Bullied

I wish I could hold him tight and warm like the day I brought him home. Close to my heart, bundled fresh, perfect in every way – I still see him like that – my baby. Tears gush hot as I think of him there – in that place with those people – the ones who laugh, play tricks, make fun. They don’t know him the way I do – how he’s kind, funny, smart, talented, good. They don’t see him for who he is; they see him for who he’s not.

And they’re right, he’s not like them. He’s not a jock, not a jerk, not a rich snobby kid – just one who wants to do the right thing. He doesn’t fight back. He takes and takes, but it’s hard and it’s wearing him down. And I – the one who gave him life, who knows all he is, sees his hurt, feels his pain, realizes his worth and potential – can hardly bear it. Every instinct inside, each breath I breathe is filled with thoughts of him – how I can help him, rescue him, save him.

And in this place, for the first time ever, I see this glimpse of His heart – how He feels about me, each of us.

I am His baby – close to His heart, bundled fresh, His perfect pride and joy. They don’t know me the way He does – the ones who laugh, play tricks, make fun. They don’t see me for who I am; they see me for who I’m not. I just want to do the right thing, but I can’t fight back on my own. So the enemy takes and takes, and it’s hard, wears me down.

But He – the One who gave me life, who knows all I am, sees my hurt, feels my pain, realizes my worth and potential – can hardly bear it. Every instinct inside, each breath He breathes is filled with thoughts of me – how He can help me, rescue me, save me.

You are His baby – the one He loves more than anything else. You are His pride, His heart. He feels your hurt, knows your pain, hears your cries, sees your heart. His life, His breath is your rescue. You fill His thoughts; He wants to help you, save you.

Those who call on Him are not disappointed – run to Him today.

You heard their cries for help and saved them. They put their trust in you and were never disappointed. – Psalm 22:5 (NLT)

Practice Makes Perfect

The twins want to be great pianists one day – to sit on a stage and wow an audience with their skill and talent. I’m glad they want to pursue the study of music and that they desire to be proficient, but there’s a problem with this plan – they don’t practice. I lecture them daily about the importance of rehearsal, reminding them if they want to do well they must put in effort, and not just for five minutes. But preparation isn’t always fun. Sometimes it’s tedious and difficult; sometimes it’s a battle of wills. It takes time, determination, and hard work, and often requires that something else be given up.

My girls do not yet realize that greatness is born of preparation. They want the payment without the work, the reaping without the sowing, the prize without the cost – to put in minimal effort and gain maximum reward.

Imagine recital day, spotlight fixed on the baby grand, sweet girls in beautiful dresses. They look the part but when they sit down and begin to play, instead of commanding admiration they receive looks of disgust and fingers jammed into ears. The spotlight highlights their deficiencies and lack of practice rather than their skill and ability, and sadly, their pretty dresses and sweet faces cannot hide the truth – they’re not ready.

Aren’t we like that sometimes? We want God to open doors, give blessing, promote us, and give us opportunity even though we haven’t done our part. We want the reward without putting in the work. But it’s the work that prepares us, makes us strong, gets us ready. It’s the meantime, in between, mundane, tedious, faithful daily practice that proves our faith, shows we’re ready for the big performance.

I hope the aforementioned recital scene will not happen, but ultimately, my daughters are the only ones who can choose. I want them to work hard and be ready for their moment – for their practice and faithfulness to be evident in their performance. I want that for me, too. I want to be faithful over my little so that when the time comes, He can trust me with much.

It’s through daily practice He perfects us – through the everyday that He prepares us. May we be found faithful.

Results are simply coupons that are clipped off from ordinary days of faithfulness. – Matthew Barnett

The master said, ‘Well done, my good and faithful servant. You have been faithful in handling this small amount, so now I will give you many more responsibilities.’ – Matthew 25:23 (NLT)

In the Meantime

The more he says it, the more it resonates within – Just because it hasn’t happened in your world doesn’t mean it hasn’t happened. God is not trapped in our time –He stands above it – His kairos is not limited by our chronos.

You must determine what you will do in the meantime – the space in between your chronos and His kairos. If God promised you something, it will come to pass. Period. But sometimes there’s an interval between His promise and its manifestation in our lives – the meantime.

The definition for meantime is the intervening time or the time between two events. This is a time when preparation is completed, choices are finalized, and action is required.

