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Wrong Notes and Imperfect Pottery

The clay sculptures sit next to my bed where I can see them every morning and night. A dinosaur, an eagle, and a fish are among my most treasured possessions.

Painstakingly shaped and painted by my own children, these pieces may never be on display in a museum, but they are displayed where their creators’ mother can see and appreciate them over and over. In a fire, I’d scoop them right up over items worth thousands more.

My children made them for me, and that is what makes them perfect.

But to my children, they aren’t. Sometimes when they see them, they laugh at what they made when their hands were smaller, and they see every flaw in their hands’ creations. They ask me why I keep them out, why I display them like they’re fine art.

So often, in my own creating, I feel like I just mess up everything, too.

In my hands and through my eyes, what I intend to be beautiful is nothing more than broken. What I mean to be a masterpiece turns into a mess.

My meager offerings to the Lord? They disappoint me. They are never enough and never as good as so and so’s. When I reflect on what I do, all I see are the imperfections and flaws. The shortcomings and not-good-enoughs shout loudly for my attention, and the blood, sweat, and tears I spent on the creation are forgotten. All I see is all I’m not. All I notice is where I failed. Again.

I convince myself that all I can do is create imperfect pottery, and the imperfections cause me to recoil. They cause me to swear off creating again, and they make me feel like I can never offer anything of worth.

And I know I’m not alone.

My sister-in-law has a beautiful voice. She leads worship in our church, and people are constantly amazed at the talent she displays. But when the songs are over and she hears herself replayed, all she hears are the notes she didn’t nail. The imperfections that to us are unnoticed are evidence of failure to her ears.

She is like me, and I am like you. All we notice are our own wrong notes; all we see are our imperfect pottery’s flaws.

Through my eyes, yes, I am a failure. My creations, even under the best conditions and with the purest intentions, will never be just right. Regardless of how hard I work and how perfect I desire my creation to be, it will fall short. There will always be an improvement that could be made or a change that would make it better.

But.

My eyes are not seeing all that God’s are. My assessment is not the most accurate tally, and my focus on miniscule details causes me to forget that I created it for Him and not myself.

My perfection is not what He desires. He just wants me to give it my all, do it for Him, and let it glorify Him how it will. His Word reminds us, “So whether you eat or drink or whatever you do, do it all for the glory of God” (1 Cor. 10:31).

All, for the glory of God. All, even the imperfect. All, even what you wish were better.

And more importantly, for the glory of God. Not for the praise of man, not for self-satisfaction, but for glorifying the One who created you. Your creations are to praise the Creator, and when they are done with only Him in mind, they do.

Our imperfect creations are displayed on his shelves, and they are among His treasures. May we create with pure hearts and glorify with those creations, even if imperfect.

April 18, 2015
Tell Me I’m Pretty

“Josh, look at my nails.”

Her eight year old fingers stretch out before her stepfather’s eyes, showing off the latest manicure on her tiny bitten fingernails.

“Ooh, pretty,” he replies. “I like them!”

She doesn’t know it, doesn’t understand what she’s doing, but she’s following in the footsteps of every female before her. She is wanting – needing – the affirmation of a father.

As independent and intelligent as she is, my little girl also has a need deep within her heart that is as old as time itself. She needs to feel loved and beautiful. She needs to hear the man in her life tell her she is enough as she is, she is treasured in his eyes, and there is something about her that is of value. She needs to know that she has worth. And, praise God, she hears that from her Josh. He was not in the room when she was born, is not biologically her daddy, but he loves her like she can do no wrong and openly admires her as she twirls in new dresses for him. He tells her what he tells me, that she is so pretty and she is enough.

He tells her, and I pray that she believes.

I pray that she has the confidence her mama lacked (lacks), and that she goes through life with the deep confidence that only a father’s words can instill.

I myself have looked for affirmation in a million different places because it wasn’t rooted in my heart. I have looked in the numbers on the scale, the sizes in my clothes, the looks in the eyes of others. I have searched in the makeup sections of drugstores, the outfits filling my closet, the pictures of myself I won’t post. I have searched and not found, and oh, how I pray that she never has to search.

It’s not superficial, this need to be loved. It’s not wrong to want to hear you are wonderfully made, and it’s not sinful for little girls to play dress up and primp. It’s God’s design for little girls to look to their fathers for their first feelings of love, and it’s His design to use an earthly father’s adoration to teach us of His own.

