Never Done

I like to think of myself as a "gifted starter" as opposed to "ungifted finisher"- you know, one that starts a lot of things and finishes a few. Growing up, it was sport after after sport, never hanging around long enough to develop my skills well. In high school, a kickboxing class lured me in- this was going to make me super fit and stronger than I could imagine. Um, maybe with pure torture. You would have quit, too.

Walking around my apartment, the evidence of my constant starting remains- stacks of books never finished, Bible studies with the last week or two incomplete, and journals with enough empty pages to keep me writing for a while. The weight watchers app with consistency across six weeks and then months of nothing. Whether it's a new book, journal, Bible reading plan, list, goal, or a fresh start in eating healthy on a Monday, you name it, I am probably starting something new related to it.

Don't get me wrong, I start out strong, never setting out on the new journey with a goal of stopping short of the finish line. Giving myself pep talks, mapping out a plan, and buying all the supplies needed (sewing lasted one week and cost more money than I would like to admit), I launch into it. But somewhere along the way, I lose steam and that new thing becomes old, falling to the wayside.

After listening to Jon Acuff talk with Annie Downs on her That Sounds Fun Podcast about the reasons people get started but rarely meet their goals, I decided to listen to his book Finish: Give Yourself the Gift of Done. He spoke of our need for perfection or nothing at all,  the attempt to accomplish something big AND keep up with everything else in life, unreasonable time tables, choosing goals that we don't even enjoy (I briefly contemplated running), and unspoken lies we believe related to our goal. Each struck a chord as I thought back on reasons I not only didn't finish a goal, but often find myself making an escape in the opposite direction.

As I listened, I thought about God's work in my life, in my heart, in the depths of who I am and what I believe. So many times, I crash into the pit of failure and imperfection, sure that God won't even want to welcome me back and redeem this mess, me, again. Chapters of choosing someone or something else over following what God has placed on my heart fill my story. Moments of being easily distracted by whatever it is in front of me that might quench the desires of my heart, even if only for a short time, have drawn me away from Him time and time again.

This past week a friend asked how I got here, to this place I find myself now. I recounted the days of being an unsure, insecure pre-teen desperately seeking the attention of others to a rebellious teenager using alcohol to numb and escape the pain I felt daily to a relationship and engagement to someone I knew deep down I never wanted to marry or even be with, but said yes because surely that was all life had to offer. I told of the Lord chasing me so hard and placing people along my path that pointed me to Him without me even realizing it to a point of breaking off the engagement, walking away from the life I knew, and surrendering to Jesus at the age of 21.

I would love to say my journey of following Jesus is one that tells of quickly realizing I am off the path He has for me and immediately turning back to Him, but it doesn't. More times than I wish were true, it has taken falling flat of my face in a mud pit to get my attention. And too many times, thanks to the fear of having to admit my failure, I hide in the mud hoping it will just eventually go away. Once I finally have the courage to admit my own weaknesses and sin, I find myself wondering how or why God would even want to welcome me back into His arms and use this sloppy story for Him. And at times I find myself holding tightly onto the lie that there is no way this pain, this sin, or this chapter in my life, can be redeemed.

But He has and continues to do so. My narrative is one that tells of me constantly having to fall back into His arms of forgiveness and grace. It is one that tells of His healing and redemption, using mess after mess for His glory.

I am so thankful that God doesn't, and never will, approach me like one of His goals along the way. Scripture does not reveal a story of God moving on from one person to the next when they don't reach perfection. It isn't a story of His dreams and goals for someone being too big or hard to accomplish that He eventually has to lower His expectations for the people to reach them. The pages of His story are filled with God constantly calling His people back to Him, offering forgiveness, healing, and restoration. God's story is one of using ordinary, imperfect people to accomplish His good works.

Friend, if my messes along the way are not too messy for Him, then neither are yours. All He wants is for us to come back to Him with open and honest hearts, willing to say YES to His plan for us. We aren't just another item on the list waiting to be crossed off when He is done. We are His children and He desires to continue to perfect the good work He is doing in us (Philippians 1:6). Tauren Wells, "God's Not Done with You" is on repeat this morning and I am thankful that no matter what junk our story holds, no matter how done we feel, God's never done with you or with me.

In the Quiet of the Valleys

Not too long ago I was that person that occasionally- or more like, multiple times a week- overslept and frantically scrambled to get ready in time for work. I found myself relying on my mother to text or call daily to make sure I was awake. I realize this should be embarrassing at the age of 36. Surely I could figure out how to get my own rear out of bed and moving daily? In my defense, there's no one in my room or apartment getting annoyed with my alarm and jolting me awake with a pillow to the face. So, a call from my mom it was to make sure her grown daughter was getting started with the day.

