JANELLE DELAGRANGE

4 Ways to Love Better

Today, my number one turns 25.

Hold on, let’s look back for just a moment..

SUCH BABIES! But absolutely smitten.

I’m celebrating this guy today, and if he’s taught me anything (and really, he’s one of the smartest people I know. I learn new things everyday.) it’s how to love well. I thought I’d compile a short list of what Evan has taught me over the years.

1. Go out of your way to be kind.

It really doesn’t matter where we are, Evan will strike up a conversation with anyone. It used to drive me crazy until his habits starting rubbing off on me.

He always says thank you, always asks how someone’s day is, always looks people in the eyes and smiles, and if you’re lucky (which is almost all the time), he’ll make you laugh too.

We’re always spending just a few minutes longer in checkout lines because we’re learning about our cashiers and being kind. The punctual side of me used to constantly say, “Come on, we need to goo…” but I’ve witnessed just how valuable it is to love people in the ways Evan does. Even if it means talking just a little bit longer. It makes a difference.

2. Say what you need to say.

I am a runner. When I get angry or upset, I want to run into another room and shut the door. And every time, Evan runs after me. Most times, he catches me by the arm before I get away. He makes me talk, and he makes me say whatever I need to so we can take the next step in the right direction. Again, another thing that used to drive me crazy.

But honestly? He loves me too much to let me stew in anger, frustration, sadness, or anything too big for my little heart.

Say what you need to. It may hurt, it may be a struggle, it may take a few minutes. But don’t let things go unsaid. And if what comes out is unloving, pray for God to coat your ears with grace. We cannot recommend the Love & Respect series enough when it comes to stuff like this.

3. Serve.

Do things for the people you love. Serve them in ways that may not even seem like service.

Evan sometimes vacuums the floor or cleans the counters. I know he’s not necessarily doing it for me (and can you believe, I used to feel offended by it, thinking he was secretly telling me I wasn’t doing enough housework), but it serves me so well. Some days I’m just trying to keep three boys alive and not yelling at each other, so cleaning any surface feels like way too big of a project. Or he makes the best egg sandwiches for dinner because I don’t want to make anything. Or he gets me a glass of water.

It’s the little things.

4. Choose joy.

I don’t quite know how to explain it, but I know that Evan chooses joy everyday. He never really has bad days, and when he does, he consciously chooses to turn it around. I think it’s safe to say he’s the most optimistic person I’ve met. We’ve had rough times, some down-trodden days. But he’s almost always first to flip the bad on its head. And he loves crazy well because of it.

Loving well is a choice everyday. And I am way too lucky to get to witness it in action all the time because my husband is just so good at it.

I’m grateful for you, Evan. Thanks for showing me how great it is to love people. Happy birthday, Hot Stuff.

Love you always.

Better Than Me

You split the sea so I could walk right through it.
You drown my fears in perfect love.

I was stumbling along my path today, just trying to make it to a moment when I could sit in the quiet and rest. It isn’t immediately apparent just how much I carry until I actually try to put it down, to put it to the side, or to pretend as though it doesn’t exist. We all have baggage, you know? People, events, things from our past that make their reappearance every so often.

I reached a moment in my path today where I lifted this baggage and looked at it in the face. I don’t want this stuff anymore, keeping me from running harder towards my Creator. It certainly makes me stronger, but it doesn’t serve me. It only serves the lies that make me think I don’t deserve to be loved by a King.

You know what I’m afraid of? I’m afraid that it’s my job to be the salvation, to be the answer to people’s problems, and if I can’t find that answer, no one will. I’m afraid that it’s my burden to love people the most.

Stumbling. Falling. The weight of it is too much.

I read something yesterday that wrecked my idea of the cross:

“Jehovah God, who spoke the world into being, thinks that your life is better than His Son’s. That’s why He laid down His life for you, so that you could be free to know a love that is better than life.”

I can’t love like that. I just can’t. I mess up too much, and I let people down too often. I lifted this baggage and looked at it and realized I was carrying a God-sized burden, a weight that He can handle gracefully. For years. I have been trying to love people in ways that isn’t possible.

I have been afraid to fail, but He’s already interceded on my behalf, in ways that I can’t fully comprehend. He loves deeper than I ever have or ever will. I’ve been searching for answers when the answer has been right here, saying, “Here. I can carry it all.” And He does. He split seas for me. He drowns my fears. He gave everything up for me. Oh Father, love the people I love just like that. Do it better than me.

Devotion & Triumph: His Girl

“This is how we make important changes–barely, poorly, slowly. And still, He raises His fist in triumph.”
– Anne Lamott, Small Victories

I used to believe that faith in Christ, having a relationship with God, was something that crashed over us in a massive wave. An incredibly loud, huge moment in time where a flash of light beamed across one’s vision, and the truth of how great God is became one’s reality. I used to believe that.

