Life and Death

Lately all of my words have taken the shape of bullets, or at least of bullet points—short, quick little thoughts; captions meant to express the entirety of a moment in just one sentence. It's a consequence of working in social media, which is a big part of what I do on a day-to-day basis. In some ways I think this work has changed the way I think—soundbites instead of soliloquies—and to stop my search for words at the point of relevancy instead of pushing my shovel into the ground and digging for what's real or, scarier yet, raw; the things that may resonate with just the one or with none at all.

Social media is the work I've been entrusted with, and I am immeasurably grateful for it and seek to go about it with excellence. In my soul, though, I know I am a different kind of writer.

Even if a fully-formed fiction book never comes out of me, I know I am a novelist at heart because I cannot process thoughts and feelings without wrangling them down onto a page and looking at them, expressed. The alternative is to live with a crunch of the heart; a physical, fluttering sensation that tells me I'm feeling something that needs to, has to, be put into words.

So this is my attempt to pull down from the sky the "it" that is there, hovering around my heart for however long it's been—a year at least, or maybe all throughout my life, taking on new forms and reappearing unexpectedly during different seasons of change.

Life, death, time, faith. If I had to use bullet points, it would come down to these things. When the crunch is not so bad, I make light of it and say that I am just morbid—a Wednesday Adams dressed in brighter colors, a disguise that belies my too-frequent ruminations on the passage of time and the inevitable ending of each of our stories. Even as a child, I had a secret dread of birthdays. My grown-up evaluation is that I felt stalked by their approach and considered them thieves upon arrival; I saw them as taking away a year instead of giving me a new one. As a child though, it just felt like sadness. I remember sitting on my driveway, age seven, tears welling as I used chalk to write things like I hate eight all over the concrete. My parents came outside and wrote loving, corrective messages next to mine—Eight is great!—but in my heart, I knew the truth. I would never be seven again.

And here I am, age twenty-eight, and I know that I will never be here again. I lean into the mirror at night, inspecting my face, wondering if tonight will be the night I see the first line that sticks. I lay down in bed and give thanks for the husband lying next to me, the one I prayed for, the one I'm journeying with, and suddenly I'm choking back an entire tidal wave of fear pretending to be love—missing him before he's gone, aching with imagined absence.

I want to place the blame for this hyper-awareness on a few things that have happened over the last year—walking intimately with a friend through the unexpected death of her son and seeing the naked, grasping, wide-eyed pain that followed his loss. Sitting in a pew at my own grandmother's funeral a couple of months ago, eating the macaroni salad the church ladies made afterward, standing on a tarp with hard headstones underneath—the living shifting their feet on the dead as we waited to lower one more into the ground—wrestling for the first time with thoughts like, What if there really isn't anything beyond this?  

The truer reality, though, is that I have always struggled against the temptation to make time a god and place myself squarely in the center of the universe. It took doing a fictional free-write the other day to even come close to putting this into words:

The fan hums above our heads, filling the empty space.

“I’ve lowered my mother, a husband, a daughter, four sisters, and I don’t know how many friends into the ground—at my age, social calendars are mostly filled with funerals, you know. The advantages of youth and beauty are far behind me, and have been for some time. I would be lying if I said that life hasn’t felt like a slow, meaningless march toward death at times. But Tally, at some point in these eighty-two years, I realized that this earth wasn’t created just for me, and I wasn’t created just for this earth. Do you know what I mean by that?”

I push back against the panic that threatens to overwhelm—the tidal wave of thoughts screaming that the next funeral I attend will be hers—and manage, “I think so.”

She takes my hand in hers, running the roughness of her thumb back and forth against my palm. “I’m not the center of the story, honey, and this is only the beginning of my journey. I can throw myself a never-ending pity party, or I can choose to remember the joy I’ve experienced in between the pain and look for ways to serve others in the present. I’ve lost many things in this life, but I’ve gained wisdom, and perspective, and trust, and—best of all—you.”

. . .

In some ways, maybe it is a gift to view time as precious—but I'm realizing it can be warped into an unholy form of worship, too. Imagination is another gift that must be harnessed—at it's best, a creative force capable of prompting action due to the dreamer's ability to see something before it exists; at it's worst, a projection of a dark future that may never come to pass, and only serves to paralyze the dreamer in the present.

Lately, I've stared long and hard at doubts I would never have even given a second glance to at other points in my life. Beliefs ending in periods have wanted to morph into ellipses or question marks. Seeking comfort, I've looked for facts to confirm faith...then, afraid of where that search might lead, I've wondered if I should shut the door on entertaining thoughts like these at all. But in the midst of confusion and the wringing of hands, I'm reminded and strengthened by this:

You have searched me, Lord, and You know me. You know when I sit and when I rise; You perceive my thoughts from afar. You discern my going out and my lying down; You are familiar with all my ways...

Where can I flee from Your presence? If I go up to the heavens, You are there; if I make my bed in the depths, You are there. If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there Your hand will guide me, Your right hand will hold me fast. 

If I say, "Surely the darkness will hide me and the light become night around me," even the darkness will not be dark to You; the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to You. Where can I go from Your Spirit? (Psalm 139) 

In the face of doubt, and the inevitability of loss, and the unstoppable passage of time, I will comfort myself not with reminders to "stay in the moment" and "take things one day at a time," but with my experienced knowledge of who Christ has been to me in this life; a knowledge temporal feelings cannot change; a knowledge upon which I will choose to find peace in the present and hope for the future.

I serve a God who took on flesh, who experienced birth and death with losses in between, who—when faced with His own impending death, prayed, "Father, if you are willing, take this cup from me; yet not my will, but yours be done." (Luke 22:42) His humanity graciously revealed—my God and Savior, somehow relatable in His perfection.

He shared in our human experience and faced our human temptations in every way but this—in the hour of His greatest suffering, Jesus endured the agony of the Father turning His face away so that I never will. There is no pain, no circumstance, no loss, no transition that He will not be present for. He has promised, "Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you." (Hebrews 13:5)

Feelings and questions aside, with that knowledge I can say with confidence,

My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever. (Psalm 73:26) 

In Defense of Mason Jars (and other trends)

Just FYI—this post is mostly about chalkboards, but since mason jars are the objets of foremost derision in the world of the contemporary aesthete, I thought I'd lead with that.

Never has there been before, and perhaps never will there be again, an inanimate object that comes under such fire as the mason jar. What once was praised by the event and interior design industries alike for its rustic charm and homespun appeal is now synonymous with words and phrases like "conformity" and "Pinterest lackey." And while I appreciate aesthetics as much as the next girl with an Instagram account, sometimes all I want to ask the experts who seem to equate using a mason jar at a wedding with admitting to casting a vote for Donald Trump is,

Who are you to tell me whether I can or cannot continue to decorate with a mason jar? 

