Category: Faith

Dear Daughter (A Memoir on Middle School and Body Hair)

Dear Daughter (A Memoir on Middle School and Body Hair)

reroutinglife

Dear Allie,

I can’t believe you are in sixth grade. Ok, you’ve been in sixth grade for a while now…but in my classic well-known slowness, I am just now processing this. I can’t believe how fast time has gone by.

When you were younger, we knew you were bold, free-spirited, and fiercely independent. You knew what you wanted and did it with no regrets or explanations. You would draw and imagine and sing and dance unapologetically. You loved dinosaurs and lizards and snakes even though other girls were playing Barbie. You never did like a camera, and made that well-known, but that was our problem and not yours. You were so sure of yourself. But what I remember most is the singing…you would find a song you liked and listen to it over and over until you knew every word, belting it out around the house.

https://youtube.com/shorts/FFvIi9Z3mUE?si=WsjuIFMKOLlRdcVD

And then, one day, you stopped singing.

But the truth is, you didn’t. I know this because when we started leaving you home by yourself for a little bit here and there, once you were old enough, you said you loved to be home alone because you could sing as loud as you wanted,

When no one can listen. When no one can criticize or judge. Because at almost 12 years old, that is all you worry about.

I know this because I remember it well, the moments when I stopped dreaming out loud and started dreaming in secret. When I stopped following my heart for fear of judgement or embarrassment.

Fear. Self-doubt. Comparison. All wicked thieves of childhood, of our true gifts and passions and purpose.

I too, used to draw and create and sing. I would run in front of movie theater screens and dance and perform and not think twice. I would write stories and proudly read them aloud. I would draw and draw and love everything I created because it was mine. I would sing broadway songs and whatever the Disney princess ballads were at the time and I was confident I was just as talented as them. I would dream and hope with unashamed abandonment.

And then I started to grow up. I saw sad things in the world. People told me things about myself that started to stick. Not so good things. I was weird, I wanted attention, etc. I wasn’t just a cute, fun little kid anymore. I felt like I needed to hide the things that I loved about myself. I had to learn hard things. I had responsibilities. Other kids were good at things too. Better even, then me. Maybe I wasn’t so great. Maybe I should just start being quiet and being more like everyone else. Maybe I needed to worry about people liking me instead of just doing what I liked.

These thoughts, of course, are not true. But at some point, everyone starts to believe lies about themselves. Because the enemy wants to get us as far from God’s truth as possible, and what better way then to push doubt into our hearts about the very person we were created to be?

My first day of sixth grade, I remember being so worried about my outfit. It was so important to me, what I portrayed on the outside. No one sees inner beauty at first glance. I wanted to impress, to fit in, to belong. And I thought that looks and image determined that. I remember picking out the matching peach-colored Keds (or a knock-off version I’m sure) and rolled-up floral jean shorts with a matching t-shirt. I remember the way those new shoes smelled, the hope in that shoebox that I would be enough.

Me in my sixth grade yearbook (along with my personal opinions about myself).

I remember my body changing, growing, stretching, hair popping up in all sorts of new places. It’s all so strange and weird, and it’s not like you go to school and talk to your friends about all the weird changes going on, you just endure it and go to school and try to act cool and normal. My dad is of Mexican decent, so my hair was extra dark. I had thick eyebrows, fuzzy sideburns, long, dark arm hair and even a slight mustache. I knew enough from my Seventeen magazines that pretty girls did not sport this over-growth of hair, so I did everything in my power to change it.

I’m sure my mom advised me on how to best manage my furry problems, but mostly I tried to figure it out myself. I tried plucking my brows with tweezers, and when that hurt like a you-know-what (even after trying the ice-cube numbing trick), I ended up just shaving them with a razor. Not ideal, but efficient.

The sideburns and arm hair were a bit trickier. Shaving your arms was not a thing people did (according to my peers and advice from beauty magazines), so I experimented with good-ole Nair hair remover. After applying that terrible smelling cream and enduring 30 straight minutes of what felt like a chemical burn, I was left with no hair but a terrible rash that looked even worse.

My back-up option was hair bleach. I mixed this cream with this salt-like stuff, endured yet another terrible smell, and voila! I was left with fuzzy, yellow arm hair that looked 100 percent not at all natural. I did this to my sideburns and mustache as well, until someone at my lunch table asked my why I had bleached my sideburns, which was even more embarrassing that my actual dark sideburns.

Then there was my actual hair, which I would curl and hairspray and cut my own layers into (and occasionally my own bangs) and spray with sun-in to get blonde highlights which always looked more orange than anything and I would hate wearing a pony-tail because of all my neck peach fuzz and of course my dreadful sideburns.

I always wanted a different nose too. Oh how I despised my nose. It was big and smushy and not at like Nikki Taylor or Candace Cameron or Shannon Daugherty’s nose (those were some of the prettiest, most famous teen celebrities when I was your age). My nose was more akin to Tori Spelling’s (an actress on my favorite tv show, Beverly Hills 90210) and everyone knows she eventually had a nose job to change that. That seemed extreme, but I figured I was open to anything to fix my blob of a facial feature.

My favorite TV show in middle and high school!

What I’m saying, dear daughter, is that when I looked in the mirror in sixth grade, I did not like myself. I wanted to be anyone but myself. And looking back now, this breaks my heart. Because God made me perfectly and told me I was beautiful, and I used to believe him, but my 11-year-old self ignored him. Instead, I looked to the world to tell me who I was and how I should look and act. And the world told me I needed to be someone else. The world told me I wasn’t enough. God got smaller and smaller in my life, because why would I trust a Creator of someone as unimportant as me?!

The more you listen to the voices of the world instead of the voice of your Creator, the more you follow a path that wasn’t even meant for you in the first place. You are created with certain genes and traits that make you who you are; with gifts and dreams and talents and a beautiful mind that is ready to learn and grow and create. No one is like you in this whole, huge world. And there are billions and billions of people in it! And you are the only you there is! When I stop and think about how amazing that is, I loose my breath. So why, my sweet child, would you spend you life trying to be anyone but who you were created to be?

I know the pull of the world to tell you who you should be, dear daughter, because I was your age once. Although I didn’t have the troubling wilderness of the internet and YouTube and social media to view the world. Sure, there were fashion magazines and 90210 and Mickey Mouse Club (a singing and dancing show I swore I was going to be on one day). But the noise of the world is so, so much louder now. All day, you see images and ideas of what the world says you are supposed to be. And it all wants your attention, and every second of the day it is trying to drown out that still, small voice of God that tells you the truth about who you are.

Look up, child! Look at me! I created you just as you are. I love you just as you are. I gave you amazing gifts and purpose for life in this world. Do not be afraid and do not look to the world for direction. Look to me. I have made a way for you in the wilderness. You are unique. You are enough. You are my beloved creation.

Precious girl, I know you are worried and afraid and don’t know how to talk to me about it, or anyone else for that matter. Because the world doesn’t celebrate weak and scared people. But Jesus does. Jesus may like weak and scared people most of all. Because he came for the lost, for the scared and the lonely. Jesus sees weakness as a superpower of sorts…because when you feel weak is when you need him most. And it’s ok to need him, to need help. It doesn’t mean you are messed-up or less-than anyone else, it just means you are human. It means your are growing and changing. God gives his grace out freely, you only need to open up your hands to receive it. Grace is God saying…whatever you’ve done, it’s ok, I still love you. Let’s try again tomorrow.

So now that I’m 44 years-old, guess what? All my problems are solved! Hahaha I wish!!! Nope, I still have doubts about who I am, what I’m doing, and what I’ve done. I have fears and worries because I am human, and that’s normal. But, I also know Jesus now. I know how much I am loved and that I was created just as I should be. And when I listen to that truth, and not what the world says about me, it’s like all my doubts disappear, and I start to like myself again.

Allie and I this past New Year’s Eve…she does not love a selfie!

