Friday, March 15, 2019

Airing the Box Just a Little

A few weeks after we laid her precious self in the ground, our family received the news we'd be making the move to California in a year.

Fourteen months after that, we loaded our family of four onto a plane, and we didn't look back. That was almost six years ago.

This past weekend, I was visiting back east with a sweet, sweet friend from another lifetime ago. She asked me if I still blogged. I hesitated, and answered honestly, "Well, I kinda feel like I've lost my voice for a season, but I do every now and then."

Innocently, she replied, "Oh. Was it Savannah that made you lose your voice?"

I was instantly confused. "No. My Savannah is fine, I think....oh wait....you mean......Savannah Veale." And instantly my eyes welled with tears as the realization of what she was asking doused me like a bucket of ice-cold water. It had been almost six years since someone had spoken her name to me.

My friend was kind. Immediately she apologized, hugging my neck, as we awkwardly tried to change the subject, but I was done. It was all I could do from that moment to keep the tears inside my eyelids.

You see, when I moved to California, no one knew me here. No one knew my story. No one knew Savannah Veale. Her name was not mentioned or brought up in conversation. There were no knowing eyes and kind smiles. I only had to share pieces of that story with the ones closest to me who happened to ask at the right time on the right days, and even then, they didn't know. I don't let them see how much I still grieve.

But I miss her. I still do. I hadn't realized that somewhere along the way in the past six years, I had processed enough to put her in a box on the decorative shelf of my life. Anyone looking close enough would see it is a lovely box that is cherished because it's there, not hidden, but it's also not a focal point or a conversation piece. It obviously has great sentimental value, but it's not something anyone would recognize or care to ask about.

Yet she is right there on the shelf of my life, and when her box gets opened whether on purpose or by surprise, the pain and joy that flow from her memory are deeply overwhelming.

When my friend said her name, one part of me wanted to stay and keep talking, comforted by conversation of her with someone who knew her, yet there was an equal part of me that wanted to run away and avoid the inevitable tears and pain that would follow with the joy of remembering her.

And so it is with those who grieve. I'm not sure keeping Savannah Veale in an emotional box in my life is healthy, but I also will never throw it out. I'm not sure airing it is healthy all the time either. I'm not sure anything about grief makes any sense. Some friends I know post the state of their grieving mind every day on Facebook. You never have to wonder how they're feeling. Others never share anything. at all. ever. It's like that part of their lives died with the loved one that is gone. And then there are all of us somewhere in the middle of that spectrum, wondering if anyone knows, and if anyone really even cares.

So since I'm having a hard time putting her back in that box that got opened by surprise, this is me, airing it out a little. I miss her. I miss her long lanky arms and the hugs she would give, her mischievous smile and the way she always made you feel like she was up to something. I miss the Miss Savannah bag of candy that use to sit on top of our refrigerator, only to be given out by her when she came to babysit. I miss her popping into my home unexpectedly and making all of us smile, or when she'd come looking for advice in a very sideways don't-tell-me-what-to-do-but-I'm-asking-anyway kind of way. I miss her voice. I miss her.

I replay the day she died and our last conversation on the phone in my mind more times than anyone would ever know. The verse God gave me after she died is still the one I repeat like counting sheep on sleepless nights: Isaiah 26:3 "You will keep in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on You because they trust in You."

Which always brings me right back to my Jesus. Because He has kept that promise time and time and time again. My mind finds perfect peace when it focuses on Him and trusts His ways, trusts Him--completely, fully, and unquestioningly.

I will never know why she had to die. I will never understand.  But Jesus does. My Heavenly Father, HER Heavenly Father knows and understands, and the acceptance that this is enough--that God knowing and me NOT knowing is enough--this truth begins to settle her back into the box, and His promised peace helps close the lid once again as I choose to trust His heart for me and for her.

I hope one day that box becomes a conversation piece in my life because her story is now forever woven into mine, and while time does not heal all wounds it does allow for the acceptance to grow of those wounds, and with acceptance of the co-mingling of the joy and the pain comes a freedom to share it, remember it, pick it up and show it to others without fear or shame or guilt.

This box on my shelf is a testimony to the peace of God that passes all understanding. It is the catalyst to an empathy for others and their pain that I could never have manufactured on my own. It is a gift I never wanted, but will not waste or hide. My prayer is one day I won't have to keep the lid on that box shut so tight, that my emotions surrounding her will be able to ebb and flow more freely, safely, slowly, like the tinkling music of a gentle stream, not quite so violently like a rogue wave, pulling me back under and spinning me in the washing machine of grief. One day. Maybe.

Maybe if time doesn't heal all wounds, maybe it does slow the roller coaster of grief. I don't know. We will see. Time will tell.

In the meantime, open your eyes. Those who grieve are all around you. Be gentle with yourself and with others, friends. There are so many stories people just don't tell. Grateful my Jesus likes to hear them all, and when I don't want to tell them, he already knows my heart. Here's praying someone notices the sentimental boxes you keep on the shelf of your life and has the wisdom to gently ask to hear your story because telling it, airing that box just a little, really is a comfort and an agent to healing and freedom.
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Tuesday, December 25, 2018

Christmas Letter 2018


Dear Family and Friends,                                                                                         December 1st, 2018

This year literally started with one of the best days ever—watching the Georgia Bulldogs win at the Rose Bowl. It was a perfect day, seeing the Rose Bowl Parade beforehand, enjoying our children (8 and 10) cheer at their first Bulldogs game, watching a magnificent sunset that God orchestrated over the stadium. For this Georgia family who loves our California home, it was the best of all worlds. Today, 11 months later, as I sit here pondering how I will share a glimpse of what came next, I can’t help but be grateful that is how this year started. God’s gifts are good gifts that sustain even in the hardest days, and for that I am grateful.

Both kids have thrived and grown in hard and good ways this year. Savannah (11) is still our family muse. Her creativity, love of music, and all things fun keeps our family in constant motion. She has impressed me this year with her natural ability and boldness to communicate her opinions and share her ideas. She tackles whatever challenge that is set before her with determination and zeal, and she doesn’t get discouraged nor give up easily. This has been evident in her piano playing, her school work, learning to surf, tumbling classes, passion for baking, and even in her friendships. All these characteristics are admirable, but on some days can be exhausting to parent, so your prayers are felt and appreciated 😉She is a joy and a marvel and a challenge, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. God uses her to draw others to Him with her natural magnetism and ability to lead. May this always be true.

