Pep Talk: The Road Ahead

Yesterday afternoon, I came across my journal from 2014-2015. I had been walking around, doing laundry, with my youngest in tow. He learned to walk recently, so he follows me around almost all the time, begging for me to hold him, or just to play. He found my journal and pulled it off the shelf and threw it to the side. I picked it up and slowly began to flip through the pages.

I don’t journal to form clear thoughts or tell stories. It’s how I pray 95% of the time, how I process what I’m reading in the Bible, how I address all of my troubles and fears. God meets me there.

I came across a day where I felt heavy with worry and fear. I was very early on in my pregnancy with Finn, Evan had just lost his job in the months prior, my second son, Asa, wasn’t sleeping through the night well as a 10 month old. I listed all of my fears in that moment.

I was reading through it while Finn crawled across my lap, stood up, and patted my shoulder. I looked around at my bedroom, covered with sheets to wash, blankets to fold, clothes to sort. I closed my eyes and breathed in the sacred goodness of this.

Sometimes looking back in the past makes me feel squeamish. I think of moments where I am appalled at my behavior, and my stomach sinks nearly to my feet. I think of my naivety, my lack of wisdom, my so-called knowledge. Sometimes the embarrassment of it is too much.

But that isn’t why I journal. Granted, journals from my high school/teen years are rough. They are sappy, dramatic, dripping with silly worries and shallow thoughts. There’s some good stuff too. But also highly embarrassing.

In that moment yesterday, He reminded me of His faithfulness to me. Every single fear or worry I listed in my journal on that day nearly two years ago has been resolved or vanquished. Every single one. I used to pray constantly that I would be able to nurse my youngest when he was born, because I never got a chance to really do that for my other two. And I did it, for a whole year. I prayed that we would be provided for, even if it seemed absolutely impossible. And we have been, every single day. I prayed I would have enough patience, love, and perseverance to mother my second son, even if he never slept a night in his life. And I have been able, even after all this time. I prayed that I would depend on the Lord, because my husband’s job was not a steady, reliable thing. And we have.

I’m not a shining example of faith, or an example of God answering all of my prayers. It isn’t that He gave me everything I wanted. It isn’t that at all. It is that He is everything I have ever needed, and reading my own words proved that to me.

He gave me patience, love, and understanding to be a mom to my son.
He gave us every crumb of food and penny and dime that we needed to pay bills and feed our children.
He gave me the perseverance in the hard days to nurse my third son for far longer than I dreamed I could.
He gave me a vision for His provision when the future looked so unsteady, unsure, and hazy.
He gave me everything I ever needed to vanquish fears, to shatter doubts, and to surpass understanding. 

I remember a lot of the times in between then and now, all of my tantrums, snowballing fears, and doubts. I am too much of a human to be perfect. But that’s proof that He doesn’t need anything from you or me. He doesn’t need us to never worry or never doubt or never be terrified in order to be good, sovereign, and holy. He just wants us to trust Him, believe Him when He says He will fulfill His promises.

The days are long. Your faith will be tested against the roughest waters, and you will want to give up. This is not worth it, you will think. But I’m here to say it is. Looking back, He has never failed me. And it has been so long! So many days, good, bad, ugly! He has never stopped being my Daddy, my sovereign King, my Provider, my Sustainer.

He will not fail you. He has not failed me. He doesn’t promise a perfect, easy road. But the future is bright. Eternity is waiting. Believe that. Trust Him.

Pep Talk: Excuses

Since becoming a blogger a few years ago, I have had quite a few people say, “You should really see if you can make money doing this!” It’s a flattering thought, but one that I have almost always shot down. My first thought was to always say that “the minute I’m writing for money is the moment I’m doing it for the wrong reasons.” Which could be true. But side note: I thoroughly enjoy excuses.

When I broke off my new relationship with my now-husband after a month or so of dating, I kid you not, I told him it was because I wanted to focus more on God. Partly true, in that, I did love Jesus. Mostly an excuse, in that, I was so scared to be somebody’s girlfriend.

I didn’t attend a women’s Bible study at my church ever until last week. Why? I’m good at excuses. “My kids are little.” “I don’t have the time.” “I might actually have to do some work to stay up to speed with what we’re studying.”

Can I be honest, and hope that you won’t judge me to death? I’m mostly scared. Of everything. Of being too much, being too vulnerable with people, of failing, of looking stupid, of believing that I am more valuable than what I say I am.

I don’t even want to toot my own horn. I don’t want people to really pay attention to me most days. The idea of being seen sometimes makes me want to close all my blinds and hide. That would be easy. That is something I could manage.

Being a writer for real? That could never happen.

