Who Am I?

This space has always been about words. The sharing, the vomiting, the unforgiving, the trying to make sense of a life. There is a reason I named it “If Words Could Save You,” so many years ago… in the midst of my college days, deep in the naïvety of what life was and what it had yet to be. I went to college for words. I incurred over twenty thousand dollars of student loans because I loved words. Because I have forever ingested books like they could save me, because sometimes they have.

I transferred to public school in the fourth grade, from a private school where we had to wear dresses every day. I remember a girl asking me on one of my first days if I thought her jeans were new or old. They were “faded.” I didn’t know that was a thing. I had a hard time making friends. I was a year ahead of the curriculum. I was bored out of my mind. Nearly everyday I would ask the teacher to sign my planner so I could go to the library and check out another book. In reading points (or however they tracked it then – I forget the exact description) the other kids made their way up the scale together, in the same range. They had to create a new target for me, a place to put my name on. I read too many books to stay comparable to the rest of the class. As an adult, I pride myself on the number of books I read in a year. As a young girl, the last thing I wanted was to stand out.

An outlier from the rest. A role I seem to still be inhabiting so many years later. And maybe that’s why I seem to have lost my words. The exact direction of what this space is or what it should be. It has always been so easy to write about the ones who wronged me, the boys who changed me, the hurt that shaped me. I’ve been doing it for so long, I can tap into it without hardly any effort. A caricature of the life I once knew. It’s easy to write from a place of pain, of vindication, of healing. It’s easy to romanticize memories or find purpose in the past.

It’s harder to put into words the life I’m living now. I have everything I’ve ever wanted… a husband who loves me, children who adore me, a house to call home. Our life is far from perfect, because we are imperfect, but it’s beautiful and full of love. This is the life I prayed for. Who wants to read about a highlight reel? No one.

But under the surface, I am still that little girl that doesn’t fit in. And that is hard to articulate against the backdrop of a life I love.

When I first decided to become a stay at home mom, I knew it was my calling. After being let go from a job in which I thought would be my career (although it had nothing to do with words), I dallied in places that were fun for a season but never felt like home. I managed coffee shops for a few years, before I also lost that opportunity due to cut hours. I landed as an administrative assistant at a construction company when I was pregnant with my first. I tried to make the most of it, but after his arrival I knew I couldn’t go back. It was a paycheck, not a passion.

I have never looked back. But the amount of loneliness I feel on a daily basis is hard to ignore.

I do not have a group of stay at home mom friends. I do not have a support system of women who understand what my day to day looks like. Don’t get me wrong, I have some amazing girlfriends, but all of them work outside the home in some capacity. And I recognize that is a whole different level of stress, but being with your kids all day every day is by far the hardest thing I have ever done.

I feel like that fourth grader again… unable to relate to those around me. No one understands my day to day. There is no one to share in my struggles or triumphs. And at some point you start thinking… if all I am is a wife and a mother, is that enough?

I know it is. But there is also still a yearning inside me to share. To write words.

Our new house has been a blessing in that I finally have room for a reading chair in our bedroom. It has already become my most sacred space. I have taken to journaling again, mornings before the kids wake up. Time set aside before the day begins just for me, with God, to lean on Him for strength, wrestle with roadblocks, contemplate what I long for. Alongside a cup of coffee, an empty page, and a cozy blanket, I am finding purpose again, discovering myself.

All that to say, I’m not going anywhere. The words still matter, even if I’m not sure what direction they should take yet. Even if I am stuck somewhere between what used to matter and who I’ve become. I’m going to keep writing it down until I figure it out. Because aside from being a wife and a mother, I am a writer. Not only because I have a college degree that says that, but also because there is a passion inside me that is still sparked.

I am waiting for it to ignite a fire.

I am certain it has yet to burn.

A List

I found a list recently. A folded up piece of paper dropped out of one of my old journals as I was unpacking. It was a list of boys. And not “THE” list (this was before then – before the letting go completely – before letting them in). This was simpler, though still lengthy enough, a documentation of boys I’d kissed. Little stars next to the ones that went below the belt, furthered my experience just a little bit more. It seemed so consequential then. The intimacy. The excitement of being wanted. Making out just for fun.

This list is a catalogue of a teenage girl who was just trying to find something.

The first. Completely unromantic and witnessed by a handful of other freshman kids just having fun. Who doesn’t love to play spin the bottle? I didn’t, but I did. And so there died the fairytale and thus begin the trail.

An older boy without a last name.

An attempt at a boyfriend, quickly abandoned.

A set up who was clearly interested in one thing I wasn’t going to give.

A nice boy I actually dated.

A boy I desperately wanted to date but who only took me to prom instead.

There are a few of those – boys that were friends. Boys that I spent a lot of time with. Boys that I thought would take me from friend to kiss to girlfriend. But they always seemed to leave me there in the middle. Dangling between what was and what would never be. Those were the ones that screwed me. Made me feel a little less worthy and a lot more like a “hook up” was as good as it would get.

So that’s what I did. I took what I could get.

The stolen kisses on drunken nights. The boys beds I slept in but never slept with. The boys I used to feel something. To get a piece of what I needed without ever being truly wanted.

It was easier to pretend I wanted what they did – nothing more than that moment (or a handful). Nothing serious.

It’s amazing how fast things spiral, how long a list can grow.

There was a period of time right before the “real world” started that I reigned it back in (as if kissing needs to be stopped). He thought it did. Thought we shouldn’t kiss. And it was in that moment I realized, I could care about my kisses and still give them. That being physical was something important to me, something I couldn’t leave out of a relationship. (Needless to say that one didn’t work out).

And so ends that list, if I had finished it.

It’s weird to have found it. It seems like another lifetime, but I suppose it was.

I am not that girl anymore (thank, God). At least not in the searching and seeking, the giving without getting, the used and being used. But I hold her inside of me. The memories and the lessons, the adolescent entanglements and goodbyes, the reminder of what was good and what wasn’t. I hold onto what it was like to be young, and carefree, and stupid. The reminiscing of boys that started to spark the desire to be loved by one. The ones I actually did (at least, in a way).

It’s a list I’m certain I don’t need to keep but I am taking a moment for the remembering too. That piece of paper is a piece of who I was. I’ve done a lot of growing up since then, but she is important too.

And so to her I’d say, this list does not define you. You are not a slut (never have been, never will be). You care too much to really want nothing. Caring will get your heart broken repeatedly, but it will also keep you hoping… So keep trying, keep searching, keep kissing. Love will find you.

