Beautiful Moments

Beauty.
Subjective in nature.
It lies all around us in its unwavering forms.

The flowers of the season.
The loveliness of a bride.
The scent in the air after the rain.
Joyful faces of new graduates.
And the tear-stained eyes of their mommas.

This morning I witnessed one of the most marvelous displays of beauty.
Worship.  
In its truest form it is pure, uninhibited.
Focused only on the One worshiped.
Although often, we, in our seasoned, distracted lives, lose sight of the holiest of moments.
Worship.
Free.  Honest.  Careless of the world.

As I sang, the beauty lifted above me.

Enveloped me.

Children. Uninhibited. Singing:

You're the reason I sing
The reason I sing
Yes my heart will sing
How I love You
And forever I'll sing
Forever I'll sing
Yes my heart will sing
How I love You

I closed my eyes.  And savored the moment.

I was captivated.  Awed.  And inspired.

Give me a childlike heart

Lead me to where You are
Cause I'm coming back
To my first love
Only You

I was captivated by the beauty of the moment.

There is nothing more precious than the voices of children, singing out: Yes my heart will sing How I love you.

Like the song says: Give me a childlike heart.

Yes, Lord, my heart will sing How I Love You.

The One Where Nothing Turns Out As Planned

I thought I was a writer.

As you can clearly see, I am actually very much not.
It's been a bit too long since I took the time to write the thoughts and share them.
I thought I was a lot of things.  I thought I was brave, healed, strong.  I thought I was a good teacher.  I thought I had so much to offer.  I thought I was changing the world.

But.

But then things happen and I begin to realize that everything I thought about myself was not necessarily true.  And my life was not nearly turning out the way I envisioned.

Maybe you understand.

I don't know if it's age.  Or maybe 
just life.  
We read the fairy tales and watch the love stories and see our friends and family members celebrate milestone anniversaries and accomplishments and victories and we look in the mirror and just don't seem to measure up.

Signs of aging are setting in, both physically and emotionally.
We get a little too reflective.
Introspective.
And apply a LOT of moisturizer.

We never thought we would go through yet another failed relationship.  A rebellious child.  An aging, dependent parent.  
Addiction.  Depression.  Bankruptcy. 
Job loss.  Divorce.  Catastrophe.

Maybe you lie awake thinking, "This isn't how it was supposed to be.  This wasn't the plan."


If you're the type who easily goes with the flow, understanding with complete peace every time the unexpected comes your way, then this post isn't for you.
If you've been blindsided and are struggling some (or most) days to wrap your head around the fact that your life doesn't look the way you thought it would at this point in time, then pour a fresh cup of your favorite hot beverage, pull up a chair, and let me say....
I hear ya.

I've had a lot of "I never thought -----" moments over the past year.  And I don't have a single ounce of grand wisdom to share in the processing of the unexpected.  
I can tell you that I read.  A LOT.  
And I prayed. A LOT.  
And I have immersed myself in scripture and wisdom.
And some days are easier than others.
The hardest days are when you realize what you thought was a scar is really still a wound.
A deep one.
That bleeds.  Heavily.
And you long for healing that just won't come.

I am (finally) starting to realize that there is no secret formula.  There is no easy answer.  
Sometimes the path to healing simply comes through the process of hurting.
Of lamenting.
Of facing the reality that maybe we're just not all we thought we were - or would be.
Does that mean we give up?
Hardly.
But it can mean that it's time to stop leaning on what we thought was our identity or our accolades and trust God's hand in the process.  I know, that sounds very churchy and that was not my intention.  Some days my own trust sounds very much like, "I have absolutely no idea what You're doing.  And I don't know why You're not answering my prayer.  I don't like this and I don't understand this, but *sigh* I guess You've got this."
Not very pious-sounding, is it?
Some days, it's the best I've got.

Yet, I do know one thing: God wants us to share our stories.
And we can't until we are no longer bleeding out from our deepest wounds.

They have to heal and become scars.

I don't have a magical solution.  Healing takes time. And faith.  That's about all I know.

So I am on a journey to the Land of Scars.  A land where the bleeding has stopped and the healing can begin.  That means  wiser choices.  That means a little more solitude and a little less distraction.  

