Clarity comes from action, not thought.

            Do you do the yearly word thing? I'm curious to know how you come up with your word if so. For me, it's usually a word that starts singing loudly in my head around December as I pray for God to show me what He wants to do in the upcoming year. Last year my word was community and if I'm being entirely honest, that was kind of scary to me. I had a strong desire to belong somewhere, but also a terrifying fear of being truly known. I knew that this would mean a change in behavior and thought process. I knew that walls would have to come down if light was to come in. I begrudgingly accepted this word and all that came with it, and oh how I have been blessed! I have found myself in the company of a community that has seen me, loved me, held me, and showed up for me. I belong. I am known. It is good.

            After this great fulfillment of promise, I was increasingly excited for this year's word! What would it be? It was about mid-December that I started praying for a word that would just blow my mind, right? Like, restoration, beginnings, refreshment, prosper, leadership...something that reflected the healing of the past year and something exciting!

"Clarity."

Ummm...'scuse me? No, that's not it. How about courage? Or purpose? That sounds so fun!

"Clarity."

BORING! I don't want that one. My sister in law gets spend and you are offering me clarity?! I felt like Oliver Twist. "Please sir, may I have another?"

"Clarity."

Snoozefest!

            I've learned that no matter how stubborn I am, God will keep pressing me anyways so I disappointedly accepted to cling to this word and almost as soon as I did, I became acutely aware how my brain had already been desiring a clarity. I had asked God for some very specific things, mostly centered around communication, and felt His response of "well quit fogging crap up" get louder with every ask. 

            My brain is so loud, you guys. I hate it so much and have often prayed an accusing prayer of “You made me this way! It's your fault my brain doesn't know how to shut up." I'm a person that requires noise and chaos and music at all times because otherwise I can easily lose control of my thoughts. Before I know it, I'm lost in a world of anxiety and doubt and worry over absolutely the dumbest things. Silence and stillness are my worst enemies, but also happen to be a requirement for communication and surrender. How can I conquer my inability to be alone with my thoughts?

            I was encouraged to practice some time in silence by one of my spiritual leaders. It. Was. EXCRUTIATING! I had to literally smack my own hand as it instinctively reached for the volume button that promised to drown away the deafening noise that silence created for me. However, each time I practiced this, the time between start and panic extended a bit longer. Once where three minutes felt like hell on Earth, now I found 10 minutes had come and gone and I forgot that I was timing. It was changing me. There was a new quietness that I could summon in the brain that once bled insanity.

            Also, in this change, I began to seek self-soothing methods less and less. My desire for alcohol had always stemmed from a desire to force relaxation onto the internal battlefield that was my mind. Hard day? A glass of wine will bring me down. High anxiety? A few beers would allow me to feel comfortable in my surroundings. As God called me to clarity, I had also become aware of how little I was drinking. I found myself in situations that would normally be triggering, and here I was, more comfortable than ever before. I was proud of my new healthy choices! Look at me, adulting without coping. Healing is fun!

            But wait, there's more. A gentle nudging to more clarity. To put down the wine altogether. What? Why? I'm doing great. Why would you call me to quit now in this time of so little? I ignored it because it didn't seem right. It didn't feel necessary. As this new calling continued to rear its head, another awareness, another clarity, rose. Quitting drinking meant yet another change in my community that I'd been clinging so tightly to. Many of my relationships centered around me being the girl that's down to meet up for wine therapy. I believed that if I took that away, I'd lose friends. I'd lose invitations and inclusion. Maybe I'd even lose respect. 

"Do you love them more than me? Do you trust me?"

            The truth is, I do trust Him. And in this season of clarity, I am aware that if He is calling me towards something, or in this case away from something, it's for a reason. It's for a purpose. Praying on my knees in this clarity, terrified of what this means for my friendships, I was reminded of the words a woman five years ago spoke over my name. She didn't know me at all. She just had my name and used it to pray for words that would prophecy over my life. I hadn't even thought about these words in so long, so it came as a surprise when I could suddenly recall them as if she had just spoken them to me yesterday. She told me I was a person that needed things in order before I could move forward. That I liked lists and I liked to know exactly what things meant before I could say yes. And then she told me to abandon these things, for God has set a race before me that would require complete abandon and surrender and vulnerability. She told me that I would not be forced to run this race, but should I choose to, I would never be alone, and I would be victorious. So, my friends, this is me stepping up to the starting line. In obedience, I am also stepping away from alcohol.