This All Came from a Song

Do we ever escape our past loves? I meet them often in my dreams. In a forgotten song that plays on the stereo. A car that looks like theirs once did. Or, in the less obvious things, a smell, a phrase, a drive. They run back through my mind as vividly as if the past was yesterday.

And maybe, love is the wrong word. Because now that I know it… now that I really have it… it seems unfair to put them in the same category as my husband.

But at the time, I thought it was love. I used the word. I said it. I believed it. I wanted it to be true. I longed for it be reciprocated. Those loves grew me, shaped me, wrecked me. Through them I received comfort during some of the hardest days of my adolescence.

A pause.

My Aunt died my senior year of high school. As if coming to terms with being an “adult” and deciding what to do with the “rest of my life” wasn’t enough, I was also dealing with losing one of the most influential people (to this day) in my life. She was like a second mother to me. If I had a bad day and wasn’t getting along with my mom, I called my Auntie. If her and my uncle decided to take a quick trip to Colorado or Sioux Falls to go shopping or see the family, I was often invited along. I wanted to spend weekend nights with my family if she was around. I longed to make Christmas cookies every year. I cherished nights making popcorn and watching a movie. Or playing Monopoly after a dinner of Goolash and bread and butter. I cannot accurately describe all that she was.

She was one of the most caring, thoughtful, and kind souls. She loved me unconditionally. She supported everything I wanted to try. She came to track meets, took pictures of me and my friends at prom, attended concerts. She treated me like I was her own daughter, instead of just one of many nieces.

It has been 14 years.

I miss her as much now as I did then, it just hits differently.

The day of my wedding. The birth of my children. It’s the big moments and the little moments. Knowing that my children will never know her. They do something, or we go somewhere, and I still think… Man, I wish she was here to see this. Or how I fell in love with the most amazing man that she never got to meet. It hurts. I have these moments, especially around holidays or as a result of things that remind me of her. I’ll start crying and my husband will ask, “What’s the matter?” And I say, “I miss my Aunt.” Or “She loved this.” And what makes it worse is that he never knew her. He doesn’t know what she was like. He doesn’t know that about her. Even though I know they would have loved each other, I have all these memories that I harbor alone.

All that to say it is impossible to reflect on losing her without remembering who was there for me when I did.

Two boys in particular. Both of whom I loved separately, neither of which I thought I loved then.

I have these vivid memories.

Curled on his basement couch, crying in his arms. His parents praying for me, for her. The music exchanged in an attempt to comfort. The years we shared that extended beyond that moment, knowing he knew what made me. It was always the music. And so, it will always be the music that brings me back.

And the other, sleeping next to him in a hotel room at State Basketball the weekend she died. Why did I go? Because my mother said there was nothing I could do. Because my 17 year-old self couldn’t handle being in that hospital room seeing her become less of who she’d always been. And so the day I found out she was gone I was across the state being comforted by a boy.

I remember sitting at the reception of her visitation and this boy telling me he wanted to be more than friends.

What an absolute shit time to come clean.

So, these are the moments. These are the people. These are the loves. That when they broke me took with them the familiarity of someone who knew where I’d been. What she’d meant. A shared remembrance of what was.

Loved and lost. But never forgotten.

I feel like I’m taking the easy way out here by closing this with a lyric.

But since it’s what sparked this entire post it seems fitting. And also, I don’t have much else left to say.

Grief hits you in the weirdest ways. I sometimes miss her because I’ve been reminded of them. And vice versa. It comes crashing in without notice, without reason. And all you are left to do is pick up the pieces of what once was.

I thought of you and where you’d gone and the world spins madly on

Understood.

I didn’t get around to reading my devotional of the day yesterday. Or, let me be really honest here… The one I subscribe to in my email inbox often gets piled up over days until finally I delete them. I read a couple here and there. Or, I try to read one I have on my bedside table. But it piggy backs off of my last post — where am I prioritizing my time? With so little time just to me, I often falter in carving out space for Jesus.

I wish I could say it was every day. A certain time. A certain place. Set aside for me to saturate in His word and listen to what He wants to say. But the truth is, I’ve been pushing. Semi-avoiding what He may want to say to me because I have been so overwhelmed by this stage of life. What is He trying to teach me in my role as a Mother? Instead of clinging on to the One who has always held the answers, I have been wallowing in my loneliness.

I saved yesterday’s email because the title stuck out to me… “If You’re Feeling Overlooked and Unappreciated.”

OH. Hello! I chose this right? So I don’t get recognition. I certainly shouldn’t complain. I am “blessed” to be able to stay home. And, I am. I know that I am. I know people who long to be home with their kids and can’t for financial reasons etc. But I also know that there is this misconception that my day to day is easy. What do you do all day? As if I have unlimited time to check things off my own wants. You must get to work out all the time. No. You must have so much fun. Wow, it must be nice not to work. And on the flip side… how can you stand it? Being alone with your kids all day.

Overlooked. Unappreciated… Misunderstood.

And here it was today in my inbox. In black and white. The answer that I already knew. The truth that should be filling me up for each day. The reminder that while my day to day often feels mundane… it is far from it.

1 Corinthians 15:58 So then, brothers and sisters, don’t let anyone move you off the foundations of your faith. Don’t let the comments of the world, the people you know that question your choice to stay home with your kids, let you second guess the calling that has been placed upon your heart. Don’t allow the comparison game on social media to steal your joy. Don’t allow your emotions of loneliness to distract you from the truth. Always excel in the work you do for the Lord. You know that the hard work you do for the Lord is not pointless. Motherhood is hard. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done. And doing it alone, surrounded by friends who none of whom stay home full time is even harder. I feel unsupported and misunderstood. But, I am not doing it for them. I have been called by God to be a mother, more so, to stay home with my children. I am investing my time into their lives day to day. It is not pointless, in fact, I would argue it’s the most important role I could ever hope to have.

I’m sure I’ve said that before and I’m certain I’ll say it again. Partly, because, I need reminding. The day to day may feel mundane. After I’ve told my toddler NO thirty times. After I’ve changed poopy diaper after poopy diaper. After the never-ending laundry, dirty dishes, and messy floors. But, somewhere in that mess, I am doing the Lord’s work.

My devotional says it best – There is training there. There is character building. There is attitude shaping. There is soul defining. All of which must take place for us to become what God intends. We aren’t just doing tasks. We are building a legacy. We are shaping God’s Kingdom. We are in the process of not discovering our calling but that of our family as well.

I am quite literally (hopefully) raising up future warriors for Jesus.

And more than what I hope to teach them – about love, about life, about Jesus – they are already teaching me. In the calling of motherhood, I have been given new life. A sense of purpose. A sense of belonging. They have stretched my patience, grown my understanding, and expanded my heart.