We usually experience a waiting period when God tells us something, and in the stretch between His speaking and doing – the meantime – He performs an intervention. We are confronted with His love, asked to make a choice: be active and fight for the promise, or continue on our current path. We must choose.

What you do in the meantime is important. God hasn’t changed His mind – what He says He will do. But, your belief, behavior, and posture in the meantime will have an impact on your ability to receive.

The meantime isn’t for God – it’s for us.

Keep praying, have faith, don’t give up. Faith is active – it believes and obtains. If you sit and wait and doubt it will never come. Show God you trust Him – you will be rewarded.

For when your faith is tested, your endurance has a chance to grow. So let it grow, for when your endurance is fully developed, you will be strong in character and ready for anything. – James 1:3-4 (NLT)

Cleaning House

Today is my least favorite of all days – cleaning day. Although I have really come to enjoy being a stay-at-home mom, my new job description, unfortunately, did not turn me into a domestic diva. I despise cleaning, hate cooking, and detest laundry – always have. When I first started staying home again, I foolishly thought that somehow I would develop a love for the aforementioned vices – that over time I would start to enjoy taking care of my home.

I know beyond a shadow of a doubt during this season of my life I am not supposed to work outside the home. It took me a while to come to terms with that, and somewhere along the way I got the notion I would turn into June Cleaver – that after a few weeks my husband would come home to find me vacuuming in pumps and pearls, hair perfect, smile on my face, relishing  my duties as a housewife. I thought I would change.

Guess what? After 15 months at home, my feelings about chores haven’t changed at all. And through this, God taught me something: He doesn’t change who we are to match our circumstances.

He made me who I am for a reason. He knows my likes and dislikes, strengths and weaknesses, abilities and inabilities. My circumstances are temporary, but my identity is fixed.

I may have to do things I don’t like for a while, but that doesn’t mean I’m not in His will. Somehow we think when we are in God’s will we will enjoy every part of it. But sometimes, God’s will is not pleasant or easy. Sometimes it’s a place we don’t like. But God doesn’t call us to like or enjoy it, He calls us to be faithful in it. And often, He uses those places to teach us, stretch us, and grow us – to get us ready for the great things ahead.

Are you in an unpleasant place right now? Has God asked you to do something difficult or given you a chore you don’t really like? Push through it. Be faithful. Be open to learn from it. God will honor your faithfulness.

When we are dedicated and trustworthy, especially in those places we find uncomfortable, He will reward us.

Unless you are faithful in small matters, you won’t be faithful in large ones. If you cheat even a little, you won’t be honest with greater responsibilities. – Luke 16:10 (NLT)

As slaves of Christ, do the will of God with all your heart. Work with enthusiasm, as though you were working for the Lord rather than for people. Remember that the Lord will reward each one of us for the good we do, whether we are slaves or free. – Ephesians 6:6b-8 (NLT)

Write to Restore: Addiction

I don’t know what made me ever think of it, really. I didn’t read it or hear it from someone else. I guess I thought it was all my idea – this ingenious solution. I think I did it out of true need at first – for relief of physical discomfort. When you starve yourself, your system quits working normally in an effort to keep what its got. It prepares for the forthcoming famine by slowing down, conserving energy, and storing fat. When this begins to happen, some bodily functions are slowed, causing bloating, irregularity, and discomfort.

After weeks of not eating, my “waste management” functions were all out of whack. Although the scale said I had lost weight, my stomach told an opposite, bloated, gross story. Of course, I believed my belly, and thus began my love-hate relationship with the little pink pills.

I had no idea I could become addicted to them. I didn’t know the colon is the laziest organ in the body and when something is brought in to share the work load, it will stop working altogether.  I didn’t realize I was losing electrolytes and liquids that impacted the function of my heart – I thought I was brilliant for having come up with yet another way to eliminate the enemy.

At first I took them according the directions on the box, but within a matter of months I was taking 30 or more a day. I had become physically dependent on them – it took more and more to achieve the desired outcome.

I timed how long it took for them to work and planned my schedule accordingly. Taking them in the late afternoon worked best. They would start working in the middle of the night when everyone was asleep, and while this was an easy way to hide my addiction, it was an awful way to spend the night. I spent half the night writhing with debilitating cramps comparable to the pain of childbirth, and the other half on the toilet.

