Life Update

Guys, it’s been a while since I’ve had a life update for you. Talking at you can be fun, but only if you’re listening. Talking with? So much better. Let’s just talk life.

A few weeks ago, Evan and I were talking about things. Life things. Business things. Writing things. Before I dive into it, I just want to fess up that it’s funny to think about a time when we weren’t such huge fans of our big dreams. Evan worked a full time job that stunk. I hung out with the kids all the time. Two great, fruitful things. But I’ll say it now and I will say it for the rest of my life:  the day he lost his job was the day everything changed for us, in the best way. The hardest way? Absolutely. But I am praising God. Over and over and over. When you’re in the thick of questioning how bills will get paid, it is hard to see the purpose for all of it. Being on the other side, man, yes Lord. You did us so good by giving us trials.

So we were talking things, things as in our big life dreams and goals. And we both agreed:  we are just on the edge. Like riding a roller coaster, we’ve reached the top of a really big hill, and things are about to go quickly and sharp turns are coming, and we just feel the anticipation building. We knew that God had something significant coming our way.

  • Serving in the junior high ministry at our church has been so awesome. It challenges us daily, and we love those kids. So much. Getting to teach them is an honor.
  • Evan is busy working, and yes, Lord. Praise You for making a way that is lined with great people, new friends, and incredible opportunities.
  • I am writing constantly, and Lord! You’re outdoing yourself in me, and I am thankful. I am letting Him do work in me that I stifled for so long! If you’ve got a thing, a thing you aren’t sure how it will work or if it will work, let Him do it. Let Him work. He does it well and steadfast, and He will not fail to fulfill the work in you until it’s complete.
  • I have found my women, and Lord knew, they are all over the place. In so many places at my church. In places on the Internet. Here. At Target. Lord, thank you for all these women. Thank you for bringing me the ones who know me, get me, push me, call me up. Praise You for doing a work in them and a work in me, together. Ladies, I love you all.
  • He’s pushing me to dream big, huge. Massive. Bigger than I can understand, and in ways that make me extra scared. I start to question the logistics, and it’s in those moments that I know the dreams are right. They’re so big I can’t even put them to logic? Oh boy, yes Lord. Let’s make those happen, because those are the ones where You do a work that is out of this world.

This fall has been crazy and busy and glorious, and in all of it, I want to just get to my knees. Lift my hands. He is such a good God.

Our boys are growing, Finn is certainly not a baby anymore, even though I call him Baby Finn every day. Liam loves school, has learned so much already, and is absolutely an artist. He draws new pictures every day. I know this does not come from me, because my artistic ability is horrid, but that’s not the point. This year I created a private Instagram account just for their artwork. I can’t keep everything, but I take a picture of just about everything they make or draw, and I’m planning to get a book made each year. Plus, because it’s private, only family follows, and it’s so fun being able to share with them what we’re making each day.

Asa… my sweet boy. He was my rainbow baby. He’s now such a sweet, funny, kind, and social boy. He’s always twirling my hair, telling me he loves me, snuggling me close in the morning. He loves so hard, and I just want to hold him forever. He’s smaller than his little brother, and his kisses are top notch.

Next week I turn 26. Thoughts on this: closer to 30, I sound old now, who cares about being 26?, I’m actually still 18 right because what. I am 26? Twenty-five proved to be my favorite age. I felt like I found myself. And now 26…I cannot wait to see what the year holds. Big things are coming. I feel that in my bones.

We are so blessed. I wish I could show everyone a window into the past two years just so I could give them proof that God fulfills His promises. Always. His promise to make Evan a freelance designer? Done. His promise to make me a writer? Done. His promise to provide for us even when we didn’t see the money? Done. His promise to grow us closer? Done. His promise to grow us as parents? Done. His promise to never leave us, especially when it’s hard and even when it’s easy? Done. Done. Done. He does not fail. We are never not blessed.

God get’s all the glory. I’m here because He is good. Yes, Lord. Thank you for this life.

