Dancing in the Rain

"Life is not about waiting for the storm to pass. It's about learning to dance in the rain."

I woke up to a storm today. What a bummer. My day off with just my kids. I couldn't wait to tell My bigger boy that we could do whatever he wanted today! (Except play the iPad. Sorry kid, there's a whole world out there!).

Our whole world has been waking up to a storm lately, hasn't it? Either on the news or threatening your town, your home, and all that you have worked for.

Storms scare me. I sleep through them or hide from them. They may be innocent, but I just never know when they will get bad. I have definitely never, ever, been inclined to dance in a storm. Dance? I won't leave my covers! I never liked that quote above. For starters, who even said it? I see it credited to many different people. Another thing, just because a quote is set on a pretty graphic, doesn't make it wise.. Unless it's from Jesus. Or God. Or Sheila Walsh or Ann Voskamp. Then it is guaranteed wisdom. Beyond that, I think we need to watch what we read and watch what we believe about what we read.

Ok rant over.

Because.

I'm learning to dance in the rain. There. I said it. My 17 year old self would be so proud.

However, before you start rolling your eyes, please know, the dance looks different than I ever thought it would. This isn't a hop, skip, and twirl through puddles. No, it takes on a few odd forms:

Interpretive: As I make way through difficult and weird communication with my husband. As I try to discern what the Lord requires of me each day.

Hip Hop: Playing wildly with my two boys even when my heart is breaking. Having so much gratitude for their sweet little faces and their jeweled eyes.

“Even in laughter the heart may ache, and rejoicing may end in grief.” -Proverbs‬ ‭14:13‬ ‭

Ballet: Rare moments when someone will take the kids so I can shower, put on make up, read a book in the quiet. Feeling pretty. Feeling peaceful. Feeling light.

Waltz: 1, 2-3; 1, 2-3....finding joy in the daily routine. It's predictability, security.

Square: Being a part of a community. Finding comfort with my small church family, belly laughter with lifelong friends. Being held up and held together by family. Watching support come from unexpected places and generosity and love pour out of hearts onto mine and my children. Friendships forged in the fire. What a gift!

And isn't it all just a two-step with our Savior? Leaning into His strength when I have none. Following his lead when I am blind to the next step.

“But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.” -2 Corinthians‬ ‭12:9-10‬

If we wait for the storm to pass, we may miss the gifts that are waiting in the rain. But don't go out there unprepared, Pollyanna. Bring your boots, your coat, your umbrella. Your armor of God (the storm edition). But, we can get out from under the covers, from the pantry, off the couch. We can live life, we can make it through this storm and even carry others through their storms. We've got Jesus in the boat.

But seriously, every dance requires the right shoes, don't forget your rain boots.

Can I get a little light?

Despite the sometimes dark and gloomy tone of this blog, I am not a negative person. I'm not entirely positive either, but I really do trust God with my life so I would like to think I land somewhere in the middle. A person who sees reality for what it is, but also sees the light peering through the darkness.

"The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it." 

John 1:5

Like Dorothy on her journey to Oz, I have met a few friends on this yellow brick road season of my life. The Lord has been faithful to bring people alongside me (and my husband) to minister to our broken, hurting hearts.


Which brings me to a diaper bag.



Yes, you read that right.



Are you still there?



Oh good.



Meet my Lily Jade bag, Shaylee:

Receiving the box containing this beautiful bag was definitely a spirit-lifter. She became an instant companion, a beautiful sight to behold. I feel pretty when I carry her even with puffy eyes and messy top knots. She carries all the things my kids need and since she converts to a backpack, I've got two hands free to fill with chubby, sticky-sweet, little boy hands.

But. And there is a but (sigh). Shaylee, with her cute name and her luxurious good looks, is just a bag. While she carries what I need, she isn't really what I need.



What I need is truth. Prayer. Kindness. Love. Friendship.

And my God shall supply all your need according to His riches in glory by Christ Jesus.

Philippians 4:19

Do you need comfort, companionship, an uplifting word? God is on it. 

Behind that beautiful leather diaper bag are beautiful hearts and minds that have been used by God to lift my head in this season of pain.

Lily Jade is a giving company. Follow them on social media and you will see them giving away at least one of their bags each week, usually more. They intentionally support adoption and mothers with unplanned pregnancies. They employ kind people. The type of customer service personnel that will stick with you as you debate color choices, buy and return and buy again, and most importantly befriend and pray for you. Pray for you! Like really call on the Father in your time of need.

That is incredible to me.

You will not find a Lily Jade diaper bag in a store. Not because they are trying to be elite. It is to avoid huge mark ups that make their quality bags inaccessible to moms like me.

I give hundreds of dollars each year to companies and corporations who treat people unkindly, have poor customer relations, and in turn support things that I do not agree with. I hate to admit this. But I can't buy a vehicle without supporting a cause that doesn't align with my values. Or gasoline. Or own a cell phone.