But the root of my frustration, I've realized, does not actually lie with these experts or their opinions. I'm really the one at fault for choosing to weigh and consider said opinions as seriously as I have been known to do.

All of this is to say that I recently turned one of the clean white walls in our home into a chalkboard wall. I struggled with this decision before deciding to move forward. Would I feel ashamed to admit that I had a chalkboard wall? Would people see my wall online or in person and think to themselves, "I wonder if she knows that was a thing like five years ago?" Anticipating this type of response, I found myself deprecating the wall in advance of any feedback the other night while at dinner with friends —"I know chalkboard walls were all over Pinterest in 2012," I said, "but I really like it."

I am so(oooo) tired of going through life apologizing for everything I like or don't. The truth is that I do remember saving a photo of a kitchen with a chalkboard backsplash like five years ago on Pinterest, but then I'm sure I deleted it because words like "so basic" started running through my head. Well, you know what? My tastes haven't changed. I still like that picture and others of that ilk. I still like the idea of being able to write our menu on the wall when guests come to dinner. And I'm loving having a place to create and recreate over and over again without a lot of time-consuming cleanup.

I LIKE CHALKBOARD WALLS. There. I said it. And to the bride who feels like she has to hide her affinity for mason jars and falsely embrace an avant garde chromatic vase, I say,

You use those jars as centerpieces and you wrap them in burlap and twine, too, if that's what you want to do. 

My point is this (and seriously, I am preaching to myself here): Follow old trends if you want to. Set new ones if you feel like it. Let's just all do us in 2017. Let's take a step back from social media every now and again, press the reset button, take time to figure out what we really like and what we're only trying to like because we're told that we should, and then stop caring what our imaginary audience of critics has to say about it. Ultimately and perhaps ironically, I think this type of personal aesthetic exploration will lead to the same end result that all of the experts say they want to see: variety, individuality, and fresh spins on what's been done before.

With that said, here's some chalkboard inspo!

Pin-spiration

click for source

Our New Chalk Wall + Inaugural Art
a fiddle leaf fig that's free and can't die? yes, please.

Other Chalkboard Art

created for @gracecottagehhi

A video posted by Grace Cottage | Home Decor (@gracecottagehhi) on Dec 31, 2016 at 1:11pm PST

A photo posted by Grace Cottage | Home Decor (@gracecottagehhi) on Jan 10, 2017 at 6:45am PST

A photo posted by Grace Cottage | Home Decor (@gracecottagehhi) on Dec 10, 2016 at 6:37am PST

In the Storm

What a month or so it has been. I’m finding this particular period of time difficult to describe because it’s been such a blend of extremes. Lately, we’ve seen temples in Thailand, taken tuk tuk rides through rural Cambodia, admired red cliffs and turquoise water along Australia’s Great Ocean Road, and soaked up the pastoral perfection of New Zealand. But enormous, chaotic chasms have cut in and between these mountaintop-type experiences. Let’s start with the hurricane.

One week before we were due Down Under our governor issued a mandatory evacuation order due to the threat of Hurricane Matthew making landfall. We spent five days at my in-laws’ home in North Carolina along with Taylor’s parents, my parents, my brother-in-law, and two dogs. We lost power after three of those days and spent our remaining time together avoiding cold showers, preparing food using alternative methods, playing games by candlelight, and preparing ourselves for the fact that the family trip to Australia we had booked six months prior might not be happening. When we returned home we found that Hilton Head Island was standing, but it was also stripped and changed. The 48 hours before our non-refundable departure were spent with chainsaws, blowers, and rakes in hand as we dug ourselves and a few neighbors out of the debris piled on our homes. We removed a massive fallen limb from our roof, covered the fractured skylight in our kitchen with a tarp, threw some clothes in a carry-on and did our best to mentally prepare to leave the United States. Hurricane Matthew caused millions of dollars of damage to Hilton Head, and debris removal in our neighborhood alone is expected to stretch well into 2017.

Chaos.

And then there’s the election. Taylor and I watched the results roll in from a hotel room in Te Anau. From the television to my Twitter feed, first came shock, then came anger and accusations and finger-pointing and shaming and caustic headlines and countless expressions of hopelessness. The next day, while on a beautiful walk through a green, green forest that spilled out onto a blue, blue lake surrounded by tall, tall mountains, I cried. For the division, for the lack of understanding, for the readiness to talk and the inability to listen, for the fact that no matter whose name had been announced I would have been left with the same lack of confidence and trust in our leadership I was then experiencing. These feel like especially dark times, don’t they? And yet we are not the only country whose streets are currently filled with protestors. As I type, thousands of men and women are marching in South Korea and calling for the resignation of their president amid accusations of corruption.

Chaos.

Now for the present. Around 12:30 this morning our Christchurch hotel room began to shake and creak and sway. I woke up out of a dead sleep thinking that we were on a cruise ship and that the waves outside of our window must be huge. In reality, we were experiencing a magnitude 7.5 earthquake along with the rest of New Zealand. Once we were both conscious of our actual surroundings, Taylor called the front desk of our hotel and asked what to do. They answered on the first ring, said “Stay in the room” and immediately hung up. The screech of some kind of metal-on-metal scraping – maybe the building’s newly renovated infrastructure, swaying with the movement of the earth – continued in our room, and I looked up at the ceiling and wondered if it was going to fall on me and if I would be crushed, or if I would survive it and be pulled out of the rubble like the people who had survived the devastation of the 2011 quake in Christchurch that made headlines across the world; the one the city is still recovering from. Once the shaking stopped we got dressed and walked down the stairwell and into the lobby. Most of the other guests were already there, circled up in groups and taking turns describing what it felt like. Someone at the front desk said that we could go back to our rooms and that there wouldn’t be any aftershocks, but he was wrong. We experienced several while still in the lobby, one strong enough to send a large portion of the lobby contingent running out of the doors and into the streets.

Chaos.

Following the scare of the biggest aftershock, the general manager and several employees put on yellow vests and announced that tea and coffee would be served. A tsunami warning had been issued but they felt confident in the combination of our hotel’s downtown location and 30 million dollar renovation; there was no need to leave and, again, we really could go back to our rooms and try to get some sleep as soon as we felt comfortable doing so. Around 2 a.m. Taylor and I decided against evacuation and did just that. We took the hotel staff at their word because they are the experts; the ones who endured the 2011 earthquake and came out stronger on the other side. We left the United States a month ago in the wake of one natural disaster and we are leaving New Zealand today less than 24 hours after another. For the first time ever I am able to literally say that our world has been shaken.

And now I write. I am sitting at the airport, waiting to board a plane and wade back into the waters of post-hurricane Hilton Head and post-election America, and I write because it’s the best way I know how to process it all. The one-two-three punch of the last month has left me with much to consider, and strangely enough, I haven’t felt a peace about any of it until last night – the moment I realized that the roof of a Christchurch hotel might very well crush me in bed.

