On Weakness & All Sufficient Grace

I've been struggling with devotions lately.  My youngest just turned one and she is just always on the go.  Between chasing after her, keeping my two year old out of trouble, and everything else that keeps a mom of four on her toes constantly, there's just not a lot of time for me to dig in deep to the Word.

I'm very much an all or nothing person and I am not a risk taker - if there's any chance of failure I'm likely to avoid it all together.  I'm working on this, but it's still a battle.

I had a long talk with a friend recently about the changing seasons in life and how hard it is to adjust sometimes.  Every time I figure out a routine, my kids grow and change and the seasons come and go.  I know I need God's Words to get me through every day, but I struggle with the where, how, and when.

As we talked, my friend suddenly looked at me gently and told me something that was so incredibly freeing: you're not a bad Christian if you don't read and study your bible every day. 

I'm a rule follower and sometimes my Christian walk becomes very legalistic if I'm not careful.  I think that I have to do and act and perform a certain way in order to be good enough, but, the reality is, none of us are good enough.  I am not good enough.

But when I am weak, then I am strong.

When Paul writes in 2 Corinthians 12:1-10 about God's all sufficient grace, he begins by talking about himself in the third person.  There was a lot of boasting going on in the early church about great spiritual experiences.  Paul is frustrated with it all and, as much as he doesn't want to, he tells a story about a man (who is really himself) who was caught up to heaven and saw and heard incredible things.

To keep him from becoming conceited about this great revelation, God gives him a thorn.  It doesn't matter what the thorn is - it simply represents something painful, a weakness of some sort that is hard.  My ESV bible says of these verses that "Paul's earthly weaknesses, not his revelations, are to be the platform for demonstrating the Lord's power and grace."

Paul goes on to say that he is content with weakness.  Our pastor explained that the word used here for "content" is the same word used when God says at Jesus' baptism, "This is my son in whom I am well pleased."  That is incredible to me.  I can't say that my response to my own trials and struggles has ever been the same.

But the reason Paul can be content with weakness is because of grace.  Weakness is humbling and keeps us from thinking we're better than anyone else.  It also makes us realize we cannot do anything on our own.  His grace is magnified more in our trials.  When we are at our worst, with no where else to turn, what is left?  Grace.  And it is more than enough.

I'm grateful for my friend's gentle words, for God's grace that is more than sufficient...and for bible study like If:Equip that allows me to spend just ten minutes in His word wherever I am.  On the recommendation of my friend, I begin the study of Nehemiah this week.  I had to remind myself yesterday that I didn't need to do a deep theological analysis of the passage.  I like to dig deep, but right now is not the season for that.  It was so freeing to know I didn't have to do it either, but that I get to and I want to.

So, instead, I simply read the passage, listened to the minute and a half video, read a few comments, and jotted a few notes in my journal.  And I was amazed at how God revealed Himself to me and honored my faithfulness...in the same way He honored Nehemiah's faithfulness.

Nehemiah was broken, so broken, so broken that he couldn't hide it from the king any longer.  The king asks and he's afraid...and I wonder if this is because he's going to have to expose his heart to answer this question.  That's a really hard thing to do, because you never know how others will respond and it's just very vulnerable.

Before Nehemiah answers the king though, he prays.  He spent four whole days praying in chapter one, but he still knows he needs to seek God's wisdom and guidance first.  That is incredible faithfulness.

It also strikes me that Nehemiah respected his position as cup bearer - a hugely important role because it was crucial to the king's safety.  When he heard the walls of Jerusalem were broken and its gates on fire, he didn't just abandon his post to try to fix the problem on his own.  He prayed and he waited for the right timing.  And when the time was right, he told the king why he was sad, made a request of the king, and even promised to return once the city was rebuilt.

God has a unique call for each of us and, in whatever we are called to do, no matter how mundane or ordinary, there is great honor in doing the work we are called to do.  There is also great honor in following God's leading instead of our own plans.

 

All Things New

 
I am so ready for spring.  As a Midwestern girl, this time of year is really hard.  The dark and cold of winter just seems to never end and I find myself dragging my feet to get out of bed...when I would really just rather stay there and hibernate until the sun shines and the grass is green again. 

As I read the words of Isaiah 43:19 today, I couldn't help wondering if the Israelites doubted God's promise that spring would really come.  It's so hard to believe every little thing is going to be okay, when you're stuck in the middle of a cold, dark winter.  Waiting is not my strong suit. 

But as I dug deeper into these words, I realized there's more to it than hiding or waiting.  Without winter, there wouldn't be spring.  All the seasons would just meld together into one and we would miss the beauty of each new season and the good God can bring despite the weather and the circumstances that surround us.  Because it's not just the ground outside that needs to thaw; my frozen heart needs the relieving thaw of spring that is only found in the One who makes all things new. 

David Guzik cautions that "staying stuck in the past can keep us from the new thing God wants to do".  I write here a lot about some of the hard things I've endured and, while it's good to remember how far I've come and not forget the way God made beauty out of ashes, it can all become a stronghold if I don't allow God to keep moving me forward.  "Though former mercies must not be forgotten, fresh mercies must in a special manner be improved...And will you not own God's hand in it?" (Matthew Henry)

This week began the season of Lent, a season of fasting and self-denial observed by many Christians in the days preceding Easter Sunday each year.  I've been struggling to be focused and committed to time spent in His word, so I decided to remove one of my biggest distractions - my Facebook app on my phone and my Kindle.  It's amazing how freeing it is to not be "connected" all the time and to realize just how much free time I really do have. 

Still, today was a struggle.  I should have expected that after two days of long, quiet nap times where my heart was open and ready to receive His words and my mind was undivided, there was bound to be a day where everything seemed to fall apart.  I woke up on the wrong side of the bed, but, in reality, I chose to have a bad attitude from the start.  I could name a million excuses for why my mood was gloomy, but that doesn't make it right.  By the time nap time came, I had already lost my temper with my boys more than once and my mind was reeling with to do lists and schedules.  I really didn't want to take the time to go to Him, because, frankly, I knew I was a mess and I wasn't ready to get over myself. 

I ended up spending nap time trying to calm a fussy teething baby and made the bad decision of taking all four kids to Walmart after school to pick out a present for their daddy's birthday and to spend their hard earned chore money.  I should have known better, but I kept marching forward, determined to finish what I started.  Needless to say, we were all a mess by the time we got home.

