faith

Farewell, Mandela

Nelson-Mandela-Madiba-gritandglory

It is the same with Mandela as it is with pretty much everything:

There is always more to the story than most of us want to acknowledge.

There is much that can be said about Mandela's past (and while we're at it, much can be said about mine and yours as well). His life wasn't one that always stood for peace, yet that is what he is most known for now. He is an undeniable example of the power we each have to change our own story. A life surrendered and transformed has unrivaled potential in the hands of our Creator.

Brené Brown said it perfectly:

“Owning our story can be hard, but not nearly as difficult as spending our lives running from it. If we own the story, then we can write the ending.”

Yesterday we mourned the loss of a great man who rewrote not only his own story, but that of the entire nation of South Africa. Mandela drew a line in the sand that forever changed the trajectory of a continent and inspired hope around the globe.

His life makes it impossible to deny the far-reaching ripple effect of even one solitary life, and his legacy reminds us that no one is ever too far gone for a second chance.

Farewell, Mandela. The world stands grateful...

I stand grateful...

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pleading not guilty

I was worried I'd grown numb to it. Maybe I'd become calloused. Hardened. Immune. Because poverty wasn't affecting me like it used to.

When I faced it as a teenager—on mission trips to places like Nicaragua and Botswana—my eyes and my heart were opened to things I never knew existed in the world. I was wrecked to discover such unimaginable and inescapable poverty, and it messed with me at a deep level.

I'd return home and make all kinds of extreme commitments. I vowed to be less materialistic. I took radical stances with my "self-absorbed" Christian friends. I soapboxed about America's obsession with excess. I volunteered more, and served wherever and whenever I could.

But as the aftershocks of my experiences with poverty wore off, so did my radical life changes. Until my next mission trip.

Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

It was a vicious cycle of the best intentions that did nothing more than fuel my need to continually strive to be better, do more, and—somehow, hopefully—be enough.

I'm not saying I didn't genuinely have compassion and conviction and passion to live a life that makes a difference. I did. But it translated into a guilt-driven reaction to the extremes I saw and experienced.

It was a nauseating roller coaster ride as I tried—and failed—to reconcile the poverty I witnessed with the life I lived everyday and to bridge the disparity between my abundance and their lack.

It was years after I moved to South Africa to serve in the poorest region of the country that I finally realized that those things can't be reconciled or bridged. The contrasts will never make sense.

And I mustn't allow my guilt to force-feed my insatiable striving complex. Nor must I allow it to paralyze me into inactivity or apathy.

I had finally learned to step off the roller coaster and actually engage in doing something that would truly make a difference. Not fueled by guilt, but by hope.

I realized that it isn't about being apologetic for what I have, giving everything away, or looking down on how much people spend at Starbucks. It is about stewarding what I have well, using it to serve, strengthen, and love others.

People often ask me how I could live and work for so long in a community of such dire poverty. "Do you just get used to it?" What they are really asking is the same thing I've asked myself: "Did you grow numb?"

And I see now that I didn't. But somewhere in my 13 years of living in Africa, something did change in me.

I stopped feeling guilty about what I had and the "luck" of being born an American, and I started to feel grateful to be part of the solution.

The problems and challenges are enormous, but we can all do something that makes a difference. In our own unique ways, with our own individual passions and talents, we can bring hope into places and hearts that gave up a long time ago.

Not because we feel guilty, but because we are compelled by the hope we ourselves have been given.

What's been your experience with responding to poverty? How can we move past guilt into being part of the solution?

{photos by Daniel White}

gallstones & ethiopia: an update

Some of you probably saw my updates on Twitter and Facebook last week, but I ended up in the ER early Thursday morning. With gallstones. Over 40 of them. o_O I didn't even know it was possible to accrue such a huge collection, but apparently it is. (And it's confirmed: I'm an overachiever.)

I took it easy for a few days until all the pain subsided, and I'm now back to normal. (Well, my normal). Surgery is scheduled for a few weeks from now and I've got meds to bring with me to Ethiopia in case I have another attack there. (Pray with me for that not to happen?)

We leave in a week. A week!

Oh, we are going to host a live Twitter Chat while we're in Ethiopia, and I don't want you to miss it. I figured I'd tell you now so you can mark it down on your calendar or sticky-note or whatever you do to try to remember stuff. Because this you need to remember!

1-Hour Live Twitter Chat with the FH Bloggers Thursday, July 12th 2 PM Eastern / 1 PM Central #FHBloggers

We're going to be answering your questions, sharing our experiences, and giving away local Ethiopian crafts. It's gonna be fun! Help us spread the word on Twitter and Facebook??