Earthly father, tell your little girl as often as you can that she is beautiful and amazing in your eyes. Treasure the papers she colors for you, and make it a point to take her out for special dates. Kiss her mother in front of her, and let her see you love her mommy well. Buy her the ice cream flavor she likes best just to let her know that you know. Buy her some new pajamas and tell her that you thought of her when you saw them. Love her, earthly father, in deeds and not just words. Treasure her and teach her that she herself is the treasure. Instill in her while she’s still a child that she can be confident in a father’s love, and when she is older there will be a fighting chance that she won’t search for it in the wrong places. Love her, father, (stepfather, man in her life), with the love of the Father. Teach her that He’s good. You will mean more in her life than you can possibly imagine.

April 12, 2015
The Inchworm

“The grand design of God in all the afflictions that befall his people is to bring them nearer and closer to himself.”

Thomas Brooks

***

Of all the posts I have ever written, this is one of the most personal and one of my favorites. This weekend, I saw my first inchworm of this spring, and I felt the need to share this post again. I wrote it about one of the most difficult seasons of my life and how God showed that He hears every cry His children make, even when we’re not sure He does.

***

It’s as if there are two brains operating simultaneously inside my skull. One is the brain with a brain, thinking about the logistics of my new life – finances, schedules, grocery lists, the reality of living as a single mom.

The other is the brain with the heart, thinking about the pain of being alone.

These two brains war against each other, the winning brain at any moment anyone’s guess. My thoughts shift moment by moment, like a radio dial that jumps between frequencies. This is an unanticipated difficulty – never knowing which brain will take control, and feeling powerless when the wrong one is in charge. Thoughts are the most powerful force I face, and they are as inconsistent and fickle as my four year old.

The brain with a brain is also the one that houses the truth of my faith. It knows that God is good, that He provides for the birds and will provide for me, that He will never leave me or forsake me. It knows that Creator could simply speak and light would illuminate this darkness. It trusts that Satan has already been defeated and though it feels as if he is winning, his fate has been sealed.

The brain knows, but the heart – oh, the heart.

The heart questions. The heart grieves, mourns, wails.

Doesn’t trust. Has difficulty believing. Becomes like Job, cursing day of birth and demanding answers. The heart overpowers the brain and convinces self that it will be alone forever, unable to trust again.

Faith-brain and heart-brain take turns at the helm, moving me abruptly, my spirit like a bumper car. I want to be like Job, believing God for good, but Job’s friends take up residence in my head, demanding I search self for fault.

Clarity, Jesus. I need clarity, truth, peace. Give me a respite from the dueling brains. Both head and heart ache.

I determine from day one that I want – no, need – to remain present in this trial. There are lessons to be learned, God-whispers directed to my ear that I will miss if I hide. “The testing of your faith produces endurance . . .” (James 1:3). The building of endurance requires the cooperation of the tested. I can suffer through this, merely surviving it, or I can be built stronger – choose to see faith grow.

God honors this desire. He speaks.

One of the first days back at preschool, Son becomes attached to a green inchworm on the playground. Upset by teacher’s news that Wormy must live outside, Son insists that we search for him after school. We do, but to no avail. Because his emotions are so close to the surface, Son bursts into tears and cries all the way home.

I know the inchworm is not the real issue.

And because the inchworm is not the real issue, I am angry. I lash out at God – “Why, Lord, do even the small things in our lives have to upset so greatly right now? You who number hair on heads and sand on shores, who know thoughts from afar, why would you not let us find a simple inchworm at a time like this? Do you not care?”

I vent my anger over the insignificant, but I know that this, too, is not really about the insignificant.

Nothing is coming easily, and I am weary.

I park minivan, unbuckle car seats, unload children, unzip jackets . . . and freeze.

There, crawling on Daughter’s purple jacket is a tiny green inchworm.

The tears flow freely. They flow freely as I laugh and cry and cradle Wormy #2 and praise God in my garage for caring – for speaking His love through inchworms, for reminding me that He is sovereign over every detail. “For God does speak – now one way, now another – though man may not perceive it” (Job 33:14).

The inchworm reminds me, once again and in spite of my spiritual amnesia, that my God is personal.

He hears, He listens, He knows.

He will reveal Himself if I will only ask.

Isaiah told the Israelites then and tells me now that “the Lord longs to be gracious to you…” (30:18).

This trial is not my desire, yet in the midst of the terrible, my God longs to grace my life with him. Oh, that I would see it and take with outstretched hands. “Shall we take good from the Lord and not trouble?” (2:10).