When I began my road to recovery, the pinks were the first thing to go. With them left the complete function of my colon. That scared me. I didn’t go to the restroom for weeks at a time. It took three years for the “waste management” team to reassemble and begin working again on its own. Three years.

That’s part of the danger of eating disorders – they’re  addictive in nature. You become dependent on ritual, feelings of emptiness, the false belief that you are in control. You will do anything to keep your shedule and habits, your sense of power, your sensation of flat, empty, beautiful. Anything – even if it can really hurt you.

Eating disorders and addictions are based on feeling, not fact. They are not rational or intellectual; they are emotional and reactive. They are an attempt to escape a world in which you have no control, an effort to feel and not think, an endeavor to avoid responsibility and accountability.

I say it all the time, I know, and it’s just as much for me as a reminder to everyone else: feeling is not fact. Reality is not based on my experience or personal beliefs.

Fighting eating disorders and addiction requires intellect and rational thought. Logic must be employed to combat irrational, emotional thought patterns and behaviors. These diseases are based largely on feelings and one’s inability to cope with them.

And this is why we need Truth to be a part of the healing process. We need to know what He says about us, who He says we are. We must replace our feeling with His fact.

He thinks you’re worth dying for. He calls you good. He calls you beautiful and loved and free. He calls you forgiven. He calls you daughter. Run to Him – He’ll meet you.

For God so loved __________(insert your name) that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life. – John 3:16 (NIV)

For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well. My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place, when I was woven together in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be. How precious to me are your thoughts, God! How vast is the some of them! Were I to count them, they would outnumber the grains of sand – when I awake, I am still with you. – Psalm 139:14-18 (NIV)

Cracked

I'm making a major change in my life this week and it scares me to death. It's a good adjustment - something that's been much needed for a long time, but the fact that it's good doesn't make it easy. I know I will struggle daily, and for me that knowledge is crippling.

This area of my life has been in disrepair for quite some time. Shattered many years ago, over the course of time I managed to uncover most of the pieces and glue them back in place, but there are still some missing - shards hidden in darkness, covered in fear. Deep fissures and gaps compromise the surface - it could give at any time.

Until now, I've avoided anything that would create strain or the potential for compression. Afraid it would fracture again, I've danced around it forever, partly to enshrine and protect it, partly to avoid falling in. I wonder why He didn't just replace the broken - I begged Him to. But I guess if He just swapped it there'd be no work for me to do, no lessons learned. And maybe I need to struggle - to know I can't do it alone.

As I've been praying this week and preparing, I'm reminded that although I'm cracked I'm not broken. There's nothing beyond repair. It will be hard work. I will have to face my fears. I will have to try - one day at at time, one hour at a time. But there is never a moment He is not with me, nothing He cannot overcome. I have to depend on Him fully. I cannot do it alone. He will restore what is cracked, but restoration requires time and effort, demands teamwork and commitment.

Is there something cracked in your life - a place neglected because you can't or don't want to do the work? Join me in trusting Him. I'm tired of walking on egg shells, serving flaws, being held captive by the fear of collapse. Even if it all caves in around me, I'm still in the palm of His hand. There's no place safer than that.

This is what it is to be loved and to know that the promise was that when everything fell we'd be held. - Christa Wells

So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand. For I am the Lord your God who takes hold of your right hand and says to you, do not fear; I will help you. - Isaiah 41:10, 13 (NIV)

What Does Your Banner Say?

A defining banner hangs over your life, written in the ink of your own choices. Others can read it, even if you can’t. – Priscilla Shirer

I read this quote a couple of days ago and have been unable to get it off my mind.

What does my banner say?

What do I want my banner to say?

Am I acting, speaking, and choosing in accordance with what I want my banner to say?

We all make mistakes sometimes, sullying our ribbons, tearing our flags, but we mustn’t forget that pennants are made of fabric – they can be washed, re-stitched. We have the power to lay down our old, worn-out standards and pick up new ones sewn with His grace, darned with His love.

What does your banner say?

What do you want your banner to say?

Are you acting, speaking, and choosing in accordance with what you want your banner to say?

It’s never too late to start fresh. Think about what you want your flag to say and begin making the choices that will lift your colors high.

Write to Restore: Cutter

Statistics say teenage girls are most likely to try it. None of my illness was typical though – I was what they call “late onset.” It took longer for the perfect storm that was me to rain heavy. No surprise I guess, I always was a late bloomer. Afflicted with adolescent diseases in young adulthood – typical me – no matter what I do in life I am always drastically different than everyone else. Even in illness I had to prove myself, stand out.