When my husband arrived home, I melted onto the kitchen floor in hot, angry tears. My words came out as accusations towards him, but, really, I was mad at myself.  Like Paul says in his letter to the Romans, I do not do the things I want to do but instead do the things I do not want to do. I am frustrated at how many times I find myself back here, knees bent, head down, tears pouring.  As today's She Reads Truth devotion says, "On our own we are diametrically opposed to the way of Christ and when given the chance to be selfish or selfless, we choose selfish every time."

This Lenten study is breaking me.  I keep coming face to face with my own depravity...and, yet, He continues to pursue me relentlessly.  I know that as long as I walk this earth, I will have to battle my flesh, but I'm so grateful to know it's not a hopeless battle.  So tonight, as I sit here in the quiet after a day full of chaos, I'm laying it all at His feet and asking Him to continue the work He began in me. 

Paul says in 2 Corinthians 5:17 that in Christ we are a new creation.  The word for creation used here means to bring into being something that has not existed before.  Only God the CREATOR can do this new thing.  That is the hope I hold onto on the hard days, knowing that His mercy is new every morning and that, on the day I reach the final page of His story for my life, He will make all things new.

 

Bigger Picture Moments: In Spite Of Fear

 
My daughter holds my hand tight, skipping along with a smile on her face.  I stare at her, mesmerized. 

It's dark out and all I can see are shadows and unknowns.  My mind is racing with all the what ifs and I can feel panic rising.  I wish I could fast forward time and just step from here to the safety of my bedroom and my husband's arms. 

She is non-stop chattering, retelling stories of her school day, the dance she is learning, the friends she is making, the things that make her laugh, the thoughts that make her wonder.  I remind her to watch where she is walking, because there is ice and darkness and cars to consider.  She holds my hand tighter and smiles again. 

"I love when it's just you and me, mommy."

I smile as I buckle her in, but I'm only half listening.  I'm looking around, wondering what is hidden in the darkness and locking the doors quickly before hurrying down the road that leads us back home. 

I breathe deeply, asking for peace and calm to cover the fears and I listen once more to my daughter's words.  Her stories are full of details and emotion, because she always remembers faces and she feels everything deep and wide just like me. 

But it doesn't bother her.  She doesn't know what it is to be ashamed of the way her heart breaks over every little hurt and the way words stay with her long after they've been forgotten and forgiven.  She simply lives and loves with everything she's got. 

The conversation returns to her dance class and the recital that is drawing near.  I ask her what it's like to wait backstage with a room full of people and if it bothers her that I'm not there.

"Well, I'm always nervous at dance, because I don't really know anybody.  But that's okay."

Her words pierce my heart and I remember the way she danced tonight.  She didn't pay attention to anything or anyone else besides the music and her own body.  The music moved her in a way that took my breath away. 

She may seem shy and even afraid, but she doesn't let it stop her.  She simply does what is hard because she loves to dance. 

I remember what my husband told me just a few days earlier.  "Sometimes you have to do the hard things, even if you're afraid."  

My daughter has figured out what I am still struggling to learn, because I've spent my life running and hiding from fear.  Being brave doesn't mean not being afraid; being brave means being afraid but doing the things you fear in spite of fear. 

So maybe this year is not really about no more fear.  Maybe this year is really about being brave. 

 

The Real Postpartum

It was a long weekend with sickness still lingering. It hit my husband Saturday evening, after I had already prepared one of my favorite meals (lobster) and gluten free cupcakes for a belated birthday dinner with my loves.  I was already feeling worn down from lack of sleep and the let down that comes after the emotional high of Thursday's flood of birthday love.  (Tell me I'm not the only one who feels the blues of the day after a big to do?!)

Don't get me wrong.  I was grateful for all the good things that made Thursday such a wonderful day and I was genuinely sad for my sick kids and husband...but all I wanted to do was close the door on all the noise and chaos of every day living and sleep the uninterrupted and rest filled slumber I used to enjoy.  Because when my husband is sick, the entire mood of our household shifts.  After a long week of busy, the kids just want their daddy and it seemed as though I could do no right. 

Sunday morning, I woke to the sound of whining and arguing.  I rolled over growling and noticed the empty space where my husband should be.  It was too early to rise, but I must keep mommy-ing on, no matter how tired I am.  I stumbled downstairs to the sight of my husband sprawled in a sleep coma on the couch with an empty bucket on the floor beside him.  The kids were quiet again and I smiled when my daughter said she was serving her brothers a morning snack while they waited for breakfast. 

I tried to keep that smile going, but, come nap time, when the weariness settled in again and everyone was fighting my efforts to enjoy a few moments of quiet solitude in the afternoon, I was fading.  My husband suddenly woke from his slumber, well rested and finally feeling well again.  I grumbled at his cheery greeting and banned him to our bedroom so I could disinfect ALL THE THINGS.  I was so done with the endless sicknesses plaguing our home this winter. 

When supper was finally served and cleared and the kids were settling down for the night, I sat on the couch nursing our almost six month old.  I sighed as my milk let down and my body relaxed right along with her.  I browsed Instagram on my phone and came across this post:

Postpartum is full of hormones, little sleep, survival mode, and figuring out a million different things with our new babies (and possibly toddlers and teenagers on top of it). It’s trying to breastfeed, getting a groove back in your marriage or relationship, and our bodies taking time to heal. It’s a roller coaster ride that is personal and different to each person and family going through it, but is also similar enough that most of us can relate on some level.

LET’S TAKE BACK POSTPARTUM. We are mothers and strong women. Our collective voice is so powerful that we can shake the entire world.

As I read those words and browsed through the related posts flooding through, I thought about the yoga pants and maternity clothes I still donned almost six months postpartum and the days and days I go without showering and the fact that I can't remember the last time I slept well.  I was encouraged by the women sharing a peak into their own postpartum realities, so I snapped a photo of me and my littlest nursling and wrote these words...