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Competition, Intimidation & Comparison

Do you ever find yourself looking at someone else and thinking, Man, Christianity–this whole relationship-with-God thing–looks so good on her? Outwardly, you’re trying to actually feel joy and happiness for her, because she seems to get it. But really, you’re pretty annoyed. Like, she makes it looks easy. Effortless, even. Her screw ups are probably minuscule compared to my own.

Can we step back for a moment? I know, I’m asking a lot from you as a reader. But I promise you this is ridiculously important.

When I was a new wife, I was in the bliss of marriage and a new pregnancy. I felt unstoppable, in that, there didn’t seem to be much missing from my life. It was blissful. It was a joyous time. I was actually only a year or two out of being a teenager, and I truly wanted to appear like I had my life figured out. Plus I had a great church. And we had just bought our first house. I even worked at a job that challenged my faith in great ways. See, blissful and joyous.

I was actually comparing myself to every other woman, mom, and mom-to-be. I was looking at other non-pregnant women and thinking about how they must feel so well-rested while I felt like an exhausted sea lion. I overlooked every woman who might have wanted to be my friend because I wanted to perfect the way my life looked more than invest in letting people see me and my life in all of its imperfect glory. I saw the “competition” and thought, Jesus and motherhood look so good on her. Effortless. Joyful. Truly, I was so annoyed that she looked more complete than me.

I didn’t see what I was doing when I was doing it. I didn’t hate anyone, I never wanted anyone to not succeed. I just never wanted to get vulnerable and honest about it, because no one stepped up and did that for me. I don’t blame anyone but myself. I could’ve been the first one. Instead, I waited for years. Just long enough for what seemed like the “right time”. I see it now: the right time was the exact moment when I looked at other women as my competitors.

Step back for a minute. That woman who intimidates you with her powerful love for Jesus and joy? What if we wiped away your preconceived notions about her? That freedom you long for–the freedom that means you don’t have to worry about what anyone thinks of you–what if we grasped the truth that that freedom is not out of reach for you? You think confidence resides in the outfit you wear and the way your kids behave in public–can we put that to bed right now? Can we clean off our slates and get rid of our comparisons, fears, and whatever is making us say, “But…” or “Yeah, but, what if…”? Let’s do that. Right now. Shed it. Get rid of it.

Okay, so, if none of these fears exist, if none of our concerns about confidence, intimidation, or comparison are in our face, how does this change us? What kind of women do we become when we aren’t competitors?

I see my friend across the room–who is now my friend, mind you, because remember? I shed my fear of thinking about how she is such an amazing woman of God–and I go up to her and give her a hug and tell her that I am grateful for her. I see Jesus in her. And her presence, here in this room, is calling me up to step it up a notch. To meet Jesus where He is calling me, which is right next to this awesome woman.

What is it that we can afford? What kind of women can we afford to be, if we’re women who claim Christ as our King?

But…

I can afford to be a woman who gives Jesus just enough for it to be called a relationship with Him. I can afford to keep my same friends close, to only get real with those who actually know me. I can afford to be lukewarm about a Jesus I love because I don’t have much to risk. I have so much comfort, I could be lounging in a room of pillows.

You know who can’t afford that? This world, and all the women in it. Maybe you can afford to give just a little bit, but the women who are standing in your church or in your workplace are standing there, looking around, might be thinking, Look at her. Look at how poised she is. She seems to love Jesus. I wonder what that must be like. You can afford to be lackluster because you’ve already taken the leap of faith. Now that you’re on the other side, it’s easy to live each day as if you have the world as your playground, and the other women are just comparisons, competition, and intimidation. But there are women who see you, friend. They wonder what is different about your life. And would you believe me if I said that they want to clear off their slate, just as much as you?

Let’s do that again. Get rid of your preconceived notions about that woman. The one you know or the one you don’t, the one who definitely doesn’t care about Jesus, and the one who does. You know who she is to Jesus? A precious daughter. He shed blood for her. She is worth more to Him than anything on this earth, just as you are worth more to Him than anything on this earth.

You only think you can afford to be a woman who holds faith like a handbag, but I can promise you are not. You are that woman. The one who has a faith that can make the world say, Man, faith in Jesus looks so good on her. Because it’s on you. His blood is on you, sister. You have a name to uphold, and it is not your own.

