Pocahontas—the Disney version—was always a standout to me aside from the other princesses. I was also a big fan of the mermaid, growing up. I assumed that being a natural redhead and having the ability to open my eyes under water at the beach without going immediately blind meant that I could relate to her in some way. I thought her pursuit of thrilling adventure was a sign of bravery, but as I have aged and become a parent, I find Ariel to be a bit insufferable. She turned 16 and thought she was in love with someone she never had a conversation with before. She chose to sacrifice her soul for a chance to abandon her family and home—the very family whom she expected to save her when everything went sideways. It’s pragmatic to think a 16-year-old will make mistakes; however, her willingness to throw it all away—everything and everyone who ever mattered, the ability to swim and live underwater, the gift of speaking and song—in a moment’s notice is terrifying. Her actions scream “pick me,” and the validation she wants despite the incredible support she clearly already has is overwhelming.

I, however, loved Pocahontas. She had bravery but without compromising herself. She demonstrated respect for her family, heritage, and her land while teaching someone who had no knowledge of any of it. I know the true story of Pocahontas is vastly different from what Disney brought us, but my point is that she chose herself and her values in the end. She protected people, peace, and her self-worth. She held up her identity and proved it impenetrable to the impact of another person while still loving them. My three-year-old was watching Pocahontas the other day, and the song, “Just Around the Riverbend” played. There is a lyric in the song that stood out to me that says,

“I feel it there beyond those trees
Or right behind these waterfalls.
Can I ignore that sound of distant drumming?
For a handsome sturdy husband
Who builds handsome sturdy walls
And never dreams that something might be coming
Just around the riverbend
Just around the riverbend.”

Even in her upbringing, her strength and tenacity, her devotion to her people and heritage—she was still torn over the expectation of finding a “sturdy husband who builds sturdy walls.” The basis is that no matter how independent, pragmatic, strong, or capable Pocahontas was, she was still expected to find someone to share her life with, who would provide for and help her.

When we think about marriage and finding a husband – there is a social aspect and assumption that is founded on finding a good person, a good provider, a good sense of security, and a strong addition to your life. Several verses of scripture acknowledge that Jesus’s followers are the church and He is the Bridegroom, involving a union (or marriage) based on our preparation and cleansing and His redemption and deliverance — a wedding of sorts. In this Bridegroom, we find security, peace, strength, help, and provision.

I think if we broaden this concept out from the scope of marriage and truly consider what the duration of our lives can look like—from infancy to elderly—we do need help. We do rely on others in different ways. As a newborn, we need help from our parents, and later in our lives, we need assistance from our children or caregivers. We can assume that our independence is so cemented in place for a time, that everything is fine, but it begs the question—is this how we are created or designed?

Let me take this a step further. If we are not designed to be isolated and independent of others, then why do we punish ourselves for not being able to do it all by ourselves?

I started 2024 with a very unrealistic optimism about completing a reading list. I charted out 2 to 3 books per month that I wanted to get through by December. I had each month color-coded—it was very decorative, too. Serene shades of purple with pops of pink throughout and teal accents in places. Ridiculously festive but also visually pleasing. I kept my 5:00 am Bible study separate from this book list. I did not want to compromise my time with God, but I wanted to get through more of my library. I started the year out so determined. I was up at 5am, studying my Bible and in prayer. In the evenings, car line, waiting outside the dance studio or different appointments, I tried to make time to read.

For 3 months, I was killing it. Checking books off my list, thinking about content I was reading, marinating in what I had learned, and then my health took an unprecedented dive. Food started messing with me again. The official diagnosis has yet to be determined, but theories are resonating that I may have an ulcer, I may not. Food, very generally, began making me sick. Nausea, not keeping anything down, having to lay down at various times of the day after eating. It’s now been a year of symptoms and tests with no real answer yet. Evenings became harder to digest. Dinner, kids’ sporting events, clean up, and bedtime routines were taking everything out of me. I slowed down reading at night until I just didn’t do it anymore. Eventually, I would go to bed not feeling well and wake up in the same state, so I started snoozing my 5:00 am alarm.

