Here's To Writing Again

I posted a picture on Instagram the other day of a blank screen, my journal, and my London Fog, ready to write for the first time in almost 2 years. The words refused to come. I typed a sentence and then quickly deleted it all. The sentences I left on the page didn't make much sense and the ideas did not flow at all. I couldn't get anything going and really wasn't sure why. I love words. I love to write. I love to process (some of you are laughing because you have been the recipient of a book in the form of a text message.) Words are how I try to make sense of it all. But they weren't coming.

I decided to go back to old posts to read the words of my last posts. There were three unpublished- one rambling from 2 days before Thanksgiving this past November, one title but zero words in the body, and the start of a few sentences that literally just cut off and stopped. As I reread them all, I had zero recollection of where I was trying to go or what had prompted the topic that appeared to be among my few scattered thoughts.

February 11, 2018 marked the date of my last published entry. The title? "Never Done." Which honestly brought a good laugh from me because clearly my writing had been "done" for a while. Still, I struggled to remember why the words stopped, why I quit writing in the first place. Why did the words stop? Why had I abandoned the few that were started right after that published piece? Had I just gotten busy and moved on to other things? Was I sharing words somewhere else? People close to me have encouraged me to write multiple times over the last couple of years, and I just flat out wouldn't but really didn't know why (my stubbornness is special).

And, then I remembered. I made a choice. An active choice to silence my blog, to silence my words all because of a stronghold in my life I could not release. The tears immediately started flowing, right in the middle of Starbucks.

I thought back to the sermon I heard that afternoon. (Side note- I tried a new church this week. There's more to that story that I want to share- long story short, church being the most segregated hour of my week felt wrong and I couldn't ever settle that- I didn't want to. So, I tried a new church and it was a beautiful representation of why I love Houston so much.)

The pastor is in a series titled From Now On. Yesterday's message was centered around finding rest, true rest in God. His last point hit hard (in a painful, I needed to hear that from more than the people that have been trying to tell me all along, good kind of way.) From now on, I will forgive. And then he proceeded to say, "if I let them, I will allow what someone else has done to keep me from what God wants."

And, then it came barreling in even stronger: my bitterness, my inability to release pain and to forgive myself and someone else, had lead me to this place of silence. Needless to say, the tears didn't stop. I did what the guy next to me was probably secretly hoping I would do once the tears came- I went home to process and pray and write in my journal and confess it and search out what was going on.

In the words that flowed and the things God brought to mind, I realized that silencing my blog was just the first choice made. That eventually lead to silencing other ways I was sharing. My reading stopped. My journaling stopped. My posts on Instagram and Facebook of what I was learning and leaning into stopped. I found that I had gone silent, not sharing anything real with anyone, not even those closest to me. I deleted my post because with all of the processing came the shame of knowing I was the reason words weren't coming and I wasn't sure when I would actually be able to write.

Here is what I know I want: I want to walk in forgiveness. I want to walk in healing. I want to walk in freedom to be who God has created me to be- and it wasn't to be quiet, to be silenced, or to walk in bondage to my own unforgiveness.

So, after a morning retreat in my chair and some encouragement from a dear friend, Cindy, who constantly points me to Christ, healing, and growth, I am back at Starbucks with my journal, my computer, and a London Fog. Of course, I had to go to a different Starbucks because I am literally wearing the same sweatshirt I had on yesterday.

This time, the words have come and I have a list going of more things I want to share- songs that are just touching my soul right now, podcasts that have spurred me on to keep asking questions and dig deep, what I have been unlearning and relearning about our nation's history, my faith, education, justice work... basically, all the things I have stuffed inside for 2 years.

Here's to writing... again.

(And to updating the About Me section because obviously I am no longer 36.)

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.

Because of Harvey

Being single with no kids, means the options in life are endless- where I live, work, go, you name it... and this isn't always a positive. This is my sixth year living in Houston. For those six years, I have not truly made it home and I definitely have not planted in one place. If I am honest with myself and with you, I have intentionally not planted deep roots here just in case something comes up and I need or want to move. This has even been true in my church life, as I have bounced between a few different places over my six years here, keeping everything at arm's length.

