Poem

D

[October 11, 2012]

I am not your judge.

Your name says it all.

I cannot move you

I cannot catch you when you fall.

I did not aim to change you,

I never wanted to dissuade you

Only to breathe to you...

You are more than your pain

You are more than any innocence your father ever took from you

You are more than the lies that boy spit at you,

Falling on your 16 year old lips like sleet that never melts

You are more than your mother's absence.

You are more than the girl's kisses that fill you, but drain out when you look away.

I only wanted you to consider,

You only wanted me to shut my mouth.

I am not your judge.

I cannot build a bridge that you would only be intent on burning

I cannot build a bridge between you and me

I can only be a bridge between you and the One who

Makes innocent and melts sleet and sticks around and plugs up all of our holes

I am not your judge.

Your name says it all.

Last Love

From Rachel McKibbens' poem, "Last Love"

"...Go with the one who resembles most your father. Not the father you can
point out on a map,
But the father who is here. Is your home. Is the key to your front door. Know that your first love will only
Be the first. And the second and third and even fourth will unprepare you for the most important:
The Blessed. The Beast. The Last love. Which is, of course, the most terrifying kind.
Because which of us wants to go with what can murder us?

Can pull us out of ourselves until
We are no longer sisters or daughters or sword swallowers but, instead,
Women. Who give. And lead. And take and want
And want
And want
And want
Because there is no shame in wanting.
And you will hear yourself say: Last Love, I wish to die so I may come back to you new and never tasted by any other mouth but yours.
And I want to be the hands that pull your children out of you and tuck them deep inside myself until they are
Ready to be the children of such a royal and staggering love. Or you
will say: Last Love,
I am old, and have spent myself on the courageless, have wasted too many clocks on less-deserving men, so I hurl myself
At the throne of you and lie humbly at your feet.
Let the day I was born mean my life will end where you end.
Let the man behind the church do what he did if it brings me to you.
Let the girls in the locker room corner me again if it brings me to you.
Let this wild depression throw me beneath its hooves if it brings me to you.
Last love, I let other men borrow your children. Forgive me.
Last love, I vowed my heart to another. Forgive me.
Last Love, I have cursed the women you loved before me. Forgive me.
Last Love, I envy your mother’s body where you resided first. Forgive me.
Last Love, I am all that is left. Forgive me.
Last Love, I did not see you coming. Forgive me.
Last Love, every day without you was a life I crawled out of. Amen.
Last Love, you are my Last Love. Amen.
Last Love, I am all that is left. Amen.
I am all that is left.
Amen"

What Youth Group Taught Me-- And Didn't Teach Me: the good, the bad, and the ugly.

Whoah. It's been a while. In honor of this weekend's opportunity for me to speak at a youth group for one of the first times since I was actually in youth group, I thought I'd write a blog. 

I "grew up" in church. I really grew up in youth group. It taught me a lot of things- some good, some bad. It also neglected to teach me some things. I am a firm believer in the Church (Big “C” Church), but my experience has taught me that the Church has very little to do with the building that a lot of Christians go to every Sunday, or Wednesday, or Saturday night. We-- Christians-- make up the Christian church, and if we take that lightly, we end up losing people to lies that look even better than the truth of what we are... a sick bride that lives for her own pleasures. Here are some of my own youth group lessons.

Youth group taught me that friendships are incredibly important. I made friends in youth ministry that have helped me through some really hard times, that attended my wedding, and that still pray for me any time I ask. These are all good things. What youth group didn't teach me is that youth group, or church, should never be the means to an end when the end we seek is solely friendship. Youth group taught me that fellowship is essential, but it didn't teach me that working out your salvation with fear and trembling is considerably more important than that fellowship, and that fellowship should flow out of fighting the battle shoulder to shoulder in word, thought, and deed.

Youth group taught me what it took to be a Godly college student. What it neglected to teach me, however, is what it takes to be a Godly woman. It taught me how to say no to sex before marriage, but it taught me nothing about sex within marriage, or marriage at all. It taught me about secret sin, but didn't really teach me how to combat it. It taught me how to defend my faith, but it didn't teach me how to cultivate it. The most beneficial times in youth group for me were when my leaders were much older than myself, and could tell me, “This is what God wants, and here is what it looks like.” I didn't know it at the time, but as a teen, I didn't need to be surrounded by leadership that was fun and enthusiastic as much as I needed to be surrounded by men and women of the faith that could lead me with level heads and compassionate hearts.

