Dear Beautiful Creative Soul // Use Them Fearlessly

Dear Beautiful Creative Soul-

You are an amazing creative, a vessel that holds incredible talents. 

Don't ever let shame keep you from creating. From sharing your gifts with the world. From presenting your offerings to the eyes of others.

Don't let shame keep you from being happy with what you're hands have made. 

We live in a world that's overstimulated. There's images and goals and posters of what the perfect project must be. We live in a world that's curated and edited and glossy. We read blogs with perfect presentations, Pinterest with projects that never seem to have the same results when we attempt them, and Instagram where no one has a bad hair day.

It's a lot of pressure. A high bar, where looking up suffocates you from all joy and potential.  

I should know. For years I was ashamed to call myself a writer. A seamstress. An artist. My work seemed so incomplete and imperfect compared to others who held a standard far above my reach. I allowed shame to keep me in the dark, chained to doodling and writing and creating in my room, away from others' eyes.

To hide your God-given talents is to hide your light under a basket. 

The desires and abilities He has given to your soul were given for all the world to see. They were gifts made to shine for His glory, to come alongside the Creator in embellishing His already magnificent creation.

Your gifts are an invitation to co-create with the Creator- and there is nothing you do that doesn't delight His heart. You are all together beautiful. Worthy. Loved. Amazing. 

Here's the truth- imperfections are beautiful. After all, God delights to take broken things and make something so much better from the pieces. Perfection ends the journey, so embrace those imperfect moments that you can learn from and create character with.

Let fear, perfection, and shame fall into the depths of the sea. 

I get it, that it's a battle. There's highs and lows, times where it's easy and times where you feel the shackles chafe around your wrists. This week, a friend asked me to paint a custom art piece for her, and as I read her text, my fingers tingled with utter awe and excitement. I'd never done anything like this before. No one had ever asked before.

She saw something worthy. 

For the first time in my life, I wasn't terrified of messing up. I did it freehand and didn't sweat the imperfections. Each stroke of the brush brought joy to my heart. I stood back and smiled, happy with how far I'd come.

And then I saw Instagram. 

I saw artwork that rivaled Pinterest, where everything was alined and the text was flawless. It may as well been designed on the computer, without a single smudge or wayward stroke. I looked from the screen, back to my now-pathetic-looking piece.

So far from perfection. 

My shoulders slumped a little, discouraged that right as I was feeling a victory I should get slammed with another round of missing the mark of excellence.

We have to remember- Comparison is coveting, and it's breaking the 10th Commandment. 

If we kept that in mind, how much more free would we feel? No one creates like you do. No one can tell your story from your unique perspective like you can. You are beautifully you in every area- don't let comparison lock the shackles of shame on your soul.

Please, don't hide any longer. 

Share your story loud, paint it with all your favorite colors. Unlock your heart to share what it has to offer with boldness and grace. Decorate your world like only you can.

God has given you gifts- and they weren't on accident.

Use them fearlessly. 

When God Moves // Fear Cannot Hold You Back

The majority of the time, God surprises me. 

It's very rarely I ever sit back and say, "Oh yeah, totally knew He was going to do that." I wish I did. I wish my zealous soul wouldn't consult reality, or that fear would stalk behind faith. 

It didn't used to be that way. Betrayal, death, cancer, and the death of dreams tend to shake the child-like faith upside down and violently wring it out. 

They say time heals all things, but I know better- He does. 

My trip overseas last year left me changed in ways I never want to forget. I saw Him renew my hope, breathe into my soul that He still gives good things. And for this girl who's lived in the cold of winter too long, to see everything as blossoming and beautiful took my breath away. 

It still does. 

He answers prayers of improbability, and it still takes my breath away. 

--

I was convinced the door was closed. I prayed, I fasted, and after hearing nothing I just dusted off my hands and walked away. I wasn't going to keep pounding- no use breaking down a door if He wasn't going to be there. 

Turns out, it was open all along. Instead of pounding on a closed door, I just had to turn the knob. 

Within 24 hours everything just fell into place, in ways that left me utterly speechless. There was no way to hide when the Hand of God worked in front of you in such bold ways, laying it all in place. 