Just a few weeks before Hurricane Harvey was even a thought, I felt as though I was supposed to return to a church that I had been to so many times- always in "visitor" mode. Most of my daily community goes to Faithbridge and my attempt to plug in somewhere else had not worked- because I never really allowed it. As one that craves authentic community, it is impressive how much I have dodged it in an attempt to not settle here too deeply (you know, just in case I need to go somewhere else.) I knew the church I was going to was wonderful but not where I was supposed to be. Reluctantly, I returned to Faithbridge, not fully convinced that I would plug in and call this place home.

And then came Harvey.

As Harvey was making its way through Houston and the surrounding areas, my heart ached. My heart ached because for the first time, I felt like this was MY city, MY home, MY community and it was hurting. I watched in disbelief as the waters took over neighborhoods, highways, and business places. I prayed for those in danger and those evacuated already due to flooding. I listened to the newscasters as they kept us up to speed on the minute by minute happenings. I paced and ate and prayed and paced and cried and texted and prayed and ate. Once the rains finally slowed, I waited for word that it was time to get out and help those that had been directly impacted.

Wednesday, August 30 the text came through that it was time to go, time to clean, time to serve.  I was going to help and to bless others, but instead the blessings I received because of Harvey are greater than I could have ever imagined.

Because of Harvey, I had the privilege of meeting and serving alongside people that were willing to give their time to help those impacted by the flooding. People ready to give their love to people that were deeply hurting. The team at Faithbridge quickly mobilized hundreds of volunteers in a time of intense need.

Because of Harvey, I was invited into the homes of people I would have never met as our Faithbridge teams helped pull all the wet out so their homes could begin the drying process. The homeowners graciously allowed us to be a part of an extremely difficult time. I shed tears with many, was humbled by their stories, prayed for restoration, and walked through the cleaning out process with them and now have new friends.

Amanda and Jose have quickly become friends and I promise it is not
 just because they sent me home with barbecue the other day.

Because of Harvey, I was allowed the opportunity to lead teams into the homes of community members that were hurting. Where I once knew just a few people, I now have many friends who have walked through the devastation with me as we ventured out into the community.

Because of Harvey, I worked with people from around the state (my Baker crew from Tyler) and country (new friends from Chicago and a marine from San Diego). They stopped what they were doing and came to serve with us. To share with a homeowner the stories of those willing to drive a couple hundred miles or hop on an airplane just so they could come help is a powerful thing.

This team went out on an unofficial serve day and was joined by a marine
from San Diego who just couldn't fathom sitting and doing nothing. 

Because of Harvey, I witnessed churches unite in the streets as we went into home after home, helping in any way possible. Without each other, we could not have done it. We shared expertise, tools, and lunch.

Eric from Bayou City Fellowship, LR (lovely homeowner with a faith
stronger than I can describe), her sweet friend,
and myself on Monday- day 6 of going into homes. The Lord knew I
needed her joy, a good friend from Matzke, and another
church team to make it through the day. 

Because of Harvey, I was challenged and encouraged to look at life in a different way. Stuff is stuff. Work is work. People and relationships are what truly matter. While I have known this, it is easy to get distracted and allow other things to take over my thoughts and energy.

Because of Harvey, I have seen my friends and family from outside of Houston reach out and desire to help those hurting. Many have loved the people around me in ways that will forever be felt through their gifts and prayers. Looking at new friends and old as they are hurting and letting them know people from all over care about them always brings a smile.

Because of Harvey, Houston is home and not just a place I live. This is definitely not the time to leave. Big things are happening.

Because of Harvey, I am a Faithbridger and finally have a church home. A month ago, Faithbridge was a place I was reluctantly considering and today it was a place where I was in the midst of family. To my new family and to those that have allowed me into your homes, into your lives, and into your pain, thank you. John, Seth, Kim, Annee, Dylan, and all those I am missing on the Faithbridge team, thank you for allowing me to be a part as we love on our community after Harvey.

Because of Harvey, I am forever changed and forever grateful.

Heartbroken Yet Incredibly Hopeful

I, like so many of my friends in and around Houston, am heartbroken as we sit and watch this storm demolish our city, our neighborhoods, our schools, and so many homes. The sights are unfathomable. The pounding rain off and on (more on than off), constantly reminding us that our city will not be what it was when we went to sleep Saturday night. The rain has dumped at such a high rate and for so long that the water had no choice but to take over. 