I will take it Lord – I will take it all, if you will only continue to be gracious.

April 7, 2015
Double Knots

I live a double-knot life, and I’m ready for that to change. You know the old double knot routine from elementary school years. Tennis shoes can’t be tied just once when you’re doing strenuous activity; they have to be tied in a double knot so there’s no risk of them coming untied and tripping you.

Those double knots are the story of my life. I, for 34 years and 11.5 months, have double knotted every aspect of my life. I have been the epitome of safe living. Always afraid of messing up or getting into trouble, I have done exactly what was expected and always what was safe. I’m not talking about just wearing my seat belt or driving below the speed limit; I’m talking about doing what I “should” because it involved no risk. I’m talking about doing what was safe and easy so I could avoid tripping myself.

When I was in school, I was every teacher’s dream and my own worst nightmare. I studied nonstop, always did my work, and never questioned what I was being taught. Academics were the priority, even to the point of forfeiting fun. As a high school senior, I chose to attend college in my hometown and live at home because I was afraid of moving away from the familiar. My fear cost me a real college experience, and I’ve already told my children they will be forced to go away from home after high school. They will not be allowed to live so double-knotted that they miss what life has to offer. I have too much experience in that realm to allow it to become their reality.

I’ve learned that there’s a huge difference between apprehension-induced inactivity and flat out fear-causing paralysis. Paralysis has been where I have lived, and I’m so over it.

Don’t expect me to start sky-diving or driving a motorcycle. Those are risks I don’t think I’ll ever be willing to take – I’m just a scaredy-cat when it comes to those, and I’m ok with that. I do hope that in my 35th year, however, I will loosen the knots that have strangled the life out of me and will step outside of my comfortable boxed-in life. What will this look like? Nothing radical, probably, but it will (hopefully) radically impact my daily life.

First, more writing. I know that I have kept my words to myself for fear of how they’ll be received, and it’s absolutely ridiculous. God has called me to write, people have responded to my words, and it is what makes me fully alive. My husband literally just moments ago signed me up for a writing conference, and I have to submit my writing by Sunday. Does that make me sweat? Absolutely. But sweat won’t kill you. Denying your purpose just might.

Today I read these words from Anne Lamott about why writing matters: “Writing and reading decrease our sense of isolation. They deepen and widen and expand our sense of life; they feed the soul. When writers make us shake our heads with the exactness of their prose and their truths, and even make us laugh about ourselves or life, our buoyancy is restored. We are given a shot at dancing with, or at least clapping along with, the absurdity of life, instead of being squashed by it over and over again. It’s like singing on a boat during a terrible storm at sea. You can’t stop the raging storm, but singing can change the hearts and spirits of the people who are together on that ship.”

Yes! That’s why I will write – I want to stop being squashed by the absurdity of life, instead singing during the terrible storm. This is why I will write, because this is what we were meant to do.

How else will I loosen the knots? I will be more vocal about what I think and what matters. For far too long, I have allowed my full mind to operate nonstop while keeping my voice silent. In groups, I listen and usually defer to others. No more. If I don’t agree, I won’t acquiesce. If I have an intelligent word on the topic, I will not be quiet just because I don’t have a dominant personality. Dominance is just as much a sign of insecurity as silence, so there’s no need for me to assume that people who try to steamroll others have any more insight than I do. They are just louder; they are not more right.

I also want to stop being so darn afraid of making mistakes. I want to loosen my collar and kick up my feet every once in a while. I want to have more fun and be more carefree, less worried about imperfections being visible. Who cares if I’m not perfect? (Well, I always have, but that needs to change.) I’m one of those people in my Zumba fitness classes who legitimately cares if I mess up a step. Stupid. That’s just stupid. The steps don’t matter; the sweat does. The fun does. The steps really don’t.

I also want to loosen the knots strangling me when it comes to relationships. ‘Once burned, twice shy’ is the old saying, and it’s unfortunately true when it comes to being hurt by those once close to you. I have allowed past pain to prevent new connections, and there is nothing more dangerous to an introverted soul than unnecessary isolation. I’m tired of being scared to be the real me around people. Either they will like me or they won’t. If they don’t, oh well. It’s not the end of the world. Someone else will.

Quite simply, I want to be a person willing to take more risks. Not unnecessary, foolish risks that endanger my life, but wise risks that open up a world to me that I always held at arm’s length. I love this quote: “Take a risk. Be spontaneous. The suffering that might come from a mistake is usually less intense and less enduring than the suffering of asking ‘what if?’”