Yet, I wished I could hide. 

The thought of doing this utterly terrifies me. 

I find myself quaking, fearful, terrified of loneliness and sickness and being so removed from my life for such a long time. I'm terrified of the unknown. Terrified of what I've never done before.

Fear and faith cannot coexist. 

Of course, it's the Year of Emuna. The Year of Faith. 

Of course. 

To say yes to the Year of Emuna is to say yes to the Year of No Fear, too. Hand in hand. One cannot come without the other. 

This is the biggest leap of faith I've ever been asked to take. And to be honest, it feels like I'm just going to fall off the edge. I have no idea what to expect. I have nothing to compare what I'm about to do to. 

I just have to keep following His signs. His promises. His working and moving and His fingerprints in it all. 

I have no other choice. Wherever He leads, I have to follow. A covenant doesn't hold only for the sweet comfortable and familiar- it holds fast even if the fire grows hot and uncomfortable. Even if it's lonely or it's scary or it's difficult. Even if it requires unbelievable work and sweat and blood and tears. Even if it costs all I have and it takes every last drop. 

As Danessa Foo says, "Fear is placing your faith in What Ifs rather than God Is"

Never once have I ever walked alone. 

He's not going to leave me now. 

Dear Me // Letter to Myself

Dear Me,

One day you'll read this and laugh, because you'll see all those dramas and embarrassments that made you want to sink into the floor as what they really are- such small, little things in comparison to what truly matters. Whether you smile with spinach in your teeth or walk with a twisted skirt, it really is not going to make-or-break your dreams. You may feel like they do- may feel like you've ruined your only shot at this- but I promise you, nothing will make-or-break the dreams God has placed within your soul. 

Don't sweat the small stuff. Even in a world that screams perfection, you were never made to meet that standard. Seeking after it will only leave you dry, empty, and drained of all the talents God wants to reveal through you. Give yourself grace and room to breathe. Give yourself time to take in the beauty, and time to heal from the wounds inflicted by others... and by yourself. Give yourself the freedom to be you- whimsical, lioness, freckle-faced and red-headed you- regardless of what other people say.

You'll look back on the biggest heartbreaks and see them as the greatest launching pads towards God's purpose for your life. Like the summer you had heat stroke and your military aspirations drained away with the IV in your arm, the year you traveled South and experienced culture shock but somehow your heart got tied there too, the winter where you went from joy to heartbreak in 6.3 weeks and your soul grew cold like the thick ice on the windowpane, the year you went to Israel and your world turned upside down and was shaken out.

Like the embarrassment, this pain will fade, too- so don't let it stop you from living life with gusto and whimsy, with joy and dancing and taking big risks. The only regret you will have in later years is from not spreading your wings to fly because you clipped them with fear. Don't spend life avoiding the "thud" of falling, because I promise you every "thud" is worth the 30 seconds of glorious flight living fully alive in the calling God has placed on your life. 

Through it all, you were made to worship with abandon, with every fiber of your being. Every meal you bake, every piece of art you make, is all a glorious song of worship to the King. Don't let others dictate what genre that song is supposed to be, what lyrics are to be spoken, or how fluent your Hebrew should be. God just wants you to show up- in the midst of all your passionate soul, in the midst of your imperfections, in the way that only you can worship Him.   

So dear Me, live with reckless abandon, with joy unspeakable, treasuring the raw blessings, wrestling in prayer, and counting the cost. Do life big, and in years to come you will be able to see this glorious unfolding. 

I guarantee, it'll leave you speechless.

Sincerely,
Me

When Faith Feels Like Dying

You'd think I'd be used to it, having family that's done this before. No trepidation, no hesitation, just a let's-go-get-'er-done mentality. 

And I do. I really do. 

But makes it a world of difference when you're purchasing your own ticket for half way around the world. Makes it a whole lot different when it's yours and not someone else's. 

It's your world that will forever be changed. Not your dad's or your brother's or the widow next store. Your world. 

And what are you supposed to do with that? With all the unknowns and the less-than-ideal environment and late nights and early mornings and food you normally avoid here in the States- and that's not even the spiritual warfare and mental exhaustion and mountaintop highs and valley lows. 