I made it 3 months before I felt like life invaded and the next thing I knew, it was August and my last check-marked book was from 5 months prior. I felt so out of sync with whoever that was in January making so many plans. I got to where I didn’t want to complain because people must be tired of hearing about it. My mom was praying for me, and I knew it worried her, so I didn’t want to bother her with every detail of what was going on with my health. But I wanted her to continue praying. A mother’s prayer is one of the most recurring and powerful prayers that God hears that is documented throughout the Bible on numerous occasions. And I certainly have a praying mother.

One Sunday, our family went to church and out to lunch. We came home from lunch and I was sick for 2 hours straight. I went to bed so frustrated that I could have cried. I started praying again about this scenario that seems unavoidable and confusing, yet it troubles me almost daily now. I was upset with myself that we had just gone to church, where we dove into faithfulness and obedience. Then, I come home and struggle immediately with no hope.

That same week, my 10-year-old daughter had her horseback riding lesson. It’s a new experience for her, and she used to be terrified of anything like this, but she has grown quite fond of riding horses. She’s almost become an entirely different person because of it. The child who once would not go near a horse, refused pony rides at parties, and turned down every single opportunity to ride now tells me terms and information about horses and equipment that I have never heard of before. She dismounts with ease, and she rides new and different horses each week with no fear.

One week, she was on an Arabian horse, named Honey. Honey was having a day, and she seemed a little agitated with the owner during the lesson. She started to snatch her head and then hop while my daughter was still riding. I saw the fear immediately, and the owner had her jump off the horse while she addressed it.

That was it. I knew she was done. There was no getting back on this horse, at least, and the lesson would officially be over for the day. The owner began stopping and backing the horse up, among a few other training elements, to get control of the horse’s attention back. Eventually, Honey was calm. The owner stated she was not going to make my daughter jump back on, but the next line that came out of my kid’s mouth left me stunned.

“No, it’s okay. I want to get back on and ride. I can do it.”

I looked on from the outside of the arena in shock. A few moments later, she was back on the horse, trotting in a circle, while the owner held the lead rope inside of the center. I felt a tear wet my face, in absolute awe of her bravery and the young woman she is becoming. She is strong and capable, but she prays and she worries. She knows that God doesn’t make mistakes and she is exactly who is she supposed to be, fear and anxiety and all, but she cannot do it all alone. She looked past anxiety and committed to the harder goal—getting back on the horse that scared her off of it. I knew in that moment that I needed to take a lesson from her. I wasn’t being brave at all, lately.

That evening, I saw a video that said “You cannot protect your child from their testimony.” I thought about my daughter that afternoon. I thought about my mom praying for me. Our kids are going to go through things, and even as parents of adult children, we will always want to rescue our children from difficulty and heartbreak—from painful or fearful, unknown places. All you can do is give them love, pray their way through, and lead them to Jesus. They will learn and know how they can count on God. And even Jesus’s central point of the Sermon on the Mount is that we build a relationship with God as our Father and Creator.

The truth is that we can’t do it all. To be frustrated over this is working against the way we are created. The Bible tells us in so many places that we have help from God.

Isaiah 41:10 – “Do not fear, for I am with you;
Do not be afraid, for I am your God.
I will strengthen you, I will also help you,
I will also uphold you with My righteous right hand.”

Psalm 121:1–8 – “I lift up my eyes to the hills. From where does my help come? My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth.”

Psalm 46:1-3 – “God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore, we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea.”

Psalm 115:11 – ” You who fear the Lord, trust in the Lord; He is their help and their shield.”

John 14:26 – “ But the Helper, the Holy Spirit whom the Father will send in My name, He will teach you all things, and remind you of all that I said to you.”

