I see it out of my eye’s corner… a flash of white. Shortly after comes another, and another…
My son tromps out of the house, all backpack and water jug and breakfast hanging on his body like ornaments.
“Look! Snow flurries!” I smile at him.
He smiles back, that toddler grin still residing in his 15-year-old body, long and lean and fit. “I see them! Its funny how they are so tiny, like out of nowhere.”
Slowly the flurries multiply, they melt on the windows of my warm car that has sat idle waiting on my always slow boy, my daughter sitting silent with her headphones in ears behind me. Brooding, quiet, she will turn 13 in 12 more days. I beg her to look at the swirling of flurries, in a voice loud enough to call over the headphones, and I get a flat “oh yeah”. I silently grieve the little girl magic that’s lost in there, resisting.
In 12 more days, I will officially have two teenagers. Time continues its merciless march. I drum up gratefulness and put the car in reverse, steadying breakfast plates and coffee mugs and the eager pup in the middle of it all, and we take our usual route to school. Small talk, check lists, reminders, a quick prayer, love you’s and have a good day’s and then quiet.
Oh, the beautiful quiet.
I am a painfully slow processor, which can be great for creativity but hard for emotions. They set in slowly, blankets of down settling heavy. And when they settle, I am paralyzed under the weight. I feel it deep and full in my soul. It overwhelms and overtakes. It is not a fun place to be when the feelings come. When something is unpleasant, the human reaction is to avoid. And so that’s been my practice, not to feel, not to trudge through, but around. Smile, react with positivity, put it high on a shelf, a relic, out of sight, move on to the next activity. As a mother, necessity calls for this in a way. We are the keeping-it-together-ers of everything. We have to hold everything up, support everyone and everything and manage the feelings of everyone else so we put ours aside. Our feelings take last place, always. Leftovers. Scraps.
The problem with not feeling, of ignoring and looking away, of burying and avoiding and deflecting, is that the feelings stay. They implant and slowly grow, an entanglement of weeds over time. You have to treat them, or they remain. They wrap around your life and block the sun with their growing shade. And we all know you need sunlight to thrive.
And so here I am, with my feelings. This is how they get weeded out… writing. Singing. Creating. Praying. The heaviness, the hurt, the reality of this broken world… this is how the burden is lifted.
There has been a lot of heavy these past few weeks for our family. Big changes, hard news, stress and unknowns. It has been overwhelming. Hard, unbearably at times. Harsh words and worried words and words of comfort that feel hollow as we grapple with the reality. There are a lot of feelings, but not the good kind… the kind I want to run from. The kind of feelings that threaten to choke and tear apart. The kind that come for hope, run at it full force, weapons drawn.
But if there’s one thing I know, one thing that clings to a soul saturated with sadness at times like these, that there is always hope. Always, always, always hope.
“May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.” -Romans 15:13
That first tiny snowflake this morning… that beautiful, tiny, unexpected gift that landed on the glass next to me… hope. It whispered to me as I watched it melt into a vapor… I’m here. A few seconds later, with the second flurry… I’m here. And again, and again as the swirling specks swirl around me, dancing in the wind, landing silently… I’m here. I’m here. I’m here.
I’m currently in a Bible study about trust. Oh… the discipline of trust. How much easier it is to worry, to fear. We are commanded to trust, but the world shows us otherwise. This broken world is harsh and cruel. It beats us down and works us in circles and things happen in this life that make us cry out and act out and want to hurt others right back. How do we trust in a world like this?
Last night I picked up Ann Voskamp’s beautiful book One Thousand Gifts, of which I have read a little more than half, and jumped right back into her wrestling with this very thing… trust. How do we trust in the throes of pain and fear and broken? She comes back to one word… eucharisteo. A Greek work which in its origin explains:
2168 euxaristéō (from 2095 /eú, “good” and 5485/xaris, “grace”) – properly, acknowledging that “God’s grace works well,” i.e. for our eternal gain and His glory; to give thanks – literally, “thankful for God’s good grace.”
