Nineteen Years

Nineteen years. I was nineteen when we first met. I was nineteen when I knew he was the man for me. I was twenty when we first kissed, and I was twenty-one when I said the vows that would bind us together for this lifetime.

We have literally grown into adults together. Under the same roof, in the same bed, sharing all of life’s circumstances, we have chosen each other.

Not because it was easy. No. The first year was tough. Adding children to our home was tougher, and this year has changed us both in ways we never could have foreseen, for the better, but not without wounds.

Why does it work? Because he chooses Jesus first. I choose Jesus first. Somewhere in the middle of us both choosing Jesus, Jesus convinces us to choose each other—every day.

We are two imperfect, completely screwed up people with our own passions, desires, and wills. He’s an extrovert. I’m an introvert. He’s an otter; I’m a beaver. He wants to wipe all the surfaces, and I want to take a toothbrush to the corners. He likes a plan, and I just want to know everything is in its place.

We have clashed like titans and passed like two ships in the night. Every marriage in life has its seasons—winters, springs, summers, and falls. The only thing that has never changed is he chooses Jesus first, and I choose Jesus first. Those sad, dark days when we don’t choose Jesus first, we struggle, and we blame, and we point fingers and the enemy starts to look like the winner.

But when we choose Jesus first, Jesus prompts us to serve with love. So he will wake up in the morning and make my tea, and I don’t plan meals with mushrooms and water chestnuts. He will sit and talk to me about his quiet time and the deep things of his heart, and I will snuggle next to him on the couch and remember to give him big hugs. He will bring me flowers on Fridays, and I will look for that parking spot next to a curb, so only one side of the car has the chance of getting dinged. He will hold me when I cry, and I will listen intently when he processes out loud.

We don’t do these things because we love each other. Hear me. These don’t come naturally. The automatic response is to not want to do these things sometimes for all kinds of reasons—too tired, too angry, too busy, etc.

But Jesus. He fills and wills and enables a heart that thinks of others first. A relationship with Jesus stretches and strengthens all the right relationship muscles. Jesus first is the only reason we are still married nineteen years later. He reveals to us how to love each other well, and it has taken nineteen years of mistakes and practice to make it look like it does today, and we’re still a work in progress. My man wants 56 more years of mistakes and practice, and while I long to see my Jesus sooner than that, if staying on this earth makes that life-long dream of my best friend come true, I pray the Lord makes it so.

Joey is my biggest fan, and I am his. He supports me in my dreams, and I his. We chase the heart of Jesus together, and it is the most thrilling adventure race of a lifetime. If you want a marriage that will stand the test of time and the trials of life, find a mate who loves Jesus more than they love you. They’re a keeper.

Grateful to be His,

Jennifer Durham

Rest is Obedience Too

She sat there staring. The sun shone warm across her shoulders. The wind blew soft, just enough to rustle, not enough to annoy. It was the perfect day. Yet, her heart was heavy. Her body was heavy. A listlessness of soul and spirit evidenced by her slightly slumped shoulders and poor posture. She willed herself to soak in the sun as if its warmth could ignite a spark of some kind inside her body or mind. Nothing. She could hear the darkness in the distance, calling ever so faintly with whispered longing. It was still there. It would come if she let it.

She had worked hard to push the darkness away. The fact that it was a voice in the wind now instead of knocking on her front door was extreme growth and progress. What no one knew was the vigilance it took to keep distancing from it. What no one saw were the battles, like this moment in time in which she sat staring, that war raged inside her. What no one heard was her mind weeping for relief when only a few tears escaped from the corners of her eyes. What no one felt was the exhaustion of the work done every day to push the darkness further away or some days just to keep it at bay.

What no one understood is how sometimes she longed for the darkness. The darkness was comfortable. She knew the misery it would bring all too well, but she knew it. She knew what to expect. Every day in the light, struggling, battling felt unknown and unsafe. The darkness was known. The darkness was predictable, controllable even (until it wasn’t.) The darkness would hide her. Lie. The darkness would make her feel safe. Lie. The darkness would envelope her and protect her from the unknown. Lie. Everything she contributed to the world around her was useless, worthless, unproductive, could be easily done by someone else. LIES!

When she recognized them as lies, they hissed and stung like flaming arrows.

When she didn’t, they were familiar words, like letters from a long-lost friend.

Oh, the schemes of the Liar, the Evil One, the Ruler of Darkness.

