JANELLE DELAGRANGE

One, Two, Three…

I had a moment this morning where I looked at myself in the mirror and thought, “Uh yeah, girl. This is crazy.”

Maybe that should become my mantra.

It seems that much of my adult life has been filled with the “Uh, this is crazy” moments. The older I get, the slower I am to jump into crazy things. Looking back only a few years ago, I feel scared just thinking about what we decided to do with our life. Who willingly decides to do these things? Why are we insane? God, what have You done to us?

I mean it in the best way. Crazy means mentally deranged, but it also means wildly enthusiastic. And I am wildly enthusiastic about what God is capable of, even if it scares me. I’m only scared of what I don’t know. I’m not scared of what God can do; He is a reliable, steadfast foundation. He’s got me in His palm like the way a daddy holds his little girl’s hand. Little girl = me.

What has God done to us? What has He done in the past six years?

He has made us willing. He has taught us obedience that looks like foolishness from the outside. He has enlisted us to laughter and joy in the midst of trial. He has been a God who called us on waters and somehow, some way, we freakin’ walked on them.

I like what He has done.

This year, so far, has been one for the books already. There’s a lot of unknown in our future, but one thing we do know is that coming November, we’re going to add just one more little one.

We get to do this crazy thing called parenthood, and we get to add one more sweet baby to this team.

Here’s where you come in. Add me + Baby D 4.0 to your prayer list. I don’t keep secrets, so we’re letting the cat out of the bag early. This means I’m not in my second trimester yet, and I covet your prayers that we keep on keepin’ on, healthy and stable. Because of my ectopic pregnancy a few years ago, my body is notorious for producing low progesterone. We’re doing supplementation to keep levels up, but again, prayers here are essential.

Also, here’s the answers to all the inevitable questions:

Yes, we did this on purpose.
Yup, I still know how this happens, but please, if you feel the need to ask, don’t.
I’m due November 9.
Of course I’m hoping for a girl, but I also LOVE my boys. So give me a boy, give me a girl, but Lord do not give me both at once. (Don’t worry, no twins here.)
Yes, I do feel a little nauseous. Consider giving me some crackers to snack on while we talk about how I’m feeling so I don’t barf because I forgot to eat. Exhausted, yes, that too. Babysitting services always welcome so I can nap.
You’re right, I have done this a few times, but this time will probably be the hardest. I might go for a HoverRound once I hit 30 weeks because I know I’m going to hate walking/moving/standing.
Probably never a good idea to touch my belly, unless we’ve had a few conversations.

Praise God, yeah? We’re elated. We can’t wait for this baby to join us. Thanks for your prayers in this time. You all are the real MVP.

Contrary to Popular Belief

There was one summer when I was teenager when I loved roller coasters. It was on a trip to Holiday World to Santa Claus, Indiana when I rode roller coasters more in two days than I ever will for the rest of my life. I even rode with no hands because that’s the kind of rebel I was at the time.

Another time in my life, I rode the Gemini at Cedar Point and hated every second of it. I remember clutching my mom’s arm, screaming, squeezing my eyes shut as if to will the whole experience out of my mind.

Usually, I think of myself as a “safe” person. I don’t like taking risks, like riding roller coasters. That just seems like a chance to die, and I’d rather not. I don’t know what got into me those two days many years ago, but I’ll probably never willingly ride a roller coaster again. Experiences like those are reasons why I think I’m a safe player.

But…I’m also really, really not. At least, over the course of the past six years, “safe” has seemed to disappear from my vocabulary.

In the fall, I learned a “trick” that changed the way I thought about God’s role in my life. I had always been told that I can trust God because of what He has done for me before. What I never considered was actually going back and going through the times that God really was faithful. Not just quickly reminiscing, but actually thinking on them, writing them out, recalling exactly how fearful I was in those moments and just how faithful God has truly been up until this point.

Not only is this applicable in my own life, I’ve started doing this as I’m reading the Bible. Again, I’ve known for years that the Bible is so obviously connected, but I really didn’t know how. It was when I started looking back in all the stories in books previous on how God showed Himself a faithful God that I understood His majesty every more.