So why is it so easy to get overwhelmed and forget my place?

The short answer – because I’m human. And don’t we all long to feel validated? At any normal job you have a boss overseeing your day to day, praising you for your progress, correcting you for your missteps. You have co-workers recognizing things you do well, a team to fall back on when you need a fresh set of eyes on a project. I have a toddler and a baby who constantly demand my attention with no second thought on what I’m doing well – only that their immediate needs are met. It’s the Lord’s work, but it’s also isolating and exhausting.

But that’s also where the beautiful part comes in, if only I let it.

The reminder that God is my compass, my boss, my friend.

I have been handpicked by God to be their mother. I have already been told I am enough. I have already been given everything I need to succeed in the day to day. Because, I am not doing it on my own. I never have been. I have the best guy in the world in my corner reminding me that I have been created for this. Created by Him. Wonderfully. Equipped. Set Apart. Supported. Handpicked. Appreciated. Understood.

John 15: 16 You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you that you should go and bear fruit and that your fruit should last…

Simultaneously Lost (and Found)

It should be easier to put words to a page, words to this screen. It should be easy because for the longest time it was (it is) my passion. I remember being a high schooler applying for college. My parents tried to convince me to major in something that would be marketable, financially sound. All I cared about it is pursuing something I loved. So I went on to major in English (emphasis on Creative Writing) because that’s what sparked my passion. I loved reading. I loved writing. I loved learning about language. I was curious about how to let it saturate me even more, how to sculpt it better on my own. That’s where this ancient (in need of update) blog title comes from… if words could save you… because on more than one occasion they saved me. Whether that was in a book, or an email from a friend, a poem in class, a Bible verse. Reading words as they’ve been given to me has shaped who I am. And writing down my experiences has healed me in ways I can’t even explain.

So it should be easy. Coming here and having something to say.

But I’ve lost part of that spark, as I found another.

Motherhood.

I have two beautiful kids whom I adore. I feel fulfilled in that I always knew I wanted to be a Mom. It’s probably why I never envisioned myself at some high-paying, or at the least, some steady career. I didn’t have a passion for a 9-5. Even after five years at one of the biggest banks in the country, I can honestly say that if I had to work again I’d go back to making coffee. It’s the most fun I’ve ever had. And I absolutely loved the opportunity to get to know regular customers, converse with them, while making their favorite drink. There’s something about the service industry that is so rewarding.

All I do now is serve. I mean literally – I’m making meals, changing diapers, reading books, wiping tears, sweeping the floor for the 10th time, cleaning up baby puke on the carpet. They aren’t thanking me (often) or tipping me for my good efforts.

BUT I get the biggest reward there is – their love. And that is something so pure and miraculous to me that I am in awe of how lucky I am. I can’t imagine being anywhere else on a given day than surrounded by my babies and loving them as best I can. These years are fleeting; the time is already going by way too fast. The conversation of preschool for my oldest has come up recently and thinking about dropping him off could send me into an emotional tirade at any moment. Yep, I’m that Mom.

I have embraced the SAHM life to the fullest. So full in fact, that I sometimes forget that there was a “me” before it. And I think that is where the only problem really lies. The balancing act of loving and raising my kids while simultaneously remembering to make time for the things I love.

I have been found in motherhood. It fulfills me in ways I didn’t even know were possible. It ignites a fire in me that I had only hoped would someday be true. Who am I without being a Mother? I asked my husband this question the other day as part of conversation about whether or not we should have another. I feel like I was made to have babies. Not just literally, but I find significance in birthing and giving life. It’s the most beautiful gift I’ve been given and it’s hard to give that up.

But I think a more important question is, Who was I before I was a Mother?

Which brings me back to the original point. I had a passion for writing. I HAVE a passion. It’s something I miss. It’s something I long for. It’s just seems to be time I don’t have. Or rather, something I don’t make time for. I used to journal with regularity. Now, its a few pages every few months if I’m lucky. During the day I get a couple hours (maybe) while my babies are sleeping for myself. And sometimes I end up using that precious time to do laundry, take a shower, pick up toys, prepare dinner. Or maybe, I’m tired and I take 45 on the couch. Try to spend time in the Word, do a devotional. When I get into a reading phase, I try to enjoy a book.

I guess what I’m trying to say is I don’t know where this comes back in. I don’t know how to make it second nature again. To write regularly. To say something that matters. I miss the community that this used to be for me. The hours spent seeking out new blogs to read. The hours spent pouring over something I wanted to say – hoping that even just one person would read it and care.

I have found who I know God called me to be in becoming a Mom, but I have also let the passion He ignited in me to create fall to the wayside. Both are important. Both are a part of who He made me to be.

There is often a forgetting of self when your day consists of caring for others. And I wouldn’t change it. I wouldn’t give it up. I in no way long for a career I never saw.

But I do hope to reignite a piece of me.

Whether it be here in or in pages that no one ever sees, I long to be present again.

So I’m writing it down. Saying it out loud.

Here’s to finding a way – not back but forward to a future that celebrates all the parts of me.

Becoming

“I wondered why we considered ‘going back’ to be more beautiful than becoming. When it isn’t. ” – Jess Urlichs

I read this the other day in regards to the postpartum experience, and it really resonated with me. This unspoken expectation to “bounce back” after having a baby. To set this goal of trying to look the same as you did before. And so from the get-go, constantly comparing ourselves to how we used to look.

When will I be able to fit in my jeans again? How much weight do I still have to lose? Just because I’m breastfeeding, am I still eating too much? When will I look the way I used to?

It’s an expectation that I’ve put on myself, and one I know friends of mine have too. And don’t get me wrong, it’s a great day when your pre-pregnancy jeans fit. But what if they don’t? What if they never do? Becoming a mother, birthing a child, is so much more than the change in your physical body. I’m not saying it’s not a big thing… The literal carrying of your child for nine months inside your womb. The stretch marks. The weight gain. The aches and pains. The sudden inability to jump without peeing your pants. But I’m saying we put a lot of pressure on the outward appearance instead of celebrating the experience as a whole.

Birthing a child is becoming a mother. And it’s one of the most amazing, incredible, straight up miracles I ever had the privilege of experiencing. It’s so amazing that you wonder if doing it a second time can live up to the hype. Just having our second almost 7 months ago, I’m here to tell you… it can. It does. It is an indescribable moment, meeting the child that has formed and grown inside of you. A perfect little human that is half of you and half of the one you love. And every day that follows that day is about becoming. Adapting. Changing. Growing. Molding. Shaping yourself into a mother, and at the same time, letting that little life transform you.