Click the text below to tweet it out:

Join the #FHBloggers in Ethiopia for a live Twitter Chat on July 12th! More info: http://bit.ly/N5DgXg

... ... ...

This video is a great introduction to Food for the Hungry. It's less than two minutes long, so push pause on life and watch this real quick:

 

... ... ...

Click here to see some of the beautiful children up for sponsorship in the communities I'll be visiting. For just $1 a day, you can make sure an Ethiopian child will receive meals, clean water, medical care, and education. More importantly, you can make sure a child knows he or she is loved, valued, and believed in.

Will you join me for the Twitter Chat on July 12th?

chasing community

When I chose to move to Nashville, I said it was "to chase down community". A year later, I'm still chasing it. From a young age, my closest friends lived far from me. I grew up attending a Christian school, but most of the time my morals, standards, and choices were very different than those of my classmates. (I'm pretty sure the fact I received the "Best Christian Witness" award every year says more about the student body as a whole than it does of me.)

So when I went on my first mission trip at 15, teaming up with teenagers from across the country to serve in Nicaragua for a month, I was blown away to discover others my age who strived to live with conviction and character. For the first time, I was surrounded by people who were passionate about following God, serving others, and pursuing a purpose greater than ourselves. I had found my tribe.

This was long before email and cell phones were commonplace, so we kept in touch by writing letters. We exchanged novel-length scribblings, sharing the mundane and the significant, and we did whatever we could to keep our friendship close despite the miles between us. We sent care packages, we made long-distance phone calls, we planned reunions.

Every summer, my next mission trip only further increased my amazing friendships all around the nation. There's something about the mission trip environment that fosters closeness quickly. We shared intense circumstances in close quarters in a short amount of time, and the friendships that were produced have spanned decades.

Then I moved to Africa at 19, again keeping in touch long-distance with those I was closest to. So in this new season of my life, having returned Stateside and, in every way possible, starting over, I knew I wanted to be somewhere I could be physically surrounded by friends. So I came to Nashville. To chase down community.

It's been beautifully rewarding in so many ways, but it's also been hard.

Community doesn't just happen. Friendships don't just forge (even when there's an immediate connection). It takes effort. It takes intentionality. It takes time, and heart, and risk, and trust. It takes chasing.

And sometimes, to be honest, I grow weary of the chase. At times it feels like an uphill climb — a fight, a struggle — to find where I belong. To discover where I fit. To figure out how to meld my life into a church and friendship community that existed long before I showed up. To integrate into already busy lives and full schedules. To feel part of a tribe again.

Even coming to a place where I already knew people (to some degree), it's still been just plain hard. And while at times my heart has felt disappointed or sad, ultimately I know it's okay. That the struggle is part of the process. I know friendships aren't just bippity-boppity-boo'd into existence. I know the investment — of time, of heart, of the chase — is so worth it.

And so I'll keep chasing, whatever that may look like on any given day. And I'll keep choosing to trust, no matter how hard it gets. The journey, even when long or difficult or unclear, is what matters most.

What's been your own experience with chasing down community?

out of africa

{Hello? Is this thing on? Can you even hear me over the sound of crickets?} Hi. It's been a while, I know. And while I could never do it justice, I'm gonna try to fill you in on the past couple months...

My first week or so in Africa seemed like an emotional roller coaster. Experiencing so many conflicting emotions, sometimes all at the same time, made my heart feel like she had whiplash. I was glad to be back, and yet familiar things brought equal measures of nostalgia and heartache. The acuteness of it all faded with each passing day. I feel like the length of my trip -- though long in every respect -- was a gift in that it gave me enough time for things to become "normal" again. In a way they hadn't felt in a long time.

I hit the ground running and was extremely busy with work. Long, full, tiring days were a distraction for my heart, which was both good and bad at times. And then, right when He knew I'd need it, God forced me to process rather than push it off.

I am a contributing author to a book being published in September. (Crazy, right?!) My portion of the manuscript had been turned in a month or so before I left, causing the editing process to fall smack in the middle of my time in Africa. Ummm... Wow. It was no coincidence that God had me revisit my memoir-style piece about following Him to and eventually from Africa while actually in Africa. It was h-a-r-d. So very hard. But so, so good.

