Um, who's taking out my trash?

There's something that happens with being single and living alone, you don't ask for help (or maybe it is just me). It doesn't always mean help isn't needed, but more of the fact that help is not readily available. And you are just forced to figure out a way to solve whatever problem or need is there. This being the reason I still live in an apartment- it is just easier and sometimes I just don't want to figure it out on my own. 

As time has gone on, I have found that asking for help becomes more challenging. In fact, it usually takes an ER visit and a surgery to force me to rely on my surrounding community. Yes, this has now happened more than once while calling Houston home. Three years ago, with all the grace and elegance you can imagine, I tumbled down the stairs during a school fire drill... right in front of my students. Unfortunately for all of you, there is no video of this lovely incident... or so I have been told. This resulted in months of me relying on and living with others. While I knew that my friends were amazing, I found out just how amazing they were during this time. 

With crutches and the inability to put weight on my foot, I had NO choice but to accept the help of those around me. Fast forward three years to this lovely appendectomy and asking for help hasn't been as easy. I don't know if it is because I went into "self-protect, I don't need anyone" mode after 2016 or what. I am not even sure I realized I went into that mode until asking for help has once again become a must. And felt/ feels impossible.

Per doctor's orders (not that I have really liked what they've had to say lately), I am not to lift anything heavier than 10 pounds and can only walk for a month. I chuckled as he said this, kept pushing the limits with my What about... questions, and finally gave in when he said he was happy to take care of my hernia surgery when it happens. Insert eye roll. My next question, Um, what about my groceries? Or my purse? Or my work bag? 10 pounds. The end. No more than that. Insert second eye roll. 

Does he realize I live on the second floor, by myself? How am I going to do this? I thought about asking if I could bill his office for my pizza deliveries because that seems to be a good solution to groceries but I decided he was no longer finding me comical. All I could think was, Fine, thanks for the reminder that I have no one to help and I can't do this alone. (Don't worry, I realize that is a bit whiny but just keepin' it real.) 

And I am not sure I believed him until I split my main incision open while at work, doing absolutely nothing strenuous. Got it. Nothing. Insert amazing team at work to save the day and force me to listen to my body and slow down. I have to ask for help. Funny that I have no problem forcing my help on others but hate asking for it. People are busy. They have plenty of stuff to do other than come to my aid. However, I am one that always says, Letting me help is a blessing for me more than you. I am not the best at listening to my own advice. 

I am hoping I learn this lesson because I am over the ER visits and surgeries for a while, even though I know Cindy loves being my ER-DD ;) and we are building a bank of funny memories with each visit. To my friends and family around me, you are amazing and I am incredibly grateful that you are always more than willing to help... if I would just let you. Really, thank you. Even if I could do it alone, you remind me I don't have to and when I can't do it alone, you are there to let me know I always have help available. 

So, now comes the question which lead to tonight's blog... Um, who's taking out my trash? 

Definitely more than 10 pounds. 

Words Hold Power

I am a bit of a word person. Shocking, I know. Reading, writing, speaking, listening. Books, audio books, blogs, song lyrics, poems, podcasts, journals, emails, texts, letters. I obsess over words. Proof of my word obsession can be found in the picture of my recent book purchase. This does not include the four books I am currently bouncing between. Clearly, I also enjoy fresh flowers from HEB.

Over Spring Break, I had the privilege of attending church with my sister and her lovely family at Chapel Pointe in Michigan. This church is very dear to my heart for so many reasons. Being that it was just a few days after surgery, I was planning on simply "sitting" and hugging the necks of sweet friends in between services. That is, until Joel decided to speak on words. And then it was all over.

You see, words have been on my mind for a while now and when forced to rest and slow down, there are countless hours available to get lost in thought. How words are used, the meaning behind them, the hidden meaning that we don't even realize we are throwing out there. My own words. The words of others. Words I wish I hadn't said or written. Words I wish hadn't been said to me. Words I still want to say. Words I long to hear. Words on the pages of books. Words spoken by pastors and authors I respect. Words from my Father, written to me through scripture. Words.