By faith Abraham left. 

Up and left even though he didn't know where he was going. Didn't know what God was going to do. 

Sometimes faith feels like dying. 

Dying of yourself. Your dreams. Your control. 

I've never really admitted to anyone, but I'm scared of heights. I blame it on one too many times of siblings pushing me towards the edge of a cliff, then "heroically" saving me as a scream and flail. Take me to a mountaintop, and I will stay at least three feet away from the edge. Knees turn to jello and my stomach bottoms out. 

So when it's the two of us girls standing at the bottom of the climbing wall, looking up at the zip-line, she panics and says she's not going to because she's afraid of heights. 

Ditto, girl.  

But I lift my chin and say that I'm doing it- and she can, too. We climb to the top of the rickety, curving staircase, boards jutting out and slanting precariously. The attendant clips my line, secures my harness...

And I can't take my eyes off of that one inch wheel, just sitting loosely on the rope, holding me from sudden death. 

"Just jump," the attendant says, nudging me. I gulp. Jump? Really? Won't the wheel come off the track? I sit at the edge of the tower, feet dangling in the air. I clear my throat nervously. Shift back and forth on the platform, slowly inching myself off but hands still gripping wood. 

God, please don't let me fall. Please don't let me fall. Don't let me fall....

I close my eyes, suck in air, and grip the rope like it's my lifeline.

It was the most terrifying 45 seconds of my life. 

Faith is just that. Feels like dying. Feels like letting go and you're just going to fall and shatter every bone in your body. 

But faith feels like living, too. 

Wide awake, adrenaline surging, heart pumping, lungs screaming. Every part of you tingling, senses alert, soul flying. 

It's when you die to your control when you truly can live....whether it's here or halfway around the world. 

Life // Never the Same

The sun dawns brilliantly in ribbon strips of pink and blue. Orange rays hit the dark, cold pines, and the world begins to glow in flaming light. The ice slowly melts from inside the window. It's a normal winter morning. 

No, not normal. Every morning has become so precious. 

Because when you learn that cancer that has been staying in the chest possibly may now have moved to the brain? 

Your mornings are never the same after that. 

I thought this year would be a safe year, a year to heal and grow and blossom from all the pain that last year held. A time where we could laugh and make art and dance and never have the thought of cancer on our minds. On his mind. A year where grudges would be atoned for and everything would be back to the way it was before this battle ever came onto our radar years ago. 

Am I the only one who feels this way? The only one sounding the alarm?

Sometimes you just wish you could shake people, wake them up from a slumber so they can see life flying past. To stop holding grudges. To make amends. To love, because you may never have another day to love again.

Pass it by now, and you'll live with regret.

I just wish I knew my brother. I could count on one hand the memories I have of him from my childhood. And now that I'm older, our relationship has more to do with PET scans and chemo rounds and all the talking we ever do is done in a hospital room. I understand we're both busy. I totally get it. 

But I desperately want it differently. 

There's a large age gap between me and my older siblings, but I have treasured every word they have spoken. Some words, spoken carelessly, I shouldn't have hung on to- but what else is a girl to do? Aside from those few in childhood, I only have one other memory of my brother. He wrote me an e-mail for my 16th birthday and had my nephew sit on the counter with a Tupperware container on his head for a party hat, and sent me the picture. I believe that was around the time he was going through his first battle with AS. I treasured it- still do. I printed it off and pasted it in my journal, always to be remembered. 

This past summer, he told dad that any guy that came for my hand would have to be approved by him, too. I never felt so loved and protected by him before- and I cry every time I realize that he may never have a chance. That my husband may never know this brother of mine- to shake his hand, look him in the eye. He may never have the chance to draw from Ry's wealth of knowledge, to laugh with him, to know who he is. 

In the blink of an eye, life as you know it is suddenly drastically different. And your life? It will never, ever be the same. 

Personal // It Is Good

To be honest, I dreaded this birthday. Between turning another decade and memories from last year's birthday that still leave me in tears, how could I not? 

So when I'm standing at the sink doing a mountain of dishes alone, still in sweats and the afternoon is flying by, with coughing children on the couch and germs flying in the air- things weren't looking up for this year and I'll admit, depression was setting in. 