If you read my last post, Single, Yet Again, For the Holidays then you know the Thanksgiving/ Christmas season was a bit rough at points. Coming home, I knew there were things I had to put in place for me, for my health, for my soul. One of those things involved my mornings. Here is what I know about myself: I cherish mornings. Slow mornings. Mornings with unrushed coffee drinking, listening to whatever album is speaking to my heart at the moment, time with Jesus- reading, journaling, listening, and praying. You can imagine how little that was happening if my mother (Mom, you are the best) was my alarm clock after I should have already been up for 30 minutes. It wasn't. And my soul felt it. And I am sure everyone around me felt it, too.

I heard recently the truth is in the quiet. If I am honest with you and with myself, I don't like the quiet, the time to be still with my thoughts. And my natural tendency is to avoid what might be hard. I sleep late so there won't be time in the morning to open God's word. I go here and there so that when I get home I am too tired to face the silence. I scroll Facebook, Twitter, Instagram. I crush candy and wait for more lives when I've used them all. I fill my days with things to do so that I don't have to sit, so that I don't have to face the feelings of hurt and pain and confusion and disappointment.

But, in God's graciousness, I finally hit a point where I didn't want to hide (for now at least). Really I hit a point where facing the truth was my only option. Face the fears. Face the hurts. Face the depths of my emotions. Or just keep on going the way I have been going, ignoring and bottling it up nice and tight. I finally realized I can't keep running from the pain and it's exhausting. I also know that in the pain, there is beauty. During our hardest seasons in life, there is learning and growth. And there is no way I want to miss out on restoration and redemption because I am too scared to simply sit and be honest with myself and with the Lord.

So, my alarm got a reset. I would be lying if I said those first couple of days didn't hurt a little. But now? Now, my mornings are sacred. My mornings are a must. Not in the I have to check this off my list way but in the my soul craves and desperately needs that time kind of way. My time in the morning is when I am able to be still enough to learn and listen and cry out to God in a way that just doesn't happen for me at any other time in the day.

Monday morning was much like my mornings have been lately. Coffee in hand. Music quietly playing. Bible open to 1 Kings thanks to an incredible plan on the First 5 app. I sank into my chair, draped my blanket across my lap, clicked on the daily reading and then there was this truth:

God is good.
God is good to me.
God is good at being God.

I would love to say my first thought was, Amen. But, immediately I felt God asking if I really believed these statements, beyond simply letting the words roll off my tongue. Really? Because that is not the truth I wanted to be smacked with before I even took a sip of my coffee.

My word for 2018 is trust. Trust me when I say I tried to run from this one faster than you've seen me run... ever. "Trusting" God when all is going my way is easy. Trusting God in the midst of things not going the way I wanted or saw it in my mind or told him it should go, that's a totally different story. I know and have always known this is my struggle. If I truly trusted God, then why haven't I been honest in my prayers? Why do I feel the need to just not pray about certain things? Why can't I say what He already knows? Why? Because I am so scared my God, the one I supposedly trust, won't come through for me. I am scared He will ignore my cries. I am scared my prayers aren't in line with what He wants for me. I am scared.

But, the truth is, God is good. God is good to me. And He is so good at being God. If God had followed my plans, I can promise I would be in a much different place- covered in a whole heap of mess. If God had listened to me and just done what I said, then there would be deeper hurts, even more disappointment, and brokenness beyond what I can imagine. If God took my advice, then I would have missed out on some of the richest blessings of my life, the opportunity to fall deeper in love with Him, and the need to run to Him with arms surrendered. I could sit and list all the ways I have seen and continue to see His goodness all around me, even here in this place I didn't imagine I would ever find myself.

A friend shared Hills and Valleys by Tauren Wells with me last night. If you know me or have read any of my other posts, you know music has a way of speaking directly to my heart in a way that no other words do. I don't know where you find yourself today, on the mountaintop, in the valley, or somewhere in between. No matter where you are, cling tight to the truth that we are standing in His love. Know that we are never alone. Know that in the quiet there can be so much healing and restoration as we hold onto His truth. Know that He is the God of the hills and the valleys. 

I've walked among the shadows
You wiped my tears away
And I've felt the pain of heartbreak
And I've seen the brighter days
And I've prayed prayers to heaven from my lowest place
And I have held the blessings
God, you give and take away

No matter what I have, Your grace is enough
No matter where I am, I'm standing in Your love

On the mountains, I will bow my life
To the one who set me there
In the valley, I will lift my eyes to the one who sees me there
When I'm standing on the mountain aft, didn't get there on my own
When I'm walking through the valley end, no I am not alone!
You're God of the hills and valleys!
Hills and Valleys!
God of the hills and valleys
And I am not alone!

Single (yet, again) for the Holidays

I wanted to put these words down during the holiday season. However, I just couldn't. I couldn't go there. I couldn't admit my disappointment. I couldn't voice my true feelings when I was supposed to be one who shares encouragement and is blessed beyond measure (because clearly those people don't have hurts- insert my own eye-roll at myself). So, I didn't write and have avoided other posts for the sheer fact of not wanting to address this topic. But, I have spent the last few days reading, thinking, praying, jotting, listening, and I know that I need to write this for me and maybe even for some of you.