Weston (9)’s personality as a young man of character has also started to bloom this year. Watching him grow as a sportsman on the soccer field has been a gift. I’ve seen my son hit lows then rally to turn them into highs. Whether in soccer, piano, art, engineering with Legos, or working toward straight A’s in school, excellence is his goal.  While he often hits the mark, it’s been in the moments of disappointment this year that I’ve seen the most growth. While I’m terribly proud of all his accomplishments, I may be prouder of how he’s been working to accept and move past the inevitable hardships that have come his way. He also never lets the hard things make him hard. His heart is as soft and sensitive and loving as ever. I know this is because He loves Jesus first. May this always be true.


Joey, as always, continues to be the even keel rock in our family. From what I can tell, he is well-respected in his area of work with Chick-fil-A, and he has continued to accept the responsibilities they give him with integrity, passion, and strength. He loves what he does, the operators he serves, and the people he works with and for. As a father, he is adored. I couldn’t ask for a better role model for our children. His unique ability to communicate with our family is invaluable because he teaches all three of us how to be better communicators, which in turn, enables us to grow in healthy ways. As a husband, well, there’s not enough space in this letter for me to list what he has meant to me and been for me this year. He has pressed into a hard season in my life and patiently, lovingly worked his way into my heart. He is truly my best friend and biggest cheerleader and safe place. Grateful and blessed to follow his lead because he leads well.


As for me, my words for this year didn’t come to me until a month ago. Acknowledge and Accept. This is the path God has walked me down. I’ve spent the past five years grieving in some format or another, on some level or another, and this year I realized that I’ve been striving on some level to fix the grief in my life, to make it stop, go away, feel better. I’ve wrestled with God and myself and stayed so much in my head that my head finally exploded. Cleaning up the explosion has looked like meds and therapy and doctor appointments and exercise and eating right and communion with Jesus and getting vulnerable with His people. It’s looked like doing a lot of sitting and talking to God out loud in my car, talking to my therapist, and talking to my husband, letting them all inside the really ugly spaces of my heart. Acknowledging and accepting that this is my path, and this is my journey, and this is part of my story that God is writing has been my path to freedom and experiencing joy again.

Acknowledging and accepting that I can feel deeply, that it’s ok to feel deeply, and not have to hold myself responsible for doing anything with those feelings except just feel them. Acknowledge those feelings. Accept those feelings, express them as needed to those whom God leads me, and then let them go and sit in the knowledge that God made me this way, and it is for His good purposes that I feel; therefore, it is His responsibility to show me what to do with those feelings, not mine.


There is freedom and joy in letting go and letting God take over. This take over for me has occurred in the quiet, in the still, in the lonely, in the depths of the dark and deep recesses of my heart and mind where God has found me and been with me and held my hand as I acknowledged and accepted the path of hard truth He is walking me down, hand in hand. Not once have I felt judged or less than in His eyes or Joey’s. My God and my man have been nothing but gentle to me.

Which is why today I can sit here grateful for the journey I am on. I’m still right in the middle of it. Meds and therapy and all, but I can say that I accept my struggle with anxiety and depression as part of God’s story for me. I can look back on this year and be grateful for the small conversations it has allowed me to have that ministered to someone else walking the same path. I can be grateful I’m not fighting myself anymore because there is peace in acceptance. I am grateful for the gift of compassionate tears that God has given me the ability to shed. I like to think that every tear I’ve shed for someone else is one that person maybe didn’t have to shed themselves. I’m grateful to feel deeply. It’s not something about myself I need to fix or change; it’s something about myself I need to acknowledge, accept, and allow God to shape for His glory.

What is it you need to acknowledge, accept, and allow God to be present in with you this Christmas season? Isn’t that the message of Christmas? Emmanuel, God with us. How are you allowing God to be with you? The birth of Jesus was His greatest gift to us all—His very Presence incarnate, on earth, to be held and touched and felt and enjoyed and loved. Even in the hard places of this life, how are you accepting the presence of God into your world? He is a True Gentleman. He stands patiently at the door and knocks, never forceful, always gently persuasive, always there. What door will you open in this next year to let Him in? All He wants to do is be with you because He created the path that you are on. He planned the journey. Can you acknowledge and accept His control of the way He created?

I did a crazy, meaningful thing to me this year. I tattooed a piece of artwork on my left shoulder that represents my journey toward joy in the Lord. So, I will leave you with the four Scriptures on the compass of my tattoo. May they encourage you to find and seek Jesus in this season and the year to follow.

“You will make known to me the path of life; In Your presence is fullness of joy; in Your right hand there are pleasures forever.” Psalms 16:11
“The Spirit of God has made me; the breath of the Almighty gives me life.” Job 33:4
“The heavens declare the glory of God, and the sky above proclaims His handiwork.” Psalms 19:1
“He continued, “Go home and prepare a feast, holiday food and drink; and share it with those who don’t have anything: This day is holy to God. Do not grieve. The joy of the Lord is your strength.” Nehemiah 8:10


Wishing you and your family a day of joy amid blessing or hardship to enjoy the good things the Lord has given!
Merry Christmas,

Joey, Jennifer, Savannah & Weston Durham

P.S.-Mad props to my husband who helped design the Christmas card this year. I’m sure you’ll appreciate his personal touch ðŸ˜‰Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year from the Durhams!!!!!!

Family photo credit goes to Katie Morrow. Thank you for making it fun.

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Thursday, November 8, 2018

Where I Am

I had a sneaky suspicion when the first day of 2018 was the most perfect day ever that the rest of the year was downhill from there, but we always hope for the best, right?

Sigh.  Well, I've found myself in the middle of one of the hardest years of personal growth in my life. Like ever. I'm learning things about myself that I don't like. Ugly things. Hard things. Things like...

