Learning to Fly

Can I just say, the value of having people who know you, love you and push you is huge? I don’t mean just a nudge in the right direction. Or people who only know what you did last week for fun. People who know your soul, the strings that make you into an instrument for the Kingdom. Those people. They can create ripples that no one else can.

My dear friend said it best just last night: It’s time. When she said it, the fire in my bones burned a little fiercer, the passion that bubbles deep grew a little stronger. When someone else says it, it makes it more real. I know I’m a writer. I know that there is a God-written plan there, but hearing it from someone I love so dearly, someone who knows me better than most, cemented it within me.

It’s time.

The days ahead, I honestly don’t know what they hold. And that is okay! My only plan is to jump and let God teach me to fly. It’s different being on this side of dreaming; I have spent a year and a half cultivating my husband’s dream. Pushing him to believe in himself more than ever, calling out his passion and drive, reminding him of what God has instilled in him. But being pushed myself, putting my dreams out there and giving them wings…it’s scary. And I’m uncomfortable. And the judgement! What if everyone hates my writing? What if?

The Lord will make a way for His glory, you know what I mean? This isn’t about me or my words or my stories. I just want to be an instrument for the Kingdom, orchestrated by a God who loves me. He loves me. And I know that I am loved by my husband, my parents, my friends. But He loves me more.

I think of my boys and how I have watched them grow over the past few months and years. It’s amazing how my love for them grows and changes, multiplies and adapts.

I see God in that. How He has seen me, known me since before I existed here. And He knitted within me these passions, knew of His plan for me before I even took a breath. I think of the little girl that wrote stories in a spiral-bound notebook. The teenage girl who journaled about every detail of life every night for years. The seventeen year old who found the power and magnitude of words. The nineteen year old who spent nearly two years writing letters to the boyfriend she would marry. The twenty-one year old who began writing letters to her oldest son, and the other two to follow. I think of the woman I have become and the importance of being on this side of the dream: believing that God is able, not because I am able.

He loves me, and He is mighty in His words in me. That’s a dream that can fly.

 

Change in Trajectory

We’re reaching the end of January, and you know what? I feel it. This year is going to be it.

Here’s a recap of Janelle’s (that’s me) life:

Five years ago I married my best friend. Evan is my favorite person on this earth, and being a total dork with him beats doing anything else most days. We married at 20, and three months after that, found out I was pregnant with Liam. A few months before Liam’s first birthday, I had an ectopic pregnancy resulting in surgery to remove one of my fallopian tubes. By God’s goodness, I got pregnant only a month later with Asa. And then eight months into Asa’s life, found out I was pregnant with Finn, our now deliciously chunky and joyful 9 month old. So much joy and glory in five years.

I came into this year wanting to be better. Better for a God who puts no limits on me, even when I put them on myself. I can’t believe that I’m 25 with three kids either, you guys, and I sure as heck was afraid I’d be stuck in a pregnancy, child-bearing, SO MANY SMALL CHILDREN funk forever. But I’m here to tell you I’m not. Sort of.

Look, real talk. I’m going to be a mom for the rest of my life, but I’m also not going to live forever on this planet. If you haven’t caught on this past week, I am changing trajectory a little bit. I remember my aunt telling me once that you gotta shoot for the moon and if you miss, you still land among the stars. My trajectory used to be wherever I could see, whatever seemed close, whatever seemed attainable. But I want to change that. I want to believe that God really can do anything, really can do the impossible.

Next week I’ll talk more about details, what I want to aim for exactly, and how I want to use these God-given talents for every bit of His glory. Til then, I want to nestle deeper into His whispers for me:

He can do anything! He is a creator, a builder of bridges, and no gap is too wide!

The moon is so incredibly far. But I’m shooting for it anyways.

A Letter to Myself

I love to write letters. I love to write them for the people I love; it’s my way of showing appreciation, encouragement, love. It makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside.