Let’s take our slates, one more time. Let’s just throw those out the window. There are women in your life right now who are waiting for your vulnerability. They’re waiting for you to call them up, to join them, to rally with them, and to step this all up a few more notches. You can do that. You know why? Because you can afford to.

If you can afford to cross a room and risk the reputation of your own name for a King who already sees Himself in you, why wouldn’t you? And what are you waiting for?

Slates out the window. Preconceived notions trampled on the floor. Comparisons disintegrated. What kind of woman are you going to be today? And what woman are you going to befriend because of it?

Created for Eternity

Sunday night, I was sick. Horribly sick. I laid in bed and drifted in and out of the worst sleep, feeling like death. Not enough to actually die, but pretty sure that this was close enough. Yesterday I woke up feeling slightly more human, with an empty stomach and an exhausted mind. Even though my fever was gone, I was 100% not ready to go back to normal.

Last week, I had the worst bug. The comparison bug. That one knocked me out cold for the rest of the week. I hate to admit it, and frankly I still don’t want to, but I am easily defeated by my own mind. By that, I mean I see what everyone else is doing and look at my work and think, “Uh, nope. This is not good. This is not as good as that. I am a joke.”

Another confession, I have been stressed a little. The only good thing about stress in my life is its ability to remove any facade I’ve got going on that I ignore. When I stress, it is easier to say what feels difficult and what gives me this annoying stress in the first place.

My girl Beth Moore said this on twitter this week, and it was like wave of water hit me in the face: “So, that thing you were so excited about turned out to be harder than you dreamed. Things that matter always are. ENDURE. Harvest will come.” Beth. BETH. Did you know you hit me right in the feels, at a pivotal moment of my dramatic, buggy week? I was aiming for wallowing in frustration, and then you knocked me right out of it.

Look, we’ve all got this. We all have hard weeks, moments when we feel like we deserve the sucky parts of our life, or moments when we think we don’t actually deserve the harvest that is sure to come. You want to give up? Me too. I thought I had this. I thought this path was going to be lined with overflowing fruit, but guess what? I can’t see the fruit yet. Instead, I feel like a lonely little writer girl who has just a great God and a quiet path. And I want to let my head droop and give the ground more attention than the heavens.

It’s harder than we dreamed, isn’t it? We find Jesus, and we hope for sunshine and butterflies, maybe even the elusive “clear path” where all decisions are easy to decipher. I know I’m being cynical, but here’s what I want you to know because I want to know it too: There is nothing, nothing, nothing more important than the ground I stand on right now. There is nothing more important than where Jesus puts me. There is nothing more important than standing right here with eyes up to Him, waiting for His guidance, or following His lead, or just being happy to be His girl. To love Him. To praise Him. It’s harder than we dreamed because it’s the most important thing we’ll ever do with our life. Not my lengthy blog posts about this and that. Those don’t matter. What matters is my relationship with Jesus. What matters is giving Him every bit of my free time because He gave me His Son’s life. I read this today in my devotional: God did not create you for time; He created you for eternity. Can I say that again? God did not create you for time; He created you for eternity.

How are you feeling today? It’s harder than we dreamed, isn’t it? Things that matter always are. You’re not alone. But He didn’t create us for doing our own thing, making our own name famous. He made us to make Him the most famous and recognizable of them all. Pressure’s off. You can make it. We’re in this together.

Let It Be Quiet

The rain fell after a hot day. The sun broke through the clouds ever so slightly, the leaves acting as curtains as the sun peeked between them. The rain fell in heavy drops, hitting the pavement, sinking into soil and seeping into roots everywhere.

We hadn’t received rain in weeks, and the ground was aching. The grass was turning. At the slightest hint of moisture, the blades perked up, welcoming the needed nourishment.