My heart aches for a city I have called home for over 6 years now- wondering how former students, their families, friends, coworkers- from my days at Arrow Academy in South Houston all the way out to Cypress- are doing with all of this. I am thankful again for technology and the ability to hear from many. Tears have fallen as I have watched the devastation being faced by so many. I sit feeling helpless, desperately wanting to help but knowing for now that is through prayer. 

But in the midst of this heartbreak, I remain hopeful. Hopeful as a city of such immense diversity stand as one to help anyone and everyone nearby no matter what color, religion, sexual orientation or political affiliation. Hopeful that a world that is hurting and divided, is witnessing a beautiful picture of love as people are helping other people simply because they need help. Hopeful that those who have lost everything are being rescued and brought to safety where shelter, food, and clean water awaits them. Hopeful as people from around the globe send prayers for safety, funds for relief, messages of love. 

Hurricane Harvey and the days thereafter will always be remembered for its catastrophic flooding and intense devastation but more than that it will be a reminder of how love always wins. Serving and helping others will always over power stories of hurt and hate. Standing as one city will be louder to those watching than a few divided. As the rain continues to pound our city, as we continue to wait and watch, praying that the floodwaters stay down, I am thankful for God's reminder that His love never fails. 

Houston (and the surrounding areas), you are my city and you always will be. Thank you for all that you have and will continue to teach me through your people. We will continue to pray for all those that were impacted and will be impacted by this storm- those in Corpus Christi, Port Aransas, Rockport and surrounding cities, those in and around Houston, and those in Louisiana now getting some impact from the storm. 

Thank you to those that continue to check in and pray- don't stop. Continue to pray for our first responders, city officials, volunteers, and all those involved in rescues and care. Our people are tired. They have given so much already and there is still so much to do. They have left their friends and family behind as they go and serve and for that we are more thankful than they will ever know. 

Look for the Beauty Around You

Many have asked what happened to the blogging over the summer. Well, I intentionally disconnected from the writing and carried the blogs and thoughts in my head, in my journal, in conversations. Summer for me is time with family, with my beautiful nieces & handsome nephew, lazy days with friends, and meeting the newest of the family- my adorable nephew, Wyatt. I knew I did not want the distraction of formulating words on the computer in the midst of trying to soak in every moment with them. So, Bitter Party of 1 took a bit of a siesta and the writing that happened in my head rarely made it to the screen.

Just as I was prepared to write, the turmoil of our nation- racism, white supremacy, hatred- took the forefront. My heart aches. I am sickened. I have no words. There is fear and confusion and disgust and anger and outrage and deep hurt. How could I write about something that would seem so frivolous in the midst of what my friends of a color different than my own are watching and experiencing? What could I even say at that point? How do I respond to the ignorance I witness on the news, Facebook, and any other social media outlet? I still don't know the answer to that.

I am embarrassed and angry. I am disgusted by the actions and words I see and hear. I wonder what the people I interact with on a daily basis will wonder when they look at me, a white American. I will never understand the hurt that many of my dear friends experience because I have always had white privilege on my side. That I can't change. What I can do though is combat the hate with love. I can show the people around me- of any color, nationality, religion, sexual orientation- genuine love. I can listen to their words. I can shed tears with them. I can stand by their side and say, I am here. I can look for the beauty in each and every person I encounter.

Hate is taught. That is clear. Walk into any classroom of young children and they do not see the color of someone's skin, they do not know the differences in their religions, they are classmates- all on the same playing field. It is often as they become older and more aware of what people are saying and doing around them, that you see the shift. If hate can be taught, so can love and love overpowers hate more than anything. As an educator, our job right now is bigger than we could ever imagine. Our students are listening- to the tone in our voice, the words that exit our mouths, the way we speak to the people around us. They are watching every action we make- subtle or not. They are paying attention and they will respond to the way we act. If I was frustrated with a student, I found that my other students also became easily frustrated. If I responded with grace and love and patience, they did the same. The conversations we have in our classrooms are shaping their minds, their belief systems, their future. And they should not be taken lightly. We must teach LOVE through all that we do.

Recently a pastor asked about the beauty around us... He asked what we had seen lately that we considered beautiful...