I'm not strong, I'm just really good at trying to control my environment.
This causes me to be anxious, not what I've labeled as stress my whole life. (FYI, stress is something to be managed outwardly, anxiety is a sin of the heart.)
I don't know how to deal with disappointment. I'm deeply afraid of disappointing everyone in my life, and then unable to handle the emotions that come crashing when they disappoint me.
This causes deep bouts of depression because when you're constantly aware of the inner workings of life around you (both my gift and my curse), you are constantly disappointed in something or someone, and most often that is myself.
I don't know how to communicate effectively with the people in my life. I express myself with so much emotion and deep conviction that I'm pretty sure it's off-putting for most people to receive. Learning to bridle and train these emotions to speak graciously is hard work, so I most often opt to not speak at all for fear of burdening those around me with my emotions. (The people in my life who love me best, allow me to cry and still hear my heart. For them, I am deeply grateful.) But opting to not speak has also left me feeling unheard most of my life.

It's deeply concerning how much I deeply desire to be heard, truly seen, and known and accepted just the way I am. 

Enter Jesus.

It's no coincidence that my time with the Lord this year has led me to these books. This is where the Lord has me rooted and growing, learning to accept who He made me to be and how to allow Him to use it for His glory.



Currently, I'm reading through the Psalms for like the hundredth time in my life because a depressed person needs the psalms. David was the ultimate example of how to honestly express all that you are feeling and still glorify God.

Streams in the Desert is a perfectly titled devotion that has encouraged and challenged me throughout the low points in my life. God meets me in these pages and gently reminds me life will be hard, but He is greater and He is good.

Strong Women Soft Hearts. Wow. If you've got a group of ladies that you can be real and honest with, a small group that loves you unconditionally, grab them and dive in to this book. I am challenged and encouraged by the way God is using this book to grow me, but I need the accountability of the friends I'm doing it with, or I would have tossed it a long time ago! 

How We Love workbook. I read the book, which is excellent, very insightful, but the hard work has come in inviting my husband to work through the workbook together. Our marriage has never been better, closer, or more intimate. It's taken seventeen years of married life to get us to the point where we can stomach this book together, maturely, but I'm loving diving into every hard truth revealed, with him right there with me. It might take us 10 years to work through the whole book with as often as we have time to discuss it, but it kinda makes me look forward to every conversation for the next 10 years!

When God Doesn't Fix It is the book I read in small chunks at night, on an airplane, or in moments when a screen just doesn't seem like the best choice. The very practical, straightforward debunking of myths and statement of truth at the end of every chapter has given me food for thought in all the best ways.

I've been on a personal journey to find and understand the true meaning of joy for quite some time. What I didn't bargain for was that Sorrow and Suffering would be my companions on this journey. Seems a bit ironic doesn't it? That in my quest for Joy, these are what I have encountered.

Yet, my Jesus has been with me every step of the way. Not once have I felt abandoned or condemned by Him. I condemn myself enough as it is, and even on the days when I fully expect Him to condemn, chastise, or discipline me because I've screwed up royally, instead I am constantly surprised by His constant, gentle presence that reminds me He made me and He sees me and He knows me and He loves me just the way I am.  Sinful, messed up, confused, not enough, struggling--He loves this me, right now, right here in the midst of the mess of where I am.

My Jesus is not a demanding Master, He is a patient Encourager reminding me that I may be weak, but He is Strength. I may be anxious, but He is Peace. I may be disappointed, but He is Able. I may be overwhelmed by my short-comings, but He is Greater. He is the Answer to every problem I encounter. Joy is found in not just finding Him again and reconnecting with Him, but it is found in the slow, hard work of abiding with Him through it all.

For the last six months, I've been paralyzed to share my heart because I've felt like I've been in the middle of the struggle. The story will be shareable when I have a happy ending to proclaim God's inevitable victory and glory in my life. God is gently telling me to share my story anyway because His glory is evident and real even though I don't have a happy ending yet. 

I may struggle with anxiety and depression the rest of this life. Jesus is teaching me to accept this, so He can use it. You cannot surrender what you do not accept. Maybe one day I will write the story of how He saved me and freed me from the dark emotions that overwhelm me some days, but for now, I think He just wants me to be honest with who I am now, in this season, for today--struggling, but still in love with Him. 

I had a sad day yesterday, for no particular reason (which I hate, by the way. I've lived my life believing there's a reason for everything, and now I'm learning that may not be true?--whatever I digress, another blog for another day...) I had a sad day. And in the midst of all the dark, deep, overwhelming emotions that beckoned me to crawl in bed and hide, I suddenly--literally--threw up my hands in angry surrender, and spoke out loud, "Lord, if I have to feel all these emotions will You at least use them for Your glory?" And to that, He said, "Yes."

And today, I write for the first time in a long time because even though I have no idea who reads this blog (because that doesn't really matter anyway), this is just one space where He gets the glory, and that feels right and good and chips away at the pointlessness of life that a depressed person often feels deep in their soul. My life isn't pointless if He gets the glory. I have to believe that. It has to be true.

Where are you? Really? You may believe no one really wants to know the real answer to that question, but I do. God does. Who can you share the real you with today? the vulnerable you? the you God created for today? Someone needs you to stop hiding and waiting for the happy ending to share because I'm starting to believe God gets the glory in the middle of the mess too.
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Monday, May 14, 2018

Dancing with Joy & Grief

Has it been five years? Five years without her laugh, her hugs, her infectiously funny, strange sense of humor? Every May. Without fail, I fall into a funk, and the grief over her loss catches me off guard. And I have to cry and write and process and remember one of the three most devastating days in my current lifetime. I remember our last conversation as clearly as if I had just hung up the phone. I remember the hospital, the soul-searing tears, the funeral, the grief that followed.

And to try to shake the sorrow, you then try to remember all the good things too—the family vacations, the funny videos with the kids, all the middle school sleepovers and camps and prank phone calls. But for me, all the good also just adds to the sad because it all stopped when she was gone.

And it always leaves me pondering the strange dichotomy of joy and grief every time.