            I want you all to know, I am not doing this in shame, nor am I announcing this to shame or separate from you. I am praying that my relationships will stay intact, although I am not naive to the fact that this choice may alter the way that they look. I sincerely hope that you will still love me. I pray that you will support my decision and still invite me to your parties and not let an awkwardness grow between us. In turn, I promise that this will never be the annoying sober friend that calls attention to the fact that I'm not drinking. This will be my one and only announcement. I will never be bothered to come and meet you for a therapy session in which you choose to drink wine while I sip on my water. 

            I don't have a time frame on this. I don't know if it's for 30 days, or for the year of 2020, or forever. I really don't. I am following a leading and I'll keep doing that until I feel a different one. I would love your prayers and encouragement, while I welcome your questions. I love you all. You mean everything to me, and I hope you feel the weight of that more than the weight of change. 

Keep going.

The Hall of Shame

I thought it would look different, this healing journey of mine. I guess in this world of living through social media, I was in some way Instagramming the story of healing in my mind. There were pictures and amazing quotes to share, maybe a tiny bit of vulnerability, and then through tears and Jesus I was healed and my life that followed would be dreamy, uneventful, and easy. I saw myself just continuing the climb, but this time I would watch for roots that evaded the earth and were meant to trip me up. I would take this new knowledge I had and use the revelations God gave me to save others from tripping too. There would of course be challenges, but oh how I would nail them! I would be a victor and never again would I question my identity or calling in life. I would definitely never question my worth or how much Jesus loved me or my safety in this community that has held me during the climb.

Today I want to tell you more about this road I've been walking. Spoiler alert...I was wrong. Way wrong.

I shared with you all a small bit of my childhood trauma. I haven't shared how my response to that trauma wrecked me entirely for the next couple of decades in my life. Caught in this cyclical way of thinking and behaving that was as, if not more, destructive than the actual trauma itself, I repeatedly responded the same way to the same events, knowing full well what chaos and consequences each response would bring to my life. Each time I allowed myself to be used in any way, it got easier to place shame on the girl in the mirror. In doing so, somehow along the way my brain stopped telling me that it was abuse, but that it was required. If someone was inappropriately attracted to me, I must have done something to invite it and therefore must allow them to fulfill their needs in whatever way they saw fit. You can only imagine the deep levels of shame this brought into my spirit. I was doing things I knew were wrong, yet felt powerless to prevent. In an attempt to cope with the shame, I had learned to disconnect my brain from my body. Instead of feeling each event, I placed it in a box and put it aside and tried to continue living as though nothing had happened, never sharing most of what went into those boxes with anyone. As the boxes piled up, they eventually became walls that had separated me from my community. More and more walls were added until the halls were so long that the light showing me the way out was too far away to illuminate the path. Eventually, I accepted that this would be my permanent residence and this Hall of Shame became my comfort zone.

I know it sounds strange, but there was a great relief in hiding in this room. I knew who I was here. I could look at the pictures on the walls of boxes that reminded me that this is where I belong. God couldn't see me here. My community couldn't see me here. I had a cozy blanket and loads of coping tools that would allow me to forget to ever leave. These boxes of secrets kept me from feeling ugly consequences and as long as no one knew, no one could be disappointed in me. No one could judge me. Certainly no one could choose to hate me. So, wrapped up in the blanket and staring in the mirror, I reminded myself over and over that I belonged here. So much that I forgot who I was outside of this place. Every now and then, I'd emerge from the hall and try to force myself into the light and into life. The adjustment from dark to light got harder every time. I didn't trust myself or anyone else, so I would trot along, feeling like a fraud in every way, until I couldn't take it anymore. Before I knew it, I had retreated with an arm full of new boxes back into the darkness, into my home, and went on building and hiding.

Then God knocked on the door and asked me to come out.