And guess what? I even love myself with all this hair! I’ve learned that I love getting my eyebrows waxed and shaped, and I even shave my arms (and my big toes!) and I’m not ashamed about it one bit! My hairdresser showed me how to thin my sideburns, and it works for me. I have a dermaplane tool for my mustache, and even found a laser hair machine that doesn’t hurt that bad. Yes, it’s kind of alot of hair management… but I’ve become an expert at it so don’t be ashamed if you ever have questions. Everyone in the world has body hair, not just you! And guess what? If one day I get tired of all the de-hairing, that’s ok too! Because I’m loved no matter what! You’re body never stops growing and changing, and it’s the only body you will ever have, so learning to love it and take care of it is pretty important! My body has done some amazing things for me, and I’m so thankful for it, hair and warts and blemishes and all!

Ok, all hairiness aside… my dear Allie, my only daughter, I know that growing up is hard. It’s all so strange and just plain awkward. I know this, because I was 11 once too. I didn’t want to change, and I didn’t know what to do with all the changes and all the doubts and all the comparing and striving. But please, know that we have all felt these things. We have all wondered if we are enough. I’m here to tell you… yes!!! Yes, you are more than enough. You are enough now and as your body (and all its hair) continues to change. You are enough even if you look different than so-and-so or like something no one else seems to. You are enough even if someone says something unkind or your friends don’t call you back that day or you don’t make the team or a boy breaks your heart or you fail the test or you forget to wear pants.

You. Are. ENOUGH!!!

Be careful when people try to label you or try to say you are this or that or belong in some group, because that’s only people trying to make themselves comfortable and try to assign you an identity. But like I’ve told you before, don’t feel like you have to wander through this life looking for a group to belong to, my love. Because you were created to be exactly who you are…Allison Grace Brian. You are a beloved child of God, and that’s all you ever need to be. There is no one else like you in the whole, big world. And I am so proud and grateful for that!

I’m sorry if all you ever hear from me is nagging you to brush your hair and teeth and pick up your room and do your homework and get off your iPad…that’s just a mom’s job, to help their children take care of themselves. That doesn’t mean you are less loved or not enough! Being a mom is hard too. I love you even when you don’t brush your teeth, but I also don’t want you to get cavities, so I have to remind you. Your dad and I also don’t want you to be the smelly kid, so you’re welcome. I often say nagging is like love in disguise, but it’s annoying, I know.

But do know this…I’m so lucky that God gave me you. I’m sorry if I don’t ever tell you that. I’m better at thinking things than saying them, I know you are too. Please know that I love you so much no matter what. And even though it’s hard to imagine, God loves you even more than me!

So when you feel lost, or afraid, or don’t like who you are, remember that lots of people feel this way. I still feel this way sometimes! We feel shame and guilt and embarrassment and it’s just so much sometimes it makes us want to crawl under the covers and go back to bed. We will never be perfect people. We are humans that make mistakes. We get pimples and eat too much candy and forget deodorant and put our shirts on inside-out sometimes. But it’s okay! God’s grace is sufficient and He is so, so good even when we are struggling. He is there to hear your prayers, your pain, your fears…and so am I!

Allie, you are so loved and you are never, ever alone. Although you like to be alone, haha! But you know what I mean. There are people who love you and are here for you, even when it seems like no one else is.

My wish for you, is that you will always sing…sing your heart out, daughter. Know your own voice. Speak out and speak over what is authentically inside YOU. Whether for an empty room or in front of a thousand people, share your voice. Believe in yourself, in your truth, in your calling. Sing the songs of your heart, listen to the dreams God put there. When you can’t hear them, go somewhere quiet and listen. You will find them again, I promise. Only you and God hold the key to this special hiding place.

Once you find your dreams, in the still, hidden place, ask God again for the courage to share them with the world. Because they are a gift, a light to your path. They may even light a path for others. Because doing the things you were created for is like a superpower; it helps other people find the courage to do the things they were made to do! I’m actually a little afraid of sharing this note with you and others who will read it, but I believe in the message enough to go for it! Everyone is a little afraid to share their dreams, but it feels so good when we are brave enough to try!

Sweet girl, I believe in you. God believes in you. I pray that you believe in you too! You are 100% home-gown, authentically YOU. You can roll your eyes at me all you want but it’s true. And well, yes…every beautiful little hair is a part of the package!

Love you!

Mom

When Despair Comes Calling

When Despair Comes Calling

reroutinglife

Christmas season is upon us yet again. The tree is up, lights are twinkling, every commercial is throwing Christmas magic in our faces. And yet, no matter how much I want to, I cannot feel the magic.

Depression creeps in so very slowly, like a glacier growing at an undetectable pace, until before you know it, you are under the ice. The sky may be beautifully blue above, but you cannot see it through the cold, thick layer that covers you. Next thing you know, you realize you are frozen in place, trying to find a way to chip away at the ice that has you bound.

The last couple months have been riddled with storms of change, and although they haven’t seemed too far from the normal patterns, as I reflect back I see them with more gravity. My son became a teenager, and even my daughter, as she approaches middle school, has joined him in pulling away from me. There’s a relief in the freedom at first, a rejoice in their independence (no more butt-wiping, hooray!!!) but then the realization…your babies are growing up. It’s both an amazing blessing to watch and a grieving for the childhood giggles and innocence of the past. All of a sudden there’s no talk of the Easter Bunny, you have to bribe them to dress up for Halloween, and no one wonders if Santa Claus coming to town. You’re no longer wiping tears and patching up boo-boos, you’ve become a full-time Uber driver and screen-time police and social coordinator. The pounding of little footprints that greeted you way too early on a Saturday morning have been replaced with shouts at them to wake up because it’s almost lunch time. The Wheels on the Bus is now music that you’re not sure is appropriate for their little ears…but then you realize they aren’t so little anymore.

Amid the realization that my role of motherhood is quickly changing, my grandmother also passed away very recently. She had lived a long, healthy life, but it still hit hard. She was such a constant in our lives that was now gone. A stark reminder that life moves on, that time does not stop, that loss is a certainty. The hope of Heaven is assuring, but it still doesn’t stop the pain of our grieving.

I saw so much of myself in her, in her calm, stoic mannerisms…I couldn’t help but wonder if she had longings for more as I often do. Did she have more to say beneath her quiet demeanor? Was she so accommodating and easy that she denied herself fulfillment of her dreams? It seems unkind to ponder these things now that she’s gone, but it also comes at me like an opportunity or a calling. My grandmother always recognized and encouraged my creative gifts…and it’s clear more than ever that her visions for me were partly an extension of her own dreams. I found myself thinking more and more about the twilight of my own life. Would I be haunted by unfulfilled dreams? By talents unused and taken for granted? Within the sadness of my grandmothers passing is the hidden gift of conviction and clarity; this is our one and only life.

Oh, 43 years. Right smack in the middle of life. A place that is settling yet terrifying at the same time. More sure of who I am, but unsure of where I’m going. Feeling right on time yet past due. Grasping for a changing purpose, constantly reminding myself to yield to the change and not fight it. Not to strive but to surrender. But the ice feels oh so thick.

My anxiety has climbed back into the front seat of my life, despite my attempts to banish it. I’ve found myself doubting my capability, especially when driving. Almost daily I find myself paralyzed behind the wheel, wondering how I can make it down the street. The discouragement, shame and anger that follows has slowly led me to a place of dispair. The voices of defeat have been so, so loud. You are not capable of driving without fear, so how can you be a good parent? How will you keep your family safe? How will you function? How will you hide this from people? How can you live like this???

Oh that last question. That last one is where the despair rings loudest.

Most discouraging is that I have seen victory over all this. I have done the work, years and years of counseling and medication and spiritual warfare have led me to the mountaintop, but I was so wrapped up in celebrating that I didn’t even notice all the other mountains surrounding me. Just because you reach victory doesn’t mean you won’t ever set foot in the valley again.

But I’ve beat this! I’ve fixed it! I’ve learned to control it! I’ve tamed the monster!

But I…but I…me, me, me.

How foolish to think that I alone can control this life. That I’m immune to suffering and change. How much I’ve been clinging to victory that pride had unknowingly taken the place of gratefulness. How hard I’ve been on myself lately to think that this means I’ve failed at life and there’s no way out. Despair came calling and I just let it right in, self-pity wrapped me up and carried me right off…feeling unloved, unneeded, incapable. Like there is only one choice…victory or nothing.

But grace.

Sometimes we spend so much time fighting that we forget how beloved we are. We are battered and bruised and covered in scars. We find ourselves weary and tired, just needing to be held. Needing complete rest. So we put down our weapons for a bit and decide to crawl up into the loving arms of our Savior. We let the tears flow and find the permission to let it all go. It’s okay, sweet child…it’s okay. You are loved. You are forgiven. You are capable. You are never alone.

