He Uses It All

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Speak With Care

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

Dear Family & Friends,                                                                                                                                               December 2020

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 Joey,                                 Jennifer,                           Savannah &                                   Weston Durham

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

He Who Has An Ear: Find Hope

“He who has an ear, let him hear what the Spirit says to the churches. To him who overcomes, I will grant to eat of the tree of life which is in the Paradise of God.” Revelation 2:7

My 92-year-old grandmother lies dying in her home as I type. Dying from nothing more than old age, her body reaching its limit on this earth. Breaths away from a desire each of our souls long to have fulfilled—the desire to live forever. Eternity.

Yet, unless death comes knocking on our door, we try our best not to think of it. Rather, we look at this life around us and long to fully live, today, in this moment, fully alive to enjoy this one life. We desire a fully lived life in the present and an immortal life in the future, all in hopes of escaping death, of never having to face the uncertainty and uncontrollable fact of death.

But because of our sin, death of this body is inevitable. (Romans 6:23) The day it arrives already written in God’s history, already known. (Job 14:5) However, as a child of God, I do not fear the death of my soul. All others must.

He who has an ear, let him hear.

To the children of God who overcome, God promises He will allow us to eat of the tree of life in His Paradise. Which means at some point in all space and time, when my God-fearing grandmother breathes her last breath here on earth, she will enter the presence of her Jesus in His home, His Paradise. Then, after being unable to stomach a bite of food for over a month, she will eat of the tree of life. And she will truly live fully, freely and forever. The aching desire deep in the soul for more life will be completely satisfied and satiated. What hope!

Hope for whom? Hope for those who overcome. Overcome what? Overcome the temptation to leave their first love, Jesus. (Revelation 2:4) Overcome how? Reignite the love. Fully surrender to the One who stands in the gap between God and man, reconciling and redeeming our sin for His glory. Oh, how He loves you and me! Have you lost that first love?

There’s no other way to overcome this life, to receive the hope of our deepest desires fulfilled, met, and quelled than through a living relationship with Jesus Christ today, in the here and now.

It is arrow prayers shot in the moment of despair.

It is morning tea conversations about the truth in a Bible verse.

It is comforting silences of enjoying His company while watching a sunset.

It is wrestling with hard truths and expressing deep emotion with Him and to Him.

It is praise and adulation of the soul for the goodness He shows, showers, and provides.

It is words of reverent thanks given.

It is the stillness of listening to His voice or for His voice.

It is the minor course corrections you make because you felt the nudge of the Holy Spirit.

It is the JOY of fully surrendering all of life’s disappointments to the One Person who can work them all for my good and His glory.

Without a personal, daily, hourly, moment-by-moment relationship with Jesus, there is no hope. There is no overcoming—in this present moment or in the future to come. Tomorrow will always look as bleak as today. It will weigh just as heavy. We mere mortals were not created with the strength to overcome this life on our own. We were created to rest in Jesus, to rely on His strength and power, and to live fully through relationship with God because His breath alone can bring us to life. (Genesis 2:7, Job 33:4) Imagine the possibilities of living life fully aware of His presence!

“Abba, thank you for Your promises. Thank you they apply yesterday, today, and tomorrow. Thank you for making a way and a plan to fulfill, meet, and quell all my deepest desires, needs, and fears. I choose to lift my eyes to You and your promises today, Lord. Thank you for providing a way to overcome. Amen.”

Turn your eyes upon Jesus,
         Look full in His wonderful face,
And the things of earth will grow strangely dim,
              In the light of His glory and grace.  –Turn Your Eyes Upon Jesus, Helen Howarth Lemmel

Devotion in the Dark

“You have taken from me friend and neighbor—darkness is my closest friend.” Psalm 88:18

There’s no glossing over the hard things of life—the depression, anxiety, stress, death, pain, hurt, and heartbreak. We can’t ignore them, bury them, or make them pretty or easier to endure. In fact, when we choose to follow Christ, we sign up to carry His cross and sign on the dotted line for all His promises, one of which is that in this world we will have trouble. When the days and seasons of trouble come, we can feel helpless and useless sitting with darkness, our closest friend.