Youth group taught me that favoritism is prevalent in the world. This is not a good thing, because it was the people in the youth groups, and the people leading the youth groups that taught me this by their actions. I spent a lot of emotional energy trying to gain the attention of youth leaders-- any youth leaders, because I wanted someone to really see me and to help me see. A word to all youth leaders that are reading this-- Talk to the ones that no one talks to. Be the friend to the friendless, and if you don't have the heart to do so, pray that God would turn your heart toward it-- and then do it anyway. This is not bitterness speaking, this is a fair warning. If it hadn't been for one specific youth leader that would talk to me when no one else would, that would challenge me when I needed it most, and that trusted me to take sound advice when it was offered, I don't know where I would be. When I say this, I don't mean, “I would have been so sad and alone,” I literally mean, “I don't know if I'd still be here,” because longing for attention like that zaps all of your strength, and I probably would have given up. Don't play favorites. There are some really hurting kids out there, and they are usually the ones that won't just come out and tell you.

Youth group taught me that sincere music is a powerful spiritual weapon. It didn't teach me about a whole lot of other spiritual weapons, though. It didn't teach me about fasting, or meditating on scriptures, or serving other people. Most importantly, it didn't teach me that confession is not the same as repentance, and repentance is essential to having spiritual victory. I spent years of my life in a sin-confess-sin-confess cycle, lacking any sort of power over sin because I was never told that I could be free of what bound me.

I'm excited about speaking this weekend. I love that we've been invited to share in ministering to young hearts, but I wanted to take some time to reflect on what it was like for me when I was sitting there on Sunday morning, listening to the missionary guest speaker, and wondering how I could get from where I was as a broken, withdrawn 15 year-old to a passionate, sincere woman.

What are some of the good, bad, or ugly things that youth group taught you?

A Conversation With Annie

      When I approached Annie about this interview, I sensed a lot of hesitation in her voice. She nervously chose the coffee shop that we were to meet in, and gave herself a comfortable week of preparation time. It wasn't until I saw her walk in and step up to the counter to order her drink that I really caught a full glimpse of her anxiety.
       It wasn't the kind of place I would have guessed she'd pick. The art was contemporary, the walls were brick, and the lighting was dark and dramatic. She arrived in clothing that betrayed her usual relaxed style. Her Chuck Taylors had been traded in for knee high boots with a three inch heel. Her hair was curled and set in a side pony-tail. In place of her usual hoodie, she wore a thick scarf draped around her sweater-clad shoulders.

      It seemed as though she desperately wanted to seem more collected than she really was.

      We sat at a table tucked quietly into the back of the cafe. I sipped at my house coffee, and she sat down with a chai tea latte. She eyed my notebook, fiddled with the cardboard sleeve on her cup, and looked around the place with an understated franticness. I decided to jump right in.

