Coming Out of the Mist

I’m writing this for me, to help me grapple with what has been an uncomfortable struggle the past few weeks. If I am transparent, I’d like to pretend that I’m not struggling, that I’m simply peri-menopausal or hormonal, but deep down, I know that I’m lodged deep in a fog, and I seem to have lost my way a bit. I feel stuck and not only find it difficult to move forward, but frankly I don’t know how.

And I’m ashamed, embarrassed, angry with myself for feeling this way. I look around and see those with much greater woes gracefully moving through life with all the balls juggling effortlessly in the air with a certain artistic flair. My balls bounce around aimlessly, some darting directly into oncoming traffic, while others are lodged somewhere underneath the couch. There may be balls rolling around in the backyard that I didn’t even realize I was responsible for. I’ve forgotten how to juggle. And even if I remembered, there’s a part of me that doesn’t want to juggle anymore. I think I’d like to leave the circus and float down a lazy river somewhere under a peaceful canopy of stately oak trees. I’m supposed to be a woman of great faith, so why am I not navigating this with great faith? Why am I struggling to lean into God?

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Struggle in the Garden

I have been meditating the past few days on Jesus’s moments in Gethsemane prior to his arrest. Luke 22: “He withdrew about a stone’s throw beyond them, knelt down and prayed, ‘Father, if you are willing, take this cup from me; yet not my will, but yours be done.’ An angel from heaven appeared to him and strengthened him. And being in anguish, he prayed more earnestly, and his sweat was like drops of blood falling to the ground.” Mark adds that His soul was overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death.

There is so much in these few verses. I’m struck by Jesus’s struggle. I feel that this reveals the complete essence of Christ’s humanity. He didn’t want to endure what was coming. Taking on the sin of the world would be painful enough, but the separation from His Father was overwhelming. Jesus didn’t put on a happy face and pretend that it was all ok. He didn’t take on 20 tasks to distract himself from the discomfort. He struggled with the pain. He wrestled with His flesh and the temptation to walk away from His mission. He poured His heart out to His Father and bared His sorrowful soul.

He was also a stone’s throw from His closest earthly friends. Had they not succumbed to sleep, they could have witnessed this painful struggle. I’m awed by the vulnerability of Jesus in this moment. He wasn’t vulnerable in front of all the 12, but he did bring with Him those from His inner circle. He was willing to allow them to step into this moment, if only as witnesses.

Jesus is our model. He dealt with flesh as we deal with flesh, yet was without flaw. So often in this world, especially in the church, we beat ourselves up over feeling the struggle, over wrestling with the weight of our sorrow, with allowing ourselves to be vulnerable in our moments of utter brokenness. We ache in silence, ashamed that we aren’t strong enough or full of enough faith to face it all with joy and a smile. We think, “What is wrong with me? Why is my heart so heavy? If only I had more faith, I could shake this angst and overwhelm, and burnout and jump back in with passion and motivation.”

But Jesus wrestled with the weight of His sorrow to the point of sweating blood. While none of us will face the horror that awaited Him, I think we can learn from Him in our momentary struggles. Jesus brought those He trusted into this moment. Jesus poured His heart out to God. Jesus asked that the cup be removed, but, and I think this is the most important part, He surrendered to God’s will, not His. He didn’t deny His sorrow or the struggle. He didn’t pretend it was all ok, but He also didn’t succumb to it. He placed His trust in the One who is faithful and surrendered and He stayed on mission. There have been times I have wanted to throw in the towel and kick the mission to the curb. But Jesus reminds us that with obedience and surrender come the ultimate prize. Do not grow weary. Fight the good fight. And of course we know the rest of the story…

Jesus triumphed. He took on my sin and your sin and the sin of the world and because of His obedience we can find the strength, bolstered by the power of the Holy Spirit, the same power within us that raised Jesus from the dead, to persevere in the face of trial and to even, gasp, consider it joy.