While it is something I know firsthand, as I am sure you do, Joel once again reminded me of the power of words as he taught from the Ephesians and James. Even as I type, memories of words I have used poorly flood my mind. The power to build up or to tear down, to encourage or to hurt, to bring together or to increase division. They hold the ability to bring us to tears through laughter or tears through pain. They can trigger hurt deep within or remind us of the sweetest of memories.

I guess words are so powerful because of our deep longing within to be heard AND understood. Hence the reason things like Facebook, Twitter, and blogging are so popular- we get to "speak" our minds freely. The guest pastor at my church in Houston spoke this Sunday about our desperate need to connect to God and to others. We were created for relationships and not superficial ones. We have a deep desire within us to have someone truly listen and get us and love us even when they know us fully.

When I began the writing journey, my prayer was (and still is) to never hurt anyone through my words, intentionally or unintentionally. Trust me, I have done plenty of that in my life. Those that know me well, know that I have a tendency to replay words in my head over and over and over and over again- I realize this is not usually a good thing, but it is inevitably what happens. This will typically end in me contacting said friend and asking for clarification or in me apologizing for the often idiotic words that flew from my mouth at that moment. That all goes back to the desire to be heard and understood and my desire to hear and understand the people in my life.

In thinking about Joel's teaching on words, I wonder what would happen if we (I) thought more carefully about the words being spoken- verbally or through written text. I wonder what I would actually say if I would ask myself what power I plan on using with these words- the power to build up or tear down. I think we can all agree that there are plenty of words being thrown around at this point in time that are only causing intense hurt, extreme divisions, and more confusion than was there the day before. Facebook can feel like a full on assault if we aren't careful about who we follow and the words we allow into our lives.

Personally, I don't want to add to any of it even though I know there will be times I fail and pray daily for the sensitivity to know when I need to ask for forgiveness. I want my words to bring encouragement, healing, laughter, and life.I want my words to be replayed over and over again in the minds of those like me as good instead of hurtful.  I want my words to show love in the midst of a broken and hurting world.

Blurred Vision

I didn't think twice when the anesthesiologist was running through the possible side effects of the medications being used just before surgery. In my mind, those are always rare and there was a slim chance I would experience any of them. Wrong. Apparently, blurred vision is one of those rare things that I didn't choose to worry about. The words and lines on my phone, books, and computer blurred together in a way that made reading a huge challenge for days following the surgery.  No matter how far away I held the phone or which eye I closed in an attempt to help, I couldn't see it until I enlisted the help of my trusty "readers." Through the lens of the glasses, the text became clear.

In the midst of those few days, I began to think about how my outlook on situations and circumstances is often blurred. Clouded by a myriad of things, past hurt, sin, pride, unforgiveness, etc., our lens can make it next to impossible to truly see what is happening in us and in front of us. Sometimes, I find that I would prefer the blurred lens instead of having to see truth. If I look through my tainted lens, my hurt is justified, my sin is not really sin, and actions are valid. However, being okay with my blurred vision does not allow for healing and growth in my life and the lives around me.

Over the last few months, I have found myself clinging to my blurred vision from time to time, wanting and praying for things to just go back to the way they were. The longing and the hurt sneaks up on the days I least expect it. The cloudiness of my own emotions makes it hard to see the light in the darkness. The blur makes it hard to see where I failed in my words and actions towards others, myself, and the Lord. And, if left alone in the fog, it is easy to perpetuate on that hurt and forget all that the Lord has shown me and continues to show me each day.

For me, I desperately need the lens of truth from God's word to bring repentance, redemption, and hope.  I need the lens of good friends around me that are willing to ask tough questions because they love me enough to do so and are willing to walk by my side no matter what life brings. I need the lens of others who have gone before me, walked through similar circumstances, and come out on the other side better because of the journey. It is through these things that I am able to see more clearly.

With His lens, even on the hardest of days, I know God's plan is always better than my own. With His lens, I know there is hope. Through friends, I am encouraged, affirmed, and challenged to continue walking forward in faith. And friends, there is freedom in knowing that I can't do this on my own. We need people in our lives to help us see ourselves and our situations clearly. When my vision starts to blur, I pray that I will take a step back and  put on my "readers."