Thankful for God’s good grace.
Thankfulness.
When we are buried in despair and hopelessness. When we get the bad news. When we have to make the hard decision. When someone hurts us. When we don’t know the next step.
Thankfulness.
This is not to discount our time to grieve, to process, to take the time to go through the feelings. Because you feel them. They are there, not to be ignored, but to go through. We must have our wilderness moments; the suffering. It’s hard. It’s uncomfortable. We don’t want to be here, in the suffering. But it’s the only way, the through. You must let the hard emotions ebb and flow, let the wave come and crash over you and then get up and take on another. And another. It is not thankfulness instead of, it’s both/and. We take on the waves and give thanks for the water. We give thanks that we can withstand the crash, find our footing again. We give thanks for the taste of salt on our lips, of the coolness on a hot day, of feeling the aliveness of it all. If we can find the smallest amount of thankful, we find hope. And our trust and belief in God’s goodness will tame the weeds of the soul.
This morning, hope fell upon me as a tiny flurry. The smallest, quietest reminder to trust. To be thankful, to find the smallest glimmers of hope and to cling to them… collect them as treasures for this weary heart. Even in the darkness of this cold winter morning, I can find beauty. Flurries of hope. Something that whispers, in the smallest but mightiest of voices…
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.
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!
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.
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.
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.
We are wrapping up a work/play trip to San Diego/LA, and just boarded the plane for Denver for our third leg of our western summer adventure. We brought the kids (and even one of our favorite babysitters!) and hit up beautiful Southern California, their little eyes wide at seeing it for the first time. We definitely saw our fair share of sights!
From Sea World, Del Mar, and the San Diego Zoo…to Hollywood, Santa Monica and Beverly Hills, we soaked up the perfect SoCal weather and slept in the most amazing Air Bnb’s, thanks to my husband’s uncanny ability to find the best last-minute places. We also endured classic LA traffic, whining, fighting kids, the cluster of Opening Day at Del Mar (ok, so that was also fun and perhaps the best people watching ever!) the monstrous line at In and Out Burger, and multiple Uber drivers that didn’t speak a lick of English, but alas, such is the beauty of travel. No one got kidnapped or ended up in the hospital, so I’m calling it a success.
Hooray for Hollywood!
Seeing the west coast for the first time
So now here I am, just me and the kiddos, (our first flight as a threesome without daddy) and I’m trying as usual to hold it together and relax instead of imagining going down in a flaming ball of fire because, you know, being in a plane is my happy place. Oh, and did I mention that when I boarded the plane I discovered that my husband unknowingly swiped my headphones, and after the third baby cried before take off, I was cursing that sweet man a bit excessively in my head while trying not to bang my head against the seat 6 inches in front of me. And then there’s a guy behind me that clearly needs a new iPad because he is banging on his screen with brute force, so hard that it’s shaking my seat my seat as if a toddler was kicking the crap out of it. But hey, the kiddos are knee deep in plane snacks and soda and laughing their heads off together at something, so at least some of us are having fun.
On this next leg of the trip, we are meeting up with my mom, who has finally fulfilled her dream of renting an RV and trekking across the wide open space of the west. We plan to join her for some of the journey in Wyoming before heading back to Georgia for the start of school.
Before we meet up with her, we are spending a night in Denver to catch our breath and see some family. We have some cousins there, and we are meeting up with my “real” dad, who I haven’t seen in over 20 years and who has never met his grandkids. Yep, you heard me right.
So, that’s not awkward at all.
I think I wrote some time ago about how my real dad hasn’t been in my life for quite some time, several decades passing between the time I talked to him on the phone, asking if I could invite him to my wedding (which was a no-go as I’d figured) to about a year ago when I finally got the nerve to return his surprising phone call. We have had several small-talk conversations since then, but he mentioned he would love to see us.
So here we are, about to land in Denver, me trying to explain to my children that they are about to meet a total stranger who happens to be their grandfather. Just another day in the life.