Her Jesus is her Shield. She knows this. In her mind’s eye, she sees Him standing there taking almost all the fire upon Himself. She is never alone. Never. Her shield of faith is battle worn and tested. Where it has been punctured in the past, the patch applied has made it stronger. Where once it shined new, now it reflects light off every gash, dent and slash like the sculpture of a Master bronzer.

But today her armor weighed heavy. So heavy. If only she could take it off, for just a moment. No. The armor is her only chance of keeping the darkness away. Jesus whispered, “My burden is light. My yoke is easy. Come to Me. I am your Refuge. You will not lose ground as long as you rest in Me.”

Rest. In Him. She struggled with this invitation, this concept, every time. Her mind never felt at rest and when it was, she slept. Then, even in her sleep, she battled. Rest only came on days when she could envelope herself in silence, limiting the stimulus of life around her. This was not a luxury her days currently allowed, so she closed her eyes and slowed her breathing. Could rest be found now? Even in this moment? Here? She let the sun soak. She let the breeze cool. She leaned her head into the chest of Jesus and listened for His heartbeat. I will give you rest. Truth. She let the tears trickle and her breath relax, sighing away her cares. She cast anxieties like pennies in a wishing well, feeling lighter with each toss, each release. Her armor wasn’t too heavy after all.

“Thank You,” she thought. Gratefulness gifted peace. Jesus’ heart beat louder than the whisper of the darkness. His grace enveloped her in security. She felt hidden by love, held by peace, seen by hope and fully known. Joy was His presence and rest His blessing. She would battle again, but for now, she would rest. And to rest was ok. In the stillness she remembered, rest is obedience to.

……………………………..

Psalm 116 (her own rewrite)

I love the Lord because He hears me—

              Out of all the millions in the world—

              He hears the sound of my voice and the deepest asks—

                           Because He wants to listen to me,

                           He leans in close and gives me His full, undivided attention,

                           So I just keep talking

Always to Him, for as long as I live, for as long as I want or need.

Death has surrounded me before;

              I have known the terrors and frights from the abyss—

              The mourning, the pain, the nightmares, the darkness—

I have known anxiety and deep sorrow.

              In those times I cried out to the Lord,

              “Father save me. Hold me fast. Don’t let me drown!”

The Lord is always right, always gently offering me what I do not deserve—

Yes, He is compassionate—

              Keeping me from rotting away in my own self when I simply make Him enough.

              I have been in the deepest of pits,

              And His presence with me was enough to save me.

Rest, oh my soul—enjoy the peace of the Lord—

              Go back to that simple trust, that simple space where it’s just you and Jesus—

              Return there.

For the Lord has blessed me above and beyond.

He has rescued my soul from the darkness over and over and over again,

              Redeemed my tears of sorrow for tears of joy,

              And kept me from falling all over myself again and again.

One day, I will walk side by side with my Lord in the land He has prepared for His children

              Because His heaven IS the land of those who truly live in His physical presence.

Grateful to be His,

Jennifer

Taking Offense?

Who does she think she is? The thought woke up ugly in my mind. Quickly. I watched with disdain as a lady maneuvered her way around people in a very long line to cut in front of everyone to grab a package of rationed toilet paper. The Costco employees were at a loss as they were rationing out one package to everyone in line as quickly as possible.  Just as sneakily as she moved up the line, she was gone. Life moved on. But I was left with that ugly feeling stewing inside.

That wasn’t right. Isn’t someone going to say something? Should I say something? Why do people do that? Are people really that selfish? Humanity is crap. I hope she gets what she deserves. I’m glad I don’t think and act like that.

The thoughts churn hot. The righteous anger, the need for just resolution sits heavy in the back of my throat and the pit of my stomach. My mind is grinding. My own pride is beginning to show its backside. This is going nowhere good, fast.

So I stop. Off to the side, out of the way, I take a moment to forgive that lady for her selfishness, for offending me by cutting in front of me. I ask for forgiveness for my own pride. I talk to Jesus for a few seconds and hand the situation—that has come and gone, mind you—to Him. Releasing it to Him for Him to deal with.

It’s in those few seconds—it took seconds, not minutes—the Holy Spirit swept in with peace and grace. Cooling peace to put out the burning thoughts. Compassionate grace to give me His perspective on the situation.

What if she didn’t know there was a line?

What if she needed that toilet paper in a desperate way I don’t understand?

What if she’s a foreigner and doesn’t understand culturally what is happening around her?