Grief, I think, I understand better than I'd like. I've come to recognize it's not an emotion or a process, it's a thing, a noun, a substance. It has weight and mass. It can't be measured or compared, but it can be shared. Grief is the byproduct of death. Just like we breathe in oxygen and breathe out carbon dioxide, anyone who breathes in some type of death breathes out grief, and depending on the type and quantity of what you inhaled will determine how long it takes to exhale the grief. But it must be exhaled. Grief contained is simply poison to the mind, body, and soul.

And so those who grieve, cry--A LOT. Sometimes when they least expect it because grief creeps out of the corners of life in places you didn't think to look or expect to find it.

Those who grieve become irrationally angry. We lash out in small and big ways because we have so many questions that will never be answered this side of eternity, and ultimately it never feels fair or right or just.

Those who grieve are tired--all the time. Grief is one of, if not the most, exhausting substances to exhale. It clings and wraps and sticks and stays. It hurts and aches--mind, body, and soul. It takes something powerful to shake it.

Enter Joy. Now, I'm going to struggle through this. Honestly, I'm still smack dab in the middle of processing it all myself. I might be chewing on this until Jesus comes back, but if the byproduct of death is grief, then the byproduct of life in Christ should be joy. Therein lies the predicament because a Christian, a true Christ follower, will grapple with the tension of both of these in the same space this side of heaven.

Joy and Grief will forever be dance partners in this lifetime. I'm learning that I get to decide who leads. They both need a turn because grief needs to stretch its legs. It needs to be exhaled, set free, given room to be expressed. Grief needs to be known and seen, so it needs a turn to lead the dance. After all, even Ecclesiastes 3:4 says there is "a time to weep and time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance." Grief is not a bad thing; it's not a sin. It is not a sign of weakness, it is a sign of humanity.

Just like joy is not a sign of strength, it is a sign of the presence of Christ, for "in His presence is fullness of joy. (Psalm 16:11)" Joy must be allowed to lead the dance because joy inhales Christ for it is the very essence of His presence. When you allow yourself to experience joy, you are allowing yourself to experience Christ. And yes, joy is a choice, just like following Christ is a choice, so is choosing joy.

What is joy? How do you find joy? Sigh. I don't know. Still working on those definitions for myself. But I know that when I blasted praise and worship music in my home the other day while cleaning my house, singing to Jesus--with Jesus--at the top of my lungs, I know that I felt invigorated, full of life, unafraid, and inwardly at peace the rest of that day. Joy led the dance.

Then the next day, two songs on the radio and a text message later, I was an emotional wreck. Grief needed a turn again. And so goes the dance.

Today I'm writing, maybe I'll take a walk by the ocean, maybe I'll fill my home with worship music once more, maybe I'll take a nap in my hammock or run around in the yard with my children. Joy comes and fills and takes the lead in so many different forms. It is not a replacement for the grief, it is a needed compliment to it. Grief without joy is depression, a very lonely wallflower.

One of the best ways to experience joy is to choose to be joy for someone else. My heart is never quite so heavy when I can bring joy to someone else in my life, even in the midst of my own dance with grief. That's Jesus, friends! That's the power of Jesus. Romans 12:15 says, "Rejoice with those who rejoice, and weep with those who weep." I take this verse quite literally. There's healing in both shared joy and shared grief. Jesus steps into both with us. Why are we so hesitant to step into both with those around us?

I have learned that true friends are the ones who can share both grief and joy with one another. Is it awkward and uncomfortable at times? Absolutely. Are there always words to express? Nope, but just being present, making an effort of some sort, usually means the whole world. It's also a two-way street. I have to exhale my grief to a friend in order to give them the opportunity to be joy, but ultimately, my only reliable source is Jesus. Where others will fail me, He always succeeds and fulfills and shows up. Who better to understand the byproduct of death than the Man who suffered under it here on earth, only to defeat it, allowing joy to be available for everyone through His presence in us?

Ah, the dance of joy and grief. It is one I have not learned gracefully, but my Jesus is a patient teacher. If I must dance this dance for the remainder of my days, I pray He teaches me how to make it beautiful.

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Monday, April 23, 2018

Confessions of Lifelong Christian

The Christian life is not for the faint of heart, but then again that's also exactly who it's for. It's not easy or idyllic, but it is fulfilling and rewarding. I'm sorry folks, but you don't get to have your cake and eat it too this side of heaven. It's just not going to happen. Christian or non-Christian, this life is going to take its toll and throw plenty of punches, you better have a sure-fire way for experiencing deep, soul joy this side of heaven, or you're just going to burn out.

I found myself recently in a state of utter depletion. It's been a heck of a nine months so far; heck, it's been a roller coaster of emotions for quite some time. If you were to judge my life based solely on what you saw outwardly, our life is pretty idyllic. No arguments. Praise Jesus, my marriage is rooted in Him, my children love Him, and the company my husband works for seeks to glorify God in all they do. That's pretty idyllic, and we take very seriously the job of being good stewards of all the blessings entrusted to us.

But for me, that's always the outward representation of my life, for which I'm deeply grateful, but often feel deeply alone in people understanding the inward, unseen battles that weigh on my heart and mind most days.

Recently, I've fallen off the path a bit. There are no real excuses for why I stopped reading my Bible over  the past three months or so. Nothing that holds water at least. Yes, I'm busy. Serving. Someone. All the time. Yes, I'd rather sleep than wake up early to meet with Jesus. Yes, I have pockets of 10-20 minutes in my day where I could open my Bible, but I'd rather numb out scrolling my phone. Yes, sometimes I have just a few quiet moments in the evening right after the kids have gone to bed, but again, I just want to stare at a screen and let my mind go blank. These are real choices that I choose to make. No excuses.

And since I'm being super honest, I know what I'm choosing not to intake. I know Scripture pierces the heart. Time in God's word often provides insights, enlightenment, and understanding to life. Such knowledge often has a piece to it that requires response or change. I'm tired. All the time. I don't want to change, to respond, to be taught, or to be responsible for whatever information I may intake. So I choose not to take the small moments of time in a day I might be afforded to connect with the Lord. I make that choice.