I am also my greatest critic. I don’t write letters of love and encouragement to myself because…that’s an unusual thing to do. Until now. I am a fantastic assistant to everyone else. So now it’s my turn.

Dear Janelle,

I hope you receive this letter with an open heart, not a wary outlook. You deserve life-giving words, and I hope I can give those to you.

I know today is hard; most days are. I know you work a thankless job with three boys so young, and I know the fruits of your labor are so hard to see when attitudes are erupting, crying is everywhere, discipline seems to bounce off the walls instead of soaking into minds. I know. But your work is not unseen. Your love is not missed. You’re their favorite person, their protector, their teacher, their hug and kiss, their listener. You mean more to them than you know. And they love you hard, mama. Trust me.

I also know that some days you feel fogged up, as though the woman you want to be, or thought you were, is missing. I know you miss the freedom, but I hope that God is reminding you constantly of your continuous freedom. You are not missing. Parts of you are not misplaced. You are changing and becoming great. Greatness is in you. You may think it’s difficult to find, or even hard to imagine, but the greatness in you is always coming forth. Even in the mundane, every day things of motherhood and cleaning and making dinner. There’s greatness in that, too. Trust me.

Although you think that you are only a minnow in a sea of writers, you have a voice for a reason. There is talent there for a purpose. Remember? God gives us these great and glorious passions so He can work. For Him! Can you believe that? Will you choose to? It will change everything about you and why you do what you do. It changes the aspects of a raging sea into a palpable, familiar lake whose waves you know are under the command of your Creator.

Open your hands. Give it to a King who loves you and fiercely adores you. You have mighty works ahead, works that are orchestrated by a God who is not afraid of all that you are capable of.

Trust me.

You are known. You are seen. Step up. Let the King give you the keys.

Sincerely,
Me

Applicable in the Kingdom: My Three Roadblocks

“GIRLS – You wouldn’t have been given these passions if they weren’t applicable in the KINGDOM.” – Esther Houston – Instagram

My husband and I sat down and had a heart-to-heart the other night. I’ve been feeling sucker punches lately; reminders of how hard it seems to have a dream and wanting to pursue it. Life is certainly not always kind, and I tend to take things harder than what I show. Frankly, it’s more convenient to blame everything on circumstance, hardship on situations. Seeing the bright side is like climbing a wall. Not my favorite exercise.

What is keeping me from dreaming? What is the harness that I’m not willing to unlatch from? What pulls me away from bright sides and the vision of the kingdom?

1. Instagram

I know, right. I had a conversation with a friend a few weeks ago about the distraction it is to scroll through a feed and see how beautiful, ambitious, amazing some writers, moms, women’s lives are. I literally want to throw up my hands sometimes and say, “FINE! You and your wonderful-ness win. I cannot compete.” I sometimes obsessively pose a photograph just so I can post it. So I’ve stopped trying so dang hard. You can’t rob my joy, tiny squares.

2. Motherhood

It’s the greatest gift God has given me (other than my husband). I wouldn’t trade any of it for anything, and it is easily one of my favorite parts of life. But it isn’t my whole life. It isn’t my only passion. It’s hard to explain…but it’s similar to how marriage changes you. I am a wife to Evan, and he matters to me more than anyone. But he isn’t my whole world; I don’t devote every minute to tending to him, talking to him, holding his hand. It’s part of me like my fingers belong on my hand. Motherhood is similar. And just like my marriage, it points to the Lord. But I use it often as my excuse, my “get out of jail free card” from participating in the works of the Kingdom. I certainly don’t want to leave my boys behind. I want to bring them on this journey with me.

3. Me

The cautious me. The one holding my hands up saying, “Now wait a minute, are you sure?” My defense mechanism is a resounding, WELL JUST WAIT NOW. Because failure or the fear of failure is a deafening symbol crashing in my mind. I am brave when it comes to certain things. More often than not, when it comes to loving, encouraging, and pushing other people, I am the best cheerleader. But I am not great at pushing myself, believing in what I can do.