      "How are things going?"
      She looked a little relieved, set down her cup, and answered, "They're all right."
      "I wanted to ask you a few questions about the book... about Unvoiced." I said, ignoring the slight pause that planted itself at the end of her answer. She nodded silently, taking a drink of her latte. "How would you describe your years in Clearfield?"
      She thought for a minute. "Quaint." She said at length. "Sometimes, it felt like the only thing that wasn't perfect there was me and what was going on inside of me." She slid the cup's sleeve down and back up again, "I know now that isn't true. But I didn't know it then."
      "What was your reaction to those feelings?" I continued the interview.
      "I guess I let them treat me like the enemy. They waged war on me, and I didn't do a whole lot to stop them. I didn't know how to fight a lie with truth."
       "What truth?"
       Her gray eyes peered past me, as though searching for just the right thing to say. "That nothing is perfect. That I should have been fighting the lies, and not myself."
        My next question snapped her gaze back to me. "Tell me about the self-harm." She locked eyes with me and gave such a slight nod, it was almost unnoticeable.
         "It was..." She paused for a few seconds, grasping for the right term, "It was a slippery slope." She self-consciously traced the deep scars on the palms of her hands-- the same scars that had been there for nearly 14 years now. "It started with scratching my arms until I felt the stinging more than the thing that had driven me to hurt myself. Eventually, I wasn't relieved until I had drawn blood, and with the blood came a sick feeling that would last for days."
          I nodded, knowing exactly what she was talking about. "What pulled you out?"
          She smiled then. It was the first smile I had seen in the span of our meeting. "I guess you'd have to read the book to know the whole story." She wrapped her hands around her cup, absorbing its warmth. Her dark nails glistened from the track lighting above us. "But really, I think it was a combination of things. Someone finally reaching through my wounds to hold onto me, hearing a call to be more than my pain said I had to be, I felt like my pain was finally given a voice, and someone was there to listen. You had it right. I was literally 'pulled out' of it. Someone thought I was worth fighting for."
          I smiled, too. "What would you say your biggest obstacle in overcoming self-harm was?"
          "Internalizing." She said quickly. "I never wanted to get outside of my own head. It turns out that confession and repentance are the only road to healing. You've gotta let it out, otherwise it holds you captive, when it should be held captive by you."
           "So would you consider yourself a recovered self-injurer?"
           "I don't think it's as easy as that." She said. The quiet of the shop was momentarily interrupted by a sudden flow of teenagers, bustling to the counter and shuffling out in a cloud of sweet smelling coffee steam. Turning back to me, she continued, "Saying the word 'recovered self-injurer' makes it sound too much like a medical definition to me. What I experienced was not a medical thing, really. It was so internal. It was so emotional and spiritual... maybe mental, but hardly medical. Does anyone 'recover' from things like that? I don't think I'm recovered. I don't think I'm even recovering, and I know I'm not defined by it. I'm pretty sure I'm just healing. I'm just a girl who was damaged, and who is being healed."
          "So you don't think there's a cure?"
          "Oh, I know there's a cure. It's nail-scarred and reaching out, but I don't think there's a moment of arrival. I don't think that there is a definitive 'I'm good now' moment, at least not in this life."
           "So how do you know you're healing?"
           She smiled again, this time with a soft laugh that seemed to say. I love answering this one. "Even though there's no 'I'm good now' moment in this life, I know one thing... I know that this life is made up of other moments. Healing is when you turn a corner and the majority of your moments are no longer made up of the, 'Where am I going?', 'How did I get here', or 'How do I protect myself?' moments, but they're made up of the recurring moment that whispers, 'My pain doesn't have to define me, because I already know who I am.'"
           It was then that my phone rang, and she got a text reminding her to pick up a few things from the grocery store on her way home. It was short lived, but as I finished my coffee, I was left with the assurance that the novel was not written in vain. What more could a book hope to convey, than the final statement Annie had made?

"My pain doesn't have to define me, because I already know who I am."

[This is a fictional account of a conversation with Annie Larson, the main character from my upcoming novel, Unvoiced. Look for it in early 2013! The photo is a free stock image.]

Challenge Accepted

This is pretty much a copy and paste from my weight loss journal. I wanted to post it here because people actually read it, and I want to invite people to help and join me on any or all of these challenges. Some, I found on Pinterest, and some I made up on my own. I feel like discipline is something I fall short in a lot, and I'm finding that I really do like a good challenge. So, here you are:

Good news: I tried to get into my December-goal jeans, and they almost buttoned. That is awesome, because I set the goal for Christmas, not the beginning of September. I might surpass my goal, guys! That is so exciting! I can't wait to set a new one!

Even though it's going really well, I'm needing a bit more discipline in my life. My schedule is going to start picking up, and I will need a little more resolve to get through the holidays and family gatherings in the next four or five months. So, I'm doing these things that will nourish my mind, body and spirit. I am starting all of them tomorrow, September 10th. Here they are:

My 21 day challenge:

I am cutting out the no peanut butter rule and replacing it with "NO SODA." This challenge is going to be hard because we have about 300 ice cream novelties in our freezer right now. Oh geez. End date: October 1, 2012

My 60 day challenge:

Read 3 books, and write 100 pages in my own novel. End date: November 9, 2012

My 90 day challenge:

Scary, huh? I don't want to do this... so I'm just... going to. 90 days, everyday but Sundays and special occasions, just like my previous rules. End date: December 9, 2012

 My 1 year challenge:

Memorize Colossians in a year from the blog,

I haven't memorized scripture intentionally in a very long time. This will be good for me! End date: September 10, 2013

If you want to join me in any of these, let me know and we can partner up via text, facebook, e-mail, or whatever!

Tree Lessons

Outside my window are the layers of the inner city. Layers of sky, iron, brick, wood, and nature. A red oak tree stands more than three stories tall not even three feet from our balcony. The leaves reach and dance. On sunny days, they stretch out and soak up the sun.

Today, though, a great deal of its leaves are curling in on themselves. There are only two reasons that it would do this... either the tree's going to die, or the sky's going to rain.

