I am blessed to have the opportunity to hear other women's stories, to encourage them and to pray with them. I absolutely love being able to pray for women and to help them rely on Jesus in some of the most difficult times. I thoroughly enjoy celebrating the victories with them. I specifically remember in my own story that moment when everything was gone and I questioned prayer, everything I had been taught and whether Jesus really cared. I had prayed my heart out and things hadn't ended up the way I wanted. I could have given up on Him and turned the other way. It didn't take me long to finally write in my journal, "I have no other choice but to believe You." I was alone with two daughters and one big unknown world ahead. I decided I had nothing much left to lose and a responsibility to model Christ for my kids.
For days, months and years, I would pray some long prayers and some really short ones. Some that were simply, "Dear Jesus, I don't want to do this." Other days I would journal and as time went on, my handwriting became less sloppy. Looking back I can almost trace the peace. There were high moments and really low moments. Most of the time they had no rhyme or reason. There weren't special occasions that equated the high moments and there wasn't always a terrible event that triggered the bad days. Trying to let Jesus back into all the broken pieces of my heart was like major surgery. There was a recovery period for sure.
Then came the strength and even more peace. Soon I heard myself laughing and I enjoyed simple things for the first time all over again. My self confidence was building. I could feel friends and family watching with anticipated excitement as if I were a baby taking her first steps. They wanted to make sure I wasn't going to wobble and fall down again. On the days I would fall, I always had a friend there to help me up or to speak some really tough love (aka get your butt in gear).
Then came the day I finally accepted that I might be by myself for the rest of my life as a single parent. Saying I am okay with that and really meaning it are two different things. It was only a couple of months later that I met Ridley. I firmly believe that God held back the blessing until I fully grasped the order. He (God) had to be first in everything in my life. When Ridley and I began dating, I was reading my Bible and journaling more than ever. I loved the gift of a Godly man that He had given me, but I never want Jesus to stop being my first boyfriend. Once I let Him in that spot in my life, I never wanted to replace Him.
So many times I hear from ladies when things are going really bad. I trust that the Lord brings women into my life that I can love on and return the favor. I hear the good and the bad, understanding both and knowing specifically how I can pray for them without even having to ask sometimes. I celebrate the victory with some women as they make it through the difficult stuff and can breathe again. Then comes the peace and then comes a MAN. Suddenly, I don't hear from them any more. I no longer know their prayer needs and I no longer get to celebrate the victories of a relationship going the way God would want it to. I pray anyway hoping the order hasn't gotten out of whack. Some of the women will keep me posted. They will tell me they have met the right guy and ask me to pray. They will tell me they left a relationship that was leaning towards compromise. They will share their struggles and ask for advice on how to keep Jesus number one.
Here is my suggestion that will fit any season for all of us. Whether praying for a guy to come along, or dating or even being married, you better put your man in his place. Don't ever let a guy have the spot that God and only God intended to have in the first place. "But seek FIRST his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well." Matthew 6:33
Friday, August 26, 2011
Monday, August 22, 2011
Digging Up Bones at the Truck Stop
I was one of the last to leave church yesterday as I encouraged a girlfriend. She was explaining a season that she is in and how the unknown is scary. As I tried to share my wisdom without assuming the experiences were exactly the same, I spoke something out loud that I have never said. I told her, "If I had written this season of my story, I wouldn't have written it this well." I thought a lot about that statement yesterday. I thought about how I would have written about a single mom who ran out of chances. It would have been much more boring than what I am living today.
My story popped up again in the afternoon as we met with the project manager for our books. She is amazing, gifted, talented and has a huge heart. She has read the parts of my manuscript that I have so far. With sincere eyes and a bit of a smile, she informed me that I had given her some good bones to my story. She told me I now need to add to the bones. She explained that I need to take my life outline and add feelings, emotions, smells, surroundings and to basically describe things to a point that make my readers feel they are right in the moment with me. Funny that for the last several years my prayers have been for me to forget a lot of things and last night as I laid in bed, I prayed to remember. I prayed to remember without it affecting me or my marriage. I prayed to remember details simply so I could help others. My stomach felt a little sick at some of the scenes that immediately began to flash in my thoughts. Some of the ones I do still remember but I was trying to relive in my mind with attention to more detail. That is when I thought again about the truck stop.