You know what’s pretty cool? That manuscript I’m sending Sunday is entitled “What If?”! I think it’s a risk I’m willing to take!

Am I the only one living a double-knot life? How are you looking to loosen the knots?

Photo coursey of http://walsworthfamilycircus.blogspot.com/2010/04/we-are-getting-soooo-goood-at-tying.html

February 27, 2015
For You, Today, If You’re Grieving

I recently spent time with a woman in the new hours of her worst tragedy. Her heart is still raw, the tears still flow freely, and the brain cannot yet absorb just what has happened. She asked me, knowing that my heart had once been torn, too, “How did you make it through?”

Oh, how I wish there were an easy formula, a 12 step plan for the life class of Grief 101. ‘I didn’t make it through‘, I wanted to tell her. ‘I’m still trying. There is no finish line.‘

Grief is not a stage of life that you go through and get over. The emotional suffering you experience through loss will never fully disappear, though in its midst, that’s what you desire more than anything. You want the hurt to stop, but it won’t. It will never go away, although with time it will lessen in intensity.

Experts say there are stages to grief, a logical and almost scientific explanation for what you will experience. Different models vary slightly, but the basics are the same. You begin with a disbelief and denial that the event, whatever it is, can really be happening. You think and sometimes verbalize, “This can’t be my life. This cannot be happening.” Eventually, experts say, you will find yourself in the acceptance stage. This is where you learn that life goes on and you will, too.

For anyone who is grieving today, regardless of the reason, I want to give you my own advice. I want to tell you what the experts might not, and I want you to know that you will make it.

First:

Stop trying to be so strong. What you experienced was horrific, and you don’t need to pretend otherwise. If you don’t allow yourself to fully express your pain now, it will come out later. (And even if you do deal with it now, it will still resurface in the future. This is normal, and although you will hate it, it is necessary for full healing. Feel it, allow it, and face it. Running from it will mean running from healing.) Allow yourself to cry, and when people ask how you are, be honest. Say you’re struggling, say you’re not sleeping, say you can’t eat. Your honesty will give them permission to step in and help. Isolating yourself by denying the pain will begin a cycle of self-destruction that you never intended and cannot handle alone.

Next, and this is a hard one:

Stop expecting and wishing for life to be what it once was. It never will be again. Everything will look different forever, and there is nothing you can do to recreate the old. It will seem as if you are viewing life through a new pair of glasses, and at first, those lenses will be uncomfortable. You will want to throw them as far away as possible and hunt for your old, broken-in, comfortable pair. Friend, they are irreparably broken and irretrievable. You must wear the new. I promise that over time, they too will be wearable. Perhaps they will never be as comfortable or familiar as your originals, but they will eventually be a part of your life so normal that you forget they are there. The new lenses you see through will be different, of course, but they will also give you sight in areas you were blinded to before. This new sight will transform you in ways that your old lenses never would have allowed.

More (and I am writing this for myself, truthfully):

Do not, under any circumstances, compare your life to anyone else’s. I know, I know. It’s impossible not to do, especially in pain. You naturally look at others who are oblivious to the hurt that is your constant, and you begin the comparisons. You want their life, and you resent yours. Believe me when I tell you that the famous saying “Comparison is the thief of joy” is 100% true. Whatever joy is intended for you will disappear like morning fog when you compare your story to others’. It will be impossible to experience any contentment or happiness if you are looking around. Avoid this temptation.

A hard truth?

Anger is normal, anger is natural, and anger will engulf you in ways that shock you. It may come out of nowhere, and it may sneak up on you in the most unexpected ways. It may also be highly irrational. I remember one day, in the immediacy of my own grief, becoming irate that the trash bag would not come easily out of the trash can. I wrestled with it, became furious, and collapsed, crying, in a heap on the kitchen floor. Obviously, feelings of anger had been building, and in that moment they overflowed. The same may happen to you, and you may express yours to the environment around you, people who have not hurt you, or even the person who died and left you alone. Again, this is normal. Look for the root of the anger and find healthy ways of expressing the very physical side of your rage. Go for a run, beat a punching bag, yell into an empty house. Write out your feelings, vent to someone you can trust. Feel the feelings – don’t suppress them.