Walking into Thanksgiving and the holiday season, I felt refreshed, renewed and restored compared to where I was over the holidays last year. The thought of being single for the holidays didn't create a sense of disappointment, or even panic, as it typically had. That is, until it did. Sitting outside by a fire in the middle of nowhere at a cabin in Arkansas on Thanksgiving day, it hit. Here I was, again, watching my brother and sister with families to call their own, adventures to take with their people, and then there was me. Constantly wondering if that will even be part of my story and desperately hoping for it to be, my heart sank and the tears flowed and all of a sudden I was not looking forward to this time of year that I truly love.

At one point refusing to decorate (thankful for a very close friend that talked me out of that), I just was not sure I could put on the face of being holly and jolly with where I was in life. I also was not sure I really wanted to tackle these feelings because they are deep and true and scary and full of what-ifs and the unknown. But I didn't want despair to be my narrative. I get to determine how the next month plays out and I knew I didn't want to spend the month dreading Christmas, a day that brings life to my faith.

I made a resolve to get up early each morning (this time is so refreshing for me) listen to worship music, read the story of Christ's narrative in scripture, journal and pray (all while enjoying my coffee, obviously). I unpacked the Christmas boxes, shopped for baking supplies galore, got the Christmas playlists going, and started enjoying the days. I hosted friends that are more like family for evenings of baking, hot chocolate, and games. Cookies were in the oven anytime I was home and sometimes for hours on end.

I made decisions for me, which at times is easy and then there are times when I am changing what normally is and might hurt someone's feelings that it isn't so easy. When I typically head straight to Tyler once school is out, I hung around Spring/ Houston just a little bit longer for time with friends. For the first time ever, I attended my Christmas Eve services. It was perfect. Those feelings and desire to be married and have a family of my own were still there, but I was able to enjoy where I was. It felt like my "healthiest" Christmas yet....well, in regards to my emotional and spiritual health, at least. All those cookies are tempting and delicious and MUST be tasted before being gifted to someone else.

It was the healthiest. Until it wasn't. And then I felt like the last month was erased or had this big lie written on it. I know now this is so far from the truth, but at that time, that was the reality. The feelings crept back in. The what-ifs, doubts, visions of years to come just like this flashed through my head. I spent the days avoiding any thoughts that came and the evening in tears, begging God for answers, expressing my anger and hurt and confusion. So, just when I thought I was ready to write about the holidays, it was now something I did not even address.

What changed? Coming home, I knew I had to change. I talked with two ladies that have been such a treasure to me they will never know just how grateful I am for them. I sought wise counsel. I tried not to squash feelings when they surfaced but voice them, in all their rawness. I have poured over scriptures, kept Shane and Shane's Psalms Live album on repeat, and taken time to just sit. Today, as Winter Storm Inga blessed us with a snow day, I took the time for me that I didn't have, or maybe even allow, over the Christmas break.

With a puzzle on my table, I pressed play to a podcast that was recommended to me. I listened as Annie Downs spoke with Mike Foster about her life as a single woman who longs for a marriage and family of her own. Once I moved past the feel of Mister Rogers' Neighborhood, I soaked in every word, pausing to jot down ideas that resonated with my heart, my story. Needless to say, tears flowed. I listened (twice actually) as she shared her journey, her fears, her hurts, her struggle, her battle with not just giving the "Christian" answer to the questions but how she truly feels.

I don't know what therapy is "fun," but she's worth listening to.

As she was sharing about her hopes, she said, "It is one thing to be loved by a family and another thing to belong to a family." I am deeply loved, accepted and included by many amazing families and my life is richly blessed because of each of them. My brother and sister continually invite me in to their families, allowing me time with the most amazing kiddos ever. On Christmas Eve and Christmas day, I spent time with two families here in Spring that I don't consider just friends. In Tyler, I missed out on time with a family that has considered me part of theirs since I was 18. I know I am deeply loved by many families. I cling to the hope and desire to one day belong to my own family. I hope to wait until the kids go to sleep to pretend to be Santa and fight with toys that have to be built, quickly and quietly. I hope to sit with my husband as he shares the story of Christmas and what that means with our children. Sometimes, like Annie, I am scared of that hope because I am terrified my God will disappoint me.

But I have to, and will continue to, cling to hope. Hope that God will allow a husband and children to be part of my story. Hope, that no matter what the journey looks like in the days to come, I will not dwell on the past, get lost in the what-ifs of the future, and forget to be present in the now. And I will trust that He is at work. So, now I have Psalm 34 playing, a "Houston" winter wonderland outside my window, a blanket, coffee and Annie's book, Let's All Be Brave: Living Life with Everything You Have.