I remember that it was a cold night and I had to leave the car running to stay warm. I wondered if the battery and gas in the car would outlast my heartache recovery. I don't remember the fight. I don't remember the topic. I remember the feelings of inadequacy and failure. I do remember a strong desperation to find a place to run to where no one could see the real mess I was in. I had several special friends that made it known I could come to their home at any time and I had. They had seen my junk more than anybody, but that night I wondered how many times was too many. How many times did they have to listen to the same stuff over and over again? I was embarrassed and tired. Everything I had been taught by my parents went out the window that night. Don't be out late at night by yourself. Don't go to strange places and don't sleep in your car. I think that last one came up while discussing long travel safety at some point. I dismissed it all for two reasons. One, the truck stop was right down the road from where we were living at the time and two, I decided it was better to not expose everything my ex-husband did in the event God performed that miracle I was praying for. I wanted people to see the good God was going to bring out of this.
As minutes crept by and the radio played every wrong song for the moment I was in, I remember the windows. The temperature outside and inside the car caused the windows to fog up. I would try to wipe away a clear spot to keep an eye on my surroundings but the cloudiness would soon come back. It seemed very symbolic of my life. There were things that kept getting in the way of my dreams and how I had pictured things. The dream details kept fading and the more I tried to wipe a clean spot and focus on the sweet parts of the dreams I hoped were coming, the more my heart was giving up.
There were moments I thought I could buy some time by going inside the truck stop but I somehow felt safer and less desperate if I just stayed in the parking lot. I was parked directly under the large neon sign and I found myself trying to forget that I was in my own home town. I didn't want anything at all including my foggy windows to draw attention to myself. I wanted to hide in the dark of the night just for a little while so I could pray myself back to strength to go home again. I remember finally driving home and wondering if there ever was going to be a time that I would drive home for good. Or, was there going to be a time when I would be driving away for good? I prayed to have the strength to for whichever one was ahead.
So as I pray to remember and dig up much more than just the bones, I am praying that with every detail I remember, it represents a detail of someone else's life that could possibly be different. As I pray for the right words, I pray that the Holy Spirit will know better than me what words will wipe away guilt, loneliness, and denial for someone else. I pray that as I begin to tell a story with many layers of pain, someone else will get the courage to confide in someone in their life. In the end, my prayer is that people will see that among all the chapters of pain, disappointment and heartache, there is a God who loves and has a joyfully ever after for each of us!
My story popped up again in the afternoon as we met with the project manager for our books. She is amazing, gifted, talented and has a huge heart. She has read the parts of my manuscript that I have so far. With sincere eyes and a bit of a smile, she informed me that I had given her some good bones to my story. She told me I now need to add to the bones. She explained that I need to take my life outline and add feelings, emotions, smells, surroundings and to basically describe things to a point that make my readers feel they are right in the moment with me. Funny that for the last several years my prayers have been for me to forget a lot of things and last night as I laid in bed, I prayed to remember. I prayed to remember without it affecting me or my marriage. I prayed to remember details simply so I could help others. My stomach felt a little sick at some of the scenes that immediately began to flash in my thoughts. Some of the ones I do still remember but I was trying to relive in my mind with attention to more detail. That is when I thought again about the truck stop.