But I'm also not happy. I feel blah and dead inside. I confess my sins in small prayers throughout the day, praying God will pour more grace and help me. The Spirit is still alive and well inside because I feel deeply convicted all the time for not stopping to spend time with my Jesus. I'm a walking guilt zombie, self-inflicted. It's that feeling of purposely choosing not to take that phone call or answer that text because you think you know how the other person is going to respond. I also have stashed away enough scripture in the recesses of my brain that I can call it to mind as needed, in moments of parenting or downward spiraling when I need a life preserver back to the surface. I listen to nothing but Christian music in hopes it will sustain my mind just enough to keep me moving forward. 

If this sounds like a deeply depressing way to live, it is.  It's miserable. Why don't I just pick up my Bible and spend time with Jesus, you ask? I. Don't. Know. I just don't. Maybe because the few times I have managed to open the pages, the words fell flat or it felt forced or I actually fell asleep in the middle of my Bible! Maybe because when I close my eyes to pray, my mind is bombarded by everything I could be doing instead of this, and I can't switch my brain off, so the frustration of silencing the voices in my head becomes too overwhelming, so I give up, get up, and get moving again.

Don't get me wrong. I love Jesus, and I love my Bible, but I realize how hypocritical that statement sounds when I'm not actually living like I love Jesus and my Bible. What does a person do when you're keenly aware of everything you're doing right and wrong? When you know you are making the wrong choices? When you make the right choices, but feel and experience nothing? What do you do?

Me? I have to confess my sins and ask for help. It's an anti-pride thing that is incredibly humbling, which is probably why it takes so long to break the cycle. Asking for help and support is So. Terribly. Humbling. Embarrassingly humbling. Letting the people I serve on a daily basis know I'm struggling feels very wrong. Why would they let me continue to serve if they knew how deeply I was depleted? If I lose their trust and respect and the blessing of serving them, then what do I have left? I have to be ok. I have to present like I'm ok. Fake it, til you make it, right? 

Jesus says, "Wrong." Not to mention, I'm not fooling anyone, least of all myself. I might can fake out others for a while, but eventually my own knowledge of how I'm doing keeps me ensnared, and confession truly is good for the soul. So in small bits and pieces, I've let the cat out of the bag. I've mentioned my struggles to a friend here or there, finally admitted my negligence to my husband, and if I'm not honest with my small group of high school students when given the chance, they smell a fake from a mile away. Most importantly, I have to take time to confess to my Jesus, and sit in His presence and let Him restore my soul.

And He meets me right where I am every time. He draws close and the Spring of Living Water He offers begins to fill my empty well once again. Why, why, why do I wait so long to confess? Because pride is a powerful force, more powerful and convincing than most of us are prepared to admit and face.  Don't we all try to hide the imperfect, the ugly, the not-good-enough parts of ourselves? And pride looks like all those things; it's the shameful thoughts, attitudes, and choices we knowingly make that we don't want anyone to see or know about us, which means pride inevitably is the true source of what makes us fake, insincere, and unrelatable.

Oh how confession sweeps away pride! I think we don't confess our sinful thoughts to those closest to us because it means showing our vulnerable and often unpleasing, soft underbelly to a could-be wolf. We all know the sting of rejection, the betrayal of our vulnerable self by the voiced disapproval of those closest to us. To confess is to face fear head on, to open up your true self to someone and say, "Will you love me anyway? Will you support me? Forgive me? Encourage me? Take me just as I am?" That's a scary place to stand, even with your most dearest people, maybe especially with your dearest people because their rejection will most definitely devastate the most.

But Jesus never rejects. He always forgives an honest heart and true confession. He draws close where others pull away. He fills what others drain. He gives where others take. He disciplines your actions without piling on disapproval of you as a person. As soon as you confess and repent and turn around to head back to the path, He's already there. He draws close and it's like no time has passed and no distance lost on your journey.

Nothing about the circumstances in my life magically changed when I confessed my sin, when I stopped to actually include my Jesus in my conversations with Him instead of just talking at Him. Literally nothing changed except my perspective and a sense of cleanliness on the inside. The guilt lifted, the unhappiness faded, the misery dissipated. Just like that.

And the dearest people in my life? I took a chance confessing small pieces to them too, and they all responded with support, encouragement, and understanding.  That's how I know they're my dearest people. They nodded heads in understanding and laughed at my brutal honestly (in a good way.) They offered to come along side me and help hold me accountable.  If your people aren't doing that, they may be good friends, but they're not your dearest people. To be able to show your true self to the ones you hold most dear is a treasure, but for me it has required risk, trial and error, and a willingness to be vulnerable and honest, airing my needs and shortcomings even when I'm unsure of how others might respond. The people who need to be your dearest people show their true colors in those moments. 

The hard lesson to learn is that how a person responds to you is not always a personal reflection of you; it is more likely a reflection of that person's own heart and motives in the moment. Jesus' response to my confession is always perfect--perfectly tailored to my needs in the moment, laced with the exact balance of grace and truth and love.

Today I finally gave in. God created a space for me in my busyness to connect with Him alone--no kids, no husband, no plans. I had no more excuses, so I sat with my Bible in front of me in irritation and desperation and asked the question out loud, "Lord, why don't I want to read Your Word?" It's the first time in months I'd actually asked Him a question expecting a response. Nothing. So I took a deep breath and I confessed and let go. I confessed all the wrong thoughts and actions, all the poor, purposeful choices. I just confessed all the ways I know I had screwed up, and I was sorry. Somewhere in the middle of that confession the tears had begun to pour down my face. I picked up my devotion, opened my Bible, and began journaling some answers to questions.

And it felt good. Nothing life shattering was learned or revealed, but I simply enjoyed the act of reading God's Word once again, and when I put the pen down and closed my Bible, it's like all was right with the world again. My empty cup was overflowing once again. Suddenly, I looked forward to tomorrow's devotion. I've been a Christian long enough to know this would happen, but pride doesn't go away with longevity. One might even argue it only increases with age (that's a blog for another day;) Pride and Fear are the root of almost all evils, I'm convinced, and the longer you are a Christian, the stronger you become in the Lord, the harder the Enemy fights using those two minions, He sends stronger waves of Pride and Fear your direction to keep you immobilized.