What if she needed this win, this score more than anyone else today because securing that toilet paper is the best thing that will happen in her life today?

These are thoughts of grace. These are thoughts of compassion. They don’t excuse her behavior, but they add a perspective I hadn’t considered. They don’t come from me because I’ve already revealed my default response. These thoughts came as a relief in response to forgiveness. Forgiving myself and forgiving the offender. I’ve come to believe both are necessary to experience restorative peace and resolution. (Matthew 6:14-15, Romans 8:1, Ephesians 4:31-32, Colossians 3:13)

It’s these small experiences in life that separate knowing how to be a Christian from actually being a Christian, a living reflection of acting on truth by obeying (Jesus says to forgive) and receiving the rewards of obedience (peace and grace/ Psalm 119:165).

There are days when I would have let my first reactions run rampant for the rest of my shopping trip. Then allowed the crazy thought train to continue in the car on the way home. I’d unload my frustration and negative experience onto the first person I saw or who called. I’d let the roots of my offense begin to negatively effect my conversations and attitudes for the remainder of the day. And this was a small offense!

The bigger the offense the longer and wider the roots spread into your life. The weed of offense can only be uprooted with forgiveness. I’m tired of being offended all the time by everything. It’s exhausting. I don’t want to hold onto grudges because if worry is carrying the weight of tomorrow, holding a grudge is carrying the weight of yesterday. Lord knows, I’m only strong enough today to carry the weight of today. (Matthew 6:34)

Letting go isn’t easy. Every time I forgive an offense and offender, I’m choosing to release presumed rights. People love their rights, especially Americans. Yet, as a Christian, when I choose to follow Jesus, I choose to let Him assume the responsibility for my sins and the sins committed against me. He covers them all. He is both my Father and my King.  I am both His beloved daughter and loyal subject. I can trust Him to have my back, to be my Avenger, to make the best choice for me and the other person involved. I can trust Him with all my emotions and feelings and ugliness and need for justice. I can trust Him to do what’s best for my heart and mind. Even if, no, especially if I don’t agree with the outcome or lack of outcome from His decisions. That’s the hardest trust to learn of all. (Psalm 37:4-6)

I still struggle with forgiveness. I struggle to ask for it, and I struggle to extend it. But love keeps no record of wrongs, against me or against others (1 Corinthians 13:5). If stopping for a few seconds to the side in Costco to forgive an unknowing offender helps strengthen my forgiveness muscle, then I pray God keeps making me aware of all the little offenses. I need the practice, so I’ll be ready for the big ones.

Grateful to be His,

Jennifer

Where I Am: A Covid-19 Reflection

Saturday I was supposed to fly to Kenya. On mission trip. With my husband. Just us, serving together. It was going to be my first time on the African continent. There was going to be a safari and wild animals involved at some point. Even more exciting to me, I was going to get to hug the neck of a missionary friend we’ve supported from afar for almost twenty years. It was going to be the best way I could spend my fortieth birthday. The best representation of how I want my life to be remembered and known—serving others, loving like Jesus, always on an adventure, and of course some animal love.

Enter COVID-19.

It canceled Kenya, a camping trip, most likely my backpacking trip with my sister to Zion National Park, probably even my mom’s visit, and maybe more. This was my last year with some of the senior girls I’ve been in small group with since they were freshmen. While my heart aches for my own disappointments, it aches doubly for the disappointments they are experiencing. It aches for all the families whose paychecks will be directly affected by this quarantine.

And I sit at home with my family and have nothing better to do but sit and ponder and think and whine. Oh, poor me. Oh, poor us. The pity party can be real.

I watch people who are still refusing to social distance. Part of me gets angry. Why should they still get to hang with their friends? Part of me gets scared—the longer people wait to social distance, the longer this thing goes on. I waffle between self-righteous justice and sulking defeat. You can’t make people do what they don’t want to do. Heck, even if it came down to a military state, I swear the surfers would still find a way to surf.

We are all innately selfish and driven toward our own self-satisfaction and self-preservation. Considering the “greater good” does not come naturally. It’s why we hoard toilet paper because what if I need it? Forget everyone else. Sometimes we’re also judgmental and self-righteous, believing our way and our words are a better source of direction and light to a less enlightened world.  Hence the public shaming and calling out over social media. The pride at the root of either end of the spectrum makes my skin crawl.