I remember that it was a cold night and I had to leave the car running to stay warm. I wondered if the battery and gas in the car would outlast my heartache recovery. I don't remember the fight. I don't remember the topic. I remember the feelings of inadequacy and failure. I do remember a strong desperation to find a place to run to where no one could see the real mess I was in. I had several special friends that made it known I could come to their home at any time and I had. They had seen my junk more than anybody, but that night I wondered how many times was too many. How many times did they have to listen to the same stuff over and over again? I was embarrassed and tired. Everything I had been taught by my parents went out the window that night. Don't be out late at night by yourself. Don't go to strange places and don't sleep in your car. I think that last one came up while discussing long travel safety at some point. I dismissed it all for two reasons. One, the truck stop was right down the road from where we were living at the time and two, I decided it was better to not expose everything my ex-husband did in the event God performed that miracle I was praying for. I wanted people to see the good God was going to bring out of this.
As minutes crept by and the radio played every wrong song for the moment I was in, I remember the windows. The temperature outside and inside the car caused the windows to fog up. I would try to wipe away a clear spot to keep an eye on my surroundings but the cloudiness would soon come back. It seemed very symbolic of my life. There were things that kept getting in the way of my dreams and how I had pictured things. The dream details kept fading and the more I tried to wipe a clean spot and focus on the sweet parts of the dreams I hoped were coming, the more my heart was giving up.
There were moments I thought I could buy some time by going inside the truck stop but I somehow felt safer and less desperate if I just stayed in the parking lot. I was parked directly under the large neon sign and I found myself trying to forget that I was in my own home town. I didn't want anything at all including my foggy windows to draw attention to myself. I wanted to hide in the dark of the night just for a little while so I could pray myself back to strength to go home again. I remember finally driving home and wondering if there ever was going to be a time that I would drive home for good. Or, was there going to be a time when I would be driving away for good? I prayed to have the strength to for whichever one was ahead.
So as I pray to remember and dig up much more than just the bones, I am praying that with every detail I remember, it represents a detail of someone else's life that could possibly be different. As I pray for the right words, I pray that the Holy Spirit will know better than me what words will wipe away guilt, loneliness, and denial for someone else. I pray that as I begin to tell a story with many layers of pain, someone else will get the courage to confide in someone in their life. In the end, my prayer is that people will see that among all the chapters of pain, disappointment and heartache, there is a God who loves and has a joyfully ever after for each of us!
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Playground Principles
Recess. The good ole days of school where every day you were allowed to go outside, breathe fresh air, and chase the new love of your fifth grade life. Now, recess or gym seem to be an elective where you might move around every nine weeks. I remember how the kind of day I was having at school could determine what recess was going to be like. There were the days that girls were spatting all day and you knew it was going to be a time of cat fighting around the swings. Then there were the days that boys were picking on the odd man out and they were going to bully him around to get his lunch money. There were the days that you wore your cute, "don't get sweaty" outfit to be noticed by your new crush. How about the days where the gossip train made its way to all four corners of the chain linked fenced in area? Maybe that is why recess isn't such a big deal any more.
Yesterday, I was thinking about how even in your adult years there are days we experience flashbacks of playground drama. Somebody is making us mad. Somebody is hurting our feelings. Gossip is creeping into our day. People all around us are stealing our lunch money (I put gas in my car yesterday). We might be all dressed up, have a job and a few kids but some of the principles with relationships are just modified playground issues. Basically, I think we might have been on a training field all those years.
I wish I knew then some of what I know now. I get tickled that our playgrounds now are plexiglass rooms inside restaurants with tubes, ladders, and plastic balls while kids have a chicken nugget in one hand. You can open the door, feel the steam, and smell the togetherness. You have the parents that are tucked in a corner booth with their cell phones or the parents that gather to socialize, never looking up to see that their child is terrorizing the tunnels. I was that mom that would give the death look to other kids as they picked on my kids. Talk about flashbacks! I wasn't going to let the world mess with my kids. Guess what? The world is messing with our kids. The challenges they face are even scarier and bigger than the things we faced.