Oh beautiful, sweet grace.

We fall short and we underperform and doubt and fear and fail over and over again. And despite it all, we are utterly and completely loved.

Lord, forgive me. For I have put my ways before yours. I’ve given the enemy a foothold in my life that isn’t deserved. I’ve forgotten your truths about me, forgotten my position in the kingdom. I’ve forgotten my posture of surrender. Remind me who I am. Remind me of my belovedness. Amen.

I hear the ice start to crack, the sunlight peeking through with radiant warmth. Droplets of water slowly form, melting ever so slowly, but with oh so much promise.

Love never fails.

Safe Pasture

Safe Pasture

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“Heather? Hi! Can you hear me?” I recognize the soft, blue eyes of my nurse as she speaks to me. I’m all warm and drowsy and calm. I hear the soft hum of air that fills up the warm “space blanket” that covers me (if you don’t know what a space blanket is, trust me, it’s fabulous!). My eyes fall on my husband’s smile on the other side of the recovery room.

“They only took the cyst and the ovary!” he says. I am a loopy mess, but I am flooded with peace, his words holding an enormous amount of gravity.

No cancer.

Weeks of accumulating stress start slowly shedding off me as I lay there. It’s a strange moment, when you are still feeling the effects of the anesthesia, while trying to process everything you’ve just experienced. In those few hours, time seems to have no place. I’m in and out of sleep, reveling in the fuzzy warmth of this quiet, painless time after surgery.

My husband and I have a few laughs…he recalls how I was crying as they wheeled me back and he called out, there’s no crying in surgery! Always the comedian, that one. I didn’t necessarily laugh, but I did enter the OR wearing a half-smile. I told the nurses that I’d named my cyst Felicia, and if they could please get a picture of her on her way out that would be great (sadly, I never did get that picture). One nurse told me about how she had named the surgery robot Delilah. I joked about how her and Felicia would get along just fine.

The anesthesiologist was a refreshing soul, so kind and funny. As I was about to slip off into my drug-induced sleep, he asked me what my favorite beach was, and I’m all oh no, no…I’ve got to say Psalm 23. He’s like, ok girl, you do you.

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures…

And that’s as far as I got. In what seemed like two minutes later, it was all over. My first experience under anesthesia was a success. I had been so afraid of it, almost as much as everything else…I’m a bit of a control freak that wants to know everything as it’s happening. Needless to say, that’s not possible in the middle of a surgical procedure (thank the good Lord for modern medicine!). Just as everyone said…it truly was the best nap ever.

I’ve always struggled with control and trust, and the anxiety leading up to the surgery was monstrous. Each day was like climbing a mountain; every day I climbed higher and higher, afraid to look down, but knowing I had to keep pace, carefully, and sometimes reluctantly, placing one foot in front of the other. Would my strength carry me? Would there be bad weather ahead? Would I reach the top safely? No control of the outcome, only trust and faith and small, wobbly steps.

The unknown.

To completely surrender control seemed like an impossible task. I knew the cyst on my ovary had to come out. What I did not know, was what answer awaited on the other side of my eyes opening. Until I was on the operating table, there was no way to know the next steps. If there was any cancer, I would have a complete hysterectomy, which meant longer surgery and recovery, and early menopause. If there were no cancer cells, I would only loose my left ovary and the humungo growth that tried to eat her. I was nearing the peak of my mountain, climbing barefoot in a snowstorm. But there was no rerouting this time.

My friends, my family, my faith…I can’t tell you how completely surrounded and supported I was leading up to my surgery day. But I still struggled with trust. The mountain was so huge and daunting; so many rugged, sharp surfaces. It was dark and cold and horrifying.

Lord, I know you’ve got me through this. I know I’m tethered to your safety rope. So why am I so scared of this climb?

A friend of mine sent me a Louis Giglio sermon titled Even Though. I had recently read his book, Don’t Give the Enemy a Seat at Your Table; it was suggested to me by another friend who knew my walk with anxiety. However, I had never actually listened to the sermon that the book was based on. He tells the story of how those nine words forever changed his view of adversity, while referencing the scriptures of Psalm 23.

Last year, as we all spent our second year transitioning into pandemic life, Psalm 23 was one of those passages that kept popping up everywhere. I’d hear it in my favorite podcasts, it would come up in conversations, while reading articles. It is one of the most known and well-loved passages for sure, but it had definitely been in my line of sight for the past year or so. It describes the Lord as our Shepherd; He takes care of us when we are completely helpless, as sheep notably are. It emphasizes how great His love is for us and reminds us that no matter how far we stray, he will rescue us and lead us home.

So I’m listening to this sermon on my phone in my closet (my notorious quiet place), and as I’m putting on makeup, the circle of my face reflecting in the vanity mirror, I hear the next verse…

He makes me lie down in green pastures (Psalm 23:2).

My eyes close, and tears start to roll down my face. In my mind, I’m on the operating table, bright lights above me…and then all of a sudden I’m lying in the soft, bright green grass of a beautiful, lush field. I feel the warm breeze blowing across my face as I lie there, palms open. I feel the sunshine on my face and stare up at the bluest of skies. I can even sense the soft, thick coat of sheep’s wool. A smile rests across my face. I am completely at peace.

I’m right here with you, sweet girl. Don’t you worry. I’m right here. All you have to do is lie down and rest.

I hear the words and feel them all at the same time. He’s there reminding me, it will all be okay. The Lord is my shepherd, I don’t have to worry, I don’t have to fear. I can lie down and rest. I can surrender fully.

Oh, how I love these fleeting moments with the Holy Spirit. I used to think that sounded crazy, talk of these spiritual encounters (my friend and I like to call them “a little bit of woo-woo”), but now I know it’s how He meets with us when we are desperate for his presence. We just have to be willing to receive, to be open to what His Spirit has for us. The direct line to the God of wonders is always available to us, if only we would make the time and space to be still and listen.

I bask in my new super-power of peacefulness, finish with my make up, and pick up the phone to read a text. It’s then that I notice the date… February 23rd. 2/23. Just like the verse that had just breathed new life into me, Psalm 23:2. That made me laugh out loud. I mean, come on!!! Ok, God, I get it! I hear you!

From that day until the surgery, I am washed in perfect peace. Ok, maybe not totally perfect; I am human after all. But sufficient. And with all the conviction I can muster, I do just as He says. I lay down in the soft, green pasture and surrender. Because my Shepherd’s got me. My Shepherd will never leave my side. My Shepherd will lead me down that mountain.

And just like that, as my eyelids lift slowly in that tiny, muted green recovery room, I realize I’ve made it. I’m still there, resting in that lush, green field, the once ominous mountain now only a shadow in the distance.

He’s led me down to safe pasture.

Recovery is slow, but there is stillness and growth in healing. Not only does our body have to slow down and rest, but our faith needs time to sprout new off-shoots, to cultivate the beginnings of new roots. As unwelcome as they are, trials and hardships make for the most fertile soil. You may end up growing fruit to share with others, a tree for someone to lean on, or an endless field of soft, green grass for one to find rest.

Whatever you produce from your pain, His love and faithfulness will shine through you for the all world to see. Not even the tallest, darkest, most treacherous mountain can block your light.

The Shepherd will make sure of that.

In the Waiting

In the Waiting

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I struggled to get out of bed today.

Despite a bluebird sky and abundant sunshine, my soul was heavy, seemingly anchoring me to the bed. Another day of waiting, another moment of crippling fear and depression trying to steal the day from me. The enemy had his claws in me, threatening to take me away to devour.

I noticed some strange pain and bloating a few weeks ago. Ironically, while visiting a friend who had just had surgery for similar reasons, I voiced my concerns. Thankfully her nudges landed me promptly in my doctor’s office (a place I constantly avoid at all costs) and a few days later with a diagnosis…an ovarian cyst.

Of course off I go, consulting friends and Dr. Google (curse that never-ending worm hole!), my mind spinning with what and why and when and how. My husband and I have a trip and I debate cancelling, but then I figure I might as well get some rest and relaxation in while I can, so thankfully we go. Although I’m mildly uncomfortable and on an emotional roller coaster, I am surrounded by the most amazing people who speak truth into me when I need it most. I spend precious quiet time with my husband and my mom. The giant oaks and Spanish moss and ocean breeze are medication for my soul.