It sounds so simple. But it was something I only began practicing recently.

Contrary to my own belief, I’ve shown myself as risky. Sometimes irresponsibly so, other times, enabled by faith to jump without seeing the landing.

It stresses me out a little. What will happen next? What are ya gonna do, God, that’s going to flip my world upside down? It seems that the pattern of our life is such: know God is nudging us in a crazy, uncomfortable place, go to said place, feel like we’re free-falling, find solid footing on God’s promises. I’m always looking back with my mouth wide-open in awe.

You did all that, God? You did that for us?

Can I shine light on you for a moment? You don’t have to be risky, jumping always, or doing things that just seem crazy for God to be real in your life. You don’t have to be me. You don’t even have to add “risky” to your vocabulary. But I’m looking back at all the stories I know, in the Bible and in my own life, and it is true that God asks us to do things that do not have a solid path. The details seem to ornate, the path to the destination seems impossible. If I’ve learned anything, it just means that I jump with my eyes looking up. It means I look up to my Creator and know He’s not going to let me fall out of His hand. I might fall and hit my face, but He’s not going to laugh. He’s going to pull me back up.

Maybe, contrary to popular or your own belief, you can do what you pledged you wouldn’t.
Maybe if you look back on the stories of your own life, you’ll see just how much God has moved in ways you thought you couldn’t.

The Juggling Act

I open my eyes. If I’m lucky, I’m opening them to the half hour right before the thunderous noise of my almost two-year-old shaking his crib. The light snakes in through our window, but only enough for me to vaguely read the words on the thin pages. I sit up enough to see the Psalms in front of me, and I read to awaken my mind from a night of (hopefully) restful sleep.

(It seems that most nights, though, someone’s face is inches from my own, whispering, “Mom. Mom. I peed my pants.” or “Mom. Mom. I have a bloody nose.” or “Mom. Mom. I’m going to throw up.”)

But when I’m not so lucky, I awake to the sounds of two boys fighting over a Lego piece, and the chatter of said two-year-old. I muster the ability to lift my body out of bed, and I go out in my kitchen to feed my kids. After, of course, the beloved fight over taking off someone’s pee-filled PullUp. (Why does he think it’s the end of the world to take that thing off?)

I eat. I read more. I scan Facebook. I make coffee. I talk to my husband about the day ahead.

And we go.

Here’s where I confess something: I was never planning to work again, not while my boys were so young. I never considered being a writer when I didn’t have formal training.

Actually, no, that’s not quite right. I was outrageously afraid to do something besides be a mom. Mothering comes naturally. Juggling everything else on top of it was what scared me.

Some days I have deadlines to meet while my youngest has a fever. He needs me to hold him every moment he’s awake, and I cannot ignore him. There’s no one else here to do that job. That’s my job.

Some weeks I’m certain no one has cleaned my toilet for a month. And then I remember, oh yeah, that was me. I didn’t do it. Because that’s also my job.

Some days I easily say to my husband, “I don’t want to make dinner.” But, that’s always been my job, too. Who will do it if I don’t?

There’s groceries to buy, meals to plan, my hair to get in formation. All my job.

Another confession: I am not meant for juggling. No, really. I cannot juggle, literally and figuratively. I always drop a ball somewhere.

I don’t know about you. I know about me. And for me, juggling everything in my life is a sure sign I’ve only got my eyes on all my “things” and not on my Creator. I’m transfixed with the idea of keeping everything floating, keeping everything light and good and functional.

I gotta drop the ball. You know why? Because I can’t look at Christ when I’m focusing on juggling everything.

Maybe you can juggle well. Maybe it even comes naturally. Maybe for you, you can juggle five balls in the air while maintaining eye contact. Hey, that is not me. In general, I just prefer not to throw more than one ball above my head.

What if it’s less about juggling, about keeping everything going, and us being the hands doing it all? What if it’s less about how many balls we toss above us and more about the Person we’re doing all of this for? What if we simply stop trying to juggle and simply live with all our stuff in our hands, extended towards a God who tells us He does all things for our good?