If you are a parent, or have just been around children enough to witness one who is guilty or shameful and being called by a parent, you have seen this before. The father calls out to his child, "Come here to me." But the child is afraid of consequence, and so she hides at first. The father calls again, and the child knows she must respond, so she allows just a small tuft of hair and possibly an eyeball to become visible around the wall. "Come closer child." She enters the room and looks down at the ground. The father now points at the ground directly in front of him and says "Here. Stand where I can reach you." So again, knowing she must obey, she moves to the appointed X on the floor where her daddy is pointing, eyes still low, shoulders slumped, and moving at the pace of an elderly snail. And then what does he do? He places his finger on her chin, and says "look at me." As her eyes move up, her defenses begin to melt, and when that eye contact is made she is as clear as glass and her truth, her guilt, her shame; it's all visible to the father who loves her.

"Let me come in there with you."

I tried to say not today. I told Him I had to clean up first. I tried to say I was super busy.

"There are boxes everywhere and I don't want you to see them."

He reminded me that He already knew about the boxes and what secrets they contained. I wanted to let Him in. I wanted Him to free me from these walls. However, I was terrified that He would come in swinging a sledge hammer and my secrets would be spilled out for all to see. A friend prayed with me and told me that He just wanted to help me take them down, one at a time, to look inside together while holding my hand. What I shared with the world would be asked, not forced. And so began my healing journey. Each box that comes down sets me that much closer to freedom. Each wall that comes down allows light from the world and community around me to shine into my hall and surprisingly, people aren't running away. They come and sit with me and hold me and love me anyways. It's beautiful, this healing. Instagram worthy even.

But then came another knock. A sinister and evil knock. I knew who it was. I knew what it was. I want to say I thought I was ready for this, but the truth is I didn't plan on it coming. In my mind, in my Instagram frames, I never had pictured evil behind the door. I didn't have a quote for that one. I didn't have the right answer. In fact, I froze in panic and fear. I cracked the door and just stared out at my visitor for too long. I looked in the familiar eyes and breathed in and out slowly, filling my lungs with the stench of shame. And as quickly as my knees began to shake, I realized I was staring into the empty eyes of the girl in the mirror. A reflection of an old self that had come to wreck and remind and confuse. I knew in my heart that this was trickery and that this reflection was not of the me that stood staring, but of the one that comes to steal in the night. Yet the shame fell on me like a wet weighted blanket. I was embarrassed that I wasn't ready for this and filled with shame that I was questioning everything I had just overcome. Was it even real? How could this be happening? What did I do to invite this? I thought when I was healed, I wouldn't feel the pull of this habitual response that left me standing exposed at a door I wanted to close but couldn't. My journey had looked so great thus far. I must box this up. I must keep it secret. I summoned the courage to slam the door shut and went running back into the hall, seeking darkness and the comfort that I had found there once before. But, the room didn't fit anymore. It looked the same, the blanket was there, but it wasn't as warm as it used to be. My eyes couldn't adjust to the darkness the way they had for so many years and I felt blind and alone. And scared.

After wrestling with the anxiety and fear of being visited by the past, it became clear to me that this wasn't the way. That as comfortable as I used to be in the darkness, I no longer belonged there. My comfort had become the light. I no longer needed a blanket to hide from evil because I now wielded a sword and shield that cannot be overcome. I threw the box wide open and left it all in God's hands. It wasn't easy, and I had to really fight my brain to break the cycle of thinking that I'd been stuck in and remind myself that even though that knock on the door shook me and disrupted me for a moment, I still closed it. I was in fact healing, even though it didn't look exactly how I had pictured it. I was actually changing a mindset and habit that held me captive for too long.

As the light continued to shine down and bring out truths of what this really was, I found myself on a bicycle. Weird for me, but here I was at the end of the driveway and thought I'd go just a bit further. When I got to the end of the road, I felt pressed to keep going forward. With each turn of the pedal I felt myself letting go of more and more. Before I knew it, I was 4 miles from home, crying and yelling and cussing out loud at the devil. With every deep breath I told him I wasn't his. Get away from me. I hate you. You don't get to win. I am NOT what you say I am. I am a daughter of the one true God and he loves me and I am enough! It felt good. I'm not sure what the neighbors thought, but it felt good. That night I awoke to a raging wind storm that felt like it might take the house down. I studied the trees through a glass door, bending and twisting unnaturally as the wind threatened to rob them of their branches. God spoke into my heart clear as day as we watched together. "Look. The rage outside of this door isn't even a fraction of the rage the devil feels today as he realized he lost you. And just as the wind cannot touch you behind the safety of this closed door, his power is lost on you when you rest in the safety of who you are in Me."