Three years of severe depression and eating disorder had taken their toll. I was both literally and figuratively a shell of a person – a tormented being. With others I was incapable of emotional response, meaningful interaction. I had completely shut down. Within myself however, I was completely engaged, trapped, drowning in a sea of feelings so intense all I could see, sense, hear was black. And that’s the irony of it all – I was fully dead on the outside, but full of life on the inside. I was buried alive.

Like a balloon filled to capacity floating along only because of the pressure jammed inside, tossed about by the wind and flailing helplessly in mid-air, I longed for relief. I would have much preferred being shriveled, empty on the ground to being taut, erratic in flight. At least then I would be in one place – safe on the ground. And so one day when it became all too much and my brain felt like it would explode, I got out a pin to bring me down – the scissors.

I know now what I was doing – I was trying to dig a hole. A hole I could crawl through, a way of escape; a hole to let the light and air in so I could see, breathe. And maybe, just maybe, as the bright red trickled down my arm into pools on the floor, the black – the hurt, anger, confusion, sadness, not enough would drain, too. It would all fall out and I could be me again.

It’s truly misunderstood, this cutting. People don’t do it to feel pain, they do it to release it. It’s a physical attempt to repair emotional damage. It’s a way to let out all that’s crammed inside. And when you’re so filled with pressure that you can’t see, hear, understand, feel, or talk straight, you’ll try anything to relieve the tension. Because what makes sense is relief, not the way it is achieved.

I needed relief from the voices, the ones that said they would kill me. And while some would say I experienced delusions, that the voices were the result of my damaged psyche, I believe something different – I know who they were. They laughed at me and asked me where my God was; they told me I would die. They told me there was no hope, that the scissors could be my escape.

But even then, in the darkest, lowest place, He didn’t leave me. My crippled brain recognized His voice even when I could not. It remembered His blood as it saw mine, and the scissors fell from my hand. And on that day of my greatest distress – the one Satan tried to make my last – I called out to God and He heard me. It wasn’t an immediate miracle – it took three more years. But each day I grew stronger, felt His presence more. I fell down and got back up. I learned how to crawl through the pain of bruised, scraped knees, and how to walk with a limp left from prior damage, scars.

There is no place He cannot go, no pain He cannot heal. Even though it’s difficult to tell my story, I am proud of my scars. They are proof of the day He heard me, the day He began repairing my wounds. I have never been the same since that day – the day the Light shone through, the day the voices stopped. He loved me enough to help me get up, walk on. He loves you that much, too.

So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand. For I am the Lord your God who takes hold of your right hand and says to you, do not fear; I will help you. Isaiah 41:10, 13 (NIV).

I waited patiently for the Lord to help me, and he turned to me and heard my cry. He lifted me out of the pit of despair, out of the mud and the mire. He set my feet on solid ground and steadied me as I walked along. He has given me a new song to sing, a hymn of praise to our God. Many will see what he has done and be astounded. They will put their trust in the Lord. – Psalm 40:1-3(NLT)

To Believe is To Obey

I wonder how many times I’ve missed God’s yes because I didn’t push through someone else’s no. – Steven Furtick

I listen to others entirely too much. Because of my lack of self-confidence, poor decision-making skills, and need for approval, I often put more stock in what others say than I should. Not that it’s bad to seek advice, but really, when it comes to matters of the heart, listening to God’s voice, we don’t need to consult others. What finite human can possibly weigh in accurately on the plans of the Almighty Divine?

God doesn’t think the way we do. He doesn’t act the way we do, so when He tells me to do something through His word or in still, small voice, why do I feel the need to get someone else’s permission first? Maybe it’s because I doubt myself too much or maybe it’s because of past failure – I’m not sure – but I do know that too many times I’ve let the opinions of others keep me from following His direction. 

God sometimes commands us to do things that don’t make sense. The Bible is filled with people who were asked to do irrational things, and they had to make the choice – obey or listen to others. It’s really a matter of trust; He doesn’t need our actions to fulfill His word, but He desires our cooperation and expectation that He will perform it.

When I obey Him, I step out of the box others – I – have placed me in and into the open expanse of His grace and power. Obedience is better than sacrifice. To sacrifice is to give up something, but to obey is to follow, to give up my will and be controlled by His, to abide by His words even in the face of opposition and judgment from others. Sacrifice involves letting go while obedience requires surrender. Sacrifice releases; obedience complies.