It doesn’t mean I drop everything. It doesn’t mean I stop doing anything. It means I do what He gives me, allow others to do what I cannot, accept help, give myself grace, love myself better than expect myself to do everything.

My head will hit the pillow tonight, and I may start thinking about how I seriously dropped the ball. Or how I didn’t do all that I needed to do. But I know me. God knows me. And He knows I was never a juggler in the first place. I was always His daughter from the beginning. So I soak in grace, soak in truth that I am good because God says I am good, and He does what He sets out to do. He will complete the work. He can do more than these hands will ever see.

No juggling required.

Just Like Me

When I was 21, I had a little baby boy on my hip and friends who didn’t live in my city. I never celebrated my 21st birthday like everyone else; I was happy and doe-eyed in love with my husband and baby daddy, and I thought that was enough.

In the years up until that point, I was always at church or working and serving in ministry. I loved people. I loved serving with other people. But, then I had a baby boy, and I cut ties with commitments, serving, and letting other people pour into me.

Fast forward to yesterday. Yesterday I was driving home at 9:30 PM after a full day of walking alongside some amazing people, and I couldn’t even get the words of thanks to come out of my mouth. I drove with tears in my eyes. I kept laughing, because for the first time in a long time, I felt like I was standing on top of the mountain, feeling that mountaintop breeze after enduring valleys and hills.

The year after my third son was born, I walked out in faith. It had been a few years since I connected with others beyond the forced, “Hi! How are you? I’m great!” I decided to live in a fullness I thought I couldn’t inhabit, because for once, I believed in what God had said about me.

I always knew that I lived within the parameters of Christ’s love, but I never really knew what that meant. I thought it only meant that I was forgiven, even when I repeatedly messed up. I didn’t know that I meant I could live differently.

I still remember the day I felt compelled to talk to a woman I didn’t know, and how I never reached out to her. I gave God some serious side-eye, because who was I to do something uncomfortable like that? I wasn’t anyone special. I didn’t have all the answers to what it means to be a woman of God.

I forgot that I was living in Christ’s fullness. I thought women who walked in a way I admired had something I didn’t, but I realize now that those women are just like me. They have different talents, sure, but I live in the same fullness, the same forgiveness and redemption.

I wish 21-year-old me knew that.

So, I’m telling you, in case you need the reminder I didn’t have.

Christ makes us different. He allows us to live different, better. He saves us from our mistakes and downfalls, and He does one better: Christ allows us to connect with others we feel scared to talk to. He allows us to do impossible things because there is nothing He can’t do. He allows us to be women who do things we never thought we could.

The best part? He does it all. We get to watch Him. When we say yes to His plan or when we decide to walk in the way He directs, we get the front-row seat. We get to watch Him, in all His glory, do what He whispered in our hearts.

And you’ll find yourself driving home one night with tears stinging your eyes. The thank you’s from your lips will only be laughter, and when the words finally escape, they’ll be thick with emotion and gratitude that God is who He says He always was.

PS – If you’re looking for somewhere to connect, some women to do life with, join us at Rally. We’re currently going through the book Uninvited by Lysa TerKeurst. Find us on Facebook by searching “Rally ministry”, or email me at janelle.delagrange@gmail.com. We would love to have you!

A Pep Talk for Your Bad Week

He was supreme in the beginning and—leading the resurrection parade—he is supreme in the end. From beginning to end he’s there, towering far above everything, everyone. So spacious is he, so roomy, that everything of God finds its proper place in him without crowding. Not only that, but all the broken and dislocated pieces of the universe—people and things, animals and atoms—get properly fixed and fit together in vibrant harmonies, all because of his death, his blood that poured down from the cross.
Colossians 1:18-20

GUYS. It’s been a week. One that I want to end, but it simultaneously feels like it’s lasted for an eternity. Know what I mean?

My kids gave me a run for my money this week. From an entire bottle of nail polish artfully splattering on my carpet and walls, to the puking fiasco, which involved me being vomited on two times, YOU GUYS. Ready for the weekend.