There are all sorts of reasons I could not make this happen today. All sorts of hang-ups and resentment and abandonment issues that have plagued me over the years. But as my sadness and anger and confusion has gradually settled, after I’ve realized that my love and self-worth isn’t dependent on a single person or my past, I know that forgiveness and love are the ultimate healers in any situation. In that truth, I rest assured.
Our meeting today will be brief and probably totally awkward, but it also needs to happen. All I can do is take baby steps in this journey. I must trust the process and be open to it. I will let the past stay where it needs to and focus on an amazing present and future.
Just like two wrongs don’t make a right, two hurts don’t mend a heart. But an open heart, one that takes the first step, one that chooses to forgive…that’s where the magic can truly happen.
Y’all. I just need to gush about how much I love a good, warm, chill summer night. Because sometimes it’s just fun to write about the good things in life.
Down here in the south there’s this golden hour of summer, between about 8 and 9pm. The sun starts setting, the twilight sky glows as clouds start to turn all yellow-orange-pinkish-purple, the tops of the trees catch the last golden glimmer of the sun’s rays.
Birds sing their lullabies and cicadas start dueling with their shrill cries. Children’s laughter echoes off the houses as they finally take to the streets in the cooler air, delighting at the first sight of fireflies blinking in the trees. Crickets start chirping and the frogs start to call out from the retention pond down the way.
It reminds me of an old folk song, which was also made into a picture book I used to read to the kids, All God’s Critters Got a Place in the Choir”. Nature’s song comes together with an array of sounds, celebrating this golden hour of summer.
And then…a dang mosquito bites me on the ankle. Almost immediately after, I hear my daughter’s tell-tale my-brother-just-hit-me cry. I interrupt my euphoric back porch moment to go check on the situation.
He p-pushed me into the c-c-cabinet! Waaaaaa…aaaaahhh…
I hold Allie close and don’t even attempt to seek justice in this simple brother-sister squabble. I immediately direct her attention towards the back deck.
Come on! The fireflies are starting to come out!
Of course she requests a bowl of cereal first because face it, she’s my child and cereal is life, and then we sit out back in the spinning outdoor chairs (aka, the spinny chairs). I show her the torch candle I’ve lit, brought back to life after finally being filled back up with citronella oil. We spot multiple airplanes in the sky, their underbellies glowing pink, reflecting the last of the sunlight. We ooh at the brightness of the quarter moon as it peeks over a tree branch, and ahh as a fluttering flock of birds race by.
The golden hour is back in full swing.
Jack eventually shuffles out to meet us, casually digging into a bag of goldfish. He points to a few more airplanes, makes some goofy faces and then saysexcitedly…let’s swim!
My goofy kiddos having some back porch fun
And just like that, they are skipping down the stairs and jumping into the pool, (conveniently still in their bathing suits from this afternoon because duh, its the official uniform of summer) and I take a front row seat to the splashing joy of my children’s childhood. My heart fills up watching them play together (the earlier shoving match long forgotten, at least for the moment) as I sit back and watch the stars pop out one by one. Night officially sets in, and I am grateful for yet another beautiful day.
What’s that? Another mosquito?!
I don’t think so, mister. Go mess with someone your own size. I’ve got a perfect summer night to savor.
As I lay here, minutes ticking away towards 9am, kids still snoozing away in silence, I realize how much we have really settled in to our summer groove.
At the end of May, when everyone is coming down from that tornado of end-of-year-madness, we begin gearing up for summer.
What trips are y’all taking? Are you doing any camps? Swim team? Travel ball? Plans, plans, PLANS?!!!!
All of a sudden I’m plunged back into scramble mode. Desperately feeling like I should have every week plotted and activity-filled. I’m googling camps and scheduling play dates and travel planning like a crazy woman.
Our summer started out with a bang. The day after school ended, we ran off to the cabin, straight down to the beach, and then flew off to Chicago. We did have a lot of adventures, made countless memories. But somewhere during all that traveling, my body just needed to stop.