I remember the night vividly. I stood in a crowd of students, next to a friend I brought with me, when a girl approached me with a warm smile on her face. She asked, “Have you accepted Christ yet?” And I said no. I looked to my friend, and she said, “Go!” I felt it in my whole being, every inch of me tingling with the tug of the Holy Spirit, beckoning me to grab hold of grace and never let go. The moment came as a tidal wave, washing away all of the stains, leaving me clean. For me, it was a big moment. Huge.

But, I was twelve. I was hungry for God, hungry for faith, desperate for something that would give me meaning. I don’t know how someone so young can long for those things, but I did. I was lucky enough to find Christ at a time when it would shape the biggest decisions of my life. I am grateful that He invaded my heart at such a young age.

It isn’t always easy, and it certainly isn’t as simple for others as it was for me. Some spend years, decades, of their life without giving God another glance. Some would rather pretend He doesn’t exist at all. And that’s okay; seeing God and believing He is who He says He is demands every bit of our soul. It takes a lot of time. It takes a willing heart. He isn’t interested in only a little bit of attention or mediocre devotion, and we know that. How many times I have backed away from Christ because I am embarrassed by my lack of enthusiasm, my disinterest, my inattentiveness…I feel it in my bones, the resounding, “No, no, child. I want all of you. All of you.”

It’s a devotion that some cannot muster. It takes years for others. And somehow, in my twelve-year-old mind and heart, I mustered an unwavering devotion. Faith of a child. I stumbled, backed away, hid behind life on and off throughout the years. My unwavering devotion turned into lackluster approaches, clouded prayers, scoffs at the thought of “quiet time” as my home and my life soon morphed into a toy-infested and booger-filled noise fest. I hid behind the wall that said, “Maybe later” almost everyday. Because that was easier. I knew He wanted more from me, and I knew I wasn’t interested in giving it.

It isn’t just about the big moments, the crashing waves of realization, the explosive outbursts of “AMEN!”. It’s in the quiet of my heart when chaos surrounds me, and I am closing my eyes so I may see more clearly. It is in the “barely, poorly, slowly”. In the inching towards the great call of the Lord, in the pauses to catch my breath, in the exhaustion. In the running, the fleeing, the hiding. In the cries. In all of it.

Child, I want all of you. Every bit of you. The parts that hurt, the parts you want to hide, the parts that don’t match, the parts you’re proud of. And in your moving towards Me, whether it be in the inching or the running, I raise My fist in triumph.

He’s proud of me. I’m His girl. He makes me triumphant. Even if it’s slowly, poorly, barely. I’ve made it here, and I can feel the smile on His face.

Love Thyself

I’ve never really cared about Valentine’s Day. I even broke up with my husband the day after Valentine’s Day, a few weeks after we first started dating. (At least it turned out okay.) When I was in high school, you could buy a rose made from Hershey’s Kisses to send to someone on Valentine’s Day. And I never got one because 1. Janelle didn’t date anyone in high school except for Evan (who went to a different school), and 2. See number one.

But, in light of this holiday, I figure I should touch base on the topic of love, even if it only relates to oneself.

You know what I’m great at? Like number one? Loving my kids and making sure they are taken care of. I do everything in my power to make sure (except for those rare days when I could care less if they are clean) that they are healthy, happy, and presentable humans. I rock at that.

It got me thinking, this “being number one at making sure everyone else is feeling great” thing. What if I treated myself the way I treated them? They get the best, always, because they are worth it to me. Sadly, I have allowed myself to not think of myself in the same way.

Now, in some cases, this is difficult due to financial reasons, time limitations, or some other reason. Not everyone (including myself) can afford to treat yoself. But, that isn’t to say that being intentional about it is impossible. It isn’t to say that the value goes beyond the dollar amount. It also doesn’t mean going crazy and forgetting about those around me, thinking only of my wants and needs. It just means being aware of myself, loving myself, and being kind to this woman I want to be.

So love thyself. Go get a haircut. Go get a coffee and drink it in your car (in silence!). Go to the library and peruse the books until you’ve looked at them all. Find the clearance racks and buy something that costs less than $10. Get some red lipstick. Curl your hair in the morning. You deserve it.

How will you love yourself today?

Stepping into Yourself

Believe it or not, I was always quiet in school. I followed rules really well, and the thought of getting in trouble gave me anxiety. Going through the dreaded puberty made me somewhat uncomfortable in my own skin, and I didn’t really step into myself until I was a junior in high school. I remember the first day of that year vividly because I made choices throughout the day with the voice of the Lord in my mind. I talked to people I normally would’ve ignored, I smiled, and I tried to be myself. Not someone that would be popular, liked, or even noticed. Just me.

I would be lying if I said that was how I lived today. It’s easier to blame motherhood, stay-home-momhood, my desire to spend only 30 min without being touched by sticky fingers or being asked a million questions I literally do not have the answers to. I still love rules. A lot. And the thought of disregarding rules makes my skin crawl.

What’s also true, and also something I have avoided admitting, is how I have silenced myself. I took a webinar by Emily P. Freeman the other night on how to write book proposals, and my first thought was, “I do not belong here! Nothing I have to say is new or hasn’t already been said!” But she silenced those thoughts immediately by saying, “Just because someone else has said it doesn’t mean you aren’t allowed. You are welcome. You have work to do! The world needs you to come alive!”