I want you to know, if you are on a healing journey and you feel God calling you to a new life, don't get stuck on an idea of what it will look like. There is never going to be an award signifying the end of your road with "Congratulations! You're healed!" in some bold font at the top. Because healing isn't something you earn at the end of a job well done. Healing is something you learn and must fight for, and the job is never done. I thought the world would look different after I did the thing and took the class and admitted my junk and got my award. But while waiting for the award I realized that the world isn't healing just because I am. Evil is always going to come knocking at the door, and actually probably more than it did when it had you in the clutches of lies and despair. Because evil doesn't like to lose. Evil will always look the same, but my responses have changed. I am no longer a prisoner to a broken way of thinking that I must be responsible for who comes knocking, but I am free in the safety of One who stands on the inside of the door with me. And I do not have to open it anymore.

Keep going.

An Invitation

Next month, I will be baptized. My confession today is that it's not the first time. I was baptized as a young girl, around 8. I went to a private school so I'm sure they told us that this is what we should do if we want to choose Jesus. I believe I did it with a solid understanding that I should be obedient.

My church participates in baptisms every few months and it floors me everytime. The last one I witnessed, I didn't know any single person that was climbing into that tank and yet I sobbed and snotted and sniffed through the entire thing. I couldn't even sing through the songs because the ache in my heart was so strong. I realized then that although there was joy for the sweet souls in that water, there was jealousy in my heart that I didn't have a connection to my baptism. As a matter of fact, I didn't remember it at all. I knew it happened because I'd seen pictures, but I don't remember if anyone prayed for me. I don't remember if I felt different, or cold, or who the person even was that plunged me into the water. I'd mentioned this before to other pastors and mentors and always received the same response. It's fine. It doesn't matter that you don't remember, God remembers. But this time, when I brought it up to my precious pastor, she said with enthusiasm "Do it again!" She said I was too young and I should sign up. So I did. And isn't God funny, because almost a week later I stumbled accross this picture. And it broke my heart. Check out little girl Erin in her Tree of Life spirit gear and tiny painted fingernails and let me explain why.

This little girl was in second grade.  She had hair bigger than a mountain and a voice that was barely heard outside of family. She was shy and spent most of her recess following the teacher on duty around instead of playing with kids. In truth, she didn't know how to play normally with other kids. Because this little girl, this same exact year and then some, was being sexually abused by two different people. Her hair and nails and tiny body would have you believe she was 8, but her mind was 58. Her heart did truly want to seek Jesus, but her spirit was being violently fought for. This left her living two completely seperate lives, and neither of them were typical for a second grader. She yearned to please the people she loved, her parents, her God, her teachers, everyone in authority. But the beast that had taken place in her spirit constantly reminded her of the secrets she hoarded and wore like a weighted blanket. This little girl knew shame in the worst way. She would spend the better part of the next 30 years feeling like a fraud no matter who she was with. No one could really know her. There were no real friends because she became who she was with to try to mask who she really was. Because she believed so deeply that she was broken. That God screwed up the formula. He gave her a desire to be better, but she couldn't live up to it. And failure wasn't failure unless she tried, so she gave that up too. She was lost here in this pool surrounded by chairs of clapping parents. And she was lost for so long afterwards.

But, my friends, that's not the end of the story. 

That little girl was rescued. She found healing. She found community. She found her way out of the darkness because God lit up her path and walked with her around every corner. He carried her when she was weary and claimed her in victory. The beast was silenced.

So. On January 12th, during second service at Life. I will again enter that water. Only this time, I will enter as a woman. A woman who is 38 yet has the restored joy and peace that was taken from the little girl above. A woman that knows she isn't broken because her pieces have been melded back together by the finest of gold. A woman that still knows shame but rejects it in Jesus name. A woman that isn't afraid to show you where she has been, but doesn't stay there. A woman that is saying I will not live as two characters in my own story any longer. I am whole. I am free. I am not a fake. And I choose to say YES to Jesus. 