I drove home from the beach, which is still a huge feat in itself, knowing I had a little over 12 hours before I had to turn around and leave again. I flung open the door and literally made a beeline for the bed. My body ached for sleep. The hundred-mile-an-hour, action-packed summer I was so excited about was already exhausting me.
Then my son really drove it home when he turned to me sweetly and said, “Can we just have a week where we don’t go anywhere?”
Wow.
All my fretting over having enough to do over the summer, and my nine-year-old had to spell it out for me: I just want to do nothing!
Of course he didn’t actually want to do nothing, but I understood. He wanted a chance to be still, to stay home and catch his breath. He didn’t want camps and activities and agenda shoved down his throat like he had during the school year. He didn’t want to spend hours in a car strapped into a seat. He just wanted space and freedomand stillness.
Isn’t that what we all want?
So we did just that. We came home and got some much-needed rest. Yes, we still had chores and errands to do here and there, the kids both spent a week away at camp, and we have another trip or two planned. But we have spaced them out better so we can fully embrace our summer rhythm. We have plenty of nothing days in-between.
Sometimes we aren’t dressed until noon.
Sometimes we have popsicles 4 times a day.
Sometimes we have cookies for breakfast and cereal for dinner.
Sometimes (okay, a lot of the time) the pool counts as bath time.
Sometimes we watch tv for hours.
Sometimes we forget to wear shoes for a whole day.
Sometimes our only outing is to get gas station ice cream.
Sometimes there’s literally nothing to do.
But sometimes, doing nothing is EVERYTHING.
Don’t be afraid of having nothing to do this summer. I admit that I was. I feared every small hole in our agenda. But as I settle in to summer, I’m realizing how much this quiet rhythm soothes my soul. How being bored can actually breed creativity. How slowing down is my love language.
I still haven’t heard a peep from my sleeping children, and that’s a beautiful thing. These sweet days won’t last forever. But soon enough, I’ll hear those thundering little footsteps coming my way, and when they come jump on my bed for their morning hugs, they’ll ask me what we are doing today.
As we took off through a barricade of storms in Atlanta, the plane once again bobbed and weaved through the turbulence, sending me once again to the edge. Zero visibility blinded my view and brought on panic.
Meanwhile, my brave daughter next to me could hardly contain her excitement. “We’re in the clouds!” she exclaimed. Unfazed by the bumps, she smiled and carried on without a care. Her joy was contagious, parting the clouds of my fear.
As we journeyed on to Denver and started making memories on the first leg of our trip, I realized just how grateful I am that I can persist through my fears. I could’ve crumbled and said no to flying at all. I could’ve foregone the excitement and anticipation of this time with my family. I could’ve just stayed in the safety of my home and never experienced a day like today, watching my children take in this beautiful scenery for the first time, their eyes wide with amazement.
I could’ve said “no”.
I could’ve said “I can’t”.
But I said YES.
Go, see, do.
Live.
The yes is not always easy. It’s not graceful or without pain or embarrassment or doubt.
But I’ll take a yes over a no any day when it comes to facing my fears.
I started doing these a while ago and they just kind of tapered off, but I think it’s time to bring it back. One- because it will force me to write more. And two- because we should always find a reason to celebrate the things that make us happy. So here is my list for this week!