I am so happy I chose to give money to a company that gives back. A company that made me feel a little less alone. A little less frumpy. A company I can stand with to support their causes. A company that gave me a little light in my dark.

Lily Jade, we are the light of the world. Thank you for shining some of yours on me.

The Wave

"He who learns must suffer. And even in our sleep pain that cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart, and in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom to us by the awful grace of God." -Aeschylus


The wave. Unless you have lived a life without suffering, you have felt it. For me, it comes in the first 10-60 seconds of waking. My eyes have sprung open. I've checked the vitals of my children. Checked the time. All is normal. All is well.


Then it hits.


That crashing reminder that all is, in fact, not well.


Crash! Remembering the diagnosis.
Crash! Someone who was there yesterday, is no longer here today.
Crash! Trust lost, in its place betrayal.
Crash! No husband warm beside you. Instead he is miles away.


Crash! Reality. You shake the fuzziness from your mind and reality rushes in clear. Twisting the stomach and sinking the heart. I have started singing "In the morning, when I rise, give me Jesus" loud and clear for my children to hear. Loud enough so my soul cannot deny the fact that even when Jesus is dreaming in the boat as the waves threaten to drown me in anguish, I am still his and he is still mine. I want my kids to know it. If our days start with tears or grogginess or forced smiles over Cheerios or a rush to throw on clothes, when we rise, we ask for Jesus.


The last week started with hope. I was cautious to be excited but outside help was coming to assist my limping marriage and I really was excited! I couldn't wait to take one step forward to healing, even if it was a baby step.


Hope deferred makes the heart sick: but when the desire is fulfilled, it is a tree of life. -Prov. 13:12


My hope was strangled in disappointment and betrayal. It took 3 days to cry, but when I did, I couldn't stop. Maybe I put my faith in a human instead of just laying all of this mess in front of Jesus and putting my hands up.


I don't trust you, Next Week. Instead of excitement, now I feel afraid. Afraid of what next week will hand me. A blow of despair? No thank you. I would rather quit.


But I won't quit. Not that I'm opposed to quitting things...that sugar addiction for example...but I know that marriage and love is worth the fight. And even when I have lost my fight, I am still His and He is still mine and the Lord goes before me this week to fight my battles.


He knows what is happening each morning as the wave hits. Pain, as Aeschylus put it, does not forget. Neither does our God who never sleeps. In his grace, he gives us the gem of wisdom through suffering. He doesn't waste our pain, he refines us in it.


Do you feel the crash? Take cover in him.

Voices

Voices. We've all got at least one (our own) that takes up residence in our minds. I am never shocked by someone telling me they hear someone other than their own Jiminy Cricket.

From a very young age, I have been surrounded by evangelical, mostly charismatic Christians. They taught me to hear an important voice: God's voice. The guiding voice of his Holy Spirit. I've also been taught about the evil voices. The crafty imposter who disguises himself as an angel
of light to steal, kill, and destroy.

I have also become well-acquainted with mental illness throughout my life. My own, and that of those I love. Those frantic, manic, anxiety-ridden voices that seem an old comfort, but like any bad habit, they are no friend to the hearer.

Finally, the voices of my audience. Friends and family and counsel and writers and radio show experts. All with their opinions, their advice, their solutions packaged in love and good intentions. Oh, these voices that I, one middle-ish child of 9 in a blended family, have gicen so much priority to. These voices that I think of without even knowing. When a big decision is presented to me: "But what will my sister say?" When my choice is unorthodox, "Will my mother approve?" When I sought advice, but my gut told me to go the other way (the gut, another voice with a strong opinion), "Will my best friend be irritated that I didn't heed her wisdom?"

It is one thing to be considerate of others. The book of Proverbs is riddled with instruction to seek wise counsel. A multitude of counselors, in fact. However, when I am governed so offend by what voices will say or what their own inner voice will merely think I feel like a rat in a cage (hats off to you Smashing Pumpkins--I totally get it). I am exhausted!!! Enough people pleasing. Enough spinning plates to make decisions based on others' agendas for my life.

The Lord, in his gentle and patient grace reminded me on a long drive home that I am to please only Him. Man, that simplified it all for me. An elementary principle? Yes. Of course. But when it traveled from my head to my heart and sort of clicked, I could feel the stress melt away.

Friends, family, therapists, we are so blessed to have them. But they are humans with an outside view of a life with so many behind the scenes moments. Their voices should never take the seat higher than our Heavenly Father's who not only has a front row seat to our inner and outer lives but cares more than any loved one ever could.

The devil, his workers, our own self talk or those unhealthy voices that confuse us and rob us and spin us like a top. Silence them. Get help if you need to. The voices we listen to should lead us into life and freedom (even if it's hard). If they are choking you, it's time to quiet them.

