(It’s not too late to lace up your rollerskates and join in if you haven’t yet…)

I’ve had a blast reading all your comments. It’s been fun seeing all the creative ways you’ve responded, and I’ve learned tons of new things about you.

I’m astounded by all the lurkers who’ve come out of hiding.

I’m so glad you did. Seriously.

I appreciate knowing who I’m talking to everyday.

And now that you’ve officially de-lurked, hopefully you’ll start commenting more often. Because, I promise you, the best part of the Grit isn’t my posts.

The best part is the comments.

I cherish the community that takes place there. I value the conversations that unfold in that space. I am grateful for the safety and freedom you feel to be authentic and transparent.

In the comments, hearts are shared and connected.

It’s where I get to know you, and you are my favorite part of blogging.

Thank you for listening to my heart and for sharing yours. Thank you for walking with me through this valley, and for strengthening me with your prayers and encouragement.

Thank you for simply showing up.

I’m still amazed that you do.

Well, I’m calling an all skate at the Grit.

Everyone’s gotta comment on this one.

Even the silent-lurker types.

It’s time to de-lurk.

So here’s the all skate question:

In ten words or less, tell me who you are.

“He rescued me from my powerful enemy, from my foes who were too strong for me. They confronted me in the day of my disaster, but the Lord was my support.”

She reminded me that the enemy of my soul is ruthless.

He confronts me in the day of my disaster. He kicks me when I’m down. He comes at me from all sides when I’m feeling like I’m at my lowest.

I know she’s right. I’ve seen it. I’ve lived it.

While there are many Christians who blame the devil for far too much, I know I don’t blame him nearly enough.

I need to get better at recognizing his schemes.

I’ve got to realize sooner when he’s attempting to steal, kill, and destroy in my life.

I need to catch on quicker when he sends my heart spiraling with false accusations.

Because I can’t fight an enemy I don’t acknowledge.

And though I’ve been fighting, I haven’t actually been fighting against the enemy as much as I need to be.

So I’m gonna be talking to the devil more than usual today.

I’m gonna call him out for the thief and liar that he is. I’m gonna remind him of the truth God says about me. I’m gonna look him in the eye and declare, “Do not gloat over me, my enemy! Though I have fallen, I will rise.”

This battle’s not over yet.

And I’m staying in the ring.

Spring is nature’s way of saying…

It’s been one helluva week.

I’ve been crazy-emotional. I don’t feel well. I’m exhausted. I received some rough interesting emails. I have more to do than I have time to do it in or energy to do it with. I miss my friends. I’m desperate for a real hug.

And that’s the short list.

On top of which I went and did something crazy.

Posting about my new normal was by far the biggest risk I’ve taken this year.

I was scared of being that vulnerable; I was anxious about the responses that would come.

But then there was the hug in the form of a blog post about me that caught me completely off guard in the best way possible.

There were the phone calls, texts, emails, and comments I received from people who care deeply for me.

There was the “I love you” from God that came in the form of “I love you”s from people.

As this crazy-hard week comes to an end, I’m assured that I’m not alone.

He’s holding me tight.

And so are you.

Done.

I still make strange faces (and noises) without even realizing it. I still love deeply.

For the most part, I’m still the same me I was before my world shattered out from under my feet.

For the most part.

But there are a lot of ways I’m a different person than I was before my husband left me.

Emotional trauma changes us.

It changed me.

My life is forever split between before and after.

And after-me isn’t the same as before-me.

Some of the changes are healthy, good, freeing.

But many aren’t.

I “lived tired” before, but I still kept a fast (and full) rhythm in life and ministry. Now I simply don’t have the energy to keep even half that pace. I’ve taken living tired to a whole new level while doing far less in a day than I’ve ever done.

My heart is more tender and my skin is less thick. Things that shouldn’t hurt me, hurt me. My emotions are all over the place. I can spiral from high to low very quickly. And that scares me for a long list of reasons I’ll never be able to share in this space.

Trust has always been the Achilles’ heel of my life. But now I physically feel the fear of trusting in a way I can’t even begin to describe.

I get overwhelmed far easier. By to-do lists, emails, appointments, the pile of books I want to read… everything. It all just overwhelms me. And by overwhelm, I mean incapacitate.

I tell people I have Fuzzy Brain Syndrome. I lose my concentration. I’m constantly distracted. I can’t remember things—things I should remember. Things I want to remember. I so often can’t even think of the word I’m trying to say. Not just occasionally. Frequently.

I’m just not the same person I used to be.

And, to be honest, I don’t like who I’ve become.

I’m living with diminished capacity.

It’s frightening, frustrating, angering, and crazy-making all at the same time.

And I’m starting to think it might not be temporary.

Maybe this isn’t something I can bounce back from.

Maybe this is my new normal.

Which means I need to face yet another loss.

The loss of … me.

Of who I am. How I am.

Before I can accept who I’ve become, I need to grieve the loss of who I was.

I need to let go of before-me.

And trust that God can still make something beautiful out of after-me.

“They overcame him by the blood of the Lamb and by the word of their testimony.”

I’ve never really thought much about the phrase “word of their testimony” before now.

I think I always just took it to be synonymous with simply “their testimony”.

But there is a key difference.

Having a story of redemption and deliverance isn’t enough. It’s the telling of my story that brings victory.

As I put words to what God has done in my life, I continue to overcome.

But if I keep it to myself, God doesn’t get glorified in it and I don’t move forward in my own healing and restoration.

We have to put words to our testimony.

You’ve got a story to tell.

Tell it.

::blush::

Your turn.

The first two months of 2010—can you believe it’s the end of February already?!—have held lots of risks for me. Y’all remember that’s my one word focus for the year, right? (What? I’m living in Georgia. I can say y’all.)

My year of risk is well underway.

I went on vacation with a bunch of near-strangers.

I rappelled 100 feet into a Mexican canyon.

I’ve intentionally endured quite a few awkward situations.

But those have paled in comparison to the risks I’ve taken with my heart.

I’ve prayed risky prayers. I’ve been more authentic in the moment. I’ve wrestled with truly forgiving my wayward husband.

And as I look toward the horizon, there is a lot that makes me very nervous.

Like the six week ministry fundraising trip I’m embarking on this spring. By myself. It feels incredibly daunting after always having a wingman (who was also the extrovert and public speaker of the two of us).

I signed up for a half-marathon. Which I fear will be a health risk more than anything else. But I am determined to cross the finish line no matter what.

And I’m going to continue risking big with my heart. Although it hasn’t started getting any easier yet.

Your turn to check in.

How have you done with your one word?

I’d love to see us rally around each other to cheer one another on!

Done.

(It’s one of South Africa’s 11 official languages, in case you have no idea what I’m talking about.)

I can. Well, just enough to get me into trouble hold my own in a conversation.

I’m pretty rusty since I’ve been Stateside for over a year now. But apparently I can still speak it well enough to impress a South African.

I don’t remember how I first wandered over to The Gypsy Mama’s website, but I’m so glad I did.

She basically lives the inverse of my life—a South African living in America. And she’s a beautiful writer. Simply beautiful.

We moved from met-on-the-net to hugging-in-real-life when Lisa-Jo came out to my Starbucks meet-up in DC last November. And I couldn’t resist busting out some Afrikaans for the occasion. So fun to have someone to speak it with!

Well, Lisa-Jo gracefully rolled out the welcome mat for me over at her blog today. I’m honored to be her first guest poster (poster?) ever!

So come on over to hear about some differences between South Africa and America.

(Don’t worry. I wrote in English.)

And while you’re there, spread some Gritty love to The Gypsy Mama.

I’ll see you there!