Truth is we are never helpless or useless because even in our deepest dark Jesus’ sacrifice gives us the gift of honesty, of openness, of unobstructed communion with God the Creator. The opportunity to be real with ourselves and with our God is a powerful tool against the enemy.

Psalm 88 is a psalm of lament. When you read it, the despair and agony of David’s soul is evident and pure and real.

David proclaims darkness as his closest friend, yet even in the dark he continues to speak, to cry out. He claims God has taken everything from him, yet David continues to keep the lines of communication between him and God open.

Therein lies the treasure of this passage, the beauty in the authenticity of God’s Word. Even in his lowest of lows, David never stopped talking to God. Not only did he keep talking, but he didn’t edit his feelings either. He didn’t try to gloss over the ugly truth of the condition of his heart. He didn’t try to dress up his words and feelings for a conversation with a holy God. He never stuffed all his raw emotions into a box labeled “shameful”.

No, instead, he wrote them all down, quite possibly even sung them out loud. He gave all the ugly words and hard feelings air to breath, but most importantly he was unabashedly honest with the one Person in his life that could handle all the hard things. His God. Throughout all the psalms—especially this one with no satisfactory ending—David stayed honest with the God he had staked His life on more than once. Even knowing God had allowed these hard things doesn’t keep him quiet.

He kept talking to God, out loud and in writing, through all the pain, amid all the questions, and despite knowing God had allowed his circumstances.

What trust! What refreshing vulnerability! What courage.

“Father, increase my faith to have the courage to bring all the hard and ugly directly to You, first and foremost and often. May my unedited soul find comfort in You alone because I know you hear my voice and the cry of my heart. You alone, Lord, can handle all my bitter brokenness. Though I feel darkness is my closest friend, I know You sit right here with me. Amen.”

I Am A Liar

I am a liar. Or at least I’m a person that sometimes lies. Today I had to own it. I had to call a spade a spade. I’m dealing with some inward spiraling, mostly around avoiding potential conflicts and hurting other people’s feelings, and in the middle of the spiral, I started reading this book our church is working through together—Emotionally Healthy Spirituality by Peter & Geri Scazzero.

Ever heard of it? The first chapter was a gut punch and a reality check all at the same time. Not sure I can stomach the rest of the book, but the best things in life are hard work and worth the effort, so let’s do this, right?

Bring on the emotional maturing.

Basically, I realized in reading just the first chapter of the book I am not as spiritually mature as I like to think. There are many items on the list of things labeling me emotionally immature, but the lying thing got to me.

I can confidently say, calling myself a liar is not a statement of my identity. I know at my core a liar is not who I am. No one who knows me even a little would call me a liar. Integrity matters to me. It is probably the number one reason I married my husband. He has more integrity in his little finger than Mother Theresa on a good day. Exaggerating a smidge, maybe, but he often wonders why I chose him when my standards are so unattainably high, and well, that’s why. I couldn’t find a man with more integrity. I digress….

In identity, I agree I am not a liar, but I do lie. And it happens at the worst possible moments for me. Moments when I’m given a chance to really speak how I’m feeling, to put it out there. Like when someone checks in after an emotionally charged discussion:

Someone: So, are we ok? Everything between us is good?

Me: (Long pause) Yes. I think so. Yes. I’m good. We’re fine. (Big smile. Hug if necessary. Change the subject.)

Liar! What I realized today is the thought process I went through in the above “Long Pause.” You know, the one where the someone is probably thinking I’m taking time to contemplate a truthful answer.

Instead, during that long pause, inside my head sounds something like this:

Am I ok? Are we good? I don’t know. I don’t feel ok. Things don’t feel good. But feelings lie, and the truth is this person loves me and I love them, so I’m sure my feelings will follow and align later. I also really don’t have the emotional energy to keep having this conversation right now in this format. Things have been a tad heated and uncomfortable, and I don’t want our time together to be soured. I’ll be ok. We’re good. Things are good.

So, I lie.

What results is an uneasy space between me and someone because truthfully, I’m not fine, and we’re not good. They choose to believe me (because I’m not a liar) but might leave feeling confused by the space between us. Fellowship is broken because there’s no resolution, conclusion, or agreement to disagree, no true understanding because I lied to avoid the avalanche of feelings building inside me.