1.FALL!!!!! I feel like I was just celebrating the start of summer. But all of a sudden, fall is upon us. I know I mentioned that summer is my jam. I could also say the same about Fall (although I’m pretty sure the start of any new season is the best, really). It’s been a really hot summer here in Atlanta, and in fact, the first technical days of Fall were equally as hot. But a couple of days ago, the switch flipped and now it finally feels like fall. The crisp, cool air, the clear blue skies, the leaves starting to fall ever so slightly…I just want to eat it up! Throw in football, pumpkin everything, mums, Fall Festivals, apples, sweaters, leggings with cute boots and I’m smitten. The other day I made my Target run, and instead of just walking out with the birthday gift and milk that I intended to get (of course), I walked out with a Halloween sign, the cutest fabric pumpkin, a glittery bat garland, a cinnamon scented candle, and a fabulous gold pumpkin pillow. That pillow almost made the Happy List by itself I love it so much. I know we (and I’m talking to you, ladies) make fun of ourselves for going into Target and getting side tracked, but that seasonal decor is really just too much fun to ignore. So in another month when I’m tirelessly sweeping leaves off my porch and whining about how annoying it is to get my kids to put on coats and socks, I will try to remember all the reasons why I love Fall. Target seasonal section, you will always be one of those reasons.
2. Child’s Pose. I started doing yoga a few years ago. When people learned about my anxiety, they were all, “why don’t you try yoga?” and all I could think was how anxiety-provoking it would be to try to do all those fancy hard-to-pronounce moves in front of a room full of strangers. But somehow, I found BeYoga on the Marietta Square and I was in love. And, they offered a workshop for beginners!!! That really helped with the first-time jitters. Turns out, I love yoga. The stretching, the breathing, the mindfulness. Great for your body and mind. Score. But child’s pose, man, that is the best. You sit on your knees, slightly spread apart, bring your head to the floor and stretch your arms out long on the ground, and breathe. If you’ve never tried it before, I’m begging you, just do it…and get ready to say ahhhhhh.
3.La Croix. I always wondered how anyone could drink barely flavored sparkling water. I didn’t see the point. I don’t know if there’s some magic age where sparking water suddenly becomes glorious but I guess I must be close because by-golly, all of a sudden I’m an addict. I am constantly hitting up the Costco for 24 cans of bubbly goodness. So cold, so refreshing, so barely-flavored. Which, apparently, is now my thing. If only I could figure out how to pronounce it. French class, you have failed me.
4.The Beach. The beach could be an entire Happy List by itself. We recently made the trip down to Ft. Walton Beach, FL (the trip where I drove us home by myself!!!) a couple of weeks ago, and it was the best time. The weather was unbelievable, and the kids are at this magical age where they finally posses a decent amount of independence while still managing to be innocent and cute. We all enjoyed each other’s company. One notable perk of the magical age is staying up later without totally falling apart the next day, so we enjoyed more than one sunset on the beach and our fair share of night swimming (which always feels like a huge adventure for the kids). All of this while Jason and I could sit back with a cocktail and reminisce about surviving the good old days of swim diapers, beach tents and pack-n-plays. I think I finally made a family vacation believer out of him.
5.Football. If you are born and raised in the South, you have probably seen a football game or two. Game Days are considered to have their own culture in some aspect. Being a Georgia native, I am a UGA Bulldog and an Atlanta Falcons fan (two teams that have broken many hearts during my lifetime), and I love everything about football Saturdays and Sundays (or sometimes, Thursdays and Mondays). Planning your team color coordinated outfit, meeting up with friends and family, tailgate food, marching bands, and finally, the roller coaster ride that is the actual game. Every game is like watching a movie, the drama unfolds before you, in real-time; sometimes your heart explodes with excitement and other times you are left jaw-dropped with shock and disbelief. This past Saturday was no exception as the Bulldogs lost in the final seconds to the Tennessee Vols. There were just no words. But that’s the name of the game. You cannot predict every outcome. Win or lose, I still love this game.
6.Campfires. Okay, so maybe we weren’t exactly camping, but we did set up a nice little cheapie fire pit in the backyard. With the fall temperatures finally cooling off, we were able to have our first fire the other night. We carefully searched for the best sticks and roasted marshmallows. We threw leaves and pine straw into the fire and marveled at how fast they shriveled up. We practiced outrunning the smoke as it shifted with the breeze. My son became a little too obsessed with lighting things on fire, so eventually we had to call it quits. Also, I made the mistake of buying the bag of jumbo marshmallows, which resulted in my children resembling some sort of human fly paper. Despite the stickiness, I’m predicting many more backyard pow-wows in the future.
