Dear Girl // Feeling Like a Failure

To the Girl who feels like a Failure-

I am so sorry. So sorry that you feel like you can't juggle life and work and play and keep up with everyone you need to. So sorry you feel used and drained and like you never give enough.

But let me tell you- you are enough. 

You are not your status quo. You are not other people's expectations, or even your own. You are a real, beautiful, wonderful girl living a real, beautiful, wonderful life that sometimes gets chaotic and messy and painful. And that's okay- life is messy. 

If your friends can't understand that, it's okay too. 

Friendships are always evolving as different seasons come around. They're not always going to look the same way as they did when you were 16. Friendship is a beautiful balance of give-and-take, a constant display of grace and forgivingness and unconditional love. They aren't created to be guilt traps, but rather safe places to encourage your soul. 

So when the seasons change, Girl, don't let it get you down. There is no shame in living your life and only being able to send out one text a week instead of twenty, no shame in making a 15 minute phone call where in years past it may have been an hour and a half. 

You're still connecting. Still reaching out. Still investing in your friends.

Take it in stride, girl. Be confident in who you are, and don't feel shamed about the life God has given you. You do your work to the best of your ability, and when you have that extra minute, use it to spill encouragement over to your friends. 

And if that extra minute doesn't come, it does not mean you're a failure. 

Maybe you're like me, Girl. Maybe you're in the middle of classes and swimming in information overload, with whacky schedules and trying to fit everything into your week. 

If you are, I hope you have friends like mine. 

I felt like a failure, too, trying to keep up with all I was learning and all I had to do and I didn't have time for much extra. I'm sure it offended some friends that I wasn't able to respond to texts, wasn't able to pick up the phone and catch up. 

But there were other friends who showed up- in glorious, unconditional ways. 

They sent me letters- long letters, encouraging letters, letters that never said "I hope I hear from you soon" or "I hope things slow down for you". They were letters that had no expectations, no strings attached. They were letters that said, "I'm thinking of you and praying for you, and I want you to know I understand." They were letters that said, "You can do this!"  They sent me texts knowing full well that I may not be able to respond until two days later, but they never let the time lapse put a question on our friendship. They prayed for me and understood- because these busy seasons don't last forever, and they weren't going to go anywhere in the meantime. 

Those friends, Girl- those friends are treasures. 

You are an amazing person, an amazing friend. Don't let pressure of expectations force you to pull away and hide. You have a beautiful heart to offer, encouraging words to share. Don't let past words pull you down or make you feel like you can't measure up to what others expect of you. 

You shine, Girl. You go out there and shine. 

Be that unconditional friend, that one who gives grace. The one who sends the "I'm thinking of you and wanted you to know that I care" texts, and if that person doesn't respond right away- give the benefit of the doubt. Life happens to everyone, but it doesn't mean that they don't care about you anymore. Be faithful, Girl, and just keep loving- loving others, and loving yourself. 

Give both your friends- and yourself- some grace. 

You both are awesome, with your own unique quirks and personalities and schedules. You may be different- different seasons, different schedules, different emotions- but that is not a bad thing:

That's what makes friendships beautiful. 

A Letter // To The Ladies Who Bought My Coffee

To the ladies who bought my coffee today and gave me a flower- 

It seems like such a small thing to do, but it meant the world to me. 

You don't know anything about me. You didn't know that I just spent the past four hours in language class, staring at a computer screen until my back ached and my eyes strained. You didn't know how stressed I felt, feeling like I signed my days away for the next six weeks and not a clue how I'd fit in the multitude of other things I need to get done. You didn't know how my lungs ached to breathe without coughing after days with no apparent cause. You didn't know how I felt about today- humdrum and missing the disappearing holiday week, one that's supposed to be joyous and filled with light and hope. 

You didn't know anything about me- but it didn't stop you. 

One of you put your hand right over the scanner and didn't ask me- you told me- that today you're paying for my coffee. Your friend, holding a bouquet of red carnations, chose one from her diminishing bundle and handed one to me with a smile. 

You didn't know that the last time someone bought me flowers was almost a year ago next week.