Come and be witness. Consider yourself invited. I'm so EXCITED!

 https://youtu.be/EY-2IMOwA4U

 

The Shepherd

We all have a story, you know? Have you ever seen a cartoon where for whatever reason the character starts falling down a snowy hill? She starts kind of like bumbling around, but gradually the rolling gains speed. Pretty soon she's gathering more and more snow and now she's a giant ball of chaos and icy pain and she's taking out innocent bystanders and comes to a sudden and exploding halt against the side of a barn somewhere at the bottom? Yeah, that's my story. Only it happens over and over and over. Up the hill I'd climb, trip up on some dumb stump that was clearly visable but I wasn't paying attention, and down I'd go. Crash. Die. Look up. And start the climb all over again. Sheesh I'm exhausted just typing it. Someday I may choose to share my story with you all, but that's not what this is about.

Three years ago, I watched a brave woman climb onto a stage and tell her story out loud to a congregation of women. Through hot tears, I watched her vulnerability with awe and wonder. Her story resonated with mine. Her words carved themselves onto my heart and immediately I knew I was to follow in her footsteps. I was supposed to be vulnerable and allow God to speak to a part of my childhood that I didn't even want to acknowledge had happened, let alone admit that it had affected me and my life. It was the first snow, but I couldn't admit I was cold. Before God could speak a word, I shut Him down. I didn't just ignore or say maybe. I cut him off and out loud said "Don't. You. EVEN! I won't. Hard pass."

I spent the next few years saying the same no. Even so, I wanted to be closer to God. I prayed He would speak to me. I asked for growth and change and healing. But the answer was always the same.

"We have to deal with this first."

So began a different cycle. Have you ever Meatloafed God? That's what I would call it anyways. Picture me, standing at the front of church, hands in the air, singing and praying. "God I would do anything for your love, but I won't do that." Years went by, and the gentle prodding had started to become like an annoying drip of water in a sink that just won't turn off all the way. Always there, always driving me crazy, but I could really only hear it when the room was quiet. So I kept myself super busy all of the time. Sometimes the calling would get so loud it was deafening. So I'd sing louder. "Anything. Anything at all God. But not that." But man was He relentless. Every corner I turned, there it was. Every devotional I opened, there it was. Everytime I went to church, there it was.

Drip.

Drip.

Relentless. Annoying.

"It's a no from me."

I really don't think it was coincidence, the injury to my leg. It came literally one week after a conference I attended. God spoke to me that weekend in an unmeasurable way. He took the words straight out of my journal and gave them to another woman to speak life into my heart. To leave zero doubt in my spirit that He was listening, speaking, and waiting for me. Honestly it was shocking. Yet it still wasn't enough. While thanking and crying and resting in what had just happened, I still said.."Mmm, maybe someday. But not yet." And then I broke my leg. And I knew immediately when it happened, it was not some random accident.

Have ya'll seen Talladega Nights? You know that scene when Granny finally gets ahold of the spoiled rotten boys and declares Granny Law? The boy looks her right in the eye and says "You're gonna break us like wild horses, aint ya Granny?" Yeah, that was me. Looking God right in the eye, I knew my life was about to turn upside down. I could write at minimum seven blogs on how God used that broken leg to teach me, to tame me, to give me the will to surrender, but that's not what this is about either.

I had lunch with the same woman I mentioned earlier that was sneaking around reading my journal when I wasn't looking. She doesn't know my story. She barely knows me at all, actually. We are new friends. But I told her this realization I'd had about God and this broken leg. I knew this was His doing but before I could share with her why or what I'd learned, she gasped. And with wide eyes, she shared a story with me.

In older times, in the open lands of far away countries, shepherds only had a dog or two to help them with their flock of sheep. Sheep would often get lost or wander too far, putting their lives at risk of injury or attack from wolves or other predators. When a shepherd had a very stubborn sheep that kept wandering off, he would try everything to keep her close. But the threats of the cliffs and forests were real and if after every attempt to regain the sheep had failed, the shepherd would put the sheep's leg against a rock and break it in a certain place.