It's been one long year. 

Cancer. Betrayal. Death. A horrible family emergency that's still underway. World-traveling. Often being responsible for 6 children when I least expect it. Joy. Tears. 

I stand at the sink and tell mom I don't feel like celebrating. My heart feels as grey as the winter sky above, flakes falling swift and sure, smothering the world below. 

But if you have to do it, you might as well make the most of it. Do something and your heart will eventually follow. I pick out mismatched plates in bold colors (chevron and zebra stripes, anyone?), hang a pin-the-tail-on-Zevi-the-Zebra on the door, try to get in the spirit of joy. Phone rings, I answer, and the bestie's voice bubbles on the other end. She's excited about my birthday, can't wait to show me something....and slowly, joy rubs off on me. 

I hang some streamers to celebrate. Another friend sends me a text out of the blue, makes the sun start to peak around the clouds. 

Mom comes home and surprises me with a bouquet of daisies, dressed in bright bold blues and yellows and pinks and greens. I start arranging them in my favorite little vases I picked up at rummage sales, and the smile comes. 

Yes, this birthday is good. 

Good to leave the past behind. Good to walk through this season and heal. Good to walk life as an adult and take responsibility for my choices. 

I get tangled by a rowdy bunch of kidlets at the door, all clamoring for hugs and kisses. I take the oldest niece to pick up my gluten-free/dairy-free pizza, and we chatter in the car. I share a Virgil's with my grandpa and spin the kids dizzy for pin-the-tail-on-Zevi. 

Yes- it is good. 

And when my Energizer Bunny Boy comes down with a fever and his little body shakes cold, I head out to the store on a medicine run and spend the rest of the evening rubbing Vicks on little feet, coaxing down medicine and wiping tears. Yesterday it was cleaning up blood and rocking the youngest, keeping her calm after a major bloody nose. Two days before that it was doing math and spelling at the kitchen table with six voices asking questions and me trying to wrack my brain to remember the answers (why didn't anyone tell me that I really would need to remember the things I learned in school?). 

Yes- life is good. 

So hello new year- let me take you on with shoulders squared, boots on, and pack empty. Here's to dancing for the audience of One and living fully where He has me- bloody noses, drama, and all. 

When It's Time To Stop Waiting // Jump Out Of The Boat

Life is full of waiting. Some self-imposed, some God-imposed. Some things make sense, while others are blurry visions of things to come. Go ahead, raise your hand if you are waiting…

…for a husband…
…for a job…
…for an education…
…for a child…
…for God to work in someone’s life…
…for God to work in your life…
…for enough money to do this or that…
…for more time…
…for more talent…
…for forgiveness…

…I’m sure I haven’t covered all the bases, so add your two cents here: I am waiting for ______________. Fill in the blank. You’re not alone. 

We’re all waiting. 

But when is it time to stop waiting? Stop waiting to live our lives until the perfect love, perfect friend, perfect job, perfect situation transforms our lives? Isn’t it time that we stop pacing back and forth and actually do something? To you young women out there, don’t get me wrong- I’m not saying that you need to go out and find yourself a husband here. I’m not saying that we need to speed up God’s timing. I’m not saying that we should not wait. 

We need to wait. But we also need to live. And sometimes? While we’re waiting for that big moment to present itself…it’s really God’s gentle push saying, “Jump out of the boat.” 

For me? It’s the fear that’s keeping me waiting in the unknown. 

God wants to bring us to the place where our eyes are fixed on Him and Him alone. He wants us to be focused solely on being abandoned to Him. He wants us to do hard things. 
Peter had that opportunity. 
Messiah called him out to the impossible of walking on water, and his fire-zealous heart leaped at the chance. He took the step of faith. He left the boat…but his eyes riveted off of the Master to what if. The waves were there, and what if they took him under? In that moment, there was no longer full abandonment. There was no longer full surrender. 
A quarter was given to the enemy.
It was all that was needed. Soon fear grabbed his heart, pulling him into the deep. It was a downward spiral to the depths of darkness. He knew he was going under, and he cried out for the Master to save him. 
And He did. As soon as the words had left Peter’s lips, He was by his side. 