It was just a single stem, but it felt like God's grace. I clutched it and smiled, fingers tracing the delicate unfolding petals. You didn't know that I always buy flowers for others, but never for myself. 

I gave you hugs because even though coffee and flowers seem so small and insignificant in the whole scheme of life, nothing could have been more significant today to bless my heart and soul. You only asked that in return, I would text someone to let them know I loved them. 

This is what love does. It goes to the stranger and crosses the bridge to make a friend. It sees the soul and touches it with encouragement. It reaches out when there's no reason to and no reward at all. 

It buys coffee and passes out flowers in a bustling coffee shop in my small downtown. 

From the bottom of my heart- thank you. Thank you for your smiles. Thank you for your joy. Thank you for buying my coffee. Thank you for choosing that flower from your bouquet with me in mind. Thank you for lighting up my day with a brilliant ray of sunshine, a most certain hug from God. Thank you for rekindling hope in my heart- that miracles occur even still today. Thank you for listening to the call, for being willing to give of your own time and money and resources to bless the life of complete strangers. 

Thank you. 

I put my flower in a vase and my mom put hers in there, too. I set it on my desk, overflowing with textbooks and laptop, pencils and notebooks. Because tomorrow, when I wake up and start the day with another round of lessons and a lengthly list to cram in around it of things to do, I need to see this as a reminder. 

God delights to give good things. 

Thank you for letting Him use you to remind me today. 

The Seclusion of Schedules // Being Intentional

It had been over two years since we'd last seen each other. 

We grew up together. We met back in first grade at a co-op, both shy and sharing secrets along with snacks. We trekked through nature walks and science projects and somehow survived gym. There's been moves and relocating for both our families. Graduations. Ministry projects. Growing and changing and sanctification. We'd send letters across the miles and still kept up our friendship. Lately, it's been harder. Jobs, classes, world-traveling...the letters got more scarce, but we always said, "We'll have to get together soon. Someday soon." 

It was always meant with sincere intentions. To spend time sharing hearts across the table instead of across a page or a text. What's a couple hour drive? Doable in a weekend, certainly. 

Yet someday never comes unless you put a date to it. 

While I was away on another world-traveling adventure last month, I'd get emails from her. "I keep thinking we need to get together when you get back," she'd say. Of course I agreed. I was always saying I'd come out to her end of town every time summer came around, but things always came up once it did. I determined that this time I'd make it happen- maybe I should try this fall and not wait for summer. Stop saying someday. 

I sent her a text a few weeks later to let her know I got back safely. "I'd love to get together- any ideas of what would work for you?" I ask. I imagine going back and forth with different dates and times, trying to find an option that would work best for both of us- and I dreaded it.

Sometimes the scheduling wrings us so dry that we can't even enjoy the company. It seems so impersonal, so unfeeling. Shuffling around things trying to fit someone in around the other million things you need to do. 

Something is wrong when we start to schedule people in like we do doctors' appointments. When we let our crazy thrust of productivity dictate the amount of time we spend pouring into others without a deadline. 

But her response surprised me. 

"This Monday at 10:30- we can meet in the middle."

Just like that. She made it a priority. There was no hemming and hawing, no trying to pick out the perfect date or location. We didn't have any Pinterest plans or fancy outfits. We even didn't have a perfect time schedule- we both had to leave by 1 for previously scheduled engagements we had. I drove my mud-covered car with less than a half tank of gas and a lip and chin still hot with hives from an allergic reaction that morning. 

We both showed up- imperfections and all. 

We spent the two hours we had catching up on life- what we've been doing, what God's been teaching us. We hashed out hope and faith and the power of the Holy Spirit. We came to the unanimous consensus that no matter what any author says, it will always be complicated dealing with guy friends. We shared quotes and Scriptures and laughed with excitement when we realized we'd both seen the same YouTube video. We encouraged each other and we both knew we weren't alone on this journey.

When we step back from our schedules, we realize we're not in seclusion. 

The time went by quickly, and with empty bowls on the table we realized it was time to go. As we got up to leave, we gave each other a hug and I whispered in her ear- 

Thank you. 

Thank you for being intentional. For surprising me with lunch. For remembering to take a picture. For listening and for sharing and for being open and beautiful. 

