Singleness Series // Part One // Made for More than Typical

Last week, a friend asked for my thoughts on being single- specifically, what should she be doing with the extra time she has. It's a heavy question that all single young women ask, and if you're like me, you probably receive a multitude of answers in a very wide range of beliefs.

It makes the uncomplicated...complicated. 

Some say get a job. Other say date around. The ultra conservative ones say you should stay home and bake all day, and you should never look at or speak to a guy. The fence-sitters say get a local job and just put your toes in both worlds to feel out your beliefs.

If we're honest, everyone's advice (along with their mother's) is just not helpful. 

So when my friend asks this question, so many things run through my mind. There's so many different answers I could give, politically correct ones and those that are not, but truly the only one I want to give is the one I speak from my heart.

I get her- because I'm right where she is, too. 

I hear everyone's advice and input as they clamor to be right. I know what it's like to be the last one left at home, without little siblings to look after. I know what it's like to be an age far older than you thought you'd be while still unmarried. I've felt the shame people place on my shoulders along with- the worst of all- pity.

I have no reason to be pitied- and neither do you. 

Your life doesn't start once you say "I do"- it started the day you were born, the day God wove within your soul grand adventures and plans for you to fulfill. It pulses with the talents and gifts He's given you, just waiting to be tapped into to color your world and bless those around you.

If we're honest, we all wonder why He has us still here as single women. We wonder why it's taken so long, why our well-laid out plans lie crumpled on the floor. It seems He's testing the strength of our starch- whether or not we'll still stand tall. Unfortunately, some don't- they lose hope and succumb to being numb, living a typical American life, void of passion.

You were not made to succumb to typical. 

Let me tell you- the reason you are single is not because God is "still working on your husband".

(Can I pause here and say how much I can't stand that phrase?! Like, really- is my husband some caveman heathen? Because it shouldn't take this long, and that's just a really dismal thought!)

(okay, thank you for that release of steam- now back to original train of thought)

You are not single because of circumstances outside your control or because you are not refined enough. You are not single because your husband hasn't showed up on the scene or- God forbid- he truly is a heathen.

The reason is because you are more effective for the Kingdom in this season as a single woman. 

The reason is because God wants to bless you for your good in this season.

He is not withholding better things down the road- He truly has blessing for you. 

I want to tell you how to seize these moments, to embrace these blessings, to savor these opportunities. I want to tell you how I've found joy and purpose and passion where God has me- and how you can have the same, too.

There are so many things I want to share, so many things on my heart. I hope you stick around for a little series as I share my thoughts over the next few weeks- and I pray it sheds more light on your path, giving you great ideas and honing your vision. Stay tuned!

The Prayer Journey // Fasting in Hunger for More

// Read Part One HERE //

In the journey of prayer, what takes you from simply saying words, to engaging with your whole heart? What kindles the fire in your soul, a yearning for the Kingdom that won't be satisfied until you see the restoration? 

What changes a struggling five minute prayer into hours spent before the throne, not wanting your time interceding to come to an end? 

Last week, I shared how important dedication is. In anything, if you want to master something you have to be dedicated in learning and investing time to that skill. It's no different with prayer. We can all say how we want to become closer to God, but unless we do something it's not going to change overnight. 

You may want a thriving prayer life- but what are you going to do about it? 

Many people find themselves at this crossroad, some without even knowing it. I didn't know I was there myself, until a couple years ago a friend of ours challenged my younger brother to spending 90 days seeking God like he never had before. He suggested fasting from all media, getting rid of smart phones, purging books and music. For a family who has pretty high standards when it comes to media, it didn't seem like too hard of a challenge- until he also asked that my brother would fast once a week and spend at least 30 minutes praying every morning. 

30 minutes. 

I joined in simply because I wanted to support my brother on his journey deeper to the Father's heart. I had no personal motives other than to help him stay accountable- and I had no clue the impact it would have in my own life. 

Fasting was an incredibly difficult thing to do for me. If I don't eat, my blood sugar drops, I get lightheaded, and my reaction time slows considerably. And now here I was, about to fast every week for the next 90 days. The first few weeks were torture- I'd barely make it to 4pm before I would end up eating. I wanted to give up, but it's amazing having accountability. If my brother could do this, I could too. As each week went by, I learned when my body would need to have a sip of juice in order to keep going and at what times I needed to be in prayer in order to keep focused. 

It was a journey, crying out for more of God and less of me. 

But that was only the fasting part- prayer was an even bigger mountain to climb. 