Almost six months #postpartum with our #rainbowbaby and most days my wardrobe includes yoga pants, nursing tanks, and maternity tops. I have one pair of maternity jeans that fit for days I want to feel more "normal" and three sweater dresses/leggings outfits for dressy days. Five pregnancies in six years has permanently changed my body and, while I'm learning to love the curves and softness that helped me bring four babies earthside and one straight to the arms of Jesus, I'd be lying if I said I don't struggle to feel and believe this is real beauty. My husband teasingly tells me how he married me for my birthing hips and laughs as he uses my belly, still swollen and stretched out, as a pillow. "You're so soft..." he whispers and as he kisses all the stretch marks and curves I frown at each day, I know those three words are his way of calling me beautiful. If only I could get my heart to believe it. Because THIS, a nursing baby curled up on the softness of my postpartum belly, now sleeping peacefully with a full belly of milk my body made, is what beauty looks like. #breastfeedwithoutfear #takebackpostpartum 

I wasn't expecting the flood of responses to my post from other women saying "Yes! We get this!" and thanking me for writing the words they needed to read.  I wrote the words for myself first, only sharing because I felt compelled to join the movement to #takebackpostpartum.  I needed my heart to believe what my head already knew to be true.  Because even as I shared the words, my mind was reeling with negative self talk and I misinterpreted my husband's innocent words, snapping at him and storming off grumbling.  

When I finally calmed down and sat down quietly next to my husband, our boys snoring softly in their beds, I apologized again for the way my words were once again used for evil instead of good.  He looked at me tenderly and said, "Maybe you need to focus less on speaking kind words...and more on the thought process they come from."  

I sighed deeply, feeling freedom in the gentle words he had just spoken to my fragile heart.  It always amazes me how he can use few words to speak well such profound truths.  The real reason I was struggling to believe that my postpartum body was beautiful is the same reason I was struggling to speak kindly to my husband.  My thoughts were at war in my mind and I was letting the lies win.  

A friend shared these words with me later that night and it finally dawned on me that I needed to say goodbye once and for all to the person I was before kids and embrace the new me with all its extra baggage.  My body has been permanently changed as a mom...and, honestly, I'm glad it has.  

Before kids, I didn't know what it was to see my heart walking outside my body, to wake up in the middle of the night in a panic at the sound of a child's cries, to hold a feverish child close with tears running down my eyes wishing I could take their place, to laugh from the deepest part of my belly at the sound of a baby's first laughter, to feel my heart explode with more love than I ever knew possible...and I wouldn't want it any other way.  

I really can't imagine life without these four wrapped around my heart.  They have changed me for the better.  

And even though marriage is much harder after kids, it's also so much better.  How could I have known before kids that I would love my husband ten times more every time I see our kids run to him with arms wide open and watch him scoop them up into his arms with such tenderness?  How could I have known how much we would be beautifully stretched and challenged by walking this journey of parenthood together?  We are better and stronger than before we had kids.  

So maybe before I even look in the mirror or fall into the comparison trap or grumble at my husband's words, I need to let go of the lies and let the truth of who I am as a mom, a wife...and a child of God soak into every piece of my heart.  I began writing a series here called Whose I Am almost two years ago and I'm thinking I need a refresher.  I need to reread my own words and then dig into His words for more evidence of Whose I Am so my heart can finally believe what my head already knows. 

 

The Real Power of Prayer

"Momma said there would be hard days..." or so the saying goes.  I've heard this often lately and it seems to be a running theme in my life.  Just when I think I've made it through one battle, another one surfaces. 

My husband teases me that everything I write and talk about is always gloom and doom, that I tend to focus on and make a bigger deal of every little hard thing.  Part of it is my personality - I feel things deeply and my mind is a steal trap for emotions and anxieties.  I have a hard time remembering what day it is, but I can bring to mind a long ago memory and still feel the depth of emotions as if it was happening right now. 

I think a bigger part of it is also a stronghold in my life.  Emotions are not a bad thing, but when I allow them to define me, they can easily become both an idol and a stumbling block. 

I've been sitting here pondering prayer, as our school family is dedicating this day to pray for some really hard battles among us.  We ask for prayer at the drop of a hat and recite a few words quickly before a meal, but what does it really mean to pray without ceasing?

We say that there is power in prayer and that prayer is our best defense when there is nothing else we can do, but does that mean that God is not in control and that we can somehow change the future if we pray hard enough? 

My thoughts are a mess.  One minute I'm really living in gratitude, soaking up the mundane moments of every day living...and, in an instant, without any warning, I feel the weight of battles holding me down. 

I prepare lunch and wonder if my son will eat what I've made and how to unravel the fears that have built a wall around him.  I want to scream and cry and stomp my feet, because WHY is this happening now?  And what of the rash and pain from food that only seems to get worse and more confusing.  I don't know where to go from here.

I open up Facebook while slowly sipping my coffee, a smile on my face, because once, finally, there is no Sunday morning battle to get everyone out of bed and out the door on time.  And then I'm broadsided by a friend's battle that has once again reared its horrible head and it's bad, really bad.  I remember the day doctors first found the tumor in her brain and the words of pure faith despite the unknown she told me then...but still I wonder why.

I listen to a friend share the struggle of her own battleground, the ashes still scattered in the place they called home and they're still wondering how to pick up the pieces.  I hear the pain in her voice and I wonder what the purpose could possibly be in all of this. 

And then we ask for prayer - pray for me, pray for her, pray for this situation, pray for peace, pray for healing...but does it matter?  If God already knows our deepest cries and, even more, has already numbered our days, what good is one little prayer going to do?

Our friend and pastor visits our church on a weekend away from the new journey his family has embarked on and I soaked up every word of his sermon.  It's like God is not just listening, but speaking directly into the cracks and crevices of my heart.  Prayer is not just about voicing our needs, he says, but about rejoicing in the goodness of God.  Prayer reorients our hearts to be more like His.

"We do not pray to God to instruct him as to what he ought to do, neither for a moment must we presume to dictate the line of the divine procedure. We are permitted to say unto God, "Thus and thus would we have it," but we must evermore add, "But, seeing that we are ignorant and may be mistaken-seeing that we are still in the flesh, and, therefore, may be actuated by carnal motives-not as we will, but as thou wilt."" (C.H. Spurgeon)

Prayer should never be a chore either, our friend and pastor reminds us, lest we forget the privilege and gift it is to come unveiled before a holy and mighty God. Prayer is mercy and grace poured out through the blood of Christ.  When the battle is upon us and we wonder why, prayer is our communion with the One who knows and listens and is always waiting for us to run straight into His sanctuary. 

"True prayer is not a mere mental exercise, nor a vocal performance, but it is deeper far than that-it is spiritual commerce with the Creator of heaven and earth." (C.H. Spurgeon)

Isn't that amazing?  Read that over again and let it sink into your heart, because it really is a beautiful truth.