I can't put the world in time out or give every bad influence write offs. I have been praying for God to help me to better equip my kids AND me. On the big girl playground, I can fall quickly to jealousy, gossip, anger, fear, low self esteem, or bitterness. I have to remember to only desire to be popular for One. I have to pray to rub off on others and not allow negativity to rub off on me. I have to remember that I am to be different. Romans 7:18 says, "For I know that nothing good dwells in me, that is, in my flesh. For I have the desire to do what is right, but not the ability to carry it out." (ESV)
In order to carry it out, I have to get on the playground and chase my crush. The One whom I love dearly. I have to be close to Him in order to be more like Him and to turn my desire to do what is right into action. I have to seek Him with all my heart so I can model it for my kids and show them what it takes. Jesus doesn't care about my lunch money or my cute outfit. He doesn't care for the latest gossip or popular clicks. He wants to see what I am going to do with what He is teaching me and He wants to be there for me on the days I am full of energy and the days that I feel too tired to play.
Yesterday, I was thinking about how even in your adult years there are days we experience flashbacks of playground drama. Somebody is making us mad. Somebody is hurting our feelings. Gossip is creeping into our day. People all around us are stealing our lunch money (I put gas in my car yesterday). We might be all dressed up, have a job and a few kids but some of the principles with relationships are just modified playground issues. Basically, I think we might have been on a training field all those years.
I wish I knew then some of what I know now. I get tickled that our playgrounds now are plexiglass rooms inside restaurants with tubes, ladders, and plastic balls while kids have a chicken nugget in one hand. You can open the door, feel the steam, and smell the togetherness. You have the parents that are tucked in a corner booth with their cell phones or the parents that gather to socialize, never looking up to see that their child is terrorizing the tunnels. I was that mom that would give the death look to other kids as they picked on my kids. Talk about flashbacks! I wasn't going to let the world mess with my kids. Guess what? The world is messing with our kids. The challenges they face are even scarier and bigger than the things we faced.
I can't put the world in time out or give every bad influence write offs. I have been praying for God to help me to better equip my kids AND me. On the big girl playground, I can fall quickly to jealousy, gossip, anger, fear, low self esteem, or bitterness. I have to remember to only desire to be popular for One. I have to pray to rub off on others and not allow negativity to rub off on me. I have to remember that I am to be different. Romans 7:18 says, "For I know that nothing good dwells in me, that is, in my flesh. For I have the desire to do what is right, but not the ability to carry it out." (ESV)
In order to carry it out, I have to get on the playground and chase my crush. The One whom I love dearly. I have to be close to Him in order to be more like Him and to turn my desire to do what is right into action. I have to seek Him with all my heart so I can model it for my kids and show them what it takes. Jesus doesn't care about my lunch money or my cute outfit. He doesn't care for the latest gossip or popular clicks. He wants to see what I am going to do with what He is teaching me and He wants to be there for me on the days I am full of energy and the days that I feel too tired to play.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Bug Bites, Bad Underwear and No Friday Night Date
As I sat in church this past Sunday, I noticed that my leg was still peppered with Honduras bug bites that were in shades of red matching my red heels. It was obvious which ones have itched more than the others. I suddenly decided I should have worn pants.
Have you ever had bad underwear that once you put on, you remember that you swore to throw them away after the last time you wore them? You know the kind that just gets all on your nerves and seems to flair up most when you are in a public place. You may have found yourself in aisle of the grocery store trying to "adjust" after a couple of double checks to make sure the aisle was clear. You back yourself into a spot that you hope is out of the way of security cameras and then you realize you probably look guilty of shoplifting.
Then there are those Friday nights where you are single and lonely. You gather the BFF's at the last minute in an attempt to boost your spirits. As you scan your closet, you look for the cutest thing possible to wear that just might attract the last good guy left out there. You pick the shoes that hurt, the jeans that pinch, and the lipstick that is the brightest.
