tag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:/blogs/bartledoo?p=10"I'm in pain, but it's a beautiful pain"2023-03-30T07:10:22-04:00Everything is Importantfalsetag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/71810802023-03-30T07:10:22-04:002024-02-24T09:35:52-05:00He's Coming For You<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/229030/2790d8501072f4594e7a71fc44c48fd75b6341a1/original/image-6487327.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p><p> </p><p>I started to feel like the woman with the issue of blood.</p><p>It wasn’t just one area of hemorrhage in my life, but a thousand micro cuts of the heart. It was 2 years of what felt like constant sickness in our household, a few unexpected losses that left me reeling from grief, and the moving of our family from home to home numerous times.<span> </span></p><p>As if the settling and uprooting of a single move is not disorienting enough.<span> </span></p><p>I dreaded being asked how I was doing and felt like I needed to lie or downplay the truth. If I didn’t want the heaviness of my present reality, why would anyone else?</p><p>On top of the isolation and pain that comes with prolonged seasons of suffering, there is the subtle danger of beginning to believe that life will always be this way.</p><p>That heartbreak is not just part of my story, but that it IS my story.<span> </span></p><p>That sickness will be my constant companion.<span> </span></p><p>That life and the simplest of tasks will always feel this hard.<span> </span></p><p>If this is the season you find yourself in, here’s what I want you to know about Jesus.</p><p>He’s coming for you.<span> </span></p><p>The woman with the issue of blood desperately needed healing and would stop at nothing to get to Jesus. (Luke 8:43)<span> </span></p><p>But here is what is also true…</p><p><i>Jesus stops at nothing to get to you.</i></p><p>He enters the darkness, the rock bottom, the gutter of our experiences, and the bed you can barely get yourself out of and sits with you until you believe that with Him, you can.</p><p>You can and you will, beloved. You will rise again. You will hope and dream again.<span> </span></p><p>God does not change. The same God who raised Jesus from the dead still raises us from our ashes today.<span> </span></p><p>Heartbreak is not your story. It is part of your story and one that God will redeem and have triumph over.</p><p>Sickness may feel like your constant companion but wholeness is also yours. The wholeness that comes with knowing who and Whose you are, in spite of the pain.</p><p>He’s coming for you and when He does, the landscape of everything changes.<span> </span></p><p> </p><p> </p><p><br> </p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/71377162023-01-13T16:55:45-05:002023-02-16T03:59:56-05:00The Courage of Showing Up for Your Life<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/4752dbbd81432720cd8f133a227a9cd36d9a0a84/original/winnie-sue.jpeg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>I think one of the most courageous things you can do is to keep showing up for your life. </p>
<p>I am not where I want to be, not in terms of healing, personal goals, relationships, overcoming the impossible standard of perfectionism or most aspects of my life honestly. </p>
<p>The unkind version of my brain wants to shame myself. </p>
<p>Should be further along in my healing journey. </p>
<p>Should have already finished that degree. </p>
<p>Should be past that area of lifelong struggle. </p>
<p>Should have written that book and 2 more by now. </p>
<p>Should have pursued that friendship harder. </p>
<p>And I am not saying that it’s not good practice to have an honest conversation with the person in the mirror about needed areas of growth and improvement. It’s always a good idea. </p>
<p>But so is a compassionate conversation. </p>
<p>So is the realization that you are quite possibly doing the best that you can with the life you’ve been given or have chosen. </p>
<p>I recently said out loud to a group of women that I am choosing in the here and now to be proud of myself for how far I’ve come over the past year. </p>
<p>Did it feel 100% true as I said it? <em>Of course not</em>. </p>
<p>But the more important thing in that moment is that I was choosing the hard thing, to show kindness and compassion towards myself and the parts of me that aren’t as far along as they “<em>should</em>” be. </p>
<p>Who determines that anyway? And when did they get a say in this life they have not lived? </p>
<p>I just think you should be a little kinder to yourself. </p>
<p>For all that your heart has been a witness to. For the heartache you silently carry. For all the times you didn’t want to get out of bed, but your feet found their way to the floor anyway. </p>
<p>You’re still here, letting the light seep in where it can. </p>
<p>You’re still showing up, kindling that flicker of hope that eventually, will spark into a burning flame. </p>
<p>I see you and I think it’s pretty remarkable really.</p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/69489632022-04-15T10:08:02-04:002022-08-09T15:36:08-04:00It's Not the End of the Story<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/ae13ad8ad9bcf60ec4d82172b709ed6018eba4d4/original/image-6483441.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p>When someone is nearing death and speaking their last words to those around them, those words suddenly become some of the most important words they will ever hear. </p>
<p>It’s no longer a distracted audience. </p>
<p>No one is scrolling their phone and half listening. </p>
<p>No one is running to grab a coffee real quick. </p>
<p>They are hanging on to every word like every breath and every word is priceless. There is no more time. Time is up. </p>
<p>Today was that day for Jesus. </p>
<p>And we can learn a lot about his character and His heart from what He chose to say. </p>
<p><em>“Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” </em></p>
<p><em>“Today, you will be with me in paradise.” </em></p>
<p><em>“Woman, behold your son. Son, behold your mother.” </em></p>
<p><em>“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” </em></p>
<p><em>“I thirst.” </em></p>
<p><em>“It is finished.” </em></p>
<p><em>“Father, into Your hands I commend My spirit.”</em> </p>
<p>Let’s not rush to skip to resurrection morning without a pause and a deep lament that acknowledges the pain of today. </p>
<p>We see His humanity and His struggle in His words and even in the midst of agony, we see His concern for others before Himself. </p>
<p>When He said, “Woman, behold your son,” He was speaking to His own mother. And I cannot even imagine the pain He could see in her eyes. </p>
<p>In that statement, He was asking John to look after Mary, whose own soul was being crushed in that moment and He was reminding Mary that while she was losing a son, she was gaining John. </p>
<p>And John was a son worth having. He was a fiercely loyal friend and one of the only ones who stayed, even for the cross. </p>
<p>Beloved, God is careful about all things concerning you. </p>
<p>I know sometimes it feels as though God is sitting on His hands. Jesus wrestled with this too and felt forsaken. </p>
<p>So as we pause on this Good Friday, let’s remind ourselves that if it feels anything other than good right now, it’s because it’s not the end of the story. </p>
<p>God is careful with all things concerning you.</p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/69367612022-03-31T09:44:27-04:002022-07-23T17:10:59-04:00An Invitation to Return<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/7189c4436e8b3f284b93dd6df5ae33ec5b7557b3/original/277226545-3343473305923647-1722466177640401855-n.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>We’ve been lied to from the beginning. </p>
<p>The worst part of the story of the fall in Genesis 3 was not their disobedience to a command God had given them. God knew, after all, that we would all have this bend towards the choice of rebellion, and loved us enough to create us even still. </p>
<p>The worst part was the lie they began to believe about themselves based on their poor decision. It’s where we see shame enter the human narrative and the war against our identity begin. </p>
<p>“Did God really say?” becomes the question at play and it begins to flesh out in this way… </p>
<p>Did He really say that we are made in His image? </p>
<p>Did He really declare all that He had made good? Even you. Even me. Even in all of our messy humanness. </p>
<p>Beloved, you don’t have to walk through every door that presents itself. </p>
<p>You don’t have to believe every thought that you think. </p>
<p>You don’t have to believe that your future is defined by your past. </p>
<p>We have choices here. We get to say, “I don’t accept that.” We get to refuse the lie. </p>
<p>Maybe our greatest act of rebellion starts with our disbelief in what God has said about who and Whose we are. </p>
<p>Maybe it’s time to start viewing the story of the fall as an invitation to return, back to Genesis 1 & 2 and to start living from that place. </p>
<p>“Above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it.” Proverbs 4:23 (NIV)</p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/69174242022-03-08T18:50:21-05:002022-03-08T18:51:52-05:00Your Body is For You<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/5b09988a25e968c03605732a06ae3d5fb9d74371/original/14a-0385.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Your body- your mind, soul and spirit is 100% for you 100% of the time. </p>
<p>I've had to remind myself of that in recent years, since my later thirties and the birth of my daughter ushered in hormonal issues that have often left me feeling upside down and foreign to myself. </p>
<p>I was mostly silent about my struggle until I began to realize how many other women also battle in silence. If you've been there and you know, I see you and my heart goes out to you. And if you haven't been there and you don't know, be so grateful. </p>
<p>There was this moment recently when I standing in the face of the chaos and irregularity that my body had been thrown into, where I actually wanted to weep. Not because of hormones. Not because of discomfort or inconvenience, although, that too. </p>
<p>I felt a deep sense of sorrow for the confusion my whole being was experiencing and even more sorrow for the resentment I felt towards myself. It felt like a betrayal of sorts. </p>
<p>Because the reality is, this body-mind, soul, and spirit, has carried me through the past 41 years. It has been fiercely loyal to me. It has produced life and carried death, miscarriage, trauma and has been asked to bear so much. </p>
<p>And through it all, it has been on my side more than anyone or anything. 100% for me 100% of the time. Always fighting for me. </p>
<p>The realization of this is more sacred than I will ever fully have words for. </p>
<p>I felt sorrow for all the times I've resented my body. For all the times I wished parts of myself looked different or like someone else. I felt sorrow for all the times I've disrespected myself, for all the times I've allowed others to, for the times I've spoken unkindly to the mirror and to others about this vessel that has carried me through all my years. </p>
<p>So to you, the one reading this, let it get heart deep this time. Don't let it take a crisis to make you realize the sacredness of your whole being. </p>
<p>Let's not pick ourselves apart anymore. </p>
<p>You and I, we are wonders to behold. All of you. All of me. All of us. <em>The beloved ones. </em></p>
<p>Sacred. </p>
<p>Let's be fiercely loyal back. </p>
<p>Let's be 100% on our own side. </p>
<p>Let's be wholly thankful and honoring of our bodies that have carried us through all of this beautiful life. They endure a lot on our behalf.</p>
<p>Happy International Women's Day. </p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/69108512022-03-01T17:18:30-05:002022-03-01T17:18:30-05:00Sometimes Blinders are Necessary<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/e9ed1414bfdb9c8350e7e1a3a325c12d347bf31a/original/275032567-4900443580063899-5688573304127480867-n.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I didn’t want to just work at that place,” he told me from across the table with a sheepish grin. </p>
<p>“I wanted to own the place.” </p>
<p>He was telling me about the first place he worked upon release from prison and how it felt like a dead end job and where dreams go to die. </p>
<p>It was a necessary stop on his journey and the options were few at the time. So he accepted the job and punched the clock and endured the monotony of this place in life that he didn’t want to be. </p>
<p>And we all know about necessary stops on the journey, don’t we? </p>
<p>We all know about being in places, seasons and waiting rooms that we don’t want to be, and the emotional and spiritual toll that can take. </p>
<p>What makes the journey increasingly difficult is not actually our circumstances at the time but our vision and the way we interpret them. </p>
<p>When horses race, they are often made to wear blinders, hindering their peripheral vision so they can only see what’s right in front of them and aren’t distracted by their jockey or the crowd. </p>
<p>Hence the reason it’s important to keep a sense of vision and purpose in front of you at all times, a reminder of why you are running this life race. </p>
<p>“I wanted to own the place.” </p>
<p>He didn’t actually want to own <em>that</em> place but it was a symbolic statement that he saw greatness in himself and his future and knew that he wouldn’t accept less for his life. </p>
<p>He wanted to own his place in life and he had set the bar high. And I believe that because he has the ability to see it, he absolutely will. </p>
<p>If you’re on one of those necessary stops in life and feeling weary on the journey, maybe it’s time to put on the blinders and ask yourself why you’re running in the first place. </p>
<p>Don’t believe for a second that your now has to determine your forever. </p>
<p>Eyes on the prize. Let’s stay the course. Let’s own our place in life.</p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/69108352022-03-01T17:15:03-05:002022-03-01T17:15:03-05:00The Key to Freedom<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/23a5d139e00f50b581bb042e2acbb62a6d6090d7/original/275061337-4897444233697167-240627403078705449-n.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beloved, can I tell us both something that is really hard to hear? </p>
<p>I promise it’s a truth that is an ally and a friend if we are willing to let it do its work. </p>
<p><em>It’s time to stop making excuses.</em> </p>
<p>I have about a dozen or so that I offer up routinely, almost by default, my mind responding like a parrot that has been trained. </p>
<p>And it has. It has been conditioned by me, unintentionally, to keep myself powerless and stuck, when I’m the one holding the key to my own freedom. </p>
<p>It’s not that my life is any harder than anyone else’s. That just isn’t true. Heartbreak, loss, tragedy and grief are universal and understood by all. No one gets out of this life thing without experiencing a loss that hurts like hell. </p>
<p>It’s not that I am any busier than anyone else. We all are given 24 hrs in a day. It’s just that sometimes I don’t manage my time well and don’t always prioritize correctly. We make time for what is important to us. </p>
<p>It’s not that anyone else is more motivated or more creatively inspired or has a stronger will power than I do. They don’t. They don’t wake up every morning ready to conquer the world. They just tell their negative thoughts to shut up and do the thing ANYWAY. </p>
<p>It’s not that she or he has an inside track with Jesus. It might just be that they spend way more time with Him and who you spend time with, you become like and you know. </p>
<p>Ooooh. Ouch. I know. I really know. </p>
<p>But that’s where freedom comes. </p>
<p>There is this story in John chapter 5 of a paralyzed man who has been laying on his mat his whole life. When Jesus approached him, He asked him if he wanted to get well. </p>
<p>Feels kind of cruel doesn’t it? </p>
<p>But the man doesn’t reply with a screaming YES, he instead offers up excuses to Jesus, the One who holds all healing and power, of why he continues to lay there. </p>
<p>If we aren’t careful, we can find ourselves laying on our own mat, nursing our grudges, tending to our list of reasons and excuses of why we aren’t moving forward in life. </p>
<p>Jesus tells him to take up his mat and walk. </p>
<p>And I think that’s the invitation to us too. </p>
<p>Take it up. Carry it. Drag it if you have to but get up and walk. </p>
<p>We have the power through Him to do it. Let’s take back the power.</p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/69108342022-03-01T17:11:50-05:002022-03-01T17:11:50-05:00The Journey Home<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/d2f9f374b44ee31ada5168d832f04013ecd16e1d/original/274813154-4886541134787477-1778989330853914098-n.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>The journey home to self was one of the longest that I ever faced. </p>
<p>There were events and lies I believed that carried me away from the place of youth and innocence, where I was once carefree and viewed the world with wide-eyed curiosity and trust and believed that I was loved and worth loving. </p>
<p>Instead, shame entered my narrative and began to lie to me and tell me who I was. And when truth hasn’t made its way from head to heart, it’s easy to settle for lesser lies. </p>
<p>You see, I never really liked or understood the story of the prodigal son until I became him. </p>
<p>No, our stories are not exactly alike. I didn’t ask my parents for my inheritance while they are still living and then go blow it on “wild living” but I wandered away from my position as a daughter who is dearly loved in other ways. </p>
<p>Every time I sought my worth in people and places that could never give it to me. </p>
<p>Every time I accepted less than I deserved and betrayed my own soul looking for love in places that would only further break me. </p>
<p>Every time I didn’t listen to my own intuition or spoke unkindly to myself or believed the lie that I am insignificant. </p>
<p>The return home to self, to truth, to the realization that I am the beloved began with the knowing that the Father stood at the edge of that driveway and waited the whole time. </p>
<p>He waited for <em>me</em>. </p>
<p>He never turned the porch light off. Never stopped pacing the floors. Never stopped praying and watching for my return. </p>
<p>When the prodigal son returns to his senses and decides to go home, it says that “while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion..” </p>
<p>Only a Father who watches and waits see his son or daughter from a long way off. </p>
<p>And so it is with you, beloved. </p>
<p>The first step in the journey home begins with a realization. </p>
<p>There is nothing you could do, or believe, or think, or feel that can shift your position a single inch. </p>
<p>You still remain a daughter. </p>
<p>You still remain a son. </p>
<p>And most important of all, you still remain the <em>dearly beloved</em>. </p>
<p>When we learn to live out of that realization, it changes everything. You don’t have to strive or figure out how to be something you already are.</p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/68878022022-02-03T15:30:31-05:002022-02-03T17:29:06-05:00Permission to Hope Again<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/4c7fa05535e517cfc13e2ac69fe7c042be039b01/original/271138122-3278278935776418-2407089561918615973-n.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dear 2021, </p>
<p>You legit broke my heart and I am still on the long road of mending. My 10,000 pictures hold the proof, of hard seasons of transition and uprooting, of sitting in laundromats when it felt like the whole world should stop but it keeps right on. Of the days that followed each loss, when smiles reach your face but don’t quite reach your heart. </p>
<p>The pictures are also proof of the good. <em>So. Much. Good.</em> It just takes the heart a while to catch up to that truth and that’s okay. Sometimes the heart needs a reminder. </p>
<p>A dear friend gifted me with this hourglass for my birthday in September, which was 13 days after one of those losses and one of the saddest days of my life. She had no idea why she chose it and only followed the prompting of her heart, that still small voice that said, “That’s it. That’s the one.” </p>
<p>But I knew why. I knew because I had listened to someone talking just weeks before about how God stands outside of time. He knows all realities. All possibilities. All outcomes. All the answers to our what if’s and would’ve, could’ve, should’ve in a situation. All of which are met with the promise of sovereignty and redemption and the reminder that He is the essence of love. He is not just loving. He IS love. </p>
<p>It’s my most treasured gift this year. </p>
<p>Yes, 2021 was harder than I ever could have imagined. And I am under no illusion that 2022 will be all rainbows and sunshine. </p>
<p>But the reminder that God stands outside of this earthly sense of time that I am so caught up in comforts me immensely and gives my heart permission to hope again. And again. And again.</p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/68877892022-02-03T15:25:44-05:002022-02-25T12:34:11-05:00Finding Life in the Hardest of Places<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/a3186d0ec20196300ab0c312f41b5f1e72243b65/original/269714017-3269963793274599-8166754757145516682-n.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Journal Entry: December 25th, 2013 </p>
<p><em>37 days and a wake from release… </em></p>
<p><em>“I woke up at 7AM and made fudge to pass out. Also woke up with 5 Christmas cards under my door. One was from Caleb and Ethan. Caleb picked it out, a card of Mary and baby Jesus. His card last year was in Spanish. We had our secret gift exchange. Alice gave me a pink composition notebook and pink knitted socks.” </em></p>
<p>37 days. That’s how close I was to something I had waited for 6 years to arrive, a small eternity at the time. </p>
<p>One of the ways that I survived that experience was by learning to live in the actual day that I was in. </p>
<p>If I had solely focused on February 7th, 2014, my heart could not have taken it. There’s a Proverb that says, “Hope deferred makes the heart sick.” (Proverbs 13:12 NIV) </p>
<p>Literally. When hope is so delayed in coming, it produces an unbearable grief of sorts. One that drains you of all energy or desire to wake in the morning. </p>
<p>So while, yes, my heart dreamed of that day, my heart also had to find the strength to find life in the place that my feet were planted. I had to accept the fact that I would never wake up on Christmas morning at the age of 34 again. And even though I wasn’t with my babies and life was not anything like I pictured or hoped it would be, there was still so much richness to be found. </p>
<p>Like fudge on Christmas morning and the gift of a handwritten card and friends and pink composition notebooks and knitted socks. And above all, the promise of scripture to restore all that had been devoured in my life. </p>
<p>Yesterday, I spoke briefly at an event about Advent and the coming of Jesus, and how easy it can be in difficult seasons to stop looking for the “coming” of answers, or the coming of hope, restoration, healing, or whatever your need is. </p>
<p>Here’s what is important to remember: the arrival of Jesus was the incarnation of God. “The Word became flesh and blood and moved into the neighborhood.” John 1:14 (MSG) </p>
<p>This Word, this Person, existed with God from the very beginning. When the world laid wild and waste, before galaxies were formed, before your first cry at birth, or before your worst day on the timeline of your life. </p>
<p>Which means hope has always been part of the story. He was written into the narrative from the beginning, Jesus, which means, “He saves.” </p>
<p>The One who is “coming” has always been. He IS, even in your present circumstances. Even when all seemingly evidence points to the contrary. </p>
<p>Beloved, Jesus can help you find joy and abundant life in the places where the worst pain of your life also exists. This much I know is true. </p>
<p>Look for that abundant life today. It’s there, I promise. May we have eyes and ears to receive it.</p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/68877732022-02-03T15:14:00-05:002022-02-03T15:27:37-05:00The Counter Voices<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/d81d22cf5ea9b62214589ea1b6301135491ea5b4/original/245386017-3222704391333873-2950110095304218740-n.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sometimes we need a counter-voice to the one inside our head. So I put myself back in counseling. I say that with zero shame, one- because it’s healthy to recognize and be able to admit when you need outside help, and two- by the time a person usually arrives at this conclusion, they are so desperate for relief that they don’t care how others might perceive them. </p>
<p>So there I sat, across from this stranger, pressing my wadded-up tissue against my palm, and giving her a window into my soul and recent events. </p>
<p>She listened, closing her eyes at times, almost like a nod of familiarity to this grief experience I was describing. Whether from personal experience or proximity by profession, I am not certain, but either way, she understood. </p>
<p>She told me that anyone would be feeling what I am given the circumstances, inviting me to give myself permission and freedom to feel, to walk alongside the pain and not rush to run past it. </p>
<p>I had someone ask me to be that counter-voice recently, and she shared that just four raw months after the most unimaginable loss in her life, someone told her that she couldn’t use it as an excuse forever. </p>
<p><em>I know</em>. I felt rage on her behalf too. How unfair to have insult added to brutal injury, and to be told to just get over something that quite honestly, no one could. </p>
<p>She eventually came out of it, she told me. She was able to get out of bed again and could actually remember a full day without it being a blur, and her appetite slowly returned. </p>
<p>But it wasn’t because someone judged her grief and told her how to process it. </p>
<p>It was because of all the people who surrounded her with love. </p>
<p><em>The counter voices. </em></p>
<p>The ones who said, “I can’t imagine what you’re feeling, but I’m here for you. </p>
<p>“I care.” </p>
<p>“I will make you something to eat.” </p>
<p>“It won’t always feel this way.” </p>
<p>“Let’s go outside for a walk.” </p>
<p>If you’re reading this and you feel stuck in a vulnerable place of pain, know that it’s ok to ask for help. </p>
<p>It doesn’t make you weak or more broken than others. It just means that sometimes life hands you something too big to process on your own. </p>
<p>No one gets to tell you what to feel or how long to feel it. Period.</p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/68877712022-02-03T15:10:48-05:002022-02-03T15:11:22-05:00Reconciliation-When Broken Things are Made Good Again<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/bca6c56c288c460bab9ba8ce0d23987f3c7bdadb/original/241438444-3205453219725657-5160233430578494818-n.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>I sat across a table from my dad a few days ago. 5 years have passed since we last saw each other. I don’t say that as an indictment towards either of us, but merely for context and out of acknowledgment that our relationship has been strained. </p>
<p>We caught up briefly, hugged, said, “I love you’s” and parted ways, making promises to do better at staying in each other’s lives. </p>
<p>Maybe we will and maybe we won’t. Time is the only real teller of truth. But I do know this, our intentions are good, and that, I can make peace with, even if we fail once again at this whole messy and complicated human relationship thing. </p>
<p>Can I share something that feels like one of the greatest truths I’ve ever known? </p>
<p>It’s this: God’s heart is <em>ALWAYS</em> for reconciliation. </p>
<p>Don’t be mistaken. I don’t mean in the sense of returning or continuing in relationships that are destructive or abusive in nature. Not what I’m talking about here. </p>
<p>I mean this, when someone has inflicted injury in some way, when they’ve failed in their humanity, made promises they couldn’t keep, let you down, failed to live up to who you thought they should be or committed some act that you deem unforgivable... </p>
<p>When and if that person extends the olive branch of peace towards you, I don’t think you have to pray about what God would have you do in that situation. Because God would take it. </p>
<p>And taking it doesn’t mean you’re going to start hanging out every weekend or ever. It simply means you give them a “safe passage through your mind,” as a poet, Buddy Wakefield, once said (paraphrased). </p>
<p>The word “reconcile” comes from a Latin form of the word that means, “<em>to make good again.” </em></p>
<p>Reconciliation-when broken things are “made good again.” There’s something about those moments when the world feels as it should be for a brief moment in time. </p>
<p>I’m not saying it’s easy. I just think if God is in the business of reconciling all of humanity to Himself, maybe we should be too. If we are made in His image, maybe when people are reconciled to each other, they are drawn closer to Him too.</p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/68877702022-02-03T15:06:03-05:002022-02-03T15:06:45-05:00Every Little Thing<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/7adc47506fc9552586f60c73b7884bce570fa5f1/original/241479385-3203198489951130-1305896992486642171-n.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Maybe the secret to surviving any form of loss and pain is to lean harder into love. To open our heavy hearts, to make more room in them, to pull out a chair and invite someone to sit and stay, and to keep giving ourselves away. </p>
<p>It feels counterintuitive since pain often makes us want to do the very opposite. It makes us want to withdraw and lock the door. The loss is too great, it seems, to think of opening ourselves up to the possibility of experiencing that again. </p>
<p>This is not our kitten by the way. He belongs to my mom, and we all find ourselves lost in all the cuddling and gushing over this 2-pound little creature that used to be named Jelly Bean. **more gushing ** </p>
<p>Sue Monk Kidd wrote in The Secret Life of Bees that, <em>“every little thing wants to be loved.” </em></p>
<p><em>Yes</em>, indeed. We were created to love and be loved. It’s what breaks us and what heals us. What irony. </p>
<p>Every little thing. </p>
<p>Every big thing. </p>
<p>Every broken thing. </p>
<p>Mended by love. </p>
<p>Perhaps it's the antidote to our suffering. I’m not saying it erases the grief, but the loving part reminds us of why the loss hurts so much in the first place. And through the loving, our hearts are reminded that it’s worth it. </p>
<p>If you’re hurting, go find something or someone to love because every little thing wants and needs it, whether they realize it or not. </p>
<p>And the prickly ones that seem to refuse it? Keep loving. They need it the most. </p>
<p>Love and loss will crack you wide open for sure. If “grief is love with no place to go,” well, I can’t accept that. I will find an “every little thing” that needs it. </p>
<p>Let’s find places for our love to go.</p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/68877682022-02-03T15:03:17-05:002022-02-03T15:03:48-05:00There Was Another in the Fire<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/1f2301241ae10c043c3456656b1c88040a55d336/original/241470959-3197280070542972-5247515653934924053-n.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Perhaps the most agonizing part of our worst moments of pain is not the event itself, but the feeling that we are alone in it. </p>
<p>On the day that I went into the backyard and found our beloved Cash, I screamed for Patrick. In between attempts at CPR, yelling as loud as I could muster and because of the distance from the back of our yard to our house and the competing traffic noise out front, he could not hear me. </p>
<p>And that was one of the worst things about that moment. It was this feeling of absolute helplessness and isolation because I <em>KNEW</em> that he could not hear me. I knew that help was not going to come and it was just me. </p>
<p>In hindsight, there is nothing he could have done, but something about being in that moment by myself made the pain of it so much worse. </p>
<p>And then something happened yesterday while I was sitting in my office at work. I wasn't thinking about last Sunday. I wasn't looking for comfort. I was just doing work stuff with the radio playing softly in the background and I heard these lyrics: </p>
<p>“There was another in the fire</p>
<p>Standing next to me” </p>
<p>It's talking about a story from the book of Daniel, the one we hear often as children, of the 3 Hebrew boys who were put into a furnace because they wouldn't bow to a false god, and right there in that furnace, an image of a fourth person is seen in the furnace with them. </p>
<p>And I knew. And the tears sprung fresh from a well of pain currently held in my heart and from a long history of walking with God through the worst moments of my life. </p>
<p><em>Of course, You were there. </em></p>
<p>You followed me out the back door that day. </p>
<p>You stood next to me as I held him and screamed for help that would not be found. </p>
<p>You knew his life would end that day. </p>
<p>You knew our hearts would break. </p>
<p><em>And I think it broke yours too because that's who I know You to be. </em></p>
<p>And I think you're a God who weeps and a good Father, who never leaves. One who never blinks, and who hurts when we hurt because that's what good fathers do. </p>
<p>Maybe you need to know that too about your past or current pain. There's another in the fire. You don't walk through any of it alone. </p>
<p>All the love from my heart to yours.</p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/68877672022-02-03T14:59:57-05:002022-02-03T15:27:50-05:00The Danger of Comparative Suffering<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/cda26d6fe640ecc15671c87d337eeb6b357ae14c/original/241285856-3194978737439772-1909649222128894218-n.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>One of the greatest temptations when going through a loss or difficult time is this human tendency towards “comparative suffering.” It's when we compare our pain or experience to another person’s, and then often determine ours as less than by comparison or severity. </p>
<p>I've had to push away guilt over the amount that I've cried since the loss of our beloved dog, Cash. I don't know that I've ever cried so much in my life or maybe it's just that time is a gift in that it dulls the memory of certain events. </p>
<p>And here's the thing, I've lost people who were the center of my world. So did I love my dog more and love them less? </p>
<p><em>Of course not.</em> </p>
<p>Don't get caught in the trap. Don't compare your current pain to your past pain. Don’t measure your pain against global suffering or to someone else’s loss or current experience. </p>
<p>It's a rabbit hole that doesn't lead to Wonderland. It leads to more suffering and delayed grief and maybe worse than anything, dishonors the love and loss of your current experience. </p>
<p>I may have never retched in a toilet while sobbing with past pain, but that doesn't mean I loved any less or that it hurt any less. I tell you that to free myself of any judgment and to release myself from the care of how anyone else may perceive that. </p>
<p>I loved him <em>so</em> much. The loss is great and it hurts like hell and it's going to for a long time. </p>
<p>And the same may be true of your situation. Your pain is your pain. Don't dishonor it by comparing it to someone else’s.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/e8d31e1882089662e8835b1e6bffcfd8736d03f2/original/241089853-3193653947572251-8387320726348744670-n.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /><span class="font_small"><em>And to our Cash...our lives will never be the same without you. I'll miss you forever.</em></span></p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/68877642022-02-03T14:50:51-05:002022-02-03T14:50:51-05:00Growing Pains<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/759348cfd433e164df5783bdb87a8f03659938cd/original/234632299-3172615786342734-4265136757515368305-n.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"> </p>
<p>She told me today from the backseat that one day she is going to be taller and won't need her car seat anymore. </p>
<p>“Yes, ” I agreed. “You will outgrow it and won't need it anymore.” </p>
<p><em>Such is true for places and seasons of our lives too. </em></p>
<p>We outgrow them. Not in the sense of being superior but simply because they have served their purpose and time in our lives and to stay would be detrimental. </p>
<p>But oh how we like to linger longer than we should. Don't you wish it were more simple, like the way shoes feel when they are too small or as black and white as reaching the height and weight criteria for outgrowing a car seat? </p>
<p>Let's be honest, it's not. Change is scary. We are creatures of comfort and crave the familiar and tend to fear the unknown. </p>
<p>I've been there before, lingering, dragging my feet, waiting for God to give me some firework display of a sign, and doubting what I've learned to be true. </p>
<p>His will is often revealed through the desires of my own cautious heart. I am the one who makes it complicated. </p>
<p>If this resonates with you, then I pray that God would make you so uncomfortable in your place of lingering that you can bear it no more. </p>
<p>And when He does, it's His kindness and grace towards you, I promise. </p>
<p>What we should fear more than anything is all that we are missing by lingering in old places we are meant to move on from. </p>
<p>There is always so much more ahead than anything He calls you to leave behind.</p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/68877602022-02-03T14:45:36-05:002022-02-03T14:46:31-05:00Someone, Somewhere is Watching<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/344891175d5823419e8f114286d4dd89d847c672/original/218381789-3158126047791708-8780695650771645543-n.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>I stopped by the coffee shop today after Patrick sent a text to tell me my former attorney was at the shop. </p>
<p>It has been years since I last saw him. He represented me 13 years ago and waited with me in the trenches as I stood to be sentenced in my cream-colored sweater and pearl earrings and more sorrow than the world could hold. </p>
<p>When I see him, I always feel this bittersweet mix of emotions. I feel like I might want to cry mixed with deep respect and affection. </p>
<p>He was so compassionate and tender towards my family and me, and in moments of great brokenness, those are acts of kindness that you don’t ever forget. He didn’t just see a client sitting across the table. He saw someone his own daughter’s age, and he saw a mother, and he saw someone that could be anyone who had screwed up royally. </p>
<p>Here’s what I want you to know today: </p>
<p>You never know who is watching your life and being impacted deeply by it. </p>
<p>I heard a therapist say something recently that was meant to be liberating, and it was in its context, the idea that “no one is thinking about you.” She was referring to giving people and situations more energy than they deserve, and to stop trying to guess and figure things out, because again, “no one is thinking about you.” I get it. </p>
<p>But. </p>
<p>The opposite is also true. And helpful. There are people that you would never guess who think about you. Your life has far more impact for the good or bad than you may realize. </p>
<p>Someone, somewhere is watching. They ARE thinking about you. Let’s live like that matters.</p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/68877502022-02-03T14:41:54-05:002022-02-03T14:42:22-05:00Firm, Fair, Consistent Love<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/632cf20ba3dfb73e269445f3061c18d4011e1f02/original/214472909-3151633745107605-3015746783016236662-n.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Firm. Fair. Consistent. Love. </p>
<p>I spent the first 3 years of my incarceration training dogs and it saved my life in a thousand ways. It helped absorb my grief when I felt like I would die from the separation from my children. I poured my love and time into their care, and in return, I received unconditional love and a sense of purpose, all of which I desperately needed. </p>
<p>Firmness is needed because a dog's nature is to establish pack order. A dog knows the moment you touch their leash who is Alpha, and if it's not you, you will go from being the trainer to the one being trained. </p>
<p>Fair, because you should not correct a dog for something they have never been taught or have unrealistic expectations or demands of him/her. </p>
<p>Consistent because it's critical to gain trust and for producing the results you hope to see. </p>
<p>And love, simply because every living thing needs it. </p>
<p>Let's linger in the firm for a moment. I spent most of my life wanting to be perceived as “nice.” I had a deep desire to be the good girl and a misperception that being one meant you didn't rock the boat, didn't go against popular opinion, and avoided making others upset with you. </p>
<p>I will spend my life advocating for a kinder world but I have learned that kindness sometimes looks different than you may think. </p>
<p>It's kind to say and do the hard thing when it's done in love. We all have a blindside and need people who will point it out, hold us accountable, keep us on track, and tell us the truth in love. </p>
<p>It's kind to have personal boundaries, to let people know what our expectations are and when they've been crossed. </p>
<p>It's kind to know your worth and not to accept less. It's kind to let go of people who don't see it or make you feel like you're not worth investing in or that you're too much. Patrick rode a bike up the largest and longest hill in Hamilton one time to see me. He was new to the area and didn't know the shorter route. I couldn't drive at the time and he was in between vehicles. But he thought I was worth it. It still heals me when I think about it. </p>
<p>Show the people who wouldn't ride a bike uphill for you to the door. </p>
<p>Firm, fair, consistent, love. Necessary in this life thing.</p>
<p><span class="font_small"><em>Thank you to Jeff Coleson for all you taught me during that season of my life. It saved me in a million ways you'll never fully know.</em></span></p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/68848972022-01-31T18:02:30-05:002022-02-14T01:43:09-05:00It Will Come to Pass<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/a3d4a0f1da019d87dd11e645ede308f5f6392630/original/210123744-3144344612503185-6614455083826921092-n.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>This photo was taken 2 years ago today and here’s a little reminder that it will come to pass, whatever your “it” is. </p>
<p>King David was given the anointing for his future position as King when he was 17-years-old (roughly). Can you imagine your 17-year-old being appointed King? Because I can’t. Mine doesn’t even pick up dirty socks off the floor or dirty anything for that matter. </p>
<p>Precisely the point. Sometimes we are being prepared for the future that awaits us. He was nowhere near ready at the time that he received that anointing. It was another 13 years before he would step into his position as King. </p>
<p>13 years of waiting, of still being faithful right where he was in the everyday tasks that no one else wanted, of caring for and defending a pasture of sheep, of running and fleeing for his life, all of which looked exactly opposite of what had been spoken over his life, and yet, all of which prepared him to rule a nation. </p>
<p>And you know what I love most about his story? </p>
<p>Even after all that time of waiting and being prepared and eventually becoming King, he still didn’t always get it right. Quite the opposite. And even still, God chose David. “This is the one,” the Lord said. </p>
<p>Friends, God knows exactly what it takes and what is needed to get you where you are going. There are no delays that aren’t calculated and sovereignly written into His plan. It’s all part of the shaping and molding that will be required of you when you get there. </p>
<p>He also knows the mistakes you will make when you do arrive because you’re human and even the best leaders fail sometimes. And He still says, “this is the one” about you. </p>
<p>Take heart. Perhaps even enjoy the ride. Trust in the waiting. Know that it has a purpose. It WILL come to pass.</p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/68848932022-01-31T17:52:19-05:002022-01-31T18:00:26-05:00There Are No Throwaways<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/b4164151b677330680b2299b86758ae7f2376b53/original/208377086-3143289302608716-44331268016066853-n.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>There are no throwaways. </p>
<p>I received a call recently about someone in my life who had relapsed, again. </p>
<p>I didn't feel disappointed or frustrated. Instead, I felt heartbroken. </p>
<p>I know some of her details. I know the wounded places of her childhood. The abandonment. The abuse. The layers of unhealed trauma that still linger and cause pain that feels impossible to navigate. </p>
<p>So when I hear that she has “relapsed,” I only hear that the pain must feel all-consuming again. And that breaks my heart. </p>
<p>It also breaks the heart of the Father. </p>
<p>He knows those places in each of us that are unknown to the rest of the world. Every detail. Every moment from birth to death. So if you're hurting and feel unseen and unknown, you are not. You are wholly known by One. </p>
<p>There's a quote that says, “Don’t judge my story by the chapter you walked in on.” </p>
<p>There is only One who has read the whole book. I guess it's a good reminder not to throw people away right before the next turn of the page. </p>
<p><em>There are no throwaways.</em> No one is beyond healing and redemption and hope. </p>
<p>Let's hold on and never give up on seeing a better end of the story.</p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/68848922022-01-31T17:49:31-05:002022-01-31T18:00:15-05:00We Can Do Better <p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/b5579b30a08ac04040078a0da0537fd7afc721b5/original/173896251-3142743809329932-6652116033023945438-n.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>I watched a family of geese with a small gosling in tow as they tried to cross a four-lane road today. It was a forty-five-mile-per-hour zone with cars zipping by in both directions, and I held my breath in dread that they would meet a terrible fate. </p>
<p>I gently hit my brakes and begged aloud in my car that no one would hit them, and was surprised to see that everyone did the same thing. They slowed. Even stopped. Right smack in the middle of a four-lane road with a green light. </p>
<p>I don’t think my heart could have handled any other outcome honestly. At least not today. </p>
<p>I don’t know about you, but sometimes I need the reminder that people are often much kinder than we would expect, or at least capable of it anyway. And I don’t say that because of the work I do and often seeing the worst of what humanity can do to each other. We are all capable of the worst things, given the right mix of terrible circumstances, and if you disagree, then perhaps you have been fortunate enough to never have to learn otherwise. </p>
<p>I’m talking about what we see online, in the lion pit of social media, where vicious things are posted, things I highly doubt a person would say if they had to look into the eyes of the person they were saying it about. </p>
<p>Some of it is just outright mean. And that feels like the most elementary way I can say it, but hey, maybe we need to go back to basics a bit. </p>
<p>I don’t care how entitled someone feels to their own opinion or perception of someone else, it doesn’t give you the right to be mean. Not even if that person is someone who will likely never see your post. </p>
<p>It’s not ok. Especially not in the name of Jesus, the One who embodied love and gentleness and said hard things in the most compassionate way. It’s never justified. Two wrongs will never equal a right, and I really hope that if we were in elementary school, I would have gotten up and left your lunch table. </p>
<p>Our words have an impact far greater than we often realize. They “create worlds that we will be forced to inhabit.” </p>
<p>Let’s try and make a kinder one. If we can all stop for geese, surely we can do better for each other.</p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/68848662022-01-31T17:41:08-05:002022-01-31T17:41:49-05:00No One is Coming to Save You<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/9cba8bde078c1309132e949c76c871b9cc973130/original/194605397-3132499143687732-3684614193052342138-n.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>About a year ago, I felt this phrase in my spirit: </p>
<p>“No one is coming to save you. You have to save yourself.” </p>
<p>Initially, it felt like some self-help, motivational cliche, or a phrase that would ruffle some feathers, if interpreted as minimizing the saving power of the One whose very name means, “He saves.” </p>
<p>So I sat with it and let it teach me what it was meant to and here’s what I’ve learned. </p>
<p>For the better part of 5 years, I have struggled with severe hormonal issues and cycle-related depression. And that feels like the most watered-down version I can offer because truth is, it’s utterly crippling at times. It’s not something I talk about very often but maybe I should. Perhaps I would discover that I am not alone and there are so many women deeply affected by it. </p>
<p>In my mind, the miracle would be that God would hear my prayers and deliver me of this monthly thorn in my flesh and help me feel a little more balanced and a little less depressed each month. <em>Right? </em></p>
<p>Except for He has. He has heard every prayer ever uttered from my lips and the ones I thought about but didn't have the strength to pray, while laying on that mat next to the pool called, “Come Enjoy Your Life.” </p>
<p>And He has given me the power and the ability to get off that mat and walk. </p>
<p>Sometimes saving yourself looks like better self-care. </p>
<p>Better boundaries. </p>
<p>Moving your body. </p>
<p>Getting in the sunshine. </p>
<p>Therapy sessions. </p>
<p>Drinking more water. </p>
<p>Finding a healthy community. </p>
<p>Or finding solitude. </p>
<p>Phoning a friend. </p>
<p>Making the appointment. </p>
<p>Trying the medication. </p>
<p>Finding purpose outside yourself. </p>
<p>God is not going to do for me what I can do for myself. And sometimes salvation arrives at the very moment of my realization that He has given me the ability to participate in saving myself. </p>
<p>No one is coming to save us. </p>
<p>God has parted the seas and He has also commanded us to walk through it. </p>
<p>Let's do this. Let's walk.</p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/68848652022-01-31T17:38:21-05:002022-01-31T17:39:02-05:00When We Cannot Understand the Pain Someone Carries<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/83c37bce568574cfd1722aac99afacce4e49ddc0/original/192229404-3126184297652550-365133985613581545-n.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>I remember the time I sat on my top bunk in Marysville and wrote a letter to Caleb’s kindergarten teacher. I had been gone from home for about six months and I could hardly bear the thought of him approaching this milestone and not being there to do all the mom things. To pick out his outfit and go to teacher orientation and make sure he ate breakfast on that first day of school and knew someone would be there waiting to pick him up. </p>
<p>Caleb was the shyest of all my children. He didn’t speak hardly a word until he was almost four and he would just stare at strangers with those big brown eyes. It made my mama heart ache, even more, to send my quiet one off into the world of public school and to be mostly absent from it all. </p>
<p>I was thinking about this yesterday as we celebrated his graduation. About that moment in time of pouring my heart and tears out to his teacher, in hopes that she would have some insight into the situation and keep an extra watchful eye on him. </p>
<p>To be honest, I can still hardly think about it to this day. There are boxes of pictures I still haven’t gone through, mostly from those six years and especially the ones from around the time I left. </p>
<p><em>I can see the pain in their eyes. </em></p>
<p>And I don’t know if there will ever come a day when that won’t make me want to lay flat out on the floor. </p>
<p>Sometimes I hesitate to talk about the grief of that experience. I feel like people see my life in the happy here and now and may not understand the wrecking heartbreak that still lingers, thirteen years on the other side. </p>
<p>Here’s what I’m realizing. Anyone who doesn’t understand that should thank the God who knows and carries our deepest sorrows that they do not understand. </p>
<p>I never wanted to be a grief expert, not that I have a degree in this but sometimes experience gives you credentials that no amount of study could. </p>
<p>If you’re in a fresh season of grief or walking out a lifetime of it because of what you’ve been asked to carry, just know that you don’t need anyone’s permission to feel what you feel. </p>
<p>Grief is such an individual experience. And when we cannot understand the pain someone else carries, we should be so thankful.</p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/68846862022-01-31T14:55:09-05:002022-02-07T14:54:23-05:00Living Your Best Life and How to Face Rejection<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/a755d286b395d57defa95841157d8565fcb3ceea/original/185356016-3106953416242305-2036390206942175695-n.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>I sat with someone recently whose heart is broken like a million pieces of pottery smashed onto the ground. </p>
<p>Breakups are brutal and just because you’re 15 years into a marriage, don’t act like you don’t remember being 17 and crying on your bed. Or 26. Or 45. You never reach an age where your heart is incapable of being broken. There may come a day when your son or daughter or friend or neighbor needs you to remember. </p>
<p>I could see so much of myself in this person and I wanted to throw my arms around them and say... </p>
<p>I love you. And I like you. </p>
<p>I think you’re funny. </p>
<p>I think you’re fun to be around. </p>
<p>I think you’re worth having and certainly worth keeping. </p>
<p>And there’s going to come a day when you’ll be grateful that person walked away. </p>
<p>Can I share with you what I think is a superpower in the face of rejection? Not just romantic rejection but relational rejection of any form. </p>
<p>It’s so simple it’s ridiculous really. </p>
<p><em>It’s living your best life. </em></p>
<p>And by best life, let me clarify that I don’t mean selfies with filters and you with your new boo. Nope. </p>
<p>It’s getting up anyway. </p>
<p>It’s going to the gym anyway. </p>
<p>It’s meeting your friend for coffee when you want to cancel and showing up anyway. </p>
<p>It’s putting your makeup on and your favorite pearls and still putting effort into YOU anyway (not that that requires makeup or jewelry, that’s just my thing). </p>
<p>It’s a million breath prayers and deep sighs and continuing to live anyway. </p>
<p>Over and over and over again. </p>
<p>Is it faking it until you’re making it? 100%. But the point is that eventually, you won’t just be making it, you’ll be thriving it. </p>
<p>Keep trying to live your best life because it’s the one you deserve to live, regardless of who decided to leave. </p>
<p>You’re worth it.</p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/68846852022-01-31T14:49:38-05:002022-01-31T14:49:38-05:00Time Marches On<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/7b49b287d9b690bd37af50c822649a3330f463fc/original/179056231-3098361317101515-5157516917322274307-n.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"> </p>
<p>I almost wrote out an invitation to my brother. </p>
<p>It was this fraction of a second that happened while sitting at my dining room table scribing invitations for my son’s graduation party. </p>
<p>It’s a celebratory moment in his life, a first and a last. He worked hard to graduate early and has overcome statistical odds that his past experiences have pronounced over him. My heart swells. </p>
<p>I was going over the list in my head, mainly of the immediate family. </p>
<p>Grandparents. </p>
<p>My sister. </p>
<p>And my brother. </p>
<p>But wait. Not for my brother. I remembered the bitterness of this and it crashed over me like a wave of fresh sadness. </p>
