going dark
It’s 5:28 AM, so I know this isn’t gonna be my best work. (Let’s be honest. It could be 5:28 PM and I still know it wouldn’t be my best work. But, as always, that’s another post for another day…)
My heart feels wonder-y and wander-y. But it’s probably best I keep this short and sweet. (Like me. Heh.)
I’m going off the grid.
Unplugging.
Disappearing for a little while.
I hope to gain a little clarity for the deep, muddy waters of my heart. I hope I trade some of my fear in on some more faith. I hope I come back crying less and laughing more. I hope I learn more of what it means to love well and be loved. I hope I find strength in becoming more dependent on Him.
I hope I return with something worth saying. A compelling passion to say it. And a clearer voice to say it with.
I’m going dark.
In search of some Light.
one word: one thing
I’ve had so many conversations in the past month about our One Words. On Twitter. Via email. In person. One on one. As a group. It’s been incredible. Really. Absolutely incredible.
I’m amazed that people are even still thinking about it, never mind talking about it. Not in the pat-myself-on-the-back sorta way, because I assure you I am well aware that I have very little to do with it. I’m just astounded at the ways — big and small — that God continues to use this in people’s lives. Including my own.
I think maybe every 3 months I’ll put up one of those linky things again so we can easily read “official” updates from each other. But I really hope you’ll blog pretty often about how your word is shaping you.
We all know that “two are better than one” and that there is great power in community. Team up with one other One Worder to journey together this whole year. That will look different for each pair, but you could regularly check in with each other, ask specific questions, pray faithfully for one another, send verses and encouragement, etc. It could be someone you know online or someone in your local area. If you want to find someone to team up with, a good start would be to read through the posts linked up on our community page.
Someone asked me the other day if it was too late to choose a word. Of course not! If you haven’t yet, quiet your heart and listen for the word God is whispering to you. If you already have your word, encourage someone to join you. Pick one person you know and specifically invite them to join you in this challenge for the rest of the year.
28 days in, I still find myself actively looking. One specific thing I’m doing is to end each day by thinking through how I saw and experienced God that day. Some nights it’s easier to recall than others. As for tonight?
I looked for God today. I saw Him in a friendship that is so beautifully comfortable. There in that exhale for my heart, He was unmistakably present.
What is one specific thing you are doing to stay focused on your word?
the one where i put it all out there
People have told me I was brave for moving to Africa when I was 19. But I didn’t feel brave. I’m pretty sure it was more foolishness and naivety (with a little faith mixed in) than it was bravery.
I didn’t look at what I was doing as being anything special. It was frightening in some ways, sure. But I wasn’t setting out to be Mother Teresa. I didn’t think I was embarking on anything pat-on-the-back worthy. I was simply following my heart. And outsiders called that bravery. Courage.
I’m sitting here tonight with a lump in my throat.
Moving home from Africa after 13 years is demanding far more courage than it took to move there.
More courage than I have.
I am most certainly not brave. I cry painful, ugly tears at the thought of needing to make a whole new life for myself. The smallest of things feel insurmountable to me right now. And the biggest of things… Well, they sit heavily on my chest and make it impossible for me to breathe.
Like a landslide, the only dream I’ve ever had just completely washed away. I didn’t have a “back-up plan” tucked in my pocket for a rainy day. I didn’t have a secret wish of “If I weren’t a missionary, I’d do THIS with my life”. I was doing exactly what I always wanted to do.
And now it’s gone.
I feel as though my heart may not have another dream left in her.
I am scared. And I feel alone (even though I am well aware of the amazing people God has given me in my life). And my heart feels hollow.
Dreamless.
Passionless.
Paralyzed.
I’ve been told to embrace the idea of a clean slate. The world is my oyster. I can do anything I want to do.
While I appreciate the heart behind those statements, please—I beg you—spare me the rhetoric. Please hang onto your two cents and your platitudes. It’s not as easy as just “deciding what I want to do next”. Maybe it should be. But it isn’t.