The Lord didn’t give me passions just so I could sit on them and wait for someone to call on me. Nope. They have a place in the Kingdom. Even if that means using them in my own home, out of sight from the rest of the world. Even if it means rejection and failure at first. Even if it means an uphill trek to see the brightness on the horizon. Everything in me for Him; my face is turned towards a King whose light shines upon me. And He’s saying, “Go girl. Take it to the world.”

Guilt, Shame, & My New Name

I have a long list of complaints. I have a list of wishes and wants. I have a list of pleas.

I’ve spent the first few weeks of 2016 taking care of me. Chopping my hair off, painting my fingernails, buying a new pair of jeans, flossing my teeth daily, putting make up on and intentionally taking days to stay in my pajamas.

Free of all her guilt and rid of all her shame
And known by her true name and it’s why I sing.

Can I be real? Most times I feel guilty and a lot of shame for wanting to take care of myself. Everyone comes first, and it is the great downfall of transitioning to full-fledged motherhood. At first I relish in it. I feel proud. I sacrifice my whole world for my people! But it is the leading cause of thoughts like, “I don’t deserve to buy myself new jeans.”

But look, I’m not here to write about motherhood shame or how I want to be the best me of 2016, healthier and happier. I’m here for this: …known by her true name.

It’s true what I’ve read:  I feel like I’m too much or too little, not enough or more than enough. I never feel sure of who I am because I’m certain that being too confident in my faith is too much for others to listen to. I feel unworthy of a pair of jeans because I want to seem sacrificial and ultimately loving of my children. And I have spent a fair bit of time wrestling with this, trying to find where to fit myself in this world, how to feel sure.

But like a worn and tattered coat, I’m throwing it off my shoulders and to the ground.

I am free of all guilt. Rid of all my shame.

Known by my true name.

It’s like a lightbulb fires up above my head and the scene before me unfolds. The rolling perfection of His plan. I don’t see any details, but, like it matters. I am seen. Known. My name is repeated on His lips, and my God knows my name. He leads me by still waters. He guides me in deep valleys. He lifts me to mountaintops. He coaxes me to climb hills.

I am known by my true name. He knows me.

And I will be real:  I want to worship the King I love real loud. I listen to the song “Ever Be” by Bethel, and I nearly weep every time. Because it’s all I want every day, every opportunity:  Your praise will ever be on my lips.

Get loud. Don’t shrink away from what you know of yourself. He knows your name. He loves your name. He loves to see you. Free of guilt. Rid of all shame. Known by your true name.

Let It Be Well

I want the path I leave behind me to pave the way before my boys.

I yelled at them something harsh the other night. I raised my voice because I love them too much and I get angry too easily. I asked for their forgiveness soon after, and they were quick. Forgiving. I hope we’re teaching them that. Lord knows He is teaching that to us daily.

These days are opportunities for magic. I love these final days of the year:  the twinkling, the giving, the loving. Christ is mysterious in that way; a season for him, often celebrated regardless of him, but he still moves in it. So much real joy in giving. So much richness in being together. If that’s not Christ, I don’t know what is.

And I look behind me, at my troupe. My line of boys. The little fingers interlocked with my own.

We will take them to see the Christmas lights as they are scattered across our town, illuminating the cityscape in which we live. We will take them to see a jolly old guy (who they will definitely be afraid of). We will sing songs and laugh and drink hot chocolate and watch movies about the magic of this season.

But, little hands. They follow me. And not every day is just as magical as this. While putting together our manger scene, I explained who the characters were. The importance of them. The reason for all of this magic.

Little hands, do you see? I fall short. I yell. I am not good at this. But this baby came for us. He is coming again for us. Hosanna! Christ the King! Little hands, let me show you.

He is the magic. He is mysterious. He is the twinkling in the lights, the giving spirits of many, the laughter, the love, the gatherings. He is here. He has come.

Let it be well with me. I love them. My troupe. My little boys. I pray you worship the King with me someday.