<p>It has been 3 months and you know, it’s not like he and I got to see each other that much in our adult lives. We lived a bit of a drive from each other. We both worked a lot and the busyness of life gets in the way of the best intentions. </p>
<p>It’s the fact that the option is now removed. There will be no more Christmas’s. No more moments where we laugh at the same thing. There are only memories now. </p>
<p><em>Time marches on.</em> </p>
<p>The sun still rises. </p>
<p>Spring returns flowers to us once again. </p>
<p>His nephew still graduates. </p>
<p>Babies enter this vast world. </p>
<p>People still send kids off to school and still rush in traffic and still punch a clock. </p>
<p>Time marches on for the living, as it should, even if pain tries to demand that it stop. </p>
<p>It has to. Time cannot stop, for it has to behold all the beauty all around. </p>
<p>Yes, grief and celebratory, joyous moments do indeed co-exist. </p>
<p>They also have to. Joy would be foreign unless we are acquainted with pain. And grief would be unbearable if we never knew joy. So they link arms. They ebb and flow and make room for each other. They don’t cancel each other out. They nod in proper respect to each other, a united front in this life thing. </p>
<p>The pain is proof of the love, so I’ll welcome it. And in a few weeks, we will celebrate this middle child of ours, and I will fully embrace that too, even though there’s an empty seat at the table. </p>
<p>It’s entirely possible to feel happy and sad and to move forward carrying both. And I know that it's much better to love and to lose than to forfeit the loving part.</p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/68846842022-01-31T14:46:03-05:002022-01-31T14:46:29-05:00When God Restores<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/8f8359c0bb0562f9ef304112c612d62196a58958/original/162543791-3070997396504574-1607442986442122272-n.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>I just think you should know that when God restores, it's not some half-hearted thing. </p>
<p>It's not like you and I, with schedules that leave us five minutes to get everywhere, running into a store at the last minute to pick out a gift for someone that will do or is good enough. </p>
<p>He not only restores what has been lost. He restores what you didn’t even know you needed and longed for, those secret things in the vault of your heart, known only to Him. </p>
<p>When Joseph chose to name his firstborn son, Manasseh, meaning “causes to forget” because “God has made me forget all my trouble,” I don’t think for a second that he forgot. </p>
<p>Who forgets being hated, sold out, falsely accused, and wrongfully imprisoned for 13 years? No one could forget that. </p>
<p>I think he meant that the pain he endured was no longer greater than the beauty that came out of it. </p>
<p>It no longer ruled him or wrecked him with grief. I think he made deep peace with it, to the point of being unable to imagine his affliction being subtracted from his story. </p>
<p>Yea, that’s restoration for sure. </p>
<p>God restores nothing half-heartedly. And one day you’re going to look back at this place of pain you may be facing today and the beauty that you’ll see will require more than your whole heart can contain. </p>
<p>Just wait and see.</p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/68846682022-01-31T14:43:25-05:002022-01-31T14:43:25-05:00No One Gets to Tell You How to Feel<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/c85649a69b768c47c8677ab812c0c417acd19123/original/157924130-3058269414444039-1895590761035998590-n.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>A Monday lesson, “No one Gets to Tell You How You Feel” </p>
<p>Imagine for a moment that you decided to publicly share the most painful moment of your life, the one that’s still hard to think about or talk about to this day. </p>
<p>Then imagine that someone not even personally involved listens to it online, twists your words, makes assumptions about you as a person, and tries to tell others how you felt or didn’t feel. </p>
<p>That happened to me once. </p>
<p>I straightened my spine and only responded with long blinks and shallow breaths. I know who my defender is and I knew He was with me, listening and helping me stand while holding my heart. </p>
<p>Sticks and stones may break bones but that part about words never hurting? Partially true. They don’t just hurt. They crush into a million pieces. </p>
<p>I wish I could tell you that in the weeks that followed, I continued to stand, firm in who I am, unscathed by his words. But I didn’t. I slipped into numbness and silence, even towards those I live with. I stopped writing. I stopped even wanting to get out of bed in the morning. </p>
<p>And worst of all, I betrayed the one person who knows me better than anyone. I betrayed myself when I allowed his lies to make me question and doubt my own heart. </p>
<p>That was two years ago and here’s what I know today... </p>
<p>I still needed healing even though I didn’t realize it at the time. It was an unwanted gift in that way, one that set me free to be vulnerable and courageous. </p>
<p>I still tell my story. Online. To crowds. To the cashier at Kroger on a random Monday. </p>
<p>No one gets to tell me how I feel or felt, or perceived, or experienced an event. Especially not someone who hasn’t done the brave work of asking a person directly. </p>
<p>At the heart of all of our assuming and creating our narratives about others are two dangerous friends called pride and self-righteousness. </p>
<p>If you’re so sure of how someone else thinks and feels that you’re willing to assassinate their character and speak for them, careful now. You should probably invite them to coffee first. </p>
<p>And if you’re on the receiving end of someone else’s assuming, stand up again. </p>
<p>No one gets to tell you how you feel.</p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/68846672022-01-31T14:40:07-05:002022-01-31T14:40:57-05:00Harsh Realities<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/ffee47b57c6c0ffa5c757d88364afa152658aec6/original/145861273-3034881596782821-9036011652613039851-n.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>I asked my daughter how preschool went today. From the backseat, she thought for a moment and then gave me a thumbs down motion. I guess another little girl popped her bubble and told her she is not a princess. As if having older brothers doesn’t prepare you enough for life. </p>
<p><em>Harsh realities.</em> </p>
<p>I feel you little one. Thumbs down. A top knot and leggings are the best I can do today. Don’t let the mascara and the half-smile behind the mask fool you, I’m barely pulling a C- on effort over here. </p>
<p>Life feels harsh at present. Even the sky seems to agree. There are waves of grief that sneak up, a funeral that is approaching, and a life schedule that feels unmanageable and overwhelming. </p>
<p>I am not alone. I know you feel this too. </p>
<p>I had a customer tell me recently that she used to drink her coffee black. And then her mom got diagnosed with breast cancer and reality felt harsh enough. She never drank her coffee black again. </p>
<p>Grief. </p>
<p>Cancer. </p>
<p>Pandemics. </p>
<p>Bubble bursting moments by peers. </p>
<p>Life. </p>
<p>Harsh realities. </p>
<p>I don’t know what yours looks like today or what might present in your life tomorrow, but this is what I would challenge both of us to remember: </p>
<p>Resilience is a little like learning to ride a wave. </p>
<p>The waves are going to come. They will threaten to drown you. You will get that awful feeling of water in your nose. They will feel massive and overwhelming at times. </p>
<p>And I know it feels awful at the time. I know. Believe me, I know. </p>
<p>But every time you wake up on one of those days and feel like you’re going to drown, you are getting a tad bit stronger. </p>
<p>Fearless? No. </p>
<p>Past the point of being wrecked by the pain? No. </p>
<p>But eventually, you’re able to ride the wave until the water calms again. </p>
<p>You remember that and remind me to do the same.</p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/68846612022-01-31T14:33:33-05:002022-01-31T14:36:20-05:00Seven Years<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/b3e5845f58ba6a651c33606d6deb2729d0cfc02c/original/146078558-3033962330208081-107199611097147151-n.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Seven years. </p>
<p>February 3rd, the long-awaited day that I walked out of Dayton Correctional and into freedom. I remember every detail and it's more beauty and heartbreak than I will ever have words for. </p>
<p>Here are a few thoughts on personal responsibility, gratitude, and dreams that I've been thinking about the past few days...</p>
<p>My first job upon release was as an activities assistant at a long-term care facility. I would spend my days calling out games of BINGO, reading the daily news aloud, painting fingernails, playing card games, reading poetry and scripture at bedsides, or just sitting and talking about families and grandkids. </p>
<p>Can I be really honest? </p>
<p>I didn't always love this job. I’m an introvert. I hate bingo and board games (I know I know...no fun). I'm not the life of the party by any stretch, so to lead activities and to be the orchestrator of “fun” is outside my comfort zone on all levels and is not my gifting. </p>
<p>I also worked hard and long to earn a nursing degree that I was no longer able to practice in, which meant I made about $20 less an hour and had to put my skill set and knowledge to the side and stay in my lane while in that healthcare environment. Not easy at all and there was more than one occasion that I would approach the nurse on shift and tell her she might want to take another look at someone when my nurse eyes spotted a concern. </p>
<p>A friend of ours said something one time that has always stuck with me. This friend has fought his way out of homelessness and addiction to acceptance into law school. </p>
<p>A paraphrased version of what he said: I am where I am today because of the choices I've made, for the good or bad. </p>
<p>Do you want to find real freedom in your life? It starts with accepting personal responsibility. The frustration I felt was no one else’s fault. We all make choices and then we have to live with the consequences of them, for better or worse. </p>
<p>So I chose gratitude. </p>
<p>I was thankful for a job and the staff I got to work with. I learned to love those elderly residents while calling out BINGO for them every Friday. I learned to love hearing the stories of those hands I painted nails for. I loved the black and white photos on their walls and their memories of youth. I also lost 3 of my grandparents during incarceration, so this was deeply healing to me in ways I didn't know at the time. </p>
<p>I also knew the road didn't end there for me. I had dreams for my future and I chased them and fought through hell to see them come to life. </p>
<p>Owning a coffee shop that helps empower and support people getting their life back is surreal. I couldn't love it more (most days). I love going back into the prisons and I don't feel like myself during this time that we are not able to. </p>
<p>But you know what? The dream doesn't end there for me either. I still have bigger dreams in my heart and more to fight and press toward. </p>
<p>You can spend your life blaming or you can take the power back and accept personal responsibility. Yes, this situation and circumstance may be the result of what I chose but it doesn't have to define me or my future. </p>
<p>You can choose gratitude daily. It's so hard sometimes. I know it is. Perhaps your today is preparing you for your tomorrow. You need it more than you'll ever know. </p>
<p>You can dream. I dare you to.</p>
<p><a contents="The Fringe Coffee House" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="http://thefringecoffeehouse.com">The Fringe Coffee House</a></p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/68846602022-01-31T14:30:40-05:002022-01-31T14:36:09-05:00Rainy Days and Laundromats<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/e6389845880a04a5e9fd8f2396caebb712f6d9d0/original/142054633-3028487667422214-1584246178621052628-n.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Lessons from a rainy Monday in a laundromat with a latte that is getting cold... </p>
<p>No one knows. No one knows that my heart is broken or how this dreadful place is a welcomed distraction or that the world feels as though it should pause right now but instead, it goes on. I sink heavy into this seat, I make small talk with others who are here and yet, no one knows. </p>
<p>And truth is, neither do I. Neither do you. We can't possibly know what all the people we pass amid our ordinary routines are carrying. We don't fully know how fresh their grief is, what worries are keeping them up at night, how stressful life feels right now, or what wound their anger can be traced back to. And it sure feels like a call to be more kind and gentle. To not assume. To make more room for error. To throw grace in heaping measures. Because we just don't know. </p>
<p>No one wants to be “here.” No one wants to be in this awful laundromat. Find me one who does. I don't believe it. No one wants to be sitting in grief. Or standing at a graveside. Or at the end of a phone that never rings. Or holding a box of pictures because that's all you have left. There are lots of here's that no one wants to be and yet, here we are, living and loving and losing. No matter how much I hate it, it was worth it and I'd still choose to be “here” if it means experiencing the loving part again. </p>
<p>On a lighter note, people in laundromats are really friendly and kind. Maybe because we all feel sorry for each other. </p>
<p>Meanwhile, Sharon over there in the whole left corner seemingly has her whole life together. She has this systematic approach to this whole laundromat thing that makes me think she is killing it in all areas of her life. She brings every hanger in her closet, 2 racks to hang all her clothes on, and even hangs bags over her clothes like they just came from the dry cleaner. I feel that I have failed in every area just by watching her, as I stuff my clothes into garbage bags and pat myself on the back because at least they are clean. </p>
<p>The takeaway? Don't compare yourself to Sharon. She doesn't have it all together. No one does. She just happens to be well-practiced at this laundromat thing.</p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/63661742020-06-25T15:55:53-04:002022-05-07T07:43:38-04:00No Spectators Allowed<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/59cba2e523e5036ed2128a0f7c52176b828a2636/original/img-3661.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>How is your heart? </p>
<p>In recent weeks, mine has felt overwhelmed and paralyzed as a result. I have found myself feeling much like a car sitting at a traffic light in neutral. The light has turned green, the guy behind me is blaring his horn (so rude), but I don’t seem to have the gas to go forward. My creative tank of gifts I have to offer the world feels stagnant and low. </p>
<p>I think we can all acknowledge and agree that recent months have felt increasingly hard with the pandemic, the exposure of racial tension that still exists, and our country progressively being more divided and at odds than ever. I know there is still a multitude of good happening in the midst of it all, because God is the essence of good, and He prevails. I also know that sometimes things have to get worse before they get better. Like a broken bone that you can't just slap a bandaid on, but instead, must be properly set to heal. Healing hurts, but it's necessary all the same. </p>
<p>I started well when 2020 first fell apart and quarantine went into effect. I made a schedule of schoolwork for my teens and a daily outline for the structure of their days, even though it didn’t last five minutes. I filled my days of toddler parenting with painting and baking and a daily gratitude list for myself of all that I was thankful for despite the shut down of the world as we knew it. My adrenaline was high, my fight mode in full effect and I felt confident in my ability to navigate whatever came my way. It's laughable now. Go ahead. You have my permission. </p>
<p>Then reality began to set in that Covid-19 has likely come to stay longer than expected. Masks have become the new normal. Hugs have become a thing of the past. The state of the world at large is seemingly at unrest, as it should be when justice is denied and people are treated as less than based on the color of the skin that God gave them. My heart has often felt weary, grieved, and overwhelmed, as it also should because God's heart is grieved too. </p>
<p>In my weariness, I am reminded of the story of Elijah in 1 Kings, Chapter 19. By this point in the story, Elijah has seen the faithfulness of God in his life over and over again. God has given Elijah victory and demonstrated His faithfulness and that He can be trusted. Even still, Elijah receives a single threat against his life and we find him sitting under a juniper tree feeling alone and filled with despair and discouragement to the point that he asked God to take his life. </p>
<p>I can relate to feeling discouraged to the point that I want to give up. I can relate to being so exhausted from ministry, parenting, work, the disruption of normalcy, and this whole life thing that I forget that I am human and my need for rest is essential to my well-being and to prepare for the work that still lies ahead. </p>
<p>God knew that Elijah was tired and that his physical and basic need for sleep and food was distorting his perception of reality. He allowed Elijah to rest and commanded him to eat before sending him on to the next thing He had for him. </p>
<p>God also knows your needs, friend. He knows how each of us is uniquely wired and what our specific needs are before we even ask. He is not a cruel master who drives us at a pace that we cannot keep up with. Matthew 18:20 (NIV) reminds us, “A bruised reed he will not break, and a smoldering wick he will not snuff out, till he has brought justice through to victory.” </p>
<p>Part of Elijah’s discouragement and feelings of despair were also rooted in the fact that he believed he was alone in following the One true God. He assumed that everyone else was bowing to the false God, Baal. Isn't this how we are at times too? Discouragement sneaks in and lies to our hearts. It tells us that we are alone. That the work we are doing isn't enough. That we are failing and falling short and perhaps we should just collapse under a juniper tree and beg for God to take our life. </p>
<p>Collapse, yes. Rest is essential. But take the discouragement and weariness to God and allow Him to renew your vision and strength. Our perception of reality becomes grossly distorted when we are tired. </p>
<p>God later revealed to Elijah that there were “seven thousand in Israel-all whose knees have not bowed down to Baal and whose mouths have not kissed him.” 1 Kings 19:18 (NIV). Elijah was not alone after all. </p>
<p><em>And neither are you, my friend.</em> Your life matters. Your words matter. Your giftings are needed now more than ever. Rest and keep going. </p>
<p> </p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/59836292019-11-28T12:42:16-05:002021-12-14T06:08:11-05:00Tracing the Kindness: The Key to Gratitude<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/a49617645cf9fbe32c1d753693a512acaf186989/original/img-3818.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>When I look at this picture, my heart feels an abundance of good. Like a massive table and a feast set before me, with candles and everything. It’s too much beauty for the heart to fully hold all at once. </p>
<p>But here’s what the past year also held. An abundance of the really hard stuff. The cliff notes version looks something like this. A new church plant (we could stop here), the launching process of a business, major job changes, three (soon to be four) moves, and all of the everyday life stuff and a thousand behind the scene details sprinkled on top. Deep and cleansing sigh. I am still catching my breath. </p>
<p>It felt harder, longer and darker at times than anything I’ve ever fought through in my life. Like being left in the open sea with no response to the flares sent up and no stars to light up the night. And I thought I had graduated the waiting room of life with a Master’s Degree. Surely that six years of my past made me proficient in the school of long-suffering. Prepared maybe, but still so much room for growth and the realization that none of us ever fully arrive and we never will. Not on this side of life anyway. </p>
<p>I know it may seem impossible right now, but there may come a day when you will stand on the other side of some of the hardest places in your life and be able to say, “I can find gratitude, <em>even in this.</em>” </p>
<p>Grateful means: “feeling or showing an appreciation of kindness.” </p>
<p>In every moment of life that we walk through, there is always kindness being extended towards us, even if it’s the smallest thing and really hard to trace. So often it can be found in people. If I were to subtract my unwanted circumstances, I would also subtract so many people. So much kindness. So many ways that God has been showing His love towards me. </p>
<p>It’s a mystery and a wonder and too much for me. But I am <em>so</em> grateful. </p>
<p>Happy Thanksgiving.</p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/59685462019-11-21T16:51:19-05:002021-10-05T07:35:05-04:00Your Cry Has Been Heard<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/f9dc862589fefd1f711748a81eb9be8324f292f6/original/img-7956.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"> </p>
<p>Last Spring and what feels like a lifetime ago, I wrote about the time I jumped out of the car with wet hair and an outfit I didn’t plan on leaving the car in. You know the one. We’ve all been there. </p>
<p>I thought I saw a girl I had lost contact with. I worried she had fallen back into the evil grasp of addiction after weeks of text messages met with silence. And as the truth would later unfold, my intuition was right. So across two lanes of traffic and with my wet hair and pajama bottoms I went, only for my heart to sink at the realization that it wasn’t her at all. </p>
<p>There are a few things I think you should know. </p>
<p>Today, she is sober and very pregnant with a son. She has her first job and is rebuilding what has been fractured with her family. She is in process, working towards healing and wholeness, as we all are over the course of our lives. And she is smiling a lot. </p>
<p>I didn’t know if I would ever see the day. </p>
<p>There are prayers you have uttered a thousand times and have stopped praying because they have remained unfulfilled. There are hopes and dreams that have seemingly died, like an echo of what we see right now as the colors fade from the trees and everything beautiful seems to die for a time. You have tried your best to move on, focus on what is right in front of you because the heart can only carry so much at once, letting go of what might have been or the hope of a better outcome. </p>
<p><em>But God does not forget. </em></p>
<p>There was a prayer I prayed countless times many years ago. I only half-believed that it was even possible or that it would ever really happen and I knew it would be nothing short of a miracle if it ever did. And then, on one ordinary morning in early September before I was even fully awake, the message came. It will be an entire chapter in my book, so no spoiler alerts here. </p>
<p>But know this. When it seems that God is doing nothing, when it seems that He is indifferent to your cries, He is not. He hears. Over and over again we are told in scripture that He hears our cries. How could He not? I could never ignore the cry of my children, and I am a mediocre parent at best. </p>
<p>He is also a seeker of lost things. He runs towards you and nothing you could ever do will make Him stop.</p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/59602072019-11-14T08:41:19-05:002021-12-26T19:40:02-05:00Living the Dream<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/798c4343657079c688700c74d5c903bf96c76bf7/original/8ec35d5b-6ad9-4610-b6b3-32e1af9099ad.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was never part of our plan to move into that house. It sat on the market with little interest for an extended time, an empty shell that mirrored the grief we all felt every time we walked in, no longer greeted by my grandparents whom we loved so dearly. They had both passed away in recent years, and I was not ready to lose them, but I would never have been. It was a stone house next to the antique store in a small and wonderfully quaint village where the town siren goes off every night at six o'clock. My grandparents raised a tribe of strong daughters and gathered generations that followed under that roof, creating a lifetime of memories now stored in my heart. </p>
<p>Our move was an urgent one on New Year's day and went something like this. Our dog had gotten sick a few times over two days, a clue to something being amiss, and we were unaware. Thankfully, our furnace had also gone out the night before, so we called a heating and cooling company that came and discovered carbon monoxide that was leaking at a level that registered higher than their detector could read. The furnace was severely outdated and was repeatedly rigged to avoid having to replace it, all unbeknownst to our puking dog and us. Happy New Year. </p>
<p>So there we landed, in my grandparent's home on January 1st and discussions began to happen of buying the house from my family, to renovate it and then try to sell it after some much needed TLC. </p>
<p>It took us about a year and a half to renovate that home so near to my heart. I say "us," meaning that my contributions consisted of picking flooring and wall colors and promising to try and be patient with the working areas we were simultaneously living in. I often failed by the way. Living in a construction zone is a hot mess, and far from easy, just in case you should ever decide to try it. Consider yourself forewarned. </p>
<p>Four months into the project and one warm day in Spring, I was on a walk when I began to have this feeling that more rebuilding was taking place than just the house. I realized there was also a deep inner work happening inside of me. </p>
<p>Beneath the outer landscape of my life that others could see, my heart was like what I saw daily in that house. A mix of so many beautiful memories tangled with demolition and wreckage and dust for days. I didn't realize at the time how much I needed the construction. Or how much I needed to return to a place that symbolized safety and nurturing as God healed me and rebuilt me and prepared me for the season that was ahead. </p>
<p>Here's what we so often forget in our hastiness. The in-between places are more necessary than we will ever fully know. </p>
<p>When the Israelites were delivered from captivity in Egypt after four hundred and thirty-something oppressive years, they set out on what should have been an eleven-day journey to the place that God had promised to take them. But that eleven-day journey ended up taking forty painstaking years. </p>
<p>In Exodus 13, it says that God did not lead them by the shorter route, but that He took them the long way around. </p>
<p>They were being led the whole time. Led out of mindsets that held them captive in the free world. Led out of distrust in the God who holds all the pieces of their broken past and unknown future. I heard someone say once that God delivered the Israelites out of Egypt but then had to deliver Egypt out of the Israelites. </p>
<p>They weren't lost or wandering as they thought and felt. They were being led. It was an essential time of preparation. </p>
<p>As the story would unfold, we eventually sold that house. It was a bit of a nightmare process, or so it seemed at the time. There was a near sale that fell through. A zoning issue that threatened to cost more money and the loss of another potential buyer. A move out of the house and a move back in because it sat for too long once again. In the waiting, we felt desperate to move forward. We would drive through the neighborhood we loved and daydreamed about the home we would eventually buy with the profit. </p>
<p>We began to question if we made the right decision to take on the project. Would the money invested be returned? Would it be a total loss? Would we ever be able to return to the city where we longed to be? </p>
<p>So here's the surprising part, on that long-awaited day when we sat around a long table across from the buyer, my heart didn't show up the way I thought it would. Not in the least. I didn't feel celebratory. My heart matched the weather outside, overcast, and weepy. </p>
<p>During seasons of prolonged waiting and trial, it is easy to long for the future when your waiting is over, and you will be "living the dream." I've been there. I get it. But here's what you will miss if you buy into that belief. </p>
<p>You're living the dream the whole time. </p>
<p>I was being led, even though it felt messy and complicated and beyond my ability to handle. Through that unwanted and emergent move and renovation process, I was brought home in every sense of the word. Home to healing and restoration. Home to building new memories with my children after so much pain. Home to the celebration of my daughter's first birthday, her name being Hebrew and which means, "God has answered." </p>
<p>And He has in so many ways. Don't miss the dream you're living right now while waiting for some future destination you are hoping for. You are a dream birthed in the mind of God. You are living the dream.</p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/59531112019-11-07T18:09:34-05:002022-01-17T09:50:10-05:00Feelings are Worth Examining<p style="text-align: center;"> </p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/cc664f0744e5cb0c2be73e6f8587bc593b7afae2/original/img-2112.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>I'm feeling all out of sorts today. Maybe it was the funeral and the sadness that looms and the quiet sobs that carry beyond those walls. Perhaps it's the rain and the overcast fall sky. Or the fact that my original blog got trashed and unable to be recovered unless you're more tech-savvy than myself. </p>
<p>But here I am, all of it combined and feeling off-kilter and not knowing what I need at this moment. </p>
<p>If there is anything that life and my experiences have taught me, it's this: Feelings are both our most loyal friend and our greatest enemy. Or as a friend of mine says, great passengers and <em>terrible</em> drivers. </p>
<p>I am grateful for those tricky emotions that we have. Grateful to be able to experience the gift of loving and being loved. Is there anything better? Grateful for the ability to feel empathy and compassion towards others who are hurting. Grateful for the thrill that joy brings in those moments when the world feels exactly as it should be, even if they seem far and few between. And I've learned to be grateful for sorrow and heartbreak because, without it, my heart would be dwarfed somehow and lacking the balm that brings healing to another. </p>
<p>My feelings have been a good friend to me. They are a signal worth paying attention to and pausing long enough for consideration. They have helped me avert danger on more than one occasion, alerting me when something feels off. They have exposed areas in my heart that need healing, like a teacher pointing to the chalkboard towards an equation I might have missed. </p>
<p>They are also my greatest enemy at times. There have been too many times they have lied to me and wasted energy. How many times have I avoided a conversation because I just knew it would not end well? Only for all of my "just knowing" to be proved entirely wrong and being handed humility instead. How many times have I allowed fear to consume me over things that never actually happened? </p>
<p>There was a girl in high school that I used to watch from afar. Not in a creepy stalker kind of way. I admired her. I thought she was beautiful and had perfect curls and good taste in fashion and carried herself so well. And I always felt as though I paled in comparison. She was prettier and smarter and way cooler than me, sitting two rows over in a long season of bad bangs. </p>
<p>We grew up and graduated and embraced all the adulting things, and there came a day when I found out that she was looking at me and thinking the same thing. </p>
<p>There are times when I fall silent because my feelings have told me I don't have important things to say and that my voice is not needed, only to get a message from someone who tells me that my letters during one of my darkest times have been a lifeline to her. </p>
<p>"Above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it." Proverbs 4:23 (NIV) </p>
<p>Guard your heart, my friend. Examine those feelings when you have them. Take them to the One who knows everything you are thinking and feeling and loves you anyway. Ask for direction and wisdom. Whatever you do, don't believe every thought that you think and every feeling it produces. Worth considering, yes. Not always worth believing. </p>
<p>You are worth it. Your children who are learning to navigate the world by watching you are worth it. And there's a waiting world that needs the good that can flow from you.</p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/59302272019-10-17T17:46:04-04:002022-04-14T07:23:47-04:00Mirror Mirror, What Do You See?<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/9ecff91ec0e90e6e5f493391fff0bc7326ad5170/original/sarah-at-the-park.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was a hard thing to hear, especially from someone who knows me so well. It's easy for people who aren't close to you to miss the mark in their perception of you. But those who know you best? It's often a truth serum, I'm afraid. </p>
<p>And I didn't want to drink it. </p>
<p>"I think you can be hard to get to know. I don't think you mean to, but I think sometimes you give off the vibe that you don't want connection." My husband said to me during one of those car rides when you're jumping from topic to random topic and wondering how you landed there. </p>
<p><em>Eeeww</em>. And ouch. <em>Who, me? </em></p>
<p>But here's the stinger. There was no one else in the car or the coversation, and I knew deep down he was right. </p>
<p>A few days ago, a friend and I talked about this concept of mirroring human behavior. It's this subconscious thing we tend to do in social situations where we mimic the person with which we are interacting. If you yawn, chances are I will yawn. If you're vulnerable, I am more apt not to feel as guarded. If you are displaying body language that is turned 180 degrees from the direction I am facing and talking to me over your shoulder, I am likely going to interpret that as you are moving away from me and the conversation, and I will probably be very brief and to the point. You get my drift. </p>
<p>Here's the other truth serum that's sad. It's the one I can admit in this space, from behind the safety of my keyboard where I can edit and still have the option of deleting. </p>
<p>If the vibe I'm giving off is that I don't want or need connection, there isn't anything that could be further from the truth. It's just that somewhere buried in the cellar of my heart is this fear that a person may not want a connection with me. That maybe I'm an interruption or a delay from something or someone more important. That perhaps what I have to say won't be valuable or interesting or witty enough or whatever. Ugh. </p>
<p>I want to know your story and what you plan to eat for lunch and what your favorite childhood memory was and what hurt you the most. <em>And I want to tell you mine. </em></p>
<p>But even more than that, I want not to mirror anyone. I want to set the temperature when I walk into a room and a conversation, and not so readily adjust myself accordingly. I don't mean in the sense of throwing wisdom to the wind and ignoring non-verbal cues or being pushy. I mean, in the sense of being authentic to who I want to be in this world. </p>
<p>To be vulnerable even when it's risky and uncomfortable and might be misinterpreted (always a risk my friend). To be calm and collected and not anxious or fearful of whether or not I am accepted. To not allow others to rent space in my head. Meaning that I don't give too much thought to their perception of me (highlight that one and add a thousand exclamation marks). </p>
<p>What will people see when they look into the mirror of you? What might you be unintentionally communicating? Let's lean in and listen, even when it's hard. It will be worth it, I promise.</p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/59144302019-10-03T15:52:33-04:002022-06-01T21:37:06-04:00A Conversation With a Stranger<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/33e7e9b717a77c3701ec8d244775e9b57221c96d/original/6919a8140398360472f9a20327c9de4e.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"> </p>
<p>On more than one occasion, his apartment caught my attention as I drove by and noticed him out front cooking on the grill, surrounded by beautiful sunflowers that towered near the height of the building, a few Bird of Paradise plants and an array of cacti of various sizes. It was one of those houses that looks misplaced in its current surroundings, a seeming tropical oasis amid a bleak landscape of run-down buildings with drab colors, homes long-neglected and where you rarely see people outside. And there he was, smiling through the smoke off the grill, company sitting relaxed all around him, all appearing to be living their best life. I didn't know his story, but my curiosity peeked. </p>
<p>But on this particular day, I just happened to be pushing my daughter's stroller in the persisting heat of early fall, and I just happened to have a question about a store down the street from where he lived and whether or not it was ever going to open. And Mr. Green Thumb just so happened to be the only one in my line of sight for the asking. So I asked. </p>
<p>Over time and forging through the awkwardness, I have learned that sparking small talk with a stranger has led to some of the most interesting conversations I've ever had. I have also learned that people are often much kinder than you realize, much more willing to engage than you might expect, and much lonelier than you may know. </p>
<p>So while I asked my question and pointed down the street, his dog barked and scratched furiously at the door as he filled me in on the latest news about this store mentioned above. Considering he lives near it and since word travels fast in cities with a small-town vibe, he seemed to be in the know. </p>
<p>I thanked him as I continued on my way, and with a tip of his hat and a nod of his head, he said to me, "Peace be with you, and God bless you." </p>
<p><em>And there it was. </em></p>
<p>The secret to my curiosity revealed. </p>
<p>Within a five-second conversation, I knew that was the posture in which he lived his life. "Peace be with you." I knew it from his kind and respectful demeanor. I knew it from his tender care of these plants that grew and thrived under the scorching sun. I knew by the way that he could still celebrate those he loves and create beauty no matter his surroundings. I knew it from his affection towards Fido as he was yapping his head off at the front door. I knew because he was willing to engage with a stranger and send me off with a blessing. </p>
<p>"Peace be with you, and God bless you." </p>
<p>I still don't know his story. I don't know the hard things he's been asked to endure and carry through life. I only know that if you've lived any amount of time, you've been asked to do so because no one is exempt. I only know that he has learned to carry the mix of beauty and sorrow well. </p>
<p>There is a secret Paul speaks of when he says, "I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do all this through him who gives me strength." Philippians 4:11-13 (NIV) </p>
<p>Maybe the secret is facing the hard stuff like grief, injustice, and unanswered questions and receiving the grace not to become embittered by it. Perhaps it's knowing (heart deep) that God is for me and not against me, even when life is falling apart, and my current landscape and future both look bleak. Maybe it's the ability to walk in peace during absolute chaos and a whole lot of unknowns. </p>
<p>It's a secret and a sacred treasure that you only learn through living. The One who is the embodiment of goodwill towards humanity is with you and is with me. He is peace. Your heart can rest, and when your heart finds rest, you can live out that peace towards the broken world around you.</p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/59065252019-09-26T15:34:48-04:002022-05-24T04:22:06-04:00Living in the Tension<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/adec7494ee4d67eccd614312f1cd21af580bf956/original/img-2770.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /><br><span style="font-size: 9.600000381469727px;"><i>Art exhibit from "The Returning Artist Guild,"<br>a network of formery incarcerated artists.</i></span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"> </p>
<p>Last week I celebrated my thirty-ninth birthday. It was a "spectacular normal," meaning that I didn't do much out of the ordinary, but I've learned that the ordinary is sacred and even still, I felt ridiculously celebrated. Birthdays always feel a bit like New Year's to me. A time for reflection and another chance to grow into the person I want to be. This year, I'm going to self-edit less when I write. I'm going to get my daily cardio in (or 3x a week would suffice), and I'm going to get up earlier than everyone else in the house. I'm going to work towards better self-care. I'm going to make more time for things I love, and I'm also going to give more love away. I am not, however, going to strive to drink less coffee. Maybe next year. </p>
<p>And that all sounds good, at least to me. But the reality is, sometimes my break-a-sweat cardio looks more like a patient walk with my three-year-old while she collects leaves without a care in the world. Sometimes waking up earlier than everyone else looks more like the fact that I can't wake up without hitting snooze five times. Literally cannot, and the cat who sleeps the other twenty-three hours of the day will be waiting with those eyes as I'm French-pressing my coffee. He's expecting his head to be scratched and his bowl to be filled. The truth is, doing more of what I love looks like moments that I happen to catch myself having fun in, not with intention or plan and loving people is <em>hard</em> work sometimes. Please tell me you agree. (I think Jesus agreed at times too. It's ok.) </p>
<p>But the good of who I want to be when I grow up can be seen in glimpses of people all around me. I can see it in this older gentleman who comes every week without fail to play Rummy with the residents at the home his wife resided at before she passed away. It's in the book that shows up at my door from Amazon, sent by a friend who considered it too good not to share. I see it in my co-workers laugh and her ability to make people feel noticed and to say the right thing at just the right time. </p>
<p>Listen. We are all living in the tension of who we are and who we long to be — even the people who appear to have arrived. </p>
<p>We all struggle with feeling like we can't get it together at times. We all fail and strive and make tiny bits of progress and then mess it up again. That, my friend, is called being human, and that is universal. </p>
<p>If only more writers would talk about how crippling self-editing can be. All you see is the published book, not how many times they hit delete, completely trash what they just wrote, or run into a wall of wordless writer's block. </p>
<p>If only more public speakers would talk about how they felt like they were going to vomit the first one hundred times, that imagining people naked does not work at all, or how often they exit the stage feeling like they rambled and completely blew it. </p>
<p>If only in our everyday circles and communities, we could let go of this enormous pressure to present the best parts of ourself and instead, embrace the gut-wrenching truth of where we are. I'm not suggesting throwing wisdom out the window and hanging all of our dirty laundries out to dry. No one wants or needs to see all of that. </p>
<p>But you know what else no one wants to see? Your life free of humanness and doubt and fear and feeling failure or inadequacy at times. It doesn't make you less mature or less spiritual or weaker or less (insert your own) of whatever you think yourself to be. </p>
<p>Gregory Boyle of Homeboy Industries says this, "Go where love has not yet arrived and love what you find there." But he wasn't the first to say this. This was a Jesus mantra if I've ever heard one. May I add a Sarah version? </p>
<p>"Go where love has not yet arrived and love what you find there, <em>and start with you.</em>" </p>
<p>There is not some future version of you that will be more loved or more worth keeping. You already are, and there is something powerfully wrecking and healing about letting that take root in your heart. </p>
<p>We become fully alive in this tension of where we are and where we long to be by embracing our present reality and knowing that we could not be loved more. And as I wrote earlier this week in a micro-blog, when you know you're loved, it changes everything.</p>
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<p><a contents="" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://www.instagram.com/returningartistsguild/">https://www.instagram.com/returningartistsguild/</a></p>
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<p style="text-align: center;"> </p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/58981262019-09-19T15:08:28-04:002023-12-10T11:54:59-05:00I Almost Missed It<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/479f2bbc0bffebf258141bcdd68f3f262783a9ea/original/img-2644.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Several years ago, I almost missed out on one of the best friendships of my life simply because she was different than me. On the day we met, we were handcuffed at the wrist on a bus headed to Dayton. I was looking out the window, lost in my head and processing the fact that I would never again see Marysville, Ohio on that side of so much pain, and there she was, boxing my ear with a litany of questions. What kind of music did I listen to and did I like horses? <em>Horses</em>? I had no idea where that one came from, but as a matter of fact, I did. I was fascinated by them. </p>
<p>We ended up being roommates, as the irony and humor of life often go. In every way obvious to my narrow vision at the time, she couldn't have been more different than me, from her boisterous and energetic personality to her likes and dislikes, or political and spiritual beliefs. </p>
<p>Despite her disbelief in the God I professed to love and follow, she taught me more about His love than I have ever learned in my all years of sitting in a church pew. </p>
<p>The more I was willing to sit with her and listen, rather than striving to be heard. The more I learned to sit and eat popcorn while watching some mindless reality tv show together (don't act like you've never indulged). The more I allowed my heart to crack open and receive the gift presented to me, I began to realize that I was the one who had the most to unlearn. </p>
<p>You don't have to fear someone just because they are different than you. You don't have to hold someone whose beliefs are different than yours at a distance. After all, if you knew the abuse she suffered at the hands of the one who should have nurtured and protected her, then you might understand why it was hard to believe in the unconditional love of the Father. </p>
<p>There will be a chapter in my book, and I will call it "Diana." And there will never be a time that I will think about her and not feel like I could weep a massive puddle onto the floor. She has loved me so well, and she taught me how to love someone the way God does. Without forethought or condition. </p>
<p>You can't impact someone's world that you aren't willing to enter. And in the entering, you might find your world changed too.</p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/58899132019-09-12T15:43:32-04:002022-07-28T06:09:34-04:00You Are Not the Only One<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/519bbd5c26c76c5c948436c803685ddcef4333a8/original/img-1220.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>I am a writer who connects through words that I am currently struggling to find. </p>
<p>So here it comes — the hard truth. </p>
<p>I often write about vulnerability and the power of a story, and even still, it is far from easy to be transparent enough to tell you that I'm currently in one of the darkest seasons of my life. I feel like I am trying to pour from reserves that are below the empty line. I am battling lies that I hear in my head about my present and my future, and there are days when my only prayer is to help me make it through the next hour. </p>
<p>I have been in the pit of depression before. God and I have been through some things, to hell and back, or so it seemed at the time. Always together, since He so willingly lowers Himself into my darkest night, making His bed there until I've found the strength to hope again. </p>
<p>I have a lot of questions, and I don't know for the life of me why some things happen. I don't understand why God seems so late to arrive at times, even though He is aware of how pressing our need is. And I think admitting that or confessing that I feel like I'm drowning over here is one of the hardest things for those in public arenas of writing, speaking, or leadership to admit. </p>
<p>There is a fear of being judged since humans have this tendency to make unfair judgements based on fragmented pieces we see of a partial picture. There is the fear of being too messy, of appearing weak, or less spiritual, or less mature, or less whatever. All of which are lies that keep us in the suffering of silence and drive us further into the darkness and disconnection from the very people who help bring healing. </p>
<p>The longing for some answers isn't going to be fully satisfied on this side of eternity. I only know that I can relate to Mary in John, chapter 11 when she hears that Jesus has finally arrived four days after she sent for Him and four days too late, and instead of going out to greet Him, she stays in the house. </p>
<p>Was she bitter? <em>Maybe</em>. Confused? <em>Probably</em>. Depressed and apathetic? The One she trusted with everything seems indifferent to her need. <em>Who wouldn't be? </em></p>
<p>I am Mary, sitting in the house with my questions and whatever emotions feel more consuming than my ability to handle. </p>
<p>But I also know something Mary didn't at the moment. I know the end of that story. I know that Jesus finally does arrive and not too late. I know that he asks for Mary by name because He noticed her absence. I know that He understood how she was feeling and the intricate web of the why's and He cared deeply. I know that He arrived and breathed life into death and grief and so much sorrow, the way that He always does. </p>
<p>Sometimes the most spiritual thing you can do is to admit that you are not okay, or that you have doubt and that your faith feels fragile right now. </p>
<p>"and a smoldering wick he will not snuff out." Isaiah 42:3 (NIV) </p>
<p>It's okay to feel weak sometimes. It's okay to feel like you are a smoldering flame and one more slight blow might be the one that snuffs you out. You are not alone in that struggle. You are not more broken than the rest of us. There is not some inherent defect in you that makes you unusable, unlikable or less than. </p>
<p>Reach out. Talk to someone who loves you and is a safe person for you. If you don't have that someone, write to me. </p>
<p>Know that Jesus asked for Mary by name. And He's asking for <em>me</em> and He's asking for <em>you</em>. <em>Even still.</em> No matter what you are sitting in the house with today.</p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/58283712019-07-18T08:32:24-04:002020-10-06T19:12:10-04:00A Love Story Written for You<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/448363dae6c80c99c8e791ee24ba32126c65727f/original/img-0144.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Shame has a way of spreading through the soul like mold spreads through a house. Shame is different than guilt. It isn’t just feeling remorse or regret about an event in your life, like when our internal moral compass tells us we are in the wrong and indicates a course correction should take place. Shame is the feeling that <em>you</em> are bad and that there is something inherently wrong with you. </p>
<p>My husband encountered a recent disaster on the job site of a large and beautiful home in which he was working. There was a knob that broke off of a sink, followed by substantial volumes of water sprayed at high pressure. Picture a fire hose opened at full throttle in your Pinterest version of a refinished laundry room. The water damage was extensive, leaking through to the ceiling of a finished basement and requiring the ceiling to be ripped out and dried for hours upon hours with industrial fans. Without going to the length of ripping out the ceiling, there was a strong likelihood that mold would spread quickly in the dark and concealed spaces beneath it. </p>
<p>I have come face to face with shame in my own life and have fought my way through the trenches of rediscovering my worth. I had to take a painful look at what was growing beneath the ceiling of my heart. It has been a long journey, and through that process, I have learned to identify shame in the lives of others because pain recognizes pain. </p>
<p>If you’ve been following our journey this past year, then you know that my husband and I launched a church and a coffee house (coming soon) called “The Fringe.” There were several names on the table as possibilities when we were trying to decide. We chose that name because our hearts burn for those who feel on the fringe of society and life. </p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/1da5814665da47cf635f600d75f820e93809ba3b/original/img-1177.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p>One time after we first announced the launch, someone said something to my husband that I will never forget. He said this: </p>
<p>“You may be called to the fringe, but <em>you</em> are not the fringe. I don’t see you that way.” </p>
<p>I want to be a person who makes people feel like even though they may feel on the fringe, <em>they</em> are not the fringe. I want to be a person who leaves the light on for people who are wandering in the dark. Like when you’ve been driving for miles and miles in the middle of nowhere and there are no signs of life and finally, a gas station and a sigh of relief. For that person who has lost their way in life. For that person who feels like they don’t belong anywhere. For that person drenched in shame and regret, I want to be a person that the light and love of a Father who never gives up shines through. </p>
<p>I want to be that reminding voice that even though you have made some mistakes in life, <em>you</em> are not a mistake. </p>
<p>In Luke chapter 15, we see the story of the prodigal son who has left home and disgraced his family. When he comes to his senses and returns home, his father sees him coming from a long way off and pulls up his robe and runs to him. The father knew that if someone else were to get to his son first, they might beat him, send him away, or publicly humiliate him. He ran to his son to spare him the shame. </p>
<p>We have a father who runs to us. We have a father who will stop at nothing to restore you to your position as the beloved. He tears down ceilings and runs to get to you first. May we be people who do the same to those we encounter in life. May we love so radically that it heals and transforms and silences the shame. May our lives tell this love story written with each of us in mind. </p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/58208922019-07-11T08:07:27-04:002019-07-11T08:09:43-04:00A Voice on the Earth<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/3e31ce3a2e93c15de69a77fe521901d069c24ff6/original/img-1046.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>My phone rang while I scrolled the timeline, trying to avoid the awkwardness of standing elbow to elbow in line at the BMV at two p.m. on a Friday. Her voice was apologetic on the other end, regretting to be the bearer of bad news. She was calling to tell me that one of my sons had gotten in trouble. It was a little thing that could become a big thing. It was a path that if not diverted, could lead to a trajectory for his life that seized my heart with fear at the thought. </p>