So I am here. And I decided to step out and go with it. I’m going to write a book in the days to come. Not because what I have to say is monumental, or because my view is the best. But because of Christ in me. I read this morning in Philippians 3, the beginning of verse 8 that says, “What is more, I consider everything a loss compared to the surpassing greatness of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord…” Christ has a work to complete in me, and I’ve known for a while that work included writing. It has always been a hobby, never a career, or a job. And I have struggled with that. I always said that the day I considered writing for money would be the day it wouldn’t matter anymore.

It isn’t that I consider the writing I do a loss compared to Christ. It’s that I consider anything that I do alone a loss compared to what Christ does. Not I, but Christ.

I want to step into myself, the most free version of myself I can be. Allowed to write books upon books, not for my glory, but for God’s glory. Because He gives words life. Because I consider all else a loss compared to His righteousness.

A Yoga Newbie

This week begins my third week (Or maybe the fourth, I honestly can’t remember) of doing yoga on a daily basis. I am not a yogi, and it has been ridiculously difficult getting into a healthy state of mind. I went into the outlook of good health about seven months ago, but was completely thrown off by gallstones, a removal of my gallbladder, and a semi-lengthy recovery (at least, it felt like it).

But why does it matter, right? I’m a healthy female in her mid-twenties, semi-active, and at a healthy weight. Things could be so much worse. And the chocolate I love sure seems to do me good after the boys go to bed.

But really, it does matter. Remember why I’m here? Finding the root of my strings and getting them back to Jesus. Including this whole health & fitness conscious thing.

I was scrolling through Instagram the other day when I came across a photo someone had posted. It was a beautiful selfie, a beautiful thin girl with incredible makeup and awesome hair. Everyone loved it! Heck, I loved it. That girl was a beaut. The comments ranged from: Beautiful! Gorgeous! You’re my inspiration! #goals!

There is nothing wrong with the photo. Nothing remotely wrong with how beautiful she is, her makeup, her hair, her body. Not one thing. I hesitate to say what is wrong, for fear you’ll miss my thought. What I think is wrong is holding the visual aspects of beauty & health over what you can’t see.

I laugh at the thought of fitting into the jeans I wore before having babies. I scoff at the mention of wearing a tight fitting shirt. So I feel ya, ladies. It is not easy. So I want to make it intentional.

What if the purpose of me pressing my hands and feet into my yoga mat everyday revolves around being fully alive to do work for the Kingdom? What if the reason for being just a teensy bit healthier in my choices was rooted in the idea of being attentive to the King? It’s a heart thing, a soul-conscious choice that alerts my eyes to the heavens, gives glory to God and God alone.

Intention. Intentionally pushing myself to strengthen these weak muscles so that I can live attentively towards Christ.

Diary of a Wife: Part Two

It was a warm summer night in July when Evan told me he loved me for the first time. I remember staring into his eyes, knowing that I had loved him for weeks, maybe even months before that moment. I remember trying my very best to make it a picturesque, romantic, movie-quality moment, and I whispered into his ear, “I love you too.” I’ll never forget that. I loved that boy.

That boy was great. But I am way more in love with the man I’ve got now. (And that definitely is not a jab at his manhood then, but I think Evan would agree that he’s only gotten better with age. Plus, we were eighteen. Facial hair has done you good, Ev.)

Time changes most things, sometimes in ways we don’t always expect. Marrying Evan, at the time, did not include the title of Supporter of a One-Man Design Studio. At least I didn’t realize that. I didn’t know that I would be marrying a man who would eventually jump off a dream cliff and hope God would help him to fly. But I did. And really, it’s one of my favorite parts about this guy.

Being a wife to a freelance graphic designer means I get to watch him learn to fly. It means being on the sidelines as the wind lifts him higher. It means smiling into the sun as I watch him go. It means loving my husband as his dreams become our dreams. It’s believing that God is able because He says He is.

It isn’t easy. Some days we bicker over stupid things, like how he said one sentence in that tone that makes me feel like he doesn’t like me. But most times he loves me more than ever, he just gets frustrated. Some days we miscommunicate horribly. Some days we hardly spend time together because Evan is in his office most of the day working. But that isn’t everyday.

Most days are the best days. Most days we put the boys to bed at 8 PM and sit together on the couch and watch too much Netflix. Most days we laugh together about stupid jokes. Most days I watch from afar as the boy who told me he loved me that warm night in July loves my sons. I never tire of that.

Marriage doesn’t mean sidelining dreams, putting on hold the things we want, or giving up what we love. It means doing life together, thus bringing out the best in each other. And on the hard days, the days when I feel like giving up or I’m doubtful, we have each other. Evan is my reminder that the best is yet to come. Being his wife has only gotten sweeter with time, and as each day passes, the adventure only gets grander.

The best is yet to come. Cheering from the sidelines, looking up at the sun as we watch each other fly…there’s nothing better than this.

To read my first entry in the Diary of a Wife series, go here.