But what about interceding for others? We say prayer is a powerful thing and we are amazed when we see people coming together to pray for the same thing and even more amazed when we see Him answer our prayers in a mighty way.  But what of the "others" who have no one to lift their great needs in prayer?  Does having an army of friends and family you can call on to pray with you mean the need will be met in a bigger way?  Does not having an army of friends and family to intercede for you mean your prayers don't hold as much weight and won't be answered as readily?

Prayer doesn't hold the power to change God's mind or alter His plans.  Prayer sets aside our ways so we can better see His ways.  Watching an army of believers pray for the same need is amazing, but it's not because the volume of their prayers can pound harder at heaven's gates. 

Galatians 6:2 says we should bear one another's burdens in obedience to Him.  When Jesus walked this earth, He gave a new commandment that was greater than the stone tablet Moses once carried down the mount.  We are called, above all else, to love one another, so, bearing one another's burdens is a way for the body of Christ, through prayer, to lighten the loads we each carry. 

Matthew Henry says that the command in Galatians 6:2 is meant to direct us "to sympathize with one another under the various trials and troubles that we may meet with, and to be ready to afford each other the comfort and counsel, the help and assistance, which our circumstances may require".  This is what it means to really be the body of Christ. 

For those in the trenches of battle, knowing that others are lifting their needs up in prayer is both a relief and encouragement.  It is a reminder that we do not walk alone and it is encouragement needed to keep walking forward.  It is the hands and feet of Christ at work in our individual lives. 

So, today, will you join with the body of Christ and lighten the load of life's hard battles through steadfast and fervent prayer?  Please share your own prayer needs here and let's bear one another's burdens. 



 

Year of No More Fear

(photo credit: AugustenSkye Photography)

Fear is my biggest stronghold.  I'm a world class worrier and I can jump to the worst case scenario in seconds.  It's a constant battle going on in my mind to reign in my thoughts and not allow them to hold me captive day in and day out.

It's exhausting.

I've been on a journey the past few years of facing my fears, going back to memories that have haunted me and allowing God to heal me of the hurt and pain of things I've kept hidden deep in my heart.  But still there was fear.

It always seems to hover there in the shadows, waiting to devour me.

But, here's the thing: fear is a thief and a liar.  It steals my joy and clouds my vision.  Praying and reading my bible more don't always stop the anxiety from eating away at my soul when I can't see past the fear to uncover the lies.

But I'm done with fear.  This is my official break up notice.

Dear fear, you don't own me anymore.  I know the One who holds all my tomorrows.  He's the One who calls me by name, who knows every hair on my head, who knew the days He had planned for me before I even took my first breath.

And I know the end of this story.  He wins.  Every time.

This year, instead of just One Word, I'm putting on truth.  I'm clothing myself in the Words He speaks to my heart and reminding myself that I have not been given a spirit of fear, but of power and love and a sound mind.

Proverbs 31:25 says "She is clothed with strength and dignity and she laughs without fear of the future."  THIS is the truth I want imprinted on my heart.  Every time I pondered the word He would have me focus on this year, I kept coming back to these Words.

This year is my year of no more fear.  It's a year to be brave, to walk forward without fear of the future.  It's a year to be strong and courageous, to do the things that are hard.

John Piper says that the only way to wage war on fear and win is to "defeat it with hope in the promises of God" because the "presence of hope in the invincible sovereignty of God drives out fear."  

Matthew Henry says it another way: "She enjoys a firmness and constancy of mind, has spirit to bear up under many crosses and disappointments which even the wise and virtuous must expect to meet within this world..." 

So, instead of fighting a battle that's already been won, I'm calling on the name of the Lord who is my strong tower and running to Him.  No matter what tomorrow brings, I will rest in the refuge of the strong tower of my Lord...and I will be okay. 

 

This Is My Brave

brave [breyv]
{verb} to meet or face courageously, to defy/challenge/dare,
{adjective}possessing or exhibiting courage or courageous endurance
{noun} a warrior
{synonyms}bold, daring, courageous, fearless, valiant, gallant in the face of danger or difficulties

I am not a risk taker.  I am a rule follower and I like staying in the safe zone.  I don't like stepping out in courage in the face of difficulties.  When struggles come, my first reaction is to hide and ignore.  I am not one to face a challenge head on.  I avoid conflict at all costs.

That definition of brave?  At first glance, I am far from it.  Fearless? Valiant? Courageous? Bold?  Who me???

Annie Downs writes in her newest book, Let's All Be Brave: "If we are each as unique as the Bible says we are, then our calls to courage are each equally unique...Courage looks different for each of us." Maybe brave for me isn't being a missionary in a far away country in the middle of no where.  What if, for me, brave simply means getting out of bed with a smile on my face ready to face the endless piles of laundry, never ending discipline, and overwhelming responsibilities of every day living with perseverance and purpose?

Sometimes brave simply means recognizing the beauty and value in who God made me to be and being confident of my calling, no matter what anyone else might say.  I know my children are a gift and I'm grateful for this life, but it's easy to get caught up in comparing and forget that what I am doing right here, right now matters.

So, when my littlest one starts to fuss, I put down my to do list and pick her up, even if all she wants is for me to hold her and talk to her while she smiles and coos.  Because the time and love I give her now matters.  And when the big kids beg me to read them a story for the millionth time, I do it with a grateful heart, because this is my purpose right here, right now.  This is my brave.  

Brave also means sharing my story, every hard and broken piece of it, and boldly testifying about all the ways God has used all of the bad for good.  It means letting down my guard and opening up my heart to a new friend, even when I'm scared of being hurt.  Someone, somewhere needs to know they are not alone and that God can make beauty out of any of our ashes.  Brave is recognizing His purpose in it all and the way He has never forgotten or forsaken me along the way.

Some days, being brave means hitting post or publish when the words on my heart need to be shared, no matter how terrified I might be of what others might think or say about me.  Or maybe it means sending a message, and email, or a text, or making that phone call I've been dreading.  Remember how I said I avoid conflict at all costs?  Yeah, being brave sometimes means facing those confrontations and speaking the truth in love.

So, when a mom I've only just met moments before hints at the broken pieces of her story that are so similar to my own, I ignore the schedule and noise around me and begin to open my own heart to her.  As I speak and our stories become intertwined, we both find our brave.  Just like Annie says, "You aren't headed out to find courage.  It's in you, it is blooming, and it is with you as you travel and say yes to things that seem scary."  This, right here - sharing my story and connecting with a new friend - this is my brave.  I hug this new found friend and, as we both walk back to our daily lives, I'm grateful, so grateful for the way God really does work all things together for good. 