<p>I sat heavy in my seat on the ride home where I knew he was waiting for me and dreading my arrival at the same time. I started out the window and tried to find words as I fumbled my way through best attempts at a prayer for help in navigating the situation. When I walked into our home, I found him sitting in the kitchen with his elbows resting on his knees, and his head hung low. I sat across from him and allowed our eyes to meet in silence for a moment before asking him what happened. And when the tears pooled in the corners of his eyes, I had to fight the urge to be the rescuer. </p>
<p>What I have learned in going through that situation is this: Discipline is more painful for me as his parent than for him as the recipient. Not because he asked numerous times over the next week for his phone privileges back. Not because he fatigued my ears and my will asking "how long?" It's painful for me to inflict punishment because I know that it doesn't feel kind to him. I know this as he sits on the edge of his bed the following Saturday and pleads to go to an event he had been looking forward to all week with all of his peers and social circle. It hurts my heart because I know how important it is to him. </p>
<p>So while it's the hard thing to say, "No. I'm sorry, but I can't let you do that," I remind myself that love without discipline is not loving at all. If I save him and don't allow him to experience the burn of touching the stove, he will likely continue on a path that will hurt him more in the future. He will not learn the crucial lesson at hand. The hard thing <em>is</em> the loving thing. My heart feels the soberness of this wrecking truth: If I in all of my best efforts at being a good parent feel this pain, how much more does God when we are suffering because of our own choices? Does he feel that ache in His heart when His children that He loves more than life experience the discomfort? </p>
<p>"Then they got rid of the foreign gods among them and served the LORD. And he could bear Israel's misery no longer." Judges 16:10 (NIV) </p>
<p><em>I would say He most certainly does. </em></p>
<p>There was never a single moment in the aftermath of it all that I didn't want to draw near to my son. Truth is, that car ride home was painfully long. I couldn't get to him soon enough, and not because I wanted to scold him. I think about this as we walk through a crowded field a few days later at an independence day event. He lagged behind, much like my non-celebratory mood. My heart still felt heavy from the week we had faced, and from the concern, I felt over him. Yet, even in the moment of receiving the phone call and even when I was listening to him make excuses to justify his actions and avoid punishment, I only wanted to be near him. In spite of it all, I only wanted his presence and his smile and his humor. </p>
<p>Perhaps our incorrect view of God causes us more misery than anything. Maybe our tendency to hide when we've screwed up is where we get it all wrong. We tend to withdraw and to isolate and to cover ourselves by checking out and distancing ourselves. But we have a Father who only wants us to come closer. He can't get to us soon enough. He is the One who pursued us first. He is the One who loved us even in spite of us. The One who searches us out in our fleeing and our hiding. </p>
<p>My heart absorbs the moment, and the truth for my own life as my husband says this to our son. "You are made for so much more. You are meant to be a voice on the earth." </p>
<p>That's what the Father does when we draw closer. Never shaming or condemning. He never reminds us of all of the ways we have failed or fallen short. Does He allow us to experience the pain of our choices? <em>Absolutely</em>, as a good Father should. But He also reminds us of who we are and what we are made for. <em>Made for so much more. Meant to be a voice on the earth. </em></p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/58057372019-06-27T09:20:22-04:002019-06-27T09:27:42-04:00Living in Your Prime<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/508e348055ac9ff11057bfdb3f95068ebdf0295d/original/img-0837.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /><span class="font_small"><em>Humidity.</em></span></p>
<p> </p>
<p>I am returning home today after a few days away at the lake. A few days of respite from the busyness of life that we all experience where there are commitments and deadlines and loads of pressure. I have entered the much slower pace of life in the south, where my friend who is a southern native says the slower pace is because it's hotter in the south and people move slower to avoid sweating. We laugh when he says this and I think to myself <em>whatever the reason, I'll take it in heaping doses.</em> I'll accept the invitation to slow down and sit for a while on the porch with nowhere to be and good conversation while swatting away the mosquitoes. </p>
<p>One of our conversations while floating with carefreeness in the lake involved the idea of being in your prime and <em>what does that even mean?</em> Society defines it as being at your best. Young, healthy, full of vigor, and ready to take on the world. </p>
<p>I think about this for a moment as we are talking. I think about the elderly I have met who move slowly and have fewer years ahead of them than the younger generation, yet their perspective and zeal for life is palpable. </p>
<p>I wrote once about aging with grace, and about an elderly woman, I had the pleasure of meeting. She wore a perfect shade of pink lipstick as she met us in her driveway with a smile and invited us into her home. The lines of time were etched on her face, but I would not have guessed her in her nineties. Time had been kind to her, or maybe she had learned to wear it well. </p>
<p>Her eyes were young and danced in a way that held a lifetime of stories and a carefree spirit. We small talked while my daughter played on the floor by my feet, pulling vintage toys by a string with the contentment of her new found treasures. As the conversation evolved, I could hear the loneliness of being widowed in her words. "I don't understand why I had to be alone for so long," she said. It hung in the air for a moment. I thought to myself how our nagging questions don't discriminate who they haunt. They come to us all, and they don't always get answered with time. But she carried hers differently, and perhaps that's the reason she was able to play and dance with my daughter with a grace and agility that surprised me and made me want to get on the floor myself. </p>
<p>I have also met young people whom time has not been kind to, and they have not learned yet how to wear it well. Young in years and ancient at heart. Aged before their time by bitterness with a resulting lack of longing for life, wonder, and adventure. </p>
<p>So what does it really mean to be in your prime? And how do we measure it anyway when none of us really know how many days we are given in this life? </p>
<p>"However many years anyone may live, let them enjoy them all " Ecclesiastes 11:8 (NIV) </p>
<p>Maybe we have the whole thing backward. Maybe being in our prime is not measured by how many lines we have on our face, or how great or not great we look in our swimsuits (lifelong learning curve over here). Perhaps this realization will stop us from the lengths we are willing to go to preserve our youth. Maybe it will prevent us from wishing away the gift of added years to our life, from concealing our age when our birthday rolls around or resenting the effects of gravity and time that reveal themselves in the mirror. </p>
<p>Maybe we will awaken to the realization that our quality of life is not measured by how great our life looks on social media. It's not determined by the likes a post receives, by the affirmation we get or don't get from the people we think we should. It's not dependent on someone else's stamp of approval or acknowledgment of our work. Did you know that Vincent Van Gogh only sold one piece of artwork while he was alive? But he kept painting anyway because it's what he loved to do. It wasn't until after his death that around 2,000 pieces of his art were discovered which are valued in millions today. </p>
<p>I don't know what keeps you from living your best life right now. Maybe it's the worries of the day (all hands raised). Perhaps it's looking over your shoulder at the regret of yesterday. Or an area of healing that you need that interferes with your ability to show up and be fully present in the here and now. </p>
<p>Whatever it is, I pray you will invite the Father into that space. Invite in healing and clarity to what keeps you from your best life. Truth is, you are in your prime today right in the here and now. There is no promise of tomorrow, and there is no return to yesterday. Being in your prime is being fully alive in whatever present moment you find yourself in, regardless of your age. It's taking whatever circumstance has been handed to you and choosing to live your best life in the midst of it. There is no better time than this moment to embrace your one and only life. <br> </p>
<p> </p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/57978692019-06-20T08:00:51-04:002021-08-09T20:56:23-04:00The Journey Back to Joy<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/897da82a235a7d2e2c9bcb9caece8214839a572a/original/img-5818.jpeg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>There were smiling faces gathered on the front porch of that house on the corner as I drove by that day. The house long neglected, with peeling yellow paint, a missing screen door and the worn couch that sits outside on the bare dirt with patches of grass. It’s a neighborhood I pass through often, where poverty is generational, and hope seems out of town. The Christmas lights were strung across the porch, and the “Just Married,” sign caught my eye. A celebration, however simple and low budget it may have been, was underway, and something about it pierced my heart and made my eyes brim. The sun was shining on that spring day like it was invited to the party and accepted the invitation. </p>
<p>It was a season of great difficulty in our lives. One where it seems like everything is coming against you and there is a conspiracy you are unaware of. I was starting to wonder if the hardship of the season had shown up to stay. Perhaps it had gone to the post office and changed its address to the same as mine. In the weariness of it all, I began to feel like joy was eluding me. Like the time I watched a yellow balloon slip from the chubby fingers of a little boy standing in front of me. Floating up and away as he stood on tiptoes and reached as high as he could. He added a little frustrated jump for extra measure, and although the balloon had only floated to the ceiling, that white string was still beyond his grasp. </p>
<p>My life felt like an empty playground, where all the children have gone home, and the swing sits vacant with no one to swing. Where there are no sounds of laughter as little ones chase each other and squeal with delight. </p>
<p>And deep within my heart, I knew it wasn’t supposed to be this way. I remembered the moments in my past when it felt like night would never end. I remembered the strength and peace I used to draw upon to help me get out of bed in the morning with the hopeful expectation of the day. A joy that was not dependent on my circumstances, and I wouldn’t settle until I found it again. </p>
<p>What I am learning on my journey back to joy is this: Honesty is a really good place to start. There is nothing wrong with <em>you</em> because you are having a hard time experiencing joy right now. God knows the reasons, and He cares about those reasons deeply. Like when Jesus encountered the woman at the well in John 4 and told her all about herself. Not to shame her, but because she was thirsty and looking for water in all the wrong places and He knew her thirst could only be satisfied by the One who knew all her details and loved her still. Be honest with God about how you are feeling and invite Him into those spaces. </p>
<p>Sometimes there is a ceiling to the level of joy you can experience because of an area of your life that still needs healing. Maybe it’s self-forgiveness and the inability to fully experience life in the present because you are still punishing yourself. Or perhaps it is someone else you need to forgive in order to set yourself free. Maybe it’s the need to surrender your unanswered questions of brokenness, anger, and pain to God, even if they don’t get answered on this side of time and eternity. </p>
<p>I have also learned that joy is not a feeling, and if I wait for my emotions to show up to experience it, I might spend a lifetime waiting. </p>
<p>“the joy of the Lord is your strength.” Nehemiah 8:10 NIV </p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/700e6fdedc1affc6a7080bc0adf2d08342974e29/original/img-5823.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p>Not circumstances or destinations. Not determined by other people, or by how I am feeling in the moment. Everything I need to cultivate and experience joy is already inside of me. Like that person who sits there in the room smiling quietly because they know something I don’t. It’s an invitation that is waiting for my acceptance, to show up to that porch style wedding reception with the handmade sign and the lemonade that’s a tad too sweet and to drink freely and join the party. </p>
<p>When I saw the balloon float away from the little boy in front of me that day, I grabbed the string and pulled it away from the ceiling and handed it back to him as I watched the light return to his eyes. Joy is not elusive. It hasn’t floated off to the ceiling. It hasn’t been carried away by the wind and beyond your ability to reach it or grasp it. It’s inside of you because <em>“the joy of the Lord is your strength.” </em></p>
<p>It’s being handed back to you today. <em>May you open your heart to receive it.</em></p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/57819462019-06-06T09:26:09-04:002019-06-06T09:26:09-04:00Robbing Others of the Gift<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/0135e972202a1ea2faf59550baf1576c4eee3cba/original/img-0508.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"> </p>
<p>We sat on the front porch of the house as the quiet hours of morning made their transition into midday, when the heat begins to rise, and you have to swat the mosquitoes away. I followed my son outside after realizing he had quietly withdrawn and exited the house, his emotions at that moment feeling larger than his ability to process or handle. There was a whirlwind of outdoor activity around us. A guy who was smoking outside of a small business next door. Cars that were buzzing to and from on our street and two people were standing on the sidewalk saying goodbyes as they got into separate vehicles. Even with life happening all around us, it felt like it was just him and I sitting there unpacking big emotions, because nothing mattered to me more at that time than understanding what was on his heart, and nothing mattered more to him than my wanting to hear it. </p>
<p>It's much easier to speak up and reveal the vulnerable stuff in our hearts when we have the attention of someone who is listening. Not just hearing in the sense of perceiving sound. The way I can hear the garbage truck outside my house right now, while simultaneously hearing my dog snore softly from his kennel and a train blaring its horn from a distance. The type of hearing that happens whether I want it to or not, but listening by consciously choosing to concentrate on what is being said. </p>
<p>Like that person who puts their elbows on the table and leans in to absorb your words as you speak. They turn their phone over and opt not to check it for a moment. They don't interrupt you with their own thoughts and opinions until you are done speaking. And if they've really mastered the art of listening, they can discern when to give space to what was said by not offering the "right" response. How much easier it is to speak up in those moments. </p>
<p>Brené Brown describes vulnerability as "the courage to show up when you can't control the outcome." </p>
<p>The hard truth is that it's easier for me to be vulnerable from behind a computer screen where I can process and choose my words with careful forethought and consideration than it is for me to engage one on one or in a large social group setting. And while that gives the illusion of safety, it also feels unauthentic, restrictive and leads to silent frustration and the inability to be me and offer what I have inside of me to the world. I began to probe for the reason and pray over the why. <em>Why is this my tendency? What lie do I believe about myself? </em></p>
<p>Somewhere along the way, I began to believe that my voice didn't matter. That no one wanted to hear what I had to say. That when I spoke up, and someone spoke over me, it was because what I was saying didn't have value and couldn't possibly have been because of someone else's inability to listen. </p>
<p>So without conscious intention on my part, I began to remain silent and blamed it on my introvert tendencies because it felt more comfortable than facing the rejection of not being heard. </p>
<p>I heard a hostage negotiator say once that what a captor wants more than anything is to be heard. It stuck with me, the extremes people will go to to be understood, and also because, at that time, my daily job involved listening to irate family members express their concerns regarding their loved ones or being called to help deescalate a behavior or talk someone off the edge of a wrong decision. </p>
<p>What I learned over and over again in that season is how quickly a person's anger returns to a neutral and rational level when they feel they are being listened to. </p>
<p>Eye level. Listen. Validate. <em>"To be heard." </em></p>
<p>And in that space of listening, you will often hear what is silently begging to be heard. You will hear what is holding the captor-captive, which is usually the feeling that no one is listening. A sense of disempowerment and that they are not worthy of being heard or understood. I learned that it's not always about having the right answer. It's about listening for the answer. </p>
<p>It can feel disempowering to feel like you aren't being listened to. It whispers the lie that you what you have to say doesn't matter, and no one wants to hear it. It will steal your voice and your opinion and cause you to remain silent when you have something worthwhile to say. I don't know what may have happened in your life that tried to steal your voice. I don't know what lie knocked on the door of your heart, and you allowed to come in, but I urge you to take another look at it today. </p>
<p>When we choose to ignore that nudge in our heart to speak life and truth, and what we've learned, we rob others of the gift of our unique perception and experiences. Don't deprive others of your voice. There is someone who needs your words and your story. May you find the courage to show up, even when you can't control the outcome, knowing that you have value whether or not someone else has the ability to recognize it.</p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/57650362019-05-23T06:01:15-04:002022-05-17T22:04:14-04:00Ten Cakes for Monte<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/933214899495f9e5c97d96bb81f9b95d78fa911e/original/celebration.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>I looked over my left shoulder to watch my daughter as she clapped with exaggerated excitement from the backseat. Her smile reached both sides of her face at the level of joy that she felt, and I felt my own smile mirror hers. I’ll tell you why in a moment, but for now, know that these are frequent occurrences for her. Like when we pull into the local ice cream hang out spot. Her enthusiasm doesn’t diminish in the line of ten cars ahead of us. The scoop of vanilla with sprinkles on top is worth the wait. Worth clapping for. Worth celebrating. Or when she sees the slide as we approach the park. The slide she used to be afraid of, but now squeals with delight as she goes down and runs to do it again and commands me to watch.The simple things.The things we lose our childlike appreciation for as we age and the wonder of it all grows dim. </p>
<p>The wonder is still there, buried somewhere beneath the lie we’ve believed that these everyday moments are somehow ordinary. It is discoverable in brief glimpses, able to be tapped into when we lay aside our adult status for a moment and decide to take a turn on the swing set. The memory of the carefreeness returns much like the memory of riding a bike. With much ease. As close as the wind on our face, no matter how long it has been. </p>
<p>In recent weeks, I sat in the nosebleed section of an auditorium built to hold thousands while attending the college graduation of a friend. Statistically speaking and if his past had a vote, we shouldn’t have been sitting there watching the event unfold. By this point in his life, he had overcome addiction and homelessness and the winding and messy road to recovery. So when his name was called, and he crossed that stage, I literally could have jumped out of my skin. Just mop me up off the floor over there in row fourteen. Tears for days. A heart that was exploding with pride and the fleeting feeling that the world is as it should be. <em>A moment worth celebrating</em>. Wonder and awe at this life and its beauty. </p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/580629c5f7472432716319502fa1e8ac2efcb3e4/original/img-0296.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /><span class="font_small"><em>Waiting with anticipation to hear his name called. </em></span></p>
<p>Or like the time that Monte’s mom said she was going to make him ten cakes for his birthday this year. One for every year that he was gone during his incarceration. One cake for every year that he felt like he had missed the mark in life big time. For every year that he felt the weight of shame and failure and an unknown future. <em>I will light these candles on these ten cakes, and I will celebrate you. I will celebrate your existence. I will celebrate the fact that you are home again and that your life is worth it.</em> Even then. <em>Even still</em>. </p>
<p>I will tell you why my daughter clapped that night. We were listening to a musician as he competed for his place on a popular show. She heard him strumming his guitar and the smooth melody of his voice, and she listened to the audience erupt in applause at the conclusion. What she didn’t know was the backstory. That his journey included so much heartache, making the bitter more sweet in this full circle moment as he sat on that stool under the stage lights and with a captive audience. <em>She simply responded to the celebration already taking place. </em></p>
<p>She clapped wildly as if she understood that something extraordinary had just taken place. I thought about how, as adults, we subconsciously make the determination of who is worth celebrating and who is not. We grossly underestimate who is capable of change and who is a lost cause. Who to fight for and who to give up on. We don’t take the time to get to know others who have different views and who have walked a different road than we have. We decide who is right and who is wrong and fail miserably to see ourselves in the person we think is nothing like us. No wonder we so often lose our <em>wonder</em>. </p>
<p><em>We are too busy making judgments that are not ours to make. </em></p>
<p>I lost a pearl earring the other day. Not just any pearl, but one from a set that my husband bought me. He knew how much I loved them when he chose them for me and wrapped them in silver paper that Christmas. I felt sick when I couldn’t find it and was relieved when the pearl rolled out from its hiding place on the tray I placed it carefully in. </p>
<p>Here’s the thing though. A pearl has worth, <em>regardless of whether or not I recognize its value. </em></p>
<p><em>Maybe the invitation to our lack of wonder is just to respond to the celebration already taking place</em>. Maybe the birds with their morning harmony know something we don’t about the wonder of this creation they inhabit. Maybe children still remember the secret knowledge of their Father that created them and entrusted us with shaping and molding them into people who value the people he does. </p>
<p><em>Maybe there should be more standing ovations. Yes</em>, for the friend you know that has overcome. Be the one who shows up and stands to applaud and screams like that obnoxious friend in the nosebleed section. <em>It’s a moment worth celebrating. Don’t miss it</em>. But don’t forget to cheer on the friend who is still stuck in failure and repetitive cycles of brokenness and struggle. Cheer for them too, because more often than not, you are the only one who will and it may be the very thing that pulls them out. </p>
<p><em>Bake the ten cakes. </em>Make every flavor and light every candle and be sure to take a picture too. <em>Because people need to know they are worth it.</em> Even in spite of their past and their worst moment. People don’t need to be reminded of their screw-ups. More often than not, they are overly aware, and there are enough people doing the reminding.</p>
<p>I'm going to decide to clap wildly because God says that every person is worth it and that is enough for me. I'm going to clap because even at my lowest, there were people still standing on the sidelines clapping for me. </p>
<p><em>Don't overcomplicate the invitation to love people</em>. Let's be people who bake the ten cakes. And light the candles too. <br> </p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/57564982019-05-16T05:53:36-04:002019-05-16T10:26:20-04:00SOS: Lessons From Open Water<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/a0faadadbba70e8ce614a6aacbf45170287dfeaf/original/blog.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>When we set sail from shore, we had no idea how long our course would be. It was not a calculated risk. We saw the need in the margins and felt the weight of their despair as if it were our own. <em>And once you have seen, you can’t unsee.</em> There is no moving forward in your comfortable existence and ignoring the point of pain, not with peace anyway. So we glanced again at that red brick Colonial that is still vacant one street over and decided it was no longer an option. <em>Or at least not one we wouldn’t regret</em>. We set our compass to North, sailing away from the shoreline and the illusion of safety that we once knew and out into the open sea, our destination being a future opening date on a dream placed in our hearts. </p>
<p>Here’s what I didn’t know when I was still sitting on the shoreline with my toes in the water. I had no idea how dark it can get on the open sea. That there are extended periods when you cannot see your hand in front of your face, let alone what the next day will hold. I had no idea how adrift and lost at sea I would feel like maybe our compass was off by just one degree that would eventually land us miles upon miles from our mark and nowhere that we wanted to be. I had no idea how shark infested the water would feel in the form of opposition against our family, our finances, and ultimately, our hearts. I had no idea that I would feel so depleted from the scorch of the sun and almost void of any hope of ever seeing the shoreline again. </p>
<p>So the distress flares went up and my panic began to rise. But this I remembered and clung to on the days and long nights when all I could hear was the lapping of the water that was holding us. When God places something on your heart, <em>he only asks you to go</em>. He doesn’t ask you to figure out the next ten steps or ten years. He doesn’t ask you to determine if the cause is worthy, because if it involves loving people,<em> it always is</em>. He doesn’t ask you to consider all the hypothetical scenarios or what if’s. <em>A calculated risk is not a risk at all</em>. And the only risk really lies in what you’ll miss by choosing to play it safe. </p>
<p>Maybe you need to be reminded today. Perhaps you feel the knock at your heart, but you’re still sitting at the shore waiting on the opportune moment which is <em>now</em>. Maybe you answered the call, but now you are second guessing yourself because all hell has broken loose in your life. Perhaps you are feeling the blisters on your skin and your heart, and you didn’t realize the cost would be so high. Maybe your cries for help are only met with silence, and it feels like God is holding out on you. Perhaps you feel adrift and lost at sea. </p>
<p><em>Hold fast. </em></p>
<p>What your weary eyes can’t see is that it will be worth stepping into the water. It will be worth climbing into that boat and heading into a destination that feels unknown. And it’s okay to go afraid, <em>so long as you go</em>. What your weary heart doesn’t know is that the opposition that threatens to overtake and overwhelm is actually a good sign that you are exactly on course. </p>
<p><em>Stay in the boat. Don’t you dare give up</em>. What you also don’t know is that the shoreline is just on the horizon. </p>
<p><em>You are going to make it to shore</em>, and when you do, you just might find that your only regret will be that you didn’t set sail sooner. </p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/57479862019-05-09T00:27:33-04:002019-05-09T00:28:19-04:00The Small and Sacred<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/7b7fa29adf8802d87cdf2d9c98dde1b39e518e37/original/img-0033.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>“Everything is important,</em>” he kept saying as he folded and unfolded the tissue with repetition and laser focus like it was the most important task at hand. Dementia set in a few years before, first revealing itself through forgetting the same route he took for decades and purchasing more of the lunchmeat he just bought the day before. Sometimes he would remember my name. And sometimes he would not. Sometimes he could recall his daughters and his siblings. And other times he needed us to remind him of the life he had lived. But I watched his hands marked with the effects of age and a life well lived as they folded that Kleenex and I hung on his every word, knowing he was saying something I needed to pay attention to. </p>
<p><em>“Everything is important.”</em> </p>
<p>It wasn't lost on me. It replayed in my pensive mind as I left the hospital that night and walked to the car. As I settled into pajamas and my bed and when I awoke the next morning, still forefront in my mind. Not only his words but the intensity with which he said them. </p>
<p><em>There are no small things</em>. It’s all relevant. It all matters with a sacredness that we are often dismissive of or disregard. If the great curtain of time and eternity were unveiled before us, I think we would weep at what we miss in the very moments we are in that are unfolding right before our distracted eyes. </p>
<p>Small things like the time I noticed a change in Jasmine’s handwriting. She handed her writing assignment to my husband and proceeded to talk as it laid upon a stack of others. One front sided page of pink colored ink. It seemed like a small thing really. The fact that I no longer needed a magnifying glass to read her handwriting. Always neatly printed and written with the skill of poetic flow and the ability to express her heart in a way that would bring an audience to their feet, but too small and required you to strain your eyes to see. </p>
<p>“I can actually read your handwriting,” I said to her with surprise, but not really thinking much more about it at the moment. A corner of her mouth lifted as her eyes briefly met mine before glancing away.<em> </em>“I know,” she said. “I felt like my voice was too small before.” <em>Before</em>. </p>
<p>Before processing the trauma and years of sexual abuse. Before bravely seeking healing for the memories she used to escape through anger, violence and toxic relationships that only left her more wounded. Who knew that her healing and growth would reveal itself through such a little thing as a change in her handwriting.<em> I almost missed it. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/6e1e84641eb889b2c90777fe44e31bbbe4f0be40/original/img-0077.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /> </p>
<p><em>Truth is,</em> I almost miss a lot of moments. Like the quiet in a coffee shop, we are waiting to open to the public. “Will we ever arrive?” my heart often asks. My daughter plays quietly on the blue velvet couch as I wait for the floor to dry after being mopped and the Cranberries play softly on Spotify in the background. In that soft lighting of that quiet sanctuary, I imagine the day when the room will be filled with people. Some working silently on laptops while others chase children or catch up with a friend or a book. I imagine the noise and traffic and exchange of conversation that will fill the place. This moment of waiting and stillness exchanged for something else that is good. <em>I will miss this</em>, I think to myself. So I sit and watch my daughter as she plays and I linger in it all. </p>
<p><em>“Everything is important.”</em> So I decided to give my blog that name. And today is not the anniversary of the launch or the 100th post or anything seemingly extraordinary like that. It’s just on my heart and I wanted to share. </p>
<p>Life is handing us an invitation to live fully in every moment. Don't merely wait for the "big" moments and miss all the small and simple and beautiful ones in between. <em>Notice what goes unnoticed</em>. Practice the art of paying attention. Wake up to your one and only beautiful life. <em>Even if</em> it's not the one you thought you would be living. </p>
<p>I not only heard you, grandpa.<em> I listened. And you were so right. </em></p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/57399212019-05-02T08:08:38-04:002021-08-30T05:51:43-04:00The Courage to Stand Up Again<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/37eab0134abb795224d60b2d1f817cc4470128f4/original/img-9598.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"> </p>
<p>It wasn’t that I didn’t have anything to say. In fact, quite the opposite.<em> I had a lot to say</em>. It’s just that my words got stuck somewhere between my heart and my throat as the memory of the verbal attack hung thick in the air around me. As the words played on repeat between my ears like an annoying chorus to a song I wished I hadn't heard. The words were out there and couldn’t be retracted. Launched like a ballistic missile designed to create a nuclear war <em>and the target was my heart</em>. </p>
<p>At the moment, I retreated to a safe place somewhere deep within, took a deep breath and straightened my face and my spine as I listened to the unfurling of what I knew to be untrue about myself. I am a person who writes about being vulnerable and the importance of sharing your story and the truth that once you’ve made peace with your story, it no longer matters what other people think. But in this unwelcome moment, my vulnerability was being used against me causing me to question what I knew to be true. </p>
<p>So like an automatic setting, my mind began to rehearse all of those mental practices in my mind. I reminded myself of all the things I claim to believe and encourage my readers to embrace and live out. But as the days turned into weeks, my posture began to slump a little. I began to have increased trouble getting out of bed in the morning and looking in the mirror became more of a side glance that I would steal. I stopped writing. I became reclusive. I didn't want to talk, even to those that I love the most. I stopped allowing my words to circulate into the world that I have no control of. </p>
<p>The nagging fear that I couldn’t silence was that if one person felt this way about me, maybe that is the perception that others have too. My mind became amnesic of responses I received in the past from readers who connected with my words and the story I never wanted. Forgotten were the moments when I stood with eyes locked with another as they thanked me for being vulnerable and for giving them the courage, to be honest with their own story. </p>
<p><em>I will protect myself</em>, I thought. <em>I will sit here in silence until it feels safe to come out again, even if that means for the rest of life. </em></p>
<p>And then the knock came from the One who knows this heart and cares more about my reputation and my story than I ever could. It came in the form of a phone call like His hand was being held out to me with an invitation to stand again, even if my legs felt shaky and weak. </p>
<p><em><strong>“You must get up because there is someone else who needs your story.” </strong></em></p>
<p>Listen to what I’m about to say. </p>
<p>You are going to have critics and naysayers. <br>You are going to have people who misinterpret your words and your heart. <br>You are going to have people who hear you talk for five minutes and think they <em>really</em> know you. <br>You are going to have people say things about you that are brutal. Even if just behind your back. <br>It's not an “<em>if</em>,” but a “<em>when</em>.” It is guaranteed. </p>
<p><em>Tell your story anyway. </em></p>
<p>There is someone out there who needs your story. There is someone who needs to know that you survived and what you learned along the way and that they too are going to make it through to the other side. </p>
<p><em>Get off the bench. Stand up again. Come out of the silence. Get back into the ring. </em></p>
<p>You are the only one who has lived your story from your perspective, and the bravest thing you can do in this life is to find the courage to tell it.</p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/57239702019-04-18T08:00:09-04:002024-02-24T09:35:52-05:00Where the Daffodils Still Bloom<p style="text-align:center;"> </p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/54afa6a95017a528b4e631b43bee7678763ddd11/original/img-9640.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /><p> </p><p> </p><p><i>Once upon a time</i>, the street was lined with newly constructed homes and manicured lawns and perennials that came back every year. With neighbors that greeted each other as they walked from their cars and up the steps into their homes. With vehicles left unlocked and front doors left open. With the sound of children playing and laughter as daylight receded and drew to a close. </p><p><i>But that was some time ago</i>. And now, those houses have chipped paint and tattered flags. Now the windows frame torn curtains and the roofs have Christmas lights that are falling off in spring. Now the flowerbeds are overgrown, and the leaves from fall gather on the steps even though it is summer, mixed with garbage all around. Now the laughter has grown silent, and the children have turned into adults with gaunt faces and eyes that lack hope. </p><p><i>This is what it looks like when people have given up</i>. I think to myself as my daughter pushes her doll in a stroller down this street of broken dreams. </p><p>I wanted to give up too by this point. This wasn’t what we signed up for when we scribed our signatures on that lease and unpacked boxes and hung pictures on our walls. I didn’t know when we moved in that addiction owned the street. I didn’t know until it became apparent that all signs of life only appear after dark and until I saw someone using at the curb of my front lawn. </p><p>And here’s the thing that I realized as I looked out my bedroom window and saw him sink onto the concrete step and drop his head into his hands. As a flicker of compassion began to invade my feelings of being inconvenienced. </p><p>I may want to move out,<i> but God does not. </i></p><p><i>God moves in. </i> </p><p>I grow weary and annoyed, <i>but he is compassionate</i>. </p><p style="text-align:center;"> </p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/e7ccefb571cfcfa528238fda7e88785dcec5f43b/original/img-9749.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /><p> </p><p> </p><p>In Matthew 9:36, it says, <i>“When he saw the crowds, he had compassion on them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd.” </i></p><p>It is <i>all</i> laid bare before him. The stories of the people who live behind these doors that stay closed. The events that happened along the way in their lives. The trigger that led Steve to pick up a bottle for the first time. The reason that Annie sells herself and has sad eyes. The memories that harass and leave them helpless, <i>like a sheep that is lost and wandering in open pasture with no sense of direction. </i></p><p>And on this street where it seems that dreams have been buried and have come to die, there I saw him that day as we took a walk. He was on his knees in his front yard digging his hands into the soil, weeding his flowerbed and planting new flowers. <i>Like a picture of God himself</i>. Right in the middle of this street where no one else looks up. Where no one picks up what has been dropped. Where no one cares to plant flowers anymore or even tries to change the landscape of what it has become. </p><p>He had not lost his ability to care. He didn’t ask himself what’s the point. Instead, he drove his truck to the local garden center and loaded the bed down with peonies and thought to himself,<i> I think I will plant some beauty here</i>. He believed it was still worth investing in.</p><p>As we enter this weekend of Easter, <i>may we remember that God does the same. He still resurrects what seems broken and beyond hope. </i></p><p>May resurrection be something that we don’t just confess with our mouth, but something that we believe in our hearts and live out in our actions. When we walk in desolate areas, may we still see the daffodils that bloom in unlikely places and hear the wind chime that was hung and forgotten, but still plays its beautiful melody. <i>May God resurrect us to the place in our hearts where childlike innocence still exists and our view of the world is one that refuses to give up hope.</i></p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/57155832019-04-11T08:39:44-04:002021-08-13T19:35:36-04:00Shedding Your Skin<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/1e3fcb9c6aaedd7f5967b2f45d3c4cd1b984037b/original/img-9714.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>I learned more about reptiles than I ever wanted to when my middle son decided to purchase a Bearded Dragon with the money he earned one summer. I found myself immersed in routines of turning on a heated lamp for daily basking and making weekly trips to aisle three of the local pet store to purchase crickets. <em>The things you do for love</em>, I thought to myself. And <em>yes</em>, I eventually warmed up too and found myself standing at that aquarium in my son’s room having a monologue with that little lizard. He would turn his head at the sound of my voice, his beady eyes holding intelligence and curiosity. </p>
<p>For the first few months after we brought him home, he would shed his skin on almost a weekly basis. The shedding, I later learned, was necessary for his rapid growth. </p>
<p>And a recent conversation I overheard my husband discussing with a good friend has me thinking about all of this. “I’ve never felt more comfortable in my own skin,” he said confidently, and with a light-heartedness, I hadn’t heard from him before. </p>
<p>Sometimes shedding is necessary to grow into that place of being comfortable with who we are. Of actually <em>liking</em> who we are as a person. I thought about all the times I’ve compared myself to someone else and came up shorter than enough in my measurement. The comparison of appearance, style, intelligence, creative ability, parenting. I could go on. Comparison is a quicksand that will swallow you whole and needs to shed off for us to grow. </p>
<p>I thought about the times I’ve silenced my own opinion out of fear of how it might be perceived. About the times I should have spoken up, but didn’t, allowing someone else to make me feel inferior or believing that my own voice didn’t matter. I needed to shed giving other people that much power over my mind and my life. </p>
<p>I once heard a writing instructor say that “once you’ve made peace with your story, it no longer matters what others think.” When I think of your <em>story</em>, I think of it in a broader sense. We tend to get focused on moments in our lives when sharing our stories, moments that are important but are only parts of the whole. Events on a timeline. Small concerning God’s perspective of time and eternity. I think of your story as being <em>all of who you are as a person</em>. With all of your character traits and quirks and uniqueness that makes you individual and the one and only you on the planet. </p>
<p>The question is <em>how do we get there? How do we get to that place of being comfortable in our own skin? </em></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><em><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/24d2887e4f2ef15a2ac0057d9bb6c0f808a2e8fd/original/img-9715.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /><span class="font_small">photo cred: Steven Sites</span></em></p>
<p>I have worked in long term care for the last three years. There has been a wealth of wisdom gained from the elderly patients I’ve had the honor of knowing. One common observation is that they have finally reached the point in their lives of being true to who they really are. Without pretense. Without inhibition. </p>
<p>“You wear black too much,” Hilda told me once. And what could I even say? <em>It makes me look thinner,</em> I thought to myself. So I smiled sheepishly and told her she was right and attempted to add more color to my wardrobe. Sometimes their unfiltered and frank words will scrape you a bit, as the truth sometimes does. But most of the time, it is beautiful and something I long to reach sooner rather than later in my life. </p>
<p>Here’s what I am learning about the process of becoming comfortable in my own skin: (long and messy and still in process by the way) </p>
<p>The more secure I become in who God sees me as, and the more I learn to rest in His approval of me, the easier it becomes not to compare myself. To not give other people’s opinion more attention than it deserves. To not over analyze and reread a text that I sent or overthink the way I responded to someone I interacted with that day. </p>
<p>I know it seems like an elementary truth, but perhaps to grow and become more comfortable in our own skin, it’s the most important one that we have to revisit from time to time. A skewed perception of God’s unchanging love for you will have you running from yourself your whole life and conforming to who others think you should be. </p>
<p>Being firmly rooted in the security of knowing that I am loved is the safest thing I have ever known. </p>
<p><em>What are some areas of your life that you need to shed?</em></p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/57065832019-04-04T07:41:10-04:002019-07-05T09:37:49-04:00Young and Wild and Free<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/7d0ec905fc38d2cb3053576a768ad3c27541e4fd/original/img-9601.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>I dusted off the box before I carried it up from the basement and unearthed its contents onto the dining room table. It was an attempt to organize the boxes we would soon stack into a U-haul as we moved away from our house that held generations of memories. I became distracted with the task at hand and got lost in a spread of old yearbooks, birthday cards, and hand-drawn stick figures with happy faces and big hair. </p>
<p>Somewhere buried in the box was an autobiography written by my eight-year-old self at the request of my third-grade teacher. I smiled as I read the list of details that seemed to matter greatly at the time. A list of details about my cats, my favorite book, food, and even my favorite number. </p>
<p>But I stood and paused, blinking long and hard when I read one line seemingly lost in the middle. </p>
<p>"When I grow up I want to write books." </p>
<p>In my everyday life in the here and now, I am working on my first book and blogging my heart out, and you are reading it. So that probably doesn't come as much of a surprise to you as the reader. But here's the thing, it was a twenty-eight-year journey back to that desire. </p>
<p>Somewhere along the way, I forgot the creative desire God had placed in my heart. Somewhere in the minutes, hours, and days that form my past, I lost the inhibition to freely voice what I thought I was capable of without fear of criticism or disapproval. </p>
<p>Maybe I got lost in the starring roles of my life. In motherhood and my career. </p>
<p>Perhaps it was that moment in junior high when I looked at that girl who sat three rows over and decided I would never be as pretty as her. </p>
<p>Or that summer by the pool when that guy commented on my weight in a manner that was unwelcome and not flattering and played on repeat in my head. </p>
<p>Maybe it was the interview I bombed or the vows that got shattered or some other failure along the way. </p>
<p>I don't know the moment, but that desire placed on paper so long ago returned and began to stir again in the most unlikely of places. I would sit on my bunk in that state correctional facility and enter my own sanctuary, and safe space through penning my words. The letters were my lifeline, scribed from that place within my own heart still untouched by the wear and tear of life and time. </p>
<p>Even still, I would smirk and laugh when my husband would urge me to launch a blog, not taking his encouragement seriously and doubting my own ability to express myself in a way that others would connect with. He persisted, and each time I would stick my toe a little further into the water, curiosity eventually giving birth to the launch of my blog and consistent writing and the return to myself. The return to that eight-year-old version of me that was daring enough to give voice to her dream. </p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/d1d4efb61630f04b16f66ebddddec853eccb1755/original/img-9414.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p>I often watch my daughter as she twirls in her third wardrobe change of the day and pretends to be a ballerina. Uninhibited. Unashamed. </p>
<p>And maybe it's because I smile in adoration and she feels the safety of knowing she is loved. Or perhaps it's because she hasn't been carried away from that place within herself that is <em>young</em> and <em>wild</em> and <em>free</em>. </p>
<p><em>May God return us to those places. May He take us back to who He created us to be. </em></p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/56980452019-03-28T12:15:35-04:002019-03-28T12:16:16-04:00A Conversation With Lamar<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/0c0be3b4b87dd1d7cc52a461235edb53cf04a3d9/original/blog-2.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Lamar was my Lyft driver on a sunny afternoon at the end of my workday. My request popped up in his cue of requested rides as he began his shift that Wednesday afternoon. Seven minutes later, he pulled up to the curb, and I climbed into the backseat and gave a friendly hello as I put my seat belt on and prayed he was a good driver. Lyft and Uber is a side job for most of the drivers I have met. And a perfect one if you like flexibility, or if human observation and awkward interactions are your things. Or opportunities for intriguing conversation. I guess it’s all about perspective. </p>
<p>We were mid-route and all of those first moments of polite exchanges were out of the way. <em>Yes, my day has been pretty good.</em> (Mediocre really, but I think good is what he wants to hear, so that’s what I tell him.) <em>Yes, the sunshine is nice to see.</em> And now we have settled into the quiet part of the ride with the white noise of NPR playing at low volume in the background. The window is partially down, and the fresh air and warmer temperatures are welcomed after a long winter of cold and gray. </p>
<p>And then Lamar interrupts the silence. <em>“So how do you keep from becoming numb in your line of work? I mean, with all the hard stuff you see and have to deal with.” </em></p>
<p>He is referring to the field of social work, where I still moonlight during the week. And I have an inkling suspicion he is asking for his own heart. Since Lamar has asked this million dollar question that has caught me off guard, I close my email and lay my phone in my lap. </p>
<p>That’s the challenge of life, <em>isn’t it? </em>To walk through it and not become numb. To not lose heart. To age with grace and not become embittered. Not just in social work where you try to connect people with limited resources and where you are always buried in more work then you can manage. Not just in the medical field where you encounter unexpected illness and chronic pain and sometimes accompany a physician to deliver bad news. Not only inside the prison system where you hear stories that will break your heart and encounter people who are not ready to change and often revisit the system multiple times if they survive their addiction long enough. </p>
<p><em>But in everyday life too</em>. I wondered what Lamar’s daily life had been like. What hurt and disappointments had he encountered along the way? Who let him down or didn’t keep their word or possibly betrayed him? </p>
<p><em>I will be learning to answer this question he has asked for the rest of my life</em>, I think to myself. But one of the ways we keep our heart from becoming numb is by <em>learning to see ourselves in the stories of others. </em>There are universal needs that we all have, regardless of race or political persuasion or religious affiliation. Regardless of gender or economic status or where we are located on the map. </p>
<p style="text-align: center;"> </p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/ece9fcfa1319b72b1738c10f5dcd88673d8cbe32/original/superthumb.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>We are all human at the core. <em>Resilient and fragile</em>, depending on the day. We are all prone to hunger, fatigue, fear, loneliness or questioning our own worth or belonging in this world. </p>
<p>We become numb to protect ourselves from what we think we cannot handle. </p>
<p><em>And sometimes we become numb because we forget. </em>We forget to look for ourselves in the pain of others. I may not be the one receiving bad news, but I know what it feels like to fear it. I know what it feels like to not be able to stop the hand of time from stealing someone I wanted to hold onto forever. I know the sting of death. </p>
<p>I may not need resources that are in short supply, but I know what it feels like to be worried about the future and to feel overwhelmed in the moment. </p>
<p>I may not be returning to prison for the third time because of addiction and self-destruction, but I know what it feels like to fail and feel like I can’t get anything right and to have to live with regret. </p>
<p><em>Don’t we all? </em></p>
<p>Protect your own heart by learning to see and listen to others with compassion. <em>Look for yourself in their stories.</em> You may find that it will do your heart a world of good. </p>
<p> </p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/56878672019-03-21T08:53:46-04:002019-03-21T08:59:47-04:00Music and All the Things She Loves<p style="text-align: center;"><em>For Amber</em></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><em><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/ac0f0a63bfe8135aa903f7ef2a4446c1e79e4d8c/original/blog-3-21.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>My eyes caught a glimpse of her in the doorway and it took my heart a moment to register her presence in that place. Kind of like that moment when someone you’ve waited a long time to see finally walks down the terminal of the airport balancing the heaviness of their carry-on bag and a sweater, their face revealing the exhaustion of a long journey and a cramped flight. You don’t care what baggage they've brought with them. <em>You are just so glad at the sight of them. </em></p>
<p>The last time I saw her was in the free world. The one where she was not a ward of the state. The one where she wore a white hoodie instead of a blue button-up shirt made of polyester. Where we sat at the coffee house and talked about her dreams for the future over lattes and sandwiches. </p>
<p><em>But she wasn’t free even then.</em> A car accident and a prescription that turned into a habit led her into a vicious cycle of relapses, each failure driving her deeper into shame and self-loathing. Each time confirming the lie her past told her, that she was unworthy of love. That she would possibly never amount to anything more than addiction and the shallow places it had taken her. <br> <br>I tried to help in every way I knew how, talking her away from the ledge more times than I could count. Praying with her and for her. Rising before the sun to drive with her to rehab facilities she would later check out of. And then I realized that she had to want it for herself <em>more</em> than I wanted it for her. That my wanting it for her would never be enough. That even God would not override her will. So I did the difficult thing and tied my own hands, releasing her to the path of her own choosing. </p>
<p>And I assure you that when she went down that path, she did not go alone. She took God's whole heart and a piece of mine too. The part that you give away when you walk with someone through tears and the hardest of times. When you see the best and choose to believe for more in spite of statistics and against all the odds. When you are street smart but are careful not to become jaded. </p>
