ACCURATELY DIAGNOSED.

For months I didn't know what was wrong. I could neither pinpoint the problem nor find the right words to articulate the feeling. The frustration of not knowing what was wrong was equal only to that of not knowing what to do about it. The best word I had to describe it was "dead." Spiritually dead. But that still wasn't right. Even if I couldn't name what I was feeling...or not feeling seems more accurate...I knew I wanted it to be over.

This indescribable feeling lasted for weeks and although it was a "spirit problem" it was beginning to manifest physically. Exhaustion, despondence, sadness, a total lack of joy. I am a naturally joyful and excitable person and to have no zeal for anything was completely foreign. I love my job, my church, my friends, my home, my life! All the things are so good. I am so blessed. And none of that had changed! Even my pursuit of Jesus hadn't changed. Still leading Bible studies, still praying, still worshipping.

It just didn't make sense. Why this internal change when nothing external had changed?!

A week ago a friend recommended a podcast called "Fight hustle. End hurry."

Maybe five minutes in the episode and one of the co-hosts said, "you must ruthlessly eliminate hurry from your life." For the first time in months I felt a leap in my spirit. THAT WAS IT!!!

Hurry and hustle had become my way of life and it had so drained me. I'm not sure what was more life-giving in that moment: having words to describe what I had been feeling or the actual jolt of excitement that had eluded me for some time.

If you've ever been ill and not known why, struggling to explain and be understood, you can empathize.

If you've ever been through that and then been accurately diagnosed, you can celebrate with me.

My appetite to understand was insatiable! Every word John Mark Comer and Jefferson Bethke said in the podcast was a balm to my weary soul.

"Jesus wasn't in a hurry."

"We spend so much time studying the words of Jesus. We don't spend time studying the pace of Jesus."

Even now as I type I can feel my veins pulsing with elation.

After my fourth listen (in three days!), I ordered Comer's book "The Ruthless Elimination of Hurry."  Y'all. Just between us (and anyone else you want to tell): I believe the ruthless elimination of hurry from my life is going to be a pivotal moment in my life. As Comer tells of his life pre-elimination (my phrasing), I see myself in almost every description.  

"…I feel like a ghost. Half alive, half dead. 

More numb than anything else; flat, one dimensional...empty. 

It's like my soul is hollow." (p.2)

That statement made me close the book and just sit in my bed. 

Completely arrested.

There's more to come. I know it.

There's more to the battle to eliminate hurry than a once-off decision. The battle will be waged with daily decisions to not do, not see, not attend.

I will miss out on things. ((insert gasp here))

The battlefield will likely prove to be my planner. FOMO (fear of missing out), the fierce warrior of the enemy.  However, what I've found is that packing my schedule with experiences has left me no time to actually experience anything. Always one foot out of the conversation. One event ahead of the present moment. Constantly hurried. And that’s not the life I want to live. That way of life has left me feeling dead. And “hurried” is not the person I want to be.

Consider this an invitation to join the journey.

Greetings 2018.

January 1.

I love the start of a new year.  Something about the notion of a fresh beginning can really breathe life into things.  So, as I sit here under a blanket, sipping a cup of coffee, still wearing my fuzzy pink socks, I want to appreciate 2017 and consider 2018.



TWO THOUSAND SEVENTEEN
When I think over the whole year it seems I remember so little of it, but I'm going to believe that I remember what I need most:

• I set new PRs in all but one race, and even won 1st place in my age bracket! Trust me, only one person was more surprised than I...thanks, Jess.
• I faced a decent amount of difficult decisions and personal rejection, but have learned the value of honest and clear communication.  People are incredible and deserve truth, even when it hurts to say/hear it.  The ability to communicate with truth and grace is a virtue of powerful consequence.
• I fell more in love with Jesus and the Church.  My home church gifted me a dream job.  They actioned their love and made a place for me; I'm so honored and amazed! And I'm so grateful for the opportunity to keep serving and building the Kingdom in my local.
• My sister and I explored ruled the Mediterranean together.  But most importantly I saw my sister learn about herself.  Self-discovery on the Mediterranean isn't as glamorous or as "tai chi" as it may sound, but it is nonetheless beautiful.  There were tears of frustration after "getting lost" for the twelfth time, followed by the deep breath of perspective when you realize being lost in Barcelona is still being in Barcelona.  And no matter where you are, what language is spoken, or what the exchange rate is, when you're hungry just spend the damn money.  Hangry ruins holidays.
• I danced more this year than any year in memory.  You don't rent a dance floor, YOU OWN IT (probably my new life motto).
• It is most worth investing in people and experiences

TWO THOUSAND EIGHTEEN 

I'm heading into 2018 not telling it what it should be, but rather letting it be and keeping a few things in mind:

• invest in the right people and the right experiences
• make your schedule reflect who you want to be and not what you need to do
• pray for Jesus to come back
• if you can write the word "pizzazz" elegantly in cursive in one swift motion then you can do pretty much anything

Here's to 2018!

Cheers!

The Truth About My Mom.

Mother's Day was Sunday and the world was full of loving wishes for mothers.  Social media was covered in photos of moms and their children in warm hugs, laughing together, maybe a vintage photo of mom captioned with kind words of how she has only grown in grace and beauty.
All fond memories.
There was a lot of appreciation and joy for moms.

But what about those who have a different story?

As sweet as Mother's Day is for a lot of people, some of us have a story that can't be told by a photo and its caption.  Some of us have stories that are complicated, much like our relationships with our mom.  Others have stories that don't exist, also much like their relationships with their mom.   While some are swimming in love and affection others are swimming in waters polluted by envy and sorrow.

The enemy (Satan) leaves no relationship untouched.