It was an impression in that moment, but this afternoon it is more well-defined: from the hurricane, to the division, to the earthquake – in all of the current chaos – I see and I feel and I believe that everything on and under the earth is groaning in expectation of and longing for the return of Christ.

For all creation is waiting eagerly for that future day when God will reveal who his children really are. Against its will, all creation was subjected to God’s curse. But with eager hope, the creation looks forward to the day when it will join God’s children in glorious freedom from death and decay. For we know that all creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. (see Romans 8:19-24, NLT)

I have so fervently clung to the illusion that I have control over this life of mine. I think last night’s earthquake may have finally been the death of that. You see, we were given a week’s notice to evacuate before Hurricane Matthew made landfall. If I couldn’t control the election results, I could at least exercise my right to vote and feel as though I had some small say in the final decision. But you cannot predict an earthquake. You can simply endure it once it strikes. I have never felt so helpless before, and at the same time, I have never felt so completely wrapped in the “peace that surpasses understanding” (Philippians 4:7). Last night I realized that no matter my end – if I was truly going to be crushed in my bed that very night, or if Christ’s return will happen within my lifetime, or if I’m destined to meet Him in another 70 years or so – I am safe and held and secure in the Father’s love, and in His plans for me and the world that He created.  

Can anything ever separate us from Christ’s love? Does it mean he no longer loves us if we have trouble or calamity, or are persecuted, or hungry, or destitute, or in danger, or threatened with death? (As the Scriptures say, “For your sake we are killed every day; we are being slaughtered like sheep.”) No, despite all these things, overwhelming victory is ours through Christ, who loved us. And I am convinced that nothing can ever separate us from God’s love. Neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither our fears for today nor our worries about tomorrow—not even the powers of hell can separate us from God’s love. No power in the sky above or in the earth below—indeed, nothing in all creation will ever be able to separate us from the love of God that is revealed in Christ Jesus our Lord. (Romans 8:35-39, NLT)

Before leaving for this trip I had really hoped that New Zealand would be perfect. Like apparently every other American, over the last few months I had been tossing around the idea of packing my bags and running away to another country if things got too bad at home. I wanted New Zealand to be that beautiful island of refuge that Taylor and I could escape to, maybe permanently, if America and the rest of the world began to sink. But even before last night’s earthquake I had already realized the truth – there is no heaven on earth. There is beauty here, but there is no place I can run to where sadness, sorrow, and sickness of heart and mind and soul and body cannot touch me. And so I have two choices: to fight to regain my semblance of control and obsess over the darkness and the muck and the mire, or to choose to remain in the rest and peace I felt last night – the one that enabled me to actually fall back asleep as the aftershocks of an earthquake continued to shake the walls around me. 

Words and Love

"Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart
Be acceptable in Your sight,
O LORD, my strength and my Redeemer."
(Psalm 19:14 NKJV)

There are so many words to say about the state of this world, this nation, right now. And yet I know that no matter how purposefully I choose them, my own words will never be enough.

Enough to speak to and soothe the pain on every side.

Enough to find the common ground we can all shake our heads "yes" to.

Enough to universally satisfy; enough to keep that dreaded reaction—offense—from springing up in whoever is on the receiving end of the words I share.

We live in a world that's desperate to define microaggressions in the hopes that other words, like marginalization, will cease to exist. And yet a quick scroll through Twitter will tell you that, by and large, we still see no problem with—in a very macro way—using our words to annihilate the viewpoint of anyone who dares to disagree with us about any given issue, usually via an attack on said person's character or intellect.  

Raise your hand if you've ever seen the words "go kill yourself" tweeted to a politician, an activist, or just some person on the internet who accidentally composed their thoughts the wrong way and went viral because of it.

The words we use don't line up with the things we say we want for this country, this nation.

We have so much work to do in the way of love.

And speaking of love—I believe we've watered it down. That's because I don't believe that love is an emotion. It's not a feeling. It's not something that can be given and then taken away when the person we're loving says, or does, or even believes something wrong.

"Beloved, let us love one another, for love is of God; and everyone who loves is born of God and knows God. He who does not love does not know God, for God is love." (1 John 4:7-8)

I believe that there's good in the world, and I believe that when we use our words to cry out for more love, we mean it. But I also believe that in so many ways, we've gotten it backwards. We've elevated love to the position of a deity, believing that if we can just love more this world will be fixed. This is futile, because the truth is that love isn't God. God is love. 

The Love that He personifies is sacrificial, completely devoid of selfishness, all-knowing and constant anyway. The fact that my God can see every motivation of my heart and continue His perfect Love towards me brings me to my knees. 

Because here is something that I know He sees: I want to be loved by all men. I want everyone to like me and agree with what I have to say. I have an actual fear of being ostracized due to a misinterpretation of my beliefs or words; of being dragged through the mud of social media and labeled as something I'm not. Of being hated and reviled. Maligned and misunderstood.

And yet then I recall that my God already was. 

The same people who waved palm fronds and welcomed Jesus to Jerusalem spit on His face and shouted "crucify" just a few days later. Jesus, who never sinned. Jesus, who never had mixed motivations. Jesus, who had spent three years giving sight to the blind, healing the lame, and raising the dead out of an overflow of compassion for all men. Jesus, the Son of God who could have justified Himself in an instant and obliterated anyone and everyone else who said otherwise. 

This Jesus, My God, did not go to the cross with vengeance and anger in His heart. He went to the cross not only in perfect love, but as Perfect Love itself, crying out "Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they do." (Luke 24:34) The One least deserving of shame and reproach bore it willingly so that I could be made free and gain acceptance as a child of God. 

"For He made Him who knew no sin to be sin for us, that we might become the righteousness of God." (2 Corinthians 5:21)

It would be easier to love those who stand in complete opposition to us if we weren't confronted by their opinions every day—the ones that make us feel completely out of control and more than misunderstood. I know this. I've felt this. But I'm not called to limit my love to those who agree with me or love me back. I'm called to love as I've been loved.

"As the Father loved Me, I also have loved you; abide in My love. If you keep My commandments, you will abide in My love, just as I have kept My Father's commandments and abide in His love. These things I have spoken to you, that My joy may remain in you, and that your joy may be full. This is My commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. Greater love has no one than this, than to lay down one's life for his friends." (1 John 15:11-13; keep reading here)

To be clear, this passage on love doesn't end here—immediately after, Jesus explains why the world will hate us for following Him (read that passage here). He knew these days of violent actions and vicious words would come. So I'm going to trust Him in this world, in this nation. I'm going to intentionally call to remembrance what He bore on the cross before bearing up arms. And by His grace, I'm going to continue to love even if and when the world's commendation turns to condemnation.