It's leaves were curled up like this last night, as well. I watched the weather radar-- watched all of the storms split up and go around our little corner of the city-- but the tree still curled its leaves. It still hoped for rain.

And today, I look at the radar, and I look at the tree. It's the same picture, only more promise of rain. I'm learning a couple of lessons from this old tree.I'm learning that sometimes, when we're all curled up into ourselves, we can remember-- either we're going to die, or it's going to rain. The dead of night is always where my faith falters, when it is so dark that I cannot see a thing, and I begin to doubt that the sun is going to rise again. But, that tree's been around for a really long time. It's grown almost four stories worth of season after season, opening and closing its leaves in hopes of rain. It is considerably more likely that rain, rather than death will come. I'm also learning that hope is not wasted. Hope can't be wasted. Hope is what we were made to do. And, even when our hopes split up and go around us, or someone else gets what we're hoping for, we can still hope.

[P.S.- It's raining now.]

Erosion

Today, I stood on the back porch watching the rain pour down. I thought about going back inside, but the music on my phone and the tiny gifts falling from the sky were too much for me to resist. I found myself grappling with the big lie.. the Big Lie that creeps into my head sometimes, mostly as a question... What if? What if I can't have children?

And the carousel starts to spin. Around and around, up and down, and totally pointless.

Except for today. I was sopping wet. Water dripped from me as if God Himself had taken the form of rain just to hold my hand. My headphones blared as the rain came harder.

“My hands, my feet, my everything. My life, my love, Lord use me.”

The cry of my heart.

It was then that I remembered that not so long ago, my heart had a different cry. It called to God, “Lord, give me this gentle and quiet spirit that You value so highly.” I thought it would be an overnight change. I thought it would be like breaking up with a not-so-good-for-me boyfriend, or deciding to major in literature. I thought it would come quick and easy.

But it hasn't. It couldn't possibly. A gentle, quiet spirit isn't a building up. It's a wearing down. It comes after a long life of constant wrestling and worrying and pounding on the heart of God. It comes when all of your own strength fails beneath your weight and all that is left to do is fall at His feet.

Sarah is the one that 1 Peter 3 was referring to when it spoke of having a “gentle, quiet spirit.” It says that we can be her daughters if we do what is right and do not give way to fear. I am slowly but surely coming to an understanding of why God said this. Fear is the opposite of this spirit. It worries and frets and manipulates and becomes selfish and embittered.

Sarah didn't really have an easy life. She followed her husband, regardless of where God told him to go. She was barren. She waited a long time for her heart's desire of a son... probably more than 70 years. But she believed. She submitted. She might have become jaded and sarcastic at times, but she never threw in the towel. She always pressed forward in faith.

Her trials wore her away. They eroded everything that was not faith. It was those long, steady years of uncertainty, and sometimes pain, that created that gentle, quiet spirit in her. A gentle, quiet spirit that looked at God and said, “Wherever You take us, You are the Lord.”

I asked God to show me what He is doing, and I see... like the blind beggar, I see. He is wearing me down. He's slowly giving me that gentle, quiet spirit that I asked for. He might not be doing it the way I expected, but the only thing for me to do is trust that He is Who He says He is, and He will do what He said He'll do.

I Don't Live in the Third World, But...

I don't live in the third world, but the place I live can seem pretty darn close. Twelve years ago, I stepped off of a church bus onto the pavement of inner city Memphis. Little did I know, it would be a week that would change my entire life direction.

credit, builtstlouis.net

When I look around my home now, it looks like a war zone. It is desolate and forgotten and broken and oh so very beautiful. I know that Jesus is here. I know because He is the One that invited me to come, too.

credit, stldotage.blogspot.com

It is so very rare to find any kind of art that expresses the state and need (and hope!) of the inner city, and while I know it might not have been his intention, singer/songwriter, Shaun Groves has managed to nail it. With his album, Third World Symphony, I am reminded song after song of why I have given up my apartment in the suburbs with two cars and free time to come to one of the most devastated, violent places in the country.

While songs such as Come By Here and Down Here express more than just a big-picture glimpse at what hopelessness and poverty can do to a place, and the songs Sing and Kingdom Coming express the battle cries of those fighting against such things, there is also present on this album the expression of deep heart things-- inward things necessary for the Kingdom of God to be built.

So, do yourself a favor, find yourself a copy of Shaun Groves' Third World Symphony, and pray for your heart to match up with God's.

