation (Deuteronomy 18:11-21). I can choose God’s standard of living as my standard of living, and though I will fall short every day, I don’t lower the standard. I ask for forgiveness and accept His grace to live another day with my eyes laser-focused on my Jesus.

And it is and will continue to be hard. But you don’t lower the standard. Victory belongs to those who persevere and hold their ground (Hebrews 10:35-39). Christ goes before His people. He advances the charge and takes the ground. We are tasked with following Him and holding the ground He takes. Remember He’s already won! We don’t have to second guess His choices or waiver in our belief. He is a sure bet.

What ground in your life have you allowed the devil to occupy that Christ has already claimed victory for you and over you? Confess, repent, cling to truth and resist the devil. He will flee, and the ground you thought you’d lost will be yours again.

What standard have you lowered that needs raising once more? The Lord is your Strength. Lean into Him. He is the one helping you hold the line, hold His standard high. Victory can be a way of life, not just an end goal.

“Lord, I want to live this life with the joy of Your victorious triumph. Help me to view my trials and difficulties as ground You’ve already conquered, and now You’re asking me to hold fast and stay true as You continue to advance Your kingdom in me and through me. May my life reflect not just Your glory, Lord, but Your victory as well. Thank You for Jesus. Thank You for sending Your Son into time to be with us and save us for all eternity.”

The Truth About Six Feet

This is not another tirade about covid. It is here. It is part of the world we all navigate daily whether we like it not. I pray this space is about exposing lies and inserting truth. Lies come in all shapes, sizes, and packages. They are dressed to deceive. They can appear logical and safe, wise even. We can so easily tell lies and believe lies with no foul intention at all because those lies counterfeit the truth so well. Satan the deceiver is good at his job.

Jesus tells the truth because He is truth. (John 14:6)

The world told us not too long ago to remain six feet apart. Six feet would keep us safe. Six feet would protect others. Just six feet of distance. Yet, I have found those first six feet are a critical piece to the puzzle of life.

Jesus tells us to go into all the world and preach the gospel (Mark 16:15), and no matter where you go to fulfill that commandment and calling upon your life as a Christ-follower, your influence only begins within the first six feet of interaction with another person. Your influence is the first six feet in diameter around you. The six feet in diameter around you at any point in time during your day is your ministry. That is your mission field. It’s within this six feet Jesus broke bread and ate with sinners. It’s within six feet the bleeding woman found healing just touching his cloak. When Christ said, “Let the little children come unto Me (Matthew 19:14),” I’m sure He didn’t stop them at six feet. When He commands us to visit the prisoner and care for orphans and widows, this is done most effectively within the first six feet.

I just feel like it’s important to notice, call out, and debunk the lies our world so gently sells us or plasters to the ground every six feet inside a store.

You see, the devil knows the power of those first six feet. He knows how a hug gives comfort and hope. He knows how learning from someone and with someone side-by-side builds trust, loyalty, and a sense of camaraderie and belonging. To be in someone’s presence is to be seen, to be heard, and to be known. Go look up the term “deep fake” to see just how far the devil has used technology to remove truth from our daily lives. His plan is to isolate, separate, and divide, then attack, steal, kill, and destroy. Just watch any nature channel hunt to understand how separation from the herd leads to death.

Truth is a Person (John 14:6). Truth lives and breathes (Hebrews 4:12). It moves and has substance and purpose (Acts 17:28). Truth touches your soul as physically as a helping hand. Truth can hurt, but usually far less when a healthy relationship is in place. Because truth is a Person and not an idea, it can be observed over time, shared in trusted, intimate spaces, and be held with your own two hands when you read the inerrant words breathed by God Himself in the Bible (2 Timothy 3:16-17). All within six feet. To do any of this from a further distance or vantage point, is to be an observer, not someone who experiences. It’s the difference between being a follower in the crowd of Jesus or a disciple of Jesus. If you want to be in the room where it happens, you get up close and personal with the One who makes it all happen.

Not only do I want to be always within six feet of my Jesus, but I also want Him to use me as His hands and feet. I want to be the ambassador for Christ He calls me to be within the six feet of influence He gives me every day (2 Corinthians 5:20). Right now, that six feet mostly touches the lives of the three people living inside these four walls with me. So, I’m asking the Lord to open the eyes of my heart to the perimeter of my six feet of influence at any point in time and give me the words to speak and actions to take within my window of opportunity and influence. To the grocer ringing me up at the store or the self-checkout clerk. To the neighbor walking their dog on my trip to the mailbox. To the police officer who shows up at my door when I accidentally set my alarm off. To the woman who sits near me at Bible study, but I don’t know her name. To the soccer mom at practice who doesn’t know me and my story.

Every interaction with another person within six feet is an opportunity to share the light of Jesus with an ever-darkening world. Sometimes that person just needs to see you smile. They need you to make eye contact and see them. They may need you to hold their door or return their shopping cart. They may need the respect of a handshake or the gift of an attentive listener.

My world is small these days. My six feet of influence feels smaller than usual, but the truth is it’s always been six feet no matter what. My family are the ones who experience those six feet of influence the most, and I can choose to share it with them willingly with a joyful heart or allow sour attitudes to scare them away, making them flee away from my circle of influence. One day soon, their feet won’t pass through that circle so regularly and so close. I don’t want to waste my days of ministry at home yearning for days of ministry outside my home. No matter where I am, my field of influence is still only going to be six feet.

So, for now, I spend my days crafting Bible verses to pin to bulletin boards, tape to mirrors, and sprinkle in decoration around my home because that’s my six feet of ministry. I walk through the house and put things where they belong, straightening, organizing, creating a space for my family to feel at ease and safe—creating a space where than can feel seen, heard, and known because that’s my current six feet of influence. I walk around our home and say prayers for their future husband and wife as I pick up their messes and roll my eyes at their carelessness.

My six feet of influence may not always be full of people, but it is always full of Jesus. He walks with me, talks with me, and assures me I am His and I am doing His work. When my six feet needs to cross paths with more people, He is fully capable of making that happen. So, I endeavor to remain faithful in the talents He has entrusted, to steward what He has gifted well—that includes my time, energy, thoughts, and emotions, not just my money and my skills.

I cannot control or hope to influence outside of my six feet. None of us can. Therefore, Facebook rants and tirades in comments to others will never effect change. There’s too much distance between the influencer and the influenced. We must close the gap. It’s why rallies and peaceful protests can be effective—real people, rubbing shoulders inside each others’ six feet for a cause that matters to them.

Who gets to experience your six feet of influence? Do you need to reprioritize who those people are? Do you need to take time to bring your six feet closer to home? Or do you need to get out and take it to more people? Both are needed. Both are important. Where is God wanting you to steward your six feet of influence for this season of your life? Have you stopped to ask Him? Do you stay within six feet of His presence at all times, so you’re ready to turn on a dime when He says to the right or to the left? (Isaiah 30:21)

“Lord, break my heart for what breaks Yours. Keep me needing to be in Your presence. Use me to bring salt and light to a hurting world. May the six feet of influence You’ve given me for this life be used to glorify You and lead others to my Jesus and the abundant life He can fit into just six feet of diameter.”