Lack of obedience indicates lack of trust. In order for me to reach my full potential, my hunger must outweigh my hesitation. I must be willing to act in spite of my fear. I have to realize that His is the only voice that can lead me to my destiny, and I must choose – obey Him or follow others. It doesn’t matter what others say or think. I don’t want to miss what He has for me or delay His work through me because of someone else’s opinion. Obedience is difficult, but it will be rewarded. No one who trusts Him and acts on His commands is ever disappointed.

To believe is to obey.

As the Scriptures tell us, “Anyone who believes in him will not be disappointed.” – Romans 10:11 (NLT)

Labels

A label is a word or phrase used to describe a person or group.

A name is a word by which someone is known and distinguished from others.

Labels are often fiction, but names are fact.

When I worked as a special education teacher, I always dreaded the ninth birthday of my students, for it was at that time they would be officially labeled, marked forever by descriptions which would overshadow them from that point forward. “He can’t do that – he’s _____.” She’s _________, so we should probably just give her something else; I know she can’t do it.” But the truth is, some of the smartest, most creative, talented, loving kids I know have labels.

Labels are often born of diagnosis, in which the nature or cause of something is identified. Since diagnoses are explained in terms of symptoms, these indicators generally become the pigeonholes whereby we stuff each other into the boxes that are our labels. While naming something is good in that it provides an understanding of the cause, nature, course, and treatment of a particular issue, labeling is bad because it creates stereotypes and generalizations.

When I was diagnosed as being Bipolar II  in 2004, I was both relieved and upset. I was happy to know there was a name for my crazy and that I could get help, but at the same time, I knew  it would follow me for the rest of my life . If people knew, they wouldn’t call me by my name anymore – they would give me a label, making assumptions about me based on potential symptoms rather than on fact.

Consequently, this is the first time I’ve ever mentioned it, because honestly, people generally don’t treat mental illness with the same degree of sympathy they do other medical conditions like cancer or diabetes. There’s a stigma attached to it – a feeling that somehow, in some way the people afflicted brought it on themselves and that if they really wanted to be better they could – they just don’t try. But mental illness is just like any other illness – it’s a disease, a malfunction that has a medical cause. It has to be fought and treated just like any other issue. It can’t be willed away.

Labels are so dangerous. They confine us to cages that allow us to see potential, appreciate possibility, but keep us locked in, powerless to break free and prove our worth. Labels refuse to allow second chances, they deny opportunity for growth and change.

Jesus calls us by our names, not by our labels. He sees beyond the fiction and states His fact. He calls us sons and daughters, joint heirs with Him. He calls us forgiven and free and healed. I am living proof of His goodness. Others called me crazy; He called me stable. Others said I was hopeless; He gave me hope. Others declared I would never be well; He healed me. Did I have to try? Yes. Did I have to believe? Yes. Did I have to take action? Yes. Was it harder than anything else I have ever done? Yes. Did I fail from time to time? Yes. But, every time I made the choice to get back up, He was there with His outstretched hand of grace. He was with me every step of the way.

Dare to live beyond your labels. Declare His truth. It doesn’t matter what other people think or say or declare over you – His are the only words that will stand forever and never return void.

What can we say about such wonderful things as these? If God is for us, who can ever be against us? Since God did not spare even his own Son but gave him up for us all, won’t God, who gave us Christ, also give everything else? Who dares accuse us whom God has chosen for his own? Will God? No! He is the one who has given us right standing with himself. Who then will condemn us? Will Christ Jesus? No, for he is the one who died for us and was raised to life for us and is sitting at the place of honor next to God, pleading for us. – Romans 8:31-34 (NLT).

Write to Restore: My Problem, Our Problem

Until last week, we never talked about it. Ever. We’ve discussed the effects of mental illness on my life, but we’ve not spoken of its impact on his life, our life. I’ve never asked him because I knew the answers would be painful – for him to say, for me to hear. It’s taken all these years for me to build up the courage to listen, to fully prepare for the knowledge that it wasn’t just my problem – it was our problem.

I always knew it was hard for him, that he didn’t understand, that as a man, my protector, my husband, he just wanted to be able to fix me, but to hear him say that he dreaded coming home from work every day, that for a while he thought I was having an affair, that there were days he just couldn’t take it anymore – was nearly unbearable. I never wanted him to hurt, but he did – greatly.