Moving Forward

It is no secret that the past year has knocked me off my feet. I’ve written candidly about my daughter’s suicide attempt and subsequent hospitalization (here), and the far-reaching consequences of a Covid shutdown have brought our business to its knees. It is grueling to watch your daughter endure agony while your husband is deciding whether it is time to let go of a dream business and move on to a new endeavor at 45. And here’s the thing about trusting God in all circumstances….it takes an inordinate amount of faith, hence the concept. This past year hasn’t coaxed me to gently open my hand and release expectations for my life; it has wrenched open my fist and roughly yanked them from me, crushing them in the process.

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Heart of the Matter

It’s the time of year when it’s hard to walk into any store: grocery or department and not notice a host of hearts. From t-shirts to boxes, hearts adorn most every surface reminding us that Valentine’s Day is around the corner. One favorite confection certainly speaks to the heart of Valentine’s: conversation hearts. Every year eight billion, yep, that’s billion with a B, hearts tucked neatly away in heart-covered boxes line the shelves of our favorite stores. That is 100,000 pounds of sugar, and most stores sell out within six weeks of stocking the shelves. The original hearts, from over 100 years ago, heralded pleasant platitudes like “Married in Satin, Love will be Lasting” or “Married in White, Love will be Right.” The sayings got shorter as the years progressed and “Be Mine” and “Love’s Kiss” became more popular. A recent update currently leaves us with modern versions of “Tweet Me,” “Text Me,” and “Soul Mate.” It is a fun way to communicate our affection with a favorite confection.

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Fasting As a Spiritual Discipline

My journey into fasting began nine years ago with a simple prayer after a study of Nehemiah: “Lord break my heart for what breaks yours.”  What followed this simple, sincere prayer was a whirlwind of soul searching, seeking, and studying.  Not a Fan, Follow Me, Interrupted, Radical, and 7 are just a few of the books I devoured.  One book, 7, which was an invitation to practice 7 types of spiritual fasts forever changed my view on fasting, which forever changed my life.  

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The Longest Day

It’s the time of year when many of us reflect on all the events of the previous year: the highs, the lows, the mundane, and the unexpected. As many of us look back on 2020, we are likely to see more time spent in the valleys than on the mountaintops. Storms ravaged my state followed by a pandemic that put the globe on pause, yet despite all this year has thrown our way, one day stands alone as the most unforgettable day of the year and perhaps, my life. August 20, 2020. My family and I have kept the events of that day close to our vest because honestly, it kept us all reeling. We’ve spent months trying to put the pieces of our brokenness back together, to undo the damage of careless words, overlooked pain, and a heart so heavy and hopeless that it wanted to die.

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Don’t Waste the Wait

As I was walking my dog Lion this morning, to keep my mind off this horrible cold, I was meditating on the idea of Advent, of waiting. The Holy Spirit gave me two phrases to turn over in my mind: Don’t waste the wait and anticipation not distraction. It struck me as odd at first. Don’t waste the wait. Anticipation not distraction.  

This year has been a year when many of us seem stuck. In the midst of a pandemic, it’s difficult to see progress in our own lives when it feels as if we’ve been stuck at home, stuck in neutral in our careers, stuck in a muddled present as we eagerly await a future that’s free from lockdowns and quarantines. For some of us the waiting isn’t to be free from Covid but like me, it is waiting for God to act in a situation, waiting to see Him work in someone’s life, hoping against all hope that He will step into the situation bringing restoration and revelation. And so this brings me to Advent.

After Malachi penned his last Spirit-inspired word, God fell silent for 400 years. No visions. No prophetic words. No burning bushes or flakes of manna. Silence. Perhaps the Jews thought He had forgotten the promise of the long awaited Messiah. As they sweated and toiled in their daily routines under the watchful eye of an empire they despised, they waited. They wondered. Did they hope or had hope failed? We know that Simeon and Anna clung to hope. We know that Zechariah continued to serve in the temple, waiting, watching, wondering. Then after 400 years as suddenly as God fell silent, He spoke into the darkness. He had been there all along orchestrating His perfect plan in His perfect timing. Advent reminds us of the ache of anticipation, the woe of waiting. 