Until the phone call from my doctor.

This isn’t the type of growth that will go away on its own, she mentions…it has to come out surgically. Also I have a slightly elevated levels of cancer markers in my blood test, so they want to schedule my surgery with an oncologist. They tell me my cyst is roughly 10cm. Not too big I think.

Until I’m having a conversation with a friend about all the information I’ve just received and realized I have miscalculated. I was thinking in millimeters.

My cyst is roughly the size of a GRAPEFRUIT.

Oh. My. Goodness.

It’s fine. It’s fine! Everything’s fine. Is it fine? What if it isn’t fine? What should I do? Should I move? Should I lie down? How is it just floating around in there?! Should I go home?! I want to go home!! I want to see my kids! Will I see my kids again? What do I do?!!!

I calm down(ish) and make some phone calls to schedule the MRI and the meeting with the surgeon, which all seem like light-years away. Until then, all I can do is…wait.

Wait and pray it doesn’t burst.

Wait and pray there’s no cancer.

Wait and pray I survive the surgery.

Wait and pray that they don’t have to do a complete hysterectomy.

Wait and pray, wait and pray, wait and pray…

When I was a waitress, almost 20 years ago now, one of my regulars used to tell me I had the patience of Job. Not being raised with bible knowledge, I didn’t really understand the reference. With some quick research, I learned that he was a good and successful man that was tested by God and still managed to keep his faith. But I never did read his full story.

Until today.

It’s not a particularly uplifting story, but definitely one about the pain of waiting. Job was subjected to enormous suffering, an unsupportive spouse and friends, and enormous frustration in trying to understand the reason for his suffering. He claimed he did everything right. He was arguably the first person who cried out, “why, God?”. Since those ancient days, it has been proven time and time again that most likely we will never know why, but our unshakable God does. After extensive groaning and pleading, Job surrenders and humbles himself fully to God, and is eventually provided for ten-fold.

I took comfort in relating to Job’s cries as I read each chapter; I needed someone at my pity party. Although I didn’t loose my children, all my belongings or break out in painful boils (I mean, poor Job had it rough!) I had my own suffering to dwell in and grumble about. An unexpected health scare, of which I still don’t know the outcome. Two canceled winter break trips. Debilitating pain leaving little for me to do but sit around the house (ok, so there’s a silver lining in that…although my messy house is driving me a little nuts).

I look around outside of my own circumstances and see so much pain. I’ve had a friend loose a child recently. Others unsure if their marriage will survive another day. Friends losing parents and trying to best care for sick children. Human suffering isn’t uniquely mine, and I’ve been spared more than I probably deserve. Sadness, despair, injustice…why, God?

Like Job, we’re angry, we are confused, desperate and tired of suffering. We want reasons, answers, justification. We want to know how it all ends.

But then God humbly reminds us…that’s My job.

And so we are reminded, although we stomp our feet and pout about it, that as much as we want answers and want them now, we must wait and hope and trust. While we desperately search for truth on the internet or in people’s opinions or out in the world, that only God is all-knowing and understanding and truth bearing.

It’s in the waiting that we grow our faith.

I managed to drag myself out of bed eventually, and one of the first things I noticed were my houseplants, withering and drooping from neglect. Slowly but surely, I filled up an old plastic cup leftover from a college football game (I’m a sucker for a souvenir cup, mind you) and gave each one some life-giving water.

One by one, I was reminded of how we can become so blinded and distracted by fear that we end up forgetting to nourish our hearts and minds. We forget to just be still in God’s goodness and truth and just sit and hold hands with Jesus and tell him how scared we are. We cry and plead and beg for everything to be okay. We pray our cries are heard, even though answers aren’t always given when or how we want them.

We have to trust the waiting.

We must nourish ourselves, a little each day, not on fear of the unknown, but in the goodness of what is known, the goodness of the small moments in front of us. We must rest in the truth that maybe there is no blueprint for life…maybe there are just next steps. There is beauty and light but also loneliness and darkness. There are small steps forward and maybe a few backwards but always security in knowing we are known and loved no matter what.

If I focus and dwell and obsess about my ability to control the unknown, I will miss out on the moments and the memories and the gifts of what is known, what is true in my life now: that life is good, God is good, and that every minute of this life is a gift.

So here I sit, with my blanket and my heating pad and frozen lasagna in the oven, (also trying to figure out what I’m going to watch now that the Winter Olympics is over) realizing that I am…calm. A little bored and uncomfortable, maybe…but at peace. I’ve fought with God these past few days, grumbled and cried and resisted, but now I’m finally ready to receive.

Okay Lord! Here I am! You’re right…you’re the only one who knows. I surrender it all to You. I’m here to be watered.

And just like that, my leaves start to perk up a little.

When it Just Hurts

When it Just Hurts

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You know the feeling.

You wake up at first light, eyes puffy, head aching, processing the emotional hangover from the night before.

Miscommunication. Sharp words. Raised voices. Stomping feet. Slamming doors. Hurt feelings. Tears. Sleeplessness. Self-pity, loneliness, despair, isolation…

Being human is hard. We are all complicated beings, shaped by our experiences and our current situations. We carry these things with us and are triggered by things we can’t identify fast enough to avoid the damage they cause. The ones nearest to us get the overflow, and so on and so on. Hurt rarely singles out the original culprit. It seeps and crawls and oozes it’s way into everything you touch, bringing with it the pain and suffering and heartache that started as only a pinprick on your heart. That is the landslide of the power of hurt.

But God.

Yes, I have a sensitive soul. I’ll be the first to admit it. I can still feel the way my heart broke at 6-years-old, watching my parents fight. I can still feel the sadness in 2nd grade learning about MLK Jr., learning for the first time that people hated each other simply for the color of their skin. I can still feel the tears on my face when my favorite cat died. I can still feel the tears falling on my white butterfly comforter when I was told we were moving in 5th grade. I can still feel the dread of going to school in 6th grade because that kid who made fun of me everyday would be there. I can still feel the grip of my car’s steering wheel as I drove through tears after my high-school boyfriend broke up with me. I can still feel the ache of homesickness when I left for college.

I can still feel that hurt. But what I hurt most for, is that girl.

That was a girl that often felt unloved, unworthy, insecure. A girl who stuffed all her hurt inside to please everyone around her and who felt like it was her responsibility alone to keep her world from crumbling. A girl who’s unprotected heart was free range for the world to manipulate and destroy.

But I’m not that girl anymore.

The girl I am now, the woman I am, is different. Her heart resides in a place built on solid ground, a place so safe and beautiful that evil cannot touch her there. Light beams from the windows and never lets the darkness in. It’s clean and comfortable and full of warm blankets and comfy chairs and fresh baked cookies and scented candles and love and safety.

Safety.

My heart lives in the Father’s house now, where there is safety and security and peace. Hurt sometimes makes it up to the front porch, but Jesus sees it, out of the corner of his eye…he goes and grabs a broom from the pantry and quickly sweeps it away. Sometimes the hurt gets bolder, dares to knock at the door, sometimes even manages to crack it open slightly, but Jesus comes over, smiles and says confidently, “No, thank you. You’re not welcome here. Have a nice day!”

And I remain inside, safe and sound, probably on the couch with my blanket and my coffee and my Jesus.

Our world will throw hurt at us faster than we can handle. It is healthy to acknowledge and feel our hurt. But we don’t have to handle it alone. I’m so grateful that I know that now. I’m so grateful for an identity and a heart that is forever safe in Him.

I pray for continued strength, for patience, for a safe place to go when I am hurt. I pray there will always be a warm, inviting, loving place for me on that couch next to Jesus. And I pray that you will hear the best news ever…that there’s plenty of room for you there, too.

There will always be room for you.

Target Practice

Target Practice

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Another spring break has come and gone.

As excited as I was to take some time off from the normal day to day and get down to the Georgia coast, I was pretty dang excited this morning dropping my kiddos back off at school. Grass is always greener, they say!

I have to bring awareness to the fact, however, that my anxiety levels have been heightened as of late. I’ve noticed the soundtrack in my head becoming stuck on the old what if and oh no and get me out of here more than I have in a while. Old triggers have been more noticeable and louder in the past month or so.