Ok, let me pause. I know this is barbaric and obviously shepherds do not need this any longer. We have fences now. And lots of dogs. So don't attack me and call PETA or whatever. Just listen.

Part of the shepherd's job was to keep the sheep moving. They needed pasture and that meant rotating the flock to keep the grass fresh and find water when needed. So a broken leg was not convenient for anyone. Once this extreme measure was chosen, the shepherd would bend down and cradle the sheep onto his neck. And then he would carry her. When the day was over, he would bandage her and place oil on her wounds. He would carefully look after her until the day of healing came and she could learn to walk again. And when she did walk, she never strayed from her shepherd again.

As my friend spoke these words, my whole body had already started trembling. I had to go home and Google the story. Some say it is a myth, some historians say it was common practice in Syria and the surrounding countries. Some say what kind of a God punishes like that?! Some say the end justifies the means.

I say, wow. I don't believe and never did believe God was punishing me. I cannot even explain yet in words how different I am today because when that drip turned to a snap, I said fine. Actually the first thing I said was "bullshit I'm fine!" And then I said ok. And then I said yes. And then just as I thought my entire world was turning into chaos because of this yes, He called me daughter, and then He rescued me. And He cradled me and put me over His shoulders and carefully looked after me and taught me to walk differently.

And I will never stray from Him again. Not because God punished me and I learned a lesson. But because He showed me who He was. You see, I've believed in God my whole life becase my parents taught me to. I always chose Jesus because I knew I was supposed to. But it's different now. I choose Jesus because He is my rescuer. He always was my savior, but now He is MY savior. But more than all of that, He showed me who I am to Him. That I am worthy of being carefully looked after. He loves me and shows up for me and, I've never said this before, but I think He's proud of me.

If you are on the fence. If there is something leading you towards a movement that you are scared of. Say yes. Just say it. That's all you have to do to take the first step. I can't promise it will be beautiful and it definitely won't be easy, but it will be worth it. And you are worth it. Keep going.

The Master Plumber

Today I had an extra day off and I had plans. Plans that were quickly thwarted by responsibilities. The softener is out of salt, the dogs are out of food, the fridge is empty, so out in the rain I must go. In slippers, jammie pants, and bed hair, I was super annoyed to be heading into the world today.

I’m lost in my mind during my travels, trying to desperately hold back the anxiety that’s telling me things are spiraling out of control. There are bills stacking up that need paid, work slowing down as we enter a dead season for both of our home businesses, things breaking in our home faster than we can keep up with, children lagging behind on homework, all of the things.  If I don’t acknowledge it, it will go away, right? You know Dori’s little song “just keep swimming”? Well mine goes like “just keep trusting, just keep trusting, trusting, trusting all day long.” I remind myself to stop trying to control every situation and trust that God’s got me in his hands. Cut to a phone call that solved a financial portion of my problems. So, while walking down the aisle at Aldi, in pajamas and slippers, on the phone, I find myself unable to stop the tears as God reminds me that I surrendered control to him, and He's still on the task.

Here’s the image He gave me this morning.

           
Imagine a water pipe bursting. You cover the spewing water with your hand, but the pressure is so great that a new leak breaks free. Your second hand goes up to stop it. You catch your breath and start screaming for help. But the pressure is still there. The third leak catches you off guard because it came from somewhere you weren’t watching. You try to balance so your foot can block the gushing water, but you can’t move your hands because still no one has come to help you control the first two leaks. Where is everybody? Soon there are more leaks than appendages to stop them and you are alone and wet and moving hands and feet to do whatever you can to keep the least amount of water from leaking through. You have stopped calling for help at this point because you must keep all of your energy focused on the problem at hand.

          
This is the image in my head when I think about me in the control room for my feelings. In order to remind my feelings that I’m in control, I stop them from flowing. The problem is, I don’t have enough control to stop them all at once. So when I stifle my pain, depression comes roaring through the pipes. When I lift my hand off pain to stop depression, shame sprays me in the face. If I try to shut down shame, guilt seeps into my heart with that steady and annoying drip. For a lifetime I have been in this room, trying to prevent my feelings from leaking into my entire home. Always moving my hands from one busted pipe to another, trying to seal the leaks with whatever I have handy.