Expect repetition:

Once you make your way through a stage, don’t expect to be finished with it. You will cycle back through many of the stages over and over, and in many ways, this is healthy and makes sense. If you really loved someone or were emotionally attached to whatever you lost, you should grieve it. You should need time to come to terms with the loss, and you should not be able to easily forge through.

Believe this:

Life can be good again. No, life will never be the same; that expectation is unrealistic. However, in time, you will begin to enjoy activities and people again. You will feel permission to smile, and you will go through longer and longer stretches of time where your grief isn’t in the forefront of your mind. You will learn how to exist in your new world, and you will discover how to go through your days purposefully. You will be happy again, I promise. You will love, and you will change. Your grief will change you for the good, if you allow it, and your life will be good again. It will. You have to believe it.

February 26, 2015
Gimmicks

I cannot believe I am writing about Lady Gaga. I have never had much to say about her except, perhaps, that time she wore the meat dress. Meat? For real? The smell of uncooked meat makes me want to puke. Making hamburger patties sends me over the edge. Can you imagine wearing it? I guess sacrifices are necessary when it comes to fashion.

Now, though, I do have something to say. Sunday night at the Oscars, Lady Gaga sang a tribute to Julie Andrews and The Sound of Music, and it was incredible. Here – listen for yourself.

Sure, Lady Gaga has sold millions of albums and won Grammy Awards, but to be quite honest, I didn’t know she was such a great singer. She’s always just been (in my mind) a walking gimmick. She has been so well known for what she wears that how she sings has been secondary, at least to me. Truthfully, however, she has great talent. It is, to be spiritual, a God-given talent. So here’s what I have to say: sometimes the gimmicks we hide behind and use to gain attention only detract from the real purpose God created us to fulfill.

There’s no doubt in my mind that Lady Gaga was created to sing. With a voice like hers, her purpose must include music. But the meat dresses, bizarre shoes, and unusual attire for which she has gotten attention have overshadowed the talent God gave her to share (not to mention glorify Him).

It’s easy to point this out about Lady Gaga since she’s such a famous figure, but aren’t we all guilty, too? Aren’t we afraid that we aren’t enough on our own, so we need to dress up and show out and get attention by any means necessary? What would happen if we stopped with the charades and just did what we were meant to do? There is some reason that each of us exists, some purpose that only we can fulfill. For some, it is to use obvious talents like singing to bring attention to the Lord. For others, it’s to quietly serve behind the scenes where no one ever even knows our names.

I read a great blog today by Lindsey Nobles called “Owning Our Gifts,” and she just laid it all on the line. She said, “…this fall I started to forget who I am and the importance of my own voice and strengths. I started to believe that I wasn’t enough. I started to diminish myself.” I think we all diminish ourselves when we believe that our unique gifts do not compare to others’ and we start artificially adding to them. We also diminish ourselves when we think that our gifts are just for ourselves, forgetting that they are meant to praise and edify the One who made us. I’ve been thinking about gifts a lot lately, mainly because I’m fighting with everything in me to use mine for Him, stripping everything away except what’s true and raw and real. To be true and raw and real is to be vulnerable, and sometimes it’s easier to cover vulnerability with a meat dress than it is to expose your stripped-down self and leave it open to criticism.

Lady Gaga, I’m speaking to you. Actually, I’m speaking to you, Stefani Joanne Angelina Germanotta, the woman who even needed to change her name. You are enough. Your talent is enough, your real self is enough, and it’s time to stop the gimmicks. You wowed us all with your voice Sunday night, and nothing else was necessary. Your talent – your purpose in life – is enough.

I’m also speaking to you, dear reader. You are enough. Your talent is sufficient to be who you were meant to be. No more gimmicks, no more charades. Let’s embrace the reality of who we are and run after our purposes with reckless abandon. Let’s leave the meat dresses in the closet.

Photos courtesy of eonline.com and stylewithanna.com.

February 25, 2015
You’re Not the Boss of Me

The world wants me to believe that I’m not a good mother, and it tells me in the most ridiculous ways.

These, for example.

All over Facebook and Instagram, I see friends who had precious matching shirts for every day of their Disney trip. You know who didn’t? This girl. We were lucky enough to be able to afford a trip to Disney, much less have outfits coordinating with the parks and princesses we’d be seeing that day. My kids wore their in-closet Target bargain clothes, and the voice in my head wants me to feel badly about it. Sometimes I do, and then sometimes I remember that THEY GOT TO GO TO DISNEY WORLD. So never mind.