I’ve been working through some verses in Colossians for a teaching I’m giving in a few weeks, and I swear, almost every time I return to the passage, something new is waiting for me there. It’s not as though I haven’t read it many times already.

I read in Psalm 23 this morning, and that felt good and fresh and full. And then I flipped to Colossians and felt like my knees needed to get on the ground right now, because they were words that hit me in the gut.

So spacious is he, so roomy, that everything of God finds its proper place in him without crowding.

I’m telling you about my seemingly crap-filled week because it’s in these days of chaos, bodily fluids, and nail polish stains that I feel ill-equipped. Trying to be a mom and a writer and a woman all at the same time? What? Who the heck has time for that? This week has felt like a giant boulder of frustration, and I just want to get it off my chest. It’s times like these where I feel like I’m not in Him.

But, back to Colossians. Back to this verse.

So spacious is HE, so ROOMY, that everything of God finds its proper place in him without crowding. (All that emphasis, mine.)

I can go weeks without feeling weighted down. I feel light and capable, because that’s what His burden is. But there are weeks like these ones where I’m sure that I’m doing everything wrong, that I don’t belong, and that God is certainly going to chastise me soon.

But you know what? I’m of God. He called me mine when I believed in the power of His blood. And everything of God finds its proper place in Him. Even this place where everything is crap in the fan, this is my proper place right now. And even if the weight of responsibility and frustration seems overwhelming, squeezing me out, there’s enough space in Him for me. We’re not even crowded when we’re here. There’s so much room. So much space. So much good.

I got properly fixed and fit together when He died. Imagine that. Two thousand years ago, He did it, before my cells were even formed. He already put me back together.

I raise my glass to you, ladies. Moms. Working moms. Working women. Women who got things to do, women who have the ability to do it all, women who have time to kill.

It’s been a week, right? Good news: there’s enough room for us in Him. For all of us. No crowding, no bumping shoulders trying to do anything better. We all have a proper place in Him, because we are of Him.

Okay? Okay. Now go live like it: fixed and fit together.

Rooted Mondays: In His Wake

I started reading the Psalms when I began studying 1 Samuel. It seemed fitting, to read David’s story while also reading his laments and praises to God from his perspective.

This morning I woke up wrought with frustration. My two oldest boys were in the other room yelling loudly while playing with their Legos, and my youngest was sweetly saying, “Mama?” from his crib. I can handle the sweet “Mama?” coming from across the hall. But the shouting about Legos? Why does this happen everyday?

However, I don’t have much time to scold my sons for playing too loudly. There’s dishes on my counter from the night before, mouthes to feed, bodies to clothe. I move through the day, aware of my own frustrated shouts, and eventually sit down to soak in the Psalms, even if it means a toddler will only squirm across my lap in distraction.

He reached down on high and took hold of me; he drew me out of deep waters.
He brought me out into a spacious place; he rescued me because he delighted in me.
Psalm 18:16,19

I don’t know how many times I’ve gone through the Psalms. They feel more like easy-reading and a place to rest my feet when it comes to Bible reading. I come here when my mind doesn’t want to think deeply about the Israelites, the Pharisees, Jesus’ parables. The Psalms are like fresh water, easy to digest and pure.

Just the other day I stood in worship among the Church, and I arrived with nothing. I came to my Savior with the word “expectant” on my tongue, and I was sure of Him. It felt for a moment as if my mind was transformed by Him, totally clear on the solid truth of His provision for my life. I rested in Him, I felt no fear because I had nothing to lose.

And then Monday comes, and like a cruel wind, it brings the reminder of responsibility and duty and the chaos of the world. Today, it felt like pain came with it. Painful reminders of how cruel this world is, how imminent death is, how unkind it can seem to be human.

Sometimes, we forget what Christ has done. What His work declares over us. I have a tendency to think that He saved me once, and eventually, I will fall back into the waters. I will be like doubtful Peter, who walks on the water and falls quickly in. I think that I will always need rescuing from my pitfalls, and He will be reluctant to save me, as if the waters deserve a sinner like me.