- - -

"Finally, all of you, have unity of mind, sympathy, brotherly love, a tender heart, and a humble mind. Do not repay evil for evil or reviling for reviling, but on the contrary, bless, for to this you were called, that you may obtain a blessing." (1 Peter 3:8-9; this entire letter focuses on encouraging believers, by way of Christ's example, who are suffering—start from the beginning here)

"Blessed are you when they revile and persecute you, and say all kinds of evil against you falsely for My sake. Rejoice and be exceedingly glad, for great is your reward in heaven, for so they persecuted the prophets who were before you." (Matthew 5:11-12) 

"You have heard that it was said, 'You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.' But I say to you, love your enemies, bless those who curse you, do good to those who hate you, and pray for those who spitefully use you and persecute you, that you may be sons of your Father in heaven; for He makes His sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust." (Matthew 5:43-45)

Come Away

This morning, I reached for a devotional book that's been set aside for about a year: Charles Spurgeon's Morning by Morning.

For the past few weeks, I've felt a longing to say something. I've felt words stirring up in my heart, but they've only been fragments of thoughts; a kind of straining, a grasping, that's never become fully formed enough to write down. I think that's partly because there's been so much on my mind lately. Perspective—how to find the right one, and how to hold on to it once it's been discovered and defined. Time—how quickly it passes and the fact that, so often, the unknown future looms over my head like a dark cloud rather than a journey waiting to be taken. Truth—what (or rather Who) it is in every hot-button issue associated with these changing times.

Maybe these thoughts have remained fragments because I so rarely slow down for long enough to let them sink in and take shape. Or maybe the swirling is just a calling to look up; a reminder that I'll never uncover the answers, the direction, or the comfort I crave by looking inward. That the only true security and stability and unshakeable certainty I'll ever find is in Christ alone.

Yet this swelling in my heart remains, reminding me that there is more than what I so frequently choose to fix my eyes upon. And still I want to say something, no matter how imperfectly. The devotional I read this morning finally helped give direction to that desire.

"He is risen" (Matthew 28:6) and I am risen in Him. Then why should I cling to the dust? From lesser loves, desires, pursuits, and aspirations I desire to rise toward Him...Further and further from everything selfish, lowly, wordly, and sinful He calls me. Yes, from the outwardly religious world that does not know Him, and which has no understanding of the mystery of the higher way, He calls me. "Come with Me." The call has no harsh sound to it in my ears. Yet what is there that holds me to this wilderness of vanity and sin? —Charles Spurgeon, Morning by Morning

What a rich longing, followed by such a powerful question! I am so thankful that the Lord put these words into the heart and the pen of Charles Spurgeon. Although originally written in the year 1865, they continue to resonate so deeply.

"Come with Me," the Lord calls, and how I long to. When I'm at the summit of the word "overwhelmed," I wonder if I should go away with Him to a foreign country. I wonder if working the ground and feeding the hungry with its produce would be more worthy than working in marketing and feeding the world one more social media post. I wonder if "loving like Jesus does" would seem easier if the people I was trying to love didn't look, and talk, and think so much like me. I wonder if seeing and experiencing Hunger and Lack and Lowliness on a regular basis would break me of the cycle of consuming, accumulating, comparing, and longing for elevation.

Maybe abandoning everything I know right now and going after God and the things of Him in India or Romania or Africa would "fix me." Give me a right perspective that lasts. Slow down time to a crawl rather than a sprint. Remind me of Truth in every circumstance. But then again, maybe it wouldn't. Because deep down, I know that if I follow the call of my own feelings rather than the direction Christ is leading me toward, all I'll find at the end of the rainbow is more of myself, no matter where in the world I run to, or what holy and good endeavor I throw myself into.

"Come with Me," the Lord calls, and how I long to. To see Him right where I am, in the midst of the overwhelm and the burn-out. To fix my eyes on the eternal in the very midst of the mundane. To see and to hear and to selflessly love the culture I'm in, in the same way He has loved me. To know him as Provider and All in All and King of Kings in the midst of busyness and abundance and cell phones and schedules.

Teach me, Lord, how to "come away" with You as I stay exactly where I am.

"Where shall I go from your Spirit? Or where shall I flee from your presence? If I ascend to heaven, You are there! If I make my bed in Sheol, You are there! If I take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, even there Your hand shall lead me, and Your right hand shall hold me." Psalm 139:8-10 

"Come Away" by Bryan McCleery

Let this be the year

I have a distinct memory of, at age 10 or so, compiling a list of every flaw that I perceived in myself and creating a plan of action to defeat those shortcomings and achieve perfection.

I have always had a deep awareness of the layers of internal filth that keep me so far from the perfection of Christ; those secret motivations of the heart that can't be scrubbed away by an outward change of behavior. I was aware of them as a little girl and I'm still confronted by them now. Like...all the time.

Going to be really transparent here: Sometimes I think I should be famous. If not famous-famous, at least recognized and admired. I take inventory of the things I've achieved and I question why I'm not succeeding in the same way so many others seem to be. I hate that I'm admitting this, but I'm specifically talking about things like follower counts and platform size, here. I hold myself up to others again and again who have had success in these arenas, and every time I do it, I lose. Either I come away from the time I've invested in comparison believing that I'm better, and go on to begrudge another's success, or I'm defeated by the belief that I'm worse, and proceed to wade around in a pool that's filled with words like inadequate, unseen, missed-your-chance, and going-nowhere-fast.

There are resolutions I could make this year that would—temporarily, at least—combat some of these icky thought patterns that kept surfacing in 2015.

I could minimize my time on Instagram.
I could delete Instagram altogether. 
I could actively practice encouraging others.

And on and on it goes.

None of these resolutions are bad. In fact, I think they're all great steps in the right direction. But I'm not sold on the idea that implementing any of them will produce a permanent fix to the heart issues the Lord is so graciously revealing in me. Creating a game plan for achieving my own perfection didn't work when I was 10. Why would it work now, at the angst-y age of 25?

I have since wept over that image of 10-year-old me, longing to go back in time to lift the head of the small blonde-headed girl leaning over her spiral journal; to tell her that while her recognition of the sin that separates her from Christ is right, her method for resolving the gap is wrong. That perfection will always and only be found in Christ alone. That the sacrifice He made is sufficient for her shortcomings of the past and the present and the future. That she can just rest in God's grace.

Instead, I'm going to give that pep talk to the 25-year-old typing on her computer, so desperate to put into words this fire that's stirring up inside. I'm telling her:

New Year's resolutions are not going to get you where you want to be in your walk with Christ, and achieving every last one of your secret hopes and dreams is not going to bring you the fulfillment you desire, either. You know this because you've experienced it. You've won the crown. You've gotten the award. You've moved to France. You've traveled the world. And it's never been enough. The truth is that you could press and you could strain, and you could work incessantly at building an empire that's centered around yourself, and you could come to the end of your life—or even just the middle of it—and realize that everything you're holding in your hands is dust and ash. The truer truth is that you're already there. So aware of the fact that your eyes are in the wrong place, your heart is in the wrong position, and that you're in danger of missing it—the life that is truly life.