Don’t forget these:

I don’t have monthly pictures of my babies’ first year complete with stickers showing their age. It wasn’t a thing back when they were born, and now I feel like they’ll need years of therapy because they won’t know how their six month pictures compare to their seven month pictures. Just what kind of mother am I? (One who’s lucky to have pictures of her children at all, I think. Especially the second one – she did not sleep through the night for TWO YEARS, and her brother was only 15 months older than she was, so it’s a wonder I even was cognizant enough to take pictures at all. Which I did. And those pictures exist somewhere in my house. I know they do. One day I’ll organize them, like when I have grandchildren and retire.)

And let’s not forget these:

Ah. Maternity pictures. Again, I was pregnant before these were a huge fad (thank goodness), and yet I feel like I’ve cheated my children somehow of seeing just how cute and stylish I was when they were in utero. (Or, as the case may be, how roly-poly I felt and how often I wore their father’s pajama pants. But whatever.)

I don’t have any of these either (yet another parenting fail):

Exquisite newborn photos taken at the hospital. How could I not have any of these? Oh yes. I remember. One, because my son’s delivery turned into an unexpected C-section when he decided to come into the world rear-end first. Two, because I looked like a hippo with all of the fluids they pumped into me during surgery, and then I looked (and acted like) a crazy woman when I turned out to be allergic to the drugs they gave me. So, nah. Newborn pictures didn’t need to happen in the hospital then.

What about the other time? Ah. Yes. The daughter who decided to be premature despite a day’s worth of drugs trying to keep her in, followed by a repeat C-section, followed by her stay in the special care nursery because (bless her 5 pound body), she didn’t know how to eat. And let’s not forget that all of this happened at Christmas. Christmas, for goodness’ sake, when I had to leave her at the hospital and go home to be Santa for her (sick at the time) brother. Newborn pictures at the hospital? They didn’t happen then, either.

Let’s keep going.

Of course – a snowman breakfast. What’s the use in having a snow day like today if you don’t make a snowman breakfast, complete with snowman poop? It’s a waste of a day, I guess. (Unless the roads are clear and you can take the kids to IHOP like I hypothetically might have done this morning. Pancakes still count, even if they’re not shaped like snowmen and aren’t wearing bacon scarves, right?)

Everywhere I look, the world shows me where I don’t measure up, and it wants me to think I’m a failure as a mom. (Ok, on Pinterest. I look on Pinterest. And Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter. But that’s pretty much everywhere.) But you know what? I’m not. I’m not a failure as a mother. I love my kids and I give them everything they need (and deprive them of some of what they want. Saying no builds their character. I also make them put away laundry and eat vegetables that make them gag. Character. It builds character).

I try my best every single day to instill in them what matters. I give them rules, I require them to help with chores, and I tell them ad nauseam that I love them. (“We know, Mommy. You tell us all the time.”) Isn’t that what really matters in a mom? I know it is. So you know what Pinterest? Forget you and your taunts of my motherhood mediocrity. You’re not the boss of me. (But you do have some really good recipes, so I’ll see you later, ok? Just quit telling me what to do.)

February 24, 2015
Believe

I have a sign in the front of my classroom that simply says ‘believe.’ I want my students to believe that they can, believe that I care, and believe that this all matters for more than just a report card.

Today, though, this happened.

My ‘believe’ toppled to the floor, and I just stood there and stared. The sign on the floor was a sign for my life and a sign of the struggle I’m currently in. My belief is falling, and I’m afraid there will be a loud bang when, at any moment, it, too, hits the floor. I want to believe that I can, believe that someone cares, and believe that this all matters for more… But it’s hard. It’s hard, and I’m struggling.

The truth is that I’m in an incredibly hard season of life. I’ve been through worse, but the worse doesn’t make this better. It’s still hard. The details don’t matter right now, but I bet someone out there is in a similar place. I’m sure that someone else is also seeing his belief fall. So let’s talk about it.

My belief in God isn’t what’s falling. I still believe that He is good and that all of this matters, although to be very honest, I don’t understand how it does.

I believe that one day I will be able to look back at this time and see it all make sense, see how it was necessary to move me forward. Again, though, my heart laid open before you, that hasn’t begun just yet. I’m still in the “this doesn’t make sense and I just want it to go away” stage. It’s a stage that’s been going on for years now. It’s a stage that I, quite frankly, am tired of enduring.