My brave might not look like your brave, but that doesn't mean my brave is not brave.  The only one who gets to define my brave...is me.  God has placed a specific purpose and calling on each of our lives and sometimes the bravest moment is when we step forward and allow Him to finish the work He began in us.

*Disclaimer: This post was sponsored by Dayspring and inspired by their new line of Letterpress Blocks, but the words and stories are my own. 

 

When Motherhood Is Like Whack-A-Mole

 photo credit

These newborn days are hard. Just being a mom is hard enough, but multiplying it by four with two school age kids who have a love/hate relationship with each other...and apparently also with obedience, one almost "terrible two" year old toddler, and a nursing newborn is just plain exhausting most days. Some days I am ready to throw in the towel and call it quits. I know so many moms who say the same thing, but in the middle of the trenches and the heat of battle, I forget that I'm not alone in this. 

Last night was one of those moments. My husband left for a bike ride and I was finishing a haircut for my four year old. My toddler had begged for his first haircut too so both boys were covered in tiny hair trimmings. I decided they would both take a bath downstairs while my five year old insisted she take a bath upstairs. I thought for a moment that all was well as I sat down to nurse a hungry baby...until everything fell apart.

I don't even know exactly how it all went down, but by the time my hubby walked in the door, disaster had struck. In a matter of minutes the kids had made a flooded mess of both bathrooms, I had dinner half cooked and unattended on the stove, there were coloring supplies mixed with spilled milk all over the table...and I was sitting on the floor sobbing with a still hungry and restless baby crying in my arms while the three big kids ran wild in the house making as many messes and noise as possible.  

Later, when the battle had stilled both in our home and in me, I finally found words to speak my heart to my husband. He listened in the quiet of four sleeping kids. And as we talked, we both cleared the air of the cloud of chaos that came from so many changes. 

He told me how frustrated he was at work lately and described it like trying to play a game of Whack-A-Mole. Just when he gets one problem solved and settled, another one pops up and he's in a constant back and forth from one challenge to the next. 

"That's how I feel!" I declared as I practically leapt off the couch. It was exactly what I was battling but couldn't put into words. 

These days are spent holding onto that foam mallet waiting for that darn mole to pop up and just when I think I've succeeded in defeating him, he pops up from another hole. I can't ever seem to get ahead of the mountain of laundry and dishes and discipline and everyday chaos. I try and I try, but all I end up doing is punching out one "mole" only to discover a new one popping up. It's exhausting and overwhelming and all I want to do is quit because I just can't win. 

I've been studying the book of Hosea with the She Reads Truth ladies and the phrase He keeps whispering to me over and over is "return to Me".  When I started this study, I thought it would be good, but I didn't realize it would also be hard.  Hosea is the story of God's unrelenting pursuit of an unfaithful and undeserving people.  It's about Israel...but it's also about me.  

I am a hot mess - a tired, overwhelmed mom who loses it far more than I care to admit.  But none of that changes who He is.  I come broken to be mended, wounded to be healed desperate to be rescued, empty to be filled...and He welcomes me with open arms, just as I am.  Even when I fail, He is still there, relentlessly pursuing me.  God doesn't change, ever.  He sees my spiraling out of control mess...and He loves me still.  Where sin increases, His grace abounds all the more.  

So my prayer this morning, even as I sit here listening to sick kids coughing with a house that is far from clean and my body that is far from rested, is that He would come and create in me a clean heart, to give me rest from my heavy burdens, and that I would know His endless mercy and boundless grace.  From the pit of my own despair, He calls me gently and lovingly..."come to Me, just as you are, and I will give you rest..."   

 

Not On My Own Understanding

The days are growing longer, my body more weary by the day, as this littlest one stretches and outgrows my womb.  I'm ready for her to be here...and yet I'm not.

My mind wanders, as it usually does when I am physically tired and there are too many unknowns looming ahead.  I don't like this not knowing.  I want to plan, to know, to be prepared. 

But only God knows when and how this littlest one will arrive.  And sometimes, that truth is hard for this planner to swallow.

As my husband packed up the van Saturday morning to take our four year old mountain biking on some nearby trails, I tried to ignore the anxious thoughts crowding my mind by loading up the car with my firstborn and our not-so-much-a-baby-but-still-my-baby youngest son for a trip to the fabric store. 

I smiled at their silly banter and their smiles that always melt my heart...and then my four year old, usually the biggest comedian in our home, caught me so off guard with wisdom far beyond his years.

"Mommy! He's going to take care of you!" he said in a sing-song voice as he continued to bounce back and forth. 

"Who is?" I asked, completely surprised by a near serious statement from the mouth of my silliest son.

"God is!" he said with complete confidence. 

My anxious thoughts stilled and my heart grew calmer as I remembered the simplest truth that I too often forget.  Funny that it took my four year old to remind me of what I already knew...and how my own words to him the night before as he struggled to fall asleep were words I needed to hear myself.

The next day, still weary, and feeling the emotional toll of saying goodbye to dear friends, the anxious thoughts returned, stronger and harder than the day before.  I wept in my husband's arms, the tears coming deep and wide as I tried to put into words the turmoil in my soul. 

"Do you trust God to take care of our baby?" my husband whispered, holding my head up so I could look into his eyes and really hear his words. 

"Do you really trust Him?" he repeated, when I could barely make out a hesitant "yes" through the tears.

"Sometimes...I think I know in my head...but my heart is at war with my head." I said, as the storm began to calm and I realized the truth I was wrestling with all along. 

I say I believe He will take care of me, of my children, of our unborn baby, of every single one of our needs...but do I really trust Him? 

The closer we get to my due date, the more the memories flood: long, difficult labors, tears of frustration and defeat, monitors beeping and doctors whispering, my arms aching to hold our firstborn...our second-born, the waiting rooms and NICU stays, the sleepless nights filled with what ifs and fears beyond our control...the littlest one gone too quickly from my womb, the friends whose stories were far different than they had expected or hoped for, the babies missing from their mother's arms. 

Motherhood is never a guarantee, no matter how many milestones we pass.  I know too well how many ways "everything will be okay" has been one big fat lie. 

But I also know how many ways "God will take care of you" has always, always been the only truth I can cling too in a sea of unknowns.  Never once has He left my side.  Never once has He been surprised.  Never once has He given up on me.  Never once has He stopped loving, stopped caring, stopped working all things together for good.