7.Starbucks. Okay, okay, I know there are a million cute mom and pop coffee shops that I could mention that make me happy, but there is just such a comfort in the reliability of a Starbucks. If there’s ever an hour or so to spare in my day, I know at least 3 Starbucks nearby that will be waiting with my Chai Tea Latte, free wifi, and a tiny little spot for me to just sit and be. I went this morning to do some work (making the class directory for Allie’s preschool class is serious work, people!!!) and again I was amazed and how dang happy it made me just to sit in a Starbucks with all the mature, well-dressed business folk (and a few other stragglers donning t-shirts and yoga pants, like myself) and just chill. There’s nothing like pounding away freely on my laptop while the echoes of verbal chatter and the hiss of steaming milk fill the air. I saw a sign today that they’re going to start serving beer and wine in the evenings?!! Really? As if I don’t loiter in there enough, now I am going to be enticed to stay straight on through until night-time now that I can enjoy a glass of Pinot and a cake pop simultaneously. Might as well just keep an overnight bag behind the counter.
8.Apple Slices and Caramel Dip. Makes me happy. The end.
9.The Sunrise. With the days becoming shorter, we are waking up before the sun. Which means we are catching quite a few sunrises these days. I know I mentioned the sunset as being up there with my top favorite things of all time, but a sunrise is just as magnificent, if not more so. There’s such beauty in the beginning of something, and it’s hard to compete with the wonderment of a new morning. Plus, I have witnessed significantly less sunrises (or at least purposely sat and watched one) than sunsets, so the rarity alone adds to the awe of the event. Some of my most memorable sunrises… on the beach in Cancun, Mexico, during spring break in college (oops, we never went to bed!), early mornings when I lived in Breckenridge, Colorado (you couldn’t actually see the sun, but the way it lit up the rocky mountain peaks across the valley, in a blazing splendor of orange light, was one of my fondest memories), and sitting on the rocky cliffs overlooking the Pacific during our honeymoon in Kauai, HI (thanks to the time difference we were up extra early to enjoy a few of those). I look forward to many more of these quiet, magnificent moments that come with each new day.
10.People. I realize that this can be a subjective topic. Do I really like all people? I can’t say that I do. Especially if you ask me while in the Costco parking lot at lunchtime, in Atlanta rush hour or on Black Friday. But for the most part, I believe that all people are generally good and have goodness somewhere in their hearts. Yes, there is evil in the world. But let’s not focus on that now. This is a Happy List, by all means. What fascinates me about people, is that what you see is usually not ever what you get. Heck, I am a testimony to that fact. I am always curious about the story that everyone carries with them. So much so, that sometimes I feel compelled to ask complete strangers about their life story (from which I always refrain, for fear of looking like a complete lunatic). The people who intrigue me the most are the ones who seems to be suffering, the ones with frowns on their faces, who are lashing out at the world. What are their stories? Where is their source of pain? Okay, so maybe the guy honking at me in the Costco parking lot isn’t on my list of favorite people, but there’s still a tiny sliver of compassion for him buried beneath my irritation. For just like you and I, he has a unique perspective. There’s a story beneath it all. No one person in this world is the same, and that is a beautiful, amazing thing. People are the glue that hold our world together, and we have a responsibility to each other not only to respect our differences but to celebrate them. We as humans have a unique and powerful ability to influence our world, and if we can leave a legacy of any kind, I pray that it is one of peace and unity. People make me happy only when they are doing their best to be good-hearted people. Good, not to be confused with perfect, but good, decent, loving people. Even those who seem distraught or coarse can be hiding a pure, but broken heart under a tangled mess of sadness and despair. So before you discount the weary, the broken and disheartened, get to know them as people. Listen to their story. Little by little, you will start to see the happy in their hearts. And I guarantee, by taking to time to listen, you will feel the happy in your own heart growing too.
Rerouting Life 