No, my belief in my God isn’t what’s falling. It’s my belief in everything else. It’s the belief that I can hold up under the strain; it’s the belief that I will come out better and stronger. It’s the belief that I will ever be carefree and easygoing again. It’s the belief that all of this will ever end. It’s the belief that I will emerge, whenever the time of testing ends, as a woman who is not cynical or jaded but who still hopes and loves and believes the best.

Sometimes believing is hard.

If you worship in a contemporary service or listen to contemporary Christian music, there is no doubt that you have heard the song “Oceans.” Everyone loves it – they lose their minds when they hear it.

The lyrics are all over Pinterest, if that tells you how popular the song is. People have canvases made of the words. Don’t believe me? Just look.

It’s a great song – don’t get me wrong. But it’s really hard for me to sing it. Why? Because I’ve lived it, and living it is infinitely harder than mindlessly singing the lyrics set to music.

The lyrics say things like, “You call me out upon the waters, the great unknown where feet may fail.”

The great unknown? Yes. I’m currently there. The great unknown is the story of my days, and my feet have both literally and metaphorically failed to hold me. (And it’s not nearly as poetic as it sounds.)

The lyrics continue: “Spirit, lead me where my trust is without borders; let me walk upon the waters wherever you would call me.” I distinctly remember praying this kind of prayer a few years ago. Written in a journal somewhere are the words, “Whatever it takes, Lord. Use me.” When I wrote those words, I didn’t know that the “whatever” would be what it has been. If I had known, I’m not sure I would have prayed the same way. “Whatever” sounds a lot better than saying, “even torture.” But the two can be synonymous, if you want to know the truth. They have been for me.

More lyrics, further on: “Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander.” Yes, again. He has. In fact, He has taken me so deep that at times I have wondered if I would drown. I haven’t, so I know He’ll be faithful to rescue again, but when the waves are crashing, it’s so easy to wonder if they will consume. Waves are crashing now, and it’s all I can do to “keep my eyes above the waves.”

Yes, “Oceans” is a great song – if you don’t stop and think about what you’re singing. If you think it and live it and mean it, the words can wreck your life. A runaway hit song is great until you really have to live what it says.

One of my favorite verses in all of the Bible was spoken in Mark 9 by a father, and he was able to verbalize exactly how I feel. He was begging Jesus to help his demon-possessed son, saying, “If you can do anything, take pity on us and help us.” Jesus replied, “Everything is possible for one who believes.”

Here’s my favorite part: the boy’s father exclaimed, “I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!”

I know exactly how he feels. I believe, but I need help believing. I believe with my head, but sometimes my heart needs some help. I believe it for others, but sometimes I need help believing it for myself. I believe in theory, but sometimes I need help believing it in reality.

Believe. I wish it were as simple as it sounds.

February 24, 2015
Because I’m Worth It

My daughter captured this picture of me today.

Flattering, huh?

Yep, that’s me working out in my den, wiping the sweat dripping off the end of my nose. When I first saw the picture, I immediately (as all women would) critiqued it. I nearly deleted it, but something struck me. My daughter, the little brown-haired girl who copies my every move and is the spitting image of me, took that picture. She sat and watched me for the entire workout, jumping up and doing some of the moves with me at times. That little girl took my picture, and as she did, she wasn’t critiquing my form or muscle tone. She was just watching her mom making a choice to take care of herself. So I didn’t delete the picture, and I’m hoping that somebody reading this will remember that you, too, have somebody watching you, using you as a role model.

Being a mom is a super hard task, and being a mom who takes care of herself is even harder. I don’t want to play the martyr here, but it’s never easy to eat right and work out. It’s so tempting to eat what’s convenient and not exercise. It’s so tempting to come home from work and just go comatose in front of the television with tasty junk food. It’s tempting and it’s convenient, but it’s such a terrible model for my children. It shows them that my comfort is my priority and that my health doesn’t matter. It shows them that I don’t think I am worth taking care of, and that is a scary lesson for my kids.

Usually I don’t work out at home. I’m part of an incredible group fitness studio, and I try to go at least 5 times a week. Sometimes that means dragging the kids with me when they’d rather stay home. Sometimes it means leaving them home with my husband. It always means sacrificing something in order to work out. But it’s worth it, and I’ve finally realized that I’m worth it, too. Not only that, but the hour I spend exercising each day is 100% about me. That isn’t selfish – it’s necessary. That hour allows me to escape the stress and heartache and worries and troubles that plague me the other 23 hours.