That place where eyes are opened, bodies are healed, and the dead are raised—yes, even in the here and now. That place where the cry of your heart is to know Him more, and you're not afraid to throw your arms open wide in worship and be seen by others as you truly are—a broken woman saved by His grace alone, so in awe of His glory and love. That place where He says, "Go," and you respond without hesitation, unafraid to leave it all behind and step into the unknown. That place where you forsake it all for the chance to know Him more. That place where authentic, heart-rending compassion replaces every trace of comparison, where eternities are secured and present circumstances are radically changed.

I'm not making resolutions, but I am going before the Lord and asking, "Let this be the year." The year of no more numbness. No more distractions. No more blending in. No more what-ifs. No more wishing for what's real while pursuing what's false. The year that passion replaces complacency. The year that God-stories aren't for reading, but for seeing. The year that I stumble, and I fall, and I fail in the pursuit of serving my Savior, but retain the privilege of going back again and again to His well for more grace, more mercy, and just a taste of Heaven touching Earth. The year that with everything I know how to give, I seek after the Life that is truly life. The year that I realize once and for all that my own resolve to change is simply an illusion, and that the fulfillment of any and all of these things will be accomplished through His power alone, in 2016 and forevermore.  

"Instruct those who are rich in this present world not to be conceited or to fix their hope on the uncertainty of riches, but on God, who richly supplies us with all things to enjoy. Instruct them to do good, to be rich in good works, to be generous and ready to share, storing up for themselves the treasure of a good foundation for the future, so that they may take hold of that which is life indeed." 1 Timothy 6:17-19

"O taste and see that the LORD is good; How blessed is the man who takes refuge in Him! O fear the LORD, you His saints; For to those who fear Him there is no want. The young lions do lack and suffer hunger; But they who seek the LORD shall not be in want of any good thing." Psalm 34: 8-10

Why I Stopped Hopping on Hashtags

Today is one of those days - the kind where it seems like the whole world is talking about something controversial, politically charged, heartbreaking, game-changing, or all of the above. Today is one of those days - the kind where hashtags are being hopped on, viral articles are being shared, viewpoints are being defended, and devil's advocate costumes are being donned. Today is one of those days - the kind where my heart yearns to say something of significance about a trending message, my soul cries out for Truth to be revealed, my eyes beg to shut out the headlines, my fingers ache to dim the bulbs of enlightenment for just a minute. And yet in this culture of social media activism, this I know: no matter which side I take or what I have to say, any words I hitch to a hashtag will ultimately become nothing more than sound bites in a cesspool. Everyone talks on social media, but does anyone really listen? Can hearts and minds and opposing viewpoints be changed if I craft the perfect counter-sentiment in 140 characters or less? More and more, social media just seems like a bunch of people jumping en masse off the proverbial bridge, silently screaming at each other as thumbs fly across iPhone keyboards all the way into the abyss. More and more, I see that labeling my heart cries with a hashtag only kindles whatever fire I'm trying to extinguish. Social media has given everyone a voice and a platform from which to share it. But in the cacophony of opinions, so often I feel that I've lost both. This thing that was meant for connectivity has turned into a pit of controversy, and we're kidding ourselves if we think much ground is going to be won in a Twitter war. So what do we - those of us who have so much to say, but seemingly nowhere safe to say it - do? Go silent? Delete our accounts? Pay to promote our own beliefs via a social media campaign, then watch in horror as the truths we hold dear are ripped to shreds by hate, vitriol, and a hefty dose of sarcasm? The Bible says the following: "Do not give what is holy to the dogs; nor cast your pearls before swine, lest they trample them under their feet, and turn and tear you in pieces." (Matthew 7:6) I could get really arrogant and self-righteous by interpreting that verse to mean something like "I'm a pearl and they're all pigs." But y'all, God is so good. Here's what His Word says right before bringing on the bacon: "...how can you say to your brother, ‘Let me remove the speck from your eye’; and look, a plank is in your own eye? Hypocrite! First remove the plank from your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother’s eye." I can pour all of my passion into fighting humans on a hashtag, or I can give that passion (that angst, that righteous anger, that fill-in-the-blank) to my Heavenly Father and ask Him to equip me - despite my brokenness, my hypocrisy, and my plank eye - to love the humans who agree with me and the humans who don't in the same way that He has loved me. I can also get on my knees in prayer and ask for walls to come down. I can ask for veils to be torn. I can ask for eyes to see, ears to hear, hearts to know, minds to understand. Most importantly, I can have peace in the knowledge that I don't have to fight any battles - social media or otherwise - like a rogue soldier, all on my own. My message is His inerrant Truth and perfect Love; my platform is my salvation story and continual experience of the Lord's grace. Those are my words that matter; that is my safe place from which to share them. "Clap your hands, all you nations; shout to God with cries of joy. For the Lord Most High is awesome, the great King over all the earth." (Psalm 47, NIV)

Introducing our brand new travel blog!

Hello friends! If you just so happened to stop by today, I hope you'll pop on over to the brand new travel blog my husband and I started together. Things have been a little quiet on this blog lately, but that doesn't mean it's going away - for now, we're just investing a lot of time and energy into work for our clients, finishing up our business site, and documenting our 2.5 month backpacking trip through Europe! Hope you'll join us.

A Position Paper: Yes, Jesus Loves Me

Over the past few days I have seen Christianity labeled as a "hateful religion." I cannot perform religious apologetics, but I can share what I know to be true on a personal level. And that's this: When I was at my weakest, my worst, my lowest, Jesus Christ gathered me in His arms and He loved me. When I felt that my mind was decaying; when I feared that I was literally at my wits' end due to incapacitating anxiety and deep depression; when I couldn't catch a glimpse of a brighter future due to the pain of the present, He showed Himself to me. He overwhelmed me with compassion. He set my feet on the Rock (Psalm 40:1-2). He gave me a look at how He sees me. He reminded me of who I am through His Word and the words of other believers.

I have given Him imperfect love and divided attention. I have tried to earn and to prove my own righteousness; I've put my accomplishments on a pedestal and yearned for the glory that can always and only be His. I have failed and I have fallen short, but never once has He turned me away. My Father loves me. He provides for me. He protects me. He sets me free, directs my path, and despite my complete inadequacy and inability to love Him back in the way that He deserves, He calls me His beloved (Song of Solomon 6:3). This is the God I serve and desire to emulate. These are the characteristics I long to embody. I don't serve my God perfectly, but because His perfect Son took my sin on His shoulders, I get to wear Jesus' perfection (John 3:16). I am covered by it; dressed in it; arrayed in a splendor not my own (Isaiah 61:10). The only response to the love I've been shown is to give love in return, first and foremost to my God and Savior, and second, to everyone else He created. "We love because He first loved us." (1 John 4:19)

Debates and rants and questions of "why" and misunderstandings and hurtful accusations fold together into something that feels a lot like chaos, and nothing like "love winning" anything at all. God is Love, and furthermore, He is Light—"in Him there is no darkness at all." (1 John 1:5) I pray that His light shines through me, emboldens me, and attracts others to the God I serve rather than turning them away. I cannot speak to the grossly inappropriate presence of hatred in various forms throughout the history of institutionalized Christianity, but I can confidently proclaim that hate has no place in the relationship I've found with Jesus Christ, and will have no place in me as I continue to serve Him through and in and during whatever lies ahead.