<p>I thought about her many times since that last time I saw her. </p>
<p>So when my eyes fell on her in the doorway of that chapel, when she signed up for the program my husband and I lead inside the prison she was now confined in, her presence was a startling and welcomed sight. A flight bringing someone back home after they’ve been gone a long time. </p>
<p>She sank next to me in the chair to my left and silence hung in the air for a moment before I broke it. </p>
<p>“I am so glad you’re still here, in <em>this</em> life,” I told her, both of us with tears clouding our vision. </p>
<p><em>Even if</em> in the confines of a state prison. <em>At least she had another chance at a life fully lived. At sobriety and being the </em><em>mom</em><em> she never had and running marathons and music and all the things she loves most. </em></p>
<p>She was a welcomed sight to this heart very prone to compassion fatigue and burnout. An unwanted side effect of walking with people in the trenches of healing and through layers of pain and unwanted behavior. A good reason why rest and self-care and seeking the Father to realign my fickle heart is necessary and a critical part of continuing on this walk. </p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/b5fd9663c5ae002cc3993dba9c0e57218587a5aa/original/7583955360-img-5561.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /> </p>
<p>I promise you that no one wakes up one day and decides "I think I'm going to ruin my life." At least not consciously. I know sometimes it seems the contrary. I know the race is long and the temptation is to give up. I know that sometimes the healthy boundary is to walk away. To tie your own hands. To release into the unknown what you never had control over anyway. </p>
<p>But if and when a person returns, may our heart be one that embraces like the Father. May it get weepy and joyful and tearful at the sight of their return. "I'm so glad you're still here, in <em>this</em> life." In <em>my</em> life. I believe in you, <em>even if</em> it's the second, third, or fifteenth time. </p>
<p>As long as there is breath, <em>there is hope</em> <em>for change</em>. And hope is a force to be reckoned with.</p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/56800612019-03-14T11:43:43-04:002022-02-06T08:26:36-05:00On Slow Walks and Being Out of Place<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/67805024670a0a4549fa98b0743c799728765992/original/you-should-bloom.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>I walked everywhere I went during my incarceration experience. Even after rolling off my top bunk and fracturing my ankle in the middle of the night, my walk becoming a limp for the longest time. We looked like a colony of ants wearing shades of blue on that compound of two-thousand women. And not a pretty shade of blue either. Not like <em>cobalt</em> or <em>ocean</em> or <em>turquoise</em>. Although, perhaps no shade would’ve been pretty in the fashion of a state uniform. I even walked to the infirmary once during a snowstorm for a pap smear. <em>Miserable</em>, and yet still a first world problem, but I retrieve that now from my memory bank when I am tempted to complain about cold temperatures. <em>Or</em> pap smears. </p>
<p>My body acclimated during that time and I learned to adapt to being outdoors often in all of Ohio’s unpredictable weather. In the sweltering heat warnings of summer, I would long for air conditioning and relief, realizing how much I had taken for granted. In the crispness of Fall, I would dream about scented candles and my favorite sweaters and carved pumpkins for the porch and home. And once during Spring, when the sun began to show itself again and hope returned, I was on one of those everyday walks when I noticed something amongst a heaping pile of rubble. </p>
<p>It was inside of a fenced demolition site. A former building that used to house women, now condemned and torn to the ground. A pile of rocks and debris and memories of what used to be, symbolic in the way of my own life and the lives of the women inside those razor-wired fences. </p>
<p>It stood there between the rocks, and I couldn’t help but do a double take. The way one does when you spot something on your everyday route. Like a new billboard or a new park bench that wasn’t there before. I couldn’t help but linger for a moment, even though I wasn’t supposed to linger<em> “out of place.” </em>Ironic, because this wasn’t home and I always felt out of place. It was a dainty little thing, budding and pushing its way up into the light and into life. A small white flower with a yellow center growing right there in the middle of all that had been demolished. I am not a gardener so I couldn’t tell you what lovely type it was. Maybe it was even one of those weeds that grow wild and pretty. But regardless, I couldn’t help but do a double take and admire its beauty. </p>
<p>I could go in many different directions with what I want to say next. I could tell you that there is so much good that is still present even in the most challenging seasons of life, <em>and that would be true. </em></p>
<p>I could tell you that endless beauty can come out of the most devastating and heartbreaking things you will go through in life, <em>and that too would be true. </em></p>
<p>I could repeat the saying <em>“bloom where you are planted,”</em> because you should. I knew a girl there who taught herself Spanish and French while incarcerated. <em>Fluently</em>. You should bloom. </p>
<p>But this is what seems most pressing at this moment. It’s a Mexican proverb I heard once, and it goes like this: </p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><em><strong>“They tried to bury us. But they didn’t realize we were seeds.” </strong></em></p>
<p>That’s why I couldn’t take my eyes off that little wispy flower blooming right there in the middle of all that rubble. Because I felt that I had been buried in my own life. Like the Sarah I used to know was gone, along with any hope for the future. </p>
<p style="text-align: center;"> </p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/61cd60592fa1c51ea351fc2e26ff48cbbf37ef91/original/fileitem-32091-tumblr-l83hvfuxw31qcr8opo1-500.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p>Little seedling, there are things you will go through in life that will try to bury you. Sometimes just because life happens and life is hard. And sometimes, because of the mess you have made. One shovel full of dirt at a time, until eventually, it will seem and feel like it is over. Curtain call. Bad ending. Like nothing could come out of this wasteland of a situation. Like all hope for the future is lost. But I urge you to <em>slow your walk and look again. </em></p>
<p>Remember that just because you feel buried doesn’t mean it’s over for you. If you have breath and a pulse, <em>it is not.</em> <em><strong>You</strong></em>, my dear, are a seed. <em>Keep pressing on.</em> Learn a new language. Dare to believe that God has good things ahead for you. <em>Don’t you dare not </em><em>bloom.</em></p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/56716332019-03-06T22:57:15-05:002019-03-06T22:57:40-05:00The Real Version of You<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/d6e4910b0793594f16252f67eb656271794702a4/original/broken-mug.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>I received a text from a friend the other night.<em> “Thinking of you. Hope your day went well.” </em></p>
<p>I sighed deeply at the memory of the day. At the way my feet waded through it like sandbags were tied to them. Each movement was feeling heavier than usual. The truth was that life felt incredibly hard at that moment. The kind of hard that feels like a dark night of the soul, lingering after the rise of the sun. When there are more questions than there are answers. Where there is no clearly marked direction of which path to take or what is next. No easy solutions. No quick relief. No exit plan. Leaving room for the wandering of the imagination into dark crevices with cobwebs and worst case scenarios. </p>
<p>When I was a little girl, I used to have a red vintage suitcase that I <em>loved</em>. When I was upset (probably because I wasn’t getting my way), I would drag out my suitcase and pretend to pack as if I were going to leave home. My destination plan was actually to nowhere, other than to wallow in my feelings that felt much larger than my small self. </p>
<p>And sometimes that little girl resurfaces. Sometimes her tendency is to run back to the closet and drag out the small red suitcase that is no longer there and avoid that which feels overwhelming. Parenthood. Finances. Leadership. Relationships. Responsibility. <em>Life</em>. </p>
<p> </p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/e057229121cade76cf5097861dd9c327efee4de5/original/suitcase.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /> <span class="font_small">1980's vintage </span></p>
<p>Like the coffee mug that says<em> “I can’t even.”</em> Or the t-shirt that says <em>“I can’t adult today.” </em></p>
<p>I could easily rock both on some days and yet, don’t own either. Raise your hand if you've been there before. If there were full disclosure and we were all together, you'd see a room full of hands in the air. </p>
<p>So I responded to my friend's text by vomiting the truth all over her. </p>
<p>The truth came out much like watching my husband heave into the bathtub earlier that morning. Yes…the bathtub, unfortunately, because sometimes that’s as far as you make it after an all-night venture with suspected food poisoning. I stood behind him reminding myself that I was once a nurse, although that version of me didn’t handle such scenarios well either. <em>I. Can. Do. This.</em> I straightened my spine, held my breath and offered a cold rag, a soft tone, and a brave face. </p>
<p>And that’s what my friend also did. After I apologized for vomiting on her and told her that I know she didn’t want <em>“all that" </em>at nine p.m. on a Tuesday night when she has her own life stuff she’s dealing with. </p>
<p>Because the lie we believe is that people only want the best version of us, when in fact, they want and even dare say<em><strong> “need”</strong></em> both versions. The one that has struggled with some stuff and can impart wisdom and strength and the one who is <em>desperately</em> in need of it. </p>
<p>We answer that we are doing <em>“good”</em> or <em>“fine”</em> or <em>“okay”</em> because we think the person asking couldn’t possibly want the messy version of us. The <em>unfine</em> version. The person who doesn't have it <em>all</em> figured out. The person who doesn't have a good day <em>every</em> day. </p>
<p>We fear to be <em>too much</em> when our <em>too much</em> is actually the thing that makes us relatable to others. It's how the world you interact with connects to you. It's how our children learn to manage conflict and what gives them permission not to be perfect. It's what makes us a safe space for our friends to struggle and not hide behind a mask. It's what gives you the mark of being human, <em>not</em> superhuman, <em>not</em> exempt from the hard stuff we all face. </p>
<p>Be brave enough to admit it. You aren't meant to carry it alone. Someone out there needs <em>the real version of you</em>, not who you long to be or think you need to be. </p>
<p> </p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/56633472019-02-28T12:11:00-05:002021-09-24T15:55:36-04:00A Question Worth Asking<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/c1933d004ac9157b075bbb456c05ec28eda3c827/original/blog-2-28.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>I published my first blog in November of 2016. I remember the anxious feeling of letting my heart speak through my words and hitting that green button on the screen that would launch my words into the world of potential readers and social media. I heard someone say once that when you put something on the internet, there is no getting it back. Even if deleted, it’s out there forever traceable by someone somewhere who knows how to access it. <em>Great</em>, I thought. <em>No pressure</em>. But also a good bit of wisdom in being mindful of what to disclose. I had to overcome the fear of not knowing who would possibly be reading my content and had to release the care of how I might be perceived by others. <em>Yikes</em>. I assure you that it’s an ongoing process and some words get typed and then deleted. </p>
<p>Vulnerability is a scary thing, but it does get easier over time and with practice. We like to present the best version of ourselves. Which is why our vacations and achievements and our post-salon visits fill our news feed. Not our worst day. Not the bed head and mismatched pajamas or the notice of an in-school suspension or the pet urine on the carpet. We present the socially acceptable version of ourselves that makes us look as though we at least half have it together. Whatever that means. </p>
<p>We fear being rejected. <em>And rightfully so</em>. Some of us have experienced conditional love through parental fractures and people who should have stayed but left and by broken marriages with vows that should have said: "I love you <em>until</em>." Some of us have been ghosted in friendships or conditionally loved and rejected by a church, the one place that should be a haven of safety and enough grace and room for error. </p>
<p>I was recently confronted with a new level of vulnerability through a video of my story. I wish I could tell you that I braved it courageously and without fear of public opinion. <em>Not the case</em>, and also not something you would know without me disclosing it to you. When I first saw the video, I cringed. I couldn’t even finish watching it. I was overly critical of myself. Like hearing yourself on voicemail and thinking, <em>is that really how I sound?</em> Nasally and pre-puberty. Come on. You know you’ve thought that about yourself before. I critiqued my hair. <em>Why in the world would I wear it like that when I knew I was being filmed?</em> But it was raining, and the messy bun seemed like the best option at the time. <em>Why did I wear that outfit? Why did I say this or not say that? </em>I could go on. </p>
<p>I am sad to say I wrestled with it for several days before reaching out to two friends that I knew would speak truth to me because you know, one is just never really enough. (insert eye rolling) </p>
<p>Their response was a unison of encouragement that I needed. “I’m honestly just not seeing what you’re seeing. I think it’s great. You should put it out there.” </p>
<p>Also followed by a hard truth: “and you should take this time to pray and ask yourself and ask God why it matters so much what other people think.” </p>
<p><em>Oh</em>. Ouch. <em>Why does it matter so much what other people think? </em></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"> </p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/5adb4e9e67e7908f57b4e4024780b381ee27ac43/original/img-9183.png/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.png" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p>Here is what I’ve learned after pressing through and being confronted with my own fears and insecurity. Somewhere deeper than heart level is a core belief that maybe<em> I am not worthy. Not accepted. Not unconditionally loved. Not enough. </em>That perhaps someone else’s opinion determines these things. </p>
<p>I have been loved well by many throughout my life and in my present life. And yet I have found that it’s not something that human love can settle in this heart of mine. </p>
<p>Only God can settle that. I have also found that I am not alone in my struggle. That most people wrestle with the concept of being <em>unconditionally</em> loved by the Father. But the more I lean into that truth and lay all my brokenness before Him, allowing myself to be loved even still, the more I am able to face vulnerability. The more I am able to present myself authentically and not cover the areas I struggle with. The more I am able to be more human and more relatable and dare I say even more likable because other people can see themselves in my story. </p>
<p>As I once heard a writing mentor say, “once you make peace with your story, it no longer matters what other people think.” <em>Aha. Yes indeed. </em></p>
<p><em>What is it that keeps you from being honest with where you are on your journey? It’s an important question for reflection. It’s worth learning the answer to. </em><br> </p>
<p> </p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/56532012019-02-21T10:45:05-05:002021-10-21T03:42:48-04:00There Is Something I Need to Tell You<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/1168f9e326424cfa004a2355ef8da7b21f99daf7/original/blog-2-21.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>I have a great poker face. And no, not learned through playing poker. I would lose my hand for sure. I don't know when I developed the ability, <em>a gift from God,</em> as a friend of mine labeled it. Maybe. Or maybe a side effect of incarceration and working with those in the prison system (where you hear it all and see it all and just when you think you can’t be shocked anymore, <em>surprise again</em>). I also worked for years as a nurse and in the field of social work, where tough conversations often take place. Where the most intimate thing you could disclose to a person often gets revealed. You learn over time not to let your face and your feelings communicate. </p>
<p>So when she made her way sheepishly to the front of the room to talk to me and prefaced the conversation with <em>“There is something I need to tell you,” </em>my posture shifted just slightly with a silent reminder to prepare myself. She was about to disclose her <em>“worst thing.” </em>That moment from her past that she can’t leave there. The one she relives and replays like lyrics you’re sick of hearing, but can’t get out of your head. The part that causes her shoulders to slump and her eyes to hold sorrow that is visible even when she smiles. </p>
<p>She needed to say it out loud and let it hang in the air between us. I could see the hint of fear in her eyes, and if the room had been a little more silent, I would have heard the racing beat of her heart. She thought she needed to tell me her worst thing. </p>
<p>And the realization of what she <em>really</em> needed made my own eyes well with tears. It was the question behind the question. Not really about that terrible moment from her past. Deeper rooted. Carried from her childhood. Longing to be answered. </p>
<p>Do <em><strong>you</strong></em> accept me? Am I <em><strong>still</strong></em> worthy of love? </p>
<p>We live in a society of selective mercy. We subconsciously decide in our minds who is worthy of compassion and who is just a tad too far beyond it. And it’s a dangerous thing to decide something that is not ours to judge. </p>
<p>I began to pray years ago that God would help me love people the way that He does and to break my heart for the things that break His. I will never perfect it in this lifetime. Not even close. There are times I wrestle with forgiveness. There are times I experience compassion fatigue. There are times I want to return evil for evil. Or to spew some venomous response when one is doled out to me or someone else. </p>
<p>But I answered her question anyway. I responded from a place deep within that has already made up my mind that I don’t get a vote. A place that has firmly decided that it’s not my determination to make. There is no debating. No wondering. No dialing up a friend to consult. No tallying the wrongs to see if someone has crossed the line too far. </p>
<p>It’s a place that God has answered in my own heart. When I fell too far from grace, <em>or so I thought.</em> When I had run too far from home, too far from warnings that I ignored, too far from the advice of my parents. I used to dislike the story of the prodigal son <em>until I became the prodigal</em>. Until I squandered the blessings I had been given and made a terrible mess of things. </p>
<p> </p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/4e1290590c94aa3b70c6add036810a4abc7270d5/original/img-9047.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p>You see, that’s the thing I’ve learned. People often judge others with the same measure they use on themselves. Harshly and with little mercy. They perceive God’s posture towards them as one that is ashamed of their mistakes or their very existence, with His arms folded and His back turned. And nothing could be further from the truth. He is more like that parent that paces the floor waiting for the phone to ring. He leaves the porch light on and the door unlocked. He never ever even thinks of giving up on your return to the realization that you are loved and worthy and nothing could change that. Like the time I saw a photo of my son on social media and I could see his seeking of affirmation. The longing for everything he already is. Deeply loved and worthy. And there is <em>nothing</em> he could do, or say, or think that will ever make me love him any less. </p>
<p>So I looked her square in the eye and answered the question she was really asking. </p>
<p><em>"There is nothing you could ever tell me that would make me love you any less." </em></p>
<p>And contrary to what society thinks or what we've been taught to believe, that is how God feels about us all. Even that person who seems the least deserving of mercy.</p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/56430952019-02-14T12:29:40-05:002019-02-14T12:29:40-05:00A Letter To Yourself<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/014f96d1abc907f6aa7c98836fa6dd1a7b78e08f/original/blog-valentines.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p>When we think about love (as one often does on a day like today when your social media feed is blown up with reminders), our mind usually goes directly to <em>Eros</em> love, the romantic type. Our mind equates that love is communicated with lavish gifts and dreamy proposals and bouquets of flowers. Movies like <em>Sleepless in Seattle</em> or <em>The Notebook </em>or the one-liner from <em>Jerry McGuire </em>that we all know, <em>“you had me at hello.” </em></p>
<p>And all of those things are great expressions of love and I would be lying if I told you that I don’t love gifts. This girl definitely does. But I have also learned through the great teacher of time and heartbreak and healing that <em>true love is the kind that returns you to yourself.</em> </p>
<p>What do I mean by that? </p>
<p>We do an exercise with the inmates in our music therapy program where we instruct them to write a letter to their younger self. In other words, if you could sit down with that six-year-old version of yourself with the bangs your sister cut and the missing tooth and eyes still full of optimism and hope, <em>what would you say?</em> </p>
<p> </p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/3d7a972e099841542ac5e95281d223d0ae1a04d6/original/img-4210.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p>What we often find in the responses is a love letter written to self. Gentle words are written from a place of compassion and remembering. A reminder of how beautiful and strong and capable you really are and always were, before life and the competing noise of the world told you otherwise. How often the things that happened to you were not your fault, and even if they were the result of your own choosing, the acknowledgment that you are human and what matters most is that you learn and try again. </p>
<p>We live in a world full of people living from a well of their experiences. And it’s a mix of clear and murky water. A mix of some who were fortunate to have been loved well and to have felt emotional security and a large pool of those who were not. Of those who were dropped and bruised and cut and who operate out of those experiences. </p>
<p>As the famous rapper Phora says in one of his lyrics: “I ain’t never had nobody love me. That’s probably why I don’t know how to love you.” </p>
<p>Real love is the type that God operates from. A well of <em>Agape</em> love, unconditional and to which there is no ceiling, no bottom, no limit. Without prerequisite. Not a kind that says “I love you<em> if</em>…” or “I love you <em>until</em>…” but “I love you because I love you <em>because I love you. And there is nothing you could do to make me stop.” </em></p>
<p>I’ve sought love in the wrong places before. In relationships. In materialism. In my appearance. In my performance. In the opinion of others. All of those were dead-end places that only took me further away from my true self and into the shallowness of who I allowed them to tell me to be. </p>
<p>Healthy love returns you to yourself. Back to that place of wholeness. Back from the places of lies and shame that you’ve wandered to and believed. Back to the realization that there is <em>nothing</em> you can do in this life that will make you any more or any less worthy of love.</p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/56319152019-02-07T10:59:45-05:002019-02-07T11:00:35-05:00I Wish I Had Known<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/9eaa49d6af4c699cfb9bc72f49b2f3c7a2338d54/original/img-8893.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>The first time I drank coffee, I was sitting in the recreational room of a correctional facility surrounded by double razor wire in the middle of cornfields as far as the eye could see. A city called Marysville.<em> “Aunt Mary’s house,” </em>we called it when talking to my three-year-old at the time. The big house with tall gates and the room with vending machines and the play area where you get to see mommy. I am not sure how you explain prison to a child that young, but it was the only way I knew how to at the time and in times of trauma and grief, you just do the best you can. I couldn’t have said any of that five years ago. Too painful. Like a rocky edged cliff that if I <em>dare</em> glance over, I might slip into all-consuming grief. There will be more about this in my book to come, but for now, we’re talking about coffee. </p>
<p>“Big Baby” was the friend that kindly introduced me to coffee for the first time. I don’t know why they called her that. Everyone in this new environment seemed to have a name other than their actual name. Maybe it was part of inner city life. Maybe it was because your birth name is replaced by a number once you are sentenced. Maybe because she had supermodel height and was the youngest in her family. I didn’t think much of it at the time, and so I never asked her. I also never called her by that name. I called her by her birth name, and maybe that’s why we were instant friends despite all of our differences. She rode out of the county jail and into the prison the same day that I did. The windows were frosted and fogged in that sardine packed van of women shackled to each other at wrist and feet, our arms interlocked like an awkward marital procession. We couldn’t see where we were going or where we were carried from. Perhaps that was a blessing at the time. </p>
<p><em>“Taste this,”</em> she said. So I tilted that chilled cup of butterscotch colored liquid back and gave it a whirl. It was loads of French vanilla creamer with way too much sugar and a bit of instant coffee. But my naive taste buds didn’t know the difference, and so it tasted good at the time. From that day forward, I was a coffee drinker. My love of coffee has evolved a lot since that day. French press preferred. Light roast. A hint of sugar. A small amount of almond milk. <em>Perfection</em>. </p>
<p>When I think back to that day with Big Baby, and my first go-round with coffee, I wish I had known this: </p>
<p><em>I wish I had known there would come a day when I would be able to talk about my story and not feel like I wanted to die from the pain. <br>I wish I had known that the place of my suffering, that compound of nearly two-thousand women, would completely transform my heart and my life. <br>I wish I had known that some of the greatest lessons I’d ever learn would be learned through their stories and eventually told through my voice. <br>I wish I had known that Big Baby was making my journey easier. Evidence of God’s kindness toward me through friendship. Proof that I was never really alone. <br>I wish I had known there wasn’t a single thing I could do to make God love me more, or like me any less. <br>I wish I had known that just a few years down the road, my life would contain more beauty than my heart could hold. A marriage that would heal me. A daughter that would remind me that God answers with hope. A ministry birthed from tragedy. A coffee shop we would open that employs people that others view as disqualified. <br>I wish I had known….</em> </p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/ec5a8da8056609db2341939f1954fe5e5c1c2b56/original/img-8892.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p>My husband told our son’s something the other day, and maybe you need to hear it too. </p>
<p>“Every time that you walk into this coffee shop, I want you to remember that anything is possible.” </p>
<p><em>Anything</em>. </p>
<p>I prayed so many half-hearted prayers back then. I wanted to believe and God in His infinite compassion knew that. He knew the issues in my heart that stood in the way. He knew my grief and shame. But He saw my willingness to at least dare to ask. </p>
<p><em>“Here are the pieces. Please rebuild this broken life.” </em></p>
<p>And it was all the invitation He needed.</p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/56215232019-01-31T12:45:57-05:002021-08-16T11:22:45-04:00The Little Things That Feel Unseen<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/cea18c551de99f9c34ad210488b438b10bf5c359/original/photo-for-blog-1-31.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>I cleaned the bathroom of the entrance building at Dayton Correctional for three years. And it was a position of <em>honor</em>. At that time I was a ward of the state after a tragic drinking and driving fatality that landed me incarcerated for six years and brought worlds of sorrow. It was an honor to have access and proximity to the outside world. To be entrusted with a freedom beyond the tight restrictions of the control center. Four steel doors that only open one at a time and only at the command of an officer behind a glass enclosure reinforced with bars. </p>
<p>I did it joyfully and like it was the most important job on the compound because I knew it was entrusted to me and that entrustment was deeply healing to my shame. I also knew that it was only a temporary stop on my journey. I knew that my scrubbing those toilets well was as important to God as the position of the Warden and all his officials. I knew that as I watched people being released to the embrace of their children and families that my current reality was not the way it would always be. I would watch with a lump in my throat and a prayer in my heart for their safety and for their lives to be rebuilt beyond those gates. And those prayers went out with each of them, <em>rippling far beyond what I will ever know on this side of things. </em></p>
<p>If you follow my spouse and me on social media, then you know that this past week, we released a video about a dream birthed in our hearts. Soon, we will open a Coffee Shop in our community to employ those that others deem unemployable because of their past. That vision has been cast wide and broad, with dreams already stirring of what the shop can look like beyond serving coffee and the possibility of eventually opening Coffee Shops in multiple locations. The video has been viewed more times than we ever imagined, shared more than we could have hoped for, and the outpouring of support and encouragement has been more than we can honestly keep up with. We are <em>saturated</em> with gratitude. </p>
<p> </p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/f6f393ed5a5d9af5580f9fa6ae5ed99bdf1fd265/original/img-8746.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /><em><span class="font_small">Isn't this logo THE best?! </span></em></p>
<p>This past Tuesday we showed the video to the men and women in the two local prisons where we do a weekly Music Therapy program. At the end of our time there, I watched my husband push a cart loaded with sound gear in the bitter cold up a long maze to exit the prison. The same maze I shoveled more times than I care to remember in the middle of the night when I was summoned to do so. It also was part of my job while there. </p>
<p>When he got to the top, he looked at me and said<em> “this is why that video has so many views. It has nothing to do with the video footage or what we said. It’s because of this.” </em></p>
<p>He didn’t have to explain. I knew what he meant. It’s fifteen years of doing the work with little support or recognition. It’s fifteen years of driving hours in the car. It’s going even when you really didn’t have the gas or the money to refill. No matter the weather. No matter what is going on in your personal life. No matter if you feel like going or if you don’t. Even when others didn’t see the value the way you did. It’s the fact that even if others never saw the value, you would still continue to show up. </p>
<p><em>God cares immensely about the little things because God cares most about the heart</em>. And we are only able to do the little things consistently when our heart is in the right posture. He cares about the things no one else sees you doing. He cares when you return your cart instead of letting it hit another car. He cares about that piece of trash you pick up, so someone else doesn’t have to, and so it doesn’t harm the environment we have been entrusted to care for. He cares about being kind to people who can do nothing for you in return. He cares about how you treat your waitress and how you treat the girl ringing up your groceries who appears to have no social skills. </p>
<p>The big things don't matter at all if we don't regard the little ones as mattering greatly. <em>Know that God sees you</em>. </p>
<p>He sees you in the middle of your moments that <em>feel</em> unseen. He sees you wiping snotty noses with tenderness. He sees the heaps of laundry you fold as you pray breath prayers. He sees you when you can barely pay your bills and still give where you can. In all of those little things you do that feel insignificant and as though they have no glory, but they are done in love. </p>
<p>They aren't little things <em>at all. Everything is important.</em></p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/56102832019-01-24T10:54:12-05:002019-01-24T10:57:27-05:00Between Where We Are and Where We Are Headed<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/a25ed9509d9fee6ee62845583d96eef29778ae2c/original/img-8547.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong><em>"Instructions for living a life. Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it.” <br>— Mary Olive</em>r </strong></p>
<p>I never thought of myself as an entrepreneur. Full disclosure? I couldn't even spell it correctly the first time I typed that out. If I were in a spelling bee or if my life depended on it, <em>maybe</em>. But not here. Not in this space. Not in this mundane and ordinary moment. I have always been the creative type. Doodling on college ruled notebooks while caught up in my own dreamy ideas and simultaneously listening to my teachers. A creative type with the need to be doing something with my hands. So I am the one most surprised by the fact that in the months ahead, my husband and I will unveil a new business venture that is a dream once conceived in our hearts, and now about to be birthed in our reality. The ability to dream and imagine creates room for what we once didn't see as possible. It's an exciting time needless to say. </p>
<p>There is lots of prep work taking place. Budget planning and maximizing purchases made with numbers we have to work with. Listening to podcasts from experts in the field. Researching and visiting other businesses in the area. Taking mental notes of things we like and what we will do differently. The fun part of designing the space. Moving pictures from here because they look better over there and should we add a fig tree in that corner? <em>We definitely should</em>. Lots of green everywhere. </p>
<p>I love these moments of planning and brainstorming ideas and doing the legwork to bring to fruition this dream of ours. <em>But</em>. There is also the <em>middle and the mundane. </em>There is still the waking up on a Wednesday morning in Ohio to a sky covered with gray and pouring rain. It was warm enough today to melt the snow, so there's that. There is still the going to work at my current job (the job before my dream job) where the elderly patients will ask how the baby is doing even though she is almost three (sidenote: time does fly and I'll forever be pregnant in their mind even though we've celebrated two birthdays and are halfway to our third. The pregnancy felt equally long. I get it.) There is still for my husband the process of coaching clients through choosing paint colors and taking over the wallpaper removal they thought they could handle themselves. There is still laundry (heaps and heaps) and pet care and cars that break down and all of the magnificent mundane on the way to this dream of ours. </p>
<p><em>So how do we live out this quote, Mary Oliver? How do we find the magnificent in the mundane? </em></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><em><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/296a61058dc3c1b8d38d61c54e73ae2371b757ca/original/img-8548.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></em></p>
<p>There is a story in Genesis 28 about a guy named Jacob who is on a journey. On this journey, he comes to a point where the sun has gone down and I imagine by this point, he was probably exhausted from traveling by foot. With no memory foam pillow on which to lay his head, he uses a stone to rest on. I don't know about you, but I've been exhausted enough to do this before. Exhausted to the point where it was more painful to keep my eyes open than to lay down on a concrete slab and give way to sleep. I've seen people curled up in hard plastic seats in airport terminals with delayed flights. In the holding cells of county jails where you are detained for hours and sometimes, days. In waiting rooms of sterile hospitals. <em>Hard places. </em>The place between<em> where you are</em> and <em>where you long to be</em>. The<em> in-between place</em> of where you've left and the place you are headed to. And it's in this very place that God appears to him in a dream and when Jacob awakens, he says this: </p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><em>"Surely the Lord was in this place, and I was not aware of it." </em></p>
<p><em>Surely</em>. Is it possible that finding the magnificent in the mundane is linked directly to our awareness that God is in our midst? Even if you feel unaware and can't trace His presence or the reason for the delay. </p>
<p>Even when the road feels long and winding and you feel as though you've made a few wrong turns along the way. Even though the kids are on repeat in the backseat asking if we are there yet. Even though the everyday tasks of normal life feel like drudgery. Even though what you are currently seeing in your reality doesn't at all look like the dream God placed in your heart. </p>
<p><em>Take heart. Be still. Breathe deep. God is closer than you think</em>. The One who gave you the dream will bring it to pass and not a moment too soon or too late. </p>
<p>I look at my daughter as she is nestled in bed asleep, her hands tucked under her cheek in a picturesque moment. <em>There is nowhere else in the world I'd rather be,</em> I think to myself. I look at my son as he comes down the stairs with his pants pulled too high and a silly hat that looks like Paddington bear as he tries to make us laugh. And it works. I wake up still feeling sleepy and open my blinds in the morning to allow daylight to enter the house on this still gray sky in Ohio. I don't want to miss it.<em> Any of it. </em></p>
<p>I don't want to miss what is right in front of me while looking and longing for what is ahead. So I'll pay attention. I'll hold these dreams of mine loosely for the sake of holding firmly to where I actually am. </p>
<p>In order to <em>fully live life</em>, you have to <em>pay attention</em>. And when you really pay attention with all of your heart and your senses, you'll <em>be astonished</em>. <em>There is so much magnificent in the mundane.</em></p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/55999132019-01-17T10:09:50-05:002019-01-17T10:10:41-05:00An Invitation to the Table<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/69972898b2625e92debe292c2601d0a33f53338e/original/blog-photo.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"> </p>
<p>There is a slang term often used about being "woke." Maybe you've seen it behind a hashtag on social media. The term is way older than hashtags and can be traced back to the 1930s. Or at least that's what google search is telling me. It's an implication that a person is enlightened to something that the rest of us are not. Urban dictionary gives one example of its usage as this: </p>
<p>"While you are obsessing with the Kardashians, there are millions of homeless in the world. STAY WOKE." It means being awake to discrimination, prejudices and other social injustices. </p>
<p>As I write this, I hear this children's song replaying in my head: </p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><em>Are you sleeping? <br>Are you sleeping? <br>Brother John, <br>Brother John? <br>Morning bells are ringing. <br>Morning bells are ringing. <br>Ding, dong, ding. <br>Ding, dong, ding. </em></p>
<p>So now it's in your head too, and I'm sorry, but not sorry because there is a point to all of this. </p>
<p>Sometimes in our everyday waking and breathing lives, <em>we have been lulled to sleep.</em> We are sleepwalkers in the light of day. The Walking Dead with a pulse. We punch the time clock. We stroll through the fluorescent lighting of Target. We choose the messy bun and the stretchy pants <em>again</em>. We fill our virtual grocery carts via click list. Lulled by our routines and monotony and whatever is most comfortable and most convenient. </p>
<p>Hit snooze (repeat x10). Brush teeth. Fill the tea kettle with hot water and turn the stove on. Add 3 scoops of Starbucks blonde to the French press. Take the dog out. Tomorrow, I will do it again. <em>If I am so fortunate</em>. I am like one of those self-driving cars. As a side note, is anyone else terrified by that thought? Yea….me too. </p>
<p>We are often on autopilot. Like predictive text. Like listening to a person you know better than you know yourself and knowing ahead of time what they are going to say because you could finish the sentence. Yes, they are going to tell that one story <em>again</em>. </p>
<p>There is science behind it with 95% of our brain activity being beyond our conscious awareness. But there is a danger to it on the level of spiritual and emotional well being. </p>
<p>There is a low level of complacency we easily slip into where we just accept whatever we are facing as our lot in life. It's a tactic of the enemy. <em>Carefully devised and methodical</em>. Strategic in the fact that it is so subtle, it goes unnoticed. It isn't cryptic. In fact, the more I think about it, it's rather obvious. The plan is this: <em>lull them to sleep and convince them that there isn't more. </em></p>
<p>His plan for our lives is threefold:<em> Steal. Kill. Destroy.</em> To steal our joy, vitality, energy, peace, and trust. To kill our dreams and the hope that the change we long for will come to pass. To destroy our relationships and our future, because if he can get us to a place of complacency, we remain stuck. <em>We are asleep.</em> We are anything but "woke." </p>
<p>Think about it. If he can get you to accept whatever it is that you're facing as just being "the way things are," then that's also the way you are going to view circumstances in other people's lives. </p>
<p><em>This apathy I feel is never going to lift. <br>I am too broken to ever be whole. <br>This addiction will always have control over me. <br>My family will always struggle financially. <br>This relationship will never be mended. </em></p>
<p>Like I tell my thirteen-year-old when he is fighting to get up in the morning, and I've been to his room five times already, my urging escalating to a threat…." just sit up on the side of the bed." Rub the sleep from your eyes. Take a drink of cold water. Whatever you do, WAKE UP. </p>
<p>My dog gets scolded when he searches for food that has been dropped under the table during meals by my two-year-old (usually it's her anyway). It's not that he's hungry. Don't feel sorry for him. And I don't expect him not to want something other than the dry and bland kibbles he is dished out twice a day. It's the noises he makes during his search party that get him scolded. This snorting and slurping sound that grates my nerves like nothing else. You just have to hear it for yourself to understand. My husband looked at his four-month-old white and furry cuteness and named him "Pig," a self-fulfilling prophesy for his bulldog self. Here's the point: Don't be like Pig. Don't search for scraps beneath the table. You are invited to an abundant feast with all of your favorite foods. </p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><em><strong>"You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows." Psalm 23:5 </strong></em></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/f54566eb2fbb6238f6c5ec4718054313b0e90aac/original/the-crown-on-your-head.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></strong><span class="font_small">from my fav children's book: <em>The Crown on Your Head</em></span><em> </em></p>
<p>Whatever you do, don't buy into the lie. Don't drink the Kool-aid. Don't settle for <em>this</em>. Whatever your <em>this</em> is. Don't allow yourself to be lulled to sleep. There is so much more for your one and only life than this low-level lot that you have accepted. Let's abort this mission. Let's accept the invitation we have been given to the table of <em>abundant life. </em><br> </p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/55895212019-01-10T07:58:27-05:002019-01-10T19:59:05-05:00There Is a Time to Heal<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/ce7b9b88ed60575d92ecfa12944b4ae1cc3625fa/original/tumblr.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>I heard a wounded heart open its mouth and speak the other day in passing. A statement said with fear in the disguise of confidence. </p>
<p>"You can't trust anyone." It said. </p>
<p>For a moment I expected to turn and see someone who looked like a villain you might see in a movie scene where the character is sinister with ice blue eyes and an evil scheme in mind. But that wasn't the case at all. She was polished and petite and pretty. </p>
<p><em>What a terrible way to live</em>, I thought to myself. But I know that I too have built my own walls before. An expert bricklayer. Brick upon brick. Row by row. A well-guarded fortress keeping others out and myself in. </p>
<p>That's what happens when the heart doesn't fully heal. When there has been some infraction against it, a betrayal or a loss. It guards and protects from the thing that might be its undoing if it were to happen again. It opens the door when fear knocks, invites it in and makes it a bed. <em>Stay awhile, won't you? </em>Because if you do, you might protect me. </p>
<p>It seems like wisdom, but it isn't wisdom<em> at all</em>. It's bitterness. Heavy and isolating and coloring everything you see with a dull shade of gray. </p>
<p>You see, sometimes we think we've healed from that thing that hurt us so. From that unspeakable thing that happened when you were little. From that friend who decided never to have time anymore. From that person who promised to love you and then chose to love someone else. From that parent who told you-you would never amount to anything. </p>
<p>I know you think you've healed by now. And you have. At least enough to survive it at the time. And now so much time has passed, and surely there must be an expiration date on wounds, <em>isn't there? </em></p>
<p>But the bandaid starts to lift because it can only hold for so long. And wounds in the heart eventually begin to raise too, rising closer and closer to the surface until they eventually seep out onto everyone around us. </p>
<p><em>Drip. </em></p>
<p><em>Drip. </em></p>
<p><em>Drip. </em> </p>
<p>Spreading far and wide into our relationships and our perspective and the words we speak. </p>
<p><em>You can only run so far from the truth</em>. Eventually, anemia catches up to a hemorrhage. It robs your health and your strength and your ability to live. </p>
<p>"You can't trust anyone." </p>
<p><em>Oh but you can. </em></p>
<p>And the time for healing has come. </p>
<p>And if you allow it, <em>The Great Physician will come</em>. Because He knows what you need even when you don't. </p>
<p><em>So be still now.</em> Don't try to escape the process. It will only hurt worse if you do. It will only prolong the pain of healing. </p>
<p>That cut you feel is the most perfect precision from a skilled surgeon to whom none other compares. Sometimes bones have to be reset to heal correctly. Sometimes old wounds have to be revisited in order to scar. </p>
<p>I know it feels easier to allow things to remain the same. I know it does. </p>
<p>But there is a time for your broken heart to be mended.<em> There is a better way to live. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><em><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/a7d714ea01358968d3dd5fc154bd81da47ac92cd/original/blog-3.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></em></p>
<p>Here's the truth that sometimes the wounded heart can't see. You <em>can</em> trust others. You <em>can</em> believe the best. Not everyone is going to hurt you the way one person did. The sky isn't going to fall. It does not <em>always</em> rain in Seattle. </p>
<p>I pray that you will be healed.<em> You deserve it. The people who love you deserve it</em>. I pray that you will love others with your whole heart and not consider what it may cost you. Will you get hurt sometimes? <em>Yes</em>. A solid yes. But, love anyway. <em>It's worth it. </em></p>
<p>I'm so glad God didn't wait until I proved myself entirely trustworthy to love me. </p>
<p><em>What area of your heart do you need healing in? Maybe for you, </em><em>it's not trust</em><em>, but insecurity, lack of self-worth, low expectations for good, or fear? Be brave and dig deep.</em></p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/55791222019-01-03T11:12:24-05:002021-08-13T11:58:16-04:00You Are Fully Known<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/67a0d2cff12acda4b6fc4128fe4ccabcbba2befd/original/london.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /><span class="font_small"><em>London, I'm coming for you</em>.</span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"> </p>
<p>Sometimes I feel like a human dichotomy. A division into two opposing categories of myself, which might be why I struggle with personality tests. My answers are generally found somewhere in the middle. </p>
<p><em>Either</em> and <em>neither</em>. Torn between two versions of this person I know to be myself. </p>
<p>Paul understood the struggle when he said, "For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do." Romans 7:15. And I read it and sigh with understanding.<em> Me too Paul</em>. </p>
<p>One part a homebody and settled in the city I grew up in, where I know the shortcuts and the best restaurants and the street my best friend grew up on. Another part of me that longs to see every inch of this vast world. Every small town with slow rhythms and room to breathe and fiction novel sounding names. To see every densely populated city with creative energy and street musicians and marks of progression. </p>
<p>There is one part of me that is confident with good posture and shoulders back and eyes forward. Evidence of a woman who has lived through some trials and was made stronger through them. And there is another part that is insecure, picking at my nails and staying silent when I want to speak up, like that thirteen-year-old version of myself walking into that school cafeteria again. </p>
<p>One part fearless and motivated by risk and leaps of faith. Another part afraid of most everything that could fail or threatens to hurt. </p>
<p>An introvert who loves to speak publicly. A lover of music who also craves silence. A lover of people with an oversized need for personal space. </p>
<p><em>Who is this person looking back at me in the mirror? </em></p>
<p>We are complex beings. Multi-layered and faceted. <em>And brilliant when held in the right light. </em>I don't know why we would expect anything less when we are made in the image of a complex God. </p>
<p><em>A God that we cannot comprehend, but yet knows us fully. </em></p>
<p>A God who speaks galaxies into existence and creates daffodils and the softness of a newborn's skin. Who commands the wind that brushes against my face and drew a line in the sand for the ocean not to cross. The God who created the gift of a smile that can be seen in a person's eyes. </p>
<p><em>We are fully known</em>. All parts laid bare. And deep down, it's what we all crave and yet fear that once we are fully known, we will not be fully loved. Like maybe some parts of us are acceptable and other parts, not so much. Like those parts we've deemed as unacceptable might also make us unlovable. </p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/e30e8273aaa26de7606b6e32dad2fe4f102698c0/original/blog-post.png/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.png" class="size_m justify_center border_" /> </p>
<p>I watched an exchange recently between my husband and a man whose present reality is one of homelessness and the struggling road to recovery from drug addiction. They stood on the sidewalk in the cold night air as cars drove by, their headlights shedding moments of light into the darkness. His head hung low in shame from a recent relapse after weeks of sobriety and the brief taste of a better life. I heard my husband tell him to look up. To look him in the eye. He told him that he was not ashamed of him. And then he said something worth its weight in gold. The kind of thing you write about. The sort of thing that puts a lump in your own throat. Wrecking and transformative if allowed to sink in and settle into the heart. </p>
<p> "Even if you walk down the street and choose to stick a needle in your arm again, God will not love you any less." </p>
<p>Hence the lump in the throat. <em>Even if.</em> At my <em>best</em> and at my <em>worst</em>. Any good that I am capable of aside. Any bad that I am capable of uncovered and even still, loved. <em>Deeply and wholly and unwavering.</em> </p>
<p>"For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known." 1 Corinth 13:12 </p>
<p>I know it's counter-cultural to everything you've ever heard, been taught, or believed to be true in this works-based society we inhabit. But what I'm learning is that I don't have to strive to be loved. And when I posture my heart in the light of that perfect love, it naturally bends my heart towards what is right.</p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/55707952018-12-27T11:17:23-05:002018-12-27T11:17:23-05:00The Beauty of a New Normal<p> </p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/9dd8e094b831264f411d2a30ec00739cf2380ffc/original/img-7950.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Scars on the chest. A permanent reminder of near death, an unexpected surgery and a new regimen of medications. A future calendar marked with frequent doctor visits. </p>
<p>A house that echoes with silence and too much space. Emptied of the voices that used to fill it. Emptied of the vows and promises of forever that were made. Still filled with memories that are too painful to revisit. </p>
<p>Waking up after a choice you now regret. Wishing you could go back to sleep and it would have been a bad dream. But it's a reality now. A reality you can't fix or make better. </p>
<p><em>New normals. </em></p>
<p>Sometimes <em>wanted</em>. Like when your children grow up and leave home. A parent wants their child to mature and grow into adulthood and find their place in the world. That is healthy. Healthy with a side of bitter too. Part of your heartaches and wants to slow the hand of time, to hear their feet hit the floor and see them every morning with their hair disheveled. But time marches on and what do you do now <em>with</em> all your time? </p>
<p>Sometimes, new normals are so <em>un</em>wanted. </p>
<p>I found myself in a new and unwanted reality some years ago. It was a season of tragedy and enormous grief. The kind where you have to will your heart to live. During this season, a friend said to me <em>"you will adjust to a new normal."</em> I clung desperately to that truth. You mean to tell me, this too will someday become normal? <em>How could that be? </em></p>