Blind Beggar

"As Jesus approached Jericho, a blind man was sitting by the roadside begging. When he heard the crowd going by, he asked what was happening. They told him, “Jesus of Nazareth is passing by.” He called out, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” Those who led the way rebuked him and told him to be quiet, but he shouted all the more, “Son of David, have mercy on me!” Jesus stopped and ordered the man to be brought to him. When he came near, Jesus asked him, “What do you want me to do for you?” "Lord, I want to see,” he replied. Jesus said to him, “Receive your sight; your faith has healed you.” Immediately he received his sight and followed Jesus, praising God. When all the people saw it, they also praised God." Luke 18:35-43, NIV

          Clearly, when I read this the first time, I didn't see things right. I took it, internalized it, and interpreted through my own selfishness and desires. Instead of seeing the blind man as an example of how I should approach You (full faith, not holds barred, and fully expectant), I saw You as a malevolent God who gives heart desires to all but me. 

         You asked the blind man what he wanted You to do for him. He didn't ask for much. He asked to see. 

        You have asked me the same-- what more could I possibly want from You? I selfishly said the only thing my heart could grasp at-- not devoid of You, but not seeking you, either. Now I get it. 

         Lord Jesus, I want to see. But, I don't just want to see why or why not. I want to see what and who and how. I want to see what You are doing in me, through me, around me. I want to see who You are working on, transforming, disciplining, and drawing to me that I might be Your hands and heart to the world. I want to see how You are proclaiming Your glory, how You are changing me, how You are changing everything. 

I want to see You-- for all that You are.

One Thousand Gifts

A few quotes from "One Thousand Gifts" by Ann Voskamp.

"Here are gifts worth waiting 365 days for, gifts worth counting to one thousand for, gifts that will unbelievably emerge out of the deathly dark. Joy is always worth the wait, and fully living worth the believing." (emphasis mine.)

"Only the Word is the answer to rightly reading the world, because the Word has nail scarred hands that cup our face close, wipe away the tears running down, has eyes to look deep into our brimming ache, and whisper, 'I know. I know.'"

"Evil is... a willful choice to turn away from the full goodness of God..."

"When I realize that it is not God Who is in my debt, but I who am in His great debt, then doesn't it all become gift?"

"...the God Who governs all can be shouted at when I bruise, and I can cry and I can howl and He embraces the David-hearts who pound hard on His heart with their grief... I feel Him hold me-- a flailing child tired in Father's arms. And I can hear Him sooth soft, 'Are your ways My ways, child? Can you eat My manna, sustain on My mystery? Can you believe that I tenderly, tirelessly work for all the best good of the whole world-- because My flame of love for you can never, ever be quenched?'"

Being 16... and 25.

From MidnightPhoenix . Some things never change.
[song lyrics in the last entry are from this song.]


Thursday, April 17, 2003 - 2:20 AM

"God... help me out here a little. I need direction. Not really.. I just need insight on Your timing. I love YOU most."

Friday, May 16, 2003 - 12:59 AM

"my past is imperfect.. but this is the present. focus on that, and I can prepare for the future."

Saturday, May 24, 2003 - 6:49 PM

"Weakness.. yeah.. I was listening to a song the other day.. and I heard the line "See all my glimmering weakness"... how can weakness be glimmering? It seems so dull and uncomfortable to me.. but then, I remembered the verse in 1 Corinthians when is says that God's power is made perfect in weakness... MY weakness? I find that so hard to believe. SO hard."

Sunday, June 1, 2003 - 1:34 AM

"Am I just losing my patience? I wish sometimes that MY timing was GOD'S timing... *sighs*
 
Father, help me do what's right.. don't let me do anything stupid ...just.. make everything clear and give me peace about it all.."  

Monday, July 13, 2003 - 3:21 AM

"What's a major turn on for you? respect for human emotions.. an incomparable love for God.. that sort of thing.."

Sunday, July 13, 2003 - 9:46 AM

"When the night seems so long...
(Throw your hands to the sky)
You can sing a new song.
(wipe the tears from your eyes)
When you're weak, He is strong.
He can heal your wounded soul
And calm the storm inside...."

Vindicated

I haven't really heard the term "vindicate" a whole lot in my life. Sure, Dashboard Confessional said it once. My father used the word to describe his disposition after Mark and I finally fixed the fuel pump in my Buick. King David asked God to do it to him... to vindicate him.

It wasn't until just recently that I realized the word applies very much to me, as well.