Of course I’ve been ruminating over why…but the sad truth is that the wild goose chase may not ever lead anywhere. Hormones? Stress? Diet? I mean, you could run yourself into the ground.

I did know that I had a long drive to make, and I was doubting myself pretty heavily.

I know I’ve mentioned that the way we think has a direct impact on our anxiety levels, among others factors. The truth was, the doubt and fear were starting to gain momentum on the feedback loop in my brain. This negative thought pattern sets us up for the perfect breeding ground for anxiety to grow.

The drive down was tough. The endless lanes of Atlanta’s interstates bearing the morning load of traffic was overwhelming. I squirmed in my seat and fought through it, although waves of disappointment and discouragement accompanied my endurance.

I’ve been doing so good! Why am I taking a step back? Am I falling back into my old ways?

Just like that, the lies began to try to persuade truth into my life. It’s amazing how powerful your thought life can be. The tiniest idea can manifest into a whole identity-stealing concept before you can blink.

After we arrived, I was mentally exhausted. That was hard, I mentioned to my mom without much detail. I kept going back and analyzing the failures of my drive, like it was some judged performance, although it was me who was the lone judge in this competition. I had the hardest time shaking off the worry that I was re-entering the dark pit of debilitating anxiety.

Sadly, ruminating on the negative has completely overshadowed the fact that I still successfully made the drive. I tackled Atlanta morning rush hour (which is no small feat…um, hello 16 LANES!!!), managed two children and a dog, fed everyone, made the necessary bathroom stops, all while making pretty darn good time. From an accomplishment stand point, I should be thrilled! Especially knowing that a handful of years ago, driving on the interstate with my children was my number one fear.

Hold up…I conquered my number one fear!!! How could I forget how awesome that is?!

It’s funny how you can desperately wish for an outcome for so long, and once you achieve it, there’s a point that the euphoria of success tapers off, and you begin to assimilate that once impossible task back into daily life. It just becomes normal. You try to remember why you struggled so much to do something that barely phases you anymore. It’s almost as if the anxiety never robbed you of all those years in the first place.

Until years later, when you receive an uninvited visitor.

Hey girl, haaay… so it’s been a while. Why don’t we hang out anymore? I know, I know…I was a bully. But I was just trying to keep you safe, remember? I mean, you could’ve been out living your life worry-free and having fun, but who wants to risk that?! You were safe in your little cage, thanks to me. You couldn’t drive, you couldn’t get on an airplane, go to concerts or movies or crowded restaurants, I mean ugh…what a hassle that is anyway! Why don’t we go have lunch and I’ll remind you that you can have your old fear-driven, anxiety-ridden life back? Can’t we just be friends again? Puh-leeeeeease?!

Ughhhh…there she is. My a-hole brain, trying to let herself back into my life. There I was, dwelling on the disappointing flashbacks of my less–than-perfect drive, when I should’ve been celebrating an amazing accomplishment. That’s what the a-hole brain does; steals your joy and tries to erase the good thoughts from taking the proper front-row seat in your brain.

She even tries to stop me from writing, that little hussy. Distracting me and doubting my abilities with every passing hour. You don’t have time or no one wants to read that or why even bother, what’s the point?

All too often, I listen to her. Or I just get lazy and pick up a book or defer to the Netflix. But not today, dang it! If I have to pick up and finish this post every time I’m in carpool line, I’m gonna make it happen. So what if spring break was a full three weeks ago…no one said this was a race.

Anyway, so we have a great break, and guess what? I will have to drive back home at the end of it, because that’s how vacation works. Of course, I would rather stay and live at the beach forever, but that’s not really the most realistic life choice at the moment. So I prepare myself by trying to think more positively about my journey. I can listen to my podcasts! I get to sleep in my bed and take a shower in my own shower (we all know we get cleanest in our actual, own shower)! Maybe the traffic will be lighter than normal in McDonough (reality check: traffic is never light in McDonough, for some mysterious reason.)!

So I start my trek, the kiddos settle into the first of many hours of technology time (an utter delight to their eyes and my ears) and I get going on the podcasts. I love a good podcast lately, and a nice long drive is the perfect time to devote some attention to them. Most of my favorites are personal development podcasts, but I have everything from pop-culture to faith to current events to business psychology in my library. I kind of love all the things.

What I really love is a hearty, deep conversation, especially within the realm of faith, and more importantly, when my soul needs to be nurtured. Sometimes I just need a good soul hug. So I sat back and took a deep dive into a few of my favorites.

In one particular interview, the speaker was talking about calming her nerves before speaking publicly. When she prayed about it, she saw the image of a target on the back wall during her speech. It was there to remind her that God should be her primary focus, especially during difficult times; all she had to do was focus on Him to get her through her struggle.

This wasn’t a new idea to me, making God my focal point. My faith-walk has been a pivotal factor in overcoming anxiety. But sometimes I need a reminder, a wake-up call, a direct-line to hear His message.

About 10 minutes after listening to the target story, I got my message. I passed a billboard with a huge, white target symbol plastered across the front. I can’t remember what the advertisement was for (I know it wasn’t my beloved Target big-box department store), but it screamed to me, loud and clear.

I’ve got you. Keep your eyes on me. I will guide you home.

Traffic was horrible, as Atlanta traffic always is on a holiday weekend. It was coming up on hour six of my drive. The sun blared down on all 16 lanes of packed cars, reflecting off their roofs like shining scales on an enormous school of fish navigating through the current. I was weary. I wanted off the interstate, and I wanted off now.

Those are the moments that you realize you have a choice. You can succumb to the chaos of your lack of control, or you can focus on your target. You can get carried away by the endless waves of uncertainty or you can stay on course and follow Him home. Once you can let go and surrender that control, it’s smooth sailing.

I don’t remember the exact moment in that sea of traffic that the peace washed over me, or how I somehow received a boost of energy that helped me through those final 45 minutes, but I do remember my overwhelming gratefulness. I relaxed in my seat, smiled at the familiar scenery of my hometown out my window, and breezed on home.

Bullseye.

Like I do with every blog post, I start to narrate in my head, can’t wait to run to the computer when I get the chance to share my insight. But before my fingers even make it to the keyboard, my a-hole brain quickly shows up and tries to shut it down. You’re too tired. Nobody cares. Your thoughts aren’t really worth sharing anyway.

But then…Monday. I take my daughter to tennis practice and I hear her coach say, “Focus on the target.”

Tuesday. A friend sends me a rap video on my phone (we were trying to get pumped up for our tennis match, ok?!!) and guess what’s painted on a brick wall in the background? A white target.

Wednesday at my tennis practice. We ask our coach what we are going to work on today. “Target practice,” she says.

Fine, I think. I hear you!! Keep going. Keep your focus.

Symbols have always been a huge influence in my life. I can’t explain it, but I feel it in my spirit when something I see takes on a deeper meaning. I’ve never really heard God speak to me, but I know He can communicate in so many ways. Even though my faith has grown leaps and bounds recently, I’m a skeptic at heart, and I think God knows I need these reminders to stay the course. Sometimes they are whispers and sometimes they are roars, but I know when there’s a message waiting for me. All I have to do is be willing and ready to receive it.

So here I am, reminding you to stay the course. Focus on your target. Lean into your faith and trust the way forward. Do the hard things because they will help you grow, no matter how much you want to stay where you are. You will miss the mark, over and over again. But when you hit the bullseye…that is the moment that you realize all that target practice was worth it.

Steady your arrow, and let it fly.

From Post to Prayer

From Post to Prayer

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Goodness me…where to start.

This year. This few months. This week.

The tension, the noise, the fear, the injustice. All of it is just too much sometimes. And yet what are we doing? We are letting it sweep us away.

It’s happened to me lately and I’m just now realizing it.

I try not to read or watch the news too often. To me it’s only healthy in bite-size, honest doses. But I’ve always defended social media, to some degree. I love seeing what my friends are doing! I love the inspirational stories and causes! Yes, I found this cute dress on my Facebook feed!

But lately I’ve caught myself red-handed. I’ve caught myself scrolling past the good, past the new puppy pics and vacation stories to find the controversy. On purpose. Like it’s some tv show I’m waiting to see play out. What extreme view will this person post today? What names will she be called? How does this side defend themselves to that side?