<p>I didn't want to adjust to it. I didn't want my new reality. It was not the life I had envisioned for myself. It was not the story I wanted to tell and retell and eventually learn how to live out of. Not. at. all. </p>
<p><em><strong>"Unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds." John 12:24 </strong></em></p>
<p>I could have held onto the life I once knew. I could have spent my life looking in the rearview mirror. Looking back and pining for the beautiful normalcy of the past. When life was relatively calm and routine, and this complete upheaval wasn't part of the storyline. I could have done that. </p>
<p>And it still would have died in the grasp of my white-knuckled fists. That part of my life was over and gone. Learning to embrace my new normal is the only place where life would actually be found. </p>
<p>So I let it fall. Apart and to the ground. And the Fall of my life came just as the season comes, and life seemed to be ebbing away, taking every color and beautiful thing with it. The forecast now a blanket of gray. Winter settled in and made a home, and I let it have its way. The life I knew before seemed to be buried and frozen beneath the ground, with no visible promise of new life to come. </p>
<p>My <em>new normal. </em>A <em>heavy</em> normal. </p>
<p><em>"But if it dies, it produces many seeds." </em></p>
<p>My willingness to let it die is what made room for the new life to come eventually. I can still hear his voice today in my mind. <em>"Sarah, you will adjust to a new normal." </em>And I wish someone had told me <em>"and it will be a beautiful one." </em></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/79c217bf9eb00bc81d8199449a1d6e6f396ed819/original/img-8309.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p>Because that's really what we fear most when life is disrupted. When we're face to face with a situation, we don't know how to navigate. What we fear most is our inability to handle it. And we also fear that the new normal will always be a place of pain and void of a hope-filled future. </p>
<p><em>Not so. </em>The seeds produced can be beautiful, if we allow the brokenness to enter and be fully felt and fully broken. </p>
<p>Maybe you're in a season of adjusting to a new normal. Hear my voice as someone who has walked through it. Brokenness leads to wholeness. A crushed and buried seed produces abundance. <em>New normals can be beautiful normals if we are willing to make space for them.</em></p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/55625912018-12-20T10:37:08-05:002018-12-20T10:37:08-05:00When There's No Room in the Inn<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/31376522e8ea186c7f2e5678bd8e9c57ab0661c5/original/img-8238.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" />#homeforchristmas</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"> </p>
<p>I heard my husband pacing back and forth in the hallway while mumbling faintly under his breath. Something about shampoo and trying to get a shower. The dilemma? A multitude of sharpie labeled boxes containing all of our daily necessities. And it was anyone's guess which box labeled "<em>bathroom</em>" the shampoo might have been in. All of our energy sources were depleted by this point. Too fatigued to peel one more strip of tape off a box for a search party. </p>
<p>It was laugh or cry when a small giggle escaped from where I watched the scene unfold from the bedroom. There is a combination of mere exhaustion, aggravation, and stress that comes with the upheaval of your life that moving brings. Even if it's just across town. </p>
<p>The day before, I packed our entire home from sun up to sun down. I have become familiar with the echo of a place as the contents that once filled it get placed into boxes. As the once adorned walls stand bare. The shelves cleared off. The closets cleaned out. Dust balls exposed. The house emptied of life and rhythms and stories. </p>
<p>It was our fourth move in a year. I had become accustomed to the resettling into new spaces. Never allowing myself to get too comfortable anywhere. Some of my stuff always in boxes and kept in storage. Knowing as I drank my coffee on the couch of each living room that I would not be customizing it as my own. You don't go through the effort of painting and hanging pictures unless you are planning to stay, and eleven years had passed since I had lived anywhere I knew wasn't temporary. <em>Eleven years.</em> The thought of it is sobering and melancholy, leaving me with an ache to settle in and stay a while.<em> A long while.</em> </p>
<p>Maybe that's why this one particular part of Jesus' birth and Mary's story is etched in my heart this season. The part where it says this: </p>
<p><em>"There was no room in the Inn." </em></p>
<p>I cannot imagine this moment for Mary. The discomfort and exhaustion of a ninety-mile journey to Bethlehem in the last uncomfortable months of pregnancy. I have not forgotten the low back pain. Or feeling like my pelvic bone was going to break in half. I haven't forgotten the anxiety of knowing I was responsible for this amazing life I was being handed and wanting to do it exceptionally well. </p>
<p>And Mary's was not a situation of ordinary circumstances, as if ordinary isn't hard enough. Mary knew well the gravity of <em>Who</em> she was giving birth to. Well…I think she knew as much as anyone is capable of recognizing and comprehending something so complex. Now her moment of labor had arrived, and<em> there was no room in the Inn? </em></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/fb52dd27657994d7d0bd14111424505e9f1fb5cd/original/img-7928.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p>Maybe it's part of my story. Perhaps it's part of yours too. </p>
<p>Maybe for you, it looks different than no vacancy and having to possibly give birth on the side of the road. </p>
<p>Maybe it looks more like my situation. One of moving to a new zip code, change of address forms, new neighbors….again. Living in temporary spaces and longing to feel settled. </p>
<p><em>There's no room in the Inn. </em></p>
<p>Maybe it looks like feeling like you don't belong no matter where you are. Or feeling alone even in a room full of people. </p>
<p><em>There's no room in the Inn. </em></p>
<p>Maybe it looks like things not turning out the way you had hoped. Maybe there was a divorce. A death. A fractured relationship. An estranged child. A broken heart. Some unforeseen event in your life that you never wanted. </p>
<p><em>There's no room in the Inn. </em></p>
<p><em>What now? </em></p>
<p>Take heart. Mary's story is your story. It's mine too. </p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/5a4d5cff1f2db7fc129dd9473f7cbee1768437da/original/img-8481.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /><em>Boulder, CO </em></p>
<p>Jesus could have been born anywhere. It could have happened any other way, but it didn't. This climactic part of the story of Mary's labor and no safe place to rest and settle ended and yet began in a stable. <em>The most undesirable of places. </em> </p>
<p>A reminder to us all that God isn't just found in palaces and with people who are labeled as important by society's measure. He isn't only present when events are unfolding seamlessly and the way you hoped. He's present in the chaos and when everything seems like it's completely falling apart. He's in ordinary places and with those left on the side of the road. </p>
<p>Our rescuer was born in a stable. Our rescuer is present with us in the low places of our lives. That's the message for you and me this Christmas and New Year. </p>
<p><em><strong>"...and they shall call his name Immanuel (which means, God with us)." </strong></em></p>
<p>There is room for you in the Inn. </p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_small">Reference: Luke 2:7; Matthew 1:23</span></p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/55423552018-12-06T10:52:32-05:002021-08-27T07:10:52-04:00The Crushing Process<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/186e9be62a9207a04e8493b23cbccf1b0b59a205/original/blog.jpg/!!/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>I tried out for the drill team once in junior high. My self-worth rested in the hands of that panel of judges as they watched a bunch of seventh and eighth-grade girls file into the gym one by one to perform our dance routines. Sixty tormenting seconds of shaking knees and forced smiles from my introverted self while trying not to forget the moves I had rehearsed a hundred times by then. </p>
<p>There was this dreaded part at the end that I remember vividly in which we were required to do the splits. I was no <em>Gumby</em>, and this was more like a bad episode of <em>Star Search</em>. Before the tryouts, I attempted to loosen the muscles in my legs by generously applying <em>Icy Hot</em> muscle cream. Great idea, right? Word of advice. Don't do it. What I was really trying to do was bypass the difficult work that should have taken place in the preceding weeks of conditioning my body to do what I was asking it to do. I forced myself into the splits while feeling like a blow torch was applied to my legs. </p>
<p>So the end of the story goes as one might imagine that it would. I did not make the team (boooo....I'm still recovering), and I hurt myself on top of it. Junior high is brutal. </p>
<p>Years later and well into my adult years, I still prefer to avoid the stretching process. I want a lot of things. I pray that God will help me see people and love them the way that He does (it's tough, isn't it?). And He has answered that prayer, but this girl still has a long way to go. I pray to be reduced to love. In my responses, my actions and in my heart. Those hidden places. It's easier to control my outward behavior than to change the posture of my heart, and God cares a lot about both. I pray to be more like Jesus. Wise and gentle and always about the work of the Father. Not so caught up in the stuff of this life. </p>
<p>But I don't like the conditioning process that shapes me into those things I long to be. </p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/8edf3d4b101f7ce4fd30b634a3e74bbd8f317404/original/img-7869.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p>I find myself whining and doubting God the moment my comfort comes into question, like my children in the backseat on a road trip. "How much longer?" They don't realize that the repetitive asking does not expedite the length of the ride. <em>Put some earbuds in. Take a nap. Look out the window and enjoy the view. We will get there when we get there, and when we do, you'll be glad you endured. </em></p>
<p>I used to jog regularly. Not because I loved it. <em>At all.</em> It was physically hard. The muscles in my legs would often fight against me and scream for me to stop. In cold weather, my lungs would burn. I often wanted to quit halfway through the set distance and walk instead, but I felt great afterward. After I had pushed through and self-talked throughout the run and made it to the goal I had set for myself, I had more energy, mental clarity, and less anxiety. </p>
<p>In the same way, hard circumstances in life condition us. They make us stronger and softer in the spaces that need to be strengthened and softened. They make us more pliable and more solid. Ready for the sprint and prepared for the marathon. They are beautiful gifts to our character if we allow them to be. If we allow ourselves to be crushed the way olives and grapes are pressed to make olive oil and wine. </p>
<p><em>We are made new in the process. </em></p>
<p>There are many circumstances I have walked through in my life that didn't feel good at that time. Things that I prayed would be removed quickly. But on the other side of those unwanted events, I realize there was an inner work taking place in me that was necessary and good for me in spite of my perceiving it as bad. </p>
<p>What area of your life are you being stretched in right now? If it were to be removed or resolved today, what long-term gift could you be forfeiting?</p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/55319132018-11-29T11:01:08-05:002024-01-04T10:50:44-05:00On Flying and Not Being Ruled by Fear<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/492463303f9247d73aadfdd3dd0a760e0ee6bd1c/original/caleb-edit5.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span class="font_small">photo credit: Patrick Davis</span></p>
<p>Row 38, seat B. That was my assigned spot on the flight of my worst nightmares. My husband will tell you that I am being dramatic. Maybe. Maybe not. It was a windy day, a turbulent flight and call me crazy, but my idea of fun does not include bouncing around in an airplane when that far from the ground. As a side note, I would prefer the pilot not come over the intercom with any updates either. Good or bad, I don't want to know. Any dinging sound followed by the sound of his voice puts me on the edge of my seat. We're thirty-thousand feet in the air, and I can take my seatbelt off now? <em>Great</em>. I feel <em>so</em> unrelieved. </p>
<p>It almost sounds like I hate to fly, but that's not true. I love traveling. I love airports. I love the speed of taking off and seeing the aerial view. It's just that I only enjoy it when it feels safe and under control. </p>
<p>At one point during the flight, my husband looked at me and asked how it felt not to have any control over the pilot. To not be able to nudge and direct the driver the way I do my spouse when he's behind the wheel. </p>
<p><em>Terrible</em>, I thought. </p>
<p>But here's the reality. <em>Flying is good for me.</em> </p>
<p>I like feeling a sense of control, and when it feels removed, it puts to test everything I claim to believe. </p>
<p>I sat at a table the night before attempting to talk one of my son's away from nosediving over a cliff of fear about this very flight. I looked at him and told him about a time in my life when I was struggling with high anxiety and fear. Frequent trips to my primary care doctor. Frequent trips to the ER. A misdiagnosis of asthma, when in fact I was being ruled by anxiety. </p>
<p>I looked at him in that dimly lit space of that authentic little Italian restaurant. </p>
<p><em>"Don't let fear rule your life. It will stop you from doing the things you want to do in life." </em></p>
<p>And I could only speak that truth from a place that I have lived through and learned from. </p>
<p> </p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/acac4351d2d76d134ce242dfdec858be6a49e492/original/img-8470.jpg/!!/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p>We live much of our lives under this subconscious illusion of safety. Not that all things are outside of our control, hence the reason there are certain daily practices I have that help me feel safe. </p>
<p>Locking my door. <br>Wearing my seatbelt. <br>Trying to eat healthy and organic. <br>Having my cell phone on me in case of an emergency. </p>
<p>But what I have learned in my moments of feeling like my safety is compromised or when feeling a loss of control are crucial parts of my emotional and spiritual development. </p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/2ed5284776b298a24635678a2777c19cfb4e0a45/original/img-8385.jpg/!!/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p>You see, the pilot knew there was turbulence ahead. He knew how to steward the plane accordingly, and he was not phased by it. In fact, he came over the intercom (yes…I winced) and announced that there was a bit of turbulence and that he would get us to our destination <em>safe</em> and <em>sound</em>. </p>
<p>I like those words. I want predictable outcomes. I love feeling a sense of control over my life and my fate. </p>
<p>And in the moments that don't feel safe and sound, my heart is in the process of being recalibrated to know that my safety is in God alone. <em>He is my shelter. </em>No matter my location or my circumstance. Whether I am in the statistically "safe" part of town or the part labeled dangerous. Whether I am facing health or dreading the phone call from the doctor. Whether I am thirty-thousand feet in the air encountering turbulence or feet planted firmly on the ground. </p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><em><strong>"He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust." Psalm 91:2 </strong></em></p>
<p>The future is unknown to me, but it is not unknown to God. Although I don't like being taken out of my comfort zone, it is good for me. It stretches me and causes me to assess if I am living my life in self-awareness or God awareness. </p>
<p>It leads me back to a place of peace.</p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/55239432018-11-22T06:02:45-05:002018-11-22T06:02:45-05:00When You Find Yourself Dreading the Holidays<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/695d6fcdf20f34dc96dc082161576984d16da629/original/img-7653.jpg/!!/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>We all know that holidays are <em>not</em> a welcomed and celebratory time for everyone and for many different reasons. </p>
<p>I hear people speak with dreadful anticipation of family gatherings and let's be honest, we are not the Cleavers. Most of us are more like the Griswold's on National Lampoons. A little quirky and a lot of dysfunction. </p>
<p>So the question is, <em>how do we deal with tough relational dynamics and not dread the season? </em></p>
<p>We live in an "unfollow" generation. Social media makes it easy to unfollow or unfriend that person whose posting or behavior we feel annoyed by with one click. </p>
<p>We don't even have to respond to texts anymore. We now have a "like" option for texting (been guilty myself...but seriously?) </p>
<p>Sometimes unfollow, and unfriend <em>IS</em> the healthy option for toxic relationships. It's for sure the easier option to not have to see something someone is posting that gets your emotions in a jumble. Sometimes healthy distance from toxic people (even family) <em>is</em> the healthy thing. It's for sure the easier option to avoid people and circumstances that feel difficult and more than we can handle. </p>
<p>But just because something is easier doesn't always mean it's what is best. </p>
<p>Maybe the tougher, more mature option is to ask ourselves the nitty, gritty <em>why</em> question. To check the gauge on our own heart. </p>
<p><em>Why</em> does what they are posting get to me the way it does? </p>
<p><em>Why</em> does that person in my family irritate me that way? </p>
<p><em>Why</em> give someone that much power over my life? </p>
<p>Truth is, <em>anything you are not mastering is master over you. </em></p>
<p>Maybe we aren't meant just to avoid the tough people in our lives. Maybe...just maybe, there is something internal that needs to be examined on our end. </p>
<p><em>Ouch</em>. I don't like it either. </p>
<p>As Bob Goff says, "Love difficult people. You are one of them." Thanks, Bob. So true.</p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/55150512018-11-15T13:25:41-05:002018-11-15T14:10:55-05:00On Old Hymns and Being the Good Girl<p> </p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/d009a7122a8956ec8b6354b6494b7213d4377a52/original/the-good-girl-blog.jpg/!!/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><em><strong>I hear the Savior say, <br>"Thy strength indeed is small; <br>Child of weakness, watch and pray, <br>Find in Me thine all in all." <br>Jesus paid it all, <br>All to Him I owe; <br>Sin had left a crimson stain, <br>He washed it white as snow. </strong></em></p>
<p>I remember hearing this hymn as a child. Standing amongst a chorus of voices in that small church with the red pews, singing along to words which at that point in my life, didn't entirely hold the weight of their meaning. </p>
<p>I found my solace in being<em> the good girl. </em>If the teacher said, "stay seated and quiet," I didn't move. I sat with hands folded in my lap against my corduroy overalls. Still enough to not even make my seat creak, even if the teacher left the room. I crossed the street at crosswalks only. Obedient to the law. Reverent of authority, bordering the point of fear. Not perfect, but not a rule breaker by any means. </p>
<p>Until curiosity climbed from the passenger seat to the driver's side. Giving way to the temptation that now dominated the fear and need for approval. I found that even <em>the good gir</em>l has a rebellious heart. Prone to wander into the dark, despite being warned about dangers that might meet me there. Prone to wander just because I can. </p>
<p>I was well into my adulthood before I realized there was a lie nestled in the core of my heart. <em>God loved me based on my performance.</em> When I behaved. Never disagreed. Didn't break the rules. Went to church. Prayed enough. All of the things on my exhausting and self-created checklist. At some point, the lie knocked on the door asking to be believed, and I flung the door wide open and gave it a room. </p>
<p><em>"God, search my heart," </em>I prayed. Like that spotlight search bar on my computer. Search my heart for what is stored in there that I am unaware of. Downloaded and forgotten about, but now affecting every aspect of my life drenched in shame. </p>
<p>I saw it one day in my mind at a women's retreat. Like a time travel glimpse into the past. I saw the little girl version of myself standing before my father. I saw the tears in his eyes. The face marked with sadness, which as an adult I understand with time and clarity. But as a little girl, I misinterpreted as otherwise. There must have been something wrong <em>with me. Sarah causes pain. </em></p>
<p>So I strived to be a good girl. And this exhausting effort seemed to work for a while. I could at least try and mostly succeed at being on my best behavior. </p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/cb7f019fed929d4a02d665fb37428d0ea4982d58/original/img-6854.jpg/!!/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /> </p>
<p>And then one night, it <em>all</em> changed. On one warm September night that I never saw coming. Suddenly I found myself sitting in a detainment room with my hands folded in the lap of my beige cotton jumpsuit, the uniform color in the county of my confinement. Sentenced to the Ohio Department of Corrections, a foreign term I would become fluent in. </p>
<p><em>And now what, God? </em>No more of the good girl. She has exited left of center stage. Show over. Curtains on that act. <em>A disastrous ending</em>. She couldn't keep your rules anyway. </p>
<p>The old hymn of her youth plays out quietly in the memory of her heart, where lies and truth collide. </p>
<p style="text-align: center;"> </p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/9bca9e7a443b940e0480ffd0f3969ff975529dc2/original/img-6968.jpg/!!/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><em><strong>I hear the Savior say, <br>"Thy strength indeed is small; <br>Child of weakness, watch and pray, <br>Find in Me thine all in all." <br>Jesus paid it all, <br>All to Him I owe; <br>Sin had left a crimson stain, <br>He washed it white as snow. </strong></em></p>
<p><em><strong> </strong>Find in me thine all in all</em>. Not in yourself. Not in your list of rules and self-determined goodness. </p>
<p><em>Jesus paid it all.</em> So that <em>you</em> don't have to. So that you can live a free and abundant life knowing that nothing can separate you from His love. Literally <em>nothing</em>. </p>
<p><strong>What lies do you believe in your own life today?</strong> <em>I pray that God will search your heart and bask those lies in His light of truth.</em> You don't have to work at being loved. You are meant to rest in it. You are loved as you are. Right here. Right now.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"> </p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/55046102018-11-08T07:39:00-05:002018-11-08T07:42:15-05:00The Practice of Confession<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/44b987a3314216614a5a0c6706597ac1ec19fc91/original/img-7278.jpg/!!/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>I almost threw a sandwich at Panera recently. When the plate clashed loudly against the table, it was a clue too late of my emotional fragility and inability to juggle all that was currently happening in my life. What I call a<em> drip drip drip</em> kind of season. Like Chinese water torture. Slow, irritating, cold drips of water onto the face. Drip. Drip. Drop. <em>Tsunami</em>. Of mounting emotions that make their way unbridled and to the surface. It was my fault, the sandwich part anyway. I didn't know it came with onions and my teenage son's smug reaction to this realization was the final drip. "You will <em>eat</em> that sandwich," I growled in a tone that I'm sure sounded like something straight out of <em>Poltergeist</em>. Yes, to the lady sitting in front of us who turned around at the commotion. The pastor's wife is losing her crap right now in the middle of Panera. <em>Sigh</em>. </p>
<p>Some seasons of life feel like juggling footballs, awkward and cumbersome and too many in the air at once. Like if <em>one more thing</em> gets added into the mix of what we are handling, it will be <em>the</em> thing that breaks us. </p>
<p>And what is too common and utterly unhelpful during that time is to act like we aren't drowning. Like the water isn't too deep and like our legs aren't exhausted from the treading and like we don't have a painful cramp in our side. </p>
<p>I have this tendency to carry a hundred bags at once. Hello to any parents out there. Luggage. Everywhere we go. All the time. My unhealthy inclination when someone offers to help is to smile and politely decline. "Nope. It's all good over here. I got this." Nevermind that I'm carrying ten plastic grocery bags on one finger that is about to break. </p>
<p>There is a great deal of pressure when you are in positions of leadership to have it all together. I'll write a book about this one day. I'm not just referring to leadership in the church realm. If you have a single person in your life who looks to you for guidance, then you are a leader in some capacity. Like it or not. There is pressure to remain calm, cool and collected at all times. To have the right response at all times. The correct posture of the heart. And while I am all about balance and responding as Jesus would, there isn't a single human being on the planet who has it together one-hundred-percent of the time. Not even that person that might be coming to your mind right now. I promise they don't. </p>
<p>Part of healthy emotional hygiene is the practice of confession. In admitting, "this feels like more than I can handle right now." Or, "I don't know how to navigate this." Or, "I feel irate. Overwhelmed. Discouraged. Numb," or whatever emotion begs to rise to the surface for air. </p>
<p>Just the confession alone lets just enough steam out that the emotion feels more manageable and not so overwhelming. </p>
<p>When I went through a season of counseling, I was surprised at how therapeutic the process of speaking what I was feeling out loud was. My counselor would sit across from me and listen, trained to ask the right questions. Trained to help unravel the web of tangled emotions lying beneath the surface. </p>
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<p>This is my confession to you. To the one reading this. I am in a season of juggling. Not the normal multitasking, mom and life stuff. That's every season. I'm talking about juggling transitions. New locations, new responsibilities, and new doors opening. All good things, but even good things are difficult at times. Longing to feel settled and a sense of home. Juggling relationship dynamics that are complicated and filled with drama at times. And truth be told, sometimes I feel like I have <em>no</em> idea how to navigate that. Sometimes I mess up and don't handle it the way I should. </p>
<p>So if you see me having a meltdown in Panera, may I ask something of you? Don't judge me. Extend some grace. Pray for me. Ask me how I'm <em>really</em> doing. Beneath the external appearance of what you can see. Ask me to a coffee date (it will always win me over). </p>
<p>And do the same for others. Do the same for yourself and your own heart. It will do a world of good.</p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/54951992018-11-01T09:30:02-04:002018-11-01T11:52:34-04:00The Two Waiting Room of Life<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/a8c11f26b40c48de4673e31611bc8f6ad1a60e2b/original/img-7189.jpg/!!/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tomorrow I will close the shutters for the last time. In a kitchen where my grandma used to can vegetables and cook for the families of her four daughters that she loved. I will empty the room where I laid many nights snuggled between the two of them, begging my grandpa for one more scary story that he liked to tell while listening to cars passing on the main road driving to destinations unknown. I will look into the same mirror where my four- year -old self- attempted to brush my hair, while grandpa caught a picture in that bathroom with the dated butterfly wallpaper. But this time, I will steal a glance of myself for the last time. </p>
<p>The last glance in a house with walls that hold decades of stories, as all homes do. </p>
<p>I thought by now I would be ready. The house sat on the market for a dragged out year that felt like ten. Close to selling several times, only to fall through. A roller coaster of hope and disappointment. Of moving forward just to step back. A weary mix of unknowns and confusion about the direction we were heading that left us stunned and scratching our heads in perplexity. But as I sat there around the table to close on the house, my heart did not show up for the anticipated day the I thought it would. I felt weepy and strangely torn. Like I could stop time and protect the treasures of my heart if I didn’t sign on that line. The weather outside seemed to agree, with its gray skies and fits of scattered and cold rain. </p>
<p><em>We spend most of our lives in two waiting rooms</em>. The waiting room of <em>waiting</em>. Feeling ready to move forward, but circumstances aren’t lining up just yet. So we wait, often impatiently and marked with grumbling and blaming God for holding out on us. </p>
<p><em>For the right spouse to marry. <br>For the labor to start. <br>For the test results to come back. <br>For the house to sell. <br>For the phone to ring. <br>For God to move in situations, we can do nothing about. Except for wait. </em></p>
<p>But we often spend an equal amount of time in the waiting room of <em>lingering</em>. Of holding onto seasons, we are meant to move on from. Like there is an unopened invitation laying on the table inviting us into our future. But we walk by it, convinced that what we’ve already experienced and have known is better than anything that could be ahead. Our curiosity dominated by complicated emotions. </p>
<p><em>Our hearts are not always good at the letting </em><em>go</em><em> part. </em></p>
<p>And sometimes the waiting that we feel sentenced to in that silent waiting room is because of our <em>lingering</em>. Because of what needs to change in us. </p>
<p>In the book of Exodus, there is a well- known story of an Israelite community that found freedom from years of slavery in Egypt. Oppressive slavery of working their fingers to the bone for rulers in palaces, while their own families suffered in living conditions not fit for anyone. </p>
<p>I can tell you a thing or two about final release dates from places you don’t want to be. About being under someone else’s authority and rule. About oppression and being robbed of dignity and humanity. So I can easily imagine the joy and freedom they felt at their release from Egypt. That place marked with tears and suffering. Freedom longed for and finally realized. So now they enter into the happy future they wanted and waited for, right? <em>Wrong</em>. They ended up wandering like nomads on a forty year journey to the place God had promised them was ahead. </p>
<p>Delivered from their <em>waiting</em> room, only to enter the <em>lingering</em> room. Because the waiting isn’t just about what is being prepared <em>for</em> us. It’s about what is being prepared<em> in</em> us. </p>
<p>Sometimes you will find yourself on the <em>other side </em>of difficult circumstances only to find that they are still very much <em>inside</em> of you. And you aren’t near as ready for what is ahead as you think you are. </p>
<p>Since this whole waiting deal is a guarantee for all of us, the question begs to be asked: </p>
<p><em><strong>How do we learn to wait well? </strong></em></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/57ea8db01bc717067758af006ae0bbdcf55c501e/original/img-7220.jpg/!!/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p>There is a verse in Ecclesiastes 3 that echoes in my mind: </p>
<p><em><strong>“There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven.” </strong></em></p>
<p><em>There is a time</em>. God is not linear in time the way that we understand time. It makes my head hurt to think about it honestly. A reflection of my own limited comprehension. </p>
<p>We wait well by focusing our energy on becoming the person we want to be when we get to our longed-for place, and by surrendering the demand to know when we will arrive. </p>
<p><em>By focusing on becoming the spouse that we long for. <br>On being the parent our children deserve. <br>On becoming the person who learns to trust, even in the face of bad news. <br>On becoming the person who learns to walk in peace during prolonged waiting. <br>On being the person who learns that when the phone doesn’t ring, one day you may be grateful it didn’t. <br>On becoming the person who knows that God is sovereign (unrestricted, boundless, unlimited) and you and I? <strong>Newsflash</strong>: We are not. </em></p>
<p><em>There is a time</em>. It may be today. It may be tomorrow. It may be a year from now or longer. Let's not hinder ourselves on our journey by not waiting well. Let's not hinder ourselves by holding too tightly to what we’ve left behind. </p>
<p><em>Look ahead</em> and not over your shoulder. <em>Open</em> that invitation. <em>Have enough faith</em> to believe that what lies ahead is just as good or better than what’s left behind. <br> </p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/54856262018-10-25T09:09:20-04:002022-05-10T06:54:00-04:00Hello There Alice<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/7eb9a69520da23720a2c938aca0bb51a0fc8a4e6/original/wonderland.jpg/!!/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" />#wonderland</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"> </p>
<p>Life is unfair. Have you ever found yourself thinking that? Just know that I’m over here on this end with my hand raised. I’ve murmured it to myself. I’ve said it to my children as they plead against some deserved punishment by arguing that “it isn’t fair.” It’s the easy and exhausted parental way out of the conversation….<em>life is not fair. </em></p>
<p>But it’s a harsh reality to wrestle and make peace with. Why do some children get tucked into bed in a two million dollar mansion and others sleep in the back of a car? If they are lucky enough to have a car. I met two little girls this week that the latter was their reality. Two beautiful little girls, whose parents love them just as much as any good parent loves their children. Whose parents work just as hard to provide for them as any other parent does. But life happened as life often does. A long distance move seeking a better life. Mixed with unexpected events, delays, and an overdrawn bank account. Life has a way of making what you think is certain collide with what can’t be easily reconciled. </p>
<p>The journey of walking through a difficult season in our lives exposes every faulty thing we build our happiness upon. When the ground begins to shake a little, and life as you know it becomes blurred and the future uncertain, the first thing to go is your peace. Followed by your sense of security, comfort, and contentment. </p>
<p>My husband and I are currently walking through a season of chaos. How many balls can a person juggle at one time? We are setting a new record. My heart hasn’t fully been able to process it all yet. </p>
<p>But the reality is that even on my worst day, someone else might look at my life and long for it in exchange of their own reality. </p>
<p>We live in a FOMO culture. <em>Fear of missing out.</em> Millions of dollars are spent on marketing campaigns to suggest more stuff that we need. That nagging suggestion that you’re missing something you don’t currently have. Social media breeds this as well. We post the best versions of our lives. The filtered version. No one ever posts a picture of the report card that shows a child failing in school. Or the final notice from the utility company that electric is about to be shut off, hashtag <em>final notice</em>. It doesn’t happen because those aren’t circumstances anyone would <em>want</em> for their life. </p>
<p>In this wrestle with thinking life is unfair, of fearing we are missing out, <em>we must be so careful. </em></p>
<p>It’s an elusive chase that does not end well. It will make you feel like Alice in Wonderland chasing that white rabbit. <strong><em>But beware</em></strong>. It’s a trap in which there is no wonderland to be discovered. That rabbit hole does not lead to an adventure at all. </p>
<p>It leads to lack of gratitude. Bitterness. Envy. <em>Misery</em>. And here’s the ugliest truth that is painful to swallow: </p>
<p>It leads to wishing away this life right in front of me that deep down….I <em>love</em> with my <em>whole</em> heart. The laughter of my children. The sloppy noises my dog makes when he is consuming food (it’s really, <em>really</em> disgusting you guys). The little daily messes and heaps of laundry. The bills that pile up. The prayers that have yet to be answered. The family member I am borrowing worry over. The house that just sold and the upcoming move to a location we have yet to find. <em>This beautiful life. </em></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/8c08c73bf435f3ac1bdc5e8be8ac42a49506dcc3/original/img-6012.jpg/!!/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /> </p>
<p>If I jump into the rabbit hole of thinking that I’ve missed the path somehow, then that means I also miss all the beautiful events and faces on this path that I find myself on. </p>
<p>Even if there are parts of it I’d rather bypass. </p>
<p>We are each given a path to walk. Sometimes it’s a path we’ve chosen and sometimes it’s a path that life seems to have chosen for us. </p>
<p>Either way, it’s <em>ours</em> to walk. No one else’s. Yes, life is unfair sometimes. Yes, there are things on this side of eternity that there are no easy, black and white answers for. But no one’s life is without pain, struggle, or asking the hard questions we all wrestle with. <em>No one.</em> Even if someone else’s life seems easier or more privileged. </p>
<p>There is no happiness to be found in comparing our path to someone else’s. Contentment is giving yourself whole heartedly to this path you are on. That <em>is</em> your best life.</p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/54648642018-10-11T09:31:00-04:002018-10-11T09:31:21-04:00Through the Wasteland<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/ac5ba4b88434d90239a4f49aee67017ef3bd2420/original/img-6871.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>There is a quote by John Hope Bryant that says this: <strong><em>“The most dangerous person in the world, is a person with no hope.” </em></strong></p>
<p>Because they have nothing to lose. And feeling like you have nothing to lose leads to behavior that can become reckless, self sabotaging, and destructive to the world around you. </p>
<p>I’ve lived through moments when the good life I once knew felt decimated into oblivion. When all oxygen felt sucked out of the room. When grief made my heart and limbs feel like they were on a cross country journey trekking through knee deep sand. </p>
<p>In those moments, your circumstances can look and feel like a <em>wasteland</em>. I once heard someone describe it as the “ground zero” of your life. Like ground zero of the World Trade Center in New York. A place once thriving with life, replaced by a heap of rubble and ashes. </p>
<p><em><strong>What are the wastelands of your life? What are those places that look beyond hope? </strong></em></p>
<p>I had a miscarriage once at thirteen weeks. I remember the bleeding in the weeks that followed, a symbol that the heartbeat that once beat beneath my own had stopped. A constant and painful reminder of my empty womb and aching heart. A due date that is now an anniversary. A <em>wasteland</em>. </p>
<p>I hear wasteland stories often. It’s a reminder that we all have painful experiences that we have to learn to navigate through on our journey around the sun. I have never met a single person who is exempt and find myself often surprised at what people learn to carry, even that person you think has never been through a hard thing in their life. </p>
<p>I’ve been following the journey of a three year old little girl fighting for her life. From thriving health to an unexpected arrival of heart failure. An unforeseen bend in the road that has left her family blind sided and forging their way through a new and unwanted normal. Their current reality is now around the clock sights and sounds common to hospitals. Monitors and normal vs abnormal ranges, waiting for daily rounds by the doctors. Waiting for glimpses of hope. Waiting for their sweet girl to wake from her sedated slumber. Waiting for her healing to come, physically and in the part where a deep sadness has settled. A sadness from the trauma of it all, from being three and not understanding that what’s being done is for her good, and not understanding what became of the happy life she used to know. A life of playing with baby dolls and running carefree with her siblings. </p>
<p>I am completely immersed in their story. Heart deep. Checking compulsively every few hours for updates on Rowen. Waiting along side of them for her to smile again. <em>Waiting in this wasteland for some sign of hope.</em> </p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/af5727d5fc4268c0dd7ce09e9d5baa9b69a4b2e8/original/img-8189.jpg/!!/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p>I don’t ever want to be a person who sings songs to a heavy and broken heart. There’s a proverb that describes that as removing someone’s garment on a cold day. <em>Ouch</em>. I don’t ever want to a person who minimizes the gravity of hell on earth that people have to walk through. If there is any prayer that I have, it is <em>“God, please don’t let me be that.” </em>I want to be the person who laments with people. Who sits down with them in their suffering and waits it out. Waits for relief. Waits for morning. Waits until the tears have slowed or stopped. Waits and wades <em>through the wasteland. </em></p>
<p>I only know that in my own life, that place that I looked at and said, “this is a wasteland,” has become a place thriving with beautiful life. The beautiful made even more so somehow by the depth of the sorrow. I will never fully understand the complexity of it all on this side of eternity, and I have made peace with that. </p>
<p>And that’s where hope is found. In looking ahead and daring to believe that in your wasteland, life <em>will</em> return. Your ability to smile <em>will</em> return. It will. I promise it will. “A new normal,” a tragedy survivor once promised me. </p>
<p>It doesn’t minimize the tragedy, loss, or sorrow of our experiences. Hope is our lifeline. It is how we survive the wasteland, by clinging to it, even if it’s only by a thread. </p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><em><strong>”A wasteland. Unlivable. Not even a dog could live here…But the time is coming when you’re going to hear laughter and celebration..” <br>Jeremiah 33:10-11 Msg translation </strong></em></p>
<p><span class="font_small">photo cred for ground zero: Boston.com</span> </p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/54547762018-10-04T08:32:58-04:002018-10-04T08:50:58-04:00The Good Father<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/a9ab9ebd7bdfbb7bd2bde0173ea93b9e089cd2be/original/img-4756.jpg/!!/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>My Lyft driver must have guessed me as a country girl (about 50/50 I’d say). I grew up in the best of both worlds, the city and the cornfields. All I know is he asked me what genre of music I wanted to hear and when my fatigue spoke and told him to choose, we drove home listening to songs about trucks and drowning our memories. </p>
<p>I love most genres by the way. <em>Including</em> country music, but the sad kind of songs in smaller doses. </p>
<p>This has little to do with what I’m going to write about this week, other than to say that we often assume things about people based on what we see externally. </p>
<p>Which isn’t completely a bad thing and is actually innate and protective. We make judgements based on what our eyes see, what our senses feel, and what our brain interprets that our response should be. Not always a bad thing. I would never tell someone to ignore their intuition or gut feeling. </p>
<p>But we also have a gross tendency to make assumptions that aren’t always correct and can create <em>a lot </em>of misery if we aren’t careful. I’ve had to eat a humongous slice of humble pie more than once in my life. Too many times to count actually. </p>
<p>We tend to assume that others don’t struggle with the very things that we do. So we suppress. We hide. We categorize people, leaving us all the more isolated and lonely than we are meant to be. </p>
<p>I had a conversation with an eighty-six year old that caught me off guard recently. We were talking about his life, parenting, death, the afterlife. You know….all the things. He is <em>severely</em> hard of hearing, so I had to shout loud enough that it felt like the whole city could hear. We were quite the sight, sitting there shouting about doubt and faith. </p>
<p>Maybe I was the one who needed to hear our exchange of words most of all. </p>
<p>Just because you reach a certain age doesn’t mean you outgrow the wrestling that is common to the human experience. </p>
<p>Just because you survived one trauma doesn’t mean there won’t be days in the future you won’t know how to navigate through. </p>
<p>Just because you pastor a church, lead a small group, have read the whole bible, or don’t appear to have questions doesn’t mean you won’t face discouragement, weariness, or that you are protected from the three letter word most of act like we don’t long for the answer to. </p>
<p><em>Why? </em></p>
<p>I wrote a few weeks ago about a story in the Bible of two sisters who sent for Jesus because their brother was gravely ill. And when Jesus delayed coming to their aid, they faced heartbreak, grief, disappointment, and I imagine a whole litany of questions and other emotions. </p>
<p>When Jesus arrived and saw them wrecked with sobbing and grief, the text says this: </p>
<p><em>“He wept.” </em></p>
<p>There is a lot of speculation as to why. That He was grieved that these people He loved were in so much pain. </p>
<p>That He was troubled at their disbelief. </p>
<p>I think both are very possible. But this is what I believe to be true in my heart. This is what I believe to be true on the other side of my own trauma, heartbreak, and my own seasons of wrestling, questions, and doubts. </p>
<p>I think He wept because they <em>felt</em> abandoned by God. I think He wept because they doubted his good intentions toward them. </p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/138c185e814abf3eccf145effc16b67eaef097fb/original/img-4418.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p>I think about my own children. Those four precious gems I gave birth to that I would literally give my life for. And to think they would ever question that I only have good intentions toward them is the most heartbreaking thing I can imagine. And I am <em>far</em> from the perfect parent. </p>
<p>I don’t think God is surprised by our questions at all. We were created in His image and He is the embodiment of imagination, creativity, and wonder. We are meant to use our brains and to analyze, critique, and question things. Do not feel bogged down in shame over that. </p>
<p>It’s what we do with our questions that matters. Let them drive you <em>to</em> Him, not away from Him. </p>
<p>Questions invite answers, but we don’t always get the answer we want. Sometimes we get the thing that we need more than the answer: <em>trust</em>. </p>
<p>Trust that God’s heart and intentions toward us are <em>only</em> capable of good. Even when our situation doesn’t seem good. It’s the <em>one thing</em> we can trust. We may not be able to trust that life will always be good. Life will be a blended harmony of beautiful highs and painful lows. But we can trust that His heart towards us is <em>always</em> good. </p>
<p>And when questions arise like a three year old on repeat, we can rest and know that it’s okay to not have the answers. </p>
<p> </p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/54455802018-09-27T09:10:41-04:002018-10-18T06:38:51-04:00The World is Waiting<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/7577f9e0db84d765953299caeb2c28b06dddfc33/original/img-6568.jpg/!!/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>I had the honor and privilege of two coffee dates this week with two phenomenal women who have overcome a lifetime of shattering pain. We sat there on the porch of a local coffee shop as the cars drove by and the temperature began to cool, encapsulated in our own moment of time travel, stories, and survival. I sat there thinking, <em>you should write a book. The world needs to hear this story. </em></p>
<p><em>You</em> have a story. We all do. A beginning. That date on the calendar of our birth and arrival into a waiting world, followed by a timeline of details that shape us and scar us along the way. Events that bump, bruise, and sometimes fracture us. No one gets to bypass pain and suffering. Hard as we may try to escape it, it’s woven into the DNA of humanity. Our brokenness has left us hurting each other since the beginning of time. </p>
<p>There is so much more to each of us than what we see on the surface. The facebook version of our lives. There are complexities and layers. That guy ahead of you in line at the grocery might have just walked through a season of loss in which he thought for sure the pain would kill him. It’s very possible that he’s feeling much more fragile than he looks. </p>
<p>That mother that you pass every day dropping off her daughter at school? She might be struggling with deep insecurity and unworthiness set in motion by an absentee father and a mother that sought her own worth in men. </p>
<p>That coworker that you think has it all together (whatever that means), might be masking a deep shame triggered by something that wasn’t her fault, now buried beneath perfectionism and over achievement. </p>
<p>We’re all walking around carrying unread books, the stories of our lives that the world needs to hear. </p>
<p>I have a set of Russian dolls on my bookshelf that my daughter loves to play with. I watch her as she opens each one and looks over at me with a grin of delight at the discovery of the smaller dolls within. Again and again, until she is holding the smallest one in the palm of her hand. </p>
<p>But unless someone takes that doll apart, it sits on the shelf unopened, as if there is nothing more to be discovered within. </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/9648f23c3f36fb437e09aeffbf16483df0484184/original/img-6564.jpg/!!/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p>There is so much more to be discovered within each of us. There was a reason my grandma loved dolls so much. I think about this as I look at the picture of her at the age of two, orphaned and being raised by her older sister. I see the story in her eyes, just begging to be told. </p>
<p><em>Your</em> story is begging to be told. Don’t believe the lie that it's insignificant. Or that it’s not dramatic enough or as important as someone else’s story. Or that it’s <em>too much</em>. Shame the lie that has been shaming you. <em>Tell that thing</em>. </p>
<p>“But we have this treasure in jars of clay…” I hear the verse replaying in my mind. We are that jar of clay. <em>You</em> and <em>I.</em> Moldable, breakable, containers of greatness. <em>Containers of the God of hope</em>. Containers of stories of how we’ve survived and overcome. </p>
<p><em>Don’t let your story go untold. There is a waiting world. </em></p>
<p><span class="font_small">Reference: 2 Corinthians 4:7</span></p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/54362922018-09-20T08:22:48-04:002018-09-20T08:44:32-04:00In the Waiting<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/25cbe652484a15c5ccea24d51714e98fc4bd4edb/original/img-5874.jpg/!!/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"> </p>
<p>I whispered his name because I couldn’t find any other words. The name I chose for him all those years ago on that cold winter morning of his birth. The name I’ve whispered in moments of tender affection. The name that I’ve been guilty of raising my voice at in exhausted frustration. A name that holds years of sweet memories my heart treasures. </p>
<p>But there I found myself that morning standing in my bathroom, sleep deprived and with tears, snot, and a heart that was bleeding. There is nothing that will wound your heart like when one of your children are hurting. Especially when it’s a hurt that you can’t fix. Gone are the days of a bandaid and a kiss to make the tears stop. It will make your heart feel fragile and amnesic of all the other difficult things you’ve survived in your life. </p>
<p>So I just whispered his name and offered it up to heaven in helpless surrender. And with his name was an unspoken plea of my heart. <em>See him… please. Don’t forget this child of mine. </em></p>
<p>There’s this story in John, chapter eleven, that I see myself in. There is power and strength that comes from learning to see yourself in a story. </p>
<p>It opens with a man who is very sick and his sisters have sent word to Jesus that, “the one you love <em>so very much</em> is sick.” And yet, Jesus unapologetically arrives on the scene four days too late. Four days in the wake of grief, disappointment, and silence feels eternal. Ninety six hours of waiting. Five thousand and seven hundred and sixty minutes of a slow ticking clock. <em>Eternal</em>. </p>
<p>Like the smell of antiseptic and lack of color in a hospital waiting room. <br>Like the silence of the car ride when following a hearse. <br>Like the chill of winter in your bones when the ground and everything living is now frozen and dead. </p>
<p>It’s agonizing and can’t end soon enough. </p>
<p>When you’ve sent for help from the only One who can help, and that help <em>finally</em> arrives, you run out of the house like one of the sisters did to see what’s about to go down, right? Nope. Not always. </p>
<p>Then the text says this, <em>“Mary remained in the house.” </em></p>
<p>And that is the part of the story where I see myself. Sitting there in the house with my doubts, confusion, and anger. And so many questions. </p>
<p>Had her faith collapsed? <em>Four days have passed. This situation is way beyond hope. </em></p>
<p>Did she feel unseen and alone in her pain? <em>I called for you four days ago and you dragged your feet in getting here? Do I matter that little to you? </em></p>
<p>Was she raging with bitterness in her heart? <em>Where were you when I needed you? How could you let this happen if you love us? </em></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/f61b42960d9ca93d7feb9edcfd71fb6b501463e2/original/img-4674.jpg/!!/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p>When I was little and before I knew heartbreak and shame, I used to play in the creek on my grandparent’s property. It was my spot. Calm and safe. I loved that little creek bed and the shade of the tall trees, the coolness of the water, and rearranging the rocks to make a crossing path. <em>And He saw me there and knew my name. </em></p>
<p>When I grew older and gave myself away too young and sought love in the wrong places, <em>He saw me then too and He knew my name.</em> </p>
<p>When I found myself standing in the ashes of my own wreckage with tragedy and a story I never wanted, He saw me there. He saw me standing in the aftermath with my broken heart and my fists clenched. <em>And He called my name</em>. He asked for <em>me</em>. </p>
<p>You see, it’s the next part of the story that I love the most. People often quote other parts of it and overlook this one. Mary’s sister comes back into the house and whispers in her ear, “Jesus is <em>here</em> and He is asking for <em>you</em>.” </p>
<p>He’s <em>here</em>. For you as you read this. Wherever you find yourself today. In the house with your disbelief and bitterness. In the mess you’ve made. In that situation in which you feel helpless and hopeless. In the bathroom with you and your brokenness and the prayers you can’t utter. </p>