During our weekly fast day, we were supposed to take 30-60 minutes to pray in the afternoon. I will never forget my first few weeks of fasting. I'd go into my room in the afternoon to pray, sit on my floor and not know where to start. I'd read Scripture, listen to worship music, and pray...and then look in horror to see that it had only been 15 minutes. I was frustrated at how time dragged by and how I just couldn't seem to keep my attention. 

Yet I was determined- I would learn to enter in. 

I tried many things and slowly found what worked best for me. I'd listen to worship music and let that begin to direct my prayers. I'd write my prayers out in my journal so that I'd stay focused on every word. I'd read Scripture and pray the verses back to Him, changing it to make it personal. Soon, 15 minutes stretched to 30 and then into 50. Eventually it wasn't a chore or something I didn't know what to do with. While before it seemed void of emotion, now I was overwhelmed with who God was and who I was not. I would cry before the Lord over the things I was facing that week that burdened me, I would cry in repentance and in longing of heart. I would laugh with joy as a lyric or a verse would come, almost in response to what I was praying about. And, at times I would just be still before Him- soaking in His presence without a word. 

I began to lose track of time. 

Instead of feeling like I had too much time to fill, I began to feel like I didn't have enough. Soon I'd hear the family call for dinner and feel like I'd barely had time to pray. It was more than a beautiful change, it was the blossoming of a rich and vibrant relationship with the Creator of the Universe in a way I had never experienced before. 

If you do something with all your strength, your heart and emotions will follow. 

Somehow the 90 days went from dragging by to being over in a second. My brother and I had found a treasure we didn't know was missing from our lives, and we decided to take it beyond the 90 days- and I haven't stopped since. Each week, my prayer and fasting day is the one I look forward to the most. My soul craves it just as much as it craves the sabbath. It's my day to quiet my soul before the Lord, to intercede for people I know, to seek guidance for my week. It's one thing to pray every day, but it's another to fast in total dedication to seeking the Father's will. 

Whenever people tell me how they want to develop a deeper prayer life, I always suggest this same challenge. Yes, it starts out hard. Yes, it takes work and dedication. 

But be prepared to go deeper into the heart of God like you never have before. 

i will engage // yelling at the devil

It's the season of miracles. 

I suppose you need the darkness in order to see the light, but right now I'm not ready for it.

I'm not ready for more spots. More cancer. 

I'm not ready, so I hide. I go to work, take my classes, try to get over this never-ending cold I have while working out how to rearrange everything into a feasible schedule. I don't let my emotions engage. I take the news in survival mode, where things are statistics and solutions.

It's not that I don't care- I care too much. 

As siblings, we all have this bond. We have the same blood in our veins. When one of us hurts, we all hurt- each in our own way. Some of us hide. Some of us run. Some of us talk, some of us stay silent. We all process it differently, all share it differently...but we all hurt.

I don't want to hide- I want to engage. 

After a long week of classes and being sick myself, I drove home from work today feeling so unconnected. I think back to the last time there was spots on his brain, and no emotion was almost as bad as feeling so much. How can I engage? Stay sane? A song came over the radio, and I sat there in traffic feeling numb.

I am not ready to live without him. 

Words seemed trapped in my mouth, words I wanted to say but wasn't sure if it would be acceptable. If they would be appropriate. If this was how I needed to engage. I tried twice, but they didn't come out.

I took a deep breath, and forced my mouth open:

I yelled at the devil. 

I shook my fist in traffic and shouted-

You cannot take him. 

As soon as the words were out, the tears came. The wall I built around my soul to stop the pain came crumbling down in a flood. I blinked hard to see the slow moving cars surrounding me.

If God wants to take him, it's His right, but I refuse to sit by and let anything else steal him away. Refuse to see anything except the complete restoration and redemption in his life. I refuse to just stand by and pray simple prayers.

I will war.

There in traffic, I shouted out my prayers while the broken dam of tears found their release. I yelled out prayers for him, for my other brothers, for things that have weighed heavy on my heart this week but I've stuffed them aside in my mode to survive. I shouted out for redemption and restoration, for the ability to engage and to awaken my soul to war.

My voice shakes- but I yell out praise for the times he had clear scans. For the time we've had to breathe.

I won't be silent. Cannot be silent.

I will be the watchman for the restoration of my brothers. 

The enemy is defeated. 

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. 

Fear and Fatih

2014 was an amazing year.

It was my year of redemption, to stand on the mountaintops and to see that the past two years of pain were not for nothing. That ever step I took- even in the dark- was on one sure path to the destination He had intended for me.