What a difference time makes

Coffee in hand, sun shining brightly through the window of my sister's house, and snow on the ground, one thought kept coming to mind, What a difference time makes... whether it is a week, a few months, or a year. While I don't fully agree with the statement Time will heal all wounds, I do feel that in my life time makes a difference, a big difference. After being forced to slow down and rest, this week has consisted of a lot of sitting around, watching, and reflecting. Reflecting on the last week, months, and year. Reflecting on where I was physically, emotionally, and spiritually compared to where I am now. Reflecting on God's constant provisions and reminders of love, no matter what was happening.

This time last year, I would have never imagined much of what the year held. There was no thought of a significant other or a new job or my sister and her family living in Michigan or the loss of a significant other. While I am not sure I would have willingly chosen much of what the year held if I had known the heartache, loss, and struggles that also came, I know that each has brought good in my life. My faith and trust in God has been tested and strengthened as I learned to cry out honest prayers and seek His face through it all. I have learned the depth of His love through those around me. What a difference time makes.

This time just a few months ago, my trip to Michigan carried a much different tone than it has this week. Feeling the freshness of heartache and the overwhelming uncertainty of what the future held, the trip carried with it a sadness of what was lost. The gloomy weather of the week only seemed to add to how I felt on the inside. Yes, I was thankful to be with my sister and her family in their new home, but yes, there was hurt I can't deny. Fast forward just a few short months, and the trip this time carries hope and excitement of what is to come. The week has been filled with brilliant sunshine (with freeeeeezing temperatures), a sweet gift of snow for the girls, and a brightness that comes when the sun and snow collide. With healing in between then and now, I am hopeful of the future and certain that God knows best.  What a difference time makes. 

This time last week, I was sitting in a hospital bed, recovering from an emergency appendectomy, unsure I would even be able to make the trip to Michigan. The weeks leading up to the surgery held physical pain and really no reason of why. Completely exhausted and running on empty, my body gave way and my appendix made it known that something was wrong. With no options to work or do or go, I sat and sat some more and sat even more. I slept and slept some more and slept even more. The trip to Michigan was a go, thanks to the best nurse and mom I could ever ask for, as long as I rested. Not without a few moments of frustration from surgery, this week has been one of restoration in a way I didn't expect. What a difference time makes. 

This time I can tell you the picture is filled with so much hope, anticipation, and joy. This picture is one that tells of God's provisions in more ways than I can explain right now. It tells of His perfect timing and unending love. It tells of healing and restoration. This picture holds memories of sweet cheers of excitement- MK is pumped about another baby brother in the family. It holds genuine smiles. This picture is one I will hold dear as a reminder that time makes a difference, healing is possible, and hope is here.

I don't know what you are going through in your life. I don't know what hurt and disappointments you may find yourself experiencing in the moment. I don't know if you relate more to where I was this time last year, a few months ago, or last week. Whatever it is you are going through, I encourage you to keep walking forward, keep putting one foot in front of the other. As you do, I think you will look up one day, just like I have, surprised and thankful for where you've been and where you are going. While you will never hear me say Time heals all wounds, you will hear me say What a difference time makes.  

Be Still, Wait, Listen

Do you ever have those weeks where you feel like everything you read or hear is being spoken straight to you? This has been one of those weeks for me. So much of what I have read in this past week has contained the message to be still in the midst of everything else around me. For those that know me well, you know this is not the easiest for me to do. I am naturally a helper and therefore am always pouring myself out to help others- whether they want the help or not.

However, I am awful at receiving help from others and will push myself until I have nothing left. To be still and listen requires me to stop focusing on everyone else and the help I think they need and to simply rest in Him. It requires me to listen, without adding my own advice. (I am sure some of you will get a good laugh out of that knowing that I love to speak my own thoughts into situations.) It also requires me to listen to myself, my body, and my emotions- something I often find myself avoiding.

While Tuesday started out as any other day, it quickly took a turn completely off of my plan. (I am still amazed at how God works and the timing of the last blog post.) Within a couple of hours of being at work, I was in tons of pain but just kept on working... After arguing with my co-workers about needing to stay so that I could work with one of my teams, I finally listened and made the drive home. It wasn't until 7:00 in the evening, when the pain was only getting worse, that I gave into my body and asked for help from friends around me. The rest is history... a friend was at my apartment in less than 20 minutes to take me to an ER, a CT scan confirmed appendicitis, an ambulance was called, I was directly admitted to the hospital, and surgery was scheduled for first thing in the morning. 