I’ve always had a strong connection to Peter. I, like Peter, am zealot-hearted. I, like Peter, am bold when my soul feels free- but when the enemy looks me in the eye, I do the unthinkable and cave in to safety. My heart, like Peter’s, beats the Gospel, but my most desperate pleas are “Lord, save me!” and “Give me grace!”. 
Oh, Peter, I think we would’ve been friends…because your acquaintances Fear and What If visit my house, too. I’m pacing the boat, uncertain of the waters, wondering if He’s going to let me sink or stand. 

And I blame it on the “waiting game”. 

I say I’m waiting for more time, for more courage, for more talent, for more provisions. I blame my refusal to jump out of the boat on things I think I don’t have- forgetting that He will give us all that we need. Fear keeps me chained in the shallow end because the thought of doing what He’s asking me to sends me into cardiac arrest. Fear keeps me bound on the solid ground of self because I know that if I do what He’s asking me to, it’s going to make me vulnerable and uncomfortable and scared out of my wits. Fear keeps me enslaved to complacency because if I leap out of the boat, I’m going to get wet. I’m going to struggle. I’m going to thrash. I’m going to take great big gulps of water that flood my lungs and make me feel like I’m drowning…because I completely forget that He’s just a call away. He’s not going to let me drown in the deep end. 

He’s calling me- and you- to leap out of the boat and live. He’s calling us to pick up our swords, look that monster named Fear in the eyes and say, “You will not run my life-no way.”  It’s a daily battle. Being a Believer isn’t a walk in the park or a tea party- it’s a wild roller-coaster and a battlefield. We have to fight our flesh and die to self so that He can live in us. 

He’s asking us to live while we’re waiting for the things He’s asked us to wait for, and asking that we walk by faith and not by sight. Today will never come again- how are we going to make it count for the Kingdom? How are we going to give Him every heartbeat, every quickened breath, every action of our hands and feet and ask Him to make them count for His glory? 

I swing my legs over the side of the boat. I want to be on the water with Him. The boat lurches at the shifting weight, wanting to dump me overboard. My fingernails claw at the wooden rail of the familiar and the safe. Yet, I want to go. I want to. Fear is looking over my shoulder- I can feel his heavy shadow loom. 
But my eyes look to Him. His hands are outstretched. I can barely hear Him whisper over the wind and the waves- the things that scream that I’m foolish, the things that boss me to do something else, the things that yell that I’ll never make it out there. I can barely hear Him, but I can lip-read enough to know. “Trust Me. Your life is now.” 
My toes touch the water and I abandon the ship of self security to live fully on the waves where He’s calling me. 

Hope // Flood Me

"We have this HOPE as an ANCHOR for the SOUL, firm and secure." 

-Hebrews 6:19a- 

It's underlined in purple pen, the silhouette of an anchor penciled next to it. The pages worn, a spot in Hebrews that always falls open without much prompting. A secure hope. A promise of His that binds my soul, like a grappling hook from my heart to His- a way to bring down these promises, a source of constant hope. 

But sometimes? The storm blows, and the anchor starts to tug away from the cleft in the rocky seabed- and my heart bobs at the top, like a buoy tossed helplessly from the controlling wind. 

Hope. 

How can you live without it? What is there to look forward to without it? Why am I trying to live without it?

Hope. 

Ironic that such hope comes from links of metal, a solid weight, something that drags. We picture such things as bondage, as slavery, as children destitute to hopelessness. But these chains? They're a lifeline. Something sure in this storm, something we all must grasp until our knuckles turn white like it's the only thing left. 

Hope. 

When the cancer consumes and we're sitting here not knowing what to do next, when we're left alone and those you thought would stick around have abandoned you, when you've been tossed back and forth by these waves for weeks and months and years, when you're in the midst of all this- it's hard to see a break in the clouds, a glimmer of sunlight...a ray of hope. 

Hope. 

This hope, it's prayer. It's the certainty that Yeshua has entered into the Inner Sanctuary, petitioning on our behalf. It's praying and tossing this anchor into the heavens, praying His kingdom down. 

Hope. 