I am getting back into my reading list, but I am removing the pressure of a deadline on books I love. If they take me longer to finish because life is busy, then that means my attention was somewhere else, possibly being poured into someone else in my life, who needed it in that moment. I have eliminated the expectation of getting through certain books in my Bible study by certain timelines as well.  This approach has allowed me to linger in places that I truly believe God wants me to spend more time in, and I find deeper value in growing my relationship with God by doing it that way.

We have to stop bullying ourselves for not doing it all every single day of our lives. We must give ourselves grace in places that we would not normally consider it. We were never created to carry every burden alone. We have the grace, mercy, and love of our Almighty God, and we are His through our acceptance of Jesus Christ.

Psalm 60:11 – “Oh give us help against the enemy, for rescue by man is worthless.”

Romans 8:28 – “And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to His purpose.”

For Pocahontas, the goalpost of security was based on finding a provider and help. The truth is that we have help, by grace and through faith. Ephesians 2:8-9 says, “For by grace you have been saved through faith, and this is not from you; it is the gift of God; it is not from works, so no one may boast.”  You have been delivered by the one true God, and He will never abandon you.

Deuteronomy 31:6, 8 – “Be strong and courageous, do not be afraid or in dread of them, for the Lord your God is the One who is going with you. He will not desert you or abandon you…And the Lord is the one who is going ahead of you; He will be with you. He will not desert you or abandon you. Do not fear and do not be dismayed.”

I pray this week that you slow down when you need to, rest when you are able, and speak grace into your thoughts in the process. Touch the garment of Jesus, even for a moment, no matter if it’s from the dirt, reaching for Him through faith in your pursuit of security, rest, salvation, need, help, mercy, or unending love—the bleeding will stop, the pain will cease, deliverance achieved, and you will be called son or daughter by the Almighty King. Don’t believe me? Read Matthew 9:20-22, Mark 5:25-34, or Luke 8:43-48 — go in peace and be well.

God bless you,

M

The day before my daughter’s 6th birthday, and coincidentally, my husband’s birthday as well, I was home alone with two children–my little girl and her stepbrother, who was close to turning 7. I was also carrying my daughter, Mia, at 4 months pregnant, and my husband was at work overnight with an emergency preparedness crew with the fire department. It was 2020, and we had already faced the COVID pandemic at this point, but this was a different attack. The weather channel talked rapidly about Hurricane Sally, as it was expected to hit Alabama at night. Being from Florida, the idea of a hurricane was not new to me, but I hadn’t experienced it alone, with the responsibility of three children yet. It will never matter how prepared I felt whenever I remember that experience.

I wasn’t prepared for it.

I wanted to pretend that I wasn’t nervous, that nightfall bringing the loss of power and dwindling cell phone batteries and wincing at the sounds crashing outside under the light of burning candles was not that bad. That the continuous train barreling through the neighborhood was something I had expected, and that the looks of those terrified children, out of their beds with fear at midnight, were something I could soothe. I had no answers for them. Controlling my expressions ahead of their expectant gazes was more difficult than they’ll ever know. Lightening would strike, thunder shook the house, and my daughter in utero would jump. She didn’t even know what awaited in this world yet, but she knew part of it didn’t sound safe, and I had no sincere way to calm her yet.

When they finally fell asleep, I still couldn’t. I don’t remember how I actually fell asleep — hoping for the best, praying for mercy and protection at what we couldn’t see. At some point during the night, I did sleep. When I arose, foggy and displaced from what we had just experienced, I was up to see my cell phone with 3% battery life left and about 26 missing phone calls and texts. I would get back to them, but first I had to see the damage. I had to know if we still had a car, if there was a hole in my ceiling, where rain had saturated the floors, or if windows were broken.

The back door was barricaded by water puddles, seeping into the dining room without permission or reservation. When I opened the back door, a tree was on the house to the point that I couldn’t see anything but jungle through the door, nor could I open the screen door to the outside. At a window, I saw the roots ripped from their place in the earth with fury, to multiple trees, the bellies of their nutrient systems on profound display. I imagined the bewilderment the trees felt, the steadfast approach to the usual southern winds, but the defeat of being overpowered in shock. The wooden playground set that my husband had built for our children was severed in three places by a tree.