Don't let the smile fool you, this was post pain meds. 

Now, whether I liked the idea or not, I was forced to be still, forced to listen to the Lord, my body, and those around me, forced to simply sit and rest in His presence. So, I sat and listened. I practiced This is good because... and asked the Lord to open my heart to what He wants to show me without being able to offer up my own opinions and advice to the situation. 

This is good because... my appendix hadn't ruptured just yet, a dear friend and I sat and laughed about the craziness of what was happening (after I had pain meds, of course), my mom was able to come down and stay with me, the surgery was early enough in the week that I can still fly to Michigan for Spring Break, I will finally be able to eat Lupe's again after not being able to for a couple of months, I am getting much needed rest and have no guilt about slowing down, a precious friend from my small group came by with flowers, and I could just keep on going. 

Here is just a glimpse of what I heard... 

Don, my paramedic, lost two very close friends over the last two days and his heart was hurting- one to suicide and the other from injuries sustained years earlier. As a retired Houston firefighter, he has seen some tough things. We talked about life, about how neither of his friends will have to continue suffering, about how each one was fighting a different battle, but they were finally at peace. We discussed our grandmas and how much his meant to him and mine to me. We talked missions when he noticed my Parental Care Ministries shirt. 

JoJo, my nurse in pre-op, is a single mom raising her two boys. Her oldest is in high school and has special needs. Her younger son is in middle school. She shared how much the schools were helping with her older boy and how she is able to celebrate the normal things with her younger son. 

Cinny, my nurse on the floor, has one son in elementary school. As we talked, she shared whose class he was in at one of our Cy-Fair elementary schools. When she shared the name of the teacher, my smile widened. I shared with her that his teacher is one of the best second grade teachers he could possibly have. I was able to tell her that we send teachers to watch her because she is that good. It was her smile that widened then. Parents send their kids to school for more hours in the day than they get with them. To share that he is not just in good hands, but amazing hands, was such a treat.

Karen, our housekeeper, walked in with the most beautiful smile on her face. She gently asked if she could come in and get the trash and dirty linens. She mentioned how wonderful the room felt, as she was usually hot from working so hard. While I invited her to stay, she was only able to be in the room for a minute or two. 

As for what I saw, it seemed that every person that cared for me along the way was from a different country. Each person coming together for one common goal, my health and the health of those around me. Y'all I wanted to tear up just at the sight of this. The beauty of seeing people from all over the world walk in and out of my room reminded me of the diversity in God's people. It was a beautiful sight in a time where there is so much fear about those that are different. 

While the week went nothing as I had planned, I know without a doubt that none of this was by chance. I sit grateful for what God allowed me to see and hear in just that short time, for healing, and for His constant provisions. May I continue to be still, wait, and listen. 

This is good because...

Tonight, in an attempt to cultivate creativity (and possibly avoid some things I needed to do), I set out to try a new recipe, Cream Cheese Pound Cake, with my brand new Kitchen Aid Mixer. My mom graciously surprised me with this beauty last Saturday, and this was going to be my first time to use it. While I really had no purpose in baking this evening, I needed to try out a recipe request for Thursday. Needless to say, I was excited and even texted the pic below to my mom and sister, knowing they would want to share in this occasion with me.

With my music cranked up (you know, so I could dance while baking), each ingredient was added just as the recipe instructed. Before long, all of the ingredients were combined in the mixer and ready to be poured into the bunt pan. But wait. What is that silvery film on top of the batter? After close inspection, it was apparent that I did not wash the attachments thoroughly enough. What was once the batter for a delicious pound cake was now nothing more than trash, all thanks to some pesky metal flaking. Definitely a far cry from what I had planned in my head.

I am not sure if you are aware of this or not, but things do not always go as planned. It may be more accurate to say things rarely go as planned. Anyone with me on that?  If you read the Best of 2016, just a little late post from last week, then you are well aware of my year not going quite as planned. And, as you can see, 2017 already has its fair share of Wait, that's not how I pictured this (insert event) going moments.