My day to day success is not defined by when my body begins to look ‘the same’ again. My day to day success comes in how I love my children. How I embrace who they are.

This all comes after a not so fun trip through my closet the other day. For some reason, I had been holding on to a lot of items I had purchased since before or during the time that my husband and I were dating. I was feeling good about going through it all and trying it on cuz… ta da. I just fit back into my skinny jeans! I was back, right? Wrong.

I may be able to fit in the same size jeans I wore 6+ years ago, but my body is not the same. My hips are wider, my boobs are bigger, and things do not fit the way they used to on my 20-something, pre-kid, body. I went to try on a dress I wore to a wedding in 2015 and couldn’t even get it over my butt. In trying, I broke the zipper. I also used to collect swimsuits. I once went to the Caymans for 10 days, and I literally almost had a different swimsuit for every day. I haven’t been able to fit in any of those since my first pregnancy, but I had kept them just in case. Reality check. I’m probably never going to be a size small bottom again (again, hello wider hips). And my boobs, well. Those swimsuit tops can’t contain them. So I parted with probably 85-90% of my spring/summer wardrobe. Partly, because things didn’t and will never fit me again. Partly, because I am now a mom of two and my style has changed.

Moral of the story is – I went from feeling myself to feeling like a lard all over again.

And why? I learned a long time ago that my significance is not found in my outward appearance. Except, when you’re female and grow up in the culture we’re accustomed to it’s pretty hard not to compare. Scroll a little on instagram and soon you’re down a rabbit hole of… Wow, she looks good and she’s had three kids. I’ll never look like that.

WHO THE F CARES. (Unfortunately, I sometimes do.) But I’m trying not to. I’m trying to embrace the becoming. To accept all the ways in which my body has changed to give me the two most beautiful babies I could ever hope for. To celebrate what it has done, and what it can still do.

When I’m gone someday, it won’t matter what size jeans I wore. It won’t matter if my stomach was flat.

What matters, is the kind of person that I am. And I hope and pray that a kind and loving mother (and wife) is high on that list. I am becoming everyday – more of who they need me to be. Through the tantrums and sickness. Through the cries and lack of sleep. Through the giggles and books read. Through the snuggles and kisses. Through the learning and the unlearning… of who I used to be and who I am.

And who I am is a mother. Not “just” a mother. I think often another unspoken thing is that a woman who stays home with her kids full time is “just” a mom. As if your significance is somehow less because you don’t work outside the home. That’s been a big one for me as the only one in my circle of friends who does so.

“What do you do all day?” “Don’t you think daycare is good for social interaction?” “You must have it made.”

My blood starts to boil when I think of some of those comments. And let me preface this by saying – I know it’s not feasible for some people to stay home. Mothers that long to stay home and can’t. I am fortunate enough that my husband provides for our family so I can. But don’t come at me like it’s easy. Don’t come at me like it’s the wrong choice.

Being a mother is the most important role I have ever had. To me, it is the absolute best place to invest my time. They are my KIDS. And they are only young once. My oldest will be three this summer, and I seriously do not know how that happened so fast. Once they are in school, they are in school till they’re out of the house. So yeah, I think staying home with them matters. It’s one on one time that will never come again. And I believe with my whole heart that they will learn more from me than they would anywhere else. There are studies on how having a stay at home parent is beneficial on so many levels. Look it up. It’s more than just what they’re learning, it’s who they are becoming. To raise them is a privilege. To stay home with them is a gift.

I have chosen to BECOME a mother. Not only in the birthing of my children, but in the day to day commitment to give them all of me. For as long as I can, however they need. And some days I want to pull my hair out, some days I miss my 20-something body. But I am not longing for what once was. Forward is beautiful, because it means more of them. More days, more moments, more memories, more growing.

I once prayed and hoped to be a mother. Now, I am one. I hope to never take that for granted because to me it is not “just” and there is no “going back.” To me, it is everything. They are everything. They are the greatest gift I have ever been given and, in return, I vow to give them all that I can.

Let’s Talk About It

I’m 13 years old and middle school is a torment. I’m not one of the “popular” kids. I don’t get invited to parties on the weekends – dances in cleaned out garages with parents distantly close inside. Okay, so I went to one. I remember dancing with a new kid, probably because he was too dumb to know I wasn’t worth knowing. I loved the feeling of someone’s hands other than my own around my waist. The flirting with adolescent hormones that had just started to surge. But my strict Mennonite church background ruined the moment – You’re dancing too close. Your parents will be mad. You’re not allowed to date till you’re 16 anyway. STOP. Shame. STOP. Guilt. You’re doing something wrong. But was I? The fabric of my entire adolescence and early adulthood was being laid out before my eyes, and I didn’t even know it.

My first kiss happened exactly like it does in the movies. Boy meets girl. They fall in love. It’s a picture perfect exchange of feelings. Or at least, that’s the way I always imagined it would go because you know a kiss is a sacred thing. You don’t just give those away to anyone. But I did. Two in one night. Spin the Bottle. As if it could get any less classy. The second boy and I “dated” for a whopping two weeks, meeting up just one other time to make out before we “broke up.” It’s tragic, isn’t it? Firsts hold this hype that they’re going to be phenomenal, change your life. But they don’t, other than to let you down. And so firsts become seconds become thirds become I better stop counting because to keep track most certainly means I’m a slut.

Which I wasn’t, of course. A “make out” free spirit, maybe. Cuz, gosh, that was fun. Kissing someone for the first time was like a brand new rollercoaster ride. Exhilarating, full of adrenaline, and never knowing quite what came next. No one kisses quite the same. It’s like trying a new flavor of ice cream, one that will never be replicated with the next. Each is it’s own sort of delicious experiment. So, I kissed a lot. And, I got good at it.

Still, to my great pride, I made it all the way through college with my virginity still in tact. Cuz as any good Christian girl knows, that’s what matters. Nobody wants to buy the cow when they can get the milk for free… Okay. So it was probably relayed in different terms, like, remain pure or become damaged goods. There’s a reason I was given a “purity ring” in my early teens. And yet another reason I stopped wearing it. How much purity did you have to lose before you no longer had any hope for the blessed marriage they preached? Luckily, this message came up short in regards to my one and only but… I gave up plenty along the way.