The Student

When I got married nearly five years ago, I thought I had a bit of an idea of how life was going to play out. If you know me, if you know our story, you know that it certainly didn’t go as I had “planned”, but that’s not such a bad thing. I’ve spent a lot of my time in the past trying to box up expectations and realizations, lots of time writing on how life is and how I wish it was, and finding myself missing the Reason. The Fuel. The Foundation I claim.

I think the past year and half has been weird and difficult.

Testing.

It is inconsistent being small business owners. One month could be great. The next could be incredibly difficult. Depleting. A few weeks ago, I was depleted. All the energy and faith sucked out of me. More frustration and anger than I was willing to admit. It was because we were waiting for Evan to get paid, and we didn’t have any money. And the day the check came, I felt ease. Relief. Comfort.

I didn’t think that this would be our life when I said yes to Evan over five years ago. I didn’t want to think that hardships would arrive in the form of businesses and money and taking care of my boys at the same time. I didn’t want to believe that it was okay for difficulty to be prevalent. It doesn’t mean God isn’t omnipotent. It just means we must draw even tighter and closer to His presence. His power. His peace.

And yet that day, when the check arrived and deposited into our embarrassingly empty checking account, I was happy. I was relieved. My joy was dependent on our possessions. It feels embarrassing when we don’t have much, if anything, and admitting that is me trying to shed my sin. I long for riches. I long for wealth. I long for stuff, and I want to get it off my chest.

I told my husband that this moment was critical.
It is critical for me to see the teachable moment God has for me here.

Being young, married, with three boys has taught me a lot. It feels as though I have a lot of time to get things right in this life, but the reality is, there isn’t. I don’t have days to waste on my worries, my money, or time itself.

I read yesterday in Mark about when Jesus arrived in Jerusalem to chants of “Hosanna!”, how he saw the fig tree that bore no fruit and condemned it to never bear fruit again, how he flipped the tables in the temple and told the people it was not a den for robbers.

I noticed that right when he arrived in Jerusalem, he stopped at the temple, but left. He must’ve seen the people buying and selling. But he left. The next day he went to the fig tree to get something to eat, but found there was no fruit. He condemned the tree to never bear fruit again. He then went to the temple and flipped the tables, driving the people out who were buying and selling. The fig tree was seen later, shriveled and dead.

I started to cry when I was going over these verses.

I don’t know what Jesus was thinking, but I imagine that he could’ve been, maybe even was, so disappointed in the people. Those people who welcomed him as a king, dishonored the holiness of the temple, only to kill him eventually. And he cursed the fig tree, killed it. What an example of his power. Yet he let them ruin him. He allowed them to kill him. And part of me mourns that humanity was and is so cruel to our God, yet he loves us. Oh he loves us.

On that day when Evan got paid, I knew that my prayer needed to stop being consumed with “Oh Father, provide. Bring us the money.” He has proven that he will. He has proven that even when I don’t pray, He will provide. He gives me everything I need and refrains everything I don’t.

I found myself praying that instead, I would pray for peace. For ease. For comfort. Not because we have money, and especially in the moments when we don’t. That comfort and joy and relief would be in Christ alone. In him who had every power and opportunity to withdraw his love and sacrifice from me. In him who saw the people, who sees me, and could be so utterly disappointed in my sin, in my shortcomings. But he died anyway. He died knowing I would fail him. And he isn’t disappointed. He loves me.

It seems foolish, God having every power known and unknown, wanting to love me despite my lack of discipline. Yet he does. I know he does. Like I said, I don’t have time to waste my days on worries, money, or time.

I only have time to spend on the importance of the King who came and died for me. I only have time to worship my King, to love the people who find themselves in my life & those who don’t, and to make sure every bit of my earthly possessions find root in the glory of God. All things for the King. All hope for the King. All thoughts on the King.

A tough lesson to learn. A critical moment.

Teach me Jesus. Keep teaching me.