In a conversation with a dear friend and coworker a couple of months ago, I flippantly mentioned one of those major events that didn't quite go as I expected. In all her wisdom and with a genuinely sincere heart, she looked at me and said "And this is good because...", waiting for me to complete the sentence. I am not sure how I responded initially... I can almost promise my facial expression communicated Um, NONE of it. Didn't you hear my story? How is any of this "good"? I imagine I gave her a ridiculous answer and moved on with my day, thinking nothing more about it.

Later, I found myself sitting in bumper to bumper traffic on my way home from work. As frustrations arose, along with my blood pressure, I heard her words And this is good because... in my head. While everything inside me wanted to bang the steering wheel, yell at the drivers that clearly had no control over our current situation, and gripe about how long this was going to take, I found myself re-framing my thinking, This extra long drive in traffic is good because... I get more time to listen to my audio book. I was no longer ready to lose all control, which would be frowned upon in traffic. Instead, I chose to enjoy the extra minutes listening to whatever book was being read to me at the time.

While what actually happens in place of our plans IS important. Our reaction to what happens is just as, if not more, important. Our reactions determine how and if we move forward. Our reactions determine if we sit paralyzed in our disappointments, often refusing or unsure of how to get back up, or if we allow ourselves to grieve, heal and move forward one step at a time. I know some of you are experiencing impossible disappointments and hurtful situations right now. I know some you are reading this and thinking, how is any of this good? Sometimes, depending on those changed plans, we cycle back and forth between being able to get up one minute and having no clue how to move the next. If you're like me, you need to know that good has come of something that may seem completely unbearable without it.

After a much needed time of healing and restoration, I think I would answer my friend much differently today. Are there still twinges of hurt and pain? Absolutely. Are there still moments of confusion and questioning? Yes. However, I can now say all of those things that didn't go quite as I planned in 2016 were and are good because...

• they have brought me to a place in my relationship with the Lord that I would not have been otherwise. 
• I can finally see they were not HIS plans for my life but were my plans. 
• I have learned so much about myself, my family and friends, and my God since those plans all fell apart. 
• in a time of deep hurt, those same family, friends, and God sat with me, cried with me, and loved on me in ways I will never be able to understand. 
• after experiencing hurt and loss, I have been able to see the pure joy and beauty of the people and things around me.
• and on and on and on. 

As for the mishap with the pound cake... This is good because it brought me right here to you and maybe because I didn't end up "testing" half the cake to make sure it was good enough for Thursday.

Moving from the Parking Lot to the Party

Last weekend I had the privilege of celebrating a dear friend's 50th birthday. Y'all, this lady is not afraid to show up and dance. And dance she did. The joy radiating from her face all night was priceless. Instead of getting up and dancing, I sat and watched, too afraid of not knowing what to do, and looking foolish. And because of that, I missed out.

Me, Dianne- The Birthday Girl, and Yolanda

With no recollection of when I realized I was a terrible dancer, all I know is that I was always that girl watching from the wall and wishing I was out on the dance floor. I am that girl that says I hate to dance but deep down inside I desperately want to let loose, feel the music, and move. I want to be that girl that walks doesn't leave until the last song is played. But then something happens. My upper body does not connect to my lower body and it is as if they belong to two separate people. It is nothing short of a tragedy (yes, I realize I am being dramatic). Terrified to just show up and dance, I always sat (and still sit) on the sidelines, envious of those that can move and those that just get out there for the heck of it, without a care in the world.

Jesus seemed to say that all we would need to do is scrape together the pieces of our lives that had fallen on the ground, bring those pieces to Him, and He would start using them. Jesus didn't say that He would ice over the grit of faults and failures either; He said He would use us in spite of the grits and faults and failures. What we would have to do is decide to move from the 

parking lot to the party.

Love Does, by Bob Goff

Moving from the parking lot to the party, showing up and being seen, in life is often scary. Depending on the situation, we can feel paralyzed on the sidelines even when we truly want to join in. For me, the fear of failing and not being good enough can easily win and keep me from experiencing the fullness of life. What's funny (and extremely frustrating all at the same time) is that the very standards of what I imagine as success and being good enough are standards that I have placed on myself and rarely come from anyone else. While I encourage others to take a chance and jump into the game, I am my own worst enemy and can talk myself out of engaging in life and taking a risk in a heartbeat.