I saw beauty...

at brunch as we shared a table and conversation with a stranger of a different color because those were the only seats in the house and I wouldn't have wanted it any other way. We talked baseball and food and the benefits of the city and being single.

yesterday when the woman at the ball game had the biggest smile on her face and greeted each and every person that came her way with joy- no matter who they were. She was black. I am white. It didn't matter.

last night as I was able to sit across the table from very dear friends with very different backgrounds and discuss the recent events, listen to their thoughts, share mine, talk about life, laugh together, pray together,  share a meal together and walk away knowing the Lord is bigger than the ignorance that one color is better than others.

in memories of my classes of the past- packed with multiple colors, religions, cultures- and seeing them love each other through the good days and bad.

as I was able to have a long overdue FaceTime call with a friend from Zimbabwe as we shared what was happening in our lives- he shared his struggles and triumphs, I shared mine- both mattered.

It's easy to stick to the people that look just like us, sound like us, worship like us, believe like us... but I can guarantee when that happens, we are the only ones missing out. We miss out on the beauty of diversity. We miss out on stories we would never know without someone nearby sharing them with us. We miss out on this beautiful world around us. My challenge to you tonight is to look for the beauty around you and share that with others. Say hi to someone you normally wouldn't. Engage in conversation with someone that you wouldn't normally talk to. Watch. Listen. I promise your heart will be touched and you will walk away changed.

To all the Single Ladies...

This blog is for you.

In just these last few months of blogging, I have been amazed at the number of women that would write, text, and call with their own experiences and connections to what I was writing. Sometimes we laugh. Sometimes we cry. Sometimes we vent. But the thing is, we connect. In a "coupled" culture, it never fails that conversations with people often turn to dating life. And then one of these (often well-meaning) comments is spoken...

• Still single, huh? (Nope, just hiding my husband in the future.)
• Enjoy singleness while you can, girl. Marriage is hard. (Enjoying it- to the max. Any stage of life is hard.)
• Well, do you want to get married and have kids? (Um... yes, but that doesn't change where I am now.)
• Are you putting yourself out there? (Where exactly am I supposed to put myself? Anyone? Bueller? I mean... I am not a recluse.)

  

  We put ourselves "out there..." Never mind the fact that it was with thousands of crazy women and just a few poor men that took one for the team.  

• Have you tried online dating? (Girl- I have some STORIES for you and that will be saved for blog mini-series.)
• I don't understand why you are still single??? You are sooooo _________________. (Yes, I know. If you figure out why, will you clue a sister in?)
• You have PLENTY of time! Wait... you're how old? Oh.... (Thanks...)
• I have this friend/ cousin/ second cousin twice removed... I think they're still single... (Does he love Jesus? Does he have a J-O-B? Can I see a picture? Bring him on.)
• You go to a big church, don't they have a good singles group. (I am not touching this one...)
• He's out there somewhere... (You found him? Tell me more...)
• The Lord is still working on him for you. (Could you give me a time table?)
• Girl, it will happen when...
• you least expect it. 
• you are totally sold out to the Lord. (What does this mean exactly?)
• you stop searching. (Um, this is not google.)
• you stop looking for the right person and become the right person. 
• Well, not everyone is meant to be married... look at Paul. (Yep. He's legit.)
• Don't be too picky. (Why not? This isn't a dinner choice.)

And many more. (Thanks to all you ladies who contributed to this list. You know who you are and I am thankful for your presence in my life!)

Here is what we know... our friends and family love us and want the best for our lives. These questions and comments often come from them knowing out hearts and desire to one day share our lives with someone. But... these comments and questions often leave us, as single women, unsure of how to answer and respond. And depending on the day, may stir up a wide range of emotions from disappointment, confusion, shame or even anger. I don't know about you, but... Sometimes, I want to walk away without saying a word. Sometimes, I fight back tears and pray for the conversation to end as quickly as possible. Sometimes, I have a snarky remark camped out in my head... that may or may not slip out. Sometimes, I can answer with where I truly am in regards to it all. Sometimes, I want to say, "I don't know. What is wrong with me?" Sometimes, the shame and hurt is more than I can bear. 

Over the years, I have been guilty of saying some of these very things or others that hurt people without me even knowing... and will probably continue to say something stupid from time to time. I have been quick to ask women who are married questions regarding children, with no clue of what is actually happening in their lives- infertility, miscarriages, disagreements between spouses on the subject, or anything else. My words and questions have caused women to feel the same things I have felt, just in regards to her situation. 