Sitting at home with all these thoughts, I am forced to face the depravity and selfishness of my own mind and heart. I’m forced to consider the fact that part of me wants to give the middle finger to the government and the virus and board an airplane to anywhere out of pure rebellion. There are no distractions right now to keep me from facing that ugly, rebellious heart in the mirror of my mind. My thoughts cannot be drowned by my schedule currently, and I’m not sure I like what’s underneath. Sin. Ugly, prideful, selfish sin. Sometimes in my polished Christian world, I can forget that I’m included in the “all” of Romans 3:23. Full of sin and fallen short.

Enter Jesus. Like a breath of fresh air (Ezekiel 37:5), honey sweet to the taste (Psalm 119:103), He is transformative truth.

Because He reminds me ever so softly to look around and appreciate (Hebrews 12:28). To open disillusioned eyes to what I do have instead of what I don’t (Colossians 4:2). This is hard. Way harder than wallowing and throwing a pity party.

I started to list my blessings. Each of us have things we can be grateful for. Each of us have our own unique set of circumstances where we can find the silver linings that mean something to us, if not to everyone. Like, I can sleep in. Not everyone enjoys sleeping in as much as I do, but I really do. It’s a silver lining for me. Some of my California friends may be enjoying the sound of the rain on the rooftop, a rare sound in this part of the country. Others may be relishing the gift of unscheduled time because their life is always over-scheduled. We can all find silver linings.

It’s these small, miniscule blessings that can get lost in the noise of everyday life. Like the whisper of God Himself to Elijah (1 Kings 19:12-13), life can drown out my Best Friend’s voice. The busyness can distract from the callings my Jesus has given me. The constant need to entertain or perform can drown creativity and innovation. Now, quite unexpectedly, we’ve all been given a reason to throw all our excuses out the window. Lack of time is no longer an excuse. Being too busy is no longer an excuse. I dare say, even being too tired is no longer an excuse for some.

God, in His infinite wisdom, has created a space in time where our excuses don’t hold up anymore. If you’re like me, you might be forced to face the truth that there are things in life you just don’t want to do. There are responsibilities you know you have; you don’t want to admit you’ve been pushing to the back burner of life for all the previously listed excuses. That currently don’t exist.

God has created a space where we can be gently confronted with ourselves and make a choice to change, to create new habits, to prioritize what really matters. Then, He’s given us the time to make it happen.

That conversation you’ve been meaning to have with someone, have it.

That phone call you’ve been meaning to make, make it.

That text message you keep forgetting to send, send it.

That talk with your kids? your spouse? Make it happen.

That thing you’ve always wanted to teach yourself or your kids, do that.

Write. Read. Sing. Talk. Listen. Play. These are all ways we’ve forgotten how to connect because of being too busy, too tired, or not having enough time.

Today I laid on my couch and wallowed in my disappointment, in the loss of all the things I was looking forward to. I drowned my thoughts in meaningless television shows, watching my kids do the same on their own devices. I didn’t want to eat. Wasn’t tired enough to actually sleep until I got depressed enough to nap for an hour. It was miserable, friends. 

The point? It takes work and effort to find ways to connect with others in meaningful ways. Even in my own home. Maybe especially in my own home. But we were designed by God for relationship and for work. He knew it was good for our souls from the very beginning (Genesis 2:15, 18). So, I’m going to go make myself a daily schedule, and Lord-willing, I’ll keep it. But it won’t be easy because my couch and television and cozy blankets are right there. It will be worth it because I will be a good steward of the gift of time the Lord has given during this season.

This is not how I wanted to spend the week of my fortieth birthday. This is not how I want to remember this benchmark year of life. But the hard truth is, I’ve been given an opportunity to write my own script to how the days ahead will play out in my home. An adventure my kids will remember being a part of instead of looking back on it in pictures. I want my family to look back on this time and remember it the way I wanted for Kenya—we served others, loved Jesus, made each day an adventure, and loved on some animals 😂 (We do have two dogs and two guinea pigs in this house.)

I don’t know how long this quarantine will last, but I know my callings in life haven’t changed. My sphere of influence may shrink, but that doesn’t matter because I’m only ever living for an audience of One anyway.

“Thank you, Jesus, for helping me process through to a perspective shift for today. I know more hard days are ahead, but I trust Your plan. Tomorrow will be a better day because Your truth makes the difference. May my hands not be idle, and my work continue to reflect You in me. May I never doubt the importance of Your mantle as my family watches. Thank you for being gentle with my disappointed heart. Your gracious understanding is more than I deserve. Amen.”