Mental illness imprisons many more than just the person experiencing it. It stifles all of those close by, stealing breath and choking life. Mental illness is selfish in nature. It clutches its victims so tightly, shrouds so heavily that they lose sight of everything, everyone else. I was incapable of understanding or meeting the needs of others because I was in a pit so deep that all I could see was pitch black, high walls, no way out.

I can understand now how he thought I might be having an affair – I was distant, unresponsive, emotionally detatched. I never talked to him or touched him. It was physically draining for me to be around others, even him. Interaction took effort and I didn’t have the strength. I was dead, and dead people don’t talk.

I always made quick trips to the store, and I’m sure that raised doubts in his mind. It was the truth – I did go to the store, but because I was going to get more of the laxatives I was addicted to and he couldn’t know about that, I threw away all the evidence at various points along the way. I hid the pink pills on my person – stuffed them in my shirt, crammed them into a secret hole in my purse, buried them deep in my pocket. It makes sense that he was concerned about infidelity – I returned from every trip empty-handed.

I spent so much time lying and covering up my problems that I became utterly consumed. My secret – keeping it covered – was the most important thing to me. I couldn’t be found out because then I would have to be responsible. I would have to fix what was broken; I would have to try. I would have to explain myself, my problems; I would have to get help. I didn’t want help – I wanted to die.

But he wouldn’t let go and he didn’t give up. He never – no matter how tired, frustrated, lonely, confused, or angry he was – stopped trying to help me. He always loved me and supported me. He loved me enough to stay true to his vows, even when I didn’t.  I did have an affair. Not with another person, but with a disease, with a toilet. I spent more time with white porcelain than I did with him. I put more energy into counting calories and obsessing over weight than I did into my marriage. I was willing to risk losing him to be thin.

Mental illness makes it hard to look beyond yourself – you don’t see clearly or think rationally. You do things you normally wouldn’t do, including hurting those you love. Mental illness is an investment – it takes all of you, your assets but never yields a return. It eats families whole, spitting out mangled bones of those once complete, vibrant.

But there is hope. God knows, He sees, He cares. He heals, He loves, He restores. He can make all things new – I’m living proof of that . Never give up on yourself or someone you love. If my husband had given up on me I wouldn’t be here today. He helped save my life. He was the one constant in my sea of chaos – a living, breathing, tangible picture of God’s grace and love – of the hope we have for change, recovery. You never know who’s watching – whose anchor you are.

I waited patiently for the Lord to help me, and he turned to me and heard my cry. He lifted me out of the pit of despair, out of the mud and the mire. He set my feet on solid ground and steadied me as I walked along. He has given me a new song to sing, a hymn of praise to our God. Many will see what he has done and be astounded. They will put their trust in the Lord. – Psalm 40:1-3(NLT)

Shoes of Peace

For shoes, put on the peace that comes from the Good News, so that you will be fully prepared. – Ephesians 6:15 (NLT)

I need peace in my heart and mind – why would I cover my feet with it? Why wouldn’t peace be in the interior of my armor, thick mesh under my helmet or breastplate? Or why wouldn’t I wave a banner of peace or stuff a handkerchief full of it up my sleeve, a visual reminder of His calm?

My shoes are the last thing I put on when I get dressed and once I put them on, I don’t generally think of or touch them again unless there is a problem. When they’re on, they’re on and I don’t think about it anymore.

It’s the same with God’s serenity. Once it’s on and strapped in place, it’s with me wherever I go – it won’t come off. Armor can become compromised, plates can require adjustment, mesh can erode and wear thin, banners get dropped and trampled, handkerchiefs fall out and get lost, but shoes conform to my feet and allow me to go places otherwise impassable. I cannot move forward without them.

And now it makes more sense. I need peace everywhere I travel, in each place I stand. My shoes (His peace) protect me when I’m walking, keep me steady, give me balance. They give traction in sand and slippery wet, the ability to run quickly on uneven ground, the capability to stand on jagged edge. My shoes guard against stings and scrapes, bruises and wounds, wet and cold. They shield my feet at all times, in all terrain, in all weather.