I share my journey here not for sympathy.  Not for the "bless her heart" sentiments.  But as an encouragement.
Maybe you're there too.
Maybe you're in the place where nothing looks like you thought it would.   Or you've been wounded, abandoned, neglected, abused, disciplined - once again.  And you're ready to take your life back.

Walk with me down this road.  Take my hand, close your eyes, turn your face upward, feel the warmth of the sun on your skin, and let's take a step forward - heading to the place where we can say...

The Apology You Never Got

I've been thinking a lot about apologies lately.

Or the lack thereof, I should say.

Why is it that we don't know how to apologize?
I have a friend who tells her children that every time they use the word "but," they immediately negate every word that came before it.

For instance: 

"I'm sorry, but..."
"I love you, but..."

"I fully support you, but..."

You get the drift?

I've had too many conversations in my life with people who have caused me hurt that were full of buts.

There are also those "apologies" which are dripping with passive aggressiveness.  Or victim shaming.

"I know you're hurting. But isn't it time to move on?"
"You're so consumed in your hurt feelings that you aren't able to be supportive of those around you."

"Family/friends are supposed to stick together.  You don't just walk away from people because you're hurt."

Statements like the above make me think that these people have obviously never been hurt by someone else or they would realize how much more damage they are doing with their back-handed or shallow "apologies".

I put "apologies" in quotations because they aren't really apologies.

They're excuses.

I sit and I wonder how much healing the world could encounter if we would just learn how to apologize.

How many hurting hearts could be soothed with a 

Gentle

and 

Sincere

"I'm sorry."

"I apologize.  I know I hurt you.  You are in pain.  And for that I am truly sorry."

Period.

No buts.

No howevers.

No blaming.

Then, as always, 

In my indignation and hurt feelings,

God reminds me:
Hurting people hurt people.

I honestly believe that rarely is it intentional.

We're so consumed in our own hurt most of the time, we don't even come close to realizing the damage we are doing to another.

How much healing could we encounter if we could simply trust God with our hurting hearts and love people the way we want to be loved?

Can I accept the apology I never got?

Is God enough to heal my hurt?

I can no longer point a finger elsewhere and sit in my hurt.

No, I am not going to simply "get over it."

Sometimes, believe it or not, too much damage has been done. 

And to get over hurt truly means to move on.

And I mean, really move on.

I don't mean burn bridges or hold grudges.

You can love people without keeping them in your immediate sphere of influence.

It's ok to let go and press forward.

Good things can come to an end.
And we smile because it happened.

When the apologies don't come and the cycle of hurt continues because we just don't know how to apologize, it really is ok to let go and start fresh elsewhere.

I do get to where I no longer expect certain behavior.

And apologies can be one of the needs that I no longer expect to receive.

So I can turn the tables,

And I can begin with me.

I can give you the apology you never got from me.

I can do some deep reflection.

I can think introspectively.

I can even delete some old blog posts that may have come across wrong.

Because I know, and God surely knows, the damage I have left in my wake more times than I can count.

I can say:  I'm sorry.

I know I am not perfect.

I know I tend to speak before thinking.

Often.

I know the need to walk into certain settings asking God for His arm around my shoulder and His hand over my mouth.

I know I can be impulsive.

And I can make excuses as to why and beg your understanding of my viewpoint.

Yet I won't.

I will simply say, 

I am sorry.

Truly.

No excuses.  No blaming.

If I have caused you pain, I truly and sincerely 

Apologize.

On Grief and Mourning with Those Who Mourn *edited

I have known loss.
Perhaps none as tragic as what happened in Orlando earlier this week.
But I have known loss.  

This is not a political post or a social agenda post or a scripture-wielding post.

This is simply a statement about grief.  And heartache and pain.
And loss.

I have cried and prayed this week so much and my heart and mind keep coming back to the same thought:  Mourning.

By definition to mourn is to express great sadness or sorrow.  Period.