So let’s talk about it shall we? “The first time.” Which time? The first that I didn’t choose or the one that I did. A juxtaposition of two boys with very different roles in my life, but whose lasting effect on me would be ultimately the same. Moments in which lust was large and respect was an illusion. I told boy number two about boy number one before we “did it.” We’d been friends for years, so he was supposed to care about the guy who had taken my consent for foreplay and pushed it too far. The guy who silenced me. The guy who hurt me. The guy who forced his way to what he wanted. But, he too only cared about getting far enough. And I had trusted him for years so I let him. But long drawn out friendships are not the pathways to love, they are just an excuse to get physical enough to try.

I’m in college in a new town all by myself, knowing no one. So I Skype with one of my best guy friends from high school, who happens to be a really great Christian guy. You know, the one who always lead worship on Sunday mornings, the one who bought me a devotional for my birthday. So, it starts innocently enough. Except, as I said, I’m lonely. I don’t think I’ll ever hear “Sexy B*tch” by David Guetta again without cringing. You can let your imagination figure out what happens when you combine said music and video chat. It’s probably what you think it is. Which also turned into what it should have never been. Getting physical. In person. Turning something trusted into something more. And with it, tainting once again the idea that Christian boys and girls remain pure at all times. Looking back, it’s probably why I wrapped a lot of hope up in that boy. The idea that he’d save me from myself. That yes, we had faltered, but if it ended up meaning something more that would lessen the fall. Alas, it didn’t and I continued on most certainly tainted.

So here I was, a twenty-something with way too extensive of a history for my very conservative Christian upbringing. (And let’s not forget that mounting pile of shame). Mix that in with a little alcohol and a whole lot of longing for the real deal and I found myself in one hell of a mess.

And gosh, messes are fun at the time. You know you shouldn’t get involved but there’s something kind of intriguing about rolling around where you don’t belong. So I’m in my mid-twenties and I try to turn “fun and crazy” into something like love. It’s the most physical relationship I’ve ever been in to this point. I’m 24 and never been on birth control, but now I am. I crave him like a drug. I guess, that’s what lust is. And eventually it becomes so deep that you convince yourself it is love. And, ironically, I still believe it was. Love on steroids, maybe. Jacked up, found through less than normal circumstances, and never sustainable in reality. I fell hard. And all the while that little voice in the back of my head was screaming – STOP. “This is wrong. This is not what you want.” But, I did. I wanted it. So much so that I “broke up” with him over a year later only to keep sleeping with him while he “dated” someone else. I have never fallen farther. I held on tighter instead of letting go because I was too damaged to believe I could come back from this.

Every scenario took me one step farther in a pattern that began with that first dance. Do something. Feel guilty. Do something more. Feel guilty again. Have something done to you, blame it on yourself for being in that situation in the first place. Good Christian girls don’t put themselves in those kind of situations. Good Christian girls don’t let it go too far. Good Christian girls don’t flirt with their bodies. Good Christian girls don’t fall for the wrong boy. Good Christian girls save themselves for marriage. Feel guilty? You should. Feel worthless? You should. Feel unworthy of love? You should.

And, I did. Sometimes, I still do. That’s the thing with patterns. Even when they reach their end the fabric of their influence is so deeply woven into who you are that you sometimes forget it stopped defining you a long time ago. Or rather, that it never did.

Purity culture tried to barricade my self-worth.

It didn’t preach a message of grace, instead it was laden with fear and shame – holding hands will lead to feeling up will lead to this will lead to sex. So don’t hold hands, lest it lead you down the path of sin. Save yourself. (One message I once heard in a high school youth group). Or another – once you give a piece of yourself away you can never get it back. Which is true, in the way that I can’t take back the kisses I’ve given or the beds I’ve slept in. But false in the way in which it says who I am or what I’m worth. I remember far too many messages about what we shouldn’t do, and yet little if anything about what to do if we did.

I’m fifteen or so and at a high school youth conference somewhere in the hills. And of course, I’m googly eyed for a boy. He’s a couple years older. And I remember simply leaning against him, holding his hand and my youth pastor’s wife pointing to the ring on her finger and saying “you don’t have a license to do that.” As if I had to be married to feel something.

I was feeling it then. I had teenage hormones raging through my body, but instead I was supposed to just ignore them because it was the “right thing to do.” As if attraction was wrong. That yes, God designed sexual desire but you better learn to hold it at bay. At least until the day my Knight in Shining Armor came riding in on his horse and whisked me off my feet, gave me a wedding ring, and called me his wife. Then I would be “allowed.”

I’m here to say BULLSHIT. And not to say that I don’t believe in God’s design for marriage and for sex. Lord knows the battle I’ve had to endure overcoming all that guilt. But I do believe that pile of guilt would have been more like a small dust mound if I hadn’t grown up believing that sexual sin was the absolute worst kind. I know I’m not the first to denounce purity culture. It was a movement largely present in the 90s and early 2000s, and many an article has come out of about its affects since then. I’m simply speaking to my own experience. I could have saved myself a whole lot of pain if the adults in my life had simply been real. Real honest. Real open. Real accepting about the reality of the desires I had that were what God created them to be… natural.

I have spent years overcoming the shame I felt as a result of that message burned into my brain.

I dated a guy in college who was a born again Christian. Meaning, he had a past. He wasn’t a virgin, he used to drink, etc. I met him after. We became friends in a very protected bubble and started dating. I kissed him, once, after a road trip. He told me later on that we shouldn’t do that. And instead of feeling like, “AWW! Here it is! The perfect godly man who respects me and wants to wait that they’ve been telling me about my whole life!” I again, felt shame. Because, I wanted to. Because, I did.

The reality is I like to kiss. Hell, my husband and I did a lot more than that before he asked me to be his wife.

I am not damned because I entered my wedding night “less whole.”

But, the pattern remains. So I’m working through it. It’s taken a lot of time and a lot of counseling. It’s caused strife in my marriage simply because something I want to do for my husband, once upon a time, made me feel dirty. Made me feel less then. But those choices do not define me. And they certainly don’t factor in to my worthiness in God’s kingdom. 

Take Rahab for example. She was a prostitute, yet she found favor with God. He loved her and protected her despite her choices because she had faith in Who He was and what He said. 

I may have been raised in purity culture, but I was also raised with a faith in the true God. The One who says He loves me in spite of my mistakes, or rather, because of them. He created me uniquely and perfectly in His image, sexual desires and all. And while I acknowledge the reasons why sex was designed for marriage, I also know that I don’t have to carry shame because my first experiences were outside it. 

I have “grace” tattooed on the inside of my wrist because that is truly the character of God that spoke the most to me during those tumulterous years of struggle between what I desired and who I thought I should be. It is not about what I’ve done. He loved me while I was still a sinner, which lets be honest, I still am. But because I truly believe in Who He says He is, I am saved from the pain that comes with those choices. And I am certainly free from the guilt that Purity Culture wanted to tack on as extra penance. 