Now, what do all of these things have in common? They all make us uncomfortable. Uncomfortable to a point that we take action and do something about it. Comfort was on my mind at 3:45 this morning when I couldn't sleep. In my brief moments of deep huffs and tossing, I thought about the soldier's wives that are uncomfortable sleeping alone due to their loss. I prayed for them. I thought of the friend who is anxiously waiting for test results. I prayed for her. I thought of the lady whose son was maliciously killed for no reason other than his skin color. I prayed for her. I thought of my family member who didn't get the job and wondered why God didn't answer that one the way I thought He should. I prayed again anyway. Then it hit me. Maybe loving God is uncomfortable at times so we will take action and do something to make a difference.
Proverbs 16:9 says it so well. "A man's heart plans his way, but the Lord directs his steps". Whatever God does to affect your comfort zone is for the greater good for you and His plan. He doesn't allow us to be uncomfortable to make us miserable. He allows it so we make a difference. I know that when I am most comfortable I am usually still. Whether it is in a chair on the beach, in my husband's arms or on a massage table I can assure you I am totally relaxed and good for nothing. If God intended for all of us to be comfortable then we wouldn't be pushed to pray. We wouldn't be burdened to bless and we wouldn't look to love the unlovable.
If you are looking for a comfort zone, then God isn't it. However there is a peace and comfort that can only come from God and it far outweighs the uncomfortableness of allowing Him to choose the steps. I can assure you comfort now just might mean really uncomfortable later. Embrace getting out of your comfort zone today. Realize that God has His eye on you and He has a plan just for you that will make you feel so loved and special when you are open to whatever He has in mind.
Have you ever had bad underwear that once you put on, you remember that you swore to throw them away after the last time you wore them? You know the kind that just gets all on your nerves and seems to flair up most when you are in a public place. You may have found yourself in aisle of the grocery store trying to "adjust" after a couple of double checks to make sure the aisle was clear. You back yourself into a spot that you hope is out of the way of security cameras and then you realize you probably look guilty of shoplifting.
Then there are those Friday nights where you are single and lonely. You gather the BFF's at the last minute in an attempt to boost your spirits. As you scan your closet, you look for the cutest thing possible to wear that just might attract the last good guy left out there. You pick the shoes that hurt, the jeans that pinch, and the lipstick that is the brightest.
Now, what do all of these things have in common? They all make us uncomfortable. Uncomfortable to a point that we take action and do something about it. Comfort was on my mind at 3:45 this morning when I couldn't sleep. In my brief moments of deep huffs and tossing, I thought about the soldier's wives that are uncomfortable sleeping alone due to their loss. I prayed for them. I thought of the friend who is anxiously waiting for test results. I prayed for her. I thought of the lady whose son was maliciously killed for no reason other than his skin color. I prayed for her. I thought of my family member who didn't get the job and wondered why God didn't answer that one the way I thought He should. I prayed again anyway. Then it hit me. Maybe loving God is uncomfortable at times so we will take action and do something to make a difference.
Proverbs 16:9 says it so well. "A man's heart plans his way, but the Lord directs his steps". Whatever God does to affect your comfort zone is for the greater good for you and His plan. He doesn't allow us to be uncomfortable to make us miserable. He allows it so we make a difference. I know that when I am most comfortable I am usually still. Whether it is in a chair on the beach, in my husband's arms or on a massage table I can assure you I am totally relaxed and good for nothing. If God intended for all of us to be comfortable then we wouldn't be pushed to pray. We wouldn't be burdened to bless and we wouldn't look to love the unlovable.
If you are looking for a comfort zone, then God isn't it. However there is a peace and comfort that can only come from God and it far outweighs the uncomfortableness of allowing Him to choose the steps. I can assure you comfort now just might mean really uncomfortable later. Embrace getting out of your comfort zone today. Realize that God has His eye on you and He has a plan just for you that will make you feel so loved and special when you are open to whatever He has in mind.