It was my year of E'chad, my year to be one with God- to be so focused on doing all for His glory and for Him alone that I wasn't concerned on pleasing the crowds and dancing for the approval of others. I won't pretend it was easy- but it was so, so worth it.

It was restoration. To see Him open His hand with good things as I sought who He is, as I pursued a deeper relationship far more intimate than it had ever been before. It was beautiful, and I didn't want it to end.

2015 came, and I determined I would continue on my one-word journey with Emuna- faith- knowing that everything that comes into my life is for a purpose and a reason. It's a year of hope, believing that He has good things in store and that He works all things for my good. Trusting that everything He allows is to shape my character and to grow me into the woman He wants me to be.

I was ready for another year of great things- but in order to get great things, it takes great work, too. Only real risk tests the reality of a belief.

Faith...it seems so simple. Believing like a child. No fear, no anxiety...serenity. Not knowing all the details, and that being okay.

I didn't realize that to say yes to the Year of Emuna was also to say yes to the Year of No Fear.

And that's terrifying.

It's terrifying to jump out of the boat. Terrifying to do the hard things. To do the uncomfortable, the uncommon, the overlooked. Terrifying to take the initiative, to put your heart out there and stake it all on what God has called you to do.

It's terrifying to take that leap of faith. 

Faith isn't defined by comfort or complacency. It's defined by forgoing all logic and statistics, by taking both feet off of solid ground and knowing God is going to meet you there.

Fear and faith cannot coexist. 

I can't trust God and not act upon it. If I say I want increased faith, I have to know that the ground I stand on is going to shift from underneath my feet. I have to know that when the walls crack and the rain pours and the storm swells, that it is well because He's got it all in His Hands. Faith means I can't sit idle. I have to be out there, getting my hands dirty and my brow sweaty, doing hard things in completely faith that He is going to take my tiny measure and make it into something more.

I can't fear failure. I can only trust His faithfulness.

From E'chad to Emuna, I stand at the edge of the cliff and my knees shake. My heart races.

But this is living fully alive. 

Throw fear to the wind- because faith demands the leap.

You may feel like you're falling, but this is how He will teach you to fly. 

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.

Enough // Fill the Soul

The tea brews dark in the clear pot, the sound of the kettle still bubbling as the leaves sink deep. Steam curls upwards as I pour the golden liquid into an artsy hand-painted mug- the mug that is my favorite, with all its perfect imperfections and uneven beauty. I wrap my hands around ceramic and breathe long and slow. It smells of havdalah in a cup, sweet and spicy. Havdalah, the closing out of Shabbat, when we begin to count the days until it rolls joyfully around again. 

Some days, I wish I could speed the 24 hour periods between then and when I get to rest in His presence. To be undistracted. Still. Quiet. Listening. Ready. 

So instead I pour a cup a tea, steal away where it's just me and a whole lot of Yeshua. 

I sip slow and deliberate. I soak and absorbe the Word in front of me. I ponder hope. I sing softly holy melodies and try to embrace the few minutes I have before the schedule and grind being anew. Another day dawning, another race to run. Children to love on, souls to feed, people to serve. 

I can't do it on empty. 

I don't know what each day holds, but I know that I am not enough. 

I am not strong enough, brave enough, grace-filled enough, courageous enough, joyful enough. 

Yet He is. 

He fills my soul with the goodness of His presence and that, that is enough. Enough for 4:30am mornings, enough for fussy toddlers, enough for 21 meals cooked in the kitchen, enough for listening to another's life story, enough for my long to-do list, enough to love and forgive even when I just feel too tired to. 

My mug lies empty on the quilt, and time runs its last few grains of sand from the never-ending drip of an hourglass. But my soul- my soul is still and I know that this week He's going to give me all I need. 

All. It is enough. 

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

Made for the Mountain

You and I- we were made for the mountain. 

We weren't made to wallow in the valleys, to camp out on the flat grasslands, to sit in the shade of complacency. 

We were made to climb higher, dig deeper, stretch further. 

That seems all well and good- but what about feeling like we're in the trenches of life? Like the mountain peak vista is so far away- so unobtainable? 

Can we get even a taste of that pure adrenaline glory-water that comes from standing on high places, in the midst of our mediocre mundane? 

You and I, we're made for the mountain- but what if we've got our eyes on Mount Everest instead of the mountains we need to scale today? 

The momma with her mountains of dishes, laundry, and children toppling on top of each other. The girl with her mountains of schoolwork, job complications, doubts and fears. The son with his mountains of bills, temptations, and workload. 