. . .

Psalm 40:1-2 "I waited patiently for the Lord; He inclined to me and heard my cry. He drew me up from the pit of destruction, out of the miry bog, and set my feet upon a rock, making my steps secure." 

Song of Solomon 6:3 "I am my beloved's and my beloved is mine; he browses among the lilies."

John 3:16 "For God so loved the world, that He gave his only Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have eternal life."

Isaiah 61:10 "I will greatly rejoice in the Lord; my soul shall exult in my God, for He has clothed me with the garments of salvation; He has covered me with the robe of righteousness, as a bridegroom decks himself like a priest with a beautiful headdress, and as a bride adorns herself with her jewels."

1 John 4:18-19 "There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear. For fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not been perfected in love. We love because He first loved us."

1 John 1:5 "This is the message we have heard from Him and proclaim to you, that God is light, and in Him is no darkness at all."

Another Ending to the Story

While scrolling through social media yesterday, I came across a story about social media. Not "How to Use Instagram to your Best Advantage" or "Build a Bigger (and bigger, and bigger) Following With These Five Tricks," but "Split Image"—the story of a star athlete who portrayed a perfect life on Instagram, but internally struggled with anxiety and depression so deep that, eventually, she took her own life. A friend had tweeted a link to an associated video interview with the following endorsement: "This is the most important thing you'll see today." I clicked.

He was right. It was important for me to hear and to read Madison's story, mainly because it could have been my own. In the article, Madison is described like this:

"Madison was beautiful, talented, successful—very nearly the epitome of what every young girl is supposed to hope she becomes. But she was also a perfectionist who struggled when she performed poorly. She was a deep thinker, someone who was aware of the image she presented to the world, and someone who often struggled with what that image conveyed about her, with how people superficially read who she was, what her life was like."

Instagram wasn't around during my freshman year of college, but Facebook was. I remember uploading entire albums of photos that showcased the glamour and excitement of my new life in California. Edited pictures on the beaches of Malibu, dinner at Geisha House (Ashton Kutcher's restaurant!) in LA, walking with friends along Hollywood Boulevard. I looked so happy. But I was functioning like a shell, or a robot. Completely numb, going through the motions without emotion. I was achieving and interacting, but doing so was like an out-of-body experience. Because despite the images I was showcasing and the things I was doing, I was shouldering a debilitating load of anxiety and—although I didn't know it until a year later, when I finally opened up and told someone that something wasn't right—depression.

During that time, I remember feeling that it was a victory if I could claim even three seconds of mental peace without a searing thought burying into my mind and forcing me back into a cycle of irrational fear. I was sure that I was broken, that I was losing it, that no one had ever been through what I was going through, that everyone else was happy and healthy but me, and that no one would love me if they really knew what I was going through. I called my mom one day and told her I wanted to die. Not that I wanted to take my own life, but that I just didn't want to live anymore if this was who I really was. I told her I thought I had a brain tumor, and that I hoped I did. It would at least be an explanation for the mental anguish I was living with day after day after day after day.

That summer when I came home from college, I went to the doctor to prove to myself that I actually did have a brain tumor. Instead, I came home with a diagnosis of depression. In the state I was in, that felt even worse. I had no explanation for the torment I was living under other than my own mental weakness—or at least that's what I thought at the time. Like Madison, I said to my parents, "I just want to sleep."

And I did. For 14, 16 hours a day sometimes. For a season, it's like my body shut down to protect me from my own mind. But then, slowly, three seconds of mental peace became three minutes. Three days. Three months. I went to counseling and I didn't stop. I opened up about the depth of my pain and confusion, my sorrow over the fact that my "perfect life" had disintegrated so suddenly. I talked to my parents, to pastors, to my sorority. I told people that everything wasn't okay, that I needed prayer. Even still, I didn't understand the shapes my anxiety took for a long, long time—it took the personal, healing touch of Jesus Christ on my life to show me once and for all who I was again, and that didn't happen until almost three years after the whole thing first began. 

Oh, those three years of waiting for complete healing were hard. They were isolating, and dark, and confusing, and terrible despite the good things that still continued to happen all around me. I wouldn't want to go back to that place, not ever. But praise be to God, I don't dwell there anymore. And praise be to God, I can talk about those years without fear anymore! As I read Madison's story yesterday, I wanted to shout these truths from the first available rooftop! I wanted to hold this precious girl in my arms and tell her, "Listen, take it from someone who has been there. Our identity is in His righteousness, not our perfection. We will get through this. We will feel again, we will love, we will get married, we will go on new adventures. We will wake up without heaviness, without fear of fear. Our battle with anxiety and depression wasn't an internal weakness, but an external battle against the enemy of our souls who wants to steal, kill, and destroy. We have something to keep living for. We have Someone to keep living for."

I wanted to tell her all of these things, but it's too late for me to reach her. So I say it and share it with anyone else who might come across these words—all these dark things that I sometimes want to pretend never existed at all, because I can't feel them anymore. I dig into the old pain and share it because of this:

"Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God." 2 Corinthians 1:3-4

I have received this comfort! This life-giving, life-sustaining comfort! And so how can I hold it in, keep it to myself? I have to extend it, have to tell all about it, have to let others know that there is hope and healing and fulfillment of promises; that the darkest night masquerading as an ending can truly be the very beginning of the best part of the story.

"We were under great pressure, far beyond our ability to endure, so that we despaired even of life. Indeed, in our hearts we felt the sentence of death. But this happened that we might not rely on ourselves but on GOD, who raises the dead. He has delivered us from such a deadly peril, and he will deliver us." 2 Corinthians 1:8-10

There is freedom! There is life lived abundantly! There is constant and continual Love, despite what we've seen, known, experienced, thought, feared!

"Who are you...that you live in constant terror every day because of the wrath of the oppressor, who is bent on destruction? For where is the wrath of the oppressor? The cowering prisoners will soon be set free; they will not die in their dungeon, nor will they lack bread." Isaiah 51:12-14 

I share Madison's story in part, but my battle with anxiety and depression has another ending. If you're there today; if any part of you can relate to looking like you have it all together but feeling broken inside, I charge you with this: Don't give up. Don't keep it all in. Don't pretend everything is okay. Don't stop asking for a healing touch, or waiting on the Lord's promise of deliverance. He will come through not because that's what He does, but because that's who He is.