Being married to a guy who loves Jesus more than he loves me? That could never happen.

Being in community with other women, putting myself in challenging positions to grow alongside others, and learning & studying the Bible with intention? That could never happen. 

You know how God works. He normally takes what we think is truth and shows us just how good, powerful, and surprising He is. Everything I listed above is my real time, real life life. And even though it’s reality, I still struggle to believe it’s really true. As though I don’t deserve it, I am not worthy, my value doesn’t measure up, or any other excuse in my book. He sets me free from this thinking of deserve, should & never. He speaks life.

Where things seem impossible, He is absolutely able.
When I doubt any bit of me, He comes through without fail.
And you best believe that He comes through in the ways that we don’t always plan. I like that about Him. He has no confines.

Whatever your excuse, do it anyways. Be that woman who walks in step with the Lord. Be that woman you think you can’t, because you best believe that He can. You can. You have the rights to eternity and the riches of heaven because you belong to a King. The value of your soul, the righteousness you couldn’t earn, it is not out of reach.

I enjoy my excuses, but He isn’t impressed by them. He only gets a wary woman and a half-hearted, “Love ya, Jesus.” I’m all for giving Him every drop of my being so I can love Him & love others well.

Whatever it is, believe you can. And then run with Him. He’ll match your every step.

Yelling with the Windows Open

I feel spiritually off, in a funk, and out of sorts. The past few days have been gloriously beautiful with warm weather abundant and lots of time in the sun running and laughing and enjoying life. It hit me as I was yelling (nearly at the top of my lungs) at my four-year-old with the windows wide open, giving every single neighbor of mine a good dose of what it’s like to be in this house. Funny, considering I don’t have much, if any, conversation with my neighbors. My husband, chatty Charles, is the one fit for that job. I cringe at the thought of all the awkward exchanges that could take place.

My skin is crawling right now just thinking about it.

I recoiled as I recollected my shouting, my crying kids, the heat of the day, the people who were probably listening with cupped ears thinking, “Holy crap, that woman over there who doesn’t talk to nobody sure is loud!” I wanted to send apologies and “But this isn’t how it always is!” to everyone within shouting distance. Because I’m sure they heard it. And I’m sure they were judging me for it. And I’m sure my palpable inadequacies were determining their thoughts on me.

I’m reading a book right now that is challenging me in all the hardest and most uncomfortable ways. It talked about being the woman who always apologizes, for everything. Who nearly apologizes for existing, as though it is an inconvenience to everyone. It’s something I feel more than I want to admit; I have rationalized a thinking that allows me to believe that I inconvenience others all the time, and I should never do that.

I don’t deserve the attention.
I don’t deserve to exist unreservedly.
I don’t get the privilege of real freedom because I’m too busy shackling myself to lies like these ones.

I yell at my kids. I say things to them that I regret immediately, and I sometimes do all of the above with the windows open. I apologize to them, and I do it because I know I need to. Those boys need to see that in me, the willingness to be lowly so that I can love them wholly.

But I don’t have to apologize for being this woman. This not-even-close-to-perfect woman. I cannot attain the best me because, surprise!, God already made me good just like this. This me right here is the best one yet. Everyday is better because everyday I am renewed by grace, seen through a crimson lens of forgiveness and sacrifice. I am wholly and humanly imperfect, but I am made holy and perfect by Jesus.

It’s good news isn’t it? I mess up on the daily, and every millisecond He is saying, “Girl, you are good. You are good because I made you. You are the best at being you because there IS no other you.”

Inconvenience? Hardly. Not even a little bit.

I’m just right for this job, for this life, for this me. He doesn’t make mistakes.

I Have Three Kids, I’m an Expert

…Right?

I wish. More like, “I have three kids, I care less about most things.” Should I give you examples of what that looks like? Do you care? Doesn’t matter, I’m sharing.