Grateful to be His, Jennifer

Be Gentle With Yourself

Criticism is my silent assassin. I think it always has been. I’m pretty sure I was born this way. The perfectionist in me sees every flaw, points out every mistake, dissects every conversation, email, and text for proper form, tone, and effectiveness. Believe me, if anyone knows how they’ve failed daily, I do.

The problem is criticism sits precariously balanced between correction and condemnation. Lean toward correction, and you can accept and adjust. Lean toward condemnation, and you spiral into the abyss.

It was from the depths of the abyss, during one of my darkest seasons, a dear friend looked across the table from me and in compassionate softness said, "It's ok. Right now, you need to be gentle with yourself."

Gentle with myself.

It was like hearing a sentence in a different language. I can motivate, push, applaud, diagnose, correct, and praise myself. But gentleness? Gentleness is not a virtue I’ve valued much. It's definitely a growth area. Growth of any kind is usually both painful and personal, taking place where no one sees what is happening on the inside.

What would it look like to be gentle myself?

Gentleness is a fruit of the Spirit, so it does not come naturally to the flesh. (Galatians 5:22-23) There's a softness, tenderness, a touch of finesse associated with the word. Pictures like the nurturing mother, Snow White singing to the animals, and baby lambs come to mind. Yet Christ is also gentle, and none of those word pictures describe Him in whole.

When I think of Jesus, His gentleness looks more like my daddy's calloused, hard-working hands being careful not to hurt me. I think of Jesus taking the hand of the dead girl, rubbing mud on a blind man’s eyes, speaking a storm into peace. Jesus is power finessed. Jesus showed gentleness by willfully humbling His power, putting it into submission for a greater purpose often out of loving consideration for another.

Enter the wisdom of, "Be gentle with yourself."

My mind, my will, and my emotions are POWERFUL gifts when submitted to Christ in loving consideration of His commands. They are powerful weapons against me when under the control of my flesh. They are powerful weapons for me when under control of the Spirit. Since gentleness is a witness of the Holy Spirit’s presence in my life, to be gentle with myself must be the outcome of Spirit work. My power must be funneled through Christ, to allow Him to wield my mind, my will, and my emotions how He deems worthy, producing good fruit.

To be gentle with myself looks like grace in action.

It looks like acknowledging the hard things in life when they come, giving them space to breathe and be what they are. Hard. (Ecclesiastes 3:4) When today is hard—grief comes for a visit, disappointment shows up on your doorstep, hurt stings—give it a moment. Don’t push it away, disregard or minimize its presence. See it. Feel it. Feel all the emotions as they come and reject all condemnation that may follow. (Romans 8:1) I am only human. My emotions are not sins until I begin to treat them like they are—hiding them, stuffing them, allowing them to take control. I must take a moment to notice them and hand them to Jesus. I can’t move forward until I do.

Being gentle looks like removing any expectations of all the "shoulds" in my life, accepting what today is. (2 Peter 1:3, Psalm 118:24) I should be exercising. I should be doing laundry. I should have called my friend. The list in my head can be never ending. I need to stop and recognize. God gave me today. He’s already provided me with everything I need to live and accomplish His will today. When I ask Him what I need to be doing, all I really must do is that.

Gentleness with myself is remembering that God sees me right where I am, for who I am, and He loves me unconditionally. Right here. Right now. (Ephesians 3:17-19, Psalm 139) I have nothing to prove to anyone else. It’s my choice to believe truth and rest in it. Taking captive any thoughts that say different and releasing them to Jesus because He's the judge and jury, not me. (2 Corinthians 10:5)

You cannot pour into others something you do not already possess. If I wish for gentleness to be a marker of my life, a virtue others can experience, a fruit the world can taste, I must first learn to be gentle with myself. Practicing gentleness inwardly will allow others to experience it outwardly.

Some of us beat ourselves up too much. Some are utterly clueless, not self-aware at all. The gavel of conviction seems to be but a bothersome mosquito bite. But some need to place the gavel we constantly carry for ourselves back into the nail-scarred hands of our Heavenly Father. The result of His wounds was a healing grace only He can administer, a salve for our burning souls. Let Him decide when the gavel is necessary, and in the meantime, be gentle with yourself as He is gentle with you.