My Facebook feed has become my favorite new reality show.

Yes, I always try to call people out and remind them to love, no matter what. I try to point them to trust in their faith in the least pushy way possible because I’ve seen the fruit produced from my journey. But even so, I’m still engaging in the endless online banter. I’m still stirring the pot by reacting. And there’s a fine line between acting with love and just trying to prove a point.

But today I spent 30 full minutes just reading the back and forth of responses to someone’s post. The harsh words, the expletives, the public lashings in both directions were terrible, and yet I ate it up. Just couldn’t put it down. It was completely sad and completely entertaining all at the same time.

But it’s just for fun right?

Try to remember…on the other side of the screen are people. Actual, real humans. People with their own stories, their own experiences. People who are being verbally torn down and attacked because they don’t feel real. Because how dare they disagree with you. Because it’s easy to say whatever you want when not looking someone in the eye.

How do I feel after reading that enticing online rant? Or trying to prove a point with my quick-to-judge comment? Refreshed? Satisfied? Justified? Usually not. Maybe for a minute or two, and then I realize the emptiness behind it. Half the time I don’t even know this person. Just because I feel strongly about something, that gives me the right to interject without knowing someone’s story or experience? To think I’m the be-all, know-all on a subject? That because I have emotions about what someone said that I have to react to it just to get my rant out? Oh how I wish we could all go back to old school, hand-written, locking diaries sometimes!

It’s hard enough for my middle-aged brain to comprehend all this online rhetoric right now, but I can’t even imagine how the younger generations are handling all the negative energy out there. I’m so thankful that social media didn’t exist when I was an adolescent…but that’s a whole other topic.

My point is this: what if we took all that energy we want to throw into that post, that online conversation, that thing you just want to scream out for all the world to hear, and said it to the One who can really take it? Who can take your screams for injustice? Who can take your mourning and your anxieties and your deepest fears and use them for good??

What if we turned our posts into prayers?

When I find myself in that dark place, when my heart hurts so bad that I feel lost and alone, I go straight to my Bible app. I search for verses to help with what I am feeling. I seek out a story that will center me and remind me that God is good, all the time. And if I really need to, I will sit down and give it all to Him; whether it’s through prayer, through worship, or just being still and listening. I give it all the One who wants all of me, good, bad and ugly. To the One who has offered to carry all my burden without any conditions.

Will there be a risk of a public mockery? Will I be called names and belittled and shamed for all the world wide web to see? Will I loose friends and followers and risk being censored or banned or exploited?

Not at all.

I will be loved.

Unconditionally, unapologetically, eternally loved.

Seems too good to be true right? In this world where we are turning against each other in droves, where people hide behind screens and tear others down in the name of “justice”, where we label and assume and bully and shame in the name of “love”, it’s hard to imagine that there’s an actual safe place to go. We are all increasingly desperate for that safe, loving place. That place where we are loved and heard and held no matter what our opinions are.

It’s available to me, to you, to all. Jesus doesn’t care about your skin color, your political affiliation, your gender, your sexual orientation. The only thing He cares about is your heart. All He wants is a relationship with you. He wants you to come as you are, to lay everything at His feet, and let go. There’s no risk of cyber bullying or public shaming or losing friends or family. It’s between you and Him, and that’s the simple, beautiful truth.

Be mindful that after you give Him your all through prayer, after begging and pleading and unloading the heaviness in your heart, you may not get immediate answers. You probably won’t hear a big booming voice or a crack of thunder (like in the movies!). In fact, you may not see any change at all. But give it time. Prayer isn’t a magic wand you can waive over a situation to make it all better. It’s a humbling act of spiritual giving that asks for mercy and giving in return. It peels away the layers of our hearts, exposes the darkest parts to the light to be made better. It takes time and patience and trust. It takes new eyes to see and new ears to hear. Sometimes the answers are smaller than dust and quieter than a whisper, but they are there. The more you expose your heart in prayer, the more the answers will become clear. The more you pay attention to the nudges, the more will follow. It’s like seeing the tiniest crack of light in the darkest tunnel, and trusting that everyday, with every prayer, that crack will open just a bit more. It’s our lifeline, our compass, the light unto our path.

Ok, now I’m feeling pushy.

I always hesitate to share my spiritual beliefs with others. I truly respect all people’s beliefs and don’t want anyone to feel that they won’t be loved and accepted because of my views. Most of my blog posts are gentle in my approach, because I get it. I get the scars that people have because of their “religious” friends and family. I get the anxieties of being judged and feeling “not good enough” when it comes to church, even in the eyes of God. I know you think following Christ means you have to follow this ridiculous set of rules. I have heard those lies too and I know many of you still believe them. I have a whole blog about it, in fact.

But these days, when the negative presence and evil in our world feels palpable, when hate is literally breeding at a breakneck pace, where love and humility are being drowned out by all the noise, I can’t not speak up about the freedom that is available to us all through Christ. I can’t sit back and pretend I don’t know the antidote to this madness. In my darkest hours, in my most desperate moments, it’s been my constant. My place of rest.

Be still and know that I am God.

Sometimes that is the only thing I have left to say.

Do you ever see the same number over and over again? Like you always wake up at the same time? Or you keep seeing the same time when you look at the clock? For me, for the last couple of years, that number has been 4:20. When I’d wake up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night…4:20. When I’d hear my favorite song…4:20. When I heard shocking news about the health of a friend…4:20.

When it started to become more of a “thing”, I went to a trusted friend (who wouldn’t totally write me off as crazy) and mentioned it. She told me to go to the Bible, see if there was a verse with those numbers that resonated with me. Um, okay…I thought, skeptical. But I kept an open mind and kept digging. There were some good ones, words that spoke to me. But I kept coming back to Acts 4:20.

“For we cannot but speak of what we have seen and heard.”

I have found so much freedom from anxiety through blogging, through sharing my truth. I love to help others through their own journey, but I always hesitated to bring in my spiritual journey. But this verse spoke loud and clear to me. I have seen and heard the love of Jesus. He has helped me through my darkest hours, filled the voids that nothing else ever could, taught me the power of humility and forgiveness. How could I leave Him out of my story? So it was time to speak.

Still it was hard. I didn’t want to loose friends or offend anyone. To loose a chance to help people with anxiety because they were turned off by my beliefs. And then one day, while hiking up in the north Georgia mountains, the alarm on my phone went off randomly. I took it out of my pocket and looked at the screen.

4:20.

I hadn’t set an alarm, I hardly ever do. I’m sure it was one of my kids, let’s be real. But what are the chances of it being for that specific time? It stopped me in my tracks.

It was time to listen to the nudges.

So here I am. Almost contradicting myself because I’m sharing my thoughts online while telling you to put them into prayer…oops! But sometimes we need a little reminder, a little encouragement to get us going. A story that is authentic and hard to share in the name of inspiring others. To speak of what I have seen and heard… not my political opinions, my annoyances with this or that, my frustrations with society.

I want to speak about the good news. The news that we are all completely loved and enough. That perfect love cannot be offended. The last time I checked, I didn’t see that headline at the top of any recent news story.

What I’m not saying, is don’t act on issues that break your heart. If something bothers you to your core, please speak up to a trusted friend or a reliable source. Slow down and do the work and find the right avenues to accomplish the goal. Pray about it or meditate on it and really process your emotions first before you divulge them all on a public media forum. Take a step back and a deep breath and stop yourself before you add fuel to the already blazing fire. Social media sounding boards may not help you achieve anything, as tempting as it is (yes, I’ve fallen for it too!). I bet if we put down Facebook and put in some face time to solve our issues, we would be making way more progress.

The bottom line is this…we all have a lot to say. We see hate and injustice and evil all around us. We want to fight back and do what’s right and speak our minds. But we must be careful, because as humans, we take offense. We offend others even when we don’t realize it. It’s so hard to avoid right now. The atmosphere of media and online chatter is toxic, it’s so easy and so available to us. But there’s a better way to vent. There’s a Savior that’s always available to you, with open arms and a listening ear and a spirit that doesn’t take offense.

So next time you are angered, upset, even enraged with someone or something that you read online, try turning to prayer instead of that keyboard. Give it to God instead of going on Facebook. Shout it to the heavens instead of the internet.