  1. I let my boys play with stupid junk, like the green stoppers they put in your Starbucks cup to keep it from spilling. Kind of gross, but they think it’s great. As long as no one is losing their eye, we are good.
  2. There’s crayon everywhere, but I’m to the point where it’s like, if you’re being quiet, at least make it sort of pretty. If it’s on the wall, at least make sure it’s on the wall that already has crayon on it so I don’t have to repaint two walls. Okay? (I don’t encourage wall coloring. In case you feel like questioning my parenting.)
  3. Do you need a bath? Unless you’re covered in dirt, pooped too much in your diaper and have it everywhere, or genuinely stink, you’re not getting a bath. Only exception: you’re driving me crazy, and bath time is my only way of coping.
  4. Nap time? Look, lay down. If you cry, I’ll soothe you. But you gotta figure that stuff out on your own after a certain point. Play until you pass out I guess. (Different rules for the four-year-old: lay down until your annoying loud breathing in the hallway is unbearable, and I let you come sit on the couch with me, i.e. skip nap time.)
  5. They watch a movie during lunch every single day. For some reason it speeds up their eating, and I don’t have to help with every single bite. Also, lunch in general is almost always the same meal. PB&J or cheese toasties. Or a smorgasbord of lunch meat, cheese, carrots, and various fruits and veggies. I ain’t got time for leftovers because EVERYBODY HATES IT.
  6. If you need to cry/whine/yell/get mad at me for being a disciplinarian, then do it in your room. K.
  7. Dress yourself. Sure. But for the love of all that is good, you are not wearing the same socks four days in a row. I am NOT scrubbing out your toe jam.

Anything you want to add? Have a great week!

Photo by my sister-in-law, Krista

Polished Silver

I had this moment the other night that took its time gripping me. It wrung me out with a truth that sent me to my knees.

I say it often, and I think it daily:  Jesus is the prize. If he isn’t the prize, then I have missed the mark. It doesn’t matter what it is. If it’s in cooking dinner. Loving my children. Decorating my house. Driving my car. Planting flowers. Talking to friends. In everything that I do, in all that I have or give, Jesus is the prize. He is the reason for my life.

I’ve said it so often recently that it’s almost become monotonous. Not as monumental as the moment I took it and ran. A truth that slowly had begun to feel dull, as though I wasn’t polishing my silver enough.

Let’s look back to the cross for the moment, the definitive event in Christianity. Jesus took the sins of the world upon his shoulders, was mocked, scorned, beaten, and nailed to a cross to die. “Forgive them Father, for they know not what they are doing.”

And I’ve considered this hundreds of times, I am sure: How much Jesus must have loved me at that time, or the words to the song How Great Thou Art playing through my mind. Another truth that grows duller with time. I neglect to polish it in my efforts to remember.

It’s easy to say that He loves us. It’s written so many times in the Bible. But I want to remind you of this:

As you think of Jesus as the prize, remember that you are His prize.

You are a prize.

Don’t believe it? Remember the cross. He didn’t die just for the show, sweet friend. He died to win you. To love you.

Polish your truths with me.
Remember why we can live the way we live.
Let His radiance shine like silver.
You are His prize, sister. And He loves you.

When God Says Yes

Over the weekend, Evan and I got to celebrate our five year anniversary. It turned out to be a pretty magical weekend of solitude, just us, taking a trip and spending time together without our boys. The last time I was away from all three of my kids was when I had my gallbladder removed in July last year. Nearly nine months ago!

We got married on a Friday evening, and didn’t leave for our honeymoon until Sunday. So after our wedding night, we went out to breakfast at a great restaurant here in Fort Wayne. And this past week, we did the same thing, only five years later.

On our drive there, we talked about how incredible life has been since that morning five years ago. What if someone had told me then that we would have three boys now? That I would drive a minivan? That my husband would be working from home full-time? That our life would look just as it does? I could feel the panic rising from the stomach, just as I know it would have if someone could’ve told me all this five years ago. I know that I would be shaking my head saying, “No way! You are kidding! I mean…there’s just no way. Seriously.”

Let me be frank. I am blessed beyond belief. I know that what I have other people long for, and I wish other people had the joy I find in the people I get to call my tribe. I didn’t wait on bended knee until I had babies in my lap, a man at my side, a house to live in, a mini van to drive. And some people do, they beg with God to bless them in such ways, and it seems that He is holding out on them. Sometime we wait for yes’s that He isn’t ready to give.

You know what I have waited for, for years? A yes from God?

Comfort. Materialistic comfort.

For years, I have fought the battle of hating our minimal, frugal lifestyle. I don’t know how many times I have said to Him, “But if we just had more of _____, THEN…” I have waited for Him to say yes. And He hasn’t. Maybe He won’t. It has taken most of the five years of my marriage for me to get to a point where I can look to the Heavens and say, “It is well. I am okay. You will give me a yes when You are ready for a yes.” And if He never does, then He never does. And He will still be good.

But He said yes to me in the form of my husband. He said yes to three beautiful, rambunctious boys. He said yes to good health. He said yes to a whole boatload of people who surround us and love us. He said yes to me having 10 fingers and 10 toes. He said yes to giving me life.

Sometimes He says no. He doesn’t give to me everything I ask.

It isn’t that He’s keeping me from joy. If that’s my thinking, then my eyes are fixed on a prize that will deteriorate in time.