As I lay in bed last night, He brought these words to mind, words I've heard and memorized over and over...but, somehow, they became more alive and real to me more than any other time in my life.

Trust in the LORD with all your heart,
and do not lean on your own understanding.
In all your ways acknowledge him,
and he will make straight your paths.

(Proverbs 3:5-6)

I held onto the second line of words for a moment longer as He whispered truth deep into my wayward heart: "do not lean on your own understanding".  There are so many things I don't understand...and yet I try.  I ponder and I wonder and I wrestle over and over in my mind...and still I don't understand.

I don't understand why there are so many messy pieces to my story.  I don't understand why it hasn't been easier.  I don't understand why some babies live...and some babies die.  I don't understand why storms happen and why He doesn't always calm the storms.  I don't understand why I wrestle with intense emotions and a heart that feels so deep and wide. 

His ways are far above my own and no matter how long I wrestle with understanding, I will never come close.   

For my thoughts are not your thoughts,
neither are your ways my ways, declares the Lord.
For as the heavens are higher than the earth,
so are my ways higher than your ways
and my thoughts than your thoughts.

(Isaiah 55:8-9)

And again, He reminds me:

Whoever trusts in his own mind is a fool,
but he who walks in wisdom will be delivered.

(Proverbs 28:26)

I'm a fool every time I listen to the anxious thoughts and allow them to consume me...but God never gives up on me and He's always there to take me back in His arms.  He has already given me far more than I deserve and when I simply rest in Him, no matter how much I want to wrestle with the unknowns and try to understand the "why's", He will deliver me from the prison of my own mind.  

And so, today, with mercies anew and grace that knows no bounds, I will rest in the One who knows far more than me and the One who has already proven faithful, time and time again.

You keep him in perfect peace
whose mind is stayed on you,
because he trusts in you.
Trust in the LORD forever,
for the LORD GOD is an everlasting rock.

(Isaiah 26:3-4) 

 

A Thousand Times His Mercy Remains

 
I woke up early this morning to the cries of my almost 6 year old, worried about her brother's beach ball going missing (?) and then a squirmy toddler crawling into bed and taking over...but instead of grumbling I remembered that I have a choice to make no matter what my circumstances are.

"It is easy to be cynical; it is brave to be joyful." - Joy Clarkson

So, I crawled out of bed, tip-toed downstairs, and opened up my prayer/devotion journal to begin my day the best way. And for the first time in weeks, I soaked up His words in a way that made me wonder why I ever allow myself to run on empty. 

It's easy for me to get caught up in all the ways I fail and resist His gentle whispers calling me to rest and find refuge in Him instead of trying to control my days.  But my circumstances and emotions don't define me and they never have to own me unless I allow them to. 

Sometimes the ability to choose and His gift of free will is overwhelming to me...because I know I will fail.  Even though I know the right thing to do, I don't always want to choose it.  Because sometimes doing what is right is hard...and doing what is wrong is easy. 

We are called to resist temptations and stand firm in our faith, but there are days it's just exhausting to keep fighting the battle in my own mind.  So, I give in and I make a mess of everything, yelling at my husband or my kids over something foolish that doesn't even really matter and picking battles over every little thing.  The anger and bitterness boils over and I find myself on a fast track to failure...again. 

The rest of the day, I walk around in silence, the anger and bitterness still lurking, but my own pride keeping me from humbly apologizing and admitting my own faults.  I beat myself up in my mind, but I can't bring myself to say the words out loud.  I know where I've failed, but I am afraid to own up to it and begin the hard work of repenting and renewing my mind once more. 

"A thousand times I've failed
Still your mercy remains
And should I stumble again
Still I'm caught in your grace"

- Hillsong's "From the Inside Out"

I know this truth.  I know His grace abounds and there is no end to His mercy...but I am my own worst enemy and I'm most afraid to bow my knee before a holy God and admit my own failures.

"Humbling ourselves to God under His hand is the next way to deliverance and exaltation; patience under His chastisements, and submission to His pleasure, repentance, prayer, and hope in His mercy, will engage His help and release in due time." 

- Matthew Henry commentary

I take a deep breath and make a choice, admitting through broken tears and words that stumble and fall in a mess from a place of deep regret.  My husband listens, taking my hands in his and reminding me of grace, forgiving me once more.

And then, this morning, I open His words and listen to His gentle whispers both convicting and encouraging me.  He knows my heart far better than I do and He knows how often I fail...but still His mercy remains. 

"It is the cross that bridges the gap between 

our hurts and disappointments, brokenness and God's perfect love." 

- Sally Clarkson

Today, as the sun rises and my children awake from their slumber, filling our home again with noise and chaos, I ask Him to draw nearer, allowing me to walk in the shadow of His wings instead of in my own weakness.  I will choose humble praise and heartfelt gratitude and allow Him to renew my mind and heart once more. 

 

Book Review: Finding Spiritual Whitespace

I discovered her words while still finding my way out of the darkness that was a long battle with postpartum depression and anxiety.  She, the blogger with a far bigger platform than my own and a contributor for the most beautiful online community of women I've ever discovered, poured out her heart in words in the middle of her own journey towards healing.  As I read, it was like she was speaking straight into my deepest hurts and showing me how far from alone I really was.  Because we all have a story to tell of our own broken pieces - none of us are perfect - and it's the brave ones who share the hardest pieces of their story.

I've written through a lot of my journey to healing and I've claimed victory over postpartum depression, but there are still days that anxiety creeps in and rears its ugly head.  It's the panic attacks that are so hard to write about, because it's more than just worrying about tomorrow.  I spent well over a year sorting through the memories and hurts behind the anxiety with the help of my counselor and learning how to recognize my triggers and how to cope with the anxious thoughts before a panic attack begins.

Watching Bonnie's own journey unfold through her words gave me courage to keep journeying forward and encouraged me on the days that were still hard.  I've long been anticipating the release of her book, but what I didn't realize until I began reading just the first few pages was how much I would need her words today.

While the dark days of postpartum depression are behind me, the last year has been one of sifting and trials that have left me breathless and often too tired and weak to fight the anxious thoughts that still come.  Memories long buried have resurfaced in the midst of present storms and I've found myself waking in a panic, stuck between the hurts of the past and the pains of today.

I've been realizing that those memories I've tried so hard to forget have created strongholds that still hold me prisoner today.  As much as I want to keep running from them, I know that the only way to be really free is to allow Him to enter in and walk me through them once more, not to simply relive the past, but to both learn and heal from the hurts and pains I've buried in the deepest parts of my heart.