Thank you for taking the time for me. 

I walked away feeling so special and cared for, but more than that, I walked away so challenged to be intentional. 

I'm a dreamer and a visionary. I think of big fancy plans and want to throw the perfect outing and get-together. 

Yet sometimes that hinders me from just grabbing an average cup of coffee for two hours with a not-so-average girl spur-of-the-moment on a Thursday afternoon.

I hate that. I hate that fear of imperfection keeps me from reaching beyond the seclusion of my schedule. I hate that I put things off until it'll be perfect; that I put it off until I think I can craft an atmosphere that will bless people the most...when really all we want is just to be heard and encouraged- biscotti, background music, or not. 

I have another friend I haven't seen in over two years. Now that I've moved, she practically lives down the street from me. We keep saying we'll get together. There really are no excuses other than the elusive someday.

So tonight I map out the middle for both of us, send her an email and give two dates. This week. Not something five months out in advance. I want her to know that I make time for her now, that she's important. 

That's she's far worth the sacrifice of my measly schedule. 

Perfection ruins intentionality. 

I refuse to ruin opportunities anymore. 

The Girl with Blonde Hair

I had never been so broken before.

My heart thundered, then stopped, then thundered a million more rolls again.

I couldn't leave. I couldn't. 

This place where my heart was planted deep in the rocky terrain, where I bled and I cried, where I laughed and my heart was opened to joy again. To letting people into my brokenness. To being raw and vulnerable without fear.

Where my hand was opened again to receive His good gifts. 

Where I physically saw Him answer prayer in ways I could have never imagined.

Where I fell in love with Him all over again. 

Where He romanced my heart, danced with me through the storms and showed me just a glimpse of the breathtaking vistas He has in store.

I'm not a very emotional person. I could probably count on one hand how many times I've cried in public my entire life. Next to the time when we found out my brother's cancer had returned, I had never sobbed so hard in my life. Wracking sobs that shook my soul.

I felt like I was being emptied. I felt my heart leave my chest, heard mom calling my name, pulling my hands to get onto the van, but my eyes couldn't leave this place. They roamed and scanned wildly and tried to lock in every detail through blurry vision, eyelids blinking to clear.

Now thousands of miles away, months later, it's still a moment I relive a hundred times a day. The burning ache where my heart used to be, my soul yearning to be reunited again.

Some people don't get it. They try, but they just can't. They haven't seen what I've seen, felt what I've felt. They haven't had the dirt run through their fingers and the vision seep into their veins until it wraps and engulfs their very core.

And yet, others do. 

I may relive that moment a hundred times a day, but there's more than just feeling my heart being torn, falling onto the sand. I see more than just blurry images through the tears.

I see a girl with blonde hair. 

She followed me all that day. Hugged me. Wiped tears from her own eyes as she saw mine. She stood by me for hours as we waited for the bus. She whispered words of hope into my ear, then was brave enough to stand there in silence to give room for both our thoughts. She was real- beautifully real- giving of her soul not because it was the "right thing" to do, but because she simple did it without any pretenses or reservations. I may have been seven years her senior, yet she so faithfully ministered to my needs without even a clue. She didn't make it her "ministry". She didn't do it for praise. She just did it- because that's what love does.

And after 3 weeks of pouring into everyone around me, her action wrapped around me like a warm blanket that assured me I wouldn't be alone in this.

She didn't say it would be okay. She didn't say I'd get over it. She didn't tell me to stop crying, that the tears wouldn't stop the inevitable. She didn't say that I had a purpose elsewhere and that's why I had to leave.

She reminded me that He still loves me. 

She reassured me over and over that this was not the end- that He would bring me back. This was not a once in a lifetime experience- it was the beginning of a lifetime of purpose I had never known before.

That this look was not the last. 

There were others who had come by my side that day. They spoke as well, gave hugs and even prayed. But somehow, the girl with blonde hair vividly stands out from the rest.

She silently lived with me through that moment. Didn't speak the profound, just told me what my heart needed to hear. She cried, but she didn't leave. She stood with me as the minutes dragged tortuously onward as I waited for the van. She ran with me. She saw the unglamorous and jagged and didn't shy away.