It isn’t that He’s keeping me from having the best life. If that’s my thinking, I have missed the meaning of my life. He gave me the best life when He died 2000 years ago. He even says He will provide for me, just as He provides for the birds of the air and the flowers of the field.

It isn’t that He doesn’t love me. If that’s my thinking, then I have forgotten that He promises to love me forever. That He has promised me a place with Him in Heaven, that He gave His Son for me, that He would move mountains to find me, that He relishes in my attention, my words to Him.

It is that He knows me better than I know myself. You know, He knew of me when He created the world. He knew my name, the mole on my neck, the size of my toes. Whatever He gives to me, whatever His yes’s are, the reason is perfect. Whatever He withholds from my grasp, whenever He says no, the reason is perfect. It may not be perfect from the worldly perspective, but from the view of eternity, I know He works all things for His good.

He is what matters, after the day ends. After my boys are asleep, after I kiss my husband goodnight, after I turn the lights out in my house. It’s because of Him. He said yes. And for every yes, for every no, I still sing His praise. Even after all this time.

Photo by my brother, Josh Hoering, from our wedding day.

 

Because of You

I’ve been praying, trying to find where God wants me to go. In what I write. In what I give away to glorify Him. He’s whispering a prompting of, “Go there. The place that is hard for you. The place that you are raw.”

I remember a night when I was 17, a night I spent visiting a new youth group at a church I had begun to attend. Truthfully, I was hoping to get closer to a guy that I liked, but I was also fully on board with getting closer to Jesus with a new group of people my age. We talked about seasons of life that night. I shared a lot more than I had originally hoped to, but I opened up about feeling like I was on my own in my faith. There wasn’t a whole lot of influence from other people except for a few friends. I remember thinking that my life felt like the end of a winter right before a crisp spring, where the ground slowly awakens and growth appears from the frost.

When I was dating my first serious boyfriend (and soon-to-be husband), I struggled with the idea of sharing my faith fully with someone else. I had worked for years to cultivate a rich fulfillment in Jesus, and a huge part of me was scared that I would lose the quality of it. I wasn’t sure the man I loved would love Jesus as much as I did. I was infatuated with God. I wanted to do more for Him all the time.

I had this crooked idea for a long time that my faith was something I had created. That the tabs sticking out all over my Bible marking important verses were signs of a true love for the Lord. That the more I journaled, the more I would love Him. The more I worshipped with arms raised, the closer He would be to me. That the more that I shared my vulnerability, my pain, my frustrations, the more real I would be. But it quickly become a facade. Just something to hide behind.

I don’t know about you, my friend. But I know about me. I know what is hardest for me. And this is it:  I didn’t create myself.

It’s hard for me to believe. I like to think that I created my desire for God by being a fiery teenager with a faith that burned bright like the lamp Jesus called us to be. I like to think that I am the one who is great at worshipping Jesus, lifting hands, loving my King with song. I like to think that I was the one that cultivated the talents of writing and journaling. I did that. I made myself.

I spent a lot of time in my late teens and early twenties believing that what I worked towards in my faith was what made me great. But you know what shatters that? The simple fact that God Himself, standing alone, does not need me. He doesn’t need my talents. Or my fiery faith. He is a God who holds planets in His fingertips. His power is unmatched.

And yet. And yet! Although He doesn’t need me, He sure does want me. He loves me. He loves me like fire on gasoline and lightening in the humid summer sky. He loves me like the wind tears through my hair and the skies opening up in storm. He loves me fierce and hard and more fiery than the faith of my 17-year-old self. He loves me more.

And He made me. He made every bit of me, and He made the intricate parts of me. Like my writing and journaling, my love for underlining words in the Bible and place tabs all over. Like my hands lifted as high as they can go and tears stinging my eyes as words like “Hallelujah!” and “You will be praised!” escape my lips. Like the parts of my spirit that long to be open, honest, and transparent with my peers. The parts of me that yearn for closeness to Him. The parts of me that ache for His presence. Every inch of my being is known to Him. Created by Him. And every bit of my faith was His working.

Let that be known to you. Let that resonate with you. That God, who you long for, is the reason you feel close. Not because you crossed a barrier. Or because you did something great. It’s because He loves you, He adores you, and He is creating a faith that lasts because you are letting Him.

Give Him the greatest credit.

Yes, Jesus, you have done a work in me that is never-ending. Some days are harder, some easier. Sometimes faith feels like my work, but let me remember it isn’t. I cannot earn my keep with You. You already covered me in sacrificial blood and said, “Her. She is mine.” And my longing for You was created by You. My love for You, it is because of You. And all of this? I couldn’t have made something this beautiful. I didn’t make this. You made it all. All because You loved me first.