I really enjoyed the whole editing process, though it was strenuous and heart-stretching in every possible way. I am excited about the new direction my writing took because I worked on it on my first trip back to Africa. And I am really thankful for the forced outlet of processing. My heart is stronger for it.

I had an amazing time with Love Botswana and Bridge for Hope. I am beyond grateful that I get to work with these incredible organizations, and I'm already looking forward to my next trip back to Southern Africa at the end of August.

I'm pretty sure my body has no idea what timezone I'm in. I arrived back in Nashville on Thursday. Less than 24 hours later, I hopped a plane to Oregon to surprise my Best Heart's Friend Cathi with a weekend visit. Her awesome husband helped me plan the whole thing so I could be there for their son's first birthday. Lincoln is my godson, and I didn't want to miss his big day! We had a blast of a weekend, filled with couch time and laughter and hugs and cake. What a gift it was to be there and to have my heart filled up with friends.

And now... I am really happy to be home in Nashville. I love to travel and feel crazy blessed that I get to, but I also love having a home to come back to. I'm a roots and wings girl after all.

From Africa to the west coast and now back in Central Time... Here's to the joys of jet lag (and NyQuil)!

Oh! I've been let out of Twitter purgatory! After 30 days -- with 7 support tickets filed and 0 contact from Twitter -- my account was reactivated just as randomly and explanationlessly as it had been suspended. So weird. (Thank you to all of you who implored the powers-that-be on my behalf!)

Well, I've got a suitcase to unpack and laundry to wash and a roommate to catch up on The Voice with. I'll talk to you again soon.

I promise.

the treasure of Christ

You know all of Jesus' "the Kingdom of heaven is like..." talks? I've heard them a lot, so sometimes I stop hearing them. But the other day I heard one of them with new ears. I was reading about the guy who found the treasure in the field.

"The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field. When a man found it, he hid it again, and then in his joy went and sold all he had and bought that field."

I've read that passage quite a few times in my life, but this time I saw something I'd never seen before. The man found the treasure and then hid it again. For the first time, I asked myself why he didn't just take it.

Selling his stuff and buying the field proved the value the treasure held for him.

It was worth more than petty larceny. It was worth all he had, and his actions demonstrated that.

Yes, he could have just pocketed the treasure, walked off with it and no one would have known. But he decided it was worth more than that.

Worth so much, in fact, that he hid it again, went and sold all his belongings, and then came back and bought the field.

He didn't buy the field for the field's sake. He bought it for the sake of the treasure.

The field had value only because of the treasure it held.

And I have value because of the treasure I hold---Christ in me, the hope of glory.

The treasure of Christ is freely mine for the taking, but if I truly value that gift, I will sacrifice to lay hold of it. To lay hold of Him.

Too many days I just pocket the Treasure. Or worse, I leave it buried.

I want my life to show the value I place on the Treasure that is Christ.

seek trust rather than understanding

Seek trust rather than understanding. Those are the words I've been hearing for weeks now.

I can't seem to shake them. But they are definitely shaking me.

Because I want to understand.

I want to know why. I want to see what's next. I desire answers and direction and clarity. I want things to make sense.

But God keeps reminding me that it's not for me to understand. It's only for me to trust.

He is calling me to trust Him when I can trust no one else.

To trust in His trustworthiness even though it doesn't play out the way I want it to or think it should.

To trust His heart even when I can't see His hand.

To trust in His constant unchanging character even when He seems inconsistent.

It's not for me to know or to figure it all out or to see clearer. It's not for me to have answers or confidence or surety. It's not for me to understand.

It's only for me to trust.

i'm talking to the devil

I had lunch with a friend a few weeks ago, and with tears in my eyes I told her I didn't know why I was having such a rough time. As we talked, she quoted this passage from Psalms: "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.

speak up

I keep thinking about this much-familiar verse--- "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.

even greater things

I've seen God do some incredible things through me in my lifetime. He used a poem I wrote as a nine-year-old girl to bring my separated parents back together.

On my mission trips as a teenager, He spoke through my faltering words to lead people to salvation.

I've stepped out in faith for eleventh-hour financial provision, and had money miraculously show up at the last minute.

In my early years of living in Africa, I rubbed cataracts out of a woman's eyes.

I saw a man's leg grow out six inches as I prayed over him.

I pulled a lame man to his feet and watched him take his first steps.

I get goosebumps just thinking about the amazing things God has done. And I feel humbled that He's chosen to use me.

But it all feels like ancient history.

It's been a very long time since God's done something supernatural through me.

But I know it's not because He's changed.