In my hardest of times and darkest of days, I needed those tender words from a friend giving me permission to be gentle with myself (almost as if God Himself was using her to whisper those words to me) because God was being gentle with me, and I needed to allow Him to do His work.

Where is God gently working in your life? Do you pick up the inner critic hammer to try and fix yourself instead of submitting to the hands of your Maker? Jesus has been far gentler and kinder to me in His unfailing strength and presence than I have ever been to myself. If you find yourself in a hard season, and the voice inside your head is always harsh, hateful, critical, and demanding, please, please, hear my Jesus whispering, "It's ok. Right now, you just need to be gentle with yourself." 

Here's to 2020

In 2013 when she passed, my whole world stopped. To be fair, between becoming a new mother in 2007, blundering through postpartum depression, weathering a miscarriage in 2008, my world was already inwardly reeling well before her death. Looking back, I can see this clearly, but at the time it just seemed like the normal struggle of life.

But when she died, it's like the whole world just stopped, then it began to move in very slow motion in an opposite and different and new direction all together. Then, all of a sudden, like Dorothy in the tornado, I found my mind spinning out of control and transplanted to Oz, which quite literally ended up being from Georgia to California in 2014, and my family wasn't in Kansas anymore.

God knew exactly what He was doing every step of the way. 

To steal a quote from Lysa Terkearst, "the seeming permanence of some of the heartbreak ha(d) stolen some of (my) affection for life (It's Not Supposed to Be This Way, 2018)." Yes. Stolen my affection for life. I had slowly been losing my affection for life for some time if I look back and am honest. I was nursing wounds of seeming failure as a teacher. (This might be the first time I've ever even admitted I felt that way.) I was drowning in survival mode and seeming uselessness as a new mother. (Again, this was my inward world, I'm not sure even I knew at the time what was brewing in my mind.) I am not the mom who enjoyed those early years. Don't get me wrong. I treasured them, tried to appreciate them, and didn't wish them away, but when my youngest turned four, I breathed an inward sigh of relief that those early years were now treasured memories. I had survived.

I tried to thrive, but during the early years of my children, I weathered deep postpartum after my first, then silently grieved a miscarriage long after my second was born in 2009, somewhere in there my husband lost his brother (2010), and I buried a beloved grandfather (2012). It was life in my late twenties, early thirties. Everyone weathers crap, right? Everyone grieves sometimes about somethings. I was an adult. I could handle this. Right? 

I realize now how gentle and empathetic of a soul I have. Many have complimented me on my strength over the years, but the reality is my soft heart that feels deeply had a wall of emotional armor around it that grief was eating through like acid, and when it reached the soft underbelly of who I really was, I was in pain. You can only live life in pain for so long before it actually drives you crazy. When Savannah Veale died, my armor was destroyed, and I was left utterly exposed and frantic, my mind vulnerable to all the acid of the grief. In retrospect, it also left me completely vulnerable to the gentle working and molding of my Jesus. 

God sent the tornado that transplanted us to California. That was His doing. Except my yellow brick road was paved with sand and ocean waves. He even sent me my own Lion, Scarecrow, and Tin Man to keep me company, and we've journeyed together toward Oz, back to the heart of the Wizard of Oz, except in this metaphor, the Wizard of Oz really is the King of Kings and Lord of Lords. He was never a fake behind a curtain. Truth be told, He was with me on this journey the whole time, orchestrating every circumstance right there by my side.

So I sit here on the verge of 2020, looking ahead, and I am grateful for the journey. I've not reached a point where I can say I'm grateful for all the griefs. I am grateful for the freedom I've found in journeying back to the heart of my Jesus. I'm grateful for the relationships forged in fire along this journey, my husband being the closest and deepest. I'm grateful I am in a personal relationship with Jehovah Rapha, the God Who Heals. 

For many years now, I have believed that healing, deep healing from all the griefs of life, wasn't truly possible this side of heaven. If for the last decade I have been on a quest for joy and found it again in my Jesus, maybe the next decade is a quest for healing? or maybe victory? I don't know. I just know that Jesus healed so many during His time here on earth, and I believe His healing continues to this day, but I think maybe it looks so much different than what I think it should look or feel like.

My therapist said the other day, "Maybe part of healing is learning to accept what is instead of constantly dwelling on what could have been." This is a hard statement. One I keep rolling over in my mind, examining whether I believe there is truth there. I think there is.

Hebrews 12:1-3
Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, 2fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith. For the joy set before Him He endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. 3Consider Him who endured such opposition from sinners, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart.