"If I should say, 'My foot has slipped,' Your lovingkindness, O LORD, will hold me up. When my anxious thoughts multiply within me, Your consolations delight my soul." Psalm 94:18-19

Two-Toned Breakfast Smoothie (Because healthy things taste better when they're pretty)

I'm an occasional healthy eater at breakfast time. Occasional meaning that I wake up famished every morning, and if I can't get something nutritious prepared and into my mouth within five minutes I'm going to eat cereal or an English muffin covered with Nutella, which is so NOT part of a balanced breakfast despite the commercials that show it paired with a tall glass of OJ. Anyway, that's my explanation for why I've been Pinterest-searching so many healthy smoothies as of late. 

Two recipes recently caught my eye (both were featured in this article by Glitter Guide), but neither of them were EXACTLY what I was looking (i.e. I didn't have some of the ingredients immediately on hand). So I tweaked and combined, and here's what I came up with.

TWO-TONED BREAKFAST SMOOTHIE (Because healthy things taste better when they're pretty)

Bottom 1:  The Mean Green

• banana (I use unfrozen bananas because it makes the smoothie creamier)
• about 1 cup frozen spinach
• about 3/4 cup frozen mango (this is where the sweetness comes from)
• almond milk (I always eyeball this—just make sure you use enough to keep your blender from sticking)
• ice chips 

Directions: Put all ingredients into blender and let the machine do its thing. When everything is smooth and combined, split the mixture between two tall glasses. Be sure to stop when the glasses are half-full!

Note: I suggest storing your half-filled glasses in the freezer until the top layer is finished. Keeps everything from getting melty.

Top 2: Pretty in Pink

• banana
• 5-6 whole frozen strawberries
• 1 heaping tablespoon almond butter
• almond milk
• ice chips

Directions: See above and repeat. Y'all know that I KNOW that you know how to use a blender. Pull your glasses out of the freezer and fill to the top. Stick two really cute + patterned paper straws into your smoothies in order to take a picture for Instagram, then remove them because they're kind of hard to drink from and get soggy when they sit in your smoothie for two long. Enjoy!

What if I cared as much about ISIS beheadings as I do about the fact that there are two Bachelorettes?

Last night I watched the finale of The Bachelor, which is hilarious since I didn’t watch a single episode of the regular season. But whatever. My friends are in town, so it was a girls’ night thing.

Let’s just skip all the blah-blah-blah and get to the outrage I felt when Chris Harrison announced that there will be two Bachelorettes next season. Having sat on the bench for the entire season, I watched “After the Final Rose” as a mostly disengaged viewer until THAT MOMENT. The one when Chris said, “We just couldn’t decide which girl to pick, so we thought it would be so much fun to pit two women against each other and allow men to decide which one has the most potential to be a wife,” or something along those lines. 

 I thought it was sexist and demeaning. But don’t just take my word for it. Take my Twitter.

In the middle of this Twitter rampage, my husband asked me why I felt the need to hop on a hashtag and engage with complete strangers about a topic that doesn’t really affect me in any way, shape, or form. What a ridiculous question, right? I have a voice! I need to be heard! But what it really boiled down to is that I felt like the issue mattered. I had visions of rallying a bunch of women together to boycott the show, or convincing the Bachelorette(s) to drop out. I felt almost impassioned. And then I thought, “Why doesn’t the fact that ISIS is beheading my Christian brothers and sisters stir up this same level of emotion in me?”

So I paused. And I stilled. And I thought about writing this blog, and I thought about all the words I would use to demonstrate how deeply this realization had impacted me. But then I got distracted by another thought about that very same post going viral because of the timeliness of the topic, which would lead to an invitation for me to be on a talk show to discuss everything further, of course.

I hate that all of that’s true, but it is. I hate that an announcement about a reality television show moved me to step on my tweet-box and preach, while an article sent to me by my husband titled “What ISIS Really Wants” had been in my inbox since February 18, and remained unread until last night. I hate that in the middle of the many horrors and moments of crisis that are real and active around the globe, I care about hashtags and the reach of my own voice, even though as a believer in Jesus Christ, I proclaim that to live is Him and to die is gain—that the purpose of my life is to bring Him glory and not myself. I hate that the prospect of having two Bachelorettes made me verbalize the question, “What is this world coming to?” while believers around the world are facing persecution, and famine, and danger, and nakedness, and the sword for the sake of loving and knowing and serving Christ (Romans 8:35).

I want to wake up. Finally reading the aforementioned article was a big step in that direction, but I want to do more. I want to stop caring about things that don’t matter. I want to stop expending my time and energy and thoughts and efforts—all the best of me—to further things that are temporal and bound by this earth. Namely, myself. I can stop comparing and contrasting my Instagram feed and counting my Twitter followers for long enough to care about deeper things, realer things. I know I can.

I’ve been uneducated and uninformed. I haven’t felt like the existence of ISIS affected me personally. It’s felt distant and removed—another horrible series of tragedies in a faraway place that I am helpless to fix. Maybe our generation is immune to understanding the threat of an organization like ISIS because since 9/11, we’ve seen Terror Alerts indicated on our television screens in much the same way as an ozone warning. Orange today. Don’t go outside. Red today. Don’t breathe.

Whatever it is—the root cause of the fact that I was rocked by the “two Bachelorettes” announcement and yet, until recently, unmoved by the growing presence of ISIS—it’s not okay or excusable. I want to be informed about what’s going on in the world not for the sake of being informed, but for the sake of seeing things as they really are. I don’t have to fixate on disaster or fear the end of the world (Proverbs 3:25-26), but I must and I will acknowledge that there are things happening outside my bubble that require that I stay awake. I think I'll have more to say on this one day, and I hope I do. But for now, that's all I've got.

Share this post if you want to. Don’t if you don’t. But do join me in thinking about what matters, and what it really means to be like Jesus in this mixed-up, crazy world—“the very last, and a servant of all.” (Mark 9:35)

. . .

“May the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be pleasing to you, O LORD, my Rock and my Redeemer.” Psalm 19:14

For further reading, see this blog posted on Happy Sonship.

The Best Place to Be

Ill-equipped. Under-prepared. Lacking confidence. Unsure.

This doesn't sound like the best place to be. And yet, so often, I've found that it's exactly where I am and how I feel when God is about to move in ways that surpass everything I could ask for or imagine (Eph. 3:20-21).
 
I think Joseph could probably relate. He was thrown into a pit and left for dead because his brothers were jealous of the favor their father had shown him. Then he was picked up like garbage and sold into slavery. I don't know about you, but that would shake me up. Cause me to question a few things. Like, everything.