I think somewhere along the line, I stopped believing Him for the miraculous.

My faith grew dim.

I got "busy".

And I stopped actively trusting.

But I want my faith back. I want to trust Him for the miraculous again.

I want to trust Him for even greater things.

That feels like a huge risk right now. My battle-weary heart is scared to hope, to believe.

But every mighty move of God in my life has required an act of faith.

And, Lord knows, I need Him to move mightily.

Not just through me, but in me.

So I'm asking Him to strengthen my faith and fill me with the assurance that He is trustworthy.

Whether He ever does another miracle through my hands or not, I want to live with heart-risking trust that He can.

i'm still not sure about this one

I meet new people all the time. And there's often a point in the conversation that goes something like this:

OPTION A Them: Where are you from? Me: New York. Them: How'd you end up in Atlanta? Me: Well...

OPTION B Them: What do you do? Me: I'm the founder of a ministry in Africa. Them: Oh wow. What are you doing in Atlanta? Me: Well...

OPTION C A variation of A or B.

And then I have to try to follow the "Well..." with some sort of explanation.

It's got me thinking about the words I use to sum up my current life situation.

I'm short and sweet and to the point. I certainly don't unload my two-and-a-half-year heartache on them.

I don't answer with bitterness or anger or resentment. There is sadness in my words, for sure. There's grief in my eyes.

And I simply state the facts.

But now I'm wondering if I still say more than I actually should.

My six-sentence answer usually includes:

  1. I've been married for 9 years.
  2. My husband and I ran a ministry in Africa.
  3. He had an affair.
  4. He decided he wants a divorce.
  5. I'm living in Georgia for a season of restoration.
  6. I'll be going back to Africa.

And all of that is true.

But I wonder if I'm hiding behind #s 3 and 4. Because I feel like I have to mention the affair and point out that he left me.

But I wonder what my motive is.

My unconscious thought in that moment is that simply saying I'm going through a divorce leaves the question of why. And they might think I cheated. Or assume I'm the one who chose to leave.

So I seemingly take on a defensive position right from the get-go. I fight to maintain my image right from the start.

And maybe I shouldn't.

Isn't that just plain ol' ugly arrogance? Or at the very least, insecurity?

The fact that I am the head of a ministry adds to the complexity of this for me. I don't want people to wonder who left who when I'm asking them to trust me to lead Thrive.

But maybe I need to let truth speak for itself.

And let God defend me.

Right from the get-go.

I don't know. I'm still trying to figure this one out.

coffee talk: authenticity & faith

coffee talk 3As I wrestle with the risk of being more authentic, I'm struggling to find the line between authenticity and faith. I grew up in churches filled with happy, plastic Christians.

They answer "How are you?" with "I'm blessed!"

They don't admit to being sick even when they are, saying instead that they are "healed in Jesus' Name!"

And though I can't judge their hearts, it always seems more fake than faith.

It seems like denial.

And hypocrisy.

The implication is that if things aren't going well with you, it's because your faith just isn't strong enough.

And that's crap.

But things can get out of balance the other way as well.

Under the banner of authenticity, a lot of people are just plain negative.

They complain. A lot.

They're always responding to "How are you?" with far too much information. They let it all hang out, even at times when they "shouldn't".

And they just chalk it up to being real.

So how do we balance faith and authenticity?

When is it time to be honest about where you're at and when is it time to speak words of faith?

Talk amongst yourselves.

risky business

I'm not the most daring person. I tend to lean toward comfortable and familiar rather than new and exciting. I usually order the same favorite meal anywhere I eat. I even describe myself as an "indoor girl".

I have done some things in my life that were adventurous. I whitewater-rafted the Zambezi. I zip-lined through an Alaskan rain forest. I pulled the cord on a bungee swing in Cape Town. I ate grub worms. (Okay, maybe that's not exactly adventurous. But it is pretty wild!)

And my bucket list includes a few more daring things I'd like to someday accomplish. But in general, I don't think many would describe me as a thrill-seeker.

So choosing to focus on risk this year feels, well, risky. Which, I suppose, was the whole point.

My choice to risk is all about active trust. I'm being intentional to trust God, others, and myself more.

I've already told you that I doubt myself more than I ever have before. But I have the Holy Spirit who guides me into all truth living inside me. I want to live like I actually believe that's true. I will get it wrong sometimes, this I know for sure. But I choose to trust the power of Christ in me and the discernment God's given me. And that can't happen without risk.