But how we wait matters. The wait isn’t a time of idle thumb twiddling. It’s an opportunity for soul-searching. Like the psalmist we can cry out, “Search me, God, and know my heart;
test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.” Waiting can push us away or draw us closer. It can embitter us or it can empower us. We can choose grumbling or we can choose gratitude, but the choice is ours. When we wait on the voice of God to pierce the darkness in our own lives do we waste the wait or receive the revelation He is offering us as we draw closer in faith even when can’t see Him clearly?  

And are we waiting with anticipation or are we mastering the art of distraction? We live in an era of distraction. It’s an art form. We can scroll our phones for hours and never reach the bottom of the page. We can binge watch every episode of every show ever produced. We can drown our drudgery in a deluge of distraction, or we can eagerly anticipate what’s next. We can tune out through distraction or we can tune in through anticipation. As I wait, I often find myself seeking the amusement of distraction, so I don’t have to do the hard work of dealing with the discomfort of discovery, of sorting through my own emotions. Distraction means we don’t have to face what needs changing in our own lives. We can put it off for another day. But waiting with anticipation turns our focus outward and upwards. We give our brokenness, our fears, our messes to God and with faith and hope we wait with the anticipation that He is at work, even when we can’t see it. We do our part to grow more like Christ as we eagerly await for Him to reveal Himself and watch with anticipation the work He is capable and faithful to do while we wait.  

Advent means the in-between time doesn’t have to be unfruitful. If anything it reminds us that even in the silence, God is at work. Even in the mess, God is making miracles. Even when it seems all hope is lost, a baby’s cry pierces the silence and when He becomes a man He pierces our heart with His light and love, reminding us that we never have to lose hope again. Hope is ours and it is everlasting. Don’t waste the wait and anticipate don’t distract.

Announcing….

This quarantine has given us the gift of time, and in that time, I’ve been contemplating some dreams that have gotten shoved to the side in the crush of busyness that has become everyday life for so many.  They’ve gotten lost amidst the grocery lists, to-do lists, work, homeschooling, and so many other wonderful, worthy endeavors.  In this time of quieter days and less harried schedules, though, these dreams have been springing up like the green shoots of new life that welcome this season, and I’ve been listening and praying that if this vision of mine is shared by God for me that He would give voice to the vision.

I love stories; I love listening to stories, and I love telling stories.  This love is what led me to major in journalism in college.  I longed to become the next Ken Burns or Charles Kuralt or the first female storyteller in this genre of journalism, but along the way, life happened, and I lost sight of that goal.  Now, with YouTube and blogs, this dream is much easier to grasp.  I am announcing the birth of a YouTube channel to accompany my blog where I hope to tell stories of inspiration and overcoming.  So I invite you to join me on this journey.  Some coming attractions are a series on anxiety, where my daughter and I share our journey with this debilitating disorder, a series on female small business owners, book reviews, and other educational content.  It is much like my blog, a place where I share what I hope are valuable lessons that I’ve picked up on this sojourn through life.  I hope you will join me.  Welcome to Stickseeds, the Channel

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The Tragedy of the Golden Egg

This is a special guest post.  My daughter Annie’s short story 🙂

“Today is the day” said Scarlett.

Emily raised her head up, “What’s today?” she asked through a mouthful of goldfish.

Scarlett gasped, “It’s the Easter egg hunt today, and the golden egg will be mine this year! We are going to crush those puny kids!”

“Aren’t we too old to be doing stuff like that?”

Scarlett grabbed the closest thing to her, which was a pillow, and threw it at Emily. She fell down, picked up the pillow and threw it back. Scarlett pushed the static-y red hair out of her face after the pillow hit it. She got up, grabbed Emily’s hand, and ran down stairs. Continue reading “The Tragedy of the Golden Egg”