<p>He’s <em>here</em> and He’s asking for <em>you</em>. </p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/54269162018-09-13T09:29:25-04:002018-09-13T09:48:24-04:00Breaking the Silence<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/ad0cc96feac89897948392f9ea01253a694e8c00/original/img-6337.jpg/!!/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Do you ever struggle with feeling like you just can’t get it together? Your routine. Your negative thought life. Your dietary habits. Your commitment to better self care. Your striving for meaningful connection. Whatever your <em>“it” </em>is. </p>
<p><em>Listen</em>. I get it. <em>Both</em> my hands are raised. </p>
<p>And the feeling honestly makes me want to nap daily with my two year old, wear my pajamas until noon, and overindulge in salt, sugar, and a marathon that starts and ends on my couch. That’s what shaming and condemning thoughts do. They drive you deeper into a sinking quicksand. </p>
<p>Life should come with this caution label: Anytime you are stepping out boldly in any area of your life, you can bank on this one thing showing up. By stepping out boldly, I don’t mean solving global scale problems. I mean taking the reigns of your life and striving for better. Not settling for complacency in the areas you feel the urge for needed change. </p>
<p>What is this one thing you can bank on? It’s a sneaky little thing called <em>discouragement</em>. It creeps up suddenly, starts with a thought, often masks itself as our own voice, and seems so true in the moment. </p>
<p>You can bank on being called into the ring for a fight, only to step in and find that your opponent is actually yourself. </p>
<p>I wish more people would talk about it honestly. </p>
<p>I wish more people would open up and be transparent about the fights we face in this life. Because truth is, we <em>all</em> do. We all wrestle with universal struggles. Universal questions. We <em>all</em> wrestle with discouragement at times. </p>
<p>And yet most of us walk around pretending like we have it all together on our own little island where life is a tropical paradise. The water is always clear. The sun is always shining and the temperature? <em>Perfect</em>. </p>
<p>I wish more pastors would talk about wrestling with self doubt and feeling like they don’t measure up to the call. How sometimes they preach a sermon and feel like they bombed it. I wish they would talk about how even they wrestle with the crippling darkness of depression and seasons of feeling utterly abandoned by God. </p>
<p>I wish more writers would talk about how many times they hit delete, completely trash what they just wrote, run into a wall of writers block, or doubt the ability of their words to have an impact and want to walk away from it all. Did I mention that when I went to publish this blog, it was erased from my desktop? <em>Awesome</em>. </p>
<p>I wish more public speakers would talk about the insecurity of being before people, and how they often feel like they are going to throw up or collapse before walking on stage. Or walk off of stage afterward feeling like they rambled and possibly just presented as incompetent or unqualified. </p>
<p>I wish in our small groups, coffee dates, and lives on social media, we could let go of this enormous pressure to present the best parts of ourself and instead, embrace transparency. I’m not suggesting we throw wisdom out the window and hang all of our dirty laundry out to dry. No one wants to see all of that. </p>
<p>But you know what else no one wants to see? <em>Your perfectly manicured life</em>. Even if they don’t know it.</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/025176bc071742b012951b1a4ab86bdab313d626/original/we-belong-to-each-other.jpg/!!/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p>Speaking of the ills of the world, Mother Teresa stated it is because we have “forgotten that we belong to each other.” </p>
<p><em>You</em>, my friend, are <em>not</em> meant to be an island. </p>
<p>You aren’t meant to suffer in the silence of feeling like you are the only one on your little land mass of population one. Our silence is what makes us feel alone, even when we are surrounded by people. </p>
<p>It feels like loss to admit that we don’t have it all together. That we are fumbling our way through and trying to figure it out. But it isn’t a loss at all. It is <em>so much</em> gain. </p>
<p>The fight against discouragement is won by our realization that we aren’t meant to go through this life alone. Through confession, our lies lose their power and volume when we break our silence and admit the truth of how we are really feeling. It is then that we realize we are not so alone. </p>
<p><em>Take heart</em>. Take one small, yet massive brave step today. <em>We belong to each other</em>.</p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/54173892018-09-06T10:45:54-04:002018-09-06T21:47:00-04:00The Way Back to Kansas<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/52d4657c784100c267542e5023b84b079f5d46b0/original/img-5953.jpg/!!/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Once upon a time, I found myself in a foreign land far from home. I didn’t know the language. I didn’t know what the social norms were. And there was <em>zero</em> part of me that wanted to learn. </p>
<p>Sometimes, life will carry you to unfamiliar territories of grief and new, unwanted realities. The saddest, heaviest part is that first waking moment of the morning. When you awake from your slumber to a heavy heart and the bitter taste of your unwanted circumstances. It’s that crushing realization that it wasn’t just a bad dream. It was an event that really did happen and now you’re left to learn how to carry it somehow. </p>
<p>When that tornado ripped through my life and carried me far from my own Kansas, I used to imagine those ruby red slippers Dorothy wore. I could see her in the memory of my little girl heart that must have watched the film a hundred times. I could see her clicking her heels and repeating, <em>“there’s no place like home.”</em> I wished it were that easy. That somehow clicking my heels would wake me from my own bad dream. That I would awake and be back in Kansas and with the people that make my world feel like home. </p>
<p>Maybe you’re still in your own Kansas. What I know about Kansas (or at least the part I’ve been to) is that it’s flatter than a pancake. Sometimes life can feel that way. Flat and monotonous. I am all for switching routines up. Driving a different route home. Venturing to surrounding areas I haven’t been to. But let’s be honest. We all have routines and daily practices that sometimes feel monotonous. Same wake up time. Take the dog out. Make the coffee. Shout for the fifteenth time for my teenage son to wake up. Shout again, and this time with a threat attached. My husband and I eat takeout from the same pizza place every Tuesday evening. And we get the <em>same exact thing</em> every time. Sometimes I feel embarrassed when I call our order in. I imagine the girl answering the phone times our call every Tuesday evening and announces that the Davis’s are calling <em>again</em>. </p>
<p>But let me tell you something. I <em>love</em> this routine and sometimes monotonous life. It’s all of these ordinary moments that make a beautiful life. And I promise you that if yours is ever interrupted or stripped away, you will agree. It’s so easy to take the routine for granted and it's the thing we miss the most when it’s gone. </p>
<p>Maybe you find yourself in the aftermath of a tornado that has leveled your life and left you feeling far from your own Kansas. </p>
<p>Maybe your life has been disrupted. <br>Maybe your heart has been broken. <br>Maybe the divorce was the last thing you wanted. <br>Maybe the death was the last thing you expected or feel equipped to survive. <br>Maybe the future looks like a million scattered and unknown pieces that will never be whole again. </p>
<p><em>Take heart. Don’t you dare give up</em>. </p>
<p>Recent news has been that the ruby red slippers Dorothy wore in <em>Wizard of Oz</em> were stolen from a museum in Grand Rapids, Minnesota thirteen years ago and have finally been recovered by the FBI. Yes of course, my first thought was wondering why the FBI was involved in such matters, all things of our current world considered. </p>
<p>But here’s another thought: </p>
<p><em>You will be found too</em>. That lost, scattered, and broken part of you will be returned home. Somewhere on the yellow brick road of your journey, you will gain knowledge, heart, and courage like you’ve never had before. Not in some Pollyanna “everything happens for a reason” way of thinking. I don’t buy that. It brings no lasting comfort to a broken heart. We live in a fallen world. But our pain isn’t <em>all</em> loss and it <em>isn’t </em>wasted. </p>
<p>Once I learned that, I embraced the journey through my foreign land. I learned the language of the other inhabitants. I learned their social norms and their names. I learned that they also did not want to be in this place of shattered dreams. I was not as alone as I thought. </p>
<p>You will eventually find your way back to Kansas. Back to home, and comfort and wholeness. <em>I promise you will</em>. It may look different than it once did and you may look different too. And that’s okay. There is no place like the home you will find within your own heart. A place of knowing who you are deep down. <em>Strong and resilient.</em></p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/54073962018-08-30T07:58:59-04:002018-10-04T06:13:49-04:00Day Seven<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/5a8e8b12dbfa2a7c576d8493a1b57197b06448a5/original/img-5176.jpg/!!/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"> </p>
<p>I started a new practice recently of listing my daily goals at the start of each day. I am a creature of habit by nature, so adopting a new practice of gathering my gold striped notebook every morning to scribe out my to do list for the day was an easy habit. Some of the goals are simple things like <em>drink more water. Get some sunshine. Exercise (</em>why do I always have to remind myself of this one? <em>Sigh</em>.) Some of the goals are time sensitive to do’s that have a deadline. Like this blog for example. I have found that if I am not intentional enough to right down my plan for the day, more often than not, I will get distracted with busyness (hello mom life) and my to do’s will get sidelined. I am also a wee bit of a type A personality. I’m driven by checklists, organization, and accomplishment. I recently learned that type A has a correlation with coronary disease. <em>Awesome</em>. </p>
<p>So on my agenda for the next two days is this: a big bag of nothing and an empty to do list. Is that because I don’t have things that need done? Never. The thought makes me laugh. </p>
<p>It’s because I desperately feel the need for rest and recharge in all of my cells, the same way the body signals for water when it’s thirsty. My body is crying out <em>please, for the love of all that is good Sarah…let. me. rest</em>. Stop vacuuming already. Stop constantly filling in your agenda with the next thing. Stop with the incessant need to do something productive. I’m really terrible at the whole rest thing. </p>
<p>I passed a young gentleman recently who was mid conversation with the person in front of him and I couldn’t help but overhear. He was talking about his plans over the next couple of days when I heard him say, “I haven’t really relaxed in three months.” </p>
<p>I wish I could insert that emoji on my iPhone with the really big and bugged out eyes right here. Because that was my facial expression when I heard him. <em>Three months?</em>? That’s like twenty five percent of your year that you have not rested or relaxed! <em>Say What</em>?? </p>
<p>But then. Like a mirror held to my face, I heard it. That small inner voice that I so often ignore. It stood up and waved it’s hand obnoxiously in the air with a small cough gesturing for my attention. <em>Excuse me…over here. You do the same thing</em>. </p>
<p>I wish I could argue with that, but it’s so true. </p>
<p>I have this friend who is the most bubbly, bouncing ball of joy that you will ever meet. Her happy spirit is infectious. I cannot imagine her in my mind without her ear to ear smile and it makes me smile just thinking about it. </p>
<p>She has a job that she absolutely loves and is passionate about, caring for a range of creatures at a zoo in Tennessee (there is something to this….loving the work you do. That’s a whole other blog). She has this balance to the whole rest vs work thing that I envy. She is good at both. I want to be like her when I grow up. </p>
<p>I think that far too often we have the whole thing backwards. We think that our ability to accomplish, produce and fulfill purpose in our lives is found in the quantity of what we do. So we slip into this unhealthy, out of balance habit of cramming as many hours into our day as possible. Our quality of life is measured by updating our status on Facebook. We drink coffee and energy drinks to keep ourselves going, staying up too late and waking early. We work more so we can afford to do more. While our souls are untended and scattered, like an overgrown garden in desperate need of tending. </p>
<p>We do the same to our kids. We think that our good parenting is measured by their activities, by over cramming their schedules, never allowing them to be bored to the point of having to explore creativity or who they are. The result? We all become exhausted. Burned out. Short fused. We live for vacations instead of the day to day life that we are in. And when we don’t over cram? We describe ourselves as <em>lazy</em>. Where did we learn this? At what point in our lives did a day spent in sweat pants and a rhythm of relaxation and grace get communicated to us as being lazy? It’s <em>insanity</em>. </p>
<p><em>Listen</em>. I am all about hard work. Overly so. A life where you never leave your couch and sweat pants is also majorly out of balance. As Zig Ziglar is well known for saying, “If you aim at nothing, you will hit it every time.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/91307a2c6e9f3d1b4c266499abfc498932cd2fc5/original/img-5097.jpg/!!/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>There were seven days in the evolving of creation. Whether this is literal or figurative to illustrate a point, I don’t know. I wasn’t there physically. But it says there were seven days in which God created all that we would need to sustain life. Do you know which of the days he named as <em><strong>holy</strong></em> (exalted or worthy of complete devotion as one <em><strong>perfect</strong></em> in <em><strong>goodness</strong></em>)? The <em>seventh day</em>. The other days were good, but <em>this</em> was the day He <em>blessed</em>. The day when <em>all</em> of the work was completed. </p>
<p>It would be easy to read that and interpret it only as we are to rest once our work is complete. I would not totally disagree. <em>But</em>. The point of the word “completion” is that the universe is no longer in the process of being created. It’s a<em> finished work</em>. Our rest is found in <em>that</em>. </p>
<p>Let’s stop getting it backwards. Rest <em>is</em> holy. Rest is a good thing. Rest is essential to giving the world and those we love the best version of ourselves that we can. You can’t pour from an empty cup my friend. </p>
<p>This is your invitation to enter into rest. Not only physical rest, but rest from trying to prove your worth. You are <em>already enough</em>.</p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/53982632018-08-23T08:24:35-04:002018-08-23T20:58:40-04:00The One Magnificent You<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/a75ca86f7e6c35cb192d7661fc91c5a1786231b7/original/img-4994.jpg/!!/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"> </p>
<p>This may seem like a pep talk, but let’s call it more of a truth talk. People have described me before as a motivational writer. Truth be told, I don’t really care for the label. I’m more interested in truth that takes root in your soul than a pep rally to only motivate you momentarily. I’m passionate about bringing truth to the lies that rob people of the abundant life they are meant to live. A life of being <em>loved, accepted </em>and <em>enough</em>. So if my writing motivates people closer to truth, then I guess I will happily wear the label. </p>
<p>I had a conversation once with one of my teenage sons about an upcoming event at his school. I was asking him about going, secretly planning in my mind all the fun mom things I would get to do in preparation for it. He quickly deflated my daydream with his abrupt response that he had no plan of going because he didn’t have anyone to go with. </p>
<p>“<em>But you haven’t even asked anyone yet,</em>” I countered. Now I know that as his Mom I am tipping the scale on the biased side, but if you ask me, who <em>wouldn’t</em> want to go with him? I couldn’t even imagine. </p>
<p>But he could. In fact, that question was all that he could imagine, that no one on the planet would want to go with him. My Momma heart winced that he could believe this about himself. </p>
<p>We do this as adults too, don’t we? We rob ourselves by believing the thoughts that enter our minds. </p>
<p>One time I saw someone that I know and love at an outdoor public event. We were estranged and our relationship was broken at the time through a series of events that felt outside of my control. I saw her through the thick crowd of strangers. As our eyes made contact, we both looked quickly the other direction. </p>
<p>The band, Twenty One Pilots, has a lyric in one of their songs that says this: </p>
<p>“<em>Sometimes quiet is violent</em>.” </p>
<p>Indeed. I wanted to approach her and mend the brokenness, but I didn’t. I remained silent. In my mind, I believed the lie that my approaching her was the last thing she wanted. I couldn’t handle the possible rejection I might have faced. My silence causing violent pain to her and deeper fracture to the relationship. </p>
<p>Sometimes we have to speak truth to ourselves. Sometimes it means writing that truth on a hundred post it notes stuck to random places in our home, car and workplace. Sometimes we have to set a reminder on our phone. A pop up alert throughout our day of the truth we need to remember. Sometimes it means looking at a friend or someone we trust and telling them to tell us the truth we need to hear. </p>
<p><em>Our worth is not based on the approval of others.</em> It’s safe to risk rejection. It’s safe to risk failure. Often times, it’s not as much of a risk as we think. </p>
<p>I heard an interview once with Mike Tyson, one of the most vulnerable and honest people I’ve ever heard interviewed. He is well known for some of the not so name worthy things of his past. I’m not here to judge. I wasn’t there. I don’t know the whole truth. I only know what the media writes and I know how I feel about the media. What he is also known for is being the youngest heavyweight champion of <em>all</em> time at the age of twenty. This young kid from the projects who grew up with an absent father and a mother who passed away when he was sixteen. This kid who often got in fights with other kids who teased him about his lisp, his first fight being with a kid who harmed a pigeon he loved and took care of. This young kid who was arrested thirty eight times by the age of thirteen for petty crimes and most unlikely to succeed at <em>anything</em>. </p>
<p>Do you know where his boxing ability was discovered? By a counselor inside of the boys home he was placed in after the death of his mom. So how did this kid from the streets of New York make it to being named heavyweight champion of the world? </p>
<p><em>Because one person saw what no one else saw and believed in him.</em> </p>
<p>Mike talked in his interview about how his trainer, Cus D’Amato, convinced him that out of five billion people on the planet, there wasn’t a <em>single one</em> that could beat him in the ring. He entered every fight with that mindset. </p>
<p>Maybe you don’t have a Cus in your life. Maybe you don’t know how to be your own Cus, and believe better or truth talk to yourself. </p>
<p>I’ve got something even better for you. </p>
<p>There may be roughly seven billion people on the planet now, but there is only <em>one</em> you. <em>Only one magnificent you</em>. When God created you, he looked at all that he made in you and said “it is <em><strong>very</strong></em> good.” A stamp of approval. A finished work. Perfected. Complete. Enough. </p>
<p>How about trying a little truth talk to yourself? It may take time, but eventually, you just might start to believe it.</p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/53896982018-08-16T08:14:56-04:002021-08-30T15:35:17-04:00The Outsiders<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/99ae2e5f4682df05e689f567df45fd74b4e0d7c5/original/on-the-outside.jpg/!!/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"> </p>
<p>I heard this story once from one of the kindest humans I know. He told me about his experience in junior high and being raised by a single mother who was struggling to make ends meet. His shoes were so busted up that the soles used to flap when he would walk. Teenage years can be brutal and he told me how his classmates used to make fun of him. So he decided at that moment (and after a million other preceding moments) that he would do whatever he had to do to get what he needed. Even if it meant criminal activity, violence and destruction. Then he said this…. </p>
<p><em>“All of my life I have felt like an outsider.” </em></p>
<p>I heard another story once from another one of the kindest people I have ever met. She told me about the time her daughter was sent to prison and for the years of her incarceration, people only asked her about her daughter. Her own identity seeming to fade into oblivion. Good intentions by others, but failure to see the extraordinary gem of the human right in front of them. Failure to see <em>her</em> brokenness and suffering. Failure to see that she also was serving time, sentenced to loss and grief, and stepping into a parental role for her grandchildren that she never anticipated having to fill. </p>
<p>My heart bleeds for both of them. For the rejection they felt in their experiences. For how those moments made them feel insignificant and unworthy. </p>
<p>But you know who I feel the <em>most</em> sorry for? </p>
<p>For all of those people who missed out on the gift of them. Those people were holding blue diamonds and didn’t even realize it. Do you know how much a blue diamond is worth? </p>
<p><em><strong>3.9 million per carat</strong></em>. </p>
<p> For a gem small enough to fit in the palm of your hand. For a gem that the average person wouldn’t even recognize as any more significant than any other gem. </p>
<p>Yes, teenage years can be brutal. Sometimes “kids can be so mean,” as you often hear said. Their impulsivity and unbridled behavior causes them to say things without considering the consequences. But truth is, sometimes adults can be mean too. Sometimes as adults, we treat others with preferential treatment. We are often not champions and advocates for the underdog. We are champions for the shiniest. For what glitters the most. For who looks best on stage. For who is the most well spoken. For the most seemingly qualified. </p>
<p>One of my favorite stories in the Bible is the story of King David. Chosen by God since the beginning of time to be king over Israel. But you know who didn’t recognize David’s potential to be king? <em>His own father</em>. Mega ouch. </p>
<p>When asked to present all his sons to see which one might possibly be chosen, he didn’t even bother to call David in from the field where he was tending sheep. He didn’t know that David’s willingness to live with the smell of the sheep out in the fields was preparing him to eventually lead and care for people. </p>
<p><em>Maybe you have felt like the outsider before. <br>Like you don’t fit in anywhere. <br>Like the kid on the wrong side of the tracks. <br>Awkward in social circles. <br>A misfit or black sheep in your family. <br>Overlooked in your workplace. <br>Maybe even at your church. <br>Like you wouldn’t even belong in a field with smelly sheep. </em></p>
<p>My husband has this saying whenever he feels passionate about something. He will say, “that makes me want to jump out the window.” He doesn’t mean in some self harm way. He means that what he just heard was so epic and touched him so deeply that he could jump out of a window, through a thousand shards of broken glass and not be phased by it. </p>
<p>And what I’m about to tell you next makes me feel the same. <em>Like I could jump straight out of a window.</em> </p>
<p>That guy I told you about in the beginning, the one with the flapping soles, the one who has always felt like an outsider? He has a resilience and a tenacity in his soul like nothing I have <em>ever</em> seen before. He doesn’t need a stamp of approval from others to step out and pursue crazy dreams. He listens to God and follows what feels true to his heart. And when it comes to other people, he treats people with <em>so much inclusion</em> that they immediately feel like they belong. Like there is a seat at that awkward junior high lunch table for them despite their story, their present or their past. <em>He notices people</em>, whether its the homeless guy on the bench or the business man in his three piece suit sitting in the coffee shop. More than likely, he never would’ve had that ability if he didn’t first know what it felt like to be on the outside. </p>
<p>That woman I told you about in the beginning, the one overlooked and forgotten? She <em>never</em> forgets others. She searches for countless ways to make people feel remembered. She will show up with a book she heard you mention wanting to read or that item you forgot to purchase at the store. She doesn’t even realize the endless ways she serves people with the <em>art of noticing</em>. What a gift. People <em>long</em> to be noticed. </p>
<p>Consider this for a moment.…maybe you aren’t <em>supposed</em> to fit in. Maybe there <em>is</em> something different about you. And all of that trying to conform to fit into who you think you should be masks the very part of you that God marked to stand out. </p>
<p>Use your understanding of feeling on the outside for <em>radical inclusion</em>. Pay attention and notice that you are far from alone in feeling that way. There are people everywhere who feel left out and uninvited. </p>
<p><span class="font_small">Photo cred: Mortal Flesh</span></p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/53805082018-08-09T07:55:52-04:002021-08-10T14:22:43-04:00Stones of Remembrance<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/7790dffbe564f3b82f57333322b973c465d372e8/original/img-5558.jpg/!!/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Last night I picked a handful of black-eyed Susan’s from our house that has yet to sell. A home that contains years of memories I will forever hold in my heart. The house belonged to my grandparents, and my husband and I bought it as a renovation project. It was healing to my grief to be able to restore it. A for sale sign has occupied the front yard for ten months now and counting. Our dreams and moving forward on temporary hold until the house sells. It’s a season that feels long and never-ending and has tested our patience to the limit. </p>
<p>My other set of grandparents used to have a long driveway paved with small and loose stones. I can still see myself as a young child crouched low in that driveway. The sun was warming my skin as I would comb patiently through the stones sifting for the ones I was looking for. They were small and light blue stones that looked like crystals. They were hidden beauties amongst the plain and ordinary ones. I would collect them as rare treasures found. </p>
<p>I have traveled a long way through life since then. So much beauty. So much heartache. So much mixture of the two that sometimes the grief is the easier one to remember. Like a default setting in my brain has that I don’t know how to restore to its proper setting. That’s how trauma works. It doesn’t time stamp a memory the way normal memories get coded. Your brain recognizes it as recurrent, instead of being able to differentiate that it was something that happened once and is over in the present here and now. </p>
<p>Even in the absence of a traumatic experience, sometimes our default setting as humans is to forget the good. </p>
<p>Sometimes as an adult, I still find myself collecting stones. But it’s no longer in childlike wonder and admiration of their beauty. It is no longer with palms open and to the sky as I hold them loosely. They are clinched tight in my fists and ready to throw as my heart rages. </p>
<p>Not all the time. Only in the challenging moments. The moments when I have more questions, then I have answers. When life feels as though it’s closing in from all sides and I feel trapped under the avalanche of it all. </p>
<p>There’s this part in the Bible where God tells the people to gather 12 stones from a riverbed as a remembrance. As a reminder that the thing that stood between them and where they were trying to go was removed before their very sight. As a reminder that the thing that threatened to drown them should they try to cross it, did not drown them. They made it safely to the other side. </p>
<p>You see, God knew that they would need to be reminded. He knew that you and I would need to be reminded. He knows our limitations and how prone we are to only see the circumstances in front of us and to forget where we’ve been. </p>
<p>It’s important not to forget the battles we’ve fought and have survived. To trace the scars of the moments we thought would kill us, but didn’t. The long sleepless nights with tear soaked pillows that we didn’t know if we would make it through, but morning came nonetheless. </p>
<p>The danger of forgetting is that it makes us weak. We lose heart in dark times. We get angry and embittered and start to tell ourselves untrue things. We rage against God and close loops and insert narratives into the gaps that are still being written. In doing so, we make the journey harder and longer than it has to be. We forfeit our peace and our hope. </p>
<p>If I could talk to that little girl version of myself crouched low in that driveway, I would tell her this….. </p>
<p><em>"You are going to go through some tough stuff in life. Collect the stones and whatever you do, don’t forget." </em></p>
<p>Don’t just collect lovely and smooth stones. Collect the jagged and rough-edged ones too. <em>You will need to be reminded of them all.</em></p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/53718412018-08-02T07:59:12-04:002022-02-18T00:01:16-05:00Unopened Gifts<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/a44f9dfc1b16ffd0a147a3b1e448face9337e3c6/original/unopened-gifts.png/!!/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.png" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>We spent this past weekend with new friends that are in the process of relocating to Ohio. The weekend was filled with authentic conversation, exposed hearts, a late night visit to the local ice cream hot spot, and a day visit to our favorite local coffee shop. The last night of our visit, we sat on the grass at a park and talked about where we’ve been and where we’re headed and how God has been traceable through it all. We ended the night with a late night pizza delivery, sleepy children and root beer floats. </p>
<p>Good friendship is a sweetness something like your favorite dessert. Actually, it’s so much more than that. It’s like finding home again after being gone from it longer than you expected. To feel known and loved is beautiful and the best gift we can receive. </p>
<p>During one of our conversations, our friend told us about a time in his life when he was attending a church that told him what a gift he was to the members there. Yet, during the entire time of his attending there, he was never once used in the areas of his giftedness. <em>He was a gift that sat unopened.</em> </p>
<p>The statement was not lost on me. </p>
<p>When it comes to receiving gifts, I am like a five year old the night before Christmas. My anticipation gets the best of me. I beg and act ridiculous and so I guess it’s a good thing my husband waits until Christmas Eve to buy me anything. I am the same with giving gifts. I will beg you to open your gift before it’s time. </p>
<p>Christmas aside, I wonder how many times in my life there has been a gift sitting in front of me that sat unopened. In plain site, but invisible because of my lack of recognition. Maybe I miss it because it doesn’t look the way I thought it would or because of my preconceived ideas about the way things should be, only to be proven wrong more often than not. The thought makes me incredibly sad. </p>
<p>Diana was a gift that I almost missed once. I met her as we sat side by side, handcuffed at wrist and ankle to each other on a long bus ride. I was being transported away from the grounds of a female prison in a remote part of Ohio that was far from my hometown. I had waited three years for that moment and I wasn’t in the mood to talk. I wanted to look out the window and be lost in my thoughts and take in the view of life on the outside world. The bikes scattered in yards. The hanging baskets of flowers on porches. The Target sign and parking lot. She asked me so many random questions on that ride that I started to wonder if she was doing some type of personality assessment on me. </p>
<p>As events would play out and much to my surprise, we ended up as room mates. She was the total opposite of my introverted self. She was loud, earthy, and free in a way I had never known. And her beliefs were drastically different than the ones I held so close and white knuckled in fear. </p>
<p>In spite of all of the things that made us different and unlikely friends, she became one of my closest friends and one of the people that has loved me the most well in my life. </p>
<p>“You break me and mend me at the same time,” she said to me once. That’s what being loved does. It breaks our walls and the hardened parts of our hearts and it mends them back together at the same time. Mended and left better than we were when it found us. </p>
<p>I almost missed the gift of her. She didn’t look like the friendship I was looking for because the truth is, we are often looking for something similar to ourselves. But she was exactly what I needed. </p>
<p>Sometimes pain is a gift that I leave unopened because I would much rather be comfortable. I don't want to be lonely or in need. I'd rather not confront myself. Not confront my fears. Not confront my vulnerabilities. But leaning into the discomfort always leads to an enlarging of myself and my heart. It burns away the parts that are keeping me small. </p>
<p>I wonder how many other gifts I leave unopened because they don’t look like a gift. At least not in the way I thought they would. </p>
<p>I am in a season of learning to say <em>yes</em> more. Even when I am not sure how it will turn out. And what I’m finding is that every yes is a gift just waiting for me to unwrap it. <em>Beautiful gifts</em> that I cannot imagine having missed. </p>
<p>Don’t miss the gifts in your path. Open your eyes and your heart wider. Lay aside the things that cloud your vision, like former experiences, expectations, and thinking that you always know what you need. You might be missing a gift that is right in front of you.</p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/53624172018-07-26T08:01:27-04:002018-07-26T08:17:43-04:00Seasons Of Wandering<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/3b15d6c77f4167cfc3524991d42df4b8ebcf7e87/original/stuck-photo.png/!!/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.png" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Raise your hand if you’ve been through a season of feeling stuck in some area of your life. </p>
<p>If we were together in a room full of people right now, you would look around and see every hand raised. And for the ones that aren’t raised, it’s quite possibly because they are stuck and don’t even know it. But other people can see it. Kind of like when you have food stuck in your teeth and people are too nice to say anything. As a side note, please don’t ever be <em>that</em> nice to me. I want to know. Sometimes the kind thing <em>is</em> to say the hard thing. </p>
<p>Sometimes it feels like less work to allow things to remain the same. It’s the easier, less overwhelming choice. Because the known and familiar, even when terrible, can feel safer than forging into the unknown. </p>
<p>So we keep avoiding. The someday syndrome. We sweep it under the rug. We develop selective amnesia and pretend the issue doesn’t exist. Maybe it will absolve or fix itself. </p>
<p>Or we medicate. We love distraction. We try to numb ourselves with one more trip to Target, one more coffee or an endless scroll on the timeline. We all have our <em>go to</em>. </p>
<p>All at the cost of other vitally important things, like our emotional health, our relationships, and living our best life. </p>
<p>And deep down, who doesn’t want all of those things? I don’t know anyone. Even when it seems otherwise. Sometimes our behavior betrays our deepest desires. </p>
<p>Sometimes stuck looks like a bad relationship that you don’t know how to fix. Or a series of poor relationship choices, of settling for way less than you deserve. Sometimes it looks like a job you loathe, but stay at too long. Sometimes it looks like knowing the good you ought to do, but not doing it. Sometimes it’s avoiding the difficult conversation because of how you perceive in your mind it will go. Sometimes it’s poor self care. Sometimes it’s fear of chasing your dream. </p>
<p>Sometimes….<em>often times,</em> stuck feels like not even knowing what you need. You just know something needs to change before you break. </p>
<p>The good news? The first step out of the dark is to admit you’re in it. The first step in getting unstuck is to first realize, <em>I think I might be stuck here</em>. </p>
<p>What I have learned in my own seasons of growth and stretching is that it can be painful. But it’s a good kind of pain. The healing and necessary kind. It feels like a snail’s pace of progress at times. Like you will never get to where you want to be. It’s hard to tune out the critical and condemning voices we hear in our own mind. </p>
<p>I was outside with my daughter a few days ago walking the perimeter of the play area at the park. Her hand in mine, around and around we walked slowly at her pace in one giant circle. She was perfectly content walking in that circle and I was patient because she was enjoying it. </p>
<p>That’s how seasons of being stuck can feel, like you’re on a hamster wheel and just spinning without going anywhere. I thought back to myself about prior stuck seasons in my life. How God was patient with me in my wandering. In the moments I’ve wished before that I could erase. I thought about areas where I’ve grown, areas where I still need to grow and how far I’ve come. </p>
<p>And as I walked that circle with my daughter, I looked back on the old me in a new way. Not with judgment or condemnation. But with compassion. With gentleness and grace. My only wish in that moment was that I had been kinder to myself back then. </p>
<p><em>Listen closely.</em> <em><strong>You will never get to where you want to be unless you change the way you see yourself.</strong></em> Unless you learn to be kind to yourself in your thoughts. </p>
<p>You are where you find yourself today for a reason. And no one, not even you, the one who has lived your own story, has full comprehension of such complex matters. No need to receive the judgment others may make about you. The judgment seat is not theirs to sit on. No need to judge yourself either. It will only hold you back and keep you stuck longer than necessary. </p>
<p>I hope you will value yourself enough to figure it out. To take the next small step. </p>
<p>To get silent with yourself and ask the tough questions. <br>To pick up the phone. <br>Send the text. <br>Make the counseling appointment. <br>Fill out the application. <br>Visit the church. <br>End that relationship. <br>Go to bed an hour earlier. <br>Take a break from screen time. <br>Tell someone else the brilliant idea you have. </p>
<p>Take that one<em> itty bitty</em> step towards getting unstuck. The road can be a long one but begins with one courageous step. </p>
<p>You have what it takes and <em>you</em> are <em>so</em> worth it.</p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/53605992018-07-24T21:17:39-04:002018-07-24T21:21:43-04:00With Candles and Everything<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/89e6e71ffef7e311087490880a179d89a50299c6/original/5b76e766-5be2-4578-91b7-bacadf89b799.jpeg/!!/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpeg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>I called her to the front of room. She sat in the seat next to me, a mixture of anxiety and excitement suppressed behind her grin. Tomorrow is a big day. And she is a big deal. She’s just still learning to believe it. </p>
<p>She is due to be released from prison tomorrow, into the unknowns and the new beginnings that lie ahead in her story. </p>
<p>I tell her how proud of her I am and remind her of how far she has come. Because sometimes those things are difficult to see in yourself and people always need to be celebrated. </p>
<p>I tell her about the time my uncle walked into his house and realized my aunt made a birthday cake for him. </p>
<p>He looked at her and asked, “with candles and everything?” </p>
<p>Because sometimes we all need to be reminded that we are worth celebrating. </p>
<p>So I remind her. </p>
<p>“<em>You are worth candles and everything. And don’t you ever forget it.”</em></p>
<p>So I’m telling you too as you read this. </p>
<p>You are worth the cake <em>and</em> the candles. You are <em>worth </em>celebrating. <em>You </em>are a big deal. </p>
<p>Don’t forget it. Don’t ever let anyone else tell you different.</p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/53532502018-07-19T08:32:06-04:002018-07-19T09:05:06-04:00What We Have Forgotten<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/36c33bfc9215f996502b49346dd8ae30172b6609/original/blog.jpg/!!/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>“ ‘Cause you’re a sky, you’re a sky full of stars <br>Such a heavenly view <br>You’re such a heavenly view ” <br>-Coldplay </strong></p>
<p> </p>
<p>I sat in a room of seventy some women recently. Our largest growing group to date in a weekly music therapy program we do within the Ohio prison system. I watched her raise her hand, volunteering to read a poem about her sobriety and the road that led her to addiction. The backstory and the why’s. She adjusted her shirt and walked to the front of the room with her head hung low, the doubt swirling in her mind that what she had written was worth reading aloud. She read her poem and handed the microphone back to me in a hurried attempt to escape the front of the room and walk back to her seat. She almost made it until Patrick stopped her. </p>
<p>He called her back to the front of the room, looked her in the eye her and said, <em>“we are glad you are still here.”</em> Not <em>here</em> in the sense of prison. But <em>here</em> in <em>this life</em>. Still breathing. Still among the living. Still having moments and opportunities to live this one and only precious life. </p>
<p>Then it happened. It wasn’t a planned moment, but I am finding those are often the best ones. </p>
<p>He had everyone in the room who has ever struggled with addiction stand to their feet, about ninety percent of which stood up. On the count of three, he had them all give themselves a round of applause. A celebratory moment that the thing that should have killed them didn’t. I’m convinced you could hear the roar of applause and cheering from a mile away. </p>
<p>And then I saw it and I nearly came undone. The girl who read the poem stood there with huge tears welling in her eyes. </p>
<p>In that moment she felt worth something. I wondered if maybe for the first time in her life. Worth a round of applause. Worth being celebrated. Worth still being here. She awoke to the truth that has always been there, waiting to be discovered. That she is worthy of love. And although the lies may creep back in and compete with the truth, for this moment, truth won. </p>
<p>I have learned this about working with people who are marginalized. In case you are wondering who the marginalized are, Webster defines them as this: </p>
<p><strong>“to relegate (cast out) to an unimportant or powerless position within a society or group.” </strong></p>
<p>The <em>unimportant</em>. At least by society’s measure. Those without a voice, because no one finds them worthy enough to listen. The rejected. The exiled. The dismissed.</p>
<p>The very polar opposite of being accepted. </p>
<p>For nearly every person who is incarcerated, involved in gang affiliation or struggling with addiction, there are three common root emotions at the core of their being. <br> <br><em>Shame. Worthlessness. The feeling of being unlovable</em>. </p>
<p>A deep sense of failure of the whole self. </p>
<p>I don’t think you have to have some dramatic story to relate to the marginalized. I, too, have felt shame. I have faced rejection. I have felt unworthy of being heard. Overlooked. Excluded. </p>
<p>There is power in learning to see yourself in someone else’s story. Because we aren’t meant to do this whole life thing alone. We have more in common than the things that make us different. Our needs are universal. They transcend language, geography and experience. Deep down, we are all asking the same questions. We all need a seat at the table. A sense of being worthy enough to belong. </p>
<p>People don’t need to be reminded of their <em>wrongness</em>. Or how much of a sinner they are (as if some are worse than others). Or how many ways in which they’ve failed. Our sense of shame goes all the way back to the garden. We are all more than well aware of the ways in which we have been wrong. Overly aware. </p>
<p><em>It’s what we’ve forgotten that we need to be reminded of.</em> Reminded of the inherent good in us. Not good in the sense of behavior or choices. But good because the image of the Divine is in all of us and <em>nothing</em> can erase it. Not our choices. Not a poor self image. Not the things that make us different. Not our questions or doubts. </p>
<p>Reaching the marginalized starts with reminding them of who they are, not of who they are not. Of helping them transform the way they see themselves, because a healthy view of self changes the choices we make and the way we interact with the world. </p>
<p>It starts with reminding yourself of the truth about who you are. <em><strong>You</strong></em> are a sky full of stars. Do you know that? You are worth a standing ovation. You are wholly acceptable and worth celebrating.</p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/53529862018-07-19T00:36:06-04:002018-07-19T09:04:23-04:00Mirror Mirror On the Wall<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/4bdbe2f08f8322869de91392d3eb29720e508ba2/original/img-5188.jpg/!!/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"> </p>
<p style="text-align: center;">Who's the fairest of them all? <em>You are</em>, my dear.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"> </p>
<p>When did you learn to be so unkind to her? </p>
<p>To the face looking back in the mirror. </p>
<p>If you’re going to judge her for her worst day, then at least judge her for her best day too. </p>
<p>But how about stopping with the judgement altogether. </p>
<p>Stop blaming her. <br>Stop with the being overly critical. <br>Stop tearing her to shreds. </p>
<p>No more. It stops here. </p>
<p>She will never become all that she’s meant to be through your shaming. </p>
<p>Only through love and acceptance. </p>
<p>By pressing in. Learning to listen. </p>
<p>To the stillness deep within. </p>
<p>Beneath the chaos. </p>
<p>Where it’s so quiet you can hear the heart beat. </p>
<p><em>There</em>. </p>
<p>Her heart will tell you the truest truth you’ve ever heard. All of the why’s. </p>
<p>And then you will lay down your stone and you will understand. </p>
<p>You will be reminded that mercy triumphs over judgement. <em>Always</em>. </p>
<p>You will be able to show her grace. </p>
<p>She is worth grace. She is worthy of kindness, compassion and love. </p>
<p>And love will help you see the goodness that has always been there. </p>
<p>You will want to be true to her above all others. </p>
<p>Betrayal to her will never again be an option.</p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/53428012018-07-12T08:10:32-04:002018-07-12T08:30:11-04:00House of Cards<p> </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/17a531384338870bac10efc2478dafe1d3dc2786/original/img-5138.jpg/!!/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>If I can’t be honest in my writing, then I can’t be anything. So I must confess that as I write this, I am emotionally exhausted and running on fumes. A few days of not feeling well (who gets a cold in July? Oh wait….I do), coupled with a few emotionally charged interactions. Healthy, healing and necessary conversations, but nonetheless, I am drained. </p>
<p>Which just happens to tie in perfectly to what I wanted to talk about this week. I love it when life aligns itself like that. </p>
<p>Here’s a question to consider: What happens when the thing you find your value and worth in is stripped away? </p>
<p>Let me give you an example: If I place my value in my ability to paint pictures and stories with my words, what happens when weariness stifles my creativity and I find myself searching for words and not finding them? </p>
<p><em>Does that suddenly mean that I’m not a writer? Does that mean I’m no longer significant in the world? </em></p>
<p>If you place your value in your career, what happens if your company closes or you get replaced? I’ve seen it happen. I’ve seen undeserving people moved off the board like a chess piece in a corporate play. </p>
<p><em>Does that mean you aren’t successful? Or that your success is only measured by your title and income?</em> </p>
<p>If you place your value in your role as a mother or father, what happens if your child goes astray or makes decisions that break your heart? What happens in those moments when you feel like you have failed as a parent? Gosh… that’s a painful one. </p>
<p><em>Does that mean you are a failure?</em> </p>
<p>If you place your value in your degrees or all the knowledge you’ve acquired, what happens if you get a traumatic brain injury or dementia begins to fog everything you once knew? </p>
<p><em>Is your life suddenly less valuable or significant? </em></p>
<p>I had dinner with someone recently who described a few people in her life that she considers as “having it all together.” </p>
<p>According to who? Who gets to decide that? And what is the criteria? Is it education? By the square footage of their house? By all of their possessions? By <em>appearing</em> to have it all together? </p>
<p>I thought to myself how I’d rather sit with her any day. Because she is raw and real and doesn’t have it all together, but wants to so badly and watching her become all that God created her to be is better than watching any seemingly perfect alternative. </p>
<p>I built my house of cards once. It was big and beautiful on the outside and falling apart on the inside. Where no one else could see. And eventually it came crashing down with a cataclysmic effect. </p>
<p>What I was left with was a million scattered pieces of my life and my identity. </p>
<p>And what I learned over the next ten years and am still learning is that the degree, the career, the brand new SUV, the house filled with stuff I didn’t need did <em>not</em> determine my identity. Not to mention the debt. It only left me feeling like a lagging runner in a comparison race I was never meant to run. </p>
<p>But when it all was stripped away, I was still left. The part of me buried down deep. My true self. That kindergarten version with the crooked pigtails and the purple turtle neck and innocent smile. The me before the world told me who to be and how to perceive myself. The me that from the beginning, God looked at with adoration in what He created and felt that it was <em>more than enough</em>. </p>
<p>Maybe you find yourself striving. Maybe you feel like you never quite measure up. Like you’re not enough. </p>
<p>Or maybe you feel like you are. Maybe you are quite proud of all that you have strived for and the status you have achieved. </p>
<p>The universe cries out in response to both: <em>Don’t you see? Don’t you see all that you are? </em> </p>
<p>I know you may think that the parts that make you valuable and beautiful are the ones that the world looks at and says are successful and worthy. </p>
<p>But I promise you…when the earth begins to shake, those things matter so little. </p>
<p>You have a fingerprint unique from the other 7.4 billion people on the planet. Who are you to think you are not valuable and that is not enough?</p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/53319402018-07-05T07:46:10-04:002018-07-05T15:58:49-04:00Paying Attention<p> </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/071d6379b00d28e0100ac6c38635b4e7b06fad4b/original/img-5096.jpg/!!/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yes, it is true. There are some stories it should be a crime not to tell. And yet I realize that in the telling of them, it may be entertainment for the reader. It may be encouragement or a prompt for reflection. But for the person on center stage of the story being told, it wasn’t just a story. It was <em>their</em> life. </p>
<p>You see, I can tell you about my darkest hour and you will hear it as a story that you may or may not remember. You may even be able to empathize or feel a jab of the pain that was experienced in that moment. But it wasn’t just a story to me. It was <em>my</em> life. Your experience wasn’t just a story to you. It was <em>your</em> life. </p>
<p>It’s <em>sacred space</em>. It’s holy ground to be able to share in someone’s brokenness. </p>
<p>There is one story in particular that just wrecks me. <em>Every</em>. <em>Single</em>. <em>Time</em>. Maybe because it’s the story of someone I love more than life. Maybe because I can relate to elements of it. Maybe because it’s beauty in brokenness and it’s exactly how I want to view God. </p>
<p>It goes something like this… </p>
<p>“God came to me in the form of a drug dealer from the west side of Cleveland.” </p>
<p>Yep. You heard it right. God doesn’t always appear the way we expect Him to, which is precisely the reason we feel like we don’t experience Him as often as we should. <br><br>He was serving time in juvenile prison and was placed in solitary confinement after receiving the news that his brother had been murdered. His placement in solitary was for his own safety and for the safety of others, because he began to act out in animalistic rage that his brother’s life had been taken. Life wasn’t supposed to happen this way. It should have been him a thousand times over. But his brother? No way. He was the <em>good</em> one. Selfless. Star athlete. Funny and kind. The kind of older brother you long for. </p>
<p>He laid in a cold, concrete cell in the middle of winter, a heap of brokenness and despair from the shock and grief of the news. Just a teenager himself, he was left alone to process emotions way larger than himself. He cried until there were no tears left. Weeks and months passed without speaking a word to anyone. </p>
<p>And everyday, without fail, without a single word spoken in response, Dayshawn would show up. Dayshawn was that former drug dealer I told you about. He was also serving time. </p>
<p>He would come to the door of that cell and he would lay himself prostrate on the floor. On the floor of a <em>prison</em>. In case you haven’t been inside of one recently, they are not the most sanitary of places. He would lay on that floor and flick candy underneath the door. “<em>I’m here for you. I’m here if you need me,</em>” he would say with each visit. </p>
<p>Yes, it is true. Sometimes God will appear in the form of a drug dealer from the west side of Cleveland. </p>
<p>I don’t know where Dayshawn is today. I don’t know if he is aware that God used him in that moment. I don’t know if he knows the difference his acts of kindness made. Or how many times that story has been told all over the world. </p>
<p>I know that I have missed God showing up in my life many times over. I am sure I often still do. </p>
<p>For most of my life, I viewed God as a distant judge, detached from humanity. Detached from suffering. Waiting to find fault and execute punishment. A cosmic kill joy to be honest. It felt as oppressive as it sounds. No wonder I didn’t want to draw closer to Him. </p>
<p>This was no one’s fault. It was my own misinterpretation, combined with not seeking my own relationship with Him. Relationship is not forced. It takes two. It is impossible to know someone you don’t spend time getting to know. </p>
<p>Until my own wreckage and undoing gave me the gift of unraveling every wrong thing I thought to be true. </p>