Three months is a long time to be immobilized, but maybe next time it will only be two ;) Because there will be a next time, but I'm grateful I'm in a relationship with a God who forgives seventy times seven and beyond. He will always be right there when I turn to come back because He never left my side in the dark to begin with.
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Tuesday, April 17, 2018

God Started A School

It was Sunday, July 30th, 2017 when we first got the news. Our principal had resigned, the teachers had banded together to say they wouldn’t work for another administrator, and just like that our gem of a classical school was no more.

The next forty-eight hours were a blur of activity in our home.  My husband Joey, along with others, had been asked to join an interim board in an attempt to navigate reconciliation between the original school board members and our principal, but in the process so much mismanagement and collusion was uncovered between the existing school board and the church where our school was located that it became very clear, the differences were irreconcilable.

Our school, the only classical school in southern Orange County, California, the school that had become our anchor of stability since our move from Atlanta three years prior, the families that our children had grown to love and the teachers that had whole-heartedly invested in us with genuine love and concern, it was all gone.  It no longer existed.  Just like that, with no warning, no time to prepare, the beauty of what the Lord had provided as an answer to prayer three years ago was gone.
Public school would be starting back in just two weeks in some school districts, and as the late-night phone calls for the interim board continued and more mismanagement was uncovered, the initial panic began to set in. Where were our children going to go to school?

Classical education was a path I had researched and desired for my children before we even moved out to California.  It is a very intentional, detail-oriented, purposeful way of educating children that takes full advantage of the developmental stages of the brain. The methods classical education uses wastes nothing, not one minute of time or one opportunity to celebrate and encourage learning. My children were thriving in this environment.  They loved school, their teachers, and the small classes of students.

My options now were public school, another non-classical private school (of which there were several to choose from), or some form of classical home-schooling. I didn’t like any of these options. I didn’t feel good about, passionate about, or drawn to any of these choices. I wanted what my children had. I wanted it for myself, and I wanted it for them. But what did God want? What was His plan in these circumstances? And so began, the inner battle between faith and doubt, trust in my strength or God’s strength.

Within the first week of August, parents from our school were up in arms.  We all loved our school!  We couldn’t understand how or why this had happened so suddenly and abruptly. Meetings were held. Feelings were hurt. Perceptions shifted rapidly from one extreme to another. People were hurt, angry, worried. We all began to grapple with what were the best options, choices, courses forward for our children.  The clock was ticking. Time was running out—or so we thought.  Looking back, I now realize there was no rush to start school. I could have enrolled my children anywhere in the middle of October, and they would have managed fine, but at the time, in the moment, it felt imperative to their well-being to have a plan, to make a choice, and to move forward.  It was time to go back to school, after all.

But our choices just weren’t good. The interim board of selected and willing parents that had formed to work alongside our principal began working even more fervently. My husband literally worked two full-time jobs for the month of August—the one he got paid for and for the board of what was then a non-existent school. The parents on this new board were all passionate about classical education.  We wanted this option for our children, but how?

We had a principal. We had a pool of willing teachers to hire (who also were left stranded and in limbo at this point by what had happened.) We had interested families; families who wanted to make this work. We thought this was all we had.  We hoped this would be enough.  So, through daily prayer and a steady determination to keep moving forward, the new board members decided we wanted to start a new school, a separate entity with a new name and without all the baggage of the previous location and entanglements caused by the poor judgement of the people at the church and on the previous school board. Thus, The Geneva School was born out of necessity, some desperation, and a passionate desire to see our children educated classically.

By the end of the first week of August, we had a name, we had a logo even, now we just needed a location, and this is where the journey got tough and rocky and unsure. A location in southern Orange County capable of housing the sixty students that remained interested was not readily available or inexpensive to find. Thus, began the long weeks of hopes getting up and being let down as location after location after location began to be a closed door. The new board was working tirelessly, relentlessly even, but no door was opening, not yet.

Public school started, and we understandably lost a few more families. The third week in August many of the private schools in the area were gearing up to begin school for the year. Without a definite location nailed down, we understandably lost a few more families.

During those first three weeks of August, Joey and I had done our due diligence.  We had bathed everything in prayer. We had toured and even applied to another local private school. When the office staff was floored by how well our children tested on their entrance exams, I knew we would be doing our children a disservice to give up so easily.  They were almost an entire year ahead of their grade level compared to other private schools, and their potential was only just beginning to be tapped.

But it wasn’t just about the academics. It was about what Joey and I felt the Lord was calling us to do. This was a path the Lord placed us smack in the middle of for a reason. He wanted us to walk this path by faith. He wanted us to give it our all and trust Him. He was calling us to stay the course and start a new school. And so like Indiana Jones in The Last Crusade, we began the process of taking steps across a bottomless chasm with nothing in front of us, just the ability to take the next step. God showed up at every step as the solid footing beneath our feet, but for six weeks, we had nothing to really trust but the calling of the Lord Himself. Each step was one of faith into the unknown.

By the fourth week in August, we finally had one final location. It was literally our last option. If this didn’t work, there were no other locations to pursue. We waited in constant vigil for the church board to vote to approve our occupancy, and as we waited, we understandably lost a few more families. We had gone from sixty committed students the first of August to now forty students. Our teachers would have to take a pay-cut at this number, and we would have to do some serious fundraising to make ends meet. To say things looked and felt bleak, would be an understatement. The only thing that kept our feet on this path was knowing that we knew that we knew this is what God wanted for our family. To the bitter end, flight or failure, we were supposed to try and start this school.

What was even more encouraging and inspiring for me was watching my husband come along side and fight for this together. Education had always been “my” thing as the mom and former educator. Joey had always just bent in whatever direction I felt led.  This was different though. Together through prayer, I saw the Lord change his heart, and I saw my husband go to war for his family. He saw something valuable and important to his children being wrongly taken, and he fought for them. He fought for us, and watching him step up and step into this responsibility without hesitation or even doubt was inspiring, encouraging, and endearing. My children saw their dad fight for them. They saw him never give up, back down, or lose faith. I don’t know what they will remember from this experience later in life, but I hope it sticks to them in all the good ways for all the right reasons. Nothing God ever calls us to do is ever wasted, so I believe more seeds were planted through this process in our family’s story than I can even begin to understand.