I think if we live a life that leaves the blood of His sacrifice in our wake, if we walk knowing what His work has done, we are in the spacious place He prepared for us. It isn’t like the place He has for us in Heaven, because we’re still here, in this pain-dripping place of the world. But He has rescued us, He rescues us. We get to live in a spacious place where we are set free.

We think we fall into the water, away from His grasp, into waves of doubt, fear, pain. We think we are falling away, or we think that we have escaped grace, mercy, or truth.

But He already rescued us. He already pulled us out of the water. He already said, “Her. She’s mine. I delight in her. I’ll rescue her every day, every minute if I need to.” He pulls us into the spacious place.

And just because we fall once, just because we get swallowed for a moment into what this world has so cruelly handed us, does not mean we start from the bottom of the ocean all over again. It doesn’t mean that the waves swallow us whole, out of His palm, away from His kindness. It just means that for a moment, our gaze was pulled away from His eyes.

If He has taken a hold of you, you can’t run away from Him. He isn’t going anywhere, and frankly, neither are you. He’s in it for the long haul, for every moment, for all your mess ups, and for every time you think the waters are too heavy for you to breathe.

He delights in us, like a father delights in his daughter as she twirls around him, slips and falls, shouts in his face.

He never stops loving her.

He never stops loving you.

Terrifying & Beautiful

I met with a treasured friend last night and discussed freedom in Christ. It’s simple enough: Jesus died to give us freedom. “It is for freedom that Christ has set us free.”Of course we’re free.

It’s easy for us to understand. We were born into freedom. We’ve been able to do what we please with more freedom than others will ever see.

For us, freedom is being able to do as we please. It’s being able to dream about what kind of people we want to be. It’s being allowed to decide for ourselves what we can do this day and the next and everyday after.

But that’s not real freedom. That’s just freedom of choice. The freedom of Christ is much richer, much deeper than that.

This past fall I learned a lot about God and His character. How He works within us. One thing that shattered my preconceived ideas about Him was this:

All the dreams we have, the things we ache to do one day, the talents and passions we have? They all come from Him. The dreams we hope to achieve some day are most often not things we just come up with in our own heads. They’re from a God who intricately created us.

That’s the way God is. He is mysterious in a multitude of ways, but He is also willing to letting us in on what He wants to accomplish. He constantly does that in the Bible; before He does something, He often tells His people what He’s going to do and how He wants His people to join in.

If this is our God, if our God is the creator of dreams, our passions, and our talents, think of how limitless He is. We often dream of doing something we deem impossible because it seems so. But, what if those things are the things He wants to do? And what if we let Him?

In my own life, that’s what freedom has been like.

It feels difficult to fully explain, because freedom in God is like nothing else. It’s like jumping off of the highest cliff and falling softly through the air. Terrifying and beautiful.

Knowing that I am saved, protected by His grace and promise, that His mercy and love are continuously flowing through me, I should walk more freely. It should be in my footsteps. It should be in my mind. It should be in the works of my hands, the words of my mouth, the prayers of my soul.

I also think being free can be uniquely personal to each of us.

For me, it’s being able to believe that I can do things I should be unqualified to do. It’s being able to wear something because I love the way I feel in it, not because of what I hope someone else thinks of it. Freedom is being able to nourish my body with healthy food and also enjoy food that gives me serious joy. Freedom is being able to speak truth to people I love, even if I’m not certain of how they will respond. Freedom is not being afraid of what people think of me, rather, it’s being sure of who God says I am.

Freedom is being sure of what Christ has done, never what I can do despite Him.

So, how does this translate to you? This is me. I don’t think you can expect freedom to look identical to this.

I do think that freedom can be found. It’s found in the pages of His Word to us. It’s found in our prayers. It’s found in the quiet. It’s found when our life is pure chaos. Freedom is available to you, wherever you may be.

It already resides within you.

The Holy Spirit is upon you, and you have straight access to a holy God. You have freedom, for it is for freedom that Christ has set you free.