Monday, August 8, 2011
My Selfishness in Honduras
It has been a while since I have blogged due to traveling. When I got back from a mission trip to Honduras, I felt I needed to pray through the thoughts, images and sounds that I have been exposed to before sharing. There were three teams from our church this summer that served an orphanage and a community of homeless families in Honduras. I will confess that international focus is not my greatest passion but I stood up in church months ago during a Radical series and committed to go wherever God wanted me to go. My entire family was going so my focus started out with the intent to make memories serving as a family. I knew what our team's focus was but my heart just didn't comprehend the people I would encounter. As our time for departure arrived, I began to stress a little over being away from home, my routines and the demands for nine days. A lot could be done here at home in a nine day period.
You may be tired of hearing about Honduras or you may be tired of seeing countless pictures on Facebook, but I have decided I have a responsibility. I believe God calls us places so our eyes can see and our ears can hear to share. There is no way that all of us can go everywhere but we can share stories. The pictures of Honduras I saw from the other groups before I left, painted a bit of a picture of what I would be exposed to but there is no way that a picture can share the things I felt. My selfishness was evident the minute we got there. I was worried about the conditions we would be in, my families' health, the things we would eat and even the fact that you can't flush your toilet paper. What an inconvenience. Those things eventually became a lesser issue when I saw a greater need. I will tell you there were moments that I thought time was dragging and I wasn't feeling all spiritual.
Then it hit me! The sweating didn't matter. The food didn't matter. The bugs and my melting toenail polish were of no concern. I began to watch and listen with different ears and eyes. These kids hugged all over my sweaty body. Who was I to worry about hugging them? There were children who had been sold into prostitution at a young age or dropped in a well by a mother who didn't want them. Yet.....they smiled, appreciated and had such joy that I was jealous. I found myself becoming friends with children I could hardly communicate with. It wasn't because I felt sorry for them. It was because they were being Jesus to us while we were supposed to be the hands and feet of Christ to them. One of the first nights, we were eating chicken at the orphanage. It was so interesting as I realized I wasn't even that hungry. My little buddy Ismael--who is now sponsored and love by The Barron's--was sitting beside me cleaning his plate. I asked him if he wanted my chicken and I teared up at the response I got from his eyes. He ate every bit. There were teenage girls and women that I felt a connection to. We laughed together as we struggled to speak to one another. A single mom sacrificing for her kids at home and a young, newly married girl can communicate way beyond their language.
As the week went on, I found myself working harder and harder to make things the best we could before we left. As an American I assumed these kids would have a better life in America. I do believe they would get lots of love here, but they have a simple life that I long for. They interact, laugh, play together, sit and talk, eat together, work together and rely on one another regardless of backgrounds or status. Nobody cares about what time it is and people don't seem to rush their life away. They live with gratitude for the smallest of things. They are so open to love others even though they have every reason not to trust people. They live as if they have a hope and a future. Do we live that way?
The last night was one we all dreaded as we were the final team to say goodbye. I didn't want those kids to see us crying. I wanted them to remain hopeful and joyful. Then there was Pepe. The twelve year old boy I would have packed in my suitcase in a heartbeat if Honduras would allow for adoption. He came up to Ridley and me and said "thank you" in English. I asked him, "What for, Pepe?" He said, "Everything". He wrapped his arms around Ridley and began to cry. I felt like we hadn't done enough for him and I told him we would be back. He replied, "Promise?". He didn't want the latest Ipod or gadget. He didn't long for a big fancy house or car. Pepe wanted someone to come back and love on him.
There hasn't been a day that I haven't thought about those friends. I sat in church yesterday tearing up as I wondered if they were believing that God loves them. I have thought about them as I walk into my air conditioned home after being in the heat. I have thought about them as I have ordered off a menu. I have thought about them as we weed out our clothes for school that don't fit. I have thought about them at times as I hear myself complaining.
As I battle eye infections and infection in my lungs, I am grateful for every tarantula, for every piece of nasty laundry, for every cut from painting around barbed wire and for aches and pains. I am most grateful for the heartache I have. A heart burdened to die to my ways and my selfishness so I don't miss the incredible things that God wants to show me and use to change me.
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