Refilled and Poured Out

But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, so that the surpassing greatness of the power will be of God and not from ourselves. 2 Corinthians 4:7

 "Lord, all of You. None of me. Please just fill me up. I really have nothing to give."

This was my heart's desperate, quiet plea right before going on a mission trip. Before the trip even began, I was keenly aware I was leaving on empty. Emotionally, I was managing grief. Physically, I was managing sickness. Mentally, I was drained by the preparations for leaving my family at home to go and minister to others besides them.

My Jesus showed up. Every day in a different way, God just showed up. All week.

Looking back, I just marvel. I was drained in every sense of the word, but also filled with a peace, joy and satisfaction that only comes from being an empty vessel used for God's purposes. Life felt abundantly full, yet I was keenly aware of just how empty I was in all the best ways.

I remember a friend questioning me at that point in my life. She thought I was stretched too thin. She cautioned something had to give eventually. Right? Maybe? Maybe not.

What if our capacity for serving God and being used in His kingdom is simply a matter of how much capacity we allow for being completely emptied by Him for His purposes every day? By how long we are willing to sit still in His presence and be refilled for the pouring out? What if it's that simple?

People say, "I can't do that. I don't have the money for that. I'm not gifted for that. That's not my strength. I could never commit to that. I can't give up that. I don't know how I can make that happen. I don't think I have the time."  And the list goes on. I've said all these things at one point in my life.  

Enter truth. God doesn't fit inside a box of I that I create. I'm limited, but He isn't. I can't sometimes, but He always can. Where I am weak and empty, He is strong and overflowing. However, I rarely experience His abundance because I'm too busy operating within the box of I where I create and I control. Inside this box are the things I know I can do, the things I know I am good at doing, things where I already have the resources, and the things I'm sure of accomplishing in my own ways and strength.

I can live a good, moral, godly life accomplishing those things inside the box of I, but I only experience the promised ABUNDANT life when I'm at the very end of myself with nothing left to offer or give, and yet I still say, "Yes," to God's calling, ways, plan, will, commands. I still walk through those open doors of opportunity He presents even when it's scary and hard, and I have nothing to offer but a vessel willing to be filled by Him.

Today, I'm sitting in a season of refilling. For a type-A, productive personality, this desert of activity feels like a punishment. Yet, I know and trust my Jesus. This is not a punishment; it is a gift--a season of refilling. I'm in a place where I know I need more of Him and His ideas and His plans and less of mine. Oh, I'm still trying. Trying to fill my days and my time, but He keeps putting me right back in my home and whispering, "Wait. Renew. Refresh. Find Me with you here. In this space."

The seasons of refilling are just as important as the seasons of pouring.

I wonder how many of you are willing to let go, take a step of faith, and step into a yes to God in your life that does not fit in your box of I? I wonder what glory and power God will display through you when you do? I wonder how many of you need to accept your season of refilling and discover God's abiding presence in your desert of activity?

"Father, I know my box of I well. I know what I'm good at, where I can serve, where I can add to Your kingdom, but I submit to Your plan, Your process of renewal. I will wait, I will pray, and I will seek Your face, and should the day ever come again when the rate at which I'm being poured out seems too great and too much, I will cling to You in that day as well, knowing You alone can turn water into wine and make two loaves of bread feed 5,000. You are the Source and the Gift; I am just the vessel. Use me as You see fit, Lord."

Only Still Waters Ripple

My days and my season are quiet. I’ve moved my family and spent the past month creating a home of comfort, support, and safety for them. The pictures are hung, furniture placed, and food is in the pantry. If I were to do nothing else from this day forward, my home is lovely, inviting, and cozy.

Now what?

There is a quiet in this home I have not known before—a stillness begging to be absorbed. Like so many I know, my mind and physical body rage against stillness. Stillness in my mind is equated with uselessness, laziness, and lack of purpose, drive, and achievement.

Yet here I am. Feeling forced to be still for lack of no other choice. My Jesus is faithful to meet me here. I am never alone. This morning, in my reading, He gave me this promise and this challenge:

“The Lord will fulfill His purpose for me. Psalm 138:8……What a blessing to lose our own strength, wisdom, plans, and desires and to be where every ounce of our being becomes like a peaceful Sea of Galilee under the omnipotent feet of Jesus!” (Cowan, Streams in the Desert, pg. 345, 1997.)

The Lord WILL fulfill His purpose for me. In my mind’s eye, the word will is bold-faced and in all caps every time I read that verse. It’s as if the Lord is stamping His promise into my soul to keep the fires of hope alive. He does see me, exactly where I am. He is working His purposes even in this stillness. He has a plan for my life He will fulfill. My Jesus wants me to cling to Him and wait and not lose hope.

He is Lord of the insignificant too. What I often view as meaningless, He is already weaving into the plan of eternity. I hear Him whisper in the quiet, “Trust Me.” If it wasn’t so quiet in my life right now, I wonder if I would hear Him so clearly?

Then the challenge! To consider it a blessing to be given a clean slate, to be stripped of my strength, wisdom, plans, and desires?!?! I’m not sure I’m there yet, but I can tell you the process is painful. To wake up every day with only the day before you, trusting God to fill it as He sees fit, unable to use the gifts He’s given except in the small realm of the four walls where you generally just exist. Every fiber of my being rages and strives, and I inwardly scream at the Lord, “Give me more! There must be more I can do for You! There must be more You want me to accomplish!” Only to be answered by the quiet stillness of this home, this season, this space in time, and my Jesus’ abiding presence.

You see, my soul is not a peaceful Sea of Galilee…yet. Lucky for me, my Jesus walks on the water in the middle of the storms of life as well, and He brings the peace with Him. I do want my life to be a peaceful sea for His feet to tread. I want His every step on my life to ripple as far as the eye can see, so that when people encounter my life, they can’t help but be touched by the ripple effect of His feet walking across my deep waters.

Only still waters ripple.

“Father, forgive me for raging against the stillness You have given. Make my life as still as it needs to be for You to ripple across the surface, for all who encounter me, to encounter You.”

Forgiven, Not Perfect

There’s a misperception about Christ-followers that we are perfect people with perfect lives. That joy flows from our pores; unicorns and rainbows our constant companions. Even as a Christian, I often feel I have failed to represent Jesus well when these are not my realities or outlooks on life. But that’s not truth. Truth is I am a broken woman even after 35 years of following Jesus. I live in a broken and hurting world, and I am just as affected by the marching beat of its sin as the next person.

The difference is I choose to look to Jesus to save me—not myself, a job, a calling, a passion, or another person. Even in pursuit of Him, I fail.

Truthfully, I haven’t spent much time in God’s Word these past few weeks, not with the regularity that saved me and kept me sane during quarantine, not daily. Since the move, I’ve been low, down, fighting feelings of uselessness, worthlessness, and meaninglessness. I know all these feelings can be combated with time in God’s Word, allowing Him to fill my heart and mind, but the depression begs me to sleep.