Our audience of One, who loves us deeply, truly, and without end. Follow His voice. He promises to lead us in the way we should go and He can always be trusted.

The end.

Scarlet Letters

Divorce. The word that has been slithering and snaking it's way through my heart and mind for weeks, like the serpent himself. Turning my stomach in knots, threatening to cause tears to roll down my face. They never come. Divorce with a capital D, that may as well be the scarlet letter of the church. I remember naively thinking two things about divorce. 1) How could it be so painful when obviously these two people are choosing not to be married anymore for some reason. 2) How could a Christian commit this sin on purpose, when it's such a long process of sinfulness. I thought there MUST have been adultery involved, since that's the only "out" the Bible really gives. I placed my own scarlet letter on children of God, because I had no clue about the path they walked.

There are more appropriate letters to don.

"J" for judging without knowing anything.

"G" for gossip that gives us a gross rush and makes us feel a little more secure about ourselves.

"H" for hardness of heart instead of a heart of compassion and grace.

"L" for the logs in our own eyes we choose to ignore as we run around with tweezers trying to pull out the specks in the eye of our neighbor.

Amongst others. We're all wearing letters, some just hide it better than others.

What I have learned in this painful process of separation is that every marriage is unique and complicated. There are hundreds of thousands of interactions between two people that only God and they have witnessed. Each person come with their own vantage point. Their own interpretations of scripture, what is right and what is wrong. A divorce, and let's call it what it is: death of a marriage, is a long, painful, and confusing process that hurts many more people than the two who are torn apart. A pain I know nothing of quite yet.

I'm still hoping I never do.

My point is, that maybe we the fellow sinners, should quiet all of the accusing, speculating voices in our minds when it comes to a divorced or divorcing brother or sister and come alongside their shattered hearts with love and helping hands. Ask questions. Babysit kids. Pray for reconciliation. SOMETHING.

Maybe not advice though.

In the spirit of meeting at the broken bridge, maybe share your scarlet letter too. Imagine if the church was made up of a whole alphabet--no. BODY-- of honest, praying people? Would we hurt less as we lead each other to the foot of the cross, where our scarlet sins were washed white by the blood of the Lamb?

May we find healing in the scarlet letters of Jesus.

Prepare For Takeoff

"My brokenness is a better bridge for people than my pretend wholeness ever was." -Sheila Walsh


The bridge of brokenness. This is one of my favorites quotes. It is true isn't it? That pretend wholeness is a lie, and no relationship built on a lie can truly help anyone. In my experience, pretend wholeness only challenges others to pretend they are whole as well, driving wounds deeper into the dark closets where we keep our most painful secrets. 

We are living in an era of "real". Celebrities are ditching make up on social media. Mamas are openly sharing their laundry piles and their I've-had-enough-kids-get-in-the-car-it's-happy-meal-night moments. Authors are releasing books on healing marriages on the same day they've decided to get a divorce. Courageous kids are being honest about their struggles with depression and suicidal thoughts. People are telling it like it is. It's a great thing. 

But. 

I don't like real. 

Don't get me wrong, I'll tell you about how I lost it with my toddler. I'll take a make up free selfie. The safe real? I can do that. I think it's because I've figured out that people won't judge the safe real. In fact, they applaud it. I will show you the real that you will cheer for any day. 

It's the dangerous real that has landed me here. People have gone there too. That author I mentioned above? She calls herself a truth-teller and she's been brave enough to reach her battered and bruised hand out to lift up thousands of other hands. I haven't been. Better late than never. 

My current dangerous real is that I am holed up in my parents' home at age 32 with two babies. I am stressed and expect way too much of my 3-year-old and yell way too much in an effort to make him act like a grown up, when I can't act like a grown up myself. I have been separated from my husband for one month. I still don't know if it was the right or wrong decision, a battle I daily struggle with. I am a recovered rage-a-holic who expects to be in some type of therapy for the rest of my days to maintain a normal being because I. Am. Never. Going. Back. to that place where anger and violence ruled. My marriage is hanging by the thinnest of threads and I still want to see God take that thread and sew it into his tapestry of my life. You know, the kind where you see the ugly on the back but He, the creator and sustainer of my life, sees the whole beautiful picture. But. Some days I want to cut that thread in my anger and bitterness. I just got off Zoloft but would take it again in a heartbeat. I have a real addiction to sugar that I have a cute way of laughing off as "Haha. You know girls. We've gotta have chocolate."  I run to chocolate for peace and a seratonin boost. It's a dry well, my friends. This is only the beginning of my dangerous real. 

So welcome to my bridge of brokenness. I hope you can find a friend here, in me, as we struggle from one web of trials to the next, together. I hope you see how Jesus works in my life as I display it here, and I hope we all see his glory and our redemption. You aren't alone. Not here. Not ever. 

Here's my shaking hand.