I know that trustworthy people will still, at times, betray my trust. Even the best of friends will hurt me. But I still want to risk more in trusting them. I desire to know others intimately and be known by them in that same way. And that can't happen without risk.

Trusting God more means exercising my mustard-seed-sized dollop of faith more than I have been. I want to actively rely on Him for strength and wisdom. I want to see Him work through me in greater ways than He has before. I want to trust Him to answer the silent prayers of my heart for the changes I desire in my own life. And none of that can happen without risk.

So I've decided to risk this year.

It's definitely gonna kick me in the pants in my relationships. And it's going to carry a lot of weight whenever I'm faced with a decision. And I've started praying for it, which is a risk in itself.

Trust is the Achilles' heel of my life, my very own thorn in the flesh. But I'm stepping into the ring by making the decision to risk more.

It's gonna make this year a whole different kind of hard.

But, once again, I choose the hard.

'Cause I'm risky like that.

Why did you choose your word for 2010? What are you doing to focus on it?

happy blogiversary to us!

Yesterday was my four-year blogiversary. I started blogging as a "let's see how this goes" way to keep a handful of friends and family updated on my life in Africa. But the opportunity to write personally in addition to all the writing I do for ministry made it quickly become a passion.

Then about two years ago, the Grit took on a life of its own.

It became the welcome mat that invited people into my life. I began developing real friendships. Conversations progressed from comments to emails. Then there were phone calls, and webcam chats, and even hugs.

Nobody was more surprised than I was.

And it surprises me still.

I have more friendships now than I ever have---real, raw, authentic friendships---and that blows me away. The sense of community that's been fostered here is one of the most unexpected blessings of my entire life.

My eyes fill with tears just thinking about how God's used you to carry me through this difficult year. I'm humbled and honored to call you friends.

I no longer blog simply to keep people updated on my life. And I certainly don't write just to throw words at you. Or to hear myself speak.

I come to the Grit for strength, support, encouragement, and community.

And I've never been disappointed.

Here's to you! Happy four years, friends!

i am only one, but i am one

aids ribbon"I am only one, but I am one.I cannot do everything, but I can do something. And I will not let what I cannot do interfere with what I can do." -Edward Everett Hale

Everyone can do something in the fight against AIDS. Don't let the enormity of the task keep you from doing the something you can do.

Learn as much as you can, discover what you're passionate about, and throw your full weight into that passion.

  • Discover which aspect of the AIDS crisis resonates with your heart. It will be different for different people, and that's okay! You may not know yet what you're passionate about in regards to fighting the AIDS pandemic. So begin by reading about the multi-faceted issues involved. Your heart will be gripped by something as you research. It might be orphan care, or medical intervention, or prevention/abstinence programs. Whatever it is, find your passion.
  • Find an organization that shares your passion. Again, this may take some digging. But there are plenty of solid ministries out there targeting the various aspects of AIDS.
  • Connect as much as possible with the cause/organization you believe in. The more you know and understand about their vision and strategies, the more you can be a megaphone for them.
  • Interact with the organization and its team. Visit their website, comment on their blog posts, ask for specific prayer requests. Passion grows when you truly become part of something. Family members have the same blood in their veins. Join the family. Get the vision coursing through you till you bleed it.
  • Use your voice and influence to promote the cause you believe in. You can do that through blog posts, sidebar widgets, twitter updates, and personal conversations. You could commit to a monthly megaphone day on your blog where you highlight different aspects of what’s being done, what the needs are, and opportunities for others to get involved.
  • Be passionate about it. Anyone can plug something, but passion is unmistakable. People will know how much you really believe in what you’re saying.
  • Pray. Prayer really does change things.
  • Contribute financially to support the work that's being done.
  • Get off your "but" and go. Drop the excuses and go see for yourself. Travel overseas to not only see the work in action but to participate in it. The best advocates are those who’ve been involved. And I guarantee it will change your life forever.

I’d love to hear your thoughts.

What are you currently doing to help in the fight against AIDS? What are you going to start doing? What other suggestions do you have for ways people can get involved?

thank God!

It's really hard for me to remain thankful in all things. In moments of disappointment, hurt, anger, frustration, impatience, whatever, it's often impossible difficult to lift my eyes and say, "I will thank You anyway." And as if that weren't a sufficient enough challenge, I'm not just instructed to be thankful in all things. I'm commanded to be thankful for all things.

"Always giving thanks to God the Father for everything..."

Sigh.