It beckons me to stay in bed and pretend another day doesn’t need my presence a little while longer. It is a sneaky, difficult foe to fight. The worship music I play around the house is a soothing reminder of my Jesus keeping the darkness at bay.

I always wonder why I allow myself to fall into this trap. Why don’t I make time to fellowship with the Lord? Why do I allow myself to neglect time with Him when I know it only helps and never hurts? When I reflect, I come up with three deeply honest answers…

One, I silently, secretly blame God for putting me in this season, in this waiting room. In response, I think I can “punish” Him by withdrawing my fellowship. What a fool, I can be in my own pride. As if the Creator can be punished by the created. The truth is I only punish myself because fellowship with Him is the breath I breathe, the very air in my lungs. (Job 33:4) Not to mention, what a petty, vindictive way to treat the Man who wants nothing but the best for me; Who’s sacrificed everything to prove His love for me and asked only for my trust in return.

Second, I’m tired. I’m sad. I’m in the process of healing. It takes time to recover. It takes energy—heart, mind, body, and soul—to recuperate from a hard hit. Big life changes are hard hits. Even the ones you see coming, the ones for which you think you’ve prepared, still hurt on impact. My Jesus knows this, and He gives grace to the weary. I may not be reading His Word the way I know I should, but I also know He’s pouring His grace out over me and into my life. I can feel it when I close my eyes and give thanks for the small things. He never leaves me.

Third, like most people I know in life, I hate admitting when I’m wrong. There are days I willingly choose not to engage in God’s Word. I choose television, tasks, chores, phone calls, word games, internet scrolling, shopping, sleep, or even exercise, but I won’t choose time with my Jesus. Because I am stubborn, and I know meeting with Him requires a humbled heart willing to confess my sins and ask for forgiveness. It requires a willingness to let go of what I want in life, so I can receive what He wants to give. Sometimes, my stubborn, prideful heart just wants to hold on to what I want a little while longer. Yet, I cannot receive more of Him while also holding on with both hands to what I want.

Right now, when I do read my Bible, I’m reading through Acts. This past week there was one verse in the chapter that has held my mind’s eye ever since, even on the days I’ve chosen not to engage in His Word.

Acts 3:19: “Therefore repent and return, so that your sins may be wiped away, in order that times of refreshing may come from the presence of the Lord.”

Isn’t my Jesus precious? Isn’t He gracious and good? When I read this verse, when it replays in my mind, it is not the voice of a sidewalk preacher. It is the voice of the Lover of my Soul pleading with me to come home and be with Him. Not begging as if He needs me but pleading out of love and concern because only He knows what is best for me, and He wants me to choose what’s best. He wants me to choose Him. To repent of my pride and foolishness and stubbornness, and simply return to His side where He promises my weary, hurting, healing heart, mind, and soul will be refreshed by His presence.

This friends, this makes all the difference. Christ-followers aren’t perfect; they are forgiven, and when we’re doing it well, when we’re living in the freedom of that forgiveness, there is a peace and joy and love that flows from the Holy Spirit dwelling with us. Emmanuel, God with us. You see Christians mess up just as much and just as badly as anyone else in this world, sometimes worse. But we’ve learned the art of admitting/confessing our mistakes, owning them, asking for forgiveness, and moving forward with another clean slate in the eyes of our God because of the shed blood of Christ. His mercies are new every morning and great is His faithfulness to His children (Lamentations 3:22-23)!

“Father, forgive me for my childishness. Forgive me for thinking I could punish You, Creator of the Universe. Forgive me for leaning into my weariness instead of leaning into You. Forgive me for my pride. Thank You for always being with me. Thank You that You never leave or forsake me no matter how often I leave and forsake You. Thank You for the promise of refreshing in Your presence. I’m here, Lord, with open hands. Fill me with more of You.”

Count Your Blessings

This blog is both old and new. I started writing it years ago I think, but today it hits fresh as I commit to this practice once more. Challenged by a friend to join her in being grateful, I then combed through my writings to find this—a reminder of where I once was, and where I am again, and how God gently reminds us to be filled by Him, His Word, His promises, His commands. In this season of emptiness, but being filled, I need this discipline. I’m asking the Lord to give me eyes to see the things for which I can be grateful.

 

So, I've started counting my blessings—again—and literally. I've taken to the simple task of making a list of 5-10 things every day for which I'm grateful. Lists of gratefulness, lists of gifts, lists of blessings. Sometimes I jot them quickly at the beginning of my day and sometimes at the end. I even find myself speaking them out loud in my car sometimes, "I am grateful for...."

 

And once again, I'm blown away by the change this simple discipline is making in my life.

 

You see, we talk about the knowledge of the things we know. We know we have things for which to be grateful. We know we are blessed. Our head acknowledges this, but does our heart feel it? If you want to feel a thought, we all inevitably must put action to it. The Bible calls it obedience (James 1:22). His Word says to give thanks, over and over again in scripture. 1 Thessalonians 5:18 actually says it is God’s will that we do so in everything! The thoughts in my head are only that...thoughts. God knows them, but Satan doesn't, your family doesn't, sometimes even we ourselves are not cognizant of them until they have flesh and bones, until they are words written on a page or given the breath of life by being spoken out loud. 

 

Give thanks. Give is an action, not a passive thought. Give of your time by making the list. Give of your energy by saying the words out loud. Give simply but give. Obey. Even when you don't want to, especially if you don't want to. And when you can't give thanks, when life hurts too much and you can't see a single gift to count, ask a friend what they see in your life and give someone else the gift of being a blessing to you in your darkest need.

 

I have been in dark places. Sat in dark pits of my heart and mind. I chose to quest for joy some time ago. I chose to treasure hunt for joy because I love Jesus, and He says joy is a fruit of His Spirit which I know resides within me (Galatians 5:22), so I have a right to joy, my life in Christ produces the byproduct of joy, not just for others to experience, but for myself as well.  If I believe this to be true, then I need to know what joy is to experience it in my life. I need to know how God defines joy, how He sees it, how He gifts it, and how I can recognize it in my own life.

 

It is a quest for sure, maybe a lifelong one. Psalm 16:11 has proven to be truth time and time again: I have found joy to be God's presence. Anywhere, anything where you can actively acknowledge, see, proclaim the presence of the Lord, there is joy. I find Him in His creation, so I take long walks on the beach and could stare at the ocean for hours. (Well, this was a favorite. I’m trusting God to fill this area as well with something new.) I find His presence in small blessings throughout my day, but to appreciate all those blessings, I need to write them down, to capture the thought, to make it captive to daylight and pen and paper and reality (2 Corinthians 10:5). 

 

Counting God's gifts releases joy from a spiritual plane into our earthly one. I need this in my life right now. I need the power of the Spirit to be fresh wind and fresh fire in my soul here, now, in this physical world. I want the Spirit Himself to fill my sails and propel me forward into where God is leading next, so I will begin with the simplest of disciplines. I will give thanks.

 

Thank You, Father, that I know Georgia is where You alone have led us.

Thank You that I don’t have to second guess this decision.

Thank You for gifting us a home that is just the right size.