I know that everyone is really busy, and I know that there are legitimate reasons we could all give for not taking care of ourselves. I’ve heard them all, and I’ve probably used a lot of them myself. But I also think that sometimes we make excuses and call them reasons to justify our laziness. (This isn’t just true about our health, is it?)

The bottom line is this: you’re worth it, and others are watching. Are you showing them that you matter or that you don’t? You’re showing them something, and it’s completely up to you.

February 23, 2015
My 600 Pound Life

Have you guys seen the show “My 600-lb Life” that comes on TLC? I am ridiculously obsessed with it. I will watch reruns, marathons, and cannot miss a new episode. These people, all of whom are at least 600 pounds, allow a camera crew to follow them for a year as they journey to lose weight through Gastric Bypass Surgery. It is riveting and heart-wrenching, and I cannot look away.

Many of them begin as prisoners of their own beds and houses, unable to stand or walk more than a few steps on their own. They are often reliant on a caretaker and can do very little for themselves, including bathing and, ironically, cooking. So often, there is a fascinating dependent relationship where a caretaker becomes an enabler, cooking extremely unhealthy meals or bringing in unlimited fast food. I’m no psychologist, but the psychology in that fascinates me and could be another post.

For some of the people featured, the end of the year means many pounds lost and regained independence. For others, though, the surgery is unsuccessful because they never face the real reasons they gained such weight in the first place.

I’m fascinated by this show for many reasons, but I think the greatest is that it’s not really about weight. Absolutely, being hundreds of pounds overweight is, at some level, a weight issue, but at the core, the issue is much greater than just food and exercise. It’s about more than just calories consumed and inactivity.

For so many of the men and women on this show, a trauma or tragedy earlier in life was the starting point of their battle with weight. Failed relationships, sexual abuse, divorce, neglect as children… There is always more to the story than just food. There is always a deeper issue. Even for those who did not face an extreme tragedy, there is still an emotional component. They eat because they cannot handle stress; they eat because they feel alone; they eat because food is where they get their greatest pleasure. The external pounds are just the visible symbol of the internal struggle.

I am not 600 pounds. I am not overweight, and I have never been one to turn to food when life gets hard – I do the opposite. But make no mistake. I, too, have a 600 pound life. In fact, most of us do.

See, here’s the thing. For every person, there are internal struggles that, even if others know they exist, they don’t understand the depth of what those struggles do to us. There are emotional hardships that consume and devastate us but that remain unknown to even those who know us best. And those internal hardships – please get this – if not surrendered and submitted to the Lord, will always manifest themselves externally as well. For some, it’s food and weight. For some, it’s alcoholism. For others, it’s anger or pornography or excessive shopping or work or a myriad of other things we do to avoid dealing with the reality that begs to be faced.

The external manifestation of the inner struggle is sin. It’s just not always obvious sin.

For the 600 pound people, the excess pounds are obvious. We can see them and judge them and feel superior because we don’t have (and can’t understand) that struggle. But friends, if we have unconfessed sin that we refuse to face or struggles that we try to cope with through external means, we are spiritually and emotionally 600 pounds as well. We are just as obese and just as sick and just as in need of help as those people we gape at and watch featured on a popular TV show.

It’s not politically correct to address obesity as sin. But handling our stresses and struggles with anything other than Jesus is sinful, and that includes food – both too much and too little of it. My struggles with undereating and over-exercising are just as sinful as overeating and under-exercising. My reacting in anger because I’m emotionally depleted is just as sinful as overeating or using drugs or sleeping too much to escape reality. However you and I try to handle life on our own, without surrender to Christ, is sin. Let’s call it what it is and refuse to let it be the story of our lives.

I am always so sad for the 600 pound people who have lost years of their lives. They have been recluses trapped behind walls and imprisoned in mountains of flesh. They talk about wanting to leave the house and walk out into the sunshine, and when they finally do, the joy on their faces is unbelievable. Can you see that you and I are also missing out on years of our lives? Maybe not physically trapped, but emotionally? Maybe not unable to walk, but still feeling dead?

There’s nothing harder than facing ourselves and admitting that we have a problem. But there’s nothing worse than remaining trapped in a prison of our own making that our Creator wants to destroy for our own good.

What is your 600 pounds today, friend? What will it take for you to face it and lose it? Whatever it is, surrender it. Lay down the weight, literal or metaphorical, and allow the God who made you to remake you into what He desires. Those 600 pounds are not what He intended.

All photos from http://www.tlc.com/tv-shows/my-600-lb-life/photos

January 18, 2015