Before you get all concerned and worried, know that Christy and I are cracking up as we type this. Christy and I have been dear friends for 14 years. Both of us thought we would be married and have kids before we ever met. Both of us thought for sure we would have met that man at some point in the last few years, but God's plans are not our own... and we are both incredibly thankful for that. Just like in the post "Gift of Motherhood," we can both see how God has worked and continues to work in our lives. When we are faced with questions we don't have the answers to, our hope is that we would look to our Loving Father for guidance, peace, and comfort. His definition of life is not anything we can write on our own and that is a GOOD thing. 

I know without a doubt, that I would not be the woman I am today if my story had played out my way, and Christy feels the same. Yes, we both desire to be married, but we can not live our lives waiting for that to happen or settle for anything less than His best. Our hope is, with each day the Lord gifts to us, that we would seek after Him and serve Him with all of who we are, no matter what the journey looks like down the road- single, married, mom, etc. 

For many of you reading, I know there are parts of your story you don't understand, want to fast forward past, or completely erase altogether. I get it. Know that your story is not on accident. Your story matters and I can't say that enough. I would love to hear your story and know how I can support and pray for you. You are not alone. You are heard, seen, and dearly loved.

The Gift of "Motherhood"

Mother's Day is one that always brings a mixture of emotions- gratitude, joy, longing, hurt, disappointment, love, hope, and so many more. I have spent the past couple of days trying to process how I will put it all into words, and I am not sure it is possible.

As someone that grew up with a baby doll and diaper bag everywhere I went, carting my sweet baby neighbor around on my hip at the age of 9, playing with all the younger neighborhood kiddos as often as possible, deciding I was going to have 4 kids- 3 boys and 1 girl, all with "C" names- by the time I was in middle school, and dreaming of that day I would become a mother for as long as I can remember, I never thought I would be spending Mother's Day in my mid-30s without being a mother to my children of my own. But, here I am.

Each year as this day rolls around, I wonder why this is not part of my story, and with each year that passes, I wonder if it ever will. Over the last couple of years, I have/ continue to wrestle through those questions. And as I have gotten older, I wonder what I would do at this point if it does happen. For those that know me well, you know my love for sleep and free schedules. I have come to learn and appreciate how my plans can not compete with the plans the Lord has for me.

The Lord placed a love for children on my heart from the very start. That has not and will not ever change. I also know the Lord is fully aware of the fact that I do not have children of my own. I know He sees me. I know He hears me. I know He has plans for me. And I know He has allowed me to walk along side so many incredible mothers in my life who have allowed me to love on and cherish her children in a way that I will always treasure- as Aunt Rach, "second" mom, Ms. Rachel, teacher, friend, sister.

Kathryn (sister) and Marlo (sister-in-law)- you ladies mean more to me than you know. It is truly an honor to watch you mother my sweet nieces, nephew, and little Wyatt coming soon. Being an aunt has brought a joy in my life that I did not know existed and I know not all aunts get the pleasure of loving on her nieces and nephews like you have given me the opportunity to do. Thank you for giving me the gift of being Aunt Rach and allowing me to love Emily, Allison, Madelyn, Noah, and Wyatt like my own.

For those of you that have shared your babies with me, thank you does quite communicate what I would like to say to you. You have given me the gift of "motherhood" that I always desired. You have allowed me to love on your babies when they were hurting, laugh with them through the funny moments, share in the joy of "firsts" along the way, encourage them to keep going, cheer for them in their games, competitions, and academics, and simply enjoy the day to day. You share your greatest joy and treasure with me each day and for that I am beyond grateful.

God continues to fulfill that desire to be a mother in ways I could have never pictured as a young lady dreaming of being called mom. I am often asked if I want children of my own. Until last year my answer was always, "ABSOLUTELY." And while my answer is still, "I would love to be a mom..." it now includes "if that is what the Lord has for me. If not, I have many children in my life to love on and pour into."

For many of you reading, I know you relate to what I am saying. I have sat across from you or on the phone with you as you have shared your tears, hurts, and disappointments. For some, you sit in a similar position as I do with a desire to be a wife and mom. For some, you are married and either struggling to have children or at a point where having children of your own may no longer be possible. For others, your story may be one filled with infertility, losing a child, or even experiencing a strained relationship with a child. I don't know what your story holds, but I know your story matters. You are heard. You are seen. You are loved.