We pass over these mountains and look to the Mount Everests of amazing accomplishments instead- forgetting that we were made for these mountains too. 

Made to scale the mundane with grace. To overcome these obstacles with peace. Made to tackle each climb with gusto knowing that He is with us every step of the way- that these mountains are holy ground because He's with us.

Mountain climbers are made victorious in the overcoming. 

So take heart, friend- He's already overcome the world. 

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. 

Glorious Unfolding

The water pools in the streets, droplets dancing across the surface. The clouds rumble grey, dimming the lights before the wind carries them away. I watch from the window as the evergreens sway in dance and a mist rises from the ground. The curtains billow, and I edge closer, closer, until my forehead touches the screen.

My heart resonates with this.


I can't help but close my eyes and smile, water spray misting my face. My finger traces the damp windowsill, and I wonder if I should shut this glassy pane- but no. 


In the storm, I smell the fragrance of spring.

In the tempest and storm, life springs forth. In the waiting, He is still creating. And even when I feel the rain beat hard upon my back, I know it is yet for my good- purifying me, causing my roots to sink deeper into Him, into His grace, His love.

I trust in a glorious unfolding.

Because the rain is worth the majesty of the sun bursting forth in glorious array after the storm. Worth the vibrant green of the grass soaking it all up. Worth the brilliant bow of color bent across the sky, a reminder of His enduring promise.

Without the rain, the flowers cannot unfold.

This is life- the storms, the seasons of change, the new and the old and the yet-to-be. And I realize as I pray the Amidah in the jet-black morning, as I bang the pots and pans and the smell of breakfast brings the family together before the dawn- this is glorious. To watch as His glory unfolds- in this world, in the ones you love, in yourself. 

If we knew the end from the beginning, where would the anticipation of the unfolding be? 

I look back, and I am in awe- in awe of the constant refining and the outpouring of His grace to create new things within my soul. I'm speechless, unable to convey all that has been going on in my life and in my heart these past few months, the pruning being done in my life and the anticipation of being on the verge of something new. I am eager to see the unfolding- the gloriously unfolding- of what this new season holds. More refinement. More challenges. More beauty and clearer vision. More opportunity. New chapters, new stories penned by Him. After a year of betrayal and heartache and chemo and cancer, I've only been strengthened. My heart throbs with joy-

And this is just the beginning. 

So let the rain fall, dear one. Soak it up, drink it into your soul, let it seep into all the cracks and wounds. Don't shy away from the storm- life spring up from it. Don't run from the storm, hide in your room, build up fortified walls of protection.

Without the storm, the flowers will not unfold.

(oh, this- an anthem that has been on repeat for the past week. perhaps you'll do the same? make it your candle of hope in the midst of whatever storm you're in?)

Personal // Like Challah Broken

Shabbat is like a whisper of calm, a gentle breeze of peace that floats in through the windows as the sky turns to fire. The music low, the candles lit, the glasses filled, the bread broken. And now, just me alone in the rocker with Mr. Kitten snuggled over my arm as I type. The house quiet. The boys asleep. Mom at the table with the lights dim, book open. 

After one crazy week, peace feels so good. 

My life is not your typical American stereotype. It's a lot of reaching out, a lot of giving, and least I sound like a selfless religious angel, it's often a lot of giving I don't like to do.

Giving my time during a busy week. Giving my family when I feel like I haven't had much time with them myself. Giving our food and money when we're not sure when the next paycheck is coming. Giving up my schedule. Giving when it doesn't feel like it's appreciated. 

This week was a long one (you know, typical stuff- neighbor got arrested, another friend had a texting fight that got sent to our phone, huge misunderstanding over e-mail, having one hour notice before picking up a young teenage girl from the inner city, having said girl's stay turn into a week and a half instead of the originally planned four days, and completely feeling overwhelmed at the ticking clock as we rush to get packed for Israel. yep, can't see how it could get more typical than that), and peace is what my heart has been longing for. 

I've been broken- broken like challah, then passed around. Passed around until I feel like there is no crumb left for myself. 

That's a place I never want to be. 

If I'm at that place, I turn bitter- self-focused instead of other-focused. Too consumed about my own comfort that I withhold that last morsel of nutrition for myself instead of giving it to another soul in desperate need. When I don't like to give- of my time, family, resources, of myself- it's because my eyes have strayed from the goal. 

I'm not asked to give only to those who appreciate. I'm asked to give it all, to all, as He has given to me. 