I want to be like the girl with blonde hair. 

Want to live with people in the moment, in the broken, and be fully there to pour into their souls. Not because I have to, not because it's right- but because I'm right there with them. Not to be the hero- but to be the whisper in their ear that He still loves you. I don't want to shy away from the ugly, from the painful, but to embrace it with the arms of Christ.

It's not a duty, not a job to fix the world, never a place of glamor. It's a position of deepest humility, knowing you can't make it better, knowing your words are nothing.

It's standing there, even in the awkward and uncomfortable, to let Him live through you.

Even in silence and not saying a word. Through just being near. To say "You're not alone, because I'm choosing to walk this hard path with you"

And in that memory, I choose to live like that a hundred times a day.

Grace-filled Simplicity

Growing up, summer was always my least favorite season. I hated the heat, the humidity, the sticky feeling when you go from AC to 90's. But this year, after a winter of darkness and cold, of chemo and pain, the sun's rays have seemed like soothing nectar to my soul. I've never experienced it before.

I can't stop drinking it up. 

Perhaps it's because after a taste of a muggy Southern summer I truly appreciate my balmy Northern one, or perhaps it's because my mighty Elohim is healing my soul- showing me how to sing again, to LIVE again. 

You only get one life to live- we have to embrace it. 

We have to get past the pain of chemo and the sting of relationships and the trama of death of loved ones. We have to learn to open our fists again and fully accept this crazy grace- HIS crazy grace. Choose to see these gifts He's given, to fully be alive and embrace every joy. 

I've found it in simplicity. Taking things slow. Recording these gifts, a living record of His faithfulness. 

I'm going to enjoy this summer to it's fading golden rays. Sometimes it's big things, like glorious weddings and traveling this beautiful country. Joy isn't materialistic things- it's dancing praise with all your might as your bare feet pound the plywood floor with a hundred other hearts, it's spending Shabbat by the lakeshore, it's mending relationships and building bridges. It's little things like sharing chips and pop in the shady grass with a fraction of the passel of nieces and nephews, it's coffee dates with mom, it's swinging on the hammock with my brother as the sun fades and we unburden our hearts to each other. These happy gifts are laughter, fresh produce, new friends and hearing from old ones. It's wrestling prayer, the breezes of fresh air, curly hair and long dresses that make me feel like a princess.

It's choosing to see everything with new eyes. Put the computer away, shut off my phone. Even if it's just for an hour or two- or maybe a whole week media free.

It's recording these moments of grace, these beautiful gifts He bestows on His unworthy bride...

Because love? It never stops giving. 

--
(care to share your list of grace gifts today? can we see if everyone can name at least 10- from sunlight flickering on the windowpane to cupping a hot mug of pumpkin spice latte? share yours in a comment below!) 

Finished

Cancer steals. Destroys. Devours. 

And I'm helpless to it all. 

I've told you about Kelly before. I met her high above the Texas skyline, and we caught the last glimpse of the sunset together. She was beautiful- wore a pretty hat to cover her head, hairless from what chemo stole from her. She smiled through the pain, her body attached by tubes and wires to a tree of life- or death?- with fluids and toxic materials pumping through her. Her quiet southern voice somehow illuminated the room, kept the shadows at bay. Sort of made the sun shine, even though it had slipped below the horizon. She told us of her two lovely girls back home, how God was still working, how she still prayed for the miracle. I gave her a hug before we left, told her we would be praying for her. Told her to keep trusting.

The elevator door closed, and it was the last I saw of her. Last time I ever will have seen her. Cancer claimed her body but five short months later. 

===

A father in our community discovered cancer was taking over his lungs soon after Ryan's tumors were removed from his. We've been praying, trusting, knowing that God is still working. I never knew this man well, but from the times I did spend with him I knew him to be a man of worship. Had a smile that somehow made you feel like you belonged. Quiet, but when he spoke they were words of life. Like David, he worshiped the Father will all of his might, with ever fiber of his being. 

Today I got the phone call everyone dreads, the one you pray against. The one you hope you never have to answer. The phone call that, as a cancer family, you pray you never have to make. 