Thank You for a husband who sees me and our family in our pain and seeks to serve You first and us second.

Thank You for children who love You, Father, who are rooted firmly in Your truth.

Thank You for the school You built in California that prepared them to be light in Georgia.

Thank You for the truth of Your Word that is an anchor to the soul.

Thank You for being with me when I seek Your presence.

Thank You for the gift of Your only Son, so I can experience the gift of Your very presence with me every day.

Thank You for the blue of my pool in the backyard that reminds me of the ocean.

Thank You for the towering trees of green wrapping this home in beauty.

Thank You for white paint and daylight light bulbs to brighten a space.

Thank You for sunlight that filters through the shade to enlighten dark spaces adding beauty, warmth, and shine as it does so.

Thank You for all the ways Your creation declares Your glory, Lord (Psalm 19:1). May I be a reflection of You as well.

 

 

Getting Comfortable with Uncomfortable

I can feel the rumblings of a new beginning. I’ve been here before. I am resistant. That’s the problem with getting comfortable in life.

Seven years ago, when I was alone and uncomfortable in life, I walked the California beaches alone and prayed desperately for God to meet me and to bring friends into my life. He answered far above and beyond what I could have hoped or imagined.

In time, life got good, comfortable. I stopped praying to meet new people. I stopped praying for God use to me because I was being used daily within the circle of people He had already given. In some ways, I stopped needing Him because He had provided all that I had trusted Him to provide.

That’s not a bad place to be! If I’ve learned anything, I want to recognize and enjoy the good gifts of the Lord—every day. I want to be grateful for His blessings and answered prayers while also always seeking Him for more. Not more things or people or experiences, but more of Himself, more of what He wants for my life. That’s what you stop doing as much when life gets comfortable or predictable even. You forget Jesus is always calling you to more of Himself.

Don’t you think God knows this? He knows that change is good for us. It feeds our souls. It stretches and strengthens us in ways we cannot orchestrate for ourselves. I truly believe if we ever get too comfortable and slow the pace of seeking His face, He will gift change to break the spell of comfort. We can seek change for ourselves willingly, or we will be given change unexpectedly. We can accept this is what is best, or we can fight tooth and nail against the changing tide. Change is inevitable in life, much like death. To refuse to acknowledge the presence of either in this life is foolishness.

And much like death, change must be grieved. Anger, denial, sadness, acceptance—these are all part of the process of change. Our culture doesn’t like the emotions of anger, denial, and sadness. It frowns upon their presence. We don’t know how to sit and just be with people who are angry, in denial, or sad, so we often leave them alone until they’ve reached acceptance. When they’ve had time to accept is when it’s safe to reach out. Until they’ve reached acceptance, investing in them means weathering hurt feelings, irrational outbursts, frustrating mindsets, and tears—so many tears.

Yet, those are the people I treasure! The ones who lean in and take nothing personally when “attacked” because they’re wise enough to know there’s more going on under the surface than themselves. They stay. They connect. They seek the ones who can’t seek for themselves right now.

Isn’t that what Jesus did? He went to the people hurting and seeking and always met them right where they were. He leaned in and got dirty and sat with them in their homes. He listened to their cries, spoke with them in the dark, and gently showed them truth. He gave them the gift of Himself—His presence, His attention, His truth, His time, His acceptance of their shortcomings. He spoke most harshly to those who would judge these in their anger, denial, and sadness.

My life just got flipped, turned upside down, and I’ve been taking a minute to process here in Georgia. I’m back to the lonely days of just me and Jesus. I’m back to seeking His company first. I probably should have never stopped. I’m soaking in my time with just Him because I’ve learned it’s during this hard season of quiet stillness and waiting, when Jesus sits with you that the enormity of His presence fills and stretches the heart slowly. For me, He uses this time to not just allow wounds to rest and heal but to strengthen the muscles of my heart I will need to move forward, to enlarge and make space in me for what He will provide to fill.

It’s uncomfortable to be stretched, sometimes even painful. But like I said, I’ve been here before. I trust the process a little bit more this time around. I know these quiet days won’t last. God will fill them in His time in ways He sees best; I need only wait and watch and be ready.

“So, Father, fill me with You. Fill all of me. Stretch me with Your great abiding presence. I will wait. I will wait for You to move first, and where You go, I will go because I know now, You’ve already walked the path ahead of me, and You know what I need today to be ready for tomorrow. So, I trust You bottle all my tears, Lord. Not one of them is shed in secret or in vain. Thank You for valuing and loving me enough to change me, to mold me into Your unique creation. Thank You that even in the pain of the grief of change, You are with me. I am never alone.”

Further In and Further Up

At the end of the Last Battle by C.S. Lewis, as the world of Narnia is ending, a magnificent door is opened to Aslan’s land and all who enter gain a renewed strength and vigor and joy. As they begin to run faster and faster with no effort or strain or difficulty, Aslan encourages them with these words, “Further in and further up! Further in and further up!”

Those words ring in my ears as we begin to close the final chapter of our California book. My Jesus has opened a new door in Georgia, and I can hear His encouragement, I feel His presence by my side, and while I am not taking my steps daily without much effort, every movement forward feels like trudging through a muddy mire, difficult, tedious and laden with sadness, still I hear Him gently whisper, “Keep going. Further in and further up.” And in that encouragement, my soul stirs with small sparks of hope. There is more ahead and more beyond.

Onward and upward. The way through the muck and mire and mud of life is always further in and further up, forward and higher ground. I find myself re-reading and meditating on Psalm 121 through these difficult days. A psalm of ascent, nonetheless. How fitting.

Psalm 121 (NIV)

A song of ascents.

¹ I lift up my eyes to the mountains—
    where does my help come from?
² My help comes from the Lord,
    the Maker of heaven and earth.

³ He will not let your foot slip—
    he who watches over you will not slumber;
⁴ indeed, he who watches over Israel
    will neither slumber nor sleep.

⁵ The Lord watches over you—
    the Lord is your shade at your right hand;
⁶ the sun will not harm you by day,
    nor the moon by night.

⁷ The Lord will keep you from all harm—
    he will watch over your life;
⁸ the Lord will watch over your coming and going
    both now and forevermore.

As I read this psalm, I realize the traveler is not ascending…yet. They lift their eyes because the ascent is ahead. Onward and upward, further in and further up. They are probably still in the valley, maybe the valley of the shadow of death. They must keep going and go through what lies ahead, but their help comes from the Lord where they lift their eyes to focus.

This is where I am. Resolute in lifting my eyes daily to Whom my help comes from. The tears will fall, and the steps are hard, but I am determined to go further in and further up with my Jesus on the path He has charted. Not once has He left my side. Never once have I ever walked alone.

Maybe you too find yourself in the muck and mire and mud of life. The steps are hard and sticky. Lift your eyes. Set your gaze ahead. Further in and further up. The valley and the bog will have an end, but until they do there is always more of Jesus to know. Dive further into Him, and He will lead you further up. He makes the journey worthwhile. He gives it meaning.

