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.