And boy do they build! Not only can I not get my feelings of being ok to align later, I continue to spin on the conversation, realizing bullet point by bullet point how I’m hurt and offended, how my offense is not out of line, misplaced or unbiblical. But now what? I lied. I told them I was fine.

And that’s just one example of one conversation. Honestly, my knee jerk reaction is to lie in ANY uncomfortable, possibly confrontational situation.

Want me to share my real feelings, but I’m feeling like I can’t trust you because of past offenses? I’ll lie.

Put me in a position where I’m faced with the choice of telling you the truth or hurting your feelings? I might lie.

Back me in a corner, put me on the defensive? I might try lying, appearing like I agree with you, before I let the claws come out.

Why??? Because confrontation sucks. Because our world and our culture has progressively taken away our need and opportunity for face to face conversation. Because if you’re only going to be able to spend limited time with a person at lunch, on the phone, etc., why would you want to spend that time in conflict or even just mild disagreement? Our lack of overall social interaction has led to soul-crushing social anxiety crippling our ability to be honest, real, vulnerable, and authentic. Ultimately, we walk around never feeling truly heard or understood.

Honest, real, vulnerable, authentic conversations require treading into deeper, unknown waters. Sometimes we step on each others' feelings in those murky waters. It doesn't have to be a relationship damaging experience, but we're out of practice. For me, a little lie takes me back to shallower waters, but I just robbed myself and the other person of something authentic and vulnerable--of something true.

It's difficult to even put these words into writing, much less publish them! Now, I’m giving the general public a reason to distrust me, a reason to label me as a bad friend, bad Christian, untrustworthy person. I’m exposing my underbelly, and a voice in my head hisses, “This only makes you weaker, less valuable, less worthy.”

But I know the voice of my Good Shepherd (John 10:27). He doesn’t hiss. He beckons. He calls with longing. He speaks with concern and genuine compassion and love. He sheds light on my character flaw to lie in these situations, and whispers, “You don’t have to do that anymore. You are a new creation seated with me in the heavenlies. You are not a liar, so don’t lie. Believe that and step into it. Live unafraid because I’ve got your back. You are never alone. I am the Truth. Speak from My Spirit empowering you every day.” (2 Corinthians 5:17, Ephesians 2:6, Isaiah 54:17, Isaiah 41:10, John 14:6, John 16:13)

So, what now? When God reveals some ground He wants to conquer in our life, what do we do?

For me, the next time I’m faced with that situation, I feel those uncomfortable, unsure emotions, I won’t dismiss them. I won’t avoid the conflict inside me. I will have a choice to speak truth for myself. To say the words, “I don’t know how I’m feeling right now. I don’t feel fine. Things don’t feel good. I may need some more time to process.” Will that leave a highly uncomfortable space between me and someone else? Probably, but it will be truthful, sincere and authentic. I’m not hiding behind pleasantries. I can be free to circle back to the conversation, to table it for another day, to express my love for the other person, but my desire for time to speak truthfully.

My fellow family, friends, believers, and countrymen—It is time we take back the art of conversation. It is time we press into hard words to say, difficult topics to broach, and heavy emotions that have a purpose and were created by God to put us on notice.

I am not a liar. Anymore. By the precious shed blood of Christ.(Colossians 3:3-4) So, I don’t want to lie anymore. May God’s grace, truth, dignity, poise, and gentleness be evident in how I choose to interact with those around me. And when I screw up—because I will, again and again and again—may I have the humility it takes to go to those I’ve wronged and tell them I lied to them, asking for their forgiveness. Maybe it will open a new vein of conversation, maybe it won’t. But my conscience will be clear before the Lord, speaking the truth will set me free inside and out.

All sin ensnares, traps, entangles, and imprisons. Much of my sin is very inward. For me, outward sin is a sign something has been going wrong on the inside for a long time. It just finally leaked or exploded out. The truth sets us free, and Jesus is the Truth.(John 8:31-32) Being honest about my sins, confessing them out loud is an opportunity for accountability, a cry for community, a plea for help. There’s nothing wrong about any of those, nothing weak about coming clean and asking for help to stay that way. That’s meekness and brokenness on display for the glory of God because it’s His voice that beckons me to walk in the light of truth.