I’m going by the upper road, for that still holds the sun,

I’m climbing through night’s pastures where the starry rivers run:

If you should think to seek me in my old dark abode,

You’ll find this writing on the door, “(S)he’s on the Upper Road.”

–selection from Streams in the Desert, July 2. (Emphasis mine)

We're Moving--What It Looks Like to Follow

In December we got the phone call that made it official. Summer of 2021, our family would move back to Georgia.

We had known for over a year this was the direction we might be heading. We had talked about it in brief conversations, always putting it off for another day or month until we just couldn’t put it off any longer.

But that phone call made it very real and very permanent. This chapter is closing for our family and a new one is about to begin.

And before the well-meaning love and excitement of friends and family from the east coast begins to pour in, I need you all to know, I love you, but I don’t want to leave California.

A piece of my heart will always call Georgia home. It’s where the seeds of my faith, beliefs, and family values were planted, watered, and grown.  

But California is where my soul has sung a song I didn’t know I could sing. I have found an intimacy with my Jesus, my husband, my children, and my friendships I didn’t know was possible.

To leave the life we have built here is an act of pure, submitted obedience to how we feel the Lord is leading both Joey and I in our prayers and conversations with the Lord. We go where our God sends us, no questions asked, just trust.

It was the story of the sending of Abraham that moved us out here (Genesis 12), and it is the story of Abraham sacrificing Isaac moving me back (Genesis 22).

Because I am not the same person returning as I was when I left. Seven years of my highest highs and lowest lows, of relying on my family of four, of learning to depend upon strangers who became family, of self-reflection and therapy and stretching myself—seven years of talking to God first and more because sometimes He was the only One around to listen. I am not who I was when I left, and my soul longs to stay. The calling of Abraham to sacrifice his promised heir and beloved son feels very relatable with this move. I feel I am being asked to sacrifice all the promises God fulfilled of my own dreams here in California, trusting He knows best and has better plans ahead.

I wanted California to be my Promised Land. I wanted to put down roots here and bask in the beauty of its coastlines, the wonder of the ocean, and majesty of the mountains for all my days. To live here is to have access to adventure and exploration every weekend for the rest of your life. On my down days, my low days, riding waves in the frigid ocean is refreshing, renewing, and rejuvenating. In the chill of the water, the weight of the world washes away, and I’m left like a child with the thrill of the moment right in front of me. I am fully present. Salt, wave, ocean, sunset, bonfire, my children playing, my framily laughing—fully present in the gifts of God in my life. Soaking them all into my being like the sunshine that is always present. Never wishing to be somewhere else.

I love my Peach State home, and in the fall, I will relish the crisp temperatures, the need for fuzzy sweaters, and the sound of leaves rustling. In the spring, I will smile at cherry blossoms and how the world comes alive with green. I will reconnect with family and find joy in the journey of high school for my children, but I’m not sure I will ever not wish to be somewhere else.

Part of me prays that’s not true, that the ache of leaving will fade, and part of me prays I can carry the weight of wanting because the people in California I will want to be with are that dear to me. For them to cease being a part of my life, feels like a death I cannot bear.

There is not a day that passes I don’t shed at least one small tear over saying goodbye, over last experiences here on the west coast, over a chapter in a book that is ending, and you just wish it weren’t. It was that good. It is that good. I’d reread it again and again.  

But there is a peace that surpasses all understanding (Philippians 4:6). A peace that only comes from my Jesus Who abides with me daily. We already have a home. The Lord quite literally handed us the perfect house on a silver platter in the middle of downtown Marietta paying below appraisal. If that’s not a modern-day parting of the Red Sea in today’s real estate climate, I don’t know what is. The Lord has given us a peace and a path for sending our kids to Marietta City Schools for education next year. This will be their first experience with public school, and I covet your prayers for them and for me. Again, another choice covered in supernatural peace, shrouded in its own layers of the unknown.

It’s difficult to describe the inner tug-of-war inside my mind, but my soul is at peace. I rest assured God will not lead me anywhere He has not already been Himself, nor somewhere He will not go with me.

We are not told much about Abraham’s emotions, thoughts, or reactions as he made that trek to Mount Moriah with Isaac. Was he angry at God? Did he curse and mumble under his breath as he cut the wood for the sacrifice of his son? Did tears of great grief and fear fall from his eyes as his aged hands shakily packed the knife that would take his son? Did he set his course with eyes fixed full of hope knowing His God was true, no matter the cost? We don’t know.

And I think we don’t know because it doesn’t matter. Abraham’s emotions, reasons and thoughts were all secondary to his obedience. In the end, how he got to the point of obedience was not as important as the actual act of walking by faith and loving nothing on this earth more than he loved God.

I want that kind of faith and trust in Jesus as my legacy. I have screamed and wept and hoped also on this journey to leave California, but in the end, what will matter, what does matter, is our family will obey and follow in faith where the Lord leads, no matter the cost. I have no reason to believe my Jesus will not provide every step of the journey, one moment at a time. He has already gone before us. He has already made smooth so many rocky paths. He has remained true and so must I.

Like so many stories in the Bible, Abraham’s is not just a story, it’s an example to follow. It’s the instructions to life we so desperately seek, crave, and beg God to give. He already has. He’s given us all we need for life and godliness in the scriptures and the Holy Spirit, all made possible by the death and resurrection of his only begotten, beloved Son (2 Peter 1:3, 2 Timothy 3:16). Maybe one of the things I love most about my Jesus is He never asks me to walk the path of an experience He does not already know intimately Himself (Hebrews 4:15). The details may look different, but the emotions of the heart are the same. He knows what it takes to do what He asks from first-hand experience.

Why would I not follow? How could I ever think I have a better plan or better way? Where He goes, I go. His people will be my people, and His land my land (Ruth 1:16). ‘Til death we unite. To live is Christ and to die is gain (Philippians 1:21). The older I get, the longer I follow, the more that phrase makes sense.

What do you choose to follow so passionately you willingly sacrifice all that is most dear to you? Is it worth it? My Jesus is always worth it.

Own Your Story

Three years have passed since I first penned the following words. Three years. I don’t live in this dark space as much as often anymore, but I still do the work to keep the darkness at bay. Every day.

Someone reading this needs to hear these honest words. I know I’m not alone. I know depression threatens the life force of so many in our culture—another weapon of Satan’s to deaden our souls. Yet when cast at the feet of Jesus, He has used it as a tool to soften and sharpen me at the same time. In Jesus’ hands, my struggles with depression have grown me, matured me, and drawn me closer to Him. He is my True Savior in every way.

So read these words with grace and compassion for those you may know who also struggle. For those who battle silently, maybe even yourself…...

 

 “I live inside a cage my mind has built. I’m not sure when the cage started to form. I could point to early signs of anxiety in middle school, so one could blame hormones and puberty. I could point to an OCD like ambition in school, a need for perfectionism that I’m sure docked years off my life as I lived utterly stressed until I graduated Summa Cum Laude from college. Those words look nice on a diploma now, but they carry no weight, no meaning--just a reminder that I lost sight of life going on around me earlier than some.