To all the moms in my life, you are amazing. Thank you for all you do as you raise up your sweet boys and girls. To all the aunts, friends, teachers, care-givers, sisters- you are just as amazing. The love you give to the children around you is a love that will encourage, lift up, and shape them each step of the way.

That's Not What I Saw

You are probably well aware of the scene and have one similar every morning at your house. You're bopping around, making yourself presentable for being out in public. You've considered your outfit and often tried on a couple of items in an attempt to make the best decision for the day and your comfort. Then there's the hair, the make-up, and the accessories. You do a double-take one last time in the mirror and, on a really good day you think, Yep, this looks cute. On a not so great day, it may be more like, Well, this will just have to do. And you're out the door ready to get on with your day.

Until you get into the sunlight and you notice that things were not quite the way you saw it in the mirror just before you left. As a single lady without someone to check my outfit and appearance before leaving (I realize this could be a good thing and think about things my students used to say about whatever I was wearing. Kids and their brutal honesty make me laugh), this has now happened twice in a matter of days.

Take 1: I was off to run errands with a friend and made the dreaded mistake of looking in the mirror in my car. Ladies, I am sure you can attest to the fact that this is never, NEVER, a good idea, especially on a sunny day. It was in that moment I realized my eyebrows had taken over my face. Literally. Imagine, the start of a Chia Pet. As I searched frantically for my tweezers, I began to wonder how my friends hadn't clued me in on this lovely growth, but that is for another day. It then dawned on me my tweezers were in my mother's car because I was afraid they would be considered a weapon as I went through security at the airport. We all know how pricey a good pair of tweezers can be. Off I went, furry face and all. 

Take 2: This morning, I decided on one of my new dresses from Loft. Dresses and leggings always prove to be comfortable and cute. In my last check before leaving, I was pleased with my outfit and was ready to go. All was great in my not-so-awesome lighting in my apartment. In the sunlight, not so much. What I saw as black in my dress was actually navy. This doesn't prove to be a problem unless you are wearing black leggings and black shoes, of course. I sat in the car and debated on going back upstairs to change. No leggings would have been an option if I had taken the time to shave my legs but I hadn't. Changing altogether involves thought and ironing. Off I went, not matching and all, thankful I would be working in lighting that might hide my mismatched selection. 

Funny, how when we take a closer look at things by just walking into the light, we see something we may not have seen before. This can go either way. Things can look better or not seem so heavy as they did in the darkness. Or what we thought looked pretty good, has some parts that aren't so pretty. I know for me, if I find that I want to hide something- often the stories of shame and unworthiness I have created in my head or sin I just don't want to let go of yet, then I need to bring it to the light. 

There's something freeing in the light. Scripture is filled with references of Jesus being the light in the darkness and turning our darkness into light. Something happens when we are able to see things clearly. Stories of shame and unworthiness seem like absolute truth until I speak them to a close friend and voice them to God. What once felt like truth becomes exposed as a lie, losing its power to hold me captive in the darkness. I have also found myself justifying sins not yet exposed and giving myself excuses for why it was okay... Until it is brought into the open. Then, it is exposed for what it is and whatever justification was once bouncing around in my head, no longer seems like a good excuse. I am beyond grateful for friends that sit, listen, and pray as I have cried and shared my darkness with them. These friends lovingly guide me back to truth through His word and continually shine light into my life. 

The lyrics to "Great Are You Lord" by All Sons and Daughters gets me every time. God gives life. He gives love. He gives light to my darkness. 

I am not sure where you might be today. Maybe you find yourself holding something into the dark for fear others will look at you differently or fear that you know you will need to make changes. I have been in both places. But, I can tell you there is light in the darkness and the light brings about a freedom to be just me, without the lies I tell myself. Maybe you're walking through the darkness with a friend. Keep walking. They need you. Or maybe, you just realized you need to go take care of your eyebrows. Wherever you find yourself, know you aren't alone, darkness doesn't win, and tweezers can work wonders.

And, if I text you a picture of my outfit asking for a second look, please help a sister out and be honest.

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.