I am not damaged goods. My worthiness as a wife and a mother are not tainted because of the choices I made in my teens and twenties. On the contrary, God has used those experiences to reveal His character to me in extremely beautiful ways. As a Healer, as a Protector, as a Father, as a Lover, as a Friend. One who values me, accepts me, and calls me as His own. 

At times I still wish I could rewrite the story, but instead, I’ll use it. To serve as a testimony to the Truth. 

My chains are gone, I’ve been set free. 

When Words Don’t Seem Enough

I’ve typed and deleted. Retyped and then deleted again.

How do you put into words what is happening in our nation? How do I come to terms with the world in which my husband and I are raising our children? As I snuggled both before bedtime last night and again today for naps, I found myself fighting back tears. My oldest kept asking for “one more song” so I sang every worship song that I could think of. The only words that seem adequate are not my own. Music has always been a solace of some sort, stemming back as far as church Christmas programs, growing into shared tracks among boys I once loved, maturing me into the woman I am today… I love going to church and hearing a good message, but my heart seems closest to my Creator amidst the music.

Today, my heart is so incredibly heavy.

We are a nation divided, that much is true. But this is far more than two political parties standing on opposite sides of the track. I think it stopped being about that a long time ago. Somewhere along the way, we forgot what we were fighting for. Somewhere along the way, we forgot the basics. I think it’s a Sunday School song that goes, “Be kind to one another and build each other up.” Regardless of opinion. Regardless of difference. Regardless of belief. BE KIND.

Where has the kindness gone? Where has the utter lack of value for human life gone? Where has the respect for authority and law gone? When did we stop respecting one another… or did we ever start?

I’m not much for politics. I care, but not to the point that I’m going to blast my opinion all over your social media. I care, but you won’t see me down on a street corner holding a sign. But this isn’t about politics. This is about a heart issue. This is about the temperature of our nation… and it’s boiling hot.

I don’t believe you have to be LOUD to be heard. Or that silence is complacency. Some people were born to scream. That isn’t me. I’m a thinker. I digest and process best most often alone. Or among conversations with trusted friends. Or… like this. Figuring out in spilled words that may or may not make sense if only in an attempt to process.

And gosh, I am trying to process this. But I really don’t know how. It seems there is destruction everywhere we turn, and no one is ever satisfied. Nothing seems ENOUGH anymore. When is enough, enough? How much more do we have to endure? How much more disrespect can we survive? I fear to raise my sons in a world this torn apart, and can only pray that God helps me do so adequately.

It seems more than fitting that my devotional for today came from Ephesians 6. And once again, since my words seem to be lacking, let me use the only Word that truly makes sense to me today.

“This is not a wrestling match against a human opponent. We are wrestling with rulers, authorities, the powers who govern this world of darkness, and spiritual forces that control evil in the heavenly world. For this reason, take up all the armor that God supplies. Then you will be able to take a stand during these evil days…” (Ephesians 6: 10 – 13)

I don’t know the battle we have yet to endure. The discord we’ve come to anticipate is not fixed by one power or the next. It doesn’t dissolve or heighten because of one man. Choosing a side is never going to fix the evil at work. Satan is waging a war, folks. His goal is to cause separation, and from the looks of it, he APPEARS to be winning. He wants to tear us apart. Not only from our neighbors and fellow Americans, but more alarmingly, from God. To become so wrapped up in conflict that we stop seeing the Truth. Every day is a battle against what we choose to believe and where we find our hope. I don’t see a lot of hope right now. Not in the world around me, aside from those whom I hold dear. So I must choose to believe in a hope far greater than what is on my news feed.

“We don’t look for things that can be seen, but for things that can’t be seen. Things that can be seen are only temporary. But things that can’t be seen last forever.” (2 Corinthians 4: 18)

Satan appears to be winning. But there is a name above any other name. And no matter who sits in the White House, today or two weeks from now, HE IS ON THE THRONE. And He’s already won.

There is hope in that. So no matter how dark yesterday was or today seems, rest friends. The battle belongs to the Lord. And the only side we have to choose, is His.

One Day

I’ve been sitting here trying to summarize this past year, at the very least, the past few months in a few sentences to put on a Christmas card. But how do you condense so much into so little? To portray so much sentiment in so few words? I have more to say than a few sentences so I’ll start here first.

We could very well begin with the obvious. This pandemic has taken our lives by storm since March. I remember thinking then… I hope this is over by summer. In June, I hope this over by the time we have this baby. After, I hope this is over before the holidays. And now, here we are nearing Thanksgiving, and my family has just come off having COVID ourselves. I feel like it was inevitable but that doesn’t mean I handled it with ease. When mine turned into pneumonia, I started thinking okay this is getting a little scary. Especially when considering the amount of time I spend holding our newborn baby nursing and the possibility of him ending up in some type of respiratory distress. They are so little at that age, so susceptible. But our God is good, and we’ve come out on the other side. We are still somewhat run down and harboring some lingering symptoms… but the worst is behind us. I know not everyone is as fortunate, and I will continue to pray for those affected as well as the future of our everyday lives.

I don’t know if things will ever go back to “normal.” But I do think we can adapt and change so as to continue to LIVE.

Because along with living comes all the things that haven’t changed. The things I have held onto this year. The things that have always been important, but perhaps mean a little more in the midst of uncertainty.

This year we welcomed a second baby boy to our family. After a pregnancy that was also full of unknowns, his arrival was an incredible burst of joy. The labor was without complications, the delivery was quick, and he arrived healthy and absolutely perfect. We have been soaking him up alongside our two year old who has developed quite the personality. We have been so incredibly busy, but our hearts have been so remarkably full.

In the midst of a crumbling world, I still believe our God is good. He has never changed. He was, and is, and is to come. He can be counted upon, trusted in, and held onto. He is the hope that never falters. The joy that can’t be taken away. The well that never runs dry. He sustains, though we may fail and fail again. He is constantly there to lift us up and restore what is lost.

I am incredibly thankful for his faithfulness this year.

I see Him when I hold my little ones in my arms. In the laugh of my toddler, in the smile of my baby. He fills me with a happiness I have never known. I feel Him in the embrace of my husband, in our intimate hugs and genuine conversation. He comforts me. He reminds me that I am not alone. I see Him in my mother, evidently, in her unwavering faith. He encourages. In friends, in family, in shared moments of community, I have seen His kindness. People who care, who offer to help, who simply show up. Relationships matter. They’re worth fighting for. Always, but especially now when the interactions have lessened.