<p>I know now that God is <em>exceptionally</em> kind. He’s the kind of God that brings candy to your door when your heart is smashed into a million pieces. I no longer believe that God is <em>there</em> and I am <em>here</em>. We are enmeshed, right in the thick of this wild and chaotic life I get to live. On my best day and on my worst. </p>
<p>I wonder how often there is some beauty before my eyes, some measure of comfort, or a reminder, but I miss it. I miss it because I’m too distracted. Because I’m awake, but asleep at the same time. Because I don’t have eyes in that moment to see it. </p>
<p>I wonder how many opportunities I miss to lay on the floor and flick candy under someone else’s door. To enter their despair. To whisper “<em>I’m here. God is here. You are not alone.” </em></p>
<p>Paying attention is an art. It’s the best gift we can give to a world that is aching for someone to notice. It’s critical to our noticing the ways in which God is among us. </p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/53218552018-06-28T07:27:08-04:002018-06-28T07:51:03-04:00Under the Fig Tree<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/646c64df70eaf0ac72fb2cde5aea9a4c66bea9d4/original/img-4296.jpg/!!/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Here’s a silly fact that you probably don’t know about me: I have always loved snow globes. Not that I collect them or anything. I just can’t resist the urge to pick them up from the store shelf, give them a little tilt and watch the glittery dust slowly fall. At least once. </p>
<p>I’ve been through seasons of life where it felt like I was watching life happen from inside of that globe. Face pressed to the glass, trapped inside and watching others connect, but feeling like a bystander who is rude for staring. Not chosen. Uninvited into a circle with invisible lines. </p>
<p><em>Loneliness</em>. Not like boredom or just wanting someone to keep you company. I have learned that you can be surrounded by mobs of people and still feel alone. </p>
<p>Lonely in the sense of not feeling seen or known. Like <em>really</em> <em>really</em> known. Not just for the facts about my life that any observer could gather from a scroll on my timeline. That I’m a mom. <em>Check</em>. I’m a writer. <em>Check</em>. I like coffee and books. <em>Check check</em>. We did this exercise as a way of fostering connection at a recent gathering I went to. “If you really really knew me”….and then you would reveal something vulnerable that others would not know unless they <em>really</em> know you. </p>
<p>Our daily surface exchanges are necessary and even protective at times, but can be damaging when there is never anything more. We long to be known and loved for who we are, even in spite of who we are. For the hidden and the uncomfortable stuff buried in the back of the closet that we meant to get rid of a long time ago, but still remains. Like insecurities, feeling inadequate, fear or trust issues. </p>
<p>We long for deeper than the superficial and artificial. For connection with someone who sees the good and bad and chooses to stick around for both. <em>To feel like we belong. </em></p>
<p>One time a complete stranger opened up to me on an elevator. Sometimes I feel like I’m a magnet for awkward moments. She must have felt the pull. </p>
<p>She saw my name tag for the job I held at the time. <em>Social Services.</em> The catch all job of helping people and rarely feeling like you’re doing enough. </p>
<p>She snapped me out of my silence and caught me off guard with this question: “Where were you 5 years ago?” </p>
<p>“You wouldn’t want to know, “ I thought to myself, but didn’t say aloud. </p>
<p>She smiled, almost like an attempt to lighten what she was about to say next. “I tried to kill myself,” she confessed, and then she smiled again. “I’m a lot better now though.” </p>
<p>Her transparency to a stranger shocked me a bit. “I’m glad you’re still here,” I managed to say. I meant it. And with that, she exited the elevator. </p>
<p><em>We all desire to be seen and known for the truth that lies beneath our smile. </em></p>
<p>Even that stranger you meet on the elevator. </p>
<p>I went through a season of tight knit friendships that were something more like a sisterhood. </p>
<p>But then that season came to an end and my sisters and I ended up on different parts of the map, in different chapters and eventually in completely different books. </p>
<p>Life will teach you quickly that seasons and chapters end, whether or not we’re ready for them to. And loneliness arrives on your doorstep like a package you didn’t order. </p>
<p>Lonely seasons can leave you feeling like you’re being punished. Like maybe you’re just bad at relationships. Like maybe there’s something wrong with you. Like you’re too much of this or not enough of that. </p>
<p>I do think it’s true that we are responsible for our happiness, for the health of our relationships, for creating the life we want and being the thing we long for. But I also know there are times when you can check all those off your list and still find yourself waiting and longing. </p>
<p>Loneliness is indescribably painful and hard. But it gave me a gift like that package on my doorstep that I didn’t order, but instead was ordered for me. I needed it, <em>even if</em> I didn’t want it. </p>
<p>It taught me how to recognize loneliness in another person, when maybe I wouldn’t have noticed before. </p>
<p>It taught me how to be okay with myself. Like <em>really</em> okay. How to sit with boredom and my flaws and my unanswered questions and to be content with all of it and not try to fill it with something that will leave me with more emptiness. </p>
<p>And the real truth is that we are deeply known and loved, even when we don’t feel it. Like in the book of John when Nathanael meets Jesus for the first time and Jesus puzzles him by telling him a fact about himself. </p>
<p>“How do you know about me?” Nathanael asked. Jesus replies, “I could see you under the fig tree.” </p>
<p>In other words, before you were found, I <em>saw</em> you. When you didn’t feel known, I <em>knew</em> you. He sees you standing there under your fig tree too. </p>
<p>I was reminded of this the other day when I was at the library and a little boy I don’t know ran up to me and threw his arms around me. Children are perceptive little creatures, aren’t they? I thanked God for the simple reminder that even in moments when I feel lonely, I am seen and loved. </p>
<p>If you find yourself in a season of loneliness, I pray that you will be reminded of the same. </p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/53085562018-06-21T07:30:27-04:002022-03-24T06:31:58-04:00Aging With Grace<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/389d79f793f4e629ed248a307cf89198b3adca54/original/img-5004.jpg/!!/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsImxhcmdlIl1d.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>She practically did a tap dance as she walked out to greet us on the porch of her home. As we pulled in, the long driveway curved in a half moon shape leading up to the ten-thousand square foot spread covered in white and gray stone. The entrance was lined with petunias that were lovely and vibrant. She told me how much she loves them and how they come back every year because they are the <em>wave</em> kind. </p>
<p>I noticed her lipstick and her smile. A perfect shade of pink. The lines of time were etched on her face, but I would not have guessed her in her nineties. Time had been kind to her or maybe she had learned to wear it well. </p>
<p>Her eyes were young and danced in a way that held a lifetime of stories and a carefree spirit. </p>
<p>The delight she felt at having visitors in her massive space was palpable. A space often filled with the tick of the clock and too much silence. </p>
<p>We small talked while my daughter played on the floor by my feet, pulling vintage toys by string with the curiosity of her new found treasures. </p>
<p>As the conversation evolved, I could hear the loneliness of being widowed in her words. “I don’t understand why I had to be alone for so long.” It hung in the air for a moment. I thought to myself how our nagging questions don’t discriminate who they haunt. They come to us all. They don’t always get answered with time. </p>
<p>But she carried hers differently.<em> </em></p>
<p>And perhaps that’s the reason she was able to play and dance with my daughter with a grace and agility that surprised me and made me want to get on the floor myself. </p>
<p>Eliana’s eyes danced too, the way most young children’s do. Maybe because children are closer to heaven than adults are. Birthed in the mind of God and sent to earth as a gift to a waiting world, each year blowing out an additional candle and the memory of where we came from receding further into the recesses of our mind. </p>
<p>G.K. Chesterton says something that unsettles me and makes my heart yearn with the desire to become younger in my soul with each birthday that passes: </p>
<p><em><strong>“He has the eternal appetite of infancy; for we have sinned and grown old, and our Father is younger than we.” </strong></em></p>
<p><em>The eternal appetite of infancy.</em> The look of wonder in a baby’s eyes. <em>Inexhaustible</em> wonder. The thrill of seeing the same thing over and over as if seeing it for the first time. A curiosity to explore this world because life has not taught them yet to fear or to be dissatisfied. Or the lie that there is more bad than good. </p>
<p>Yes, children are indeed closer to God. </p>
<p>Maybe that’s the secret to aging with grace. Maybe that’s why Jesus says you must become like little children to enter the kingdom of Heaven. Maybe our sin is that we allow our hearts to grow old before their time.</p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/52951012018-06-14T07:32:20-04:002021-09-22T05:45:59-04:00Taking Back the Power<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/d4f22f40d1c543dfca04db6afe375def4a497895/original/img-4815.jpg/!!/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>I recently stood in the sanctuary of my church talking to a judge who also attends there. There we stood, me in my gold colored romper with the floral print and him in his suit, his height towering over me accentuating my short stature. We talked about healing from the past and having a clear conscience. </p>
<p>Let’s hit the pause button for a second, because I know you might not understand the gravity of that moment. </p>
<p>A few weeks ago, I wrote about shame and how it felt to stand before a judge years ago in my life. I broke up with shame some time ago, although it still tries to allure me into its grasp from time to time. I didn’t feel small in this moment of talking to him, nor did I feel any sense of shame. But to understand this moment for the full circle in time that it was…..well, I guess you just would’ve had to experience it all for yourself. </p>
<p>Sometimes seemingly insignificant moments creep up unnoticed. Not recognized in real time, only in hindsight. But I noticed this one and it felt like all of creation might have noticed too. Like maybe, just maybe, the sun paused in its rotation in expectation of the moment being revealed. It was <em>that</em> kind of moment. </p>
<p>I walked away from our conversation with two words doing somersaults in my mind and heart over the next few weeks: </p>
<p><strong><em>Bitter roots</em>. </strong></p>
<p>I recently read a fascinating science about trees and the underground neighborhood of root systems that exist beneath our feet. The roots feed vital nutrients to other roots of trees surrounding them. Likewise, when trees are sick, they can transfer diseases to their neighbors with detrimental effect. </p>
<p>Our hearts are also like that underground root system, all issues of life stemming from them. And I want my heart to be well. </p>
<p>Bitterness can sneak into the back door of the heart like a thief, sometimes triggered by one event, sometimes by an accumulation of events over time. </p>
<p>My husband and I were having a conversation the other day about a prayer I’ve been waiting on God to answer for a long time. Have you ever prayed for something so long that at times you forget you even prayed it until something triggers your memory? </p>
<p>I feel your pain. </p>
<p>My husband was attempting to be positive and reassuring and this was my response: </p>
<p>“Well a thousand years are like a day to God, so who knows how long I’ll be waiting.” </p>
<p><em>Gulp</em>. </p>
<p>There it was. Spewed onto the floor between us like a mess I just vomited up. My mouth opened and my heart spoke. I felt the tears burning and brimming too. </p>
<p><em>Bitterness</em>. I didn’t even know it was there until that moment. </p>
<p>Bitterness is a dangerous thing because it grows, sometimes ever so slowly, spreading roots that completely entangle the heart. It will taint everything you see with a negative, guarded slant. It will steal your joy and peace. Your health and vitality. Your ability to smile. Your ability to correctly perceive events from the past or the present. </p>
<p>But I think one of the single, most dangerous things about bitterness is this: <em>It can leave you feeling like a victim of circumstance</em>. </p>
<p>I’m not talking about situations where a person was legitimately victimized, but a way of perceiving yourself and your life.</p>
<p>A victim mentality will leave you stuck in the inability to live the life you really want down deep. </p>
<p>Because it will drown you in the feeling of powerlessness, not recognizing that you have the ability to save yourself. </p>
<p>A victim mentality can look like the belief that you were handed an unfair deal. </p>
<p><em>"That’s just my luck. That would happen to me. Why does my life have to be so hard?" </em></p>
<p>It will cause you to blame God with a faulty, toxic belief that He caused a negative event in your life or that He is withholding from you. </p>
<p>It will lead you to cast the blame on others, pointing out what they should do or should’ve done, instead of measuring yourself. </p>
<p>It will leave you accepting things as they are, resigning to the belief that misery is your lot in life and this is the way it will always be and there is nothing you can do to change it. </p>
<p>Refusing a victim mentality puts the power back in your hand. <em>Power</em> and <em>permission</em> to overcome the past. Maybe an unwanted past that you created or an infraction someone else committed against you. </p>
<p>Maybe for you it looks like telling this to your heart: </p>
<p>I am not a victim of that person who chose to walk away. <br>I am not a victim of that absentee parent. <br>I am not a victim of the parts of my past that I can’t change.<br>I am not a victim just because life feels hard right now. </p>
<p>Sometimes our choices and the choices of others wound us deeply. Sometimes for generations long. </p>
<p>Seeking healing is <em>not</em> for the faint of heart. It takes honesty and courage, because accepting that you are the victim is the easy way out. Avoidance feels easier. </p>
<p>We get to choose the refusal of bitterness. The refusal of powerlessness. We get to choose how we will perceive the events in our life.</p>
<p><span class="font_small">Photo Cred: Mistymorningme</span></p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/52911542018-06-12T13:02:41-04:002018-06-12T13:02:41-04:00Pushing Past the Fear<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/e9530389df9e151cb688d0a9aeee4e95fa458b12/original/906da44e-fb8d-4492-9a72-392ea9409960.jpeg/!!/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpeg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Vulnerability is like shedding your skin. Like when our bearded dragon sheds a layer of his little salmonella carrying self. </p>
<p>Sometimes when I write and share, I feel like my layers are being peeled off. Layers that need to come off. They are excess. For them to remain doesn’t benefit me or anyone else. </p>
<p>And it isn’t always easy. </p>
<p>It’s scary and feels risky. </p>
<p>I’m working on a project right now and have been going through past blogs to determine which ones received the most engagement and response. </p>
<p>Not surprisingly, they were the ones that were the hardest to write. Leaving me feeling uncovered and like I wanted to just hit delete rather than publish. </p>
<p>Here’s what pushing past the fear has taught me about vulnerability: </p>
<p>It makes other people feel like you are a safe space to be who they are. Without masks or pretense. I have had people open up to me in ways that are raw, sacred and beautiful. </p>
<p>It also makes you more comfortable in your own skin. </p>
<p>Once you make peace with your sometimes frail and flawed humanity, you find that it’s okay to not always be strong. That it really doesn’t matter what other people think. That it’s okay to wrestle with stuff. To not have it all together or figured out. </p>
<p>I’m not going to say we’re all a hot mess. </p>
<p>We’re all a <em>beautiful</em> mess. In process. Still being remade. Still being unveiled. </p>
<p>Someone, somewhere needs your story. </p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/52808812018-06-07T06:49:42-04:002018-06-07T07:11:51-04:00Time and Mr. Fox<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/93bfadfe23ed0f05ba0ff3c395c74a340ec5c42a/original/time-and-mr-fox.jpg/!!/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>There is a saying among people who are in <span class="font_regular">prison</span> and it goes like this: “Do your time. Don’t let your time do you.” </p>
<p>I could tell you a few other catch phrases, but I’ll save that for another day. </p>
<p>It means this: You may be doing time for a number. Because that’s what happens when you are sentenced, your name gets replaced with a number. But the time doesn’t have to do a number on you. </p>
<p>Some of the most insightful and free people I know are doing life sentences. Maybe because life as they knew it was stripped away and all they were left with was a face off with time. They become students of it, learning that they can’t change the past, but they can impact the future. They often extend wisdom to younger inmates that enter the prison system with words of caution: <em>be careful with your one and only life. Take a long look at the way you are living. </em></p>
<p>I didn’t plan on writing about time and living intentionally this week. In fact, the topic I prepared wasn’t even close. </p>
<p>But then life interrupted as life tends to do. </p>
<p>It happened in the form of an unwanted phone call. </p>
<p>A tackle to the blind side. </p>
<p>The possibility that was once feared, now a new reality. </p>
<p>And suddenly I find myself mid Wednesday trying to process the events of the day and only able to think about this topic of time. </p>
<p>Ann Voskamp, a favorite writer of mine says this: </p>
<p><em><strong>“Sometimes the best use of your time is to stand and listen to a clock. We’re all terminal-and we all just want a number. What size is this bucket of time? How many days do I actually get?” </strong></em></p>
<p>My house is silent for this brief moment. All I can hear as I write is the tick tock of the clock in my living room. I think there is part of us that wants to know our number and another part that doesn’t. If we did know, we might not fully live out our days. They might become tinged with the sadness of finality. But the same could be said for the not knowing. It can become tinged too. Because if we aren’t careful, we become careless and waste our years. </p>
<p>When I was little, I used to play this game with my cousins called <em>What time is it Mr. Fox? </em>The designated “Mr. Fox” stood at one end of the room, their back to the rest of us playing. We would ask Mr. Fox for the time. With each number called out by Mr. Fox, we would inch closer that number of steps, eventually inching close enough for the moment Mr. Fox would yell <em>MIDNIGHT</em> and turn around to chase us. I don’t particularly like being chased, so I’m pretty sure I squealed the loudest. </p>
<p>“And why am I thinking about Mr. Fox on this Wednesday evening as I write this?” I ask myself. </p>
<p>My heart answers: </p>
<p>“We are all inching one step closer to game over. You can’t change your date. But you can change your days.” </p>
<p>There was a time when the thought of that might have induced a feeling of doomsday dread for me. </p>
<p>When the what if’s loomed like ominous shadows. When I would allow myself to be filled with apprehension and wring my hands as if it might prevent an unwelcome outcome. </p>
<p>Two years ago, I received a message late at night that a mutual friend was killed in a motorcycle accident. Right in the middle of a warm spring, sun filled afternoon. I doubt that he woke up that morning with the feeling that his number was up. He was my same age. A husband. A father. An officer. All I could envision was the last time I spoke to him about our sons who are the same age. I couldn’t wrap my mind around the fact that he was gone. </p>
<p>I hear the echoing words of James chapter 4 in my mind: <em>“What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes.” </em></p>
<p>We can’t always prevent unwelcome outcomes. Even when long life and the future seem like they are guaranteed, they are not. It’s a dangerous illusion. </p>
<p>All we have is <em>this</em> moment. The very one you’re in as you read this. I hope we can learn to fully show up for it. To realize we are in charge of our own happiness. No one else is. To live and love others as if we might never get another opportunity to circle the sun. </p>
<p>May we do our time and not let our time do us.</p>
<p><span class="font_small">Reference: Voskamp, Ann. (2017) Be the Gift. Grand Rapids, Michigan: Zondervan.</span></p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/52673762018-05-31T06:25:21-04:002018-05-31T06:33:28-04:00Even If<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/44a65a7f971b4cc16f06779d10ea9941bab54f16/original/img-6219.jpg/!!/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Here’s a conversation starter for<span class="font_regular"> you that is sure to fly like a lead balloon: How would you describe the level of joy you feel in your life? It’s like being asked about the well bein</span>g of your soul. We crave the asking, but are so ill prepared to answer. </p>
<p>One time a coworker asked me how I was doing. I responded the way most of us do ninety nine percent of the time. We tell people what we think they want to hear. “I’m okay,” I replied. Then I proceeded with current circumstances in my life…the delay of the sale of our house, the stress of moving, blah, blah. The obvious things. But not what was truly going on internally. </p>
<p>Until she looked at me and said “and how are <span class="font_regular"><em>you</em></span> doing, Sarah?” I felt caught off guard. Vulnerable. Like she could sniff my avoidance of the truth beneath my surface answer. </p>
<p>If you have ever met someone who exudes joy, the kind that runs deep into the bones, you will not forget it. </p>
<p>I find that they are few and far between. Being in their presence is like feeling the warmth of sunshine on your face after it has been cloudy for days. It’s soothing and you want to sit and bask in it. </p>
<p>Here’s the raw truth of how I feel about joy: Ready? <br>The spotlight is on and suddenly I feel like that 3 year old version of myself standing on that stage again at my preschool performance. But instead of doing what I had rehearsed, I pulled my dress up over my head. True story. </p>
<p>Here’s my truth: Sometimes I fall into that group of the few and far between. I feel like joy eludes me. </p>
<p>Like I’m a bystander watching a parade. I can feel the pavement beneath my feet, the heat and the thickness of the summer air surrounding me. The sounds of the drums are echoing from the marching band and children are on the shoulders of their parents trying to get a better view. But then there’s me. Too far back in the crowd, standing on my tiptoes and craning my neck. My view blocked. So close, but not close enough. </p>
<p>Sometimes it feels like watching my daughter chase that balloon that keeps escaping her grasp. But she keeps chasing because the thrill of catching it is worth it. </p>
<p>Sometimes I feel like I can only hold it momentarily before it slips away again. </p>
<p>I have forged my way through desert seasons of life that were painfully hard and long in journey. I’m not talking days or months. I’m talking years. Joy felt so much more within my reach during that time. </p>
<p>The difference? I was not tethered to my circumstances and yet ironically, I was physically tethered in so many ways. But my mind and heart were not. I longed for so many things during that time. For home. Independence. For family and marriage. For my own space. But my joy was not dependent on getting those things. I had resolved in my heart this one thing: I was going to trust God with my life, with or without them. </p>
<p>My scariest prayer was murmured something like this: </p>
<p>God, this is what I’m asking for. And I proceeded to tell Him the list of why I needed this particular prayer to be answered. (Here comes the key part) BUT. <strong><em>Even if </em></strong>You don’t answer the way I think you should, I will choose to trust you. </p>
<p>Here’s what I’m finding to be true in this season: </p>
<p>Maintaining joy (it does require ongoing maintenance) requires some level of detachment from the things and people we love the most. A healthy boundary line. Detachment from circumstance. </p>
<p>Gosh that’s a hard one, isn’t it? I don’t like it much either to be honest. Because now that I have the things I prayed the most for, I sure like to hold onto them with a white knuckle grip. </p>
<p>It’s easy to confuse something or someone that brings you joy as being the <em>source of joy</em>. Until that person frustrates you with their messy humanity. Or until that something is stripped away. </p>
<p>Then misplaced joy fizzles and fades and we find ourselves unanchored and adrift again. </p>
<p>My heart is so prone to wander. My mind is so easily distracted. </p>
<p>I can gain all the things I have longed for and find that I have lost my joy along the way. </p>
<p>I prayed recently with a friend of mine who is going through a season of grief and feeling alone in a canyon void of joy or any visible hope for the future. I prayed that God would remind her of this truth that I am relearning: </p>
<p>No matter where I am. No matter what season of life I’m in, whether flourishing or bone dry. No matter how lost I feel. No matter how joyless I feel…..God is my home. I am relearning to set my heart on that truth. The people and things I love so much may feel like home, but He <em><strong>is</strong></em> my home. That’s how I find my way back to joy.</p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/52545072018-05-24T06:46:59-04:002018-06-17T21:45:13-04:00You Are Enough<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/e88ec7bd22777e8e0bc272344b0cf4d3e183c941/original/img-4018.jpg/!!/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /><br> </p>
<p><span class="font_regular">There are certain things I just can’t settle for anymore. Like bad coffee. I’d rather pass on that and have a headache and be grumpy. But when I first started drinking it, any kind would do. I didn’t yet know the difference between French press vs truck stop quality. </span></p>
<p><span class="font_regular">Or trying to finish a book that’s sort of <em>meh</em>. There are too many great books out there. I’m not wasting my time. But there was a time when I would have made myself endure that book to the end so I could check it off my list, falsely reassuring myself that such a trivial thing contributed to my worth somehow. We do this, don’t we? Allowing our worth to be determined by insignificant things. </span></p>
<p><span class="font_regular">I have also learned not to settle anymore for the lie of <em>shame</em>. Not to waste years of my life weighed down by the heaviness of carrying something I am not meant to carry at all. You may read that and think that my escape from the condemning voice of it was easy. I fought through hell, self torment, tears and exhaustion before throwing my hands up and collapsing in surrender. The journey took longer than I wish it had. I had to learn and relearn to cast it down and replace the lies with truth. </span></p>
<p><span class="font_regular">I sure hope the journey will be shorter for you. You do get to choose you know. </span></p>
<p><span class="font_regular">Shame is different than guilt. Shame is heavier. Deeper penetrating to the soul. Shame is more than just feeling bad about an action or choice. Shame is feeling bad about who you are as a person. Like somewhere deep down you are inherently bad. It will leave you living your life as though you’re offering an apology to the world that is not owed, like you are sorry for who you are. </span></p>
<p><span class="font_regular">There are things that get built into us over the course of our lives. I once heard a girl describe her relationship with her mother like this: “You built me full of shame.” </span></p>
<p><span class="font_regular">It struck me. </span></p>
<p><span class="font_regular">The things that happen in our lives that build us into the people we become. </span></p>
<p><span class="font_regular">I stood before a judge once. Let me just tell you that there are few things worse than standing before someone who is about to measure out before you the punishment for something you are guilty of <em>and</em> deserve. It was….<em>awful</em>. </span></p>
<p><span class="font_regular">This is an excerpt from the book I am currently writing about that experience: </span></p>
<p><strong><em><span class="font_regular">“I felt sorry for everything in that moment, like I had never done anything right in my whole life. Like maybe I was just bad or inherently wrong deep down to the core. I felt like this might even be how God felt about me. In fact, I was quite sure of it. I felt as though God hated me in that moment. And I was okay with it. Because I hated me too.” </span></em></strong></p>
<p><span class="font_regular">Yes, sometimes things happen that build shame into us. Not just in dark and dramatic stories seared by trauma. </span></p>
<p><span class="font_regular">I see it all around me, even in less dramatic and more ordinary stories. </span></p>
<p><span class="font_regular">The recognition of it grieves me because I’ve lived it. I know the weight of carrying such a heavy thing in the heart. Shame will keep you stuck in life. Stuck and hindered from becoming the person you long to be. </span></p>
<p><span class="font_regular">Shame will leave you with nagging questions seeped in regret. </span></p>
<p><span class="font_regular">Was I good enough of a mother? Maybe if I had prayed more. Maybe if I had disciplined more. Or listened more. Maybe then the outcome would be different. <br>But maybe you did the best you could and your child has free will and the freedom to choose the wrong things. </span></p>
<p><span class="font_regular">It will leave you with distorted identity. In seeking your identity in your work, in who you know, or in who knows you. In the amount of likes and shares you get. Only to neglect the people and things that truly matter and to wake up alone and realize none of those things you were chasing brought you the peace and acceptance of knowing who you are down deep. </span></p>
<p><span class="font_regular">It will leave you thinking that the abandonment by someone who should have loved you was somehow your fault. Like maybe dad never came around because there is something wrong with <em>me</em>. Like maybe I’m not enough. Maybe I’m not worth sticking around for. Maybe the issue isn’t with you at all, but with another person’s inability to give love. </span></p>
<p><span class="font_regular">It will leave you convinced you are living out some deserved punishment from a cruel and punishing God. This one goes all the way back to the garden, when Adam and Eve hid from God because of a sudden awareness that they were naked. Exposed and ashamed. God’s question to them being, “<em>Who told you that you were naked?” </em></span></p>
<p><span class="font_regular">I think He asks the same of you and me…..<em>Who told you that you were not enough? Who told you to carry shame? </em></span></p>
<p><span class="font_regular">A few days ago, I went for a walk by the river near my house. At one point on my walk, I looked to my right and saw from a distance the street that leads to my mom’s house. I broke down. In the moment, I had no idea why. I talk to her everyday and see her often. I couldn’t understand what was going on internally. </span></p>
<p><span class="font_regular">After some praying and processing, this is what I now understand. I am in a season of a lot of unknowns. And unknowns can be scary. And my mom feels like home. Like a safe place that I can run to where fears will be calmed, reassurance will be given and I will be reminded of what is true. </span></p>
<p><span class="font_regular">Someone asked me recently, “how do I lay down my shame?” My answer is this: You run home to truth. To the reminder of who God says you are, to who you were before shame told you who you are not. </span></p>
<p><span class="font_regular">To the truth that you are <strong><em>enough</em></strong>. You are <strong><em>worthy</em></strong>. You are <strong><em>wholly acceptabl</em>e</strong> through and through.</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/fe596bccb0384276f56eab5b4a73efca4c166f4e/original/img-3435.jpg/!!/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/52277752018-05-10T22:28:21-04:002018-05-20T21:29:49-04:00Seasons of Being Stuck<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/9f0a2139fd24b5433f7c764a015cc9b3114e5f55/original/img-4361.jpg/!!/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>I got stuck at Chapter 8 of my book. I’ve been through stuck seasons before, so I wasn’t phased by it at first. I expected it to pass quickly. But then 1 week turned into 2. Then 2 weeks turned into 2 months. The blinking cursor began to mock me and discouragement began to set in, like maybe I would never be able to finish this thing that I started and why did I ever announce the start of it to begin with? </p>
<p>Why was I having so much trouble putting into words a story that I had lived? </p>
<p>The memories were there. Laying in my heart like loose papers fallen from a 1,000 stories high. So much pain and beauty mixed together that needed sorted through. </p>
<p>I remember Ally Fallon saying one time at a workshop that being stuck in your writing is often reflective of being stuck in your life. It made sense to me at the time. If “rivers of living water will flow from the heart,” then the issues of the heart not being dealt with creates a blockage to the flow. </p>
<p>But that was the frustrating problem. I didn’t feel stuck anywhere other than in writing my story. </p>
<p>What I didn’t know at the time was there were events still waiting to happen that were necessary parts of my story. Characters to be added. The ending of the book not the ending that I originally thought. I am so deeply grateful now. </p>
<p>This is what I know now about being stuck. It feels like wasted time. Like a painfully slow drift off course. Void of purpose. Like embarrassment and failure. </p>
<p>But it is <em>not</em> wasted. </p>
<p>Don’t get me wrong. Sometimes we keep ourselves in seasons of being stuck longer than we need to be. If there is a recurring theme or thought in your life, you should pay attention. Seek God about that thing and listen. </p>
<p>But sometimes being stuck is about an evolving work in us. In the nitty gritty details of our story. It’s about a script still being written. With an ending better than you could have imagined. </p>
<p>With patience and confidence, rest assured that it is not wasted. </p>
<p>So cheers to Chapter 9 of the book. I am smiling as I write that. </p>
<p><span class="font_small">Quote Reference: John 7:38</span></p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/52055972018-04-27T11:42:14-04:002018-05-20T21:30:46-04:00Knowing the Details<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/a87dc2d890d190106deddc098f9c33e667801962/original/blog-grunche.jpeg/!!/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I like your haircut,” I said to her as she approached me. The bangs were new and they framed her face well. </p>
<p>She stood in front of me in her state issued uniform, her expression a mixture of surprise and feeling awkward. She shifted her weight, offered a half grin and looked down. She didn't know how to receive the compliment. Maybe because she’s not used to getting them. Maybe because she doesn’t believe them. Maybe both. </p>
<p>“You seem to be doing better recently,” I say to her. Her father died unexpectedly a few months prior. The last thing she needed was another reason to be angry. She already had enough reasons and anger seemed to be her default. But not now. Now all that seems left is the sadness and it has softened her somehow. </p>
<p>I know all of this because I know her details. All her life she has longed for someone to care enough to know. </p>
<p>“I haven’t had a ticket for a whole month,” she says. </p>
<p>She looks down again. And suddenly I know this is no ordinary moment. This is an opportunity. I know what the little girl inside of her wants and needs. </p>
<p><em>Notice me, </em>she whispers. <em>Tell me that I’m good</em>. </p>
<p>I am not going to miss the moment. </p>
<p>“That’s a <em>REALLY</em> big deal,” I say to her with exaggerated tone. And if you knew her story like I do, you would agree. </p>
<p>I tell her how proud of her I am. </p>
<p>She nods her head and suppresses a grin as she walks away. </p>
<p>I believe in her. On her best day and on her worst. Because I know her details. I have seen the greatness inside of her. Her gifts. I know the painful places in her heart where she has been dropped, abandoned and victimized. I know what she hopes for her future. Her fears. Her daughter’s name. </p>
<p>I want to know these things. Something inside me tells me that's the way it should be. That we should spend more time learning the details of a person’s story. Details are important. They give us insight to the whys. They help us enter the story with compassion and grace. </p>
<p>Your best day and someone else’s best day will look very different based on where you are in the journey of who you are becoming. </p>
<p>It’s so important to look for the hints of progress along the way and to celebrate them. People tend to become who we believe them to be.</p>
<p><span class="font_small">Photo: Grunche</span></p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/51316752018-03-16T07:56:38-04:002019-05-10T06:40:49-04:00Letting People In<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/c217cbe30487dfd81c3cd6c4bb939c4aa8761a5f/medium/27d19b73-a5ab-41ca-b66d-67fa0212239d.png" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sometimes we put conditions on loving people, don’t we? </p>
<p>I’ll let you into my heart. But don’t ask me to give you all of mine. </p>
<p>Someone asked me the other day how to trust someone when your trust has been broken in the past. It’s a scary thing, isn’t it? </p>
<p>I’ve lived on both sides of broken trust. The one violated and the one who broke it. That’s a tough thing to admit, but what I’ve learned from those seasons of heartache is this: </p>
<p>Sometimes the reason you get hurt is because you put your trust in the wrong person. There is wisdom in guarding your heart. </p>
<p>I can hear you saying it now...”but I trusted the right person and it still happened.” Yep. Sometimes it does. Broken people break people. Sometimes. Not every time. It doesn’t mean it will happen again. Have courage dear heart. </p>
<p>There is self induced loneliness in building walls around your heart so high that no one can get in. </p>
<p>And the illusion of keeping others out is also keeping you in. </p>
<p>Choosing not to trust is really just an attempt to control an outcome that you think you can’t handle. </p>
<p>I would rather be hurt than miss the opportunity to love and be fully loved a thousand times over. </p>
<p>“Love is a risk that’s never a risk.” -Ann Voskamp </p>
<p>In what ways do you need to let your walls down today? </p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/50899082018-02-20T17:41:46-05:002022-05-17T22:05:09-04:00When You're Feeling Small<p> </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/33cd6283a1053d80c31df775ffa5d4cebb23f755/medium/img-3489.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_regular">Have you ever felt inferior? Small and insignificant? Or less than? </span></p>
<p>When I was a little girl, I took piano lessons from an older gentleman. He had a calming presence. I still remember him telling me how to position my hands on the piano keys, arched and soft like I was holding a bubble in my hand. I looked forward to my lessons with all the confidence and eagerness of a young heart ready to learn. </p>
<p>But then he retired and the person who attempted to fill his shoes was a younger, intimidating female. She made me feel nervous and insecure. And when she asked my mom what kind of grades I made, the curtains closed on that season of my life. Her condescending tone communicated that she didn’t feel I was learning fast enough. </p>
<p>I lost the desire to play the piano and never did go back. Sad considering musical talent is in my DNA. Who knows the piano player I might have been if I had stuck it out. </p>
<p>Sometimes that same little girl follows me into my adult life. Especially when I get caught up in comparing myself to others. When I feel envious of the way other writers articulate their words. Or I wish I had been the one with some ingenious idea. Or that I had the determination to workout consistently and drink a smoothie every day (I do drink smoothies, but <em>every day</em>? I just can’t.) And these New Years resolutions/new way of living posts are really killing my vibe. </p>
<p>You know what comparison does?<em> It makes me want to quit everything.</em> </p>
<p>My 15 year old said something about me the other day that I was shocked to hear. In a good way. It made me immediately stand up a little straighter. I felt confidence rise up from within. Winning the praise of a teenager is a rare thing. Winning the praise of <em>my</em> teenager? Rare and beautiful and good for my heart. Because the truth is, the approval of the world matters little if I’m failing where it matters most. </p>
<p>I could sit here and pep talk to you and tell you not to compare yourself because there is only <em>ONE</em> you. And I’ve said it before and that is so true. But the other truth? </p>
<p>There will always be someone more intelligent, more articulate, braver, more confident, prettier, skinnier, wealthier, more successful….I could go on. You get the point. </p>
<p>A quote from a recent favorite book of mine says “if you are the most talented person in the room, you need to find a new room.” </p>
<p>I can feel inspired by others and not feel inferior to them. </p>
<p>I can remember that somewhere, someone is watching me. At home, it’s my children. In public, it’s all the seemingly insignificant encounters I have on a daily. </p>
<p>We <em>all</em> have a realm of influence. Even if yours feel small and insignificant. Someone, somewhere in your circle of interactions, whether in public or just on social media is influenced by what you post and say and how you live your life. </p>
<p><em>That’s no small thing. </em></p>
<p>Have you ever seen a tree uprooted? The roots are massive. They spread deep and wide. </p>
<p>So do our lives. <em>There is nothing small or inferior or insignificant about your one and only life.</em></p>
<p><span class="font_small">Quote reference: Kleon, A (2012) <em>Steal Like An Artist</em>. Greenwich Village, NY; Workman Publishing.</span></p>
<p><span class="font_small">Photo credit: Flickr</span></p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/50598872018-02-03T14:17:48-05:002018-05-20T22:40:52-04:00You Are Going To Make It<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/aeac9b5ae1bddbfd0e58689acc8da0722c065663/medium/403eecaf-2e78-4166-bd69-11458d995bd6.png" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Today marks a miracle. A day when I remember. Hey you in the mirror....I know that most of your days feel ordinary now, but you survived something horrific. You made it through to the other side. </p>
<p>A friend of mine texted me this morning. Reminding me that she too remembered this day. It made my eyes water and my heart smile. </p>
<p>This day 4 years ago was one of THE best of my life. Aside from the birth of my children, few things come close. Like I could still run and scream just thinking about it. </p>
<p>For every best day, there is a worst day too. No one is immune. Everyone experiences a worst day of some kind. </p>
<p>During my worst day, I remember telling my mom that nothing would ever be okay again. Ever. That’s how it felt in the moment. </p>
<p>Do you have <em>any </em>idea how despairing it was to feel that way? </p>
<p>It’s the reason people end up taking their life. They see no end to how they are feeling in the moment. I didn’t want to take my life. But there were moments when I didn’t want to live. </p>
<p>Sometimes you just need someone to walk with you through the hard stuff. To remind you that you’re going to make it. I thank God a trillion times over for the people who walked with me. They were my rescue. They were evidence that God was with me all along, even though I couldn’t see it at the time. They loved me enough to enter my brokenness and walk with me through it. I didn’t need them to fix it for me. No one could have anyway. I didn’t need them to say some super spiritualized thing to me. I needed someone willing to come sit in the dark with me. It gave me the strength to eventually see that there was light. There was still goodness and hope for my life. I needed it so much. </p>
<p>The world is full of people in the middle of their best day. And it’s also full of people in the middle of their worst. If your eyes are fully open, you will see both. There are people out there feeling like it will never by okay again. And it may never be okay in the way one wishes it could be. There will be a “new normal” as someone once said to me. Life really can be beautiful again. I’ve seen it and experienced it. </p>
<p>Give yourself to someone’s brokenness today. Tell them everything you wish someone would have said to you on your worst day. </p>
<p>And if you’re in your worst day and feeling alone, message me. Gosh...I would be so honored. You are a miracle. And you’re going to make it.</p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/50423882018-01-25T00:03:08-05:002018-05-20T21:31:37-04:00Don’t Fall For It<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/36be112f8997ae42762c31c9fb930d7945437c9b/medium/e3fea15f-9ecf-43ef-bd5f-f8fd74fef695.jpeg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Want to know something that is guaranteed in life? </p>
<p>It’s super exciting....drum roll please. It’s this: </p>
<p>You are going to be told NO. Probably a lot. Unless you never try anything of course. And even then, you’re just telling yourself no. </p>
<p>My first memorable rejection was in junior high. Over 2 decades ago. I still remember. It stung back then, but pales in comparison to other no’s I’ve faced. </p>
<p>If you are going to pursue anything of value in life, you might as well prepare to be turned down. </p>
<p>I work with the prison population and those facing the obstacles of reentering society and I have this conversation often. </p>
<p>Different scenario, same concept. </p>
<p>You might as well prepare yourself for a hundred no’s. </p>
<p>Shake off the discouragement. Don’t for a second buy into the lie that it reflects your value. </p>
<p>The next try might be <em>the </em>try. The yes after countless no’s. </p>
<p>And you will never know unless you put yourself out there. </p>
<p>We often place way too much value on what other people think of us. </p>
<p>We are tempted to pay too much attention to the likes. </p>
<p>It can be paralyzing. </p>
<p>I watched a video recently of a guy who had a goal of growing his restaurant to the number one restaurant on trip advisor. </p>
<p>He learned how to do this through a paid job of writing fake reviews for restaurants and the observation that his fake reviews were causing a ridiculous increase in revenue for these companies. </p>
<p>So he created a fake restaurant with fake reviews and his efficiency apartment as the location. The outcome? </p>
<p>After months and months, it grew to be the number one restaurant on trip advisor in all of London. </p>
<p>The obvious problem being that the restaurant wasn’t really a restaurant at all. It was an efficiency apartment with microwaveable lasagna on the menu. </p>
<p>The moral of the story? Don’t fall for all the hype. Don’t fall for the likes. Don’t get sucked into creating for the sake of an audience. </p>
<p>Be authentic. Create because it’s what’s inside of you and not for the applaud of others. </p>
<p>Then the approval of others doesn’t matter so much and the potential rejection propels you forward instead of sending you into a downward spiral.</p>
<p>Someday you might be thankful for that no you received. It may just put you closer to your yes.</p>
<p><em>Story reference: Vice Video</em></p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/50271432018-01-16T21:10:53-05:002019-04-25T06:46:32-04:00Dear Anxious Heart<p><span class="font_regular"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/556e92496659cc8b938ff4687b0818ca32d51512/medium/sarah-hair2.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></span></p>
<p> </p>
<p>I don’t remember a time in my life when I haven't struggled with anxiety. It’s kind of a family thing. We joke about it, but it’s true. As a kid, I remember feeling anxious at times for no reason, but mainly over things I had no control over. Like the fear of losing the people that were the center of my world, my mom and my grandma for example. Normal worries, <em>right</em>? But not so normal when your thoughts are preoccupied with them. <em>Side note:</em> my mom is still alive and well and my grandma lived well into my adult years. </p>
<p>The anxiety heightened through Nursing school. I developed symptoms of everything I studied (about as fun as it sounds). I remember approaching my instructor (the sweetest, wisest, most patient woman <em>ever</em>) and asking her about symptoms of a brain tumor. Asking for a friend of course. You can laugh, it’s ok. I laugh about it too, and I’m quite sure my sweet instructor probably wanted to. </p>
<p>As the years went on, I learned to control it to the point that I really didn’t consider it a struggle anymore. </p>
<p><em>Here’s the thing though</em>… sometimes anxiety is sneaky and well disguised. It can manifest in ways that you don’t always notice right away, a surface symptom of a deeper problem. </p>
<p>Like the inability to sit still. <em>“That’s just my personality,”</em> I would say. When deep down the truth was that being still offered too much time for my overactive imagination to create scenarios that didn't exist. </p>
<p>Like hypervigilance. <em>“I’m just an observant person</em>,” I would say. When the truth was my inability to relax was rooted in fear of what might happen if I did. </p>
<p>Like that sudden and familiar tightening in my chest for no apparent reason. </p>
<p>I recently had an honest conversation with myself. "<em>Dear self, this is NOT normal. The sky is not going to fall. You are not going to die."</em> <em>Well</em>, hopefully not today anyway. </p>
<p><em>You don’t have to live this way. </em></p>
<p>I want calmness for my life. I envy the calm, elegance and poise of Queen Elizabeth’s character in episodes of the Crown (my recent fav). She has a fantastic poker face. Or the calmness of Jesus as he slept in that boat during the storm while his friends were all panicky and freaking out. </p>
<p>They both wear calmness like a superhero with a cape. </p>
<p>Maybe the real-life Queen Elizabeth learned the art of fake it till you make it. Who knows what she was really feeling inside. I can relate. I’ve learned to fake external confidence when inside it feels like a chaotic mixture of a circus with a haunted house. </p>
<p>I want the kind of calmness that allows me to sleep through the storm, peaceful during the chaos and deeply connected to trust. </p>
<p>Last year, I went horseback riding on a warm Spring day under blue skies. I was excited when we first set out on our trail of varying terrain, flat in parts and with and hills to climb. I felt relaxed at first, enjoying the beauty of this gentle giant carrying me, the warm air and the serene landscape. </p>
<p>And then the trail came to a steep hill where the ground was soft from a few days of rain. My horse’s front foot sank deep into the mud causing him to stumble nearly and almost throwing me to the ground. He made a quick and graceful recovery. But did I? <em>Not so much. </em></p>
<p>I may have looked composed, but inside, I felt completely undone. I was tense the remainder of the ride and wanted it to end. I no longer felt safe. </p>
<p>I heard a riding instructor ask one time: <em>“How many times have you ever seen a horse fall?</em>” </p>
<p>My response after thinking about this carefully for a moment: "<em>Never</em>." </p>
<p>Sometimes my trust in God is something like my trust in that horse. <em>Conditional and guarded. </em>As long as the trail is smooth. As long as I feel like I can predict the outcome. As long as it doesn’t feel like I’m going to stumble or fall to my death. </p>
<p>So my reminder question to myself is this: </p>
<p>“<em>How many times has God failed you?” </em></p>
<p>My carefully considered response: "Never." </p>
<p>Does that mean I always like the outcome? <em>No</em>. Does that mean hard, sometimes horrific things don’t happen? <em>No</em>. Does that mean all of my questions get answered? <em>Not at all. </em></p>
<p>But it means I can tell this anxious heart to sit down and be calm in the boat when the storm stirs all around. </p>
<p>Trust is meant to be given away, and in exchange, I find rest because I’m no longer trying to control the outcome. It’s safe to trust the One who saw my beginning, holds my ending and all of the very messy moments in between. </p>
<p>I can also trust that He will equip me to handle what comes my way. He will meet me at my moment of need and arm me with the strength and peace that I am lacking. I know because I've lived it. </p>
<p>So dear anxious heart, <em>be still. You don't have to live this way.</em></p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/50004572017-12-30T21:13:15-05:002021-09-24T15:35:23-04:00Mud on White Carpet<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/01d9f6edae28942fd8370e7136a8f2b2f246786b/medium/and-weeeird-photo.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>I toured Graceland once as a teenager. We were passing through Memphis on a long road trip and my fourteen year old self was a huge Elvis fan. Odd for my generation, but nonetheless, his posters covered my pink walls. </p>
<p>I remember Graceland being mostly like a museum. All of the rooms roped off, forbidding your entrance. You could look, but not enter. </p>
<p>Kind of how some people treat certain rooms in their home. Those rooms rarely visited, except for on special holidays and for certain guests. I heard a guy say one time that his mother used to vacuum the white carpet in their “off limits room” with diamond shaped patterns so she would know if her children had entered that room. </p>
<p>It sounded pretty exhausting to me. </p>
<p>But speaking of white carpet, a friend of mine gave me a great piece of advice one time. I allowed her into those roped off places of my heart. I was an excellent wall builder at the time. She saw the good and the ugly. She saw the fear. I knew her advice was in love and that I needed to listen. She said this: </p>
<p><em>“Sometimes you have to allow your white carpet to get messed up.” </em></p>
<p>She wasn’t referring to literal white carpet, but my concern about the perception other people had of me. </p>
<p>She was talking about being comfortable in my own skin. Authenticity and vulnerability. <em>A raw honesty that takes guts.</em> </p>
<p>For far too long, I allowed my worth and my perception of myself to be determined by the opinion of others. </p>
<p>It held me captive in a way I didn’t realize at the time. </p>
<p>Somewhere along the way, I believed the lie that if I masked my struggles, if I stayed silent instead of sharing my unpopular opinion, if I just did what was expected of me and never made anyone upset with me, <em>then</em> I would be enough. </p>
<p>But the problem was just a symptom of a much deeper issue at my core. </p>
<p>Beneath the fear was a faulty belief that God’s view of me was also very conditional. </p>
<p>I subconsciously believed that I had to earn His approval, and I had to keep Him from being angry or disapproving. <em>Then</em> I would be enough. I would be accepted and worthy of love and good things. </p>