           
About three years ago, I felt God prodding me to take my hands off the leaks. To allow Him to fix what was broken, I must first remove the makeshift repair I had made by myself. When I stepped back, I realized I had a room full of worn tape and full buckets. There were no towels left to sop up water. I saw what He saw, and it was scary. The repairs were unreliable and losing their effectiveness. I want to tell you that this day I got my life together and surrendered control. But I didn’t. I said no. I said I've got this! Can’t you see I’ve got this? I’m fine! I don’t mind emptying buckets. I can buy new towels. I’ll just keep adding tape. I’m fine.

          
A year ago, I wasn’t fine. Running on empty and clean out of buckets, I felt God touch my shoulders. Truthfully, I was annoyed. Don’t you hear me? I don’t want your special plumber’s tape! I don’t want to walk out of this room and trust anyone else to run this shitshow. The room will flood. I’ve tried every patch, tape, glue, and towel there is. This is the only way to stop these pipes from overflowing. Can’t you see that?!


“Daughter.”

            
How that word melts me when He says it.


“You can’t mend these pipes. They are broken. They are rusted. But if you give me charge over the flow, I can empty the well of this tainted water and rebuild the plumbing. And then I will fill your well with my water.”

         
Very reluctantly, I took my hands off. And God has indeed delivered in His promise. He came in with his headlamp and brought light to the darkest of corners. He has opened the flood valves and allowed the flow to increase but held me upright in the wave.

           
But here’s the thing. You can’t fix a leak without getting wet, right? So, as God has spent this last year emptying me of the things I was trying so hard to keep under wraps, the need for that control manifests in other ways. It’s not just a one-time deal. I didn’t just hand the wrench over to God and step back. I keep trying to take it back from Him. I keep stepping in between Him and this project, trying to find a way to insert myself back into a place of authority over my feelings.

          
Two nights ago, I awoke in the middle of the night in a full panic attack. I knew I was breathing because the physical evidence was there, but I questioned what I knew. My heart was aching with pain as it pounded through my ribs. For some reason, I thought I was dying. The more I tried to reason with myself, the more out of control I felt. I began to weep for my children and pray that God would protect them. I felt physically heavy and truly, inexplicably, had convinced myself that if I fell back asleep, I’d never wake up again. I forced myself to get out of bed. I walked to the kitchen reminding myself that this was not real. I’m not dying. I’ll just stay awake. I can control this.

            
Except I couldn’t. It only escalated and escalated until I finally was too exhausted to keep up the fight. I just started repeating words to a song in my head. “It may feel like I’m surrounded but I’m surrounded by you.” Over and over until all the sudden it was morning and I realized I had fallen asleep at some point. I had to let go of the control and look elsewhere to find relief in that moment.

           
I’m sharing this with you because, well if I’m being honest, God made me. I couldn’t stop thinking about it and in this season of learning to be obedient to the leading of the Holy Spirit, here we are. Maybe it’s for you. Maybe there’s a person reading this who feels exactly like I did. Are you so busy trying to control everything that there isn’t room for real healing? Are you telling everyone you are fine and posting like you are fine and showing up like you're fine, but deep inside you are screaming for help and begging for more hands and buckets?

Call me. Message me. Meet with me.

            
I’ll tell you a story of a girl stuck in a control room, refusing to give in. I’ll tell you the story of how healing fucking hurts, but the other side brings a joy and peace that only God can give. I’ll tell you that I love you, and you are not alone. Or, at the very least, I’ll come sit in that room with you. I’ll help you empty buckets and change towels. I’ll be with you until you are ready to let the Master Plumber come in and drain your well and repair your brokenness. And I’ll rejoice with you when you taste the new water as you are refilled. Because it’s so good.

           

Joy is the flag...