As we waited in hopeful expectation for our location to be approved, I was reminded of the story of Gideon. Of how God took an army of 10,000 and dwindled it down to the 300 He wanted to use. Why? So, God would get all the glory, and no man would be able to take credit for the victory God provided.

Thursday, August 31st, 2017 The Geneva School was approved to occupy a new location, exactly one month from when the previous school had fallen apart. In the next eleven days, the remaining 25 families painted an entire wing of the church, outfitted classrooms with bookshelves, desks, white boards, and even short-throw projectors. We ordered new school uniforms and showed up for the first day of classes Tuesday, September 12th, 2017. Forty students, grades kindergarten through eighth would be continuing the classical education we had all grown to love and believe passionately. Thirteen of our teachers remained to answer the calling to teach our children, to invest in an eternal opportunity to impact the lives of the next generation.

In six weeks, God started a new school.

Looking back, I realize He orchestrated the perfect group of people to accomplish this task. The new board members had experience in business, previous board experience, non-profit organizations, finances, entrepreneurial start-ups, educational expertise and marketing. Among our group of parents, we had connections to graphic designers, legal contacts, real estate, photographers and generous wallets. We asked for prayer through this process, and friends and family joined in full support. We asked for donations, and people showed up with all manor of supplies from copiers and paper to paint supplies and furniture and so much more.

Our school was built in six weeks because God put together a uniquely qualified team of people to accomplish the task. We each took steps of faith, using the gifts and resources and strengths God had already equipped us with, and together, God built a school. A school I pray continues to be viable and influential in the lives of children for decades to come.

Our school continues to function by faith. Praise the Lord, we confidently make pay roll every month, but the opportunity for growth and the possibilities for what we can continue to accomplish are endless with the right funding. So, we pray for funding, and we continue to give of our time, talents, and tithe as sacrificially as the Lord leads. With only 25 families, this is not easy. No one gets to just drop their kid off at school and go about their day without another thought. Every parent is invested and involved and needed.  We all have a part to play and a role of responsibility to make this school work.  It’s not easy, but it’s rewarding and fulfilling to wake up every day and know without a doubt that this is the right path, the right choice, the right thing to do.

The lessons I’ve learned and continue to learn through this journey are so many! I’ve never understood better the relationship between faith and works. Faith in God is the glue that holds you to the path set before you; works is the engine that moves you forward, one step at a time, one legal form filed, one purchase made, one prayer prayed and believed.

I’ve never experienced such a physical working of the body of Christ like this before. Each person uniquely equipped to work as God created and gifted them to function, all coming together to accomplish the purpose He set before us. Everyone was needed and appreciated, and where someone was weak another was strong. I pray I never doubt again what the Lord can accomplish through His people. I pray I continue to step into roles He has uniquely equipped me to accomplish the rest of my life because though my one part to play doesn’t seem like much, collectively it is accomplishing more than I can think or imagine in the kingdom of God.

Lastly, I’ve learned the value of staying the course, even when you think it might end in failure. When you’ve been called to a task, you see it through to the end. You keep the faith.  You take the next step. You stay resolved and steadfast.  You endure. You don’t jump ship out of fear, urgency or doubt.  The only reason Joey and I would have pursued a different path is if we had the peace of God to turn a different way, but we never did. God’s peace was the steadying force in the pit of my stomach even during tears of uncertainty and waves of doubts. I learned the importance of not moving in a different direction based on my feelings in the moment or based on the direction others were taking. My journey with the Lord is my journey, and it will and should look and feel very different from what others are experiencing.  That’s the beauty of a relationship with Jesus; it’s a relationship as unique as my marriage with my husband is compared to anyone else’s marriage, and we are most assuredly better and stronger together, no matter how difficult things may become.

God started a school in six weeks, and it’s been a privilege and an honor to have a small part to play. I pray others will hear this story and be encouraged to stay the course and inspired to pursue the path God has placed you on for today, for this season of life. He is constantly and for all eternity working in ways we cannot fathom or plan to orchestrate. We must trust and believe His plan and stay the course to have a story to tell, a victory to share, and glory to give. Thank you, Jesus, for gifting a crown, a gem of a school, we can gladly give back to You.

*****************************************************
IF AFTER READING THIS STORY YOU FEEL LED TO GIVE TO THE GENEVA SCHOOL IN ANY WAY, WE WOULD BE DEEPLY GRATEFUL FOR YOUR GENEROSITY. 
PLEASE SEE OUR WEBSITE AT 
AND CONTACT US FOR MORE INFORMATION ON HOW YOU CAN GIVE.

YOUR GIFTS ARE AN ETERNAL INVESTMENT IN THE HEARTS AND LIVES OF CHILDREN FOR THIS GENERATION AND THE ONES TO COME.

THANK YOU.
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Tuesday, April 10, 2018

A Child's Place: My Truth Reminder

I don't know about you, but when you live in a child-centric culture like ours, it's easy to begin doubting oneself on almost every level, every minute of every day. Questions bombard parents on a daily basis that usually come in the form of second-guessing, self-doubt, or self-criticism. Am I my child's protector? Am I accountable for their future? Am I making the right choices to assure their health and safety? Can I ensure their health and safety, really? What's my responsibility and what is just out of my hands? Do the choices I make for my children really direct their future? How much of this is on me and how much of this is on the Lord?

Lately, as my children continue to grow and change, and I think about the teenage years being just around the corner, I find myself in an inner state of worry and turmoil. Am I really doing my best? Have I done all I can do? Am I presently, in this moment, doing all I can do? And my brain spins and mind rages, and that knot in the pit of my stomach tells me I'm missing something or my kids are gonna end up irreparably damaged. To make the voices stop and get off the crazy train, I had to go to Scripture because that's the only place I've ever found reliable truth. I asked, what does the Lord require of me as a parent? On some very light research, here's what I found...