I think it could also read....
Therefore, since we are not alone, let us throw off the idea of what could have been and the sins of the mind that idea can use to so easily entangle us. And let keep running the race that is here, now, in front of us, laser focused on Jesus, the One who went first and perfected our faith. He chose the suffering of the cross to claim the joy He knew was on the other side, redeeming what the world saw as shame into glory, He took His place at the right hand of God the Father. When we struggle with the griefs and pain of this life, remember Jesus, so that you will not grow so weary that you lose hope. 

He is our Hope. And I think maybe it is finding hope again that also aids in healing.

So here's to 2020, the beginning of another decade--quite literally for me since I'm a 1980 baby--the beginning of new quests, new dreams, new tomorrows. I don't know what lies ahead, but all that lies behind has taught me Jesus has me covered. Here's to taking next steps, wherever life takes me, with eyes laser focused on Him. I'm telling you, the greatest adventures in life are lived with and for and in Christ.

Truly, deeply, in Christ, I wish you the Happiest of New Years!
Grateful to be His,
Jennifer

Christmas Letter 2019

Dear Family & Friends,                                                                                                                                               

This has been the year of intention. Intention is defined as the determination to act in a certain way. In looking up the definition, I found that intention is also defined as the process or manner of healing of wounds. We have all experienced wounds and carry wounds in our daily lives. I’ve written about many of these in my own life over the years, but this year was full of intention—I just didn’t know until I sat down to write this letter that intention had anything to do with healing. This revelation puts 2019 in a whole new perspective.

We always try to make our travels intentional to explore and experience more of God in creation or to use the time away to invest in relationships with one another and others. This year included snowmobiling in Yellowstone, a mission trip to Mexico for me, Easter and Thanksgiving in GA, a summer vacay to Maui, Hume Lake summer camp for Savannah and me, a trip to Washington D.C. for Joey and Weston, and plenty of weekend camping with our framily. We realize the blessing of these memories, and I try so hard to tuck them away and treasure each one.

Weston turned 10 in August. He’s all boy. A growing, bright, active and sensitive boy. Through some early struggles in the year physically and emotionally, I’ve watched him choose to intentionally trust God more. We pray with purpose, and he is quick to recognize his need for prayer and ask for it. When we talk about the Lord, there’s a maturity to Weston’s understanding of God’s presence now that has built in him a strength he didn’t have before. He’s set his mind to learn and understand and put into practice what he learns. His diligent intentions can be seen in his grades, his conversations, his questions, on the soccer field and how he treats others.

Savannah turned 12 in October, but we have been in full preteen mode for quite some time. Our church promotes kids the beginning of June, so that’s when she officially entered the world of sixth grade and middle school. Natural consequences have become an all too common discussion in our home, yet I’ve watched her learn and grow with grace. We’ve always called her the baby whisperer, but it’s such a joy to watch the Lord use her talents with the children at church. She’s been intentional about not only volunteering at church but making sure she’s present and involved with activities in the middle school. She made the choice to switch sports this year as she started swim team in August. She seems to love this sport, and I’m encouraged by her positive attitude and willingness to take instruction and apply what she’s learned. The same is true for school. It’s been her own spiritual growth where she’s taken initiative that is the most endearing. She journals, does devotions, and even has a prayer wall set up in her room. These are not things we’ve required her to do, but how we’ve watched the Lord move with intention in her own heart. What a joy and blessing and answer to prayer.

Joey began the year with the goal of being intentional with our children by implementing Friday morning breakfast devotions with Dad. It’s just him and the kids every Friday morning discussing God’s Word over Chick-fil-A breakfast together. It’s nothing fancy, but it has become something they request, and while the chicken is a definite motivator, I think they really crave the time with their dad, and I’m so grateful Joey’s leading them toward their Heavenly Father at the same time. Joey has continued to be intentional with our marriage as he’s implemented “connect time” into our daily routine this year. This is just a time for the two of us to sit down across from each other with no distractions and talk, making sure we’re on the same page as we move forward emotionally, spiritually, and mentally in our daily lives. This practice is priceless for our marriage. As for work, I’m not sure I’ve met a more intentional teammate. He seeks to serve with excellence, and I believe the Lord continues to bless each of Joey’s intentions where work is concerned.