I went to another door and walked out into the front yard, to the edge of my driveway, and stood in the street. There was no where to look that was untouched by the rage of wind and water. It was that feeling in action movies, when you see the lead character in shock, where the world’s ending and everyone came out of their bunkers to see nothing left. Powerlines in mangled messes, light and power poles snapped like toothpicks, splintered and blown apart at the center–other neighbors looking around with the same shocked, surprised, and grateful look I had–grateful to be alive. My neighborhood was the only one in my area that looked destroyed the way it did. Other places south of us were destroyed. The roads around ours were okay, but our neighborhood looked like a bomb had gone off. Tornadoes ripped and roared through the night, but God provided. He kept those three babies safe when I felt helpless to do it myself. He brought them comfort enough to fall asleep despite my raging fear and overwhelm.

When it was over, when we were all together again and safe, I sat in my closet on the floor and cried until my insides hurt.

The next day, we celebrated my daughter and husband’s birthdays. Not with birthday parties and balloons or even birthday cake, but with thanksgiving that we were together. We celebrated from air mattresses and couch beds in the living room, windows open, fans blowing, and generators roaring through the neighborhood, and so much love in our hearts. I remember the songs of birds started slowly emerging from the trees again.

I think about the significance of coming to God in prayer. Petitioning Him out of fear or worry, and the devotion we bring to Him in our moment of need. It’s so easy to derail what we know is right and good out of desires, selfishness, fear, and worry. The nature of redemption is not that we have to live perfectly, but with our hearts pursuing God, the rest should come more often than not. When we worry and grow upset or frustrated or fearful, we are doing it from a place of lacking faith. We are telling God that we don’t think He’s got this.

2 Timothy 2:12-14 says:

“If we endure,
    we will also reign with Him.
If we disown Him,
    He will also disown us;
 if we are faithless,
    He remains faithful,
    for He cannot disown himself.”

He is with us, and we are with Him.

I spent the next several weeks in a standstill. Everything I had been worrying about and focusing seemed so meaningless. I started embracing life in different ways. I always wanted to cook authentic Mexican food, to connect to my ancestry in some way that I could, and I started diving deep into a wealth of knowledge, trying to learn. I wanted to start embroidering authentic Mexican-styled pieces and donate percentages of proceeds to domestic violence shelters. I had these ideas about my life and suddenly putting everything off for the sake of being busy became less important. Little did I know, these things would soon become a valuable component in my life moving forward.

Fear may be one reason we turn away from God but another is weakness. We fall short in our faith, in our actions, in our prayer, and in our relationships because we make choices. Despite the reasoning for those choices, they draw us further away from God and His path for us.

Simon Peter is such a fascinating disciple. He takes quite a bit of criticism sometimes, and I think largely because he represents so many of us in himself. We couldn’t imagine denying Jesus three times. To not acknowledge we know Him, to disown Him, in a sense–it seems unconscionable. Peter was weak in that moment, but he was also afraid for his life. Our circumstances are not missing to God, nor the motivations for our actions.

In Luke 22:31, the Jesus says, “Simon, Simon, Satan has asked to sift all of you as wheat,” to set him apart, to break him down, in a sense. Peter was unprepared, fearful, and weak in his faith during those tumultuous circumstances. He was the perfect target. He was also every single one of us. You may say, “I would never have denied Jesus.” But you do–I do–every time we turn away from God, every time we ignore Jesus’s teachings, every time we try to grip sand so tightly that we panic when it naturally flows through our fingers.

One day, my daughter and I had left the grocery store, and she threw the most escalated, major tantrum leaving the store. It lasted until we got home, I had to take her out of the car, still throwing her fit, neighbors all around, and into the house, she continued. She ended up locking herself in her room on accident, and while I tried to figure out how to fix her problematic door handle until her stepdad came home, I sat a glass baking dish on a hot stove eye that shattered across my entire kitchen (ruined dessert included). My parents were leaving for a trip to Alaska and had just called to tell me goodbye, and my husband came home telling me about a possible deployment he may have to go on in the Air Force.