I want to dream again. I want to hope. I want to breathe in deep. I crave it… but I also fear it.
I need courage to face my fears. To trust one more time. To hope again.
I need to courage to speak. To be vulnerable. To be really me.
I need courage to put one foot in front of the other. To believe it’s going to be ok. To look for His hand.
I need courage to grieve. To bury. To walk away.
I need courage to embrace wholeness. To dream again. To start over.
I need courage.
I. Need. Courage.
four-minute friday: 1000
Go.
I realized today that this is my… drum roll please… 1,000th post!
I can’t believe I’ve been at it for this long. 5 years of blogging. 1000 posts. And someone (many someones, really) actually shows up to read it. I will never cease to be amazed.
That, to me, is the significance of the number. Not 1000 posts of my words, but 1000 posts of yours. Because what makes The Grit what it is, isn’t what I have to say. It’s what goes on in the comments.
Encouragement. Prayer. Friendship. Family. Love. Laughter.
I am so grateful that you are here. That you come, however often that may be, and cozy up on our big ol’ Glorious couch. You listen to my threadbare heart (and even my ridiculous confessions), and you share your heart in return. Joys. Griefs. Struggles. Victories. All poured out over hot frothy beverages and fleece blankets. (Or you know, through laptop screens and keyboards. Whatever.)
You have made this sacred space feel like home.
Comfortable. Warm. Welcoming. Safe.
And I can only hope you’ve found as much solace, healing, and strength here as I have.
Happy 1000, friends!
Done.
something’s gotta give
Two years ago, when my husband confessed to an 18-month affair, I didn’t think things could get any worse.
And then he filed for divorce.
And I had to close the ministry I launched 13 years ago.
And I had to give up my home, my car, almost all my possessions, and move back to America. Where I currently am living out of a suitcase, in people’s guest rooms, with no income and no plan.
I’d say Transition has slapped me around pretty good.
And, the bully that he is, Transition won’t leave me alone.
Change is my only constant. And I’ve gotta be honest…
I hate it.
It makes me want to scream. It makes me cry ugly tears. It makes me want to cuss.
I’ve lost so much — am still losing so much — to unrelenting Transition.
And — sigh — I don’t think I’ve handled it very well. I haven’t carried myself very gracefully through these changes.
I’m pretty sure I allowed Transition to steal my faith, hope, and joy along with everything else.
Something’s gotta give…
I ended 2010 so ready to kick the year to the curb. But at the stroke of midnight, things didn’t miraculously change.
And now, I find myself looking around, wondering where’s the “new” in the new year. Everything’s still the same. Only the calendar’s different.
Transition’s still taking a wrecking ball to my life. Hope still seems scarce. Tears I didn’t know I had left, keep coming. The hard days continue.
And I know they will.
So I made the decision to look for God’s hand in the midst of the hard.
My eyes have been blindfolded by Transition for too long.
I want to actively search for God in my brokenness. Seek out His beauty in my pile of ashes. Face the continual tide of change on my tip-toes, looking for God where I haven’t seen Him before.
I haven’t quite mustered up the strength to steal back my faith, hope, and joy. But I’m at least going to start looking for them. Which is more than I’ve done in a long time.
I can’t stop change from coming. I cannot.
But I can choose to remember that He holds my ever-changing life in His never-changing hand.
Take that, Transition.
Originally posted as a guest post on Refine Us >
i am not an island
After a decade in Africa, I finally had a friend fly out to spend a few months with me. I’d had friends visit before, but only for a couple weeks at a time. If that. But I got the gift of Natalie for two solid months.
She stayed with me in my house. We ate meals together and paused for coffee breaks during the day. We went on walks and took leisurely lunches. We filled our time with laughter and tears and hearts.
We did life together.
And then she left.
I’d moved to Africa at 19. My entire adult life was spent an ocean away from my closest friends. And I’d suddenly gotten to do everyday life with one of them for two months straight.
It’s one thing to miss something you’e never really had. It’s another thing entirely to miss something once you’ve experienced it.