Then be still, and know that sometimes the best feedback you can get is so quiet that only your soul can hear.

You Are What You Eat

You Are What You Eat

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I did something a bit, well, sneaky the other night.

As we were about to turn in for the night, my husband asked if I knew where his phone was.

“Your phone? Hmmmm…” I replied.

I knew exactly where the phone was. Selfishly, however, I omitted that information. Notice I didn’t lie, right? I told you I was sneaky…

My husband loves comedy podcasts. Like a lot. Every night, falling asleep in his huge headphones, comedians help lure his thoughts away from everyday stress. In the morning, it’s news on his phone. Scanning pages and pages of headlines, the latest shocking drama or political circus act. It seems like a harmless distraction, or is it?

He also gets caught up with work calls, texts, never gets a chance to fully escape from work. Constant responsibility weighs heavy. It’s a sacrifice, sure, but he truly loves the push and pull of his work life.

I too, am guilty of the addiction of finger swiping late into the night when I need to wind down. Before I know it, I’ve gone deep into the rabbit hole; this story leads to that story leads to another story. Sometimes interesting, sometimes informative, even uplifting at times, but for the most part, distracting chatter. I’ll read an article and then get caught up in the reader comments that usually read like childish banter of I’m right/you’re wrong nanny-nanny boo-boo. Its like an all-you-can-eat buffet, you just want to keep going back for more.

A while back we talked about this in bible study, about things we tend to watch or read regularly. My friend mentioned her husband started listening to these political podcasts constantly, and she noticed a subtle change in him. He became overly worried and invested in the toxic political atmosphere according to the news, when in reality his career was nothing related to that world. He became quick to anger and criticize. Finally she suggested that he listen to something a bit less intense.

For the past few years it seems, the phone seems to become my husbands constant companion. Ok honestly, it’s that way for a lot of us. It’s a way to escape at the end of the long day, or relish those last few minutes of laying in bed in the morning. And don’t even get me started on Netflix…I mean, how fun can that be on a rainy day???

The other day, before the phone hijacking incident, I told my husband he was turning into his mamaw. Don’t get me wrong, she was an amazing, spit fire of a women. Jason tells stories of how she used to buy things from garage sales and turn around and sell them for profit. The woman could pull off one hell of a hustle. When I first met her, she was sitting with Grandpa Brian on their plaid couch, cozied up in their small living room, eyes glued to one of the 24 hour news networks.

“Jason, don’t you go bringing kids into this world, it is a scary place,” she would say, staring at that small box in her living room. She would go on with concern about how the world and humanity was doomed. How we should be worried and afraid. She didn’t venture out much from her small house in Franklin, Tennessee much in those later years; the people in the tv warned her not to. The constant, negative news feed had shaped her entire world view from that half-acre lot in suburban America.

We already struggle daily with our own interpersonal news reel, feeding us the shoulds and what ifs and whys of our daily actions. We struggle with self-compassion and positive self-talk already, so to feed ourselves more negativity from the world around us can overload until we are drowning in hopelessness. We feel a tremendous weight and burden that we don’t even need to be carrying.

I’m not saying that we need to be unaware of what’s happening in the world, because I absolutely believe that knowledge of injustices and needs around us can call us to action and unite communities, but this is more of a help me, help you situation. Like putting on our own oxygen masks before we start helping others. If we run off trying to put out fires before we’ve filled up our water tank, we won’t get very far.

I decided a few years ago, I needed to change my diet.

It wasn’t a food diet; (ok, so there is lots of science to back up that this is essential also, but this girl needs some French fries in her life!!) I needed to change the information I ingested.

I struggled with self-worth, with feeling like I was enough, with shame and guilt over my anxiety issues. But unlike those extra pounds that you can feel and see, my extra weight was internal. It made my heart and soul feel heavy with doubt and fear. Being overweight in your soul can be just as harmful to your health as in the physical sense, but most of us don’t entertain this notion as much.

So how do you start a healthy diet for the soul?

Everyone is different here. We all have things we feel are lacking, and those are the nutrients we need to feed ourselves regularly. Of course it can be as simple as doing one thing we love everyday, or using our creative gifts more often. For me, writing, music, and being out in nature pack a healthy serving of soul food, so I try to make intentional time for those as often as possible. I have friends that go for long runs or take a trip alone once a year. The other day I told the lady doing my pedicure how much I appreciated it and how I wish it was covered by health insurance. Whatever self-care you can fit into your schedule, don’t feel guilty about it.

I also read my devotional every morning, either while brushing my teeth or even more effectively, when I drink my coffee. Tying a daily habit to another only reinforces the act. I make it a priority to read the “good news” of God before reading the news of the world around me. I’ve been doing this daily for about three years, and it’s become as essential to me as breathing oxygen. My oxygen mask.

Mindfulness and being still are other daily snacks that I try to feed myself. We are constantly attacked by countless distractions, and ingesting small moments of quiet and calm can better equip us to battle that sense of feeling overwhelmed with to-do’s. Even if it’s five minutes of your day, the benefits from this habit are life-changing.

Of course, physical exercise and a healthy diet directly affect our state of mind, so it is important to pay attention here as well. But just as we try to drink enough water, take our vitamins, get our cup of coffee in daily, we can’t overlook the importance of the information we are feeding our brains and hearts, figuratively speaking. The mind-body-spirit connection is about as critical as all those crunchy yogis and preachy pastors and chill therapists say it is, and I’m so glad the “mainstream” population (whatever that generalization really means?) is starting to believe it. We can’t do life on our own, people.

So before you scroll the endless barrage of news feeds and Facebook posts and check-lists, pay attention.

Have you fed your soul first today?

I know, it sounds corny. Cheesy. Whatever you want to call it to distract you from the fact that it is essential to your health.

The night I “hid” the phone, my husband and I cuddled up and watched a show together. It reminded me of our earlier days, when smartphones weren’t even on our radar. I relished in our quality time, and my soul started to fill up. In return, I felt loved, worthy, at ease. The extra pounds of loneliness and rejection slowly started melting off. I was satisfied.

So while this isn’t a lesson in how to deceive your husband (of course I fessed up the next morning, after gushing about how much I enjoyed our quality time), it is a reminder to take notice of the “junk food” you catch yourself craving; the deficits and distractions in your life that are depriving you and draining your happiness and health. If you have to set limits and boundaries to do so, go for it.

If you find yourself hungry for happiness, craving comfort and control, thirsty for security and self-compassion, start a new diet. Find what lifts you up, take it in, feed it to yourself a little each day. It’s the most important, most delicious, most satisfying meal you will ever eat.

Promo Code: JOY

Promo Code: JOY

reroutinglife

I promised myself I’d be in bed by 10pm.

Yet here I am, 50 minutes past my bedtime, deciding that there’s more important business to attend. Time to get back to writing. It’s been way too long, friends.

Life is good. Summer was hot. Heck, fall was hotter than summer I think. Halloween was crazy. I think the moon was full for like seven straight days at some point, so between that and all the candy my kids were plain bonkers.

Then my sweet old stinky dog died in his sleep. We went from bonkers to grief in 2.2 seconds. I was a sad, sad soul. I think I cried for 24 hours straight. But although I still swear I hear Bear’s toenails tip-toeing down the hall, and his little piggy-like snorts coming around the corner, we are slowly adjusting to the emptiness.

Now it’s almost December…and like every year we all stop and look at each other like HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?!! Then ensues the blur of shopping and parties and Santa and Christmas songs and white elephants and Black Fridays and cyber Mondays and Giving Tuesday’s and days that I can’t even see straight because it’s FREAKING DECEMBER.

But I caught it early this year. A light conversation I had with a friend early in November stopped me in my tracks. We were literally dreading the holidays. Bracing ourselves for the chaos and basically setting ourselves up for a stressful month no matter what. And then I heard myself. And I decided to stop it.

NO! I will NOT dread this season. I will not get wrapped up in the busy distractions that steal my joy. I will not stress over buying gifts or worrying that they are enough or perfect. I will not go to every Christmas party if I’m tired and need to say no. I will give what I can to charities I love and know that I can’t give to everyone and that’s ok. My cards won’t be early if on time at all but they will get done. If the dang Elf forgets to move one or two or five nights in a row, it won’t ruin my children’s lives. The chaos will not control me anymore…I’m taking back my joy this season.