When I faced the greatest loss in my life, the loss of my marriage, I was in the process of grief. And I needed to mourn. I hurt. I ached.  It was a long period of grieving.
And some mourned with me.
But there is nothing in the definition of mourning that says to analyze or to blame.
To mourn is to feel sorrow.
Those who truly mourned with me were not the ones who came to tell me how sorry they were in the midst of their condemnation of me, analysis of why it happened or commentary on my present state with God. And there were many. I've shared before how I had several lay scripture before me, declare me a bad wife, or make sure to let me know how the entire situation was my fault and a series of my own bad choices and I was merely reaping what I had sown.

No, those who mourned with me were the precious few who drew up a chair, put their arms around me, poured me a cup of coffee, or a margarita, and cried with me.  They knew my pain.  All I needed in that moment was someone to grieve my loss with me.
To mourn with me.
In that moment, it didn't matter who did what to whom, who made what decision, or how I got in that state of the big D.  What mattered is that I ached. I hurt.  And I needed someone to hurt with me.

Many, sadly, have a lack of understanding of what it means to mourn with those who mourn. In the wake of the tragedy in Orlando this week, many of my friends have expressed their horror and heartache.  It was horrible. It was wrong. I condemn it. And I sat this morning in my "coffee with Jesus" time and wept openly for my friends and the friends and the families of the victims.

I am disheartened at some religious leaders who struggle to even be able to just simply mourn with the broken and the hurting.  Sympathy mixed with statements regarding the sin of the victims is not mourning.  Judgment shrouds sentiment.  

As someone who has been branded with the Scarlet D, heard "divorcee" lumped with "murderer," "adulterer," "homosexual" in a public forum, been excluded, and judged, I have  learned what it means to mourn with those who mourn. I appreciate beyond words those who stood beside me and loved me when the religious world needed to mark their disapproval of me.

To my friends who are broken-hearted this week over the events in Orlando, I simply want to say this:

I am so sorry for your pain. It was horrible and wrong. I am hurting with you.  Truly.
I will look into the faces of the victims as I see their pictures and hear their names read aloud. I will see beautiful people who lived beautiful lives, loved their families and friends, and who were taken from us too soon in violence.
I will shed tears for the loss. 
I do so as I write this.
Your pain is not forgotten.
I will mourn with you.  

In Which I Am Angry With Brant Hansen

Recently I heard something that really bothered me. Okay so 'bothered' is not the right word. 'Ticked me off' would be more accurate. And so I did what any red-blooded American in the 21st-century does, I took to social media with my gripe. And just like that my displeasure, perfectly phrased and exquisitely worded, was placed out for public consumption so that I could make sure I knew who agreed with me in their offense at the ridiculous statement that I had just heard. 

What I want to share with you is what happened in the 2 minutes after I posted my gripe. 

You see, I recently read a book that has challenged me deeply. And by 'challenge me deeply' I mean stepped all over my toes. The thing is, I am one of those weirdos that actually seeks out people to step on my toes. I don't necessarily enjoy it. I hate it actually. Detest is an even better word. Yet, still, I need it. My faith walk needs it. My life needs it. I need to be challenged in every possible way. It's one of the few things that truly helps me grow.  

This book to which I'm referring is 'Unoffendable' by Brant Hansen.  

I'm not going to give you a book review or a synopsis of what this book covers. And the title of this post lies.  I'm not actually angry with Brant Hansen. Ok, I was. A little. I certainly didn't like him for a little while.  However, I will just tell you that if you're struggling with forgiveness, self-righteousness, judgmentalism, the concept of grace...you know, those issues that most of us struggle with on any given day, then you need to read this book. 

I am presently at a place in my life where I am seeking to love others better. I'm seeking to know others better. I'm a sucker for a good story, and I want to know everyone's. I truly believe that only in knowing an individual's story can we truly begin to know their heart, feel compassion, and begin to love them the way that Jesus does. But in order to do that, I really have to get the chip off of my shoulder. That is a terribly difficult task.

I don't know if you have ever struggled with letting go of hurt that someone else has inflicted on you, neglect that you have felt in an area of your life, rejection, pain, brokenness. But I know that I have, and in the years that I have journeyed with Jesus as His beloved, I would be lying if I said that seeds of bitterness had not begun to sprout within my heart. I have a chip on my shoulder. And I recently asked God to knock it off. 

