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!

My heart exposed

I want to write something, but I'm having a hard time organizing my thoughts. So forgive me if I ramble.
I want to write to the children. The children who tonight have met our Lord. I cannot imagine the horrors you saw with your last blink. The fear that you felt. The confusion. As a mother my heart is overwhelmed with such an ache for you. I have prayed and cried, and prayed again. You had no idea that this world was even capable of such tragedy. Your innocent soul could not have been ready for the events that you endured. But rest assured, you will not go unnoticed. You will not be forgotten. You will forever remain in the hearts of America. You are the heart of America. Parents and children all over the world will absorb into each other tonight, in your honor. And Heaven will embrace you as you begin your new life, your everlasting life, as princes and princesses with your Father, The King.
I want to write to the parents, but the words are not there. I want to hug you. I want to love you. I hurt for you. Words can do nothing to express the loss that you should never have to experience. The only words I can offer you is my prayer.

Father God I am on my knees. I pray for a blanket of comfort for this town, this community, these families. God I know that the pain that is circling these people has a name. And I pray that you squash him like the bug he is. I pray that mothers would fall into your arms, and lean on you for the strength to carry on. God please be there for the ones that don't know you. I pray that your voice would be so loud in their lives, that hearts would be softened. I pray for wisdom for the police officers, investigators, and doctors. That answers would be provided for these families, these parents.
Father please be with the surviving children. Provide them with an army of counselors and loving people that can help them deal with the things they have witnessed, the things they have survived. I pray that you would cover the finances of the families. Thank you God. In your precious name I pray these things. Amen.

Psalm 10:14 But you, O God, do see trouble and grief; you consider it to take it in hand. The victim commits himself to you; you are the helper of the fatherless.

Be Blessed.

To Santa, or not to Santa?

It is the question of the month. I have seen blogs and posts galore, all asking the same thing; should I let my children believe in Santa? What age is the right age to tell them the truth if I do? Will they hate me when they find out I've lied to them all of this time? Will they question every thing I've ever taught them, namely Jesus?
I get it. I really do. As a parent we are always second guessing every decision we make regarding our children and we are terrified of the outcome if we make the wrong choice. But I have read some serioiusly crazy stuff lately. Blogs demanding that Christians everywhere not participate in any secular traditions. How we will surely send our children straight to the nuthouse should they be encouraged to believe in something that is not real. I actually saw someone make the statement that you cannot be a Christian if you allow your children to believe. And further more, they will then turn around and say that Jesus was a magical myth, just like Santa!
I would never put myself in a position to judge someone's heart, but I don't believe that a statement like that should come from the mouth of a Christian!
In the Ferguson house, we do not believe in Santa. We believe Christmas is a time to celebrate that sweet baby Jesus and his entrance into this world. We do, however, follow some Santa traditions. We talk about who St. Nicholas was and what his mission was all about. That he was a Godly man and that when you see "Santa's" on the streets, they are celebrating his life. We put cookies out for Santa, because we love to make cookies 'round here, and big momma needs a tasty treat as she is up all night playing with...ahem..I mean assembling toys. We also make reindeer poop out of brownie mix and sparkles to make a trail from the children's doors to their stockings. What? That's not a tradition in your home? Weird.
So, now you know where I stand.That is what is right for our family BUT that does not mean that it has to be what is right for your family. To each his own, and however or whatever you do with the Santa story is cool with me.
I just can't help but churn this idea of our children questioning Jesus and His story around in my head. Would that really be the worst thing? Come to think about it, don't we all question Jesus at one point in our lives? Don't we all test Him? I know I did. I struggled and questioned and tested and guess what? God proved Himself to me over and over again. And friends, it is because of those moments that I am who I am today. It is because of my questions, that I have answers!
To those parents that are terrified of that moment that their precious little ones look at them with big eyes and say "WHAT? Santa's not real?? How can I ever trust you again? Is Jesus even real and powerful like you said he was?" I say, you haven't crushed their dreams and ruined their lives. You aren't going down under. You haven't damned them to a Godless life. You have just opened their eyes. You have given them a great gift! The opportunity to experience God on their own. To not just make an assumption of who God is based on what you say is true, but to get out there and get answers for themselves. Scary? Yes. But I beleive God is fully up to the task friends.
So don't choose your Christmas rituals based on the scare tactics that are out there. Decide what is right for your family and go with it. And trust God to be able to handle things on His end should your children decide to start questioning His existence.
Be blessed.