***Children and pain kinda go hand in hand. It's unavoidable, but children are also a source of pure joy in a world where real joy is difficult to experience. They are one of many sources of God's blessing for us here on earth. Genesis 3:16, Psalm 113:9, Proverbs 31:8, 3 John 1:4

***Children often elicit deep, irrational emotions from us. (Guilty and Amen.) Genesis 30:1, 1 Samuel 1:8, 12-16

***Children are a gift from God. A gift, which makes us the receiver of the gift.  We are not the Giver or the Creator of the gift, just the recipient. So like most people should do with gifts, we say thank you, and we cherish what has been given. The gift does not get elevated to a place of prominence and importance in our lives. The person who GIVES the gift does. The Giver gets the recognition and thanks for any recognition their gift may bring. How many times have you been complimented on something only to turn around and deflect the praise to the person who gave you whatever has been complimented? Genesis 33:5, Psalm 127:3

***Children ask us questions to which we are to answer with God's answers; they are to be taught. They are students. We are teachers. This is a Biblical responsibility on their part and ours. We are tasked with developing life-long learners with teachable spirits. This may be our greatest role and goal as a parent. We are to do this in such a way that exhorts and encourages our children, not exasperates or discourages them. Exodus 12:26, Deuteronomy 4:10, Joshua 4:6, 21-22, Psalm 34:11, Ephesians 6:4, Colossians 3:21, 1 Thessalonians 2:11

***Children are recipients of our spiritual and physical inheritance. The trickle down effect is real. Your character matters in this generation and the next. They are to be valued and given provision. Exodus 20:5, 34:7, Numbers 14:18, Deuteronomy 4:40, 5:9, Joshua 14:9, Psalm 78:4-6, Proverbs 13:22, Jeremiah 32:18, 39, Mark 7:27, 2 Corinthians 12:14, Thessalonians 2:7

***Children are God's visuals to us. How we treat our children is suppose to mirror how God treats us. The innocence and purity of children is suppose to remind us of the attitude with which we are to approach God and His kingdom. They are a visual to us (adults) of how we are to approach and receive the kingdom of God in our lives; therefore, all children should be allowed the opportunity to come to Jesus. The disciples were actually rebuked by Christ for trying to keep the children from Him.  Psalm 103:13, Matthew 7:11, Luke 18:15-17

***Children are to obey their parents; therefore, it's our job to see to it they know what it means to obey. We are also responsible for keeping them under control and managing their behavior. That means the adults make the choices and decisions that matter, not the child. Ephesians 6:1, Colossians 3:20, 1 Timothy 3:4, 12

So, quick debrief...children are:
A source of pain, irrational emotion, joy, and blessing. A spiritual growth stimulant. Our own personal classroom. A visual example and reminder of how our hearts should be positioned before God. Our heirs and students. Compassion practice. A gift. Children are many things in this world, and we have many responsibilities toward them, but notice the things that are NOT on this list...

***I am NOT my child's salvation. Jesus is. I am to be a picture of protection, a reflection of God's safety and security in their lives, but ultimately I am limited and will fail. I must teach my children to take refuge in the Lord alone. Psalm 36:7, Psalm 72:4, Proverbs 14:26, Matthew 23:37

***I am NOT the guarantor of their success or happiness or application of their potential. That's all been spelled out in God's plan for them already. I'm on a need-to-know basis for this one. Therefore, I can be the best teacher I know how to be for the time and opportunities I'm given to teach/coach, but ultimately my children are not a reflection of me. They were created to be a reflection of God's glory, to be a reflection of God. I can guide them and point them in that direction, but the outcome for that is out of my hands. Psalm 139, Proverbs 16:3-4, Proverbs 19:21, Jeremiah 29:11, Matthew 6:31-33, 1 Corinthians 2:9, Ephesians 1:11, 2:10, Philippians 1:6, 2 Timothy 1:9

If God created them to be a reflection of His glory and His heart in this world, then whether or not they are successful in this arena is His responsibility. WHY? Why are we so quick to try to do God's job for Him?!?!?! I'm not prideful enough to think I can do God's job better than Him (or am I?), but I'm afraid I'm ignorant enough to not recognize when I'm trying to shoulder the burden of a weight that I was never created or expected to lift, much less carry. Sometimes, when the weight is too heavy, you just need to stop. Stop and recognize your limits. Just stop trying to pick it up and release it all together. Step back and walk away from that weight. You were never designed to lift it.

Over and over in Scripture, children are listed in line with "men, women, and children." They are acknowledged as small adults. Separate, yet equal to men and women. What applied to the men and women always also applied to the children. The judgments AND the blessings always equally applied to men, women, AND children. They are not special or exempt simply because they are young. Ultimately, we are ALL children, children of God, subject to the judgments and blessings of HIS kingdom. Romans 8:16-17, 21

I fear we live in a society where this verse rings all too true:
O My people! Their oppressors are children, And women rule over them. O My people! Those who guide you lead you astray And confuse the direction of your paths. Isaiah 3:12

And there you have it. Scripture rings true again. Scripture brings peace and clarity into my mind that is assaulted by the false messages of culture and this world on a daily basis. My role as a parent is actually quite clear and as usual simple: Be the best life-coach/teacher I know how to be, that God has equipped me to be, and constantly shepherd my children toward the Lord. (Oh yeah, feed and clothe them too;) If what I'm concerned about during any given moment of the day for my children doesn't fall into one of these categories, then I've walked back to that weight I was never meant to lift, and I'm trying to lift it....again. If I'm overly concerned about their safety, their health, or their future, I'm trying to lift that weight again.

Jesus lifts that weight with his pinky finger, with the bat of an eyelash. Why am I even trying? It's a question that bears examination, and it's where I've ended this train of thought today. It seems my job as a parent is simple and clear and so is God's. He's trusting me to do my job--provide, educate, enjoy; I need to trust Him to do His even if His choices of how He provides "safety", "health", and "success" don't match the world's or my own definitions of these things. That's a hard truth to wrestle--when God's plan for safety, health, and success doesn't match your own.

But for today, for this blog, I'm grateful for the freedom and release that comes from taking the time to draw closer to the heart of God and His plan for my life, to try and find a balanced, scriptural perspective on His expectations of me as a parent. And for today, I am strangely relieved and feel lighter in my step accepting and trusting His role in the lives of my children in comparison to my own role. In reality, God has the much harder job. Praise Jesus!


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