We were not meant to do life alone. Especially without Him.

So I go back to this song by J.J. Heller that says,

When my world is shaking, heaven stands
When my heart is breaking
I never leave your hands

Your hands that shaped the world
Are holding me
They hold me still

One day you will set all things right.

And oh what a glorious day that will be.

But today is not without its beauty. When we choose to walk with Him, there is nothing too big, too scary, too much to overcome. For He has already overcome it all.

Set your eyes above, friends. Do not be troubled by the goings on around you, in the news, in the world, outside your front door… instead be encouraged by all the blessings you have already been given. They are what makes this year mean something. 2020 might not be the year we wanted, but it’s grown us. May that growth be for the better.

Now You’re Two

To my precious son,
I want to say “To my baby boy” because to me you will always be my baby, my first baby. I remember holding you for the first time, and treasure all the times you still let me hold you, snuggle you. But I guess the truth is that you’re now a toddler. You’re two! And it’s your birthday today. And that’s a reason to celebrate, but also a reason for me to write you this letter.

It has been two of the most INCREDIBLE years with you. It’s so hard to believe that it’s been a year since you turned one, I feel like time has flown by looking back, even though there have been days that seemed so long. Who knew we’d be celebrating your birthday in the midst of a pandemic? Things definitely look different this year. No big birthday party, and I know we’ve barely been able to take you out and about in recent months. But I treasure all the time we’ve gotten to spend together, just you and I, and also with your daddy. As a family. The opportunity to go see Grandma and “Pa” on almost a daily basis. The world is a little scary, and definitely different, but in some ways, I think we’ve been able to really soak each other in.

It’s been so amazing to watch you grow this past year into the fiercely kind, incredibly smart, and constantly curious toddler that you are. I always think I’m biased because I’m your mother, but everyone you encounter is amazed by just how aware you are. Your extensive vocabulary. Your attentiveness. You blow them away, and you definitely blow me away. You may be learning new things, but I am learning right along with you. Taking in how you see the world, what sparks your interest, what pushes you into our arms. I love just watching you explore. How excited you are outside, smushing ants and washing your trucks. Taking your jeeps on a trip. How you remember people you’ve only met a few times and hold them in your heart – ask for them by name.

I am so incredibly blessed to be your Mommy.

I pray that as you continue to grow you keep your passion, your fiery spirit. And that the kindness you hold within your heart never diminishes. When you see me crying, you tell me not to and give me the sweetest hugs. And I can’t help but think how lucky I am to be loved by you. God has given you a gift of sensitivity, and I trust that He knows how to cultivate that as you become older. I pray that He finds you where you are. That you come to know Him the way that I have, as a friend.

I love reading you your Bible Stories. Currently, your favorite is Samson the Strong and Noah and the Ark. What a testament to trusting God, and also recognizing when we go our own way. I promise you the road is easier with Jesus by your side. I pray He equips me enough to show you that.

Like I said, I’m learning right along with you. You are the first which means there are a lot of things we don’t know. But be patient with us as we figure it out. I promise that at the heart of everything we do, our love for you is the constant driving force. I will always want the best for you and always try my hardest to make sure you get it.

I know these past few months has been a lot of preparation for the new baby. And I see at times how confusing that has been for you, but also, how intrigued you are. You may only be two, but your understanding of change does not go without notice. Please know that our love for you will only grow as we welcome another into our family. You are going to be the BEST big brother. You already are.

I can already imagine how you’re going to share your trucks and show him your favorite stories. You’re the best snuggler, and I guarantee he’s going to love your hugs and snuggles. I know I do.

I seriously cannot believe you are two. I treasure every day we have spent together and look forward to the many more we have. For all the days of my life. I am incredibly blessed to be your Mom, and so thankful that I have the opportunity to be home with you every day. We may not go on crazy adventures, but every day is an adventure with you just the same. From going on drives, to playing on the swings, to building towers, to reading LOTS and LOTS of books, to simply snuggling on the couch while you watch George. A few weeks ago, you went to the lake for the first time and you LOVED the water. I always did too. It makes me so happy to watch you experience things for the first time, and to see the joy on your face when you enjoy something.

I will never take that joy for granted.

We may not always give you everything you want, but I promise you will always have everything that you need. And that you will always know how much we love you. Unconditionally. Forever. Always.

Happy Birthday, big boy!

There is so much I want to say, yet I struggle to say it all. Because you have filled my life with an unexplainable happiness. Your smile is contagious and your laugh is electric. Even when you’re naughty, it’s hard to be upset too long. Because you’re mine. You’re ours. And that is something undeniably special.

Thank you for letting us love you, and for loving us back.

You are the most amazing little dude. Can’t wait to see what TWO has in store for you.

Searching for Peace.

The first time I was pregnant was not without its complications – I went in at 32 weeks for bleeding and had to be given a shot to halt pre-term labor, along with 4 other additional “scares” resulting in trips to the ER. But overall, it was blissful. I had imagined being pregnant, becoming a mom, for as long as I was mature enough to want such a thing. I loved my growing stomach, feeling that baby move inside me, anticipating the arrival, becoming a family of three. Despite having to be induced with Pitocin, because of my water breaking but lack of contractions, my labor was relatively calm. I pushed for maybe 20 minutes before meeting our little miracle.

So when my husband and I decided to try for baby number 2, I was once again filled with excitement and anticipation… I think my exact words were, “I loved being pregnant!”

But this experience has not been the experience I had or the experience I had hoped for again.

First of all, being pregnant during a pandemic introduced a whole new level of anxiety. You never think you’re going to live through something like that, let alone while you’re worried about another life inside of you. And with all the unknowns surrounding COVID-19 and its affect on pregnant women, additionally, younger people, it’s hard not to let yourself sink into a deep valley of fear.

What if I get it? What if I get it when I need to deliver this baby? What if I’m one of the ones who don’t make it? What if I never get to see my baby? What if he/she isn’t okay? What if I don’t get to watch my son grow up? What if something happens to him or my husband?

It can be crushing. And honestly, I’m still working through it. Trying to find a balance between the need to stay informed and not wanting to read anymore so as to recover some sense of normalcy, or control. It’s hard to be stuck at home for months – knowing when baby comes, we will inevitably be stuck at home again. It’s hard not to see friends and maintain working out at your favorite studio knowing, once again, that after baby it will be even harder – COVID or not. It’s hard not to worry about the fact that my husband works with people every day who may not be as cautious, who may eventually be the reason he brings it home. And every time I see that someone in their 30s has died, my heart sinks with the worst of thoughts.