<p>My own imperfections led to frequent “mess ups,” each one bringing me back to that low place of never feeling like my best was good enough. Feeling like my mess was <em>too much</em> for anyone, even God. </p>
<p>It was as <em>exhausting</em> as it sounds, like the thought of those diamond shaped patterns in the carpet, and I would honestly rather throw that vacuum than try to keep up. </p>
<p>I don’t know when exactly the lightbulb moment occurred. Truth takes time to transfer from the head to the heart, especially when a lie has been believed for so long. </p>
<p>But this I have learned and am learning: the One who created me smiles over me. Regardless of my performance. Regardless of my struggles that feel like too much. Kind of the way I am madly in love with my children, at their best <em>and</em> at their worst. I am learning to lean back into the <em>"no matter whatness" </em>of a passionate God. </p>
<p>I am also learning that once I have accepted me, at my best <em>and</em> my worst, then it no longer matters whether or not others do. It's like growing into your own skin, and being comfortable with your story. </p>
<p>That's when it becomes okay to allow a little mud on my white carpet. </p>
<p><span class="font_small">photo credit: and weeeird <br>quote: Boyle, G (2010). Tattoos on the heart: The power of boundless compassion. New York, NY: Free Press.</span></p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/49922982017-12-24T14:17:26-05:002018-05-20T21:32:18-04:00We No Longer Have To Wait<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/d60d0d34809ab4716d3ed4b6c85ac8cd23b6bb7b/medium/55f5f3d5-3faf-4dc7-83cc-8412a6dbf5f9.jpeg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>I must admit that I feel like I’ve been chasing the merry feeling of the season and haven’t quite been able to catch it. </p>
<p>Busyness and my own inability to rest finally caught up with me in the form of stomach and respiratory viruses. It resulted in the kind of burn out that leaves you feeling like you could sleep for days. </p>
<p>Yesterday, in the midst of more busyness, my family pulled off to the side of the road after catching a glimpse of an American bald eagle sitting on a branch outside of his nest. Locals in our area have been parking road side for months with telescopic lenses waiting for a glimpse of this majestic beauty and the possibility of eaglets arriving in the Spring. Just as a side note, my family has driven this road hundreds of times. We too have been stalking the nest, have gotten stuck by the train on this road almost EVERY single time (grrrrr) and we often joke about the cars parked roadside just waiting but not seeing. </p>
<p>So there we were, stopping once again, but this time feeling lucky to finally be taking in this rare sight. </p>
<p>And there I was....pressing my husband to leave after only a few seconds of observation, my husband reminding me that I am terribly impatient (deep sigh). My son also echoing his mother from the backseat asking why we needed to wait. </p>
<p>We waited. </p>
<p>And just when we were about to give up (after 30 seconds), it happened. </p>
<p>That beautiful bird opened his wings and took flight, soaring above us and all around us, my children nearly squealing with delight. </p>
<p>How many times have we driven by and pulled over waiting for a glimpse? And if we had not waited, we would have missed it. It felt like a gift. </p>
<p>Tomorrow we will celebrate the birth of the One who put an end to our waiting. </p>
<p>The One whose infant cry was both human and divine, piercing the darkness of our night and bringing light. </p>
<p>If I could give you a gift this Christmas, it would be a reminder of this: </p>
<p>His name means <em>He Saves</em> . </p>
<p>From our darkness. From our weariness. From our lack of joy. From ourselves. </p>
<p>We no longer have to wait. </p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/49677212017-12-07T22:12:40-05:002018-05-20T22:25:37-04:00The Perfectly Imperfect<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/ea994ef058dffc75384e4986760eaf3df6fd0aca/medium/img-2985.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>I am feeling more and more okay with this season being imperfect. As if perfect is attainable anyway. Reminder note to self: It’s not. You will exhaust yourself chasing it. </p>
<p>Only half of my ornaments made it to the tree this year (who needs all of those anyway?). My calendar still says November and I may or may not have taken the pumpkin off the porch days after the tree finally went up. </p>
<p>My shopping list? 2 purchases. And they were yesterday. It feels like a success. </p>
<p>But I am settling into this less than perfect season of Christmas. </p>
<p>My husband and I have tried to be intentional this season about entering into the suffering of others. We believe it’s the call of God and we also believe it is where we experience Him the most. </p>
<p>And there is something about being surrounded by suffering that burns away the stuff that really doesn’t matter. Like my ideas of what Christmas should look like. It looks like the mobs of people at Target (I’m guilty) and buying way too much stuff that people really don’t need. I mean…be honest. Most of them don’t. </p>
<p>There’s a verse in the Bible that says that a sad face is good for the heart. I don’t think the writer was being a Debbie Downer. I think he knew something that most of us are still slowly learning. </p>
<p>You can have everything in the world and still have nothing. Or you can have nothing at all and have everything that truly matters most. </p>
<p>Sorrow enlarges the heart. It makes room for joy. Like when my kids throw their head back and laugh. The kind of laugh that is deep in your belly and wildly contagious. I feel joy at a level that I would never have recognized if not for deep sorrow. </p>
<p>So I am ok with imperfect. </p>
<p>I am ok with feeling the pressure of a million things to accomplish and not enough time. You know the feeling. It means I get to be a blessing to someone who really really needs it right now. </p>
<p>I am okay with my little one picking the “balls” off the tree every 3 seconds. Her wonder and curiosity are much more important than my perfectly adorned tree. </p>
<p>I’m learning to hold the joy and the sorrow. The perfectly imperfect.</p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/49642782017-12-05T22:01:57-05:002017-12-05T22:01:57-05:00Boundaries<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/b928d6bfa71403f8a99d79b0a45b446ea751c6e2/medium/candle-in-a-jar.jpg" class="size_m justify_left border_" /></p>
<p>Boundaries. If not well defined, they are like a fire that is not contained. Reckless and sure to burn you. </p>
<p>Especially with people who are toxic. </p>
<p>How do you know if someone is toxic to your life? Here’s a sure sign: interaction with them takes you days to recover from. </p>
<p>What I have learned over time (and at a much slower rate than I would have wished for) and after being the recipient of verbal whiplash and brutal opinions I did not ask for is this: </p>
<p>It takes guts to tell someone not to treat you or speak to you in a certain manner. And it doesn’t always work the first time. It takes continual courage and consistency. Especially when they have grown accustomed to treating you that way over time. </p>
<p>But the alternative? Your self worth being violated and trampled every. single. time. </p>
<p>We teach people how to treat us. Did you realize that? </p>
<p>And some people refuse to be taught. In which case you have to love them from a very safe distance. With very limited and sometimes no contact. </p>
<p>Chances are they are wounded. But that doesn’t mean their brokenness is an excuse to injure you.</p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/49592422017-12-02T00:31:35-05:002018-05-20T21:32:55-04:00The Importance of Self Care<p> </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/d71ab9f9497d7a15c10f2d5f7b623f23a0b0411e/medium/sarah.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>My goal for today was this: </p>
<p><em><strong>Drink more water.</strong></em></p>
<p>Sounds like a no brainer, right? But that’s the thing....sometimes I find myself at 2 o’clock in the afternoon having drank zero (pretty sure the water used for my coffee doesn’t count). </p>
<p>Unfortunately, self care is not always high on my priority list. </p>
<p>Not because I think it’s unimportant. It’s just that I’m usually depleted before I remember that. </p>
<p>If you are a parent or caregiver, in ministry, in healthcare (we are so guilty), or the nurturing type, you can probably relate. </p>
<p>Because meeting the needs of others is always the priority. And loving other people well is a beautiful thing. </p>
<p>But the result of self neglect? Not so beautiful. </p>
<p>It leads to irritability, moodiness, poor sleep, poor concentration, anxiety and lack of peace. </p>
<p>Like when I find myself feeling grumpy in the middle of the day with no apparent trigger. </p>
<p>Or when my dog begging for a scratch behind his ear feels like too much. Seriously? </p>
<p>It’s symptomatic of something more going on internally. </p>
<p>You can’t give out to others what you haven’t received yourself. </p>
<p>There’s nothing wrong with investing in you. Or with allowing yourself to refuel. </p>
<p>Especially in the height of this season of giving. </p>
<p>So drink more water. Take a nap. Take a walk. Pray more. Unplug more. Sip your coffee a little slower. Pet the poor dog. </p>
<p>The best gift you can offer the world is you at your best. </p>
<p> </p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/49565472017-11-30T15:36:56-05:002018-12-13T10:12:17-05:00You Aren't Crazy<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/8cf3222f8659b86cd289c84d33e5342c996b38cc/original/img-2934.jpg/!!/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You aren’t crazy. You’re just wounded.” Maybe you need to hear that today. </p>
<p>Sometimes emotions can feel like a tangled web of a mess that can’t be sorted through. Like a tangled strand of Christmas lights that you’d rather throw away than untangle (ever done this? Me too). Even when the lights still work. Sometimes emotions hijack the driver seat and throw reason and logic in the back. The resulting behavior?<br><br>Usually nothing that you’re proud of. </p>
<p>But know this: You don’t have to hold your head down in shame. You don’t have to listen to the negative tape your mind is replaying. </p>
<p>Why? Because who you truly are down deep is NOT defined by how you feel or by your behavior. Even if the world says otherwise. </p>
<p>God is not ashamed of your messy emotions. He feels no shame when He looks at the one and only you. </p>
<p>He’s a Father who loves to parade you (lyrics by Delirious). </p>
<p>You are in process. </p>
<p>You are still learning. </p>
<p>The in between spaces can be tough to navigate. The spaces between where you want to be emotionally and spiritually and where you find yourself to be. Nothing will slow your progress or leave you stuck like a negative internal dialogue. </p>
<p>So gift yourself with this truth today: You are not crazy.<br><br>Chances are you’re just wounded. </p>
<p>And find the courage to look at the areas that need to heal. The thoughts and feelings behind the actions and where they stem from. </p>
<p>You don’t have to stay wounded.</p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/49436852017-11-21T22:01:40-05:002021-08-09T13:48:49-04:00A Picture Says a Thousand Words<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/e88c312461497492150b5e835a8b5f886feed1fb/medium/picture-of-boys.png" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_regular">I used to keep this picture hidden in a drawer because I couldn’t bear to look at it. My emotions felt way too big to handle. Like those moments when your chest tightens and a well of tears rises threatening to flood. And I wasn’t sure if the flood began that I would be able to make it stop. <em>Ever</em>. </span></p>
<p><span class="font_regular">It’s a picture of my 3 boys. They were ages 10, 5 and 3 at the time. There is the saying that a picture says a thousand words. A mother can see things in her children that other people cannot. I can see their pain in that picture. Fresh pain because their mother made a fatal decision to drink and drive and was sent away for a while. To them, I was ripped away from their world. </span></p>
<p><span class="font_regular">I would forget for a time that the picture was there. Until the next time I stumbled upon it. Each time saying to myself, <em>not today. I just can’t.</em> After months of counseling and countless prayers, I found the courage to do a brave thing. I took that picture out of the drawer and found a new place for it in my home. Not in some rarely visited room either. But in the main living room of my house. </span></p>
<p><span class="font_regular">It wasn’t like my brave act to take it out of the drawer made it not hurt anymore. It still hurt when I looked at it. I still cried. And tomorrow, it may still hurt and I may still cry. I’m still not <em>there</em>. But in time, I will find a way to sit in the same room with it. </span></p>
<p><span class="font_regular">The truth is, even by refusing to look at it, it was still in my drawer waiting for my acceptance. </span></p>
<p><span class="font_regular">Our flawed human tendency is to avoid anything that hurts. As if the avoiding makes it hurt any less. Why not sit with it a while? Or walk with it. Or limp with it if you have to. Let it linger and be fully felt rather than acting like it’s not there. </span></p>
<p><span class="font_regular">There are some sad things you can never make happy. There are some things that will always hurt. And as my dear friend recently said to me....”that’s ok. It will always hurt and that’s ok.” </span></p>
<p><em><span class="font_regular">And it is.</span></em></p>
<p><span class="font_regular">Sometimes healing looks and feels like very slow progress. Healing is doing the thing today that I couldn't find the courage to do yesterday.</span></p>
<p><span class="font_regular">What does your brave thing look like? What picture needs to come out of the drawer?</span></p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/49361272017-11-16T22:02:50-05:002018-10-18T06:45:36-04:00When Nothing Is Okay<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/680814896d64d71ceed5b29d383215698e98018c/medium/sarah-fall-edit.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>If you ever find yourself with this thought: Nothing is okay right now, know that it’s okay to admit that. </p>
<p>It’s safe to admit it. Safer to admit it than to suppress it. And it doesn’t make you weak. Quite the opposite. It makes you strong and brave and bold. Avoiding it doesn’t make it not true. In fact, it makes it louder and makes you feel more alone in your pain. </p>
<p>I am thankful that is not the season I find myself in. But I’ve been there and this is what it taught me.... </p>
<p>One of the greatest lies believed during the not okay seasons is this: </p>
<p><em>Life is always going to feel this way. </em> </p>
<p><em>Ugh</em>. It’s such a heavy and despairing thought. And SO far from the truth. </p>
<p>It’s a lie. It’s a lie that will drive you deeper into the wanting to give up. Not that recognizing it’s a lie is some fluffy resolve that makes a sad situation happy. It does not. But lies distort the truth and make the truth seem like a lie. </p>
<p>One of the most powerful things someone ever said to me was this simple phrase: It won’t always feel like it does right now. </p>
<p>I wish I could make you understand how hard it was to believe in that moment. But just hearing that sparked hope in my spirit and gave me courage to brave the days ahead. </p>
<p>Don’t give up brave one. <em>Don’t you dare</em>. I promise it won’t always feel like it does right now.</p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/49196212017-11-04T21:52:08-04:002019-07-29T11:32:24-04:00The Unlearning<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/2c63802aadf217a1b95f93a9ccc653418215e52d/original/a7bd3a05-36df-4b2b-b1ed-866854350b0a.png/!!/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsImxhcmdlIl1d.png" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Everyday, I try to ask myself this question: “<em>What are you learning today?” </em></p>
<p>I want to live fully awake and not lulled to sleep by the monotony of life and daily routines. To stop learning is to stop growing, which even if you are still breathing is a tragic death of some kind. </p>
<p>But I have also been asking myself an equally important question and it’s this: </p>
<p>“<em>What are you unlearning today</em>?” </p>
<p>Because part of life is unlearning the untrue things our minds have learned along the way. </p>
<p>I am unlearning self criticism and learning to be good to myself in my thoughts. </p>
<p>I am unlearning the habit of being overly self conscious and self aware and learning to be more concerned with how I make others feel when they are with me. </p>
<p>I am unlearning fear. Always fear. And I am learning that fear is healthy in its rightful place and also a distorted and controlling monster when it is not. </p>
<p>The learning and the unlearning...both are equally important.</p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/48992722017-10-19T21:56:04-04:002021-09-03T06:49:47-04:00Relationships Are Messy<p> </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/39c568d0f621868bfe682f883e9c22d2fdd8c739/medium/678f836c-ce7b-4a44-a7e6-c69997aa34f3.jpeg?1508464330" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Relationships are a lot of work, messy and complicated. Sometimes it’s easier to retreat and withdraw than to show up. Let’s be honest, it takes courage, grace and a lot of humility to show up some days. </p>
<p>We don’t get to pick which parts of ourself to pack and bring along. We bring the whole set of luggage. Packed with enough stuff to weigh down a plane. Our best behavior and our worst. All of the things that have happened over the course of our life and our interpretation of them. Our love and generosity and our selfishness. </p>
<p>What makes relationships especially difficult is that we bring along the unmet expectations we have of ourselves. They can be a mirror that reveals what you wish were different about you. The kind in the dressing room with the really bright lights and all. </p>
<p>***And that’s where the really hard work begins.*** </p>
<p>In the willingness to examine yourself before casting blame. It’s easier to tell someone what they should have done in a situation than to own what I should have done. </p>
<p>Relationships are worth the work. People are worth fighting for. I can choose to retreat and live on my own island or I can show up, admit my shortcomings and commit to doing the hard work it takes.</p>
<p>“Without love it doesn’t matter what you’re fighting for.” -P.D. </p>
<p>Photo credit: Andrey Pavlov</p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/48531872017-09-16T11:53:15-04:002021-09-11T15:40:56-04:00September's Song<p><span class="font_regular"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/e6c977350ccfc7c69b41c41bae781f7fcb579685/medium/img-2319.jpg?1505577086" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_regular">I love Fall in Ohio. Even if it means the flowers I've enjoyed looking at through my back window all summer start to droop a little more each day. Their blossoms fall away and give way to crunchy leaves and crisp air.</span></p>
<p><span class="font_regular">Whether I want them to or not, the seasons in my life also bring change. September is my birthday month. It is also the anniversary month in which I entered a season of deep brokenness and regret. A decade ago this year.</span></p>
<p><span class="font_regular">I can never undo that season. There is no rewinding the tape. Or hitting delete. If only it were that simple. What I can do and what I have done, is hand God the heaping pile of ashes I made of my life.</span></p>
<p><span class="font_regular">"Here...you take the world of devastation I caused and rebuild."</span></p>
<p><span class="font_regular">I realize that some seasons you can't just walk away from. You carry them with you. You remember. You learn and you grow.</span></p>
<p><span class="font_regular">I must allow the seasons of my life to change. I must bury regret, unforgiveness and shame.</span></p>
<p><span class="font_regular">Holding on will cost me something. My peace. My self worth. My perspective. Living in the present moment. My life. I know because I 've done it.</span></p>
<p><span class="font_regular">Let the seasons of your life change. It takes courage I know.</span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span class="font_regular"> </span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><em><span class="font_small"> </span></em></p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/48324342017-09-08T22:41:51-04:002019-05-30T09:38:27-04:00On Toads and Stolen Innocence<p><span class="font_regular"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/e8b34ee8d62621cb405980ee85314c0e6bd32b7b/medium/img-2115.jpg?1504146098" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></span></p>
<p> </p>
<p>His appearance was intimidating. Not that I'm the type that <em>ever</em> judges by appearance (sarcasm noted). His face was covered with tattoos and even more permanent than the ink was his scowled expression. The state issued prison uniform didn't help either. His body language communicated anger and a constant need to be on the defense. My inner voice said he didn't want to be bothered. But because I believe in acknowledging the existence of another person (you know…where you actually say hello in passing), I forced myself out of my comfort zone, smiled and managed an awkward hello. </p>
<p>The moment almost passed as a seemingly insignificant exchange until a small toad leaped from the grass onto our path. </p>
<p>I watched his hostility melt away like a popsicle in August. He kneeled down like a gentle giant and scooped up the toad with a half smile that he couldn't suppress. It was like someone flipped the switch in a pitch black room and there was suddenly light again. </p>
<p>For a brief moment, I was given a glimpse of the childlike innocence he once had. Before anger became the default emotion. I saw the innocence before the scars of life, pain, and the destructive choices that led him to prison. I walked away, wondering what happened in his life that stole his innocence. I wondered what happened that stole his smile. </p>
<p>I often have the privilege of hearing the stories of others. We all have a story. A starting point in our life and then a timeline of events that shape us into who we become. </p>
<p>Stories have taught me this: there are multi-layered, complex, and deeply rooted reasons why people are the way they are and make the choices they make. And the <em>real</em> truth? You and I will never fully know all the reasons. </p>
<p>But this I know for sure....I have yet to meet a child who dreams of growing up to be a bitter adult. An adult who lives in repetitive cycles of destructive behavior, wrestles with depression, or battles addiction. An adult whose daily view is a landscape of razor wire. </p>
<p>Stories have also taught me this: There are often <em>before</em> moments in a person's life. When the world was a relatively safe and good place. </p>
<p>But then "<em>the</em>" event happens. And the before moment becomes a memory people will spend the rest of their lives chasing. </p>
<p>Before the rape. </p>
<p>Before the unexpected death. </p>
<p>Before a parent left. </p>
<p>Before the abortion. </p>
<p>Before the first time, you did that thing that you can't get past. </p>
<p>I had a woman tell me once, "By the age of 9, I got tired of living." </p>
<p>For some, there are no before moments. From birth, life feels like something they are sentenced to instead of something they get to live. My heart weeps at the thought. </p>
<p><em>God's heart weeps too. </em> </p>
<p>But His posture towards those who have been crushed in life looks a lot like this story: </p>
<p>I was recently asked by a Mom to sign a word of encouragement on a t-shirt for her son, who is in rehab. On the day of her weekly visit with him, she wore this shirt covered with signatures and words of affirmation. A chorus of voices saying one thing: We believe in you. You are going to do great things. </p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/701403e486eb0bdb11dcc3555b372c840572644b/original/img-2205.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p>The following week, a friend of mine reminded me again of God's posture towards us when she said this: </p>
<p>"All behavior is a form of communication. When no one else wants you, come to me, and I'll take care of you." This friend works in a field where many people have offensive behaviors and end up unwanted and cast aside by society and even family. </p>
<p>Perhaps our posture should be the same, one of unconditional love that heals people back to wholeness. Not judgment. Or assumptions. Not our opinion which is too often incorrect. </p>
<p>Matthew 11:28 says this: "Come to me all you who are weary and heavy burdened, and I will give you rest." Rest from the life you feel sentenced to. Rest from the things that have hurt you. Rest from the voice of regret. Rest…… </p>
<p>It is impossible to hold judgment and compassion in the same hand. Only God sees all the broken pieces that make sense of the puzzle. </p>
<p style="text-align: center;"> </p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span class="font_small"><em>Ericka....thank you for the honor and privilege of hearing and sharing part of your story. Never stop dreaming that life can be so much better than the past. </em></span></p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/47665302017-07-04T17:20:03-04:002019-07-04T08:21:05-04:00Crushed Diamonds<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/e380a330f7b40320c0106826f00126d6f13830c6/medium/img-1371.jpg?1499177983" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>There was a time in my life when today was one of the hardest days of the year. I was one-hundred miles from home that felt more like a thousand in a remote area of Ohio, surrounded by double razor wire. Beyond the fence, fields stretched as far as you could see. It felt like an island in the middle of no man's land. </p>
<p>When the sun would go down on this day, even in the middle of no man's land, I could still hear the explosion of fireworks. And sometimes from my window, I could even see a sneak peak of explosive color in that dark sky. </p>
<p>I could also hear and see a lifetime of memories. Memories of my uncle's annual 4th of July picnic and the festive red, white, and blue desserts my mom would make. Or the time a firework shot off in the wrong direction and landed under grandma's chair. No injuries thankfully. </p>
<p>I could hear the reminder that life was still going on outside those gates. </p>
<p>Today, I no longer have to just sit as an observer. But to be honest, some experiences and ways of living are hard to unlearn. </p>
<p>There is a story in John chapter five about a paralyzed man who has been lying by a pool for 38 years. This paralyzed man laid by the pool day after day because the belief was that the pool contained healing powers. Jesus approaches him (by the way, he has no idea who Jesus is) and asks him, "Do you want to be made well?" </p>
<p>It seems like a ridiculous question, right? The man has been paralyzed for 38 years, and this stranger walks up and asks if he wants to be made well? </p>
<p>There is a larger point at work here, though. <em>Don't miss it</em>. </p>
<p>The man answers with an excuse. The hard truth? Sometimes we don't want to be made well. Dysfunction becomes the new normal, and we just learn to live with it. We settle with sitting as an observer of the life we could have. A life free from all that enslaves us. </p>
<p>I recently read about a documentary of a woman who had a three-hundred-pound tumor removed from her body. When asked by the filmmakers who documented her surgery why she waited so long to have it removed, she said she didn't get help because she figured it would go away on its own. </p>
<p>Sometimes I do this in my own life. I waited two years to see a doctor one time for pain on the bottom of my foot. A foot that I use daily for walking! </p>
<p><em>Deep sigh.</em> </p>
<p>It is amazing to me the things we are willing to endure, suffer and accept as our lot in life. </p>
<p>In my present-day life, I work with a non-profit organization as an advocate and mentor for those in the correctional system, and I see this concept played out over and over. Women and men who have accepted poverty, crime, addiction, abuse, and dehumanization as their lot in life. </p>
<p>Without a disruption in that thought, prisons will remain a revolving door. </p>
<p>But don't be mistaken. I have met many people in the free world who are equally bound. Without a disruption in thought, the things that make us unwell will remain. Toxic relationships. Low self-worth. Inferiority. Fear. Addiction. Depression. Shame. Every sort of emotional and spiritual bondage you can name. </p>
<p>There is <em>more</em> to life. There is healing and wholeness. </p>
<p>If you are reading this and it applies to you, I pray that the lies you and I have bought into will be disrupted and shattered. I pray that we will believe for more. </p>
<p>As a side note, I have yet to see a night sky as beautiful as the ones I saw while surrounded by that double razor wire. It was like a canvas of crushed diamonds with a black velvet backdrop. But I only noticed it by looking away from everything that was around me and believing there was so much more to the world than what I currently saw. </p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/e16a9fedea6e10cd881e8f5f7c1ef6999053d8a1/original/img-0221.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p>References: Kyle Idelman, "The End of Me" David C Cook (Colorado Springs, CO: 2015)</p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/46568942017-04-04T21:24:31-04:002019-07-04T08:24:23-04:00The Whole Universe Should Know<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/f0ba9ad398a25dcc7d82f679ae2a52dc7cfd4794/medium/605ae2a9ec071a5b711200a503b39509.jpg?1491273469" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
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<p><span class="font_regular">Recently I read of the tragic suicide of someone I once knew and the story behind her pain. My heart felt wracked with grief.</span></p>
<p><span class="font_regular">Eight years ago I met her during a low point in both of our lives. It was our one thing in common. She was teaching me the basics of dog obedience with an overweight Labrador Retriever named Bubba. Bubba was less than eager to learn and preferred laying under shade trees or rolling around in a baby pool over following our commands. I admired her unwavering patience with him. I knew little about her, other than things you learn from observation. Witty. Smart. Gentle. Kind. Unpretentious in every sense of the word. She had a unique connection with canines, like she understood their vulnerability and longing to be loved. </span></p>
<p><span class="font_regular">What observation didn’t reveal to me was the pain she carried inside. Deep lacerations on the soul caused by a tormented past. Torment at the hands of the one person who should have made her world a safe place to navigate through. My mental photographs of her captured a wide contagious smile. I had no idea that beautiful smile camouflaged so much darkness. </span></p>
<p><span class="font_regular">I paused and wept as I read the details of her death, her pain deserving to be recognized and felt. </span></p>
<p><span class="font_regular">It was a reminder of something important that I learned long ago, that we never really know what is going on in the hidden recesses of another person’s heart. </span></p>
<p><span class="font_regular">I remember well the first time that I learned this. My heart still winces at the memory. I was 13 years old and 600 miles from home, sitting in a chain restaurant surrounded by my family. A moment often passes before we realize the gravity of it. </span></p>
<p><span class="font_regular">I remember looking over at my cousin who was seated several seats down from me and thinking <em>no one in here knows</em>. No one knew that she was in survival mode. Internally shattered and unsure of how she would ever go on. Her infant son had died unexpectedly just days before. It seemed to me that for a pain so great, t<em>he whole universe should know</em>. </span></p>
<p><span class="font_regular">I remember the neon signs in that place. The buzz of activity around us and the way grief hung thick in the air while we all strived for some sense of normalcy. Even back then, the realization that no one else in that place knew of her pain made me want to be kinder to people. </span></p>
<p><span class="font_regular">We all experience suffering to varying degrees. No one is exempt. And we all are required to pick up the pieces and move forward in this complicated thing called life. I try to live conscious of the fact that you never really know what is going on in another person’s life. It doesn’t always change the way I interact with others, but it should. Because the next person I encounter could be going through hell on earth. </span></p>
<p><span class="font_regular">Small acts of mercy and kindness matter. Not assuming that someone’s behavior towards me is personal matters. My every response towards others can alleviate or add to their suffering. </span></p>
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<p style="text-align: center;"><span class="font_regular">“Leave people better than you found them.” ~Marvin J. Ashton </span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span class="font_regular"><em><strong>In memory of M.B. and Samuel</strong></em></span></p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/45613672017-01-23T22:10:27-05:002021-08-18T11:13:31-04:00Why Failure Is Important<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/ef5eef3df7bc8af24f529485c1284c3c24246198/medium/wrestling-youth.jpg?1485226787" class="size_m justify_left border_" />I have never really been into sports. I’ve tried. But it’s just not my thing. That was until my middle son began his first year of wrestling. It’s an <em>intense</em> sport. Suddenly, I became that mom that is on my feet clapping, cheering and shouting from the bleachers. No one has to guess who’s kid is on the mat. I didn’t even know I had it in me. But there are few things as adrenaline producing as standing face to face with your adversary ready to dual in what has to be one of the most full contact sports there are. Just sit there and watch? No way. Impossible.
<p>Winning can be addictive and it was at a recent tournament that our previous winning streak came to a screeching halt. <em>Double ouch</em>. The look of defeat on my son’s face was tough to absorb. Especially considering he went in so determined to win. I told him what my head knew and my heart was trying to believe, <em>you can’t appreciate winning if you never lose. </em></p>
<p>That same night, I witnessed a perfect example of this truth. A kid from an opposing team got on the mat for one of the most lengthy and intense matches I’ve witnessed. I don’t think anyone could have predicted who the winner would be. And in a moment of seeming and sure defeat, this kid surprised everyone by stealing the victory and pinning his opponent to the mat. I wish I could play you a video of the moment the referee held this kid’s arm in the air symbolizing his win. I don’t know him and I don’t know his story. But I can tell you by the reaction of his mother in the stands that this was the first match he had won. <em>Ever</em>. She dropped her face in her hands and ….sobbed. Happy tears that were a celebratory response when all you’ve known in life is loss and defeat. It was one of the most emotionally charged moments I have ever witnessed. For him, winning was by far the best thing that could have happened that night. </p>
<p>But losing is an equally important thing. I witnessed another scenario unfold that night that caught me off guard. It involved another kid who lost his match. And he did not handle the loss well. When it came time to shake the hand of his opponent who defeated him, he not only refused, he swatted his hand away. For him, winning would have been the worst thing that could have happened that night, because a crucially important part of life is learning that sometimes you will lose. </p>
<p>J. K. Rowling has a quote that says, <strong>“It is impossible to live without failing at something, unless you live so cautiously that you might as well not have lived at all-in which case, you fail by default.” </strong></p>
<p>Everyone experiences failure at some point. I think of my own failures in life and what they have taught me. Some small and rather insignificant and others of academy award winning size. My failures have been my greatest teachers, each one holding a valuable life lesson I needed to learn. </p>
<p>Aside from the obvious lessons of what not to do, failure has taught me that <em>setbacks are only momentary</em>. That’s <em>if</em> you choose to rise again and fight. And I don’t say that as some cheap motivation because let’s face it, some setbacks are <em>hell</em> to recover from. But it is possible. </p>
<p>Failure has taught me <em>humility</em> and most importantly, humility<em> without </em>feeling<em> </em>shame. </p>
<p>It taught me to <em>celebrate</em> others when they win, even when it’s my turn to lose<em>. </em></p>
<p>It has taught me <em>endurance</em> and the ability<em> to suffer well</em>. It put resilient strength in my weak places. </p>
<p>Watching my son walk off the mat, shoulders slightly slumped, but only enough that I would notice….<em>not easy</em>. But deep down I knew that it was good for him. I knew it would better prepare him for life in a way that I don’t want to shield him from. <em>Because failure is important.</em></p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/45333932017-01-01T20:36:17-05:002019-06-02T00:15:07-04:00Today Is All You Have<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/69faba876c7d1ac5f24cd976fbe4da592b0046cb/medium/img-20150815-163024.jpg?1483320937" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
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<p>I always find myself more pensive than usual on New Year’s Eve. I say more so than usual because I tend to ponder and over think most everything. But on this particular day of the year, I experience a heightened sense of awareness that another year of my life is coming to an end and a new one is on the verge of unfolding. The only thing separating the past year and the year to come is a few hours on the clock and a massive ball that drops in New York City. I reflect upon the 365 days that have once again passed too quickly. Moments wrapped up in a beautiful collision of experiences that were exhilarating, some painful and some challenging. Moments that I will never walk through again in my life. Not the exact same moments anyway. They are like photographs captured in my memory now. </p>
<p>Tomorrow morning I will awake with the next year before me like a blank canvas waiting for the first stroke of the brush. I often think of the lyrics to one of my favorite songs by the alternative rock band, Switchfoot. The song is titled "This Is Your Life,” the premise being that today is all you have and a chorus which asks, “This is your life, are you who you want to be?” It takes guts to ask yourself that question. It’s an honest, vulnerable question which opens the possibility and exposure that the answer might be no. And no is a tough reality check. It means acknowledging that <em>no, I am not who I want to be</em>. Or <em>n</em><em>o, I am not where I thought I would be at this point in my life. </em>And the answer to one question often leads to another question that begs to be asked. Because if the answer is no, then I must ask myself, <em>“What am I going to do about it?” </em></p>
<p>I do believe that most people who find themselves dissatisfied with their life deeply desire change. But let’s face it, change is far from easy. Mostly because of the well known idiom, Old habits die hard. And oh do they ever. Any pattern, situation or dysfunction can become normal. And I do mean anything. You might be surprised at what the human psyche can adapt and adjust to. But difficult does not mean impossible and we don’t have to resign to life as it currently is. </p>
<p>There are many things I want to be in life.<em> More present. More intentional in things that really matter. More relational. More authentic. More gentle with myself</em>. That’s the short list. </p>
<p>But all these things I want more of will require less of something else. A recent retweet of mine was a quote (the original author I am unsure of) that said, “anytime you say yes to one thing you’re simultaneously saying NO to an infinite number of others." </p>
<p>More of the things I want will require a list of less. <em>Less busyness. Less noise. Less of a schedule I can’t keep up with. Less of the mindless Facebook scroll. Less defined by the opinion of others. </em></p>
<p>Yes….I’ll take a Venti size of…..<em>Less</em>. </p>
<p>Because before I know it, I’ll be sitting at New Years Eve of 2017 with 365 more days that I will never get back. One of my favorite authors is a guy named James. And he just so happens to be the brother of Jesus. In one of the best books ever written, James says, “What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes.” </p>
<p>In other words, as quickly as a mist appears and then disappears, <em>that is your life. That is my life.</em> There are a lot of things I can live with. Mostly because I have to. I can live with failures and past mistakes. Because I know that I am incredibly and frustratingly human. <strong><em>But I don’t have to live with my life passing like a vapor and wishing I could redo my one and only life. I can choose to reflect and change in the here and now.<br><br> </em></strong>Are you who you want to be and if not, what are you going to do about it? Cheers to becoming who you really want to be…..Happy New Year.<br><br> </p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/45255012016-12-25T21:49:57-05:002022-03-10T01:45:34-05:00The Poverty of Loneliness<p style="text-align: center;"><span class="font_regular"><strong><em>"The most terrible poverty is loneliness and the feeling of being unloved." </em></strong></span><span class="font_regular"><strong><em>~Mother Teresa</em></strong></span><br> </p>
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<p>I recently stood at the bedside of someone who was dying. I wish I could tell you that I sat, but just moments before, I stood in the doorway, hesitant to even go in. Although fully aware that sometimes words are not necessary, I still felt the heaviness of the moment and the anxiety of not knowing what to say. It made me feel wholly inadequate, but somehow, I mustered the courage and went in anyway. As the scene unfolded, we fumbled our way awkwardly through the moment. Me trying my best to understand him and him graciously tolerating my efforts. </p>
<p>I left his side, not knowing if I said the right things. But I do know that the greatest gift we can give to the world around us is not perfect words at the right moment, but the gift of presence and acknowledgment. It's a gift that says much even when a few words are exchanged. It means ….. </p>
<p><em>I see you in your pain and suffering. </em></p>
<p><em>You matter. </em></p>
<p><em>You are important to me. </em></p>
<p>I think of the people who have had the most significant impact during some of the most challenging seasons of my life. They are people who consistently showed up. Even when they completely blundered their attempts. Their efforts alone reminded me that I was cared for and not alone in my journey. </p>
<p>Two summers ago, I visited Miami Beach. It's one of those places in the world where vast wealth and poverty coexist in one location. Not like the safe suburbs, I grew up in where you had to cross town and the tracks to experience deprivation. On one side of the beachfront strip are suites which cost more per night than the average 6-month annual income. On the other side of that strip is a tree-lined park with homeless individuals who have set up camp. The disparity is unsettling and not something my heart easily reconciles. </p>
<p>On one of our daily walks to the beach, my husband made eye contact with one of the homeless gentlemen who was sitting on the grass. Without much forethought, he said a casual hello. The man smiled and returned the greeting. But the look in his eyes is not one I will soon forget. </p>
<p>He looked….<em>shocked</em>. </p>
<p>The thought wrecks my heart. Not because of his current situation or because of the past events that may have led him there. Yes, that too is heartbreaking. </p>
<p>It wrecked me that he seemed shocked that someone made eye contact with him. Shocked that someone took the time to notice his existence. I wonder how many tourists passed him day in and day out, never even bothering to look at him. Or how long it had been since someone took a moment to say hello. A hello that held so much more than just 5 letters. A hello that meant I see you. I acknowledge your existence and your worth as a human being. </p>
<p>When I was in the 6th grade, I did a research paper on Mother Teresa. I have always been fascinated by her heart for people. Canonized as a Saint in 2016, her life goal was to aid "the unwanted, the unloved, the uncared for." I can't think of anyone who more closely emulated the life and teachings of Jesus. I may never go to the slums of Calcutta, India, and care for the destitute, but daily, I am surrounded by people who have been dropped in life. People who feel unwanted, unloved, uncared for. </p>
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<p>Statistics have shown that one in five people experience persistent loneliness. I have been the one in five before, and I have also been the one guilty of contributing to the loneliness. </p>
<p>As the holidays come and go and the gifts under the tree are torn open, I realize these are not the most important gifts I can give to the world around me. There are lonely and broken people all around me just waiting for someone to make eye contact and to be acknowledged. <em>If only I have the eyes to see and a heart that is willing to heal the brokenness.</em></p>
<p> </p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/44963802016-12-04T23:03:26-05:002019-06-02T00:04:39-04:00Bleeding Unaware<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/458ea4a122fbcd1ebc02ce5b955d221b8bbab9f1/medium/smashed-heart.jpg?1480909692" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
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<p>It is entirely possible to go through life bleeding and unaware. I learned this once on a jog through my old neighborhood with the historic homes and the winding road with the steep incline. Seven years had passed since I last saw the house that held so many memories that were dear to my heart. Memories of finding Spiderman in the fish tank, curiously placed there by my two-year-old with his sandy colored hair and heart full of wonder. Or the time Nibbles, our hamster, got loose and barely escaped death when we found him burrowed in the corner of the basement step, luckily before the cat did. <em>I loved that house</em>. I loved the memories of my children that filled it. I loved the dining room painted <em>Sweet Annie</em> green. I loved the long fireplace mantle I would decorate at Christmas and the ceiling to floor length windows that flooded the house with light. </p>
<p><em>But what I loved most was the memory of my life before it was marred by tragedy and trauma. </em></p>
<p>I returned home from my run that day surprised to see a stain of blood on my sock. I didn't feel any pain during my jog and had no idea I was bleeding. It wasn't anything major, and I certainly wouldn't die from it, but the consuming pain I felt in my heart was another matter altogether. Looking back, it wasn't just at this moment. It was always there lurking in the background. Like a cloud that followed me around just waiting to storm. Like a smile that feels foreign. Like a black hole waiting to swallow me whole that I kept my distance from just to be safe. I was bleeding in the recesses of my soul and not just a slow trickle. It was a hemorrhage that left me anemic and unwell. I was walking through life with a bandaid covering a bullet wound, and I had no idea how to make the bleeding stop. </p>
<p>One of my favorite quotes by Norman Cousins says, "The tragedy of life is not death, but what we let die inside of us while we live." </p>
<p> <em>What we let die inside of us while we live. </em></p>
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<p>I see it all around me, I guess because pain recognizes pain. People who are bleeding from past wounds and aren't even aware. Like toilet paper stuck to your shoe or a coffee stain spilled on your shirt that you may be unaware of. Only with a greater consequence, affecting the people closest to you who see it and suffer the aftermath. The bleeding of being unable to trust, or waiting for the sky to fall because your pain has taught you that it always does. Or bitterness that sucks the air and all happiness out of the room. Or like anger that simmers beneath the surface waiting for the opportune moment to pay revenge on every person who hurt you in the past. </p>
<p>Learning to stop the bleed is a process and not an easy one, I must say. It means that I first acknowledge that I am still bleeding. It means that I recognize that I can never go back to the day before my said event. <em>Never</em>. And it's okay. It's okay because I am not defined by the worst thing that I've ever done or the worst thing that's ever happened to me. It's okay because God is able to redeem the most broken and scattered pieces of my life if I am willing to hand him the pieces. <em>But I must be willing. </em></p>
<p>So I learn to sit in the same room with it and not feel like I might die from the pain. I learn to carry it with me and not stumble from the weight of it. I learn to eventually talk about it with other people and share what I know to be true on this side of tragedy and heartbreak. </p>
<p>You don't have to just exist among the living. You can choose to live, and give yourself permission to stop bleeding.</p>
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<p> </p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/44584422016-11-09T11:44:31-05:002021-08-15T12:45:47-04:00The Fragile Mask I Hide Behind<p><span class="font_large"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/488b5a05da6739bf4346689e7a09cd8b996d7dee/medium/mask2.jpg?1478662877" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></span></p>
<p>When I was a little girl, I dreamt of what I would be when I grew up. A mom of three children. And why three, as if this were the magic number, I don't know. I also wanted to be a teacher. Probably because of my second-grade teacher, Ms. Sotello. She was gentle, kind, beautiful, <em>and</em> ambidextrous. I wanted to be just like her. As I grew out of childhood and became a teenager, my desire to be a teacher faded. During a year of volunteering at a local hospital, I decided I wanted to go to nursing school. And so I signed up for nursing school that fall and spent the next three years eating and breathing textbooks filled with disease and how to assess and think critically.</p>
<p><br>It has been 15 years since I walked across that stage in cap and gown, stood smiling for graduation pictures and thought to myself, this is my forever career. I feel like I've lived a whole lifetime of events since that day. A marriage, three births, divorce, remarriage, several moves, loss of loved ones, and a personal tragedy that altered and reshaped my life. </p>
<p><br>It is only recently that I've realized how much of my identity was tied up in my title as a nurse. It's the one thing I always found myself mentioning when describing myself. It gave me a sense of feeling smart. Competent. Accomplished. Worthy. It's as if at some point in my life, the world taught me that my identity was defined by what I accomplish. I have seen that manifest in a hundred different unhealthy ways in my adult life. I also realize it's not the only mask I hide behind at times. </p>
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<p><br>Most of us have that <em>one</em> thing. Or maybe you have many. If you don't believe this, ask the people in your life to identify themselves using 3 words. Often, the most popular responses will be life roles. Wife. Mother. Husband. Job title. Or something they are good at. Writer. Singer. Athlete. Sales. But is our identity really defined by these fragile things? What happens when the children grow up and leave home? Or when the job is lost? Or the thing you were so good at, you are no longer able to do? We should be careful to identify ourselves by things that can be taken away. </p>
<p>Have you ever met someone who is entirely comfortable in their own skin? No pretense. No charades. Not overly confident, but acutely aware of their own faults, weaknesses, and strengths. Let me tell you, I have. And it's utterly unnerving. It's also awe-inspiring and rare. These are the people we feel like we can be our authentic self around. They are invaluable, and we should surround ourselves with them. <br>In my own life, I have found that it's much more difficult to unlearn something than it is to learn it. But if there's anything in life I want to unlearn, it's that my identity is defined by accomplishments and titles. Instead, it is determined by truths that don't change based on circumstance or behavior.</p>
<p>The truth that I am worthy. I am accepted. I am enough. <em>And so are you</em>. It is only when we begin to believe this at heart level that we can live the authentic lives we were created to live.</p>
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<p> </p>Everything is Importanttag:everythingisimportant.com,2005:Post/44566822016-11-07T21:21:03-05:002021-08-12T12:01:59-04:00A Beautiful Pain<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/229030/33228a54061b51689f3e96c6f83581970558d917/medium/beautyinpain.jpg?1478570911" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
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<p>"I'm in pain, but it's a beautiful pain" was the recent response I received when I asked a loved one how they were feeling after surgery. I could tell from the response that the pain post-surgery paled in comparison to the pain experienced before. This new pain was welcomed in a sense. </p>
<p>In my own life, the discomfort has often been a beautiful gift in disguise. <em>A beautiful pain</em>. Like the time I went to the doctor to hear my baby's heartbeat at thirteen weeks and walked out of the office with my own heart shattered. A perfectly formed baby on the ultrasound, but yet something wasn't right as I stared at that screen and held my breath. The baby was completely still and there was no illumination signaling blood flow or a heartbeat. </p>
<p>No reason or satisfactory explanation. No ability to understand or make sense of it. Only an empty womb and a due date that is now an anniversary. But now I look at my healthy baby girl born less than a year later, and I have made peace with the pain. It's a bitter memory that I will not forget, but the sting of it has dulled. I would walk through that journey a thousand times over knowing that it led to the present tense I live in now. </p>
<p>The truth is that no one wants the gift of pain, and no one welcomes it. If I were to tell my children that I'm going to give them the gift of pain for Christmas, it would not go over well. Western culture, in particular, has a tendency to avoid suffering and will go to extremes to alleviate it, hence a society that is in massive debt and saturated in addiction. </p>
<p>We say one-liners to the bereaved that are anything but helpful because of our own inability to enter the suffering and make room for it. We say things like, " they are in a better place" or "at least they aren't suffering anymore" or my personal favorite (note the sarcasm), "it was part of God's plan." </p>
<p>Pain is associated with suffering which is derived from the Latin word "ferre", meaning "to bear or to carry." If I bear something, it means I suffer patiently. It means, "I'm in pain, but maybe...just maybe, it's a beautiful pain." Maybe someday I'll look back and realize that today's pain is necessary for the unfolding of my tomorrow. Maybe the pain I feel right now is about who I'm becoming because let's face it, without some pressure, we would often remain stuck and the same. Maybe the pain I feel now is a gift and maybe I need to be careful in saying that I don't want it. <em>Because the pain I forfeit today might be a gift that I forfeit tomorrow.</em></p>
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<p> </p>Everything is Important