It never ceases to amaze me how He bring the right people and the right words to me just when I need them.  Bonnie's words were meant for such a time as this and I'm just so grateful she allowed Him to use her story even when it wasn't the story she wanted.

"Maybe PTSD isn't who I really am.  Maybe it's just what I'm walking through.  Maybe 'beloved' is who I am.

I began wondering. How would life look as the beloved? What are the small, imperfect movements I can take to be free, as the beloved?

This is why I choose to write, even if it means I'll feel broken for a season.  Because the other side of brokenness is restoration; the hope - the journey - is wholeness."

After every chapter, Bonnie invites her readers to enter into their own story, to pull up a chair, and find spiritual whitespace in communion with Him.  I love how she prompts us to not just reenter the painful memories, but to invite Jesus into those scenes.  "It isn't who you are now, but you've had to survive it." And somehow, by entering those places once more, I can see them through His eyes and watch how He was there every step of the way carefully piecing together a beautiful masterpiece.

"...whitespace frees us to face the truth about ourselves and this truth sets us free.  When we make room for whitespace, we have to move things. We are changing how we've always done things.  We uncover layers of ourselves we had to put to the side in order to deal with the stress at hand."

Finding spiritual whitespace is a journey I know I'll be on for a long time and as I move forward, I'll be filling more of the pages in this little notebook I opened for the first time while reading Bonnie's book.  It's no coincidence that the same year He revealed peace to be my one word is also the year I found this book and these words about rest and whitespace.

"You and I were destined to journey off script.  To walk with Jesus by faith into the whitespaces of our story - to trace the rainbow through the rain."

As the old hymn says:

When peace, like a river, attendeth my way,
when sorrows like sea billows roll;
whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say,
it is well, it is well with my soul.

And indeed, when I journey off script, walking by faith instead of by sight, though sorrows like sea billows roll, I can say it is well with my soul, because He is my quiet place in the middle of the storm.  He leads me to green pastures when I allow Him to reveal the whitespaces in my story and search for the rainbows He paints in the rain.

 

Finding Spiritual Whitespace: A Quiet Retreat

My love walks in with a smile on his face at the chorus of cheers from three little ones eager to see him and jealous for his attention.  I smile at the scene, kiss him hello, and walk out the door for my much needed quiet retreat.

Of course, I can't leave without my own chorus of kisses and hugs for both me and the growing belly we all watch with eager anticipation.  As I climb into the car and start to drive away, my heart tugs a little as the invisible strings between us are stretched.  No matter how much I need this time, I can never fully leave when there are three little pieces of my heart stretching their wings and learning how to live and breathe apart from me. 

The silence as I drive is strange and nearly uncomfortable.  I can't stop thinking about the noise and chaos of the day...and, somehow, the farther I drive, the more I miss and appreciate what I left behind.  Isn't it strange that part of the reason I need a quiet retreat like this is to remember what a gift the not so quiet times really are?

***

I lay in bed long after the tears subside, my love lost in a deep sleep, wondering how to quiet the storms inside and make sense of all the emotions and memories and mess in the hidden places of my heart.  Memories that long lay buried in my mind have been slowly resurfacing, triggered by the least likely moments.  I'm left confused and broken and wondering...why now?

I want so much to close the door once more on the hard memories I've tried so hard to ignore, but I know I can't.  The more I bury them, the harder it is to sort through it all.  Even the hard memories are part of the story He has written for me, but sometimes I just want to skim over those pieces so I can get to the happy ending. 

So, in the quiet, as the memories flood and bury me all over again, I listen for the still, small voice of the One who comes to me in the middle of the storm and quietly walks with me.  I turn to Him, my heart broken and weary from the moments I just want to forget, but instead of brushing them away and leading me out of the storm, He walks with me through the storm.  He gently urges me to enter those memories once more and as I cautiously step forward, one step at a time, I see those moments far differently than I ever have before.

He stands there holding every tear in the bottle He has kept from the moment of my first cries and I remember that even in the hardest moments, He was always there.  He leads me forward and I see how He carried me through every painful moment.  He knew me even when I didn't know myself and He kept on writing, knowing that the tangle and mess of these pieces would one day create a beautiful tapestry of a life full and rich in Him.  

***

My hand rests on my growing belly and soon she is kicking away, reminding me that she is here and that our story isn't finished yet.  I watch her movements and smile at the way all the pieces that didn't make sense brought us here. 

There are days that I still wonder and days when the pain still runs deep, but in the quiet, watching my belly move and grow, sneaking in to gaze at the rise and fall of three sleeping peacefully in their beds, and resting my arms over the man I love lost deep in his own sleep, I remember how to count the blessings instead of the hurts.  The more I choose a heart of gratitude, the more my heart heals and the memories long buried can finally be laid to rest.

Linking up with Bonnie Gray and a community of women finding their own spiritual whitespace.  Stay tuned tomorrow for my official book review of her beautiful book. 

Finding Spiritual Whitespace: A Letter to My Younger Self

Dear Middle School Me,

Right now you're confused and hurt and wondering where you fit in this world.  You feel things deeply but everyone tells you you're "too sensitive" and that you need to "lighten up".  You throw yourself into your school work to forget about the friends who push you away and the way you never seem to fit in anywhere.

Plus, you're so afraid of failure, so there is really no other way.  That one time you got a D on a history quiz and the disappointed look on your parents' faces haunts you.  You'll do everything possible to never feel that pain again...even if it means pushing those hurts and pains and the way you feel everything so deep and hard into the furthest corners of your heart.

You learn to hide and forget, but I want you to know that you don't have to.  It's okay to feel deeply every moment of your life, because it's the way God made you.  He made no mistake when He knit you together in your mother's womb.  I know it doesn't make sense now and you wish you really could just let things go, but God knows that your tender heart is needed in this world of pain and suffering and sorrow.

You pour your words secretly into your journals, letting the tears fall at night when no one is watching, hiding your words in the darkest corner of your closet.  You've always dreamed of being a writer, but that dream seems so far away now...and, besides, who would ever want to read your words anyways?  The only words you can find right now are a jumbled heap of hurts and fears that don't make any more sense on paper than they do in your heart. 

You long to be loved, but all you see when you look in the mirror is an overweight girl with crooked teeth and huge glasses. Clothes shopping is your worst nightmare, because the mirror only magnifies every flaw and insecurity.  You hate summer, because it means shorts and swim suits and exposing more imperfections that you work so hard to hide from the world.