Because, y’all. We are so totally setting ourselves up for failure every year. It’s like some imaginary universal Christmas competition that we all go crazy trying to win. The decorating and the wrapping and the shopping and the baking and the partying…yes, it can be fun, and it may even bring you joy, but not if you feel like you are chasing an unattainable goal of winning the holiday perfection trophy every year.

That was the path I was on the last few years. Literally so distracted by all the stuff that I was missing out on the joy.

Why? What is it all for?

Last year, during our school’s mom/daughter Christmas craft party, Rachel Brown came to speak. Between the painting and blow-drying and kids running around with unlimited hot-chocolate, you could hardly hear the poor girl. I tried to listen as best I could, and I know she played her favorite Christmas song, but it was hard to hear. I asked her at the end of the night what the song was, and the next day, in the stillness of my quiet car (which is sometimes the only place a mom can get peace and quiet) I played the song; Wrap This One Up by Christy Nockles.

As I listened intently to each word, a peace came over me. I knew I needed to hear that song in that moment. I needed to be reminded of where my focus needed to be during that busy, crazy time. I just needed to be still and listen.

That song forever changed Christmas for me.

From that day through the rest of December, anytime I started to get wrapped up in the chaos and stress, I would force myself to stop and listen to that song. To remind myself of the why of Christmas. To remember what it’s all for.

Because the what and the why are so much bigger than the stuff.

If you get a moment in the next few days, try to be still, even for a minute. Focus on what’s good in your life. Focus on the fact that we get the privilege to celebrate at all. Forget the invisible finish line and the infinite lists you’ve made for yourself, and relish the fact that you are here to see another day. Soak up every ounce of joy you can. Be grateful for the tangled ball of Christmas lights and the 60 cookies you have to make and the paper cuts from the wrapping paper.

Or don’t do any of it at all. Just decide to sit and be with people and love on them and shine your light brighter than the dang Rockefeller tree.

Whatever brings you joy, will bring joy to others. It’s the gift that keeps on giving. No promo code required.

So before you go rolling your eyes at those Christmas songs that drive you mad sometimes, try to be still and listen. You may just be reminded what a miracle Christmas really is.

The Blanket

The Blanket

reroutinglife

I’m drinking coffee…on a plane!!! What?!! Who is this girl?

Many people head straight to the bar before they board an airplane, hit the Starbucks, whatever pumps them up (or calms their nerves) for the flight. Not me, I am straight-up ginger ale only up in the air.  I want to be in complete control at all times, just in case. Like I’ve said before, someone needs to be sober in case it all goes down, just in case I need to take over for the pilot or something. Yet here I am in the middle seat, next to my son; my husband and daughter in the next row, ordering coffee.  A previous panic trigger. There was a point in time where I wouldn’t drink coffee at my own house, as even the slightest elevated heart rate would start me down the worm hole of panic.

Ahhhh the dangerous desire for control.

The past couple of days I’ve really been thinking about the effects of the need for control. I’ve been a control freak most of my life it seems…which is why the fear may have started early. I want to have control to the extent that I can know what will happen next, which I’m pretty sure no one in the world has the power to do. The realization that this is utterly impossible, and that I must learn to accept that I will never have complete control in all situations, is a constant struggle.

Even my devotional passages this week have been reminding me of the importance of letting go of the desire to control every aspect of my life. I love these reminders, but then I start to feel bad about myself. Guilt creeps in. Why can’t I put all my trust in God? Is he mad at me for this? I am less deserving and worthy in His eyes because of my constant level of fear? 

So add trust issues on top of control issues I guess. I am constantly reminded to release my urge to control my life and look to Him.

“No one was ever meant to carry the burden of complete control”

Yes!!! 

Yes. As I read the words I remember this, they blanket my soul in warmth. But why then, do I end up finding myself so quickly back to feeling exposed and chilled with fear? Perhaps I didn’t remain under the blanket long enough? I didn’t let its warmth radiate deep enough?

If you are a person of faith, you realize that it is a journey. I’m a little late to the party, having not been raised going to church regularly. We did go occasionally, to different places sometimes, and every place always seemed a bit foreign, like they were speaking a language I didn’t quite understand. I wasn’t sure how to act, what to say, what was expected. I was afraid I was doing it all wrong. I went to church with friends, witnessed different types of denominations and their rituals. My stepdad is Jewish and we spent some time enjoying some of their traditions. I taught in a Catholic school for almost 10 years and can say the heck out of some Hail Marys. As intimidating as each new religious experience was, I did learn that finding God came in all shapes and sizes. For this perspective I am grateful.

But in not having a strong connection to one house of God, I told myself that I wasn’t worthy of his love. I couldn’t quote Bible verses, and was confused about whether to worship Jesus or God as a child. What if I talk to the wrong One? Do I need to choose? I had lots of questions that I was too afraid to ask. I was asked if I was saved or needed to be, and I was always unsure of how to answer. I often found I felt closest to God in nature (which is still mostly true); watching a sunset, reveling in the breeze, watching the waves on the ocean, I felt Him here. I felt close to Him through music and singing.  Did this mean I had gained his approval? Was this enough?Am I doing it right? I was never sure.

In my Bible study recently, we were asked what our relationship with God was growing up. Every answer was so different. I spoke up and explained that I felt like I was never quite worthy of knowing Him; I felt like God was one of the popular kids that didn’t want to hang out with me. I felt like a good person, like if He knew my heart he would be pleased, and I wanted Him to know that I had a desire to know him, but was also intimidated and didn’t quite know where to start. I felt like maybe I had missed the Jesus boat and was left back with the stragglers. Did I still count? Was another boat on the way?

Speaking of Bible study, the fact that I had even joined one in recent years was so unexpected for me. I always had a desire to join one, but what did I know about the Bible? Wouldn’t they look at me like maybe I was in the wrong place? Was there going to be a quiz on Bible knowledge to allow me to attend (as I’m editing this I just remembered that “Bible” is supposed to be capitalized…doh!!)? But a good friend invited me (she actually thought I already attended, haha!), and assured me that all were welcome, so in I went.

Guess what? They didn’t ask me to leave. There was no Bible verse quiz of any sort (shoot, another B I had to capitalize!!).  In fact, I was exactly the kind of person they wanted to reach. The one who felt unworthy. That felt out-of-place. They embraced me and took me in. They reminded me that there wasn’t a wrong time or a wrong way to find God. That we are all on our own personal faith journeys, and we all have our own pace.

I’m pretty sure it was with that group of amazing women that I first realized that God truly loved me, just the way I was. That I was secure and accepted with amazing Grace. I can almost pinpoint the moment. I was practically in tears about my struggles with anxiety (I could barely get through the carpool line those days without a near panic attack) and those women just took me in and lifted me up. They were the hands and feet of God (or Jesus, right?), radiating with love and acceptance. He grabbed hold of my hand and my heart and never let go.

Still, I am a skeptic by nature. I analyze things down to their core. I think and over think and think some more. Which is why sometimes I question. Sometimes I demand answers and clarity. Which when it comes to faith, you are not given.  You must turn a cheek, and dig deep within. You must walk by faith not by sight. Wow, so hard for me. But I’m still on this journey, and I’m not planning on turning around anytime soon.

There are strong nudges on this journey of faith, ones that shout and ones that seem to whisper. There are crests and valleys and moments where I struggle to understand and others where I am lost in the moment. But the most important thing I am learning is that there’s no perfect here either.  There’s no one size fits all when it comes to faith and God and your place in line for Heaven. Wherever you are, is where you should be, and He is there, waiting to meet you in that place, ready to wrap you up and cover you with love. No guilt, no shame, no doubt should preceed that absolute truth.

It was not ever meant to be our burden to carry. We are not meant to be in complete control.  The work has already been done. The price has been paid. The more we can let go and realize this, the less fear and uncertainty will stain our hearts and steal our joy.

Fear has no place when faced with love.

I turn down the little personal AC fan above my airplane seat, something small that I actually can control, and grab the thin little blanket for warmth. I cover up, sit back and begin to relax in the security of that warm, tiny blanket.

Maybe I should order another cup of coffee? I’m not flying the plane, after all.