Our world says to hide your weaknesses or work on improving them. 

My Jesus says His power is perfectly displayed when I own my weakness, and He loves me regardless.(2 Corinthians 12:9) Sanctification—all that improving—is His job. Obedience is mine.

Maybe lying isn’t your struggle. Maybe your vice is greed, lust, lack of compassion, apathy, jealousy, wrath—the list goes on and on. If we were honest, we all struggle with any of these many times a day in different situations.  The challenge is can we own it. Can we see the ugly for what it is, call it by its name, and let Jesus conquer that ground in our life by making it new with His Truth? Are you walking close enough to Jesus’ light to even see the ugly things and acknowledge they are there?

Every day I’m more and more grateful I serve a God who loves me too much to leave me in the sinful state He found me. His deepest desire is for me to become exactly who He originally created me to be, so He keeps spotlighting one little area at a time and taking back ground in my life I didn’t even know I had given up to the enemy or needed to be conquered.

Following Jesus makes me stronger. He makes me better. No one else gets the credit for that.

Birthday Waves

It’s no secret my children enjoy challenging my creative abilities when it comes to their birthday cakes.  And it’s no secret creating their imaginations brings me much joy.

For her 13^th birthday, which is a slightly big milestone in my mind, my daughter asked for a from-scratch chocolate cake with chocolate mousse decorated with an exact replica of her surfboard surfing a wave. Oh my.

First let me tell you, ideas for how to create a 3D ocean wave were completely absent in my online and Pinterest searches. Second, my daughter might have changed her mind three times within the week before her birthday about what would be acceptable to her. Third, I have skills, but no training. Any skills I posses are winging-it at best (Thank you Lord for an inkling of artistic talent.). My daughter has more decorating and baking experience than I do at this point, but she has been gracious, and after a few terse exchanges about the mind-changing difficulties, she stepped back and let me do my thing.

To say the oversized-cupcake result represents a monumental amount of failures would be an understatement. Compared to the vision in my head, this is an artistic Pinterest fail. I’d also give myself a D+ on execution and technique. (If you had only seen my kitchen in this process…eye roll.)

But as I stepped back to survey the end product, for an untrained decorator with no source of inspiration other than my daughter’s surfboard, it’s not half bad. It’s almost even pretty. Others might find it incredible. The artist is always their biggest critic.

And all I could do was think about my daughter and me and surfing and life and all the lessons held within this experience.

Our ideations of how life should turn out rarely come to fruition the way we envision, but along the way, on the journey, in the process, we learn invaluable lessons.

At one point in my complete frustration with icing the project, my daughter walked over and gently came alongside me and just helped. She didn’t placate me with encouraging words that weren’t true. She didn’t say anything negative or positive about the wreck that was unfolding in front of me. She just offered to help. Then with calm confidence, she did. She fixed the issue, and in the process taught me how someone can be gracious with their help, how someone coming alongside you can calm with just their presence, how tackling problems together without a lot of words is worth its weight in gold. She got me back on track, then walked away, leaving me encouraged to keep moving forward and able to manage what was in front of me.

She’s good at that. Her confidence, when bridled with gentility and grace, guides others. Life’s kinks and bumps in the road have never phased her for long. She just takes it as it comes, and like surfing, sometimes she catches the ride while other times she waits for the spin cycle to end to take a breath.  But no matter the outcome, she gets back on that board and paddles back out because the thrill of trying is worth possibly getting crushed, and if you’re out there in the line up with friends, even better. She’s a ride or die kind of friend that would rather encourage you to keep going with her than throw in the towel. She’ll laugh with you, not at you, then laugh at herself harder.

All these lessons from one almost-failed attempt at a birthday cake. All these lessons from my girl. I hope the lessons keep coming. I hope I’m never too proud to learn from the younger, to learn from the mistakes, to keep trying, to keep paddling back out.

Happy 13^th birthday, Savannah Lee. I pray for many more years of learning our way together through this life because one thing’s for sure, you’re gonna make it fun. Hugs, your Mama