I struggle with it. The winds of fear blow me until my vision is blurred and my head is swimming. But I must have hope. Hope that the Son will come. He will shine from the Sanctuary, that the Father's mercy is not exhausted- His Hand is not too short to save me. And sometimes- no, all of the times- He's got us in the deep end for our good. To teach us, to grow us, to stretch us. 

Hope. God, flood me to overflowing. 

(hey you- keep clutching the anchor. i know it's tough. i know it's hard. but cling to Him 'cause He's not going anywhere. firm and secure, girl- those are His words to your storm-battered heart)

Please do // Please don't // How to best help cancer families

Please do pray fervently  //  Honestly, this is the most important thing you can do for cancer families. Don't just tell us that you're praying- do it. Take even just ten minutes out of your day for undivided prayer and wrestle in prayer for us. Beg the Father to give us the strength, faith, trust, and courage to go through what we're going through every single day. Ask Him to pour out His mercies on us. Yes, do pray for the miracle- but also pray that we are humble enough to accept His will as good. Pray for our doctors to have wisdom. Pray for us to have wisdom. Pray for you to have wisdom on how to best be an encouragement to us. Ask the Father to reveal to you what you should do and what you should say- and then do it. 

Please don't say these things  //  Don't say you understand what we're going through because your sister-in-law's father's cousin twice removed has a co-worker who had cancer five years ago. It's so not the same as having a brother, a son, a parent, or even a grandparent or other close family members go through cancer.   Don't say that it'll all work out for the good and not to worry about it when we're sitting in the surgery room. We're human. We get scared- it's our loved one under the surgeon's knife and against grim statistics. Don't say that there's always hope when we've just gotten the news that the cancer has taken over the body. We need to face realities, not fantasies. Don't say that our medical choices are wrong. If we choose to do chemo or choose to do natural remedies, it's because that's what we've prayed about and researched about and we don't need to be condemned for it. Words have much power, to hurt and anger others or to give them comfort and encouragement. If you are at a loss for words, tell us "I have no words to say." Sometimes the most comforting thing is hearing you say "I don't know what you're going through- but if there is anything I can do for you, I'm willing to do it." 

Please do respect our emotions  //  Cancer isn't just physically exhausting- it's mentally and emotionally exhausting. If we look tired, then know that now is not the time for a long chat over tea about the latest treatment plan that has been chosen. Know when to give us space, and when we need to be alone with our loved ones who are battling this disease. Don't be offended at this- we want to spend time with you, too, but know when it's time to say goodbye for now. 

Please don't be a prophet  //  We don't know the mind of God. We don't know what His plan is. So don't tell us, "I am already praising God for entire healing." Don't say, "I have the faith that God is going to give you back your loved one completely cancer free." Let's face it- most of these cancer journeys do not lead to complete healings and normal lives. Please be sensitive to that. This is a life and death journey. We cannot demand anything of God. It's hurtful and it can shake our faith when you say things that God has not said. 

Please do reach out  //  Please do drop us a note, comment, e-mail, text, letter, package, phone call, (you name it!), especially if you haven't heard from us in a while or if you know that we're going through another rough spot. We treasure these forms of your support. If the Father has laid something specific on your heart to do, please do it. It's so comforting to know that you're there, that you're thinking of us.  If you aren't sure of how to help, don't be afraid to ask us "What can I do to help you?". Also, take initiative. We can get overwhelmed with so much going on that we can't think of what we really need help with. Be specific. Ask if you can bring us a meal, or if you can watch the kids for a doctor's appointment. 

Please don't shy away  //  Don't be afraid or uncomfortable or overwhelmed or hide in the corner because you don't want to face the problem or don't know what to do or say. We need you. We can feel alone, and we need encouragement. We need your love. We need your support. Really and truly, the best form of comfort is just being there- take the time to sit with us. Don't think that you have to keep a conversation going the whole time. There doesn't need to be a word spoken. Just be there. Be available to be a shoulder that we can cry on, a hug that warms our heart, or even someone who will pray with us when we have no more words of our own. 

Faith // Flood Me

Faith. 