Shortly after that, I found this book. While reading it, I have laughed out loud, I have cried openly, and I have related to so many of the things that Brant has shared. I have been the rejected one. I have been the one to reject others. And it's time that I get over myself, stop taking the world so personally as if it is attacking who I am, see into people's hearts a little bit more deeply, and just love them. 

Not every stupid thing said or done around me requires my input, my assessment, my comment or rebuke. 

Simply put, what's happening is not about me. Even when it is about me, really it isn't. 

No really. 

It's. 

Not. 

So, back to this crisp Spring evening, as I placed my smart device into my lap, so proud of my astute commentary on the events that surrounded me, within the next two minutes the conviction that I have felt while reading this book, and studying these words against the word of God, moved me. I was humbled. I was out of line. And I deleted my comment. 

My comment was seen. And I have been asked about it since, much to my disappointment. However, maybe that's not such a bad thing. Because you see, I need a little grace, too. If I can be an example of a smart-mouth know-it-all, quick with her online gripes who can start to change her ways through the changing of her heart, then anyone can. 

I pray for unity. 

I thank God for grace. 

I seek out opportunities to stretch outside my comfort zone. 

I acknowledge my flaws. 

I repent of my sin. 

And I long to be 

Unoffendable. 

Never Stop Telling Your Story

I can be a bit of a dreamer.
I can be a tad bit dramatic.
I have a tendency to get a little too excited about the bigger picture.

The last few months have settled me down a bit in that area.

Life happens.  That's an interesting expression, don't you think?

But, nevertheless, events and people and circumstances and changes all tend to get in the way of our grandiose plans, whatever those plans may be. For me, it was to change the world.

You know, between semesters of teaching, or something like that.

Funny things happen when circumstances change or daily life events take your attention or you wake up one day and your child is turning 14 and you realize...
My life is my world.
My life is the world I am called to change.

I don't have to impact the entire world to make a difference.
I simply have a calling to impact the world around me.
I meet people and interact with people and teach people all day.  Every day.

Here is my point:
I have a story.  It is a broken, battered, redeemed story.
And it may never cross the globe.
I am still called to tell it.
Because there is someone out there who needs to hear my story.  And who needs to hear the hope.
Sometimes you need to know someone understands.  Sometimes you need to lean on a soul who's been there. 
And be reminded you're not alone. 
And that there is redemption. 
And healing.
That wounds scab or scar over.
And sometimes ripped wide open again.
That sometimes wounds never heal.
And all of that is ok.

Here's a secret about my job:
I am paid to encourage people to tell their story.
I am paid to listen to people tell their story.
And I am paid to teach them how to tell it better.
What an amazing and wonderful task I have been given!
Because EVERYONE has a story to tell.
And someone out there needs to hear those stories.
Those stories will change the world.

So, I will continue to tell mine.
One day.  One moment.
One blog post.
One family dinner.
One hike in the woods.
One morning on the porch.
At a time.

I have only a precious few years left with my children.
And then they will be off living their own lives and...

Changing the world.

Spring. New Beginnings.

Has it really been 7 months since I last wrote?

Yikes.

Not that you are all waiting on pins and needles anxiously anticipating words to pour forth.

But still, when you long to be transparent and desire to share your journey in order to encourage others, this long of a time period is unacceptable.

I do not profess to be a writer by any stretch of the imagination.  However, I have gone through a period where I've turned inward moreso than usual (apparently) as I process life around me.  Lately, and finally, the words and thoughts and desires to once again share my heart have grown within me so that I feel I can once again sit behind this screen and at least try to be a voice of hope.
A voice of encouragement.
A voice that will shine light and strengthen you.

Life happens.  All the goals and plans and dreams in the world cannot stop it from continuing on and creating interruptions daily.  So, do I view my life as a series of interruptions or opportunities?

I choose to see Opportunity.


So, this Spring season, with its tiny buds of new life sprawling out on the branches around me and fresh shades of green and touches of warm sun on skin, I will view as a rebirth of my voice behind my little blog in hopes that I can encourage even one person who has found him or herself

broken
in need of a beacon.

I was there.
I get it.
There is another side.
The other side.
Where still waters and fresh pasture await you.

I want to be one who reminds you of that.