When Natalie left, my heart felt an ache like it never had before. I missed having a close friend in my everyday life.
And when I voiced that to a loved one, I was told I’m not spiritual enough.
“You shouldn’t hold people that closely. Jesus should be enough for you.”
Along with so much of my Christian upbringing, a Biblical truth was distorted into something it was never intended to be.
Yes, Jesus is absolutely more than enough for me. I don’t doubt His all-sufficiency. (Well, sometimes I live like I do, but that’s a whole other blog post for a whole other day…) Jesus is enough for my salvation; He alone should be my source of hope and purpose and value.
In typical God fashion, there exists this paradox in our faith:
God is enough for me. But God also created me for relationships.
I was not made to be an island. I was not intended to live life alone. I believe part of the enough-ness of my relationship with Christ comes from my relationships with others. He wants me to bare my heart to people. To be real. To love deeply and be loved deeply in return.
I want to love hard.
To miss to the point of tears.
And I want to be loved and missed that much in return.
Because in the context of that kind of intimacy, I learn so much about intimacy with Christ. I grasp more of His love. I discover different sides of His character.
My heart hurts from yet some more recent goodbyes, but I welcome that ache because of all it tells me… about love, and value, and relationship.
And I realize anew the longing in God’s heart…
For me.
Originally posted at Deeper Story…
a deeper story
One of my favorite descriptions of God is that He’s the author and finisher of my faith. I love words. And I express my heart through these typed letters on the screen. So it makes me smile to think of God having that same passion.
He is the author of my faith. The author of me.
He is writing my story.
I’m just watching it unfold before my eyes. Watching the path appear before my feet, written into existence by the hand of God.
He is the perfect author. He needs no editor. He needs no second draft. He needs no backspace. He writes it perfectly the first time.
Author and finisher. No abandoned writing projects. No half-hearted attempts. No arms-in-the-air, “I quit!” moments.
He finishes what He starts. Completely. Thoroughly.
He is writing my story all the way to the end.
He’s writing yours too. Everything that’s been and all the chapters you have yet to see… all crafted by the creativity of His mind, the unbridled love of His heart, and the mighty providence of His hand.
And because He’s writing them (and we’re not), there is power in our stories.
They are meant to be shared.
Life is found in that place where hearts are laid bare. Sermons set aside, opinions thrown to the wind… No soapboxes, only stories.
Jesus loves to multiply meager offerings.
And like the loaves and fish, He transforms our brokenness to create new life. In us. In others.
But first we must hold out our hands.
Open our hearts.
And surrender our stories.
I’m offering my lowly lunch to Jesus along with some other incredible women on a new site called A Deeper Story. Together, we’re holding out the simple stories of our lives, trusting Him to make something beautiful and life-bearing from our menial crumbs.
A Deeper Story just launched this week. Will you come hang with us?
brOKen
I’m whole even though I’m broken.
It seems like a contradiction, but so does most of what Christ calls us to. The last will be first. The servant is the greatest. Give and you’ll have enough.
The paradox of faith doesn’t make sense in my logical head. I guess that’s what makes it faith.
I’m flawed. Imperfect. Shattered.
I’m wounded and marred.
But I am still whole.
Because He made me whole.
Complete. Adequate. Sufficient.
I am enough because I AM is enough.
Long ago, a friend reminded me that I may be broken, but I am ok.
brOKen.
When I let Him fill up my cracked places and shine through my impurities, I am brokenly whole. Wholly broken.
There is beauty in my ashes. Life in my death. Light in my darkness. There is triumph in my tragedies. Strength in my vulnerability.
No matter what labels others stick on me — or even that I stick on myself — His banner over me is love.
I am loved.
I am His.
All my broken bits and shattered pieces.
Whole and complete, in Him. Not in the fulfillment of my dreams or in the relationships I cherish. Not in the work of my hands or my strivings for perfection.
Whole and complete, in Him.