I have truly experienced that it is more blessed to give than to receive. The neighbor arrested? His mother was the first ones to call us for help. It's wonderful to feel needed. The e-mail mix-up? It was a self-check for us to respond with humility. We all need to stop and look in the mirror of Scripture. To examine. Scrutinize. Become holy as He is holy. The inner city girl? She taught me so much- from grace and unshakeable faith to what areas of the city to avoid (yikes), what weave is (total enlightenment), and how squatters turn on the water and electric (not that I needed that. just sayin'). Everyone is a teacher if our hearts are willing to become a student. 

And packing? It'll get done, even though we'll blink and time is up. What's needed will end up in the suitcases, even if one of us forgets something else. It'll get done, because this is what Yehovah God has called our family to- and He's asking we step out of the boat and onto the waves. Giving to His people. Giving to His Land. 

When you live with hands cracked open to grace, you will be broken and poured out and- even in the chaos and drama- you will be blessed sevenfold. 

Shabbat shalom...sabbath peace...it fills the rooms on our last weekend together, and I cannot begin to imagine the lessons and the blessings this new venture will bring. 

And being broken like bread, passed around? Isn't this what Yeshua has done for us? Do it- whatever sacrifice or giving you're asked to do- in remembrance of Him.

Carving time to Breathe

Things have been silent on the screen, but much has been happening away from it. Another adventure to pack for, suitcases laying wide to be filled on the old honey-colored planks of floor, outfits spilling over the bed- a hodgepodge to be sorted, ordered, and made sense of. Evenings like this make my heartbeat quicken, makes it yearn for the things He's going to do. 

Yet it's a quiet evening, because in the midst of skirts and snacks and journals I carve out time for myself to simply breathe. 

This playing softly, in anticipation of a holy weekend of worship. Tea steaming in my old grad mug, perfect size for little hands like mine. Scripture scrawled on the wall, a reminder of His branding on my life, my very being, what He names me. Candles flickering on the table. 

I close my eyes and breathe. Breathe prayers of eucharisteo. Thanksgiving. Grace. Joy. Ponder the work He is doing, how He's weaving this story of mine. Taking frayed ends, tying them off, and weaving threads of gold through this tapestry instead.  

Who knew a story would be written like this? Not I.

So much higher. So much more beautiful. So much more meaningful. 

It's not just my story- it's yours, too. He's in the midst of your story, too- scripting and sculpting and burning away the dross. Bringing beauty from ashes. It's a promise- I've seen Him do it. 

So take a step back and pause. Close out the world. Take the time to breathe- when we stop rambling into the windy storm, shut our mouths and just listen, we will hear His still small voice in the whisper of the breeze. Enter in- and let Him show you the glory He's weaving, the ends He's snipping, and an awe-stirred realization of His faithfulness in your life. 

He's there in the quiet if you carve the time out to meet Him there. 

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!) 

One Foot

My sneakers pound pavement. It becomes a rhythm, injected with snap, crackle, and pop as  the wet gravel squeaks beneath my feet. 

The only way to move forward is to move forward. Put one foot in front of the other. Pound life's pavement. And you know? It's not easy. 

The blister on the back of my heel is rubbed raw, reminding me of last evening's escape from a soggy outcome. The clouds were black, chasing me, as the clouds rumbled. I wasn't prepared for this. Wore dressy shoes and ended up jogging home on a sprained ankle, big fat droplets of H2O hitting my skin from time to time. 

Sometimes, you just can't be prepared for life. 

Life turns and twists when we least expect. The sidewalk cracks under our feet. Some slabs raise for the sheer purpose of clipping our toes and tumbling us upon the cold earth. Others sink as we lose our footing. You can't be prepared- but you have to keep going. 

In order to move forward, you have to leave something behind. Put one foot in front of the other despite the pain. Leave behind broken dreams and promises. And you know? Sometimes your failures will look like inviting lawn chairs in the cool of the shade, inviting you to chill there. Become complacent. Sit lazily as your soul rots away- because we were made to move forward. 

We can't stay still. Can't sit there and nurse our wounds, can't stay and siesta in the sun. One foot. One foot in front of the other. Again and again....and again. 

If we're not pressing into Yehovah God, then who are we pressing into? Our own selfish desires? 

...

Relentless pursuit of Him. It's what He's calling us to. He's asking us to trust Him to take care of the pain, to bandage the blisters and to stitch up the wounds of our heart and soul. Leave the soulful healing to Him- keep pressing through the discomfort and the stripping away of all that hinders us from running fully to Him. 

Abba, strip it away in me so that my feet run swift and sure to Your Throne. 

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.