I got married soon after and discovered I was equally good at analyzing myself and my husband as I was my schoolteachers and assignments. Living life became a subject to analyze and respond accordingly in order to pass. No wonder when the unexpected adult disappointments in life began to pile up, I was emotionally unprepared to fail. And failure took its toll.

I failed. Often. Over and over again. I became keenly aware and scarred by every failure.

If someone reading this hears one thing in this message, hear me say I desperately want to be rid of the negative, fatalistic, dream-killing attitude I have toward life sometimes. I WANT to be my biggest cheerleader because I’m everyone else’s. I desperately desire for my feelings to match the good actions and choices I choose to make in life. I’ve prayed for relief, for healing from this mind curse. I’ve begged God to increase my faith, so that doubt and second guessing and paranoia wouldn’t cloud my judgement. That my energy wouldn’t be sucked away from inward mind battles--battles spent capturing every thought, all the time, 24/7.

And so far, God has only answered all my prayers with a therapist, some anti-depressants, and now a psychiatrist referral. How did this happen? Why is this happening? Is this who I’ve always been? I don’t think so. In my mind’s eye, I may have been stressed for most of my life, but I was happy. I think I was. Was I? Depression makes you doubt everything about yourself. It skews reality, casting long dark shadows over the brightest memories, and promising nothing but rain clouds on the horizon.

And so, I take the meds, and I make and keep the appointments, but I grieve for the person I use to be so many years ago. I grieve the loss and dampening of her drive and spirit. I grieve because she had a great life and good years surrounded by good people. I grieve because I’ve prayed for her to be returned to me, and my answer is therapists, drugs, and a psychiatrist.

And I’m angry. Angry that this is the answer to my prayers. Angry that the mind God gave me is being given this weight to carry, this thorn in the flesh. We all have our “thing” I’m told, and I’m seething mad that mine is depression. 

So, I guess I’ve hopped around all over the stages of grief over this topic for many, many years now. The only stage I’ve never landed in is acceptance. How do I accept that my children will grow up with a depressed mother? How do I accept that my husband may never have the bride of his youth again? He deserves so much better. How do I accept that this disease of the mind will bleed into and taint every relationship I choose to make from here on out in my life? How do I not crawl into a hole and give up? How do I ever regain my energy for life when it’s being spent daily on managing my mind? How do I accept this new reality?

I don’t know.

My favorite devotion, Streams in the Desert, says, “Unbelief continually asks, ‘How can this be possible?’ It is always full of ‘how’s’, yet faith needs only one great answer to even ten thousand ‘how’s’. That answer is--GOD!” 

God. Jesus. The Bible.

Such simple answers to all the difficult questions. I used to be ok with these answers. I used to trust them unwaveringly. The core of me still does, but life has taken its toll. Unexplainable, unfathomable tragedies have left their doubts embedded deep in my faith. Oh, me of little faith. “Lord, increase my faith and help me to believe again with the fervor of my youth.” All these realities I confess and lay before the feet of my Jesus. I pray these prayers and hope and look for signs of healing.

Acceptance looks like, maybe, that I’m not supposed to be healed. I will be helped, never alone, never forsaken, never devalued in the sight of my King, but never healed. Oh, me of little faith? I don’t know. I don’t think so. Not this time. I think acceptance looks like being able to admit I have chronic depression and not just resign myself to a life of managing it but choose to commit myself to a life of managing it. Instead of being depression’s hapless victim, I must trust that my God is bigger, claim His victory over my life, and walk like I am more than a conqueror in Christ Jesus my Lord (Romans 8:31-39), gaze shifted high and fixed on the eyes of my Jesus who loves me with an undying, unchangeable, relentless love. He will not fail me though I will fail Him.

My mind may churn and spin, but Jesus is not chaos. He is a Strong Refuge, an Anchor, a Rock, and He is mighty to save (Zephaniah 3:17). He makes me lie down in green pastures and leads me beside still waters. (Psalm 23)

My outlook on life may weigh heavy with what is bleak, but Jesus is Light in the darkness (John 1:4-5). He is Hope (1 Peter 1:3-6). His yoke is easy and burden light compared to going it alone without Him (Matthew 11:28-30). When I walk through the valleys of deaths in all forms in this life, His rod and staff comfort and guide me.

My body grows weak from this physical fight, but my Jesus is Strong. He is the embodiment of all Strength. He will give me the gift of Himself to help me bear up under that which is too much for me to bear alone. He will give me the wings of the eagle to soar (Isaiah 40:31).

All these truths I know, but do not feel. That doesn’t make them lies.

Acceptance looks like choosing joy instead of feeling joy. When I figure out what that looks like practically, I’ll let you know.

Acceptance looks like me owning this part of my story and being willing to share it, instead of hiding in the shame of the stigma.

Accepting this new reality is scary and hard, and maybe I won’t. Maybe tomorrow I’ll be better. Yet acceptance knows that is a lie. There is no “better” when it comes to depression, there is managed. The question isn’t, ‘Do I feel better today?’, the question now becomes, ‘Am I managing well today?’ 

Accepting this new reality means not getting offended when people close to me ask if I’ve been taking my medication. Accountability and support are vital for anyone who is sick.

Acceptance looks like owning this as part of my story, but not letting it define who I am in Christ.”

 

…… And this is the path I have traveled. Will travel. For three years, I have taken a pill every morning when I put on my deodorant. For three years I’ve check in with a therapist at minimum once a month. I exercise regularly. I watch what I eat. I know my triggers and the signs of an impending crash. I can ask for solitude, and I schedule self-care and sabbath.

But most importantly of all—of all the work, of all the treatments—I spend time with my Jesus. Every day in some way. He is crucial to my mental health. He is the foundation making all the other treatments effective. They are all necessary, but He is essential. Without Him at the foundation of it all, the treatments fail in my own strength. They are not enough because without the source of His power in my life, I am not enough. Anyone trying to convince themselves otherwise is sadly mistaken and foolishly misled.

Today, I don't feel healed from depression, but I am at peace with how the Lord has chosen to help me. He may choose to heal me completely one day because He can, but if He doesn't, His grace is sufficient for today (2 Corinthians 12:9). I'm not angry anymore about popping a pill every day. I'm not ashamed either. Acceptance is still a work in progress. Finding joy and feeling it still a journey, but one I don't walk alone. Never alone (Matthew 28:20).

We are a world surrounded by embattled hearts and minds. Tread lightly. Recognize the rock of judgement heavy in your hand before you throw it. And maybe more importantly for some, remember to give yourself the grace you give to others so well.

How will you tap into the Source of acceptance and ownership of your thorns in the flesh? Your hard things? Today, how will you show grace toward someone who’s trying to reach their point of acceptance and ownership? How can you be Jesus or give Jesus to someone today, even if that someone is yourself?

 

He Uses It All

It's been eight years today since the Lord took her home. This year the sadness didn't build and crash like a tidal wave.  It is present and under the surface, but my walk with the Lord over the last eight years has grown an acceptance of her loss like moss on a stone. The acceptance helps take the edge off the sharp edges of grief. Instead of a tidal wave, this week is a strong surf week--manageable. 