In the middle of my kitchen, spatula in hand, I started to cry. We go from moments of gratitude and faithfulness to this backsliding effect, like ants rolling down a driveway after a summer rain, somehow surprised by it all. I realized this need for control that I didn’t have and a lack of faith in God where it should have been. There is actually a better word for it: Weakness.

It isn’t news to God. There are no surprises to Him. He already knows we struggle. He knows we want to control things, but He loves us through it. He doesn’t take pain away in every circumstance, but He does give grace amidst the tribulation. He blesses and comforts. He restores and heals. He cares about our character and our growth. The Bible says that He is made perfect in our weakness.

2 Corinthians 12:9

“But He said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.”

It’s natural to want to problem solve. Peter returned to fishing after he denied Jesus. I imagine he had a difficult time with that choice, knowing Jesus predicted it and he argued so vehemently that he would never deny Him. Then he did it three times and wept bitterly. I absolutely LOVE the interaction between Jesus and Peter after the resurrection. Jesus does not reprimand Peter for making a mistake multiple times. He doesn’t question Peter’s loyalty or love for Him. He doesn’t say what Peter has to do in order to fix their relationship, his ministry, or the perception God has of him. The Messiah approaches the fishermen at the shore and offers them breakfast. He loves and serves them. He gives them guidance and commands them to move the kingdom of God forward.

Jesus asks Peter if he loves Him three times, and tells him to “Feed my sheep. Follow Me.” He reinstates Simon Peter as “the rock,” and the understanding of true forgiveness and redemptive love is met by the relentless pursuit of evangelism. Peter’s life changes forever.

Jesus knows where the core of your heart lies. Just like with Nathaniel–“under the fig tree” was significant to Nathaniel and whatever he read, prayed, or studied in Scripture in that circumstance. Jesus let Nathaniel know that He heard his prayers. He saw him, He knows his heart. This is profound to Nathaniel, who had just asked “Can anything good come from Nazareth?” prior to meeting Jesus.

John 1:47-48

“Jesus saw Nathanael coming to Him, and said of him, ‘Here is truly an Israelite, in whom there is no deceit!’ Nathanael said to Him, ‘How do You know me?’ Jesus answered and said to him, ‘Before Philip called you, when you were under the fig tree, I saw you.'”

Coming to God, knowing His mercy, love, and grace, is deliverance for your soul. He takes those moments where nothing else–no song, poetry, relationship, or band-aid–can heal your hurt, where you feel no way out, where your head, arms, and chest are collectively under water, and He says it’s not too much for Him. He doesn’t find you unapproachable or insufferable. He finds you lovable, even when you push His grace to the side for a solution that will never arrive.

Sarah Kay wrote:

“There’s nothing more beautiful than the way the ocean refuses to stop kissing the shoreline, no matter how many times it’s sent away.”

Deuteronomy 31:8 says, “The Lord himself goes before you and will be with you; He will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.”

The waters will continue to rise, but we have to find that place of comfort, of peace, the dwelling place of the Lord–not forgetting His Holy Spirit is within us and among us, and we have to faithfully follow Him to experience His blessings, both in the prayers that go answered, and the prayers we have answered that we never knew we needed to pray.

“When you pass through the waters,
    I will be with you;
and when you pass through the rivers,
    they will not sweep over you.
When you walk through the fire,
    you will not be burned;
    the flames will not set you ablaze.”

Isaiah 43:2

His promises are eternal and unchanging, His mercies new every morning (Lamentations 3:22-23). Be encouraged, be refreshed, stay faithful in the Author and Finisher of our faith. He is with you. Amen.

God bless you,

M

I attended a funeral this week, where the priest made a reference to us being there because “God did not answer our prayers for a miracle.” We were there to say farewell to an incredible soul, and many people felt both shock and hurt over all of it. The priest also mentioned having questions for God, feeling both anger and a complete lack of understanding.