It'll only be a few hours now. 

I hang up. Dad calls- I answer, and I weep. I grieve. I cry for the children, whose father is their world. I cry for the wife, so strong yet how can frail shoulders hold up the load of everything and watch as the love of her life suffers? I cry for the friends, the extended family, the community who is loosing a mighty warrior of Elohim. 

My soul longs to pour forth prayers but no sound comes from my throat. Dad prays for me instead. 

And Heaven weeps. 

The rain pours from the skies as my tears fall, as our prayers rise upward. Not long after, another phone call follows. 

It is finished. No more pain except the pain that is in our hearts, no more sorrow except for the tears we weep. No more questions, except for the ones we may shout in our frustration and grief. 

Finished. 
__

{please, be praying for this family and our community tonight and in the days/weeks/months to follow. thank you, from the bottom of our hurting hearts.}

A Tied Heart

It happens every time. My heart gets tied. 

I was born and raised in the North. I breathed in industry, metals, rubber, plastics and oil. I drive through smoggy cities and jammed roads. I've grown up walking under the shade of buildings rather than that of trees. 

And I've loved it. It's my life, it's all I've known, it's the familiar. It's where I know I fit in, because it's in my blood. 

My first trip south was a culture shock. 

Life was completely different. The slow pace, the landscape, the houses, the fields, the roads, the people. To be honest, I couldn't wait to return North. I didn't belong in this Southern place where my voice gave my identity away and animosity towards the Civil War still ran strong. The climate was vastly different. The way of life was vastly different. No one could relate to my love of the city. My life was foreign to the South, and their lives foreign to me. 

But time has a way of changing things. 

Expectation is the killer of joy. My expectations of the South can make or break my enjoyment of any trip there, or a trip anywhere else for that matter. I've learned to let go of expectations and accept circumstances for what they are, as either a blessing or a lesson from God. I've learned that people need a few days to forge friendships in the South, unlike our fast-paced relationships of the North. I've grown to love the people with every trip I've taken, and every time I leave, half my heart stays behind. 

So when I packed up this week and headed out for the long trek home, tears came and I didn't want to go. 

Home is where family is.  And these people, these people have become my family and make the South a home for my heart. 

Back home in the North, my heart is still trying to adjust to the life I've always known. Life without the people who have become so dear within such a short amount of time. 

Funny how a vast city can feel so empty. Funny how there was a time when I dreaded to go to the South, and now I'm counting the months, weeks, days, until I'm reunited with people whose hearts are bonded to the same cause as my own. 

We're bonded by faith. By love. By grace. 

That's what makes people family. But the South doesn't have to be the only place that holds the fellowship. The beauty. The community. I have people here- family here- too. 

I've returned North with a vengeance. To reclaim and rebuild and to restore. To do my part to bind us all in unity. It's a lot of work. It's an uphill battle. But the South is not the only place in the world that can hold the love. 

Our hearts are big enough to hold it all, too. 

So while my heart is tied, torn between two places that I cannot be at once, I'm doing my part.... how about you? 

Hey Girl

Hey Girl. 

Did the words hurt you? I know the feeling. They hurt me, too.  They say sticks and stones break bones and words will never hurt- but they don't just hurt. They crush. Leave you feeling worthless. 

Oh, how I know. Girl, you're not alone. 

They say the truth hurts, but I think it hurts worse when the truth isn't known. Lies are spewed. Your lungs scream for the freeing air of justice. Your back is against the wall and their hands are raised with stones, poised to strike. You never thought they'd do this, did you? Yeah, me neither. Didn't think it would come to this. Forgot that there's wolves in sheep's clothing and that there's tares among the wheat. 

I'm standing here, and I want to scream for justice at the top of my lungs. To silence the accusations. To set free the truth that's captive. To make known the innocent. You've been there, too, yes? You know the feeling. The burning flame. I can sense your heart is beating it, too. 

But take a deep breath. It's all you really can do when your hands are tied behind your back with pointed last words. Breathe with me, please? Lean your head closer to mine so you can hear my whisper. I've got my eyes closed, head tilted to heaven. Girl, this is going to shake your world...listen carefully now: "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do."