Part of me doesn't appreciate this new found softness. It still feels wrong, like a betrayal, to not ache and hurt today the same as I did eight years ago. It feels like I love her less or have forgotten her more if the pain isn't as acute, but that's not true. If anything, I may love her more today than I did eight years ago.

Because the other thing I have a hard time admitting--I wouldn't be the person I am today had her death not turned my world upside down and inside out. 

I like the person I am today. Her death was the catalyst for a deeper relationship with the Lord I'm not sure I would have sought. The struggle through the darkness of the grief and the reality of depression's hold in my life have made me stronger and wiser. Carrying, feeling, and living through the pain, despite the pain, has taught me lessons about compassion and hope no other circumstances could have taught.

I HATE that eight years later her death has been the life event I attribute to molding me into a better human being. I would gladly give up all the growth I've experienced in the last eight years just to hug her neck again. 

But then, it's not about what I want. It never has been. It never will be. It's about the person God wants me to be. It's about the masterpiece my Jesus is creating with my life for His purposes, and only He knows the tools and life lessons and ways and methods needed to accomplish His end result. Only He can take the horrible and make it beautiful in time, in ways no one thought to look. Whether He caused her death or allowed her death really makes no difference. The truth is He has continued to make beauty from ashes, to work life for good for those of us who have called on His name in our hours of need.

And I'm only one witness to her life. One story. There are more. So many more.

Though our loved ones leave us, God still uses them to further His purposes through us, through our stories. We honor them with lives well-lived. We honor their lives by battling our grief instead of hiding from it. No, we live to tell the story of another day, to tell their story another day. Whether our story is one of personal defeat or victory, the power and redemption comes from having a story to tell, to share, to live. So both our deepest lows and highest highs have the same redemptive value when you own your story and share it.

Their deaths only lose meaning when the ones they leave behind stay stuck in the past and don't press forward into the future. Too many bitter, pitiful souls have gotten lost in the quagmire of unprocessed grief. When you're stuck in the muck, you lose sight of your purpose all together, and it takes work and support to escape.

"Thank you Jesus for orchestrating circumstances that made me work hard to move through the grief. Thank you for the support You Yourself provided in Yourself and through Your people who prayed, hugged me through tears, and just walked with me. Thank you that my life can be a testimony to the fact that her death wasn't a waste. Help me to continue to honor her story with my story by submitting to Your story for us both. In the same way Father, may my life be a testimony to the fact that Your death wasn't a waste either. May the good in my life always reflect Your glory and my sin testify to Your grace and forgiveness. Continue to use it all, Lord--the ugly deaths and beautiful births and everything in between. Use it all and use me too, Father."

Speak With Care

“Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen.” Ephesians 4:29

Her text stung. Sharp. She was a dear friend. Why would she respond to me that way? I quelled the gut instinct to shoot back something snarky. Instead, the hurt took root. I wanted to call her and talk about how badly the text hurt. Work it out. Tell her the truth about what she had said and how she had spoken was unkind to me. Another friend, privy to the situation, wisely pointed out she had sent the text out of her own place of hurt.

I took a step back to consider and realized this was true. My dear friend loved me, but the conversation we were having at the time of the incident had struck a deep chord of hurt in herself. I had done nothing wrong, but the truth I had given her had been too much to bear, so she defended by lashing out.

Hurting people hurt people. I had a choice to make. Be the hurting person or be like Jesus.

Jesus was hurt by hurting people. Rejected by his hometown. Denied by Peter, one of His closest friends. Betrayed by Judas, another close friend. Jesus felt disappointment. He knew the burning irrationality of being offended. He was tempted to turn His back on the ungrateful. He had feelings too. I believe for Him to understand my struggles in life, those feelings got hurt.

But He handled it all with grace and gentility, truth and love. Every wounded, hurting person handled with care. He never excused the adulterous woman’s sin, but He also did not condemn her. He got His hands dirty with spit and mud healing some. He was thrown out of towns for healing others. Somehow, the way He spoke to the woman at the well made her love Him more, even though He pointed out her every wrong.  

The hurting who encountered Jesus were not always told truth, but they were always shown love.

Jesus set the example for how to handle the hurting. I’m sure He felt the rub of wanting to speak truth, correct, guide, offer advice, but in His wisdom, He chose to simply show up and be present instead. He must have felt that sensation in the pit of your stomach when you don’t want to say something, but you know you must, so in His wisdom He spoke truth with grace out of love and concern and in the need of the moment. (Ephesians 4:29)

Our conviction and passion are too often received as condemnation when they are not delivered in a package wrapped by love and grace and given amid relationship.

It’s our motives that need a quick check. Speak the truth God has revealed to you but with the intention to show love. Speak it with the intention of offering grace to someone drowning in shame. Speak it to offer a hand of camaraderie or commissary, letting the other person know you are with them and for them. Take time to build or repair the foundation of the relationship, gaining trust, before speaking hard truths.

Because truth is an anchor. It is sturdy and solid. It will ground your faith; be a firm foundation. It will not move when the storms of life come. But it is heavy. To a drowning person, it is heavy. To a person soaring high in the clouds of life, it can be heavy. To the person on a long journey, it is heavy.

Truth may be exactly what someone needs, but you may need to get in the water and help them tread with the weight of it. You may need to be the counterbalance to the weight of the truth, keeping them from crashing. You may need to join them on their journey before you hand them truth to take with them.

Jesus got His hands dirty. He spent hours eating and conversing inside the homes of the hurting. He made Himself available for one-on-one conversations. In those moments, in those ways, when He was doing life with people, He spoke hard truths. Then He offered Himself as the means to help them carry and live that truth.

The sooner we accept we are all hurting people hurting people, the sooner we can get around to figuring out how to be healing people that help each other heal. If I’m not the hurting person, my words and actions can be a healing a help, building up my friend according to the need of the moment. Benefiting her heart and mine.

Christmas Letter 2020....In May (I Know)

I didn’t post my Christmas letter this year because I got some negative feedback.

Oh, I got plenty of positive. But it was the one negative voice that drowned the rest out, that made me second guess my motives and message, that lit the fire of insecurity. One voice. And in retrospect, it was probably one hurting voice dealing with their own things.

And I’ve floundered with that one voice, battling the insecurity it caused. If my words discourage someone, should they even be said? But what I’m learning is—like everything else in this world—what is encouraging to one is discouraging to another, and as a writer, this is a difficult gray area to navigate.

As a writer, I want you to know my heart means well, means good, means light, means to inspire courage, not diminish it. Yet, unless you know me personally as a person, my words will inevitably always fall on someone the wrong way. So I must be content with the motives of my own heart, that they are laid bare before the Lord and approved between Him and me before I publish. It’s really only His feedback that matters after all.

I’m not saying every word I write  is the Gospel or God’s own truth—that would be heresy. I am saying that as far as I know, my relationship with the Lord was in the right mind space and heart space when I made those words public. Part of me wants to apologize to everyone who has been unknowingly hurt by my words, yet part of me also just wants to own them—for better or worse—and be humble enough to eat crow and back-peddle if that is what is right and glorifying to my relationship with Jesus.