When we say goodbye to someone, we are hit with an insurmountable level of grief, and oftentimes, when we think of having “faith,” we associate that term with believing, with being optimistic for the future, and with maintaining a confident trust in what we know.

Our Faith

Having faith also directly correlates to healing. Our faithfulness is what establishes our closeness to God.

Matthew 9:20-22 states:

“And behold, a woman who had been suffering from a hemorrhage for twelve years came up behind Him, and touched the border of His cloak; for she was saying to herself, ‘If I only touch His cloak, I will get well.’ But Jesus, turning and seeing her, said, ‘Daughter, take courage; your faith has made you well.’ And at once the woman was made well.”

Having faith in the Lord and His intervention in our lives can make all the difference. This doesn’t mean that you change your career to ministry or you must have more faith than anyone else in the room. You may struggle with faith in discouraging or devastating moments in your life, but even the smallest indication of your faith in the Savior will be enough to change everything.

Matthew writes:

“And He said to them, ‘Because of your meager faith; for truly I say to you, if you have faith the size of a mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it will move; and nothing will be impossible for you.’” Matthew 17:20

God’s Faithfulness

So what about God’s faithfulness to us? The Bible reminds us in a multitude of areas that God remains faithful in His love and grace according to His plan for our lives:

“Know therefore that the Lord your God, He is God, the faithful God, who keeps His covenant and His faithfulness to a thousand generations for those who love Him and keep His commandments.”  Deuteronomy 7:9

“In Your faithfulness You have led the people whom You have redeemed; In Your strength You have guided them to Your holy habitation.” Exodus 15:13

“He said, ‘Lord, God of Israel, there is no god like You in heaven or on earth, keeping Your covenant and Your faithfulness to Your servants who walk before You with all their heart.’” 2 Chronicles 6:14

“But I have trusted in Your faithfulness; My heart shall rejoice in Your salvation.” Psalm 13:5

“Certainly, goodness and faithfulness will follow me all the days of my life, And my dwelling will be in the house of the Lord forever.” Psalm 23:6

“And without faith it is impossible to please Him, for the one who comes to God must believe that He exists, and that He proves to be One who rewards those who seek Him.” Hebrews 11:6

When we find ourselves in trauma, in the depths of despair, confusion, and brokenness, Isaiah and Paul remind us that God’s ways are nothing like ours. His plan and purpose can come out of anything we present to Him, any choice we make, any mistake we have, any anguish we feel, wrongdoing done to us, any grief or pain we feel, and any area where we think His intervention may be impossible in any positive way.

Isaiah 55:8-9

“For My thoughts are not your thoughts,
Nor are your ways My ways,” declares the Lord.
For as the heavens are higher than the earth,
So are My ways higher than your ways
And My thoughts than your thoughts.”

Romans 8:28

 ^“And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose.

The Faith of Our Friends

We often pray for one another, but have you thought about how important that prayer is according to God’s Word? The faith of believers can change the entire course of someone’s life.

James 5:16 states:

“Therefore, confess your sins to one another, and pray for one another so that you may be healed. A prayer of a righteous person, when it is brought about, can accomplish much.”

In Luke, a story is documented where a paralyzed man is brought on a stretcher but cannot get close to Jesus, so his friends lower him through the roof of the house Jesus was preaching from, and because of THEIR faith–the faith of the man’s friends–Jesus healed him.

Luke 5:18-20

^“And some men were carrying a man on a stretcher who was paralyzed; and they were trying to bring him in and to set him down in front of Him. But when they did not find any way to bring him in because of the crowd, they went up on the roof and let him down through the tiles with his stretcher, into the middle of the crowd, in front of Jesus. And seeing their faith, He said, “Friend, your sins are forgiven you.”

How incredible is that!? The faith of our friends can make a difference in our outcomes. When I tell someone that I am praying for them, I absolutely do it. I never leave those words empty or meaningless because that prayer means everything and could mean the difference in the course of events. That person is counting on that prayer from