When plan A goes right past plans B and C and on through plan W and we still don't know what we're doing, when we're doing the things He asks us to and yet we're not completely sure why, when you're walking downtown and you don't just see "the homeless"- you see their faces and you hear their voices and would you still have the faith to proclaim the name of Yehovah and speak of His goodness as that man did today when I walked in the park? Would I?

Faith. 

When you're jumping elevators trying to climb to the 22nd floor, when you wonder why drawing near to God couldn't be this easy too, when you're overlooking this vast city and feel so small towering high above the stadiums and hospitals and high rises, when you feel even more insignificant knowing that all this, this is no more than mere specs in the palm of the Creator, and how can we ever feel like we're truly somebody?

Faith.

When you sit up there and wait for the sun to set and never doubt that it will, when you're standing this tall above the world and never question that the floor won't slip out from under you, when you have the courage to let your heart spill- through music, through conversation, through a life lived without reservations- or will you just hold it all inside from fear of the unknowns?

Faith.

When the cancer patients gather here, when they emerge from their rooms to watch this glorious glow of fire, when you know that some must wonder if this sunset will be their last, when you listen in the silent hush to the two cancer patients behind you as they encourage one another to believe His promises, that He's always been enough, and how many times a day do I doubt His sovereignty in my perfect little world? In things so petty?

Faith.

When you're talking to the 36 year old woman who has only known since last June that cancer is wrapping itself around her body and engulfing her liver, when you listen to her say that she still believes in miracles as she sits there with feet tucked up underneath her and more monitors on the pole than I've ever seen before, when you see her beautiful face and yet your stomach is sick because why do these things happen? And how can she keep this faith aflame?

Faith.

When you're angry because you just can't fix all these problems, when you pray and the words come stumbling out, when the head hits the pillow and sleep finally falls- and now here goes the fire alarm, and we all go crazy out the door, and what are the most important things to grab? What do you grab in 10 seconds without your mind thinking? Adrenaline soaring?

Faith. God, flood me to overflowing. 

Faith and trust. They go hand in hand. So God, give me the faith to trust You, and the trust to have faith in You...come what may, day by day, for You, You alone, are more than enough for all my needs.

(tomorrow we say our goodbyes to Texas and head back home. prayer appreciated! and don't just keep Ryan in your prayers- keep 36 year old Kelly there, too.)

You're Gonna Have All of Me

As I’ve mentioned before, my 2nd oldest brother is in the middle of his second battle against a very rare cancer called angiosarcosma. The details, they’re too numerous to list. They boggle my mind. They keep me up at night. They keep my prayer life full to where I don’t believe my cup can hold one more drop. They leave me begging the Holy Spirit to intercede for me with groans I cannot comprehend because I have no words left to say. 

Yet, through it all, God is forever showing us unconditional love. As brother and sister, we haven’t always made “unconditional love” our motto between us. But today, that changes. Not just because cancer changes things, but because God changes things within us. I make this my new creed:

I will strive to show unconditional love even though our emotions are bubbling, our nerves are raw, we’re angry, we’re sad, we’re crying one moment and laughing the next. I won’t hide behind jealousy, broken pasts, and hurt feelings. I won’t hide in the corner because I’m afraid loving you will open my heart to more disappointments. Unconditional love is loving you through it all. 

If you’re angry, that’s okay- I still love you, I’ll still be here. If you’re sad, cry it on my shoulder- I still love you, I’ll still be here. If we’re frustrated and mad at each other, I will take a step back and let God work- but know that I still love you, I’ll still be here. 

No matter what this week, next week, next month, or next year brings, you’re gonna have all of me. ‘Cause you’re far worth every tear cried, every late-night plea, every fear we’ll have to face through this God-controlled chaos. 

I love you Ryan, always- you’re one very, very special big brother. 

YOU’RE GONNA HAVE ALL OF ME // YOU’RE GONNA HAVE ALL OF ME // ‘CAUSE YOU’RE WORTH EVERY FALLING TEAR // YOU’RE WORTH FACING ANY FEAR // YOU’RE GONNA KNOW ALL MY LOVE // EVEN IF IT’S NOT ENOUGH // ENOUGH TO MEND OUR BROKEN HEARTS // BUT GIVING YOU ALL OF ME // IS WHERE I START