I need the peace of the Good News – that I am loved, forgiven, in His care – everywhere I go. Whether standing on the mountain, trudging through the valley, chasing down an enemy, or running for cover, I get to my destination by way of His beyond-all-understanding, harmony-bringing, freedom-reigning, strife-ceasing, wind-and-wave-controlling peace.

God is always with us, but we must make the choice to walk in peace, to put on His shoes of protection and guidance for the journey ahead. It is up to us to put on the armor. It is a deliberate action to put on those shoes - His peace - so that we can be fully prepared. I choose His way. I will put on His shoes of peace.

Daylight Breaking

Gray sky marbled purple, blue

Bruised by night fighting day

Reminiscent of my tortured soul

Beaten tender, sees red, lashes new.

Prickly barren waves eerily beneath

Scratching wounds fresh, brewing, bleed

Reminders of days once lived in light

Brittle souvenirs of peace.

Oh, that Dawn would burst forth once again

Aggressive, mighty, imbued

Powerfully breaking, shatter, release life

Consign shards of doubt to the ground.

 

Time to Grow

There are days I feel vanished in lost potential and mountains of laundry. Hidden by to-do lists and groceries and the menial that is my everyday, I wonder if it really is possible – this dream of mine. Though I know all things are possible to those who believe, I sometimes get lost in the how, when, where of it all – the parts that are His, the plans only He knows.  And in moments of weakness when doubt looms large, I find myself, pen and paper in hand, making the same old mistake – a list – because while I say He is in charge, my actions speak a different belief – that  somehow it’s my job to figure answers with only part of the equation.

But yesterday in His house, He shredded my list and reminded me again it is in the times of wait and not-knowing that He grows us, making us ready for the increase ahead. It is not my job to make the way; it is my place to follow Him in it. In letting go of my worry, I gain His strength. In following His steps, His word, I become stronger, ready for what lies ahead. Growth doesn’t come through making lists and trying to control unknowns; it comes through following His footprints, walking with only one step at a time in view.

Growth is increase, an adding on. He wants to expand our borders and increase our capacity, for when we are grown we are no longer hidden, and when we are in the Light we bring Him glory. He grows us, increases us, for a purpose – to bring others to Him. We are to be conduits, not cisterns. Our increased capacity allows us to hold more, let more flow through, so He can meet needs through us.

It is time to grow – to increase our borders, enlarge our territory, make room for the times ahead. I’m going to stop focusing on the uncertain and begin concentrating on what I do know. I must make room for the increase. He’s a big God – He can’t fit where I won’t give Him place – I’ve got to get out of the way and let Him grow. I’m too small for the task ahead, but greater is He in me.

Thick Skin

It takes thick skin to be a writer; I don’t have thick skin. It makes me doubt myself – my hearing – that He would ask me to do something He knows will expose me to criticism, accusation. I bruise easily, scrape quickly and wound deeply when struck with subtle rejections, quick judgment, aloof implication – abrasive forces that tempt me more to quit forging than to keep marching. While others have the ability to turn the coals of adversity into fires of purpose, I tend to hoard them, give them names, and stack them in the doorway of my dwelling, using them as an excuse not to re-enter the world into which I’ve been called.

I guess people assume if you’re willing to air your past secrets, share the difficult parts, the ugly places where God is still working to change you, or take a chance by doing things unconventionally, you’re able to accept their thoughts on the matter. I should be able to, but I’m not. I’m sensitive and afraid. I’m not strong. Every word pounded out is a piece of my soul – a place He has exposed and asked me to work on.

So why do I keep on? Because I am fully convinced that someone somewhere needs my words, my story. It’s not about me. He didn’t heal me so I could keep it to myself – He did it so I could tell someone else, give them the hope of His grace.

The same is true for you. He didn’t bring you to this place only for you. He has a purpose  – people prepared to hear your words. We cannot let the criticism or harsh opinions of others keep us from sharing His light in the darkness. Yes, I’m scared; yes, I feel inferior. But, feeling is not fact. In truth, I’m a child of the Most High, and greater is He who is in me than He who is in the world.

I’m doing it afraid – will you join me?