And if that weren’t enough, I discovered after my 20 week appointment that I had a complete placenta previa – meaning that my placenta was completely covering my cervix – making my pregnancy high risk and the chance of a vaginal delivery non-existent. Many doctors say you can continue exercise normally at this point, as well as sexual activity, but others do not. I gave up running as a precaution. Our sex life changed out of fear. And I was left with more anxiety and less of the things that make me feel like me.

All I could think was, LORD WHY? WHY all this? WHY me?

Then I failed my glucose test and had to do another one. 3 hours. 4 blood draws (or 6 in my case because the nurses couldn’t find my veins). On top of 10 hours of fasting and the inability to eat until all the tests had been taken. Basically, my worst nightmare. I get so sick when I don’t eat.

All this to say — this pregnancy has been HARD. And because of all of these things, has felt so incredibly long. I am so ready to meet this little bundle of joy and to be over all the what-if’s. To be safe at home holding that babe in my arms.

But it is also to say, that this life is full of ups and downs and relying on my own emotions is far from helpful. Through everything and in every circumstance, I know that God is faithful.

We have been safe and healthy throughout this pandemic so far. Still able to see my family, and more recently, reestablish some more social interactions with those who also have safety at the forefront of their day to day choices.

My placenta migrated. Something they told me it would very likely NOT do. From complete at 20 weeks to marginal at 26 weeks to 1.3 cm away at 32 weeks. I have a chance at vaginal delivery, and I know that is because the Father’s hand is in this. He made it move. He makes the impossible, possible. He looks fear in the eye and replaces it with hope.

I passed my 3 hour glucose test. Without fainting, without puking, without sweating profusely from lack of food like I normally do. That was Him.

And so in the days and the weeks to come, as we anticipate the arrival of this baby, and pray against the pandemic affecting our home – I know that He is faithful. Because He has been. Because He will be. Because that is who He is.

And that’s not to say that everything will go perfectly or without complication. That is not to say it’s going to be easy. There are still unknowns that I face regarding the birth of this baby and the risks that come with having my placenta where it is. Our world is full of unknowns right now in the midst of this pandemic and the fear that surrounds it. The uncertainty of what is right and wrong. The pull between getting back to normal and yet, being smart. The unknown of how close to home this may actually become.

I do not know what my future holds. But GOD KNOWS. And while I would love to ask Him for a play by play to put my mind at ease… I know that He has already given me more than enough to sustain my hope, ease my emotions, and exchange my fear for peace.

He goes before me. He is with me. He will never leave me or forsake me. He holds me. He cares for me. His peace surpasses ALL understanding. He works all things together for the good. He knows His plan for me. He knows my future. He is always for me.

He will be faithful all the days of my life.

And so that is what I hold onto. And when the days get clouded with worst case scenarios and what might be’s, when I’m holding my almost two year old son crying because I am so overwhelmed at the unknown… I have to stop and refocus on what is known. The only One who is. He is for certain. He is forever. And He knows.

May I rest in that truth. May I anchor into it. May I set my sights on whatever may come, knowing He walks beside me through all of it.

For All My Life

All of my days I’ve been held in Your hand

When I think back on my life this far, it is overwhelming to see the ways in which God has always protected me. From being wonderfully formed inside my mothers womb, to the desire He placed in my heart to seek Him at such a young age. I remember sitting in my closet as a child and asking God to be a part of my life. I grew up knowing His word and His promises, but I think it’s telling to leave the shelter of your childhood home and choose to make that knowledge into a life pursuit. To choose Him on your own, to really get to know Him.

There was a time in college where I felt completely and utterly surrounded by the Holy Spirit. I lived and breathed Him. I also lived in somewhat of a college bubble — with friends who were also passionate about Him. It was easy to follow Him and seek Him because that was where we were together. Looking back, while those times and others like them are some of the most intimate in terms of my relationship with the Lord, I think I find more awe in the times that I didn’t hear Him or feel Him so clearly.

The times I strayed from Him or struggled to find His purpose in the midst of my circumstances are so beautiful to me now. Especially in light of what we are going through currently in our world, in our country, in our town. Because, even when I was trying so hard to go my own way, or make sense of all the hurt I felt, He never left me. He was always there to catch me. To remind me that no matter what, I was loved. That there was nothing to fear, because He was bigger than all of it.

All of my life you have been faithful

Through the tortuous middle school years that I mostly try to block out. To losing one of the most beloved people in my life to cancer in High School. From the pursuit of relationships I tried and failed in those teenage years. The grid I started to create for myself — that I would never be quite good enough for a boy… a man. To the search to find my place in college, starting at one and transferring to another to find where I belonged. To finding it and then losing it when I moved back to my hometown. Recreating who I was in the midst of my past. The loss of jobs and that feeling of security. And once again, the pursuit of relationships that left me feeling less than.

Where is God in the midst of uncertainty? Where is God in midst of hurt? Where is God in the midst of all the lies people throw at you? That the devil throws at you? That the world throws at you? Where is God when someone takes advantage of you – takes something that doesn’t belong to him? Where is God when someone manipulates your kindness? Where is God in death? Where is God in the pursuit of happiness? Where is God when you feel like you’ve lost it all?

Where is God in this? That is the question that has been on my mind most these days. And I have been searching and searching to find the answer(s). We have lived in a world that so often has given us the illusion of control. Over our health, our financial security, our social circle, our freedom. But the problem comes in thinking we have any of the control.

Where is God in this? He’s everywhere. But, the more profound truth is that, He always has been.

I have lived in the goodness of God

I know that to be a truth in my life. And so I know it be true here.

That doesn’t mean that our fears and our concerns aren’t valid. That our emotions surrounding the unpredictability of our circumstances, of this disease, aren’t without merit. But it does mean that God is greater than all of it.

I believe that with all my heart, because God has already pulled me through the fire so many times. In times that I have been at my lowest, my darkest, He has pulled me up and into His arms. To say, “I’m here. I’ve never left you. I won’t let you go through this alone.”

So I’m choosing to cling to God through this time. It is the only certainty we have. It’s all we’ve ever had. The faithfulness of our Father. The steadfastness of a friend. To remind us that nothing is too big for Him to conquer. No fear is too grand for Him to face. And that death has no merit on our lives that have already been given over to Him. For He has overcome the grave. He has overcome the world. He will overcome this. He already has. He makes everything beautiful at the right time. Not our time. Not in our plan. But the right time – His.

“…whatever God does will last forever. Nothing can be added to it, and nothing can be taken from it.” [Ecclesiastes 3:14]

I give you everything. Your goodness is running after me.