I don't really even remember learning this song, but since I woke up this morning it has resonated in my head.
"Joy is the flag flown high, in the castle of my heart.
In the castle of my heart.
In the castle of my heart.
Joy is the flag flown high in the castle of my heart, For the King is in residence there."
This is a big deal. Let me tell you why.
I woke up at 6 am to the sound of my youngest screaming for mommy to hold her. The heater had been turned wayyy down due to my cooking-induced hot flashes yesterday. I had to fight the pile of dishes to get to my coffee pot. And the looming possibility that the Thanksgiving Day Parade balloons might not fly was too suspenseful for my morning news tradition.
As I sat on the couch, scalding my tongue with that sweet hot coffee. My children joined me one by one, alternating between the dogs. My husband and I enjoyed some morning banter. All the while that song was on repeat in my head.
Friends, I am so thankful for so many things. I wish I had the attention span to join you all in the 30 days of Thanksgiving. I usually get through the first 5 and then forget all about it until day 25 and then I have to play catch up. I'm thankful for all of the obvious...God, family, friends, home, health, and more. But what am I really really thankful for this year? JOY. God has given me such a deep down joy in my heart that no thing of this world can take it away. No bad circumstance, no lost sleep, not even having to watch my favorite parade without flying balloons can touch my inner joy!
For my joy comes from my King! He beams from inside of me, and I wanted to share it with you this morning.
In all of the chaos of the holidays and traditions, don't forget what you're doing it for. Don't forget to really be joyful in Christ. Because the food, the presents, the shopping, it's all so fun. But it ends. The joy of the Lord is forever!
Happy Thanksgiving friends! I wish you all a great day, a full belly, and the joy to understand why it all means so much to us. I love you all.

Be Blessed!

Also, don't forget to ask God to dial back the wind a little bit in New York so we can watch those balloons fly :)

Jane! Get me off this crazy thing!

Click, click, click, click....The anxiety and panic begins to build inside my belly. I look around at all of the smiles and bright eyes and wonder if anyone else is feeling the way I do inside. After checking my shoulder restraints and seatbelt for the umpteenth time, I sit back and close my eyes. My grip is now so tight I'm sure my fingers would sooner rip from my body then loosen from this lap bar. Why did I get on this roller coaster? Why is that darn click so loud? Is that screw loose? How many people have actually fallen off of a coaster? Click...click...click...I say a prayer to quiet my mind as the clicks begin to slow, signaling the pending doom that is sure to follow the end of our climb.
Life is a carnival of rides, isn't it? It's full of thrilling, action packed rides that exhilarate all of our senses. If you like to move slower and safer, there are plenty of rides for you too. And most of the time, we get to choose what ride we get on. But it's not always as fun as it looks when you're in line. Sometimes you find yourself stuck on the race track, circling faster and faster, desperately trying to find an exit. But no matter how fast you drive, you will only end up at the same place you started. You have to figure out how to stop that car, and walk away. Sometimes you realize that the Merry Go Round is only good for about 4 turns. At about the 5th time around you start to get really dizzy, and you realize that the music is getting creepier the more dizzy you get. And now your at the mercy of a strange man in a hat who refuses to push that magical button even though you've made eye contact with him, willing him to stop this horse from jumping one more time. My favorite ride is one that I rarely get to ride, the skyline ride. In the skyline ride you just get to float over life. You get a chance to look back and see all the rides you've already been on. You get to look ahead and get a better view of some rides that you thought you really, really wanted to get on, but now realize that they are just not for you. And occasionally, you get a fantastic view of what's beyond the carnival.
I've been on life's roller coaster. (And I'm pretty sure it's a wooden one, because my neck hurts!) All week I've been climbing that hill. My tummy is in knots, my emotions and anxieties have launched out of control, and I've got the grip of death on my sanity. I am inexplicably terrified of rolling down that hill and into the corkscrews and upside down loopity loops! I find myself pleading with God for clarity. Why in the heck do I keep getting on this thing?
That's when I reach the top and He hits me.

 "Don't be afraid for I am with you, don't be discouraged , for I am your God,I will strengthen you and help you, I will hold you up with my victorious right hand" - Isaiah 41:10

Why am I afraid? I have a foolproof safety restraint! Life can twist me, turn me, drop me, and jerk me. But life CANNOT throw me! I am protected. So, friends, this is me letting go. I am opening my eyes. I am reaching my hands to the sky. And I am ready for the drop, whenever it may come. Because I know that God will bring me safely back the the station. He will hold me tight until my car has come to a complete stop. And I will undoubtedly ride this ride again. Because this unpredictably exciting and scary life, is a great ride.

Be Blessed!