But that's not what this post is about.
This post isn't a "pity me" tale, but rather an honest confession of what God can do in the heart of a girl with a skewed view of mothers.
My goal isn't sympathy.  My goal and prayer is that compassion would grow in all of us, self included, and we would have eyes to see that no area in our lives is untouchable to God's miraculous works.

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My parents got divorced when I was very little so I grew up in a household with my mom and sister; "the three musketeers" we deemed ourselves!  We were a unit and we were fine. It was my normal.   Age eight is my first memory of my mom being physically abusive.  Up until that point we had been disciplined with spankings and whatnot, but something suddenly switched and it was different.  Perhaps a little more about being angry than about teaching a lesson.
My mom would switch just like that (insert finger snap); she'd go from super kind to vengeful in milliseconds.  It was wild.  Even remembering it now there were no warnings, no way to duck and cover.  Her aggression wasn't daily, but when it's abuse I suppose it doesn't matter.  In spite of all of that we were a very tight knit unit.  We were her world and she was our devoted parent.  For years we didn't have a car and would have to walk everywhere! The grocery store, the bank, she would walk to work, etc.  For a long time we would walk three miles to church every Sunday; she was an active member of the choir and we all attended Sunday school.  I remember only two times that a family from church gave us a ride.  Yep, only two times were a single mom and her two young girls, both under the age of 10, offered help from the church members they saw on the weekly.
I'm actually more upset about that now than I was then. 
There was a six month period my mom wasn't able to do much of anything because she broke her leg falling down stairs whilst helping us get on the bus in the morning.  Maybe you're thinking, "I'm sure the church helped her then."  Oh, friends, I wish I could say they did.  During the six month period the church brought us two meals.  Two meals. Needless to say when she recovered we no longer walked the three miles to church.

So to quickly recap, from my mother's perspective:
my dad, who is a Christian, left my mom.
the church, that should be filled with Christians, didn't help my mom.


There were three major "episodes" that resulted in the police getting involved: when I was 13, 15, and 16.  Each one had its own repercussions and consequences that I will omit today, but again, nothing that has been untouched by God.  My sister and I moved in with our dad after the last episode and became quite distant with our mom.  It didn't take long before I gave my life to Christ and got super involved in church.  By serving I made really great friends and their families became my families, which means that their moms became my mom.

I should also mention that I have a fantastic step-mom.  She's kind, soft-spoken, peaceable, gentle, and so many other wonderful things.  But when we started living together it was a rather difficult transition from what I knew of motherly love to what she was giving.  My sister and I felt like guests for a long time, because our new environment was polar opposite of what we were used to.  However, that was more about us than it was her.  My step-mom is great and teaches me a lot about being a mother and wife.

There are two women who were the first to make me feel like a daughter and show me a healthy type of motherly love: Becky Bruner and Patti Cardwell.
Undoubtedly, these two women have had the greatest influence on me and did more mental reconstruction than I'll ever be able to describe.  The power a gentle female spirit has on the hard edges of an independent minded young lady is that of heroic proportions.  
Becky and Patti didn't love me and care for me as a daughter because of anything I did or out of pity; they love and care for me because they are mothers in the truest sense of the word.  I am forever grateful for the ferocity of their love and unreserved outpouring.  

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Over the years God has used multiple women to fill the gaps in my life and character that would otherwise be left for the world to distort.  As much as I would love to have a relationship with my biological mother, I understand that to pursue it would be unwise.  Here's the thing, friends.  My mom and I don't talk.  She doesn't bring out any good qualities in me and is still unpredictable in temperament.   The relationship we would have, if any, would be unhealthy and pursuing unhealthy relationships of any type is unwise.  But the Lord has been very sweet about helping me see it from her end and filling me with compassion.

Again, to recap, from my mother's perspective:
my dad, who is a Christian, left my mom.
the church, that should be filled with Christians, didn't help my mom.
I, a Christian, no longer talk to my mom.

Of course she hates Christians; they've been hurting her her whole life.
It took me years to understand why my mom hates God, so I want to help you get the picture more quickly.
Perhaps there's some in your life you just can't reach and you don't understand why.
Try looking at it through their life experiences...there's usually more to the story of anger, distrust, and resistance.


A good woman once told me that I need to learn how to love my mom from afar.  Yes, I still love her.  As I get older and learn more about the world and adulthood I love her more and grow in gratitude for her sacrifices.
Yes, she hit us and said awful things, but she also got us to every marching band practice, left me notes every day in my lunch box, taught me about independence, put food on the table, took us to the doctor when we were sick, and much more. 
I believe she did her best; she did what she thought was best.  There are some things I'll never understand, but I don't have to.  Forgiveness breaks chains, friends.  Forgiveness really does bring freedom.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So when Mother's Day rolls around and people post wonderful things about their mom and sweet photos, I'm not filled with anger, envy, or sadness.  I hum a little to myself and say "that'd be nice" and then am overwhelmed with joy and thankfulness when I think of all the women God has allowed me to glean from.
I am not the product of one woman.
I am a child of God covered in the residue of a village of women.

It's never a waste to spend time with young people; you just may be filling a gap no one knows exists.
Notice people in church.  Listen to what they aren't saying.
Is there a single mom saying her feet are tired? Ask her why!
For the love of God, take up her cross.  Help her carry her burden.  There just may be two young girls who need you to be kind to their mom.

At 27 years of age there are still a lot of things I don't understand about my mom and her actions, but forgiveness, intercessory prayer and the power of the Holy Spirit broke down the walls of bitterness and anger in me and continue to do work.  God will not allow voids in your life; He will fill the need, whatever or whoever that is.
Church, do your job.
And to God be the glory.
ALL the glory.