Someday your body that you try so hard to hide will bring life into the world and you will smile at every stretch mark and the stories they have written in your life.  You will curl up next to your love, the man who promised in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health...and he will gently caress every stretch mark and flaw, whispering words of beauty and love that take your breath away.  He will marvel at the way your body is growing and changing as it carries life and he will look at you with a love so deep and strong it will change the way you see the skin you are in.

You will be broken even more and you will question so much...but the One who knew every piece of your story long before you were placed in your mother's womb will not let you go.  Just when you think you can't take anymore, He will whisper words of love and life and breathe grace and peace into all your hurts.  You will break, but you will heal and your healing will be part of the story and purpose He began writing into your life long ago.  

And someday you will share your words with the world and start writing your story as a memoir, embracing your long ago dreams and finding the confidence to love the beautiful mess your life has written.  People will read your words and tell you to keep on writing.  You'll write when nothing makes sense and somehow writing your story will help you understand who you are and why you're here.  The words will fall from your heart and hands like poetry and wash over you like healing waters.

So, though you want to hide and all you feel is hurt and brokenness, I want you to know that you are beautiful...just the way you are.  Not one of your tears is forgotten and God is not finished with you yet.  He really does work all things together for good and He will use your broken pieces to not only make you whole again, but to breathe life and encouragement into so many other lives.  Though there is weeping in the night, joy will come in the morning and you will be more than okay. 

Linking up my spiritual whitespace moment with Bonnie Gray and a community of women Finding Spiritual Whitespace.

 

Throwback Thursday: Hold Hands

I took a break from this the past few weeks, but today I'm sharing another old blog post from the archives.  Sometimes I need to be reminded of my own words and I hope they will be an encouragement to others too.
  

***

Hold Hands

(blog post from  September 2013 originally shared here)

 


It was one of those mornings.

I heard the alarm go off far too early and, as my brain tried to come out of the fog of another sleepless night, I hit snooze, not once, but three times.  

The little one stirred next to me and, before I could force my sleep-heavy eyes open, he was full on wailing. 

I nursed him back to sleep and let the steaming waters of the shower wash me over with fresh strength for the day, but all I wanted to do was sleep.

I grumbled and worried as I struggled to wake the rest of the weary bodies in our home.  They mumbled their own pleas for more rest and then whined and complained their ways through a hurried breakfast. 

We made it out the door, by some miracle, with only ten minutes to spare before school started...only to remember half way there that it was PICTURE DAY.

We turned back for home and, with the boys still buckled in their car seats, I quickly pulled out the messy ponytail in my daughter's hair and rushed to curl it enough to be presentable for pictures.

I started to breath again, until my daughter started screaming when the curling iron brushed against her neck.

Horrified, I grabbed an ice pack and held her close, telling her over and over how sorry I was, wishing right then and there I could rewind time.

After finally dropping her off at school late and feeling my heart break when she refused to hug me goodbye, I cried all the way home and sent my husband a distressed text message.

"Sorry babe. Pretty sure you're not a bad mom," he reminded me, but I still wasn't convinced, so I wrote a distressed facebook post, wondering if there were any other moms out there who had been in my shoes.

Because the hard days always feel lonely until you reach out for help.  

This time, help came in the form of comment after comment from other moms and friends who know me well.  Their comments were like virtual hands reaching out to hold mine and remind me to breathe in grace.  

Even on the days when I make a mess of mothering, grace and love really do cover a multitude of messes. 

My husband was right.  I may not be perfect, but the hard days don't make me a bad mom.

No, it's a good mom who picks up the broken pieces, holds out her hand to wipe away the tears on her child's face, and covers every mistake in an all consuming, never ending love that takes her breath away.

It's a good mom who doesn't give up, but stands firm even in the storms, holding onto the One whose grace and love is more than enough.

It's a good mom who knows that she isn't enough without Him whose strength is everything she needs.

And, most importantly, it's a good mom who remembers how His mercies are new moment by moment and, instead of looking back, she continues to move forward...

...one step at a time. 


 

So I Press On

image source

I wake from a deep sleep, shaking with tears and the panic remnants of a dream that seemed far too real.  I can't seem to shake it, no matter how tightly my husband holds me in his arms and whispers truth.  I don't understand why the dreams keep coming and why the images haunt me, no matter how much I remind myself it was just a dream.

I try to whisper into the darkness the Truth reminders He has shown me, but the words don't come.  Where are you, Lord? I wonder, grasping for the tiniest evidence that He is here.  As the storm calms in me, I realize that sometimes His presence isn't so obvious.   

"Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen." (Hebrews 11:1)  

I don't always understand why He doesn't simply stop the storm and sometimes I doubt that He's really there, but I keep pressing in, holding onto hope and remembering the ways He has already proven faithful.  Because hope that is anchored in Him never disappoints.

My writing here has been sporadic, but it's not for lack of words and stories to share.  The past year has been full of sifting and storms I wouldn't wish on anyone.  There are stories my fingers ache to put in writing, but too many of these words are meant to just remain here in my heart or on the pages of my own journal.  And sometimes, in the silence, that's where I find Him, waiting and loving, no matter how much of a mess I am and no matter how many times I've failed.

The quiet is also the place where I find rest, remembering His promises and allowing Him to do the work He wants to do in my heart.  In the wave of seasons of plenty and hardship, there are also seasons of sifting and healing.  Sometimes the healing feels an awful lot like sifting, but I need to let Him enter those places if I want to be truly free.

There are strongholds I've known lie in wait underneath the layers of healing unfolded in my previous seasons of healing, but I wasn't ready to unfold the layers and rediscover what was hidden there.  The dreams that shake and haunt me cause me to wonder and pause...because perhaps He brought me to those places for such a time as this, knowing that it was time for me to enter those memories.

"So, I must press on, fleeing the lies and bondage of sin and running swiftly forward to make His promises my own because He has already made me His own." (Phil 3:12)

In Him, there is power and love and self control to overcome...but I don't always live in those promises.  I must press on, fleeing the lies and bondage that hold me captive...and run swiftly forward to Him and all that He has prepared for me already.  It won't be easy...no part of this life lived in pursuit of His calling and purpose for me is ever meant to be easy...but it is always, always worth it.  

Linking up with Bonnie of Faith Barista

and a community of women learning to find

Spiritual Whitespace.