I stood in the middle of it. It was the quietest my day had been; with three boys running at my feet, the sound of the rain was a like a baptism back into sanity. It was too picturesque, the way the rain fell. The way the sun hit the leaves and splashed across the puddles. I looked around and the glory of it hit me like a wave. Maybe you don’t often wonder what heaven is like, but in that moment, that felt like heaven. Not the “heaven” of having time just for myself, which is heavenly for a mom like me, but rather, the eternity we get with the Father. The peace of being with Him for all of time. The quiet and stillness of His creation being just as He created it.

Let it be quiet. Find it somewhere in the day. For me, it meant standing in the middle of the rain.

To be quiet is to let our thoughts rest, to give our missions a moment to stand still. We all have places to be, people to tend to, things to check off the list.

God created the rain, and it does its job well to water the grass, the plants, and the flowers. That day it fell quietly, without a to-do list and without a thought of where exactly it was going to hit the earth. It was His creation, being just as He created it. We don’t have to tell the rain what to do. We get quiet, and we let it be.

My son stuck his hand out the door to feel the rain on his arms. His brother followed suit, because that’s what brothers do. For just a moment, all was quiet. The gravity of eternity was hitting me, and I knew that the Father had achieved what He was aiming for. To-do lists were quiet. Places and people and things were silent. All I could hear was the smile on His lips as I was enveloped in a moment of His creation being just as He created it. And that included me.

The Lord your God is with you,
he is mighty to save.
He will take great delight in you,
he will quiet you with his love,
he will rejoice over you with singing.
Zephaniah 3:17

My Sons’ Inheritance

I don’t know how I wound up in a world like this. I’m tired of waking up to a hashtag with a name I shouldn’t know. The call to action is fierce, and my own silence is cruel. We get to be too lucky, and I don’t know how much I like that.

Where I feel called to lead strong and encourage well, I also feel convicted to accept what is. When you’re young enough to hear the terms, “I can’t imagine what this world will be like for our children,” you shrug it off and ignore it. It’s easy, when you’re young. Time is a friend, outside circumstances cannot harm us when we’re protected by the adults who love us. But I’m hearing those words come out of my own mouth often. Weekly. I am avoiding the news because my heart can’t possible handle this heartache. I don’t want to be desensitized to murder. I don’t want my boys to be found in a home where it can be overlooked.

Some days, like this day, I want to crush my phone and all that the Internet has given me. I ache for a time where there is peace and comfort and true satisfaction, but I know that’s just the longing for heaven within me. This world isn’t my home, and I want to be sure I remember it. Wear it. Believe it. It makes it more palpable to be here where hate and murder are far too common.

It’s in my sons’ nature to fight, wrestle, and hit. Every single day we have encounters with time out and discipline because they don’t know how to always be kind. I’ve got a job to teach them, so we revisit the idea of kindness day in and day out. The hashtags on my twitter feed prompt me so.

Fact is, I know that they will never be perfect. They’ll mess up, too, and eventually they will have to deal with it on their own. Right now, the amount of discipline needed to keep them partially in line seems unending. But I remember a mother who lost her son today, even women who don’t even get lucky enough to have a son or daughter at all, and I close my mouth and stifle the thought of the “burden” these boys are to me. What a generous blessing it is to help the next generation so directly.

The lump in my throat seizes, thinking of the world these boys will inherit. I don’t want to admit it, but I don’t envy them. They’ll need to be stronger than me. Bolder in some ways. Able to love better in ways I struggle. I can’t teach them all things, and at that, the weight on my chest lifts some, and I breathe in relief. God equips, He enables, He does all the work.

I woke up today with all my boys in my lap, at my feet, anticipating a bowl of cereal. People are murdered every day. And in these days, we are more aware of a race problem, everyone’s opinion about it, the headlines, the demands for justice, the pleas for the innocent. I woke up and wanted to weep at my children’s feet because I frankly don’t want this for them. I don’t want them to encounter the havoc and chaos that has arrived. But it’s too late for me to mourn; the reality is this, and I have sons to equip.