That means I need to live from a heart that readily says---

  • Thank You for my husband's infidelity.
  • Thank You for his decision to leave me.
  • Thank You for this loneliness.
  • Thank You for yet another high-pain day.
  • Thank You for the uncertainty and the unknowns.

I need to start thanking God for my "all things". Even before they work together for good.

Thanking Him even for what hurts and confuses me, develops trust. It helps me acknowledge that He's in control, and that He has even this---whatever this may be---in His hands. Thanking Him for what makes my heart ache, builds my faith.

And my faith sure needs building.

But, to be honest, I'm nowhere near there yet. I don't know when I'll be able to say with a sincere and genuine heart, "Thank You even for this."

But this week I am going to start praying, "Lord, I want to want to thank You, even for this..."

denying myself

Jesus said, "Deny yourself and follow Me." But instead, I've denied myself for everybody but Him.

I've sacrificed myself to follow my husband. To lead my ministry. For the sake of my family. For the love of my friends.

I've gotten really good at self-sacrifice. So good, that I readily throw myself under the bus to keep peace. I take responsibility for others' wrongdoing when they're not willing to own it themselves.

My life has been marked by the belief that I am third, which translates into putting myself last---always. I've spent my entire life apologizing for being me.

I've been denying myself.

But I haven't been denying myself to follow Christ.

I've been denying myself to follow others. To simply be seen, rather than invisible. To receive love. To avoid rejection.

And in doing so, I handed the reins of my life over to everyone around me. I surrendered the control of my life to others.

I'm tired of denying myself for all the wrong reasons.

I want to live surrendered. But I want only to surrender to God.

He is the only One worth denying myself for.

casting my cares

"Cast all your anxiety on Him because He cares for you." I know that. Cognitively. He cares for me. He cares about what I care about. I should cast my anxiety upon Him. All too often, though, I subconsciously take the word cast to mean the same as it does in fishing. I give it to God, but I'm still hanging on to the other end. As far as I throw it, as much as I give it over, it's still attached to me. Because I'm holding on tight.

"But I gave it to God..." I try to convince myself. Meanwhile I'm poised and ready to reel it back in whenever I want. And reel I do. I decide to take it back from God's hands. Which means I think it's better off in my capable hands than in His.

Oh to be so smug.

I looked up the word cast in the dictionary. When it's not referring to fishing, it means to get rid of, to discard, to throw off or throw away; to hurl or fling.

I need to let that sink in a bit. I need to let it sink in a lot.

When I give something to God, I need to hurl it at Him (He can handle the blow), get rid of it (forever), throw it off me (with as much vigor as I can muster). And then I need to leave it there. For good.

Sigh...

"Cast your cares on the Lord and He will sustain you..."

I'm trying...

[originally posted on this day two years ago]

it's not all his fault

My marriage was always hard. Our relationship was challenging right from the beginning. We fought. A lot. I always chalked it up to the fact that we were a cross-cultural couple. And we pioneered a ministry together from the ground up. And we worked side-by-side every single day.

It was harder than I ever imagined it would be.

While I'm learning to only own what's mine to own, I just need you to know: I have plenty to own.

I can be extremely impatient and easily frustrated. I made Niel feel small with my critical words. I could be downright mean at times.

I didn't communicate well. I see-sawed between bottling up and exploding. I didn't always let him into the deepest parts of my heart. I didn't often share my most honest thoughts.

I see now that I was seeking to find my happiness and value in my husband, instead of in God. And that contributed largely to the downward spiral of problems in our relationship.

The breakdown of my marriage extends further, deeper, than Niel's affair. I grew lazy, complacent, and selfish, and stopped putting in the effort my marriage needed and deserved. The effort my husband deserved.

Staring my sin in the face wrecked me. It left me broken before the Lord, desperate for His forgiveness and grace. It also left me broken before my husband. I wept in repentance as I apologized to him. Repeatedly.

I believed that despite all our failures, our marriage was still worth saving. It would take a lot of work, but so does anything we're passionate about. I knew restoration was possible and completely worth the effort. My heart broke when Niel disagreed.

As I began picking up the pieces of my life, I became more determined than ever to be open and teachable. I desire to live from a repentant heart. I want to be quick to see and own my sinfulness. And I'm committed to learn new ways of responding. New ways of living.

My beliefs determine my thoughts which impact my actions. So I'm starting at the beginning to change my foundational beliefs. My thinking and my actions will eventually follow.

It's a slow-going, lifelong journey.

But one I know is so worth it.

Because, I'm beginning to see, I'm worth it.