See, God has promised me things. He's opened my heart, dropped little hopes inside, and sewed me back up until the proper time. I get antsy, sure... I get antsy when I feel like God's not going to come through, when I feel as though I am a loony, and I can't possibly be hearing Him right. I get antsy when I forget one simple thing: those aren't my promises to keep.

This is all very important, you see. I'm finding that these struggles and trials of mine are not only for the purpose of building faith and perseverance. This isn't a patience issue. This is a spiritual gifting issue.

When God speaks something to me, I need to trust it. Sometimes, I don't. Sometimes, it's because I don't think it's all that important, sometimes, it's because it's easier to live in disbelief than to face the possible pain that comes from being wrong.

Slowly, I'm learning not to protect myself. I'm learning that's what God's promises are there for. I'm learning that believing in the statement "those aren't my promises to keep" is essential to walking in the Spirit, because sometimes, I'm going to be wrong, and sometimes I'm going to be right. The only way to stay sane: Let grace cover the wrong, and let God vindicate me on the rest.

I Think I Just Had a Moment

For as long as I can remember, I have dreaded physical activity. I have always been out of shape, and I have always felt like I was incapable of being athletic or even doing things that required coordination.

Me, far right, about age 6

 I much preferred reading over sports, and I hated every time my friends patronized me in PE. Even when I was thin in high school, it was because I had an eating disorder and I swam laps in the family's pool for hours and hours every day.

Me, left, age 17

As I grew up, I was teased a lot... I mean... a LOT about my size. It probably didn't help that I was so incredibly insecure that I never even tried to do much physical activity. As I got older, I shoved the possibility of athleticism out of my mind, and convinced myself that food was my real enemy. If I didn't eat, I wouldn't look the way that I did... so I stopped eating pretty much altogether. I lost 90 lbs the summer before my sophomore year... that's 90 lbs in about 2 1/2 months. I ate about 400 calories a day, and I swam for about 3-4 hours a day, and if I couldn't swim in our pool, I'd bum rides off my friends to swim at the local rec center, or I would walk around town as much as I could. I went from a size 20 to a size 12 in one summer, but I still only did the exercise that I knew I could do without shame over my body.


Nowadays, things aren't too much different. I have spent the majority of my life shying away from anything that could possibly humiliate me. Until this month.

Me, left (duh), November 2011

I've been trying really hard to work out every day for about two weeks now. I haven't been as disciplined as I could have been, but I am thrilled that through hard work, I've been able to see results in such a short amount of time. But, I've still kind of been playing it safe. I've been watching my portions, making sure I take vitamins, and working out about 4 times a week, but I've been ignoring the workouts that I can't seem to master, or the ones that I feel really embarrassed while doing them.

Take for instance, the aerobic move "The Grapevine."

Today, I put in an aerobics DVD, and started the program. It got to a grapevine, and I tried once and just could not get it. I've found something out about myself... two things that are diametrically opposed. 1) I love aerobic dance and 2) I have absolutely no rhythm. No joke.

I turned off the DVD and started to do my own thing, then it hit me... I was running again. I was shying away from what I thought I couldn't do... what I thought my body didn't deserve to do, and settling for something else. I turned off all of my music, and step-by-step, I went through the grapevine movement. Then I turned on my Youtube Cardio playlist, and decided I'd try it out to a beat. The first song to play was "Ready" by Britt Nicole, and let me just tell you.... I had a moment. Not only does the song describe my attitude toward Satan, and the bondage and lies I've held onto regarding my body, but I was actually doing The Grapevine to the beat.

I cannot tell you what joy filled me because of a silly aerobic step. More than that, I found myself singing along... because I am so ready to put this behind me. I am ready to stop weighing my actions based on how ashamed of my body I am. I'm ready to shed all of that pain and anger and move forward. I'm ready to stop listening to the voice of an enemy who only wants me worn down and incapacitated. I'm ready to find joy in physical movement, whether I ever lose weight or not. I'm ready to go.