I bow my head to pray and lift it in reverence. I know that my responsibility is to be present, and to teach these boys to be men who aren’t raging for the world to hear them. I have a King to serve, and I have a little audience at my feet, waiting for cereal, hoping to sit with me in their pjs. They don’t know what this world is like just yet. And when they find out, I hope they seize their chest in righteous anger and leave it to God to rage. That they shed their opinion and seize the truth of His Word and spread love like wildfire. I hope and pray that they can see men and women through the lenses of a Father who loves us all, immeasurabley.

Their inheritance will be heavy, but their King will be stronger.

Fighting for Eternity

I used to be a really good liar. Well, maybe not a “talented” liar, but I was a habitual one. I would lie about being sick, so I didn’t have to go to school. I lied on AOL Instant Messenger about my age. Eventually, a lie would come out of my mouth, and the taste of it made me think, Why am I doing this, again? So I stopped.

My four-year-old, though, recently took up lying as a side gig. He’s so good at it that he’s actually gotten away with some things he shouldn’t have. Maybe it’s truer to say I’ve always believed him up until this point because he wasn’t a liar. And now, sometimes he is.  My mom intuition can sense it. He looks away from me and avoids the conversation. But I don’t let it go. I can’t. I’ve got a man to raise, who I plan to arm with integrity. And I also plan to give him eyes for eternity.

Yesterday at church, my pastor pointed that out: the importance of valuing others and their eternity. The mission is easy to see for me. I will fight for my boys to see the value of their eternity with Jesus until I can’t say a word, and the dirt muffles me.

But there is more. I’ve given God a space in my heart, and He has set a heavy, important call on my heart. He’s inviting me in to connect with women in ways I just can’t dream up. He’s pulling me close in these moments to send me out like an arrow, and I can feel it, the weight of His armor and weapons. I cannot ensure the salvation of anyone. But I can fight the hell out of it and fight for the eternity of women I am called to. I can’t even ensure the salvation of my boys, and I want to be loud about it until I die. In this, I hear God: Value all souls the same as you value your sons’. Fight for my people to see the value of their eternity with Me until you can’t say a word, and the dirt muffles you.

Don’t stop fighting for the glory of the Kingdom. It doesn’t mean waging wars against sinners. I’m one of those. It means fighting to hem in those we care for, to bring them into the fold of our Creator, and giving them the sight for eternity. When our eyes are fixed on it, He can take center stage. He can fix me up to send me out, and He does what only He can do.

Do what He has called you to, and do it fiercely. Love. Give people a chance. Welcome them into your heart and give them reason to believe you mean it. God did the same with you, friend, and He wants you more than you’ll ever want a thing on this earth.

I’m fighting. Are you?

Worth the Risk

I was telling my life group last night that the past two weeks for me have just been crazy. Where my plate once held only the duties of loving and caring for my children and doing things around my house, it is now filled to the brim with so many wonderful things. And just when I think it’s full, God lays something else in my lap.

It feels satisfying to do. To not just have simple duties (which I love), but to have more of the things that I care deeply for and feel passionately about right here in front of me, ready to pour my heart into.

I’m also scared out of my mind that I’m going to fail. Or that one day I’ll wake up, and the words won’t flow like they have been.

I won’t be able to write, I’ll fail a friend, I won’t lead in a way that honors God. Something. I’m almost scared that it’s lurking right around the corner, and this dreamy place of being right in the middle of His glory is just a big sham. A rug pulled from under my feet.

It’s worth the risk, don’t you think? The risk of being an utter failure in front of everyone. It’s worth my blushing, embarrassment, blubbering to see the Kingdom reach even farther. It’s worth the risk of landing flat on my face if someone out there learns to love Him.

I’m trying to use wisdom and discernment to take on what I can in this season of life and to be a leader where I am called. In some places, I feel like an absolute fraud. (Can I be real about doing a giveaway, for a hot second? I feel downright silly promoting that, because I’ve never done that before. But I’m doing it. Because why in the world not! The Kingdom gets furthered, somehow, someway, and the risk? Me looking dumb? I’ll take it!)

Lord, let me get to the step on this staircase to You where I can lay down my pride and joy of being praised and become invisible. I want them all to look right past me. I pray they all miss me and all see You. Let my words leave the world changed, not because I said them. But because You put them on my lips.