You block your dream when you allow your fear to grow bigger than your faith. – Mary Manin Morrissey

There is much in the world to make us afraid. There is much more in our faith to make us unafraid. – Frederick W. Cropp

I have learned over the years that when one’s mind is made up, this diminishes fear. – Rosa Parks

Feed your fears and your faith will starve. Feed your faith and your fears will. – Max Lucado

For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind. – 2 Timothy 1:7 (NKJV)

Write to Restore: Hungry

Before they were born, I counted down the days until their arrival, imagining their beautiful faces, painting their room, sorting their clothes, and preparing to relieve my rotund belly of their heavy weight. The doctor told me to increase my caloric intake in order that we would all be properly nourished, but I was unable to consume even small portions. Every part of my abdomen was filled with them. My internal organs were pushed higher up, resulting in my inability to eat. I could only handle extremely small amounts of food at a time as everything I ate seemed to lodge in my throat, nowhere to go because of blocking babies.

I had no problem eating when I was pregnant with my son. I had a large appetite and often ate well more than necessary. As a result I gained 40 pounds during my pregnancy. In the weeks following his birth, I lost 20 of those pounds, but the remaining 20 lingered, refusing to fall off as I thought they would. Tall and thin, I had always been able to eat what I wanted without fear of weight gain. Now I was betrayed by my own body, a victim of the changed hormones and sluggish metabolism of motherhood.

Already overweight, I was glad I could not force my body to take in large amounts of food. I knew the babies would get what they needed and if anyone suffered it would be me. And such was the case. Despite the story my corpulent figure told, I was emaciated. Perhaps my need for every kind of nourishment had already begun, but because I did not recognize the gaps in the walls, tiny foxes crept in, stealing sustenance, creating void.

Showing the size of a full-term pregnancy by 20 weeks, I was huge. People literally pointed and stared when I went out in public, and they often made rude comments about my size. I eventually quit going places, except church and the hospital, and by the time I delivered the girls, I was left with only one outfit that still fit. I had only gained 30 pounds, but because the girls were so large, it appeared as if I had gained much more. Within one week of delivery, I lost 35 pounds and could wear all of my pre-pregnancy clothes.

After their birth I felt empty in every sense of the word. The babies were out and could no longer block the lonely inside. I was forced to go beyond myself, my capacity. I had three babies under age two. I was anxious and scared and intimidated. These feelings grew bigger and bigger, so by the time I saw him at the funeral home, watched his motions, heard his words, the seed had already been planted. Appearing too much, I was not enough.

I was so hungry – for strength, for peace, for acceptance, for grace – that I began to starve myself. It sounds crazy, I know, but bulimia gave me a sense of power. In a world in which I had absolutely no control, it gave me a way to dominate. I felt like a failure. This was a way I could prove myself, my worth, my strength. My hunger for  approval was greater than any desire I had for food.

If I had only believed His words:

So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand. For I am the Lord your God who takes hold of your right hand and says to you, do not fear; I will help you. (Isaiah 41:10, 13 NIV).

Hypocrite




I was not prepared for the sharp turn my devotion took this morning. I wanted to feel warm fuzzies, what I got was Luke 6. Not the Jesus healing on the Sabbath or the calling of the disciples sections, or even the Beattitudes portion – no, I got the hard part – the love your enemies, don’t judge others, a tree is known by its fruit part.

Luke 6:27-45 (NIV)

Love your enemies

Do good to those who hate you

Bless those who curse you

Pray for those who mistreat you

If someone slaps you on one cheek, turn to them the other one, too

If someone takes your coat, give them your shirt, too

Give to everyone who asks you

Do to others what you want done to you

Lend to your enemies without expecting to get anything back

Don’t judge and you won’t be judged

Don’t condemn and you won’t be condemned

Forgive and you will be forgiven

Give and it will be given to you

Take the plank out of your own eye before you say anything about the sawdust in someone else’s

No good tree bears bad fruit

Each tree is recognized by its own fruit

A good man brings good things out of the good stored in his heart

An evil man brings evil things out of the evil stored in his heart

The mouth speaks what the heart is full of

The emphasis of these scriptures isn’t others – it’s me – how I treat other people, how I want to be treated. I cannot expect from others what I am not willing to give myself. None of these actions is for the benefit of the one who hurt me – they are for me – the hypocrite.

If I am busy focusing on getting my own life in order, I won’t be worried about what someone else is or isn’t doing. If I am praying for those who have hurt me, I am changing, becoming softened, recognizing my own depravity. When I realize how much I have to work on, I understand that I have no right to judge others.

We all need God’s grace.

We all, like sheep, have gone astray, each of us has turned to our own way; and the Lord has laid on Him the iniquity of us all. – Isaiah 53:6 (NIV)