"Ready"
(Britt Nicole)

Lately I've been reeling
Off the way you got me feeling
I've been tired of this for way too long
You give me answers when I didn't ask
You keep bringing up my past
Always play the same old song
Tired of buying all your lies
Acting like I am alright
So I hope you liked it last time 'cause that will be the final time I wear my painted smile
and sing along
Yesterday's where you belong

[CHORUS]
Ready, ready to put you behind me
Ready, ready to go
Ready, ready to show you the doorway
I think you need to know
That taking your time is out of the question
You're moving way too slow
I'll never stay down
I don't want you around
Ready, ready to go

Can I make it anymore clear?
You're no longer welcome here
I guess you need to hear it again
I've got a brand new life
Love's on my side
Games over, you lose I win
Yes, I'll tell you one more time
No see you later it's goodbye
Hey, you need to pay attention
I don't know how you keep missin' everything I'm trying to say
Listen close, I'm moving on

[CHORUS]

I'll put this behind me
The way you define me
Love says I'm something more
I'm over the pain
I'm done with the shame
I found what I waited for
You left me with scars
But He healed my heart
I found my place
Secure in His arms
So, I'll put this behind me
Yeah, I'll put you behind
I'll put you behind me

[CHORUS]

taking your time is out of the question
You're moving way too slow
I'll never stay down
I don't want you around
ready, ready to go

Yeah, I'll put this behind me
Taking your time is out of the question
Yeah, I'll put this behind me

The Fire of Consecration

Tonight, I'm going to write about something that I rarely ever talk about outside of my immediate family. I'm going to talk about children.

Obviously, I want children. I mean, I want children a whole lot.

Even before I met Mark, when I was in my "I want to be a nun" phase, I couldn't quite square away the concept of celibacy simply because I couldn't stomach the idea of never having children. Once married, both of us really looked forward to it. I, however, have always had a lot of trouble with my reproductive system and hormonal balances. Due to all of this, the entire span of our marriage has been a roller coaster of hope, seeming certainty, false alarms, broken hearts, and repetition of this entire list. From the time that we were married (October 2009) until the beginning of this year, I did not once have a regular or healthy period. While that might seem like a bit too much information, hear me out... when you experience healthy functions for years, and suddenly, there is an unexplained absence, it is very frustrating. It is scary. It is disheartening.

For a long time, I struggled with God. I wept in bitterness of heart, just like Hannah in 1 Samuel 1. I curled up on the floor of our apartment, run out of tears or words to pray. Nothing changed God's mind. But, of course it didn't.

In December, I shoved all of it to the back of my mind. I took a pregnancy test, knowing it would be negative, and knowing that there was nothing I could do to make it positive. I researched and selected an herbal supplement for regulating menstrual cycles, and I decided that I wasn't going to hope anymore. If it happened, it happened, and I wanted so badly not to care. At the beginning of this year, my cycle slowly began to return to regular. For six months, it came every month, right on time. Until June.

I will not lie. I was convinced that I was pregnant. There's really only one confirmation, though... And, I started my period five hours after the test came back negative. That was last Saturday.

Since then, I've cried quite a lot. I've also learned a few things.

1) No matter how much you try, it is impossible to ignore a desire that God has built into you. I can't fake not wanting a child any more than I can fake hating coffee. It is something God gave me... the desire to be a mother... and the only way that I can deal with the hearksickness that comes from my hopes being defered is to submit everything by prayer and petition to God, so that He may guard my heart. (Philippians 4:4-7)

2) I've been listening an audio Bible this week, and the story of Noah caught my attention.Sometimes, I really feel like I am "stuck in an ark" with this whole baby business. From my eyes, that is a horrible thing. It is a horrible thing to want to walk on solid, dry ground, and only be able to sit in a stinky boat with no land in sight. But when you look at what God said about it-- His reasoning for flooding, for stranding Noah and his family out in that ark for so long, it makes a lot more sense. God said that He was using the flood waters (keep in mind that water is a symbol of the Holy Spirit) to cleanse from the earth all flesh. All flesh. Could it be-- that this trapped feeling I have so often is actually God putting me in a spot where I cannot move-- cannot change my circumstances to match my desires-- because He is using His Spirit to clease from me all of my own flesh? If so, then God's promise lingers at the end... and therein lies my third lesson...

3) I am learning that our relationship with Jesus has very little to do with the past, and it only has to do with the future when that future includes Him. We are to trust Him in the present-- to love Him and relate to Him and obey Him NOW... we are to forget what is behind, and tomorrow will worry about itself... what does that leave? It leaves now. It leaves me, Jesus, and Mark... growing and learning and loving.

With all of that said, I want to express some of my desire... I want to be a future mom, even though nothing now points to that.

I am not barren, because God is the opener and closer of wombs. I am currently seeking to be cleansed (consecrated... Isabella) by an All Consuming Fire (fire of the Lord.... Josiah) that removes everything that is shakeable.

I think Mark and I have agreed on a couple of officially awesome baby names. I can't wait to meet you, Josiah and Isabella... but for now, I'm just going to sit in this ark and wait on the Lord.