But God doesn't want my perfection. He doesn't want me to wait until I have cleaned up all the broken pieces and dirt in my life. He wants to use me (and each one of us) in the very place He has us in this moment. And for that I am incredibly relieved and grateful. I don't want to sit on the outside and simply watch. I want to live my life to the fullest, experiencing all that God has for me. I want to seek Him in obedience even when it is scary and requires vulnerability (because most of the time it does). Waiting to join in before I can reach my impossible standards means I will miss what He has for me... opportunities to show love to others, to learn from those around me, and to grow my faith.

What about you, sweet friend? What holds you back from getting out there? Fears of failure? Past hurt and rejection? Impossible standards? Shame? What keeps you from moving from the sidelines to the playing field? Whatever that is, my prayer is that we would release those fears, dare to be brave, and move from the parking lot to the party. Next time, I'm dancing.

Owning (and being Grateful for) My Story

Absolutely. I would be honored to speak to the college students and singles (on Courageous Relationships) at the upcoming Fearfully and Wonderfully Made Event, read my email to the women's minister at Green Acres Baptist Church on September 8. This will be perfect. I can share my wisdom on dating, the story of my current relationship, and so much more. (Y'all, how bold and prideful can I get?)

Um, that is until the end of September, of course. I went from I've got this to rehearsing my email to back out of the conference all of about 863 times. How will I speak now? I haven't been courageous. I have been cowardly hiding and refusing to see the things God has been trying to show me. But there was NO WAY I was going to send that email, not because I felt like God could still speak through me, rather because I refused to admit that my heart was broken. I refused to admit that I didn't feel like I knew anything about relationships and that the women would be better off hearing from someone else.

The following months consisted of me avoiding any emails regarding the conference and refusing to put the pen to the paper. Because once it hits paper (or the computer screen), it is real. And that is the farthest thing from what I wanted. So, I just kept on with what I do best, procrastinating in an attempt to make it go away. I am pretty sure I only told my mom and my sister about the conference for the longest time. If I didn't tell anyone, I wouldn't have to face my story. I wouldn't have to speak my fears and doubts out loud. I wouldn't have to admit that I was desperate for help and had no idea how this talk was going to happen. Silence continued.

That is, until the end of January. One of the beautiful things that came out of Christmas being so hard, is that I finally got sick of hiding behind the pain. I signed up for a small group at church, volunteered to serve, and registered for a women's retreat. The weekend of January 20-22 is monumental in my ability to own the most recent chapter in my story that I was ready to burn and refuse ever happened. That weekend, in the beauty of God's creation (Isn't being outdoors so refreshing???), I came face to face with the one thing holding me back from healing, my shame.

My shame of walking in disobedience, of not listening to the sweet whispers of God telling me, This is not where I want you. The shame of isolating myself from the world around me in an attempt to self-protect. The shame of facing others and admitting that the man I thought I was going to marry doesn't want me. In listening to one of our speakers talk about shame and guilt, I knew God was telling me that my shame was not from Him, and never was.

His Word says to us, They looked to Him and were radiant, and their faces shall not be ashamed. Psalm 34:5 Oh, how I wish I was sitting with some of you, drinking a cup of coffee, and chatting right now because I know many of you can relate. Shame causes us to cower in silence. Shame causes us to hush our stories, hide behind the masks, and become someone else. And this is never what God wants for us.

That weekend brought about healing in a way that I can't describe. I went alone and broken, knowing only one or two people from a meeting we had the week before. I left restored and free of the shame. I left with sweet friendships that I will forever be thankful for. I left knowing that so many of us hide, not because we don't want to be known, but because the shame of (insert whatever causes shame for you) tells us to hide.  I left knowing that God would not speak through me at this conference in spite of the challenges of last year, but because of the challenges of last year. With the sun shining, I made the hour and a half drive home, overwhelmed with gratitude for where God has me and for the chapter that I was so frantically trying to burn and hide.

Bitter, Party of 1 is not my state of being or how I feel about my life. Bitter, Party of 1 is who I am, Rachel Bitter, just a girl who loves Jesus and needs His grace every day, and for that I am grateful.