So, here’s a belated Christmas letter. Maybe now that’s it’s finally published, I can move past the insecurities, and write some more. We will see. Time will tell. Merry Christmas in almost May J

 

Dear Family & Friends,                                                                                                                                               December 2020

2020. Just wow. It’s been one for the history books. For us it started with high hopes and happy times snowmobiling through Yellowstone the first week of January. Cue the downhill slide. Not sure about your family, but disappointments this year started piling fast, a long and heavy list.

Come July, after more canceled travels than I care to list, children begging to attend school in person, and the fabric of “normal” being completely redefined, God gave me the word resilience. Defined as toughness, a capacity to recover quickly or elasticity, the ability to spring back, resilience is a character quality muscle built and strengthened only under the weight of trying circumstances. Measured by our ability to pivot both physically and emotionally, resilience determines one’s ability to hold fast and stay the course. No matter what.

Weston has shown resilience in his studies, never losing a step when online education began in March. He didn’t complain or whine when his spring flag football season got canceled, readily agreeing to try track when the opportunity arose. His first day of track club, ever in his life, he ran five miles in the hills and canyons around our home, increasing his mileage and difficulty weekly. Though physically exhausted, he mentally pivoted, facing the challenge three times a week without complaining. When the opportunity arose to try out for a club soccer team, he was ready. Soccer looks different when you’re not allowed to play the game, but he’s set his mind to improve his skills and prove himself a valuable member of the team regardless. He doesn’t like to pivot, but he’s learned to execute like a pro anyway. (Even adding surfing to is repertoire this year!) Deeply grateful for his Jesus-loving heart motivating it all.

Savannah has shown resilience by flourishing during online education despite her intense need for a social life. When swimming resumed, though weirdly orchestrated, she didn’t complain, she buckled down and improved her speed despite the loss of swim meets. When faced with a challenging year of studies as a logic school student, she has pivoted to balance her schoolwork with sports, babysitting, youth group and her love of surfing. Her commitment to practice and improve her piano playing, despite months of Facetime lessons in the spring, fills our home with beauty, light, and joy. Even in a pandemic, the social drama of the tweenage years followed her. I’ve watched her navigate difficult social situations with maturity and care, making wise choices with her technology and accepting hard outcomes with grace. She’s never given up meeting with her small group and prioritizing the time to grow in Christ. So proud of the choices she’s made this year.

Joey has shown resilience this year by staying the course with his work, committing to making the best of his at-home work environment and schedule. An extrovert by nature, he deeply misses traveling and the daily conversations at the office, but mostly the face-to-face relationship building which takes place during those opportunities. Early in the year, we both hit a hard patch in our marriage, but his determination to stay the course and seek counsel led us down a path of maturity and into a level of intimacy we could only pray to reach in a lifetime of marriage. Devotions with Dad continued throughout quarantine, just sometimes in the back of his truck instead of inside a Chick-fil-A. In work, love, and parenting, he has led with a steady foot forward, resolved to not give ground to complacency, apathy, or the bitterness of disappointments. Master of pivoting, most resilient of us all, Joey’s constant presence in our home encourages and uplifts, spurring us to keep moving forward.

Chick-fil-A, Inc. remains a constant source of blessing to our family despite the ever-shifting temperature of our culture—a true testimony to the resilience a company can show when their Foundation is firm.

When traveling became inaccessible, our family shifted again, finding campsites and excursions even in shutdown. One photo on our Christmas card looks like what we hoped for 2020, the other represents reality: shaggy hair, salt and pepper beard, top bun hair, and camping clothes. Those smiles are real despite the dirt, dust, and damaged trailer incurred on that trip.

As for me, resilience developed in the early morning routine of my quiet time at my kitchen table. With nowhere to go and no schedule to keep, I had no excuses for not meeting every day with my Jesus. The kids logged on for school, and I sat down with my Bible. The Lord was faithful to take me to school and deepen my understanding of who He is and who He created me to be. I had signed up to complete 5 triathlons this year, taking the first year of my forties to task. Instead, God has seen fit to put my heart and mind through triathlon training.

You see, our family will make the move back to Georgia in summer of 2021, leaving behind not just a treasure of a home and environment in California, but more heartbreakingly, the friends we’ve grown to consider as family. Our framily. They’ve been our family for what will be seven years in July. Seven golden, crucial family rearing years. We’ve cried in the trenches together raising our children and adventured to the heights together with our families. To leave California feels like losing a piece of my soul, a piece I had been trying to find my entire life. Dramatic? Maybe.

Our next home? Unknown. Timeline? Unknown. Joey’s next steps at work? Unknown. Schooling path for my kids? Unknown. But God knows. Abram’s story of faith moved us to California, and Abraham’s story of faith in sacrificing Isaac will move us back. When God says go, you go. When God says sacrifice, you sacrifice. Nothing in this world makes any sense right now. All logic and reasoning have flown out the window of our culture and relationships it seems at times. But God. Jesus has remained steady and faithful and true. His promises have not wavered or changed course. His Word remains resilient to the tides of a pandemic, government, and culture. Do you know His promises to you?

Of all the things you have studied and read and researched this year, were His promises at the top of your list? If not, why not? What do you have to lose?

Honestly, the soul-training for me has been intense, and it’s not over. I am weary of being hurt and disappointed in people and life. Disappointments either dishearten and deaden you to the joys of life or they increase your resilience and ability to find joy elsewhere—you get to choose the lesson you learn. I choose Jesus. With teeth grit and a fire in my soul, I choose Jesus, if only out of stubborn defiance.

I have known the depth of the dark night of the soul, and I have seen the sun break forth on the horizon. If resilience is the capacity to recover quickly, to spring back, then I choose to strengthen that muscle by following my Jesus in His example.

God the Father said He had a plan to save humanity, but Jesus had to become one of us to make it work. How we must have disappointed Him while He walked this earth! For sure His resilience was tested and tried. He stayed the course. He loved God, loved others, suffered, died and rose again, so we could have hope for tomorrow. In living our lives by His example, we too can experience hope. So, our family will continue to love God, love others, suffer, die to ourselves, and rise again in Christ to hope another day. To fully live.

In Deuteronomy 31:8, God Himself promised the Israelites, the world, and our family, “He, the LORD Himself, goes before you and will be with you.” God has already been where we are about to step. Jesus came to earth to be Immanuel, God with us. God is with us. God has already been where you are about to go, where our world is about to go. I am foolish to turn in any direction but where He leads, to think I understand or can orchestrate anything other than what He designs.

May this Christmas fill you with the wonder of who God is. May His imminence gift comfort, and His transcendence gift hope. He is everything you’ve been looking for this year….and more.

Rejoicing God is going before us, with love to you and yours,

 Joey,                                 Jennifer,                           Savannah &                                   Weston Durham

“Because of the tender mercy of our God, With which the Sunrise from on high will visit us, To shine on those who sit in darkness and the shadow of death, To guide our feet into the way of peace.” Luke 1:78-79