I began this year like every other year, but with the encouragement and wisdom of a dear friend, I set my mind to complete my first International distance triathlon. I could write a whole book on this intention, but it’s always been a personal goal to complete one before I turned forty, so I trained, and I sacrificed, and I completed the race. A half mile swim, 25 miles of biking, and 10K of running later I had crossed the finish line in 2 hours and 29 seconds, beating my personal goal of finishing in under 2hr30min. (Ha!) It was a purpose-filled journey. When you intentionally choose to do something difficult, the how and when of God’s presence lights up like a neon sign.

After Joey and I completed his first sprint triathlon together the end of September, God’s plans for me shifted drastically. It became abundantly clear to me through His Word that I was to be intentional with my time and how I chose to spend it and who I chose to spend it with. Mostly, the Lord’s been calling me to Himself. My days are not as full as years past because I felt the Lord call me out of several ministries. My days have slowed as every hour I find myself stopping to seek the Lord’s direction on how He would have me use my time. I’ve always felt the call to write but disciplining myself to use my time to write is another act of obedience altogether.

Yet the healing that has taken place in my heart and mind and soul over this past year (ongoing healing from depression, anxiety, and the wounds of grief from the past decade) is undeniable and must be completely accredited to my Jesus and His patience with me, His faithfulness to never leave me, never forsake me, and never give up on me. Mentally, I am healthier than I’ve been for almost six years. Physically, well, can’t we all do better? (Ha!) But the difference now is I know what to do and how to do it to keep myself from derailing. Spiritually, God has opened my eyes to the practice of intentional thanksgiving, and it’s currently blowing up my perspective on how to approach this one life we are gifted. (Maybe I’ll have more to write on this next year, I’m still in the beginning stages of what this looks like😉) But the facts of this year speak for themselves—I did not intend to heal, but turns out when I set my mind to discover what physical, mental and spiritual wellness looks like for me, healing was an unintended, yet welcome side effect. Ironically—as I mentioned above—by definition, intending is also actually a process of healing. Who knew? God did. A process that continues, and I’m pretty sure won’t end this side of heaven.

For six years my heart has wanted to heal, but it didn’t know how. Had I intended to heal myself, I would have failed miserably. My intention for six years has only been to discover what healthy looks like for me in all aspects of life. It has been hard, rewarding, life-changing work. My Jesus has met me right where I am every step of the way. Joey has come along side me, leaning in to what it looks like to emotionally support. Our family of four works hard to practice healthy, open and honest communication with one another. And for the first time in my life, I feel like the Lord has blessed me with friends who I know will take me back to Jesus every time I’m too weak to take myself. Throw in a healthy dose of beach life and ocean sunsets, and my heart is joy-full because I see God’s presence in all of it. I’m discovering His intentions for me.

What about you? In what way can you determine in your heart and set your mind to act in a way that will move you toward wellness in Christ? Instead of a long list of resolutions for 2020, what’s just one area of your life you can intentionally focus to be healthy? Is this the year for physical, mental, emotional, spiritual, marital, parental or financial wellness?

I read recently that “the secret to joy is to keep seeking God where we doubt He is (Voskamp, 1000 Gifts).” Which makes sense, since “in (the Lord’s) presence is fullness of joy (Psalm 16:11).” I’ve been on an intentional journey, a treasure hunt, in search of joy for some time now, and whether I like it or not, the truth is God keeps bringing me back to a closer relationship with Him in my quest. I search for joy, and He shows me a little more about His heart for me and others and this world. I grasp for joy, and He gives me His hand to hold. I cry and beg for joy in the dark, and He wraps me with his peaceful Presence. I’ve hunted for joy, intentionally, relentlessly for six years, and I keep finding my Jesus in new ways, and today, writing this letter, it makes my heart sing. What is it you think you so desperately need that you’re willing to set yourself to the quest of finding it?

I pray that this next year is the beginning of new quests for each of us. Whether your quest be for love, peace, acceptance, purpose, hope or all of the above, my guess is when you start exploring all the options—looking under all the rocks, going to great lengths, highest highs and lowest lows to find what you’ve set out to find—my guess is you’re going to find Jesus. I hope you do. Knowing Him more and knowing He fully knows me is my greatest treasure this year.

He is the best gift I can share with everyone in my life. 2 Corinthians 9:15: “Thanks be to God for His indescribable gift!”

Wishing you the merriest of Christmases from our home to yours,

Joey, Jennifer, Savannah & Weston Durham

Photography Credits to Katie Morrow Photography.