Soak it in- take your time. It took me a while, too. Do you see the injustice of thorns and spikes piercing the Body of the Son of God? Do you hear the curses, the lies, the accusations, the anger, the falsehoods that are slandering the character of the innocent and sinless Messiah? And after they flog Him and whip Him and mock Him and tear Him and diminish Him to nothing but a sagging package of bones struggling to make that walk with a stake on His back....He begs the Father to forgive them. 

But it's more than that, Girl. It's more. And this may shake your world even more: He opened not His mouth. 

It's called forgiveness. Compassion. Love. Grace. He extends it all to those who persecuted Him. All those who laughed in His face. Slapped His Face. Tore His Face. 

Soak that in, Girl. Try to process it all in. I'm still trying to fully comprehend it, too. When they're spitting their venom at us, and every fiber in our body demands retaliation...He didn't. Therefore, should we? Let them spew away, Girl. It's hard. It's painful. It's hurtful. But don't hold it in. Count yourself worthy- and know that He knows exactly how you're feeling. He's going to bless you. That's a promise. Count on it, Girl- He's going to get you through this with a spiritual strength that cannot be bent, with a testimony that will touch others, and with a new dependance and reliance on Him. He's going to make beauty from the ashes. 

Say it with me, Girl: "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do." Say it out loud. Claim it while they continue to shoot their arrows at you. Those arrows don't pierce as deep now, do they? Compassion is seeping into your sight. You see how they don't understand His grace and forgiveness towards them. You want to reach out your hand in love to them, to try to break the callous hearts, to help them see all that they're missing. You're weeping for them. It's a different ache you're feeling now. 

Forgive them. 

The shackles fall from your wrists with those words. The arrows won't let up, no- but the prison door will swing open.

Ponder Me This

There's a lot to ponder about in this life.

Some things, they're worth pondering. Others, well, they just aren't. So I ponder myself this:

What's wrong with this Body? 

Why do we have division? Why do we have strife? Do we all need to walk through a cancer journey in order to realize that we only have one life, only one shot to be His love, only one try to show a dying world who He is? Do we all need to sit in the cancer ward with our lives flashing before our eyes or have toxic orange fluid drip into our chests and burn away all the worthless pursuits and meaningless time killers and petty disagreements? 

Do we care more about being right and being on top that we forget that we are called to be children of Peace- to do anything and everything within our power to make peace? And if we're not children of Peace- who's children are we?

It's like Ann recalls- we're looking more like Christ's Estate rather than Christ's Body. We're divided by fences and lines rather than joined together by the sinews and veins. 

So when are we going to put down our signs, cross over the lines, and love like He did? And I'm not talking about the outside world here- it seems we can love them fairly well. We gladly put on smiles and extend hands of love in attempts to build bridges with the lost. But inside this Body? 

We just keep on building fences. 

Have we so quickly forgotten the second greatest commandment? Do we forget that it's LOVE- love that covers over a multitude of sins? That we must first show love to our brother before we can show our love to Him? And if we paused before we eagerly look for the spec of dirt in our brother's eye- we'd see the beams of filth in our own life? 

Is this what Christ died for- so we could all just trample grace and refuse to give it to our hurting brother and keep on building fences? 

It doesn't have to be this way. It shouldn't be this way. 

So what are you going to do about it?

This is our responsibility. It boils down to us individually. What are we going to do to restore unity, to be a healing balm and gracefully begin restoration within the Body? 

Is it an e-mail? An apology? Time spent on your knees in tears, begging the Father to break your heart like this dysfunctional Body breaks His? Is it inviting that person over to dinner, or meeting them for coffee, or writing them a note of grace? Is it a hug? Saying "You're needed in this Body"? A gift? Going out of your way to make sure that person feels loved and needed- regardless of petty doctrinal disagreements? 

How are you going to break the fences and link arms once again with your fellow sisters and brothers? 

(please, go read this post. ann's words ring so true. i had "Holy Spirit Bumps" chill my arms as I read. take it as a challenge- and be the change. do something to bring this Body back to unity. because in the end? it all starts with you and me.)