Joseph could have given himself up for dead; he could have doubted his abilities and his dreams and his identity and the truth of the love he'd known while in his father's household. And yet, Joseph proceeded to become one of the highest ranking officials in all of Egypt. Did He face continued challenges? Yes. But was he ever abandoned? No. He stepped into the calling the Lord placed upon his life, and the Lord delivered him and equipped him and blessed him and set his feet upon a rock again and again and again. (Full story here.)

I haven't done a scientific study on this or anything, but based on experience, being the best, knowing it all, having the right connections, and overflowing with confidence are not necessarily prerequisites to or indicators of success. Almost every time the Lord has done something incredible in my life, I've entered into His calling with fear and trembling. And not the holy kind. More like the "I have no idea what I'm doing/What if I made a mistake/Did I hear Him wrong/Is something bad going to happen?" kind of trembling that makes you want to quit the game and wash your hands and throw in the towel and all-those-other-cliches that are basically just temptations to give up on living the life that is truly life.

But here's the truth: the Lord is not limited by our abilities, experience, courage, aptitude, or lack thereof. In fact, I believe that He works best when we're at our weakest—there's more room for His glory to shine because we KNOW we can't take credit for what He has accomplished. Walking in the unknown forces us to rely on His lead. Stepping into a position that's above our experience-level demolishes pride. Not having all the answers requires us to throw our cares and concerns and questions upon His throne.

If I had given in to fear and doubt, I probably wouldn't have moved to France, started my first job, left that job to marry my husband and start a business together, published a book, and so on and so on. I would have missed out on a lot of great experiences. More than that, however, I would have missed out on living life to the fullest. Hearing my Savior's voice. Relying on Him alone. Seeing Him come through in ways that can only be defined as miraculous. Walking on the heights and knowing it's by the power of Jesus Christ alone that I've been placed there. 

beausoleil, france

You and I won't always be the most equipped. We might not have the "right" degree or the necessary connections. We might not be the best one on the team. We might sweat until our skin turns into a salt lick and shake all the way down to our toes as we step up to the plate, but if God is for us, then truly...who can be against us? (Romans 8:31)

My husband always says that if one decision requires faith and the other doesn't, we should always move in the direction of faith. I couldn't agree more. I also say that if we're tempted to pass on an opportunity due to fear (of failure, of inadequacy, of not measuring up, or of whatever), we should probably shout "Cannonball!" and make a splash into the unknown.

. . .

"The LORD himself goes before you and will be with you; He will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged." Deuteronomy 31:8

"For not in my bow do I trust, nor can my sword save me. But You have saved us from our foes...In God we have boasted continually, and we will give thanks to Your name forever." Psalm 44:6-8

More Than Enough

I struggle with the word “enough” because I don’t feel like I have it. I don’t have enough time to accomplish everything on my to-do list. I don’t have enough energy to make dinner after working all day. I don’t have enough motivation to go on a run. I don’t have enough creativity left in the tank to paint. I don’t have enough care for the concerns of other people. I don’t have enough emotional capacity to meet the needs of my husband. I don’t have enough direction to create a five-year plan. I could go on (and on), but that’s enough “enough” to make my point.

When I read these words back to myself I feel full of lack and emptied of drive, drawn to identify with phrases like “Give up” and “Quit trying.” Am I the only one who’s been there before? Am I the only one that continues to dive into those dangerous waters today, despite the goodness and the grace that my Father has lavished upon me?

We live in an unprecedented time of comparison. The magazine ads and the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Shows and the “I only wear mascara and Chapstick to look this good” celebrity interviews are still out there, and they can still trigger feelings of inadequacy. But now we’re competing with other “everyday” people whose “everyday” experiences look like a homemade soufflé and a line of paper goods and a c/o designer handbag and a Starbucks cup held up in front of the Eiffel Tower, probably with a fashionable baby somewhere in the mix. Now we’re not just keeping up with Susan Jones—we’re peering into her Pinterest-perfect backyard barbeque that’s decorated with stringer lights and mix-n-match Kate Spade dinnerware. Now we’re longing for another woman’s life as portrayed on her Instagram feed, battling doubt and despair and the pang of a deep heart hunger.

It’s hard to handle the pressures of work and home and life, and it’s even harder when you feel like you have to post an effortlessly-chic photo of yourself while doing so. I want to crawl into a hole sometimes when I look at a photo of a gorgeously uncluttered desk with an open planner and a steaming cup of coffee held by a manicured hand, topped off with a caption that says, “Let’s do this, Monday!” Because meanwhile, I’m sitting at a desk overflowing with papers, no makeup on, probably not even wearing a bra yet, and carrying the load of so much carry-over work from last Friday that I just want to scream, “Where are you, weekend?”

I know that sounds like I’m jealous, and that’s probably because a lot of times I am. I crave that feeling of having it all under control that it looks like so many other women are able to attain…at least on social media. Does anybody feel me on this? When my scrolling thumb gets out of control, I start to drown. When I read my Twitter feed more regularly than the Word of God, I start to lose perspective. I start to feel like I’m just not enough. That I never will be.

In a way, I’m right—my inability to meet the needs of myself and others has proven that I am not enough. But I do have Enough. I have the One who can meet every need, every heart’s cry, and every desire of every person on the planet. The One who whispers in my ear that I am seen and known and fully loved, anyway. The One who has picked me up and carried me when I have fallen, who has given me my identity, who has set my feet on a Rock, who has told me to fix my eyes on Him and not on everyone and everything else that’s swirling around me. The One who says, “…fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen and help you, I will uphold you with My righteous right hand.” (Is. 41:10) The One who has “dealt bountifully” with me, who has “delivered my soul from death, my eyes from tears, my feet from stumbling” that I may “walk before the Lord in the land of the living.” (Ps. 116:7-9)

Jesus says, “Come to Me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” (Matt. 8:28) Rest. It’s available. But I won’t find it by staring at a list of things I haven’t accomplished, or counting the number of unanswered emails in my inbox, or dwelling on my performance or appearance or reputation. I find it by coming to Him.

I relate to David when he says, “You, God, are my God, earnestly I seek You; I thirst for You, my whole being longs for You, in a dry and parched land where there is no water.” (Ps. 63:1) This is what the combination of heart hunger and soul thirst feels like. And here’s what it looks like to be filled; to have Enough:

“I have seen You in the sanctuary and beheld Your power and Your glory. Because Your love is better than life, my lips will glorify You. I will praise You as long as I live, and in Your name I will lift up my hands. I will be fully satisfied as with the richest of foods; with singing lips my mouth will praise You. On my bed I remember You; I think of You through the watches of the night. Because You are my help, I sing in the shadow of Your wings. I cling to You; Your right hand upholds me.” (Ps. 63:2-8)

I have a new name for Jesus; for who I am fighting for Him to be in my life from this day forward. He is More Than Enough for me.