I’m forcing myself to “lift my eyes”. To look Him full in the face. To let my brokenness dissolve in the restoration and redemption that can only come from His hand.
I want to let Him love me to shalom.
Where I can be broken and more-than-ok all at the same time.
brOKen.
when life is hard
Life is hard right now.
I let out a “Heh” (with an eye-roll) as I write that, because “right now” has spanned the past two years. No, make that four years. But my immediate right now is still just… really hard.
It’s dark. Dry. Barren. Cold. Unrelenting.
I’ve endured more transition in these few years than I could ever imagine facing in a lifetime. An unfaithful spouse. A divorce (which still isn’t final). The forced-closing of the ministry I pioneered. The loss of my home. Moving back to America after 13 years in Africa.
And those are just the big things. Each one brings with it a myriad of “small” losses and griefs and heartaches. Even now, I feel a thousand aches from the thousand small things that happened this week alone.
I’ve been through the ringer.
The trouble is? There’s still no end in sight.
My days remain filled with the details of closing Thrive. Thirteen years, sixty staff members, thousands of supporters, and a ministry that spanned two continents doesn’t wrap up easily.
And as each loose end gets tied, I have yet another breakdown. I feel like I should be grateful for the bit of relief and closure that comes with each segment of finality, but instead… they just rip open the raw wound of my broken heart.
Again.
I have lost everything.
And in some moments I feel like “everything” includes my head. And my heart.
I’ve lost me.
And I’m not quite sure how to find me again. I’m not even sure I have enough fight left in me for the search.
So it was with agonizing tears that I committed to look this year. To look for hope. For light. For Him. For me.
To look for life.
It hurts just to open my eyes. The sting of grief and the brace for more disappointment makes me wince. But I told Him I’d look. Though it hurts. Though I may not like what I see. Though I may be scared… I will look.
And He assures me I will find.
I’d settle for feeling found.
holy crap!
I’ve gotta be honest with you.
I never expected One Word to explode the way it did!
It has taken me completely by surprise. Overwhelming in the best of ways!
I wasn’t trying to start a movement. Or a revolution. Or … anything really. I don’t propose to have “invented” the idea or to be the first person to choose a solitary word to focus their life on.
I was simply sharing my commitment to live the next 365 days through the lens of a single word, just like I did before. And I invited my friends to join me.
To my amazement, the next thing I know… my inbox is being lit up by blog comments and Twitter follows and sign-ups on that linky-thing! CRAZY! Even now, all I can do is shake my head because it’s just that wild!
And it kept exploding…
A friend coined an “official” Twitter hashtag and created an online Daily Paper to track everyone’s blog posts. Another friend bought the domain OneWord2011.com and made it link to my site. Yet another friend set up a Facebook page for those who don’t do the Twitter thing.
Un-be-frickin-lievable!
And so incredibly humbling.
I don’t know why it resonated more strongly and spread more widely this year than last. I honestly don’t. But it has. And it’s still growing.
And it excites me and scares me all at the same time.
The power to influence one another’s lives as we pursue our One Words together is astounding. There is enough momentum to keep everyone focused and moving forward all year long. People are praying for each other, encouraging one another, brainstorming practical ways to live out their words. Iron is sharpening iron, and it is absolutely mind-blowing to watch and be part of. It’s exciting! Really, really exciting.
The fear comes in because of all my insecurities. They are many. And they run deep. I also feel totally unprepared for what happened. I don’t even know what that means or why that matters, but it kind of freaks me out. I’m scared of failure, rejection, having nothing to offer, being misunderstood… I’m scared. But I’m doing it afraid.
Because I know how significant my One Word was in my life last year. How choosing to risk shaped my life and my heart. And I want to live everyday this year looking. No matter what.
I want us all to live out our words well.
This is so much bigger than me. This is about community. Doing life together. Pushing one another to be more like Christ.
This isn’t about hype. Or hoopla. Or numbers. As exciting as all that may be.
This is about real, determined, intentional life-change.
And boy do I need me some of that!