Wrestling

Genesis 32 & 33
When Jacob neared his meeting with Esau, it seemed that he lacked a lot of faith.  God had already promised Jacob that he would become great within the land of his father, but still, Jacob prayed that God would not allow Esau to kill him.  He reminded himself of God's promise, but still took measures to pacify Esau.
Jacob wrestled with God that night.  He wrestled until dawn and wouldn't stop until God blessed him.  He was wretched and faithless in the face of God's promises, but he still was allowed the privilege of experiencing God face-to-face. God still blessed him. 
Lord,  show me how to wrestle.

Where are they?

I love to read blogs. I think they are a great way to broadcast thoughts, to get feedback from a wide variety of people, and to storehouse your memories. That being said, I just spent some time looking for some fellow missionary bloggers to follow. I found entire sites dedicated to cataloging missionaries in foreign countries, I found inner city missionaries whose blogs had been moved, consolidated into church program websites, or abandoned. In my search, I could not find one inner city missionary that blogged of their own volition, sharing their own thoughts, fleshing out their own salvation with fear and trembling.

I see something wrong with this picture. Not just because I want to read blogs by fellow missionaries that experience the same sorts of things that I do -- that our missionaries do-- but, also because I realize that I don't write like that... and I should. So, I suppose I'm on here to write a little resolution... again. I want to write from my heart. I want to share what God shows me, whether it's in my time alone with Him, in the community that I am seeking to minister to, or in my time working with my hands in a dirty old warehouse or vacant, desolate buildings.

I think there is a huge issue in America. It might be cliche, but we ignore our own mission fields way too often. The suburban church chooses foreign countries for mission trips and mission support-- helping the poor (sometimes), planting churches, going to dark places (sometimes)... dark places in other lands, when our land is filled with dark places, usually the places that suburbanites refuse to even drive through, as though the devastation might be contagious. So many of our large cities are rotting from the inside out, and we're letting them.

So, I'm going to write about this one. St. Louis. The dark place God has drawn me to. The things that He shows me here. The things I struggle with in this lifestyle that I have chosen. The things that bring me abundant joy.

I hope you keep reading.

Decision Point

Obviously, when I read I want to write. Lately, it seems that I can't stop reading, whether it is British or Australian chick-lit, classic short stories, whole books of the Bible in single sittings, young adult sci-fi novels, or Christian Fiction, I just can't stop. I have discovered so many new inspirational authors in the past few weeks, with no small thanks to the library's newest reading program and their mobile app for free e-books. I figured that, in light of all of this reading, I should probably start writing, for real, again. Not writing once every few weeks, tacking on a lame five or six paragraphs at the end of what I've already got, but writing for a day straight, at least once a week.

See, I am revising my novel that I self-published so many years ago. Actually, "revision" is a very poor word choice. In fact, I think I should be honest here and say that I am not revising, I am, in fact, re-writing. Why? Because, as a teenager, I wrote a very shallow novel. It was 110 pages about a fictional character who is supposed to contain all of the twisted and tied up emotions that I had as a teenager struggling with self-abuse,. Emotions about friends, family, God,  responsibility, and vulnerability. In 110 very shallow pages, with no character development and no real honesty, I can say with utmost confidence that I failed at my attempt.

So, in order to rectify this situation, I have made a decision, and I am now broadcasting this decision to the world, or whoever might read this and care. Please hold me to it, ask me about it, and when the time comes, please help me accomplish it.

I am rewriting Unvoiced. I am telling the truth. I am saying it like it really is. And, I will be finished by the end of 2012.

Waiting

Is there some fear of loss? Some unwillingness to relinquish? Some determination to have it my way? Some insistence on what I “deserve”? May I, by Your strength, let it go, and thus find a greater freedom and a more fulfilling life. - Elisabeth Elliot, The Music of His Promises

Ephesians 1 & 2

Lord, please show me how You are building Mark and me into a dwelling place for Your Spirit. Show me what You are doing, and what my part is in it.

I am finding something out about myself. I am finding out that I seriously lack passion, and I lack even more discipline than passion. When I say I am going to do something, it usually doesn't happen. This is mostly evidenced by my blog posts promising rejuvination, my novel stagnant at chapter three, and the fact that my motivational jeans are at the bottom of a drawer, still a size too small.

Ever since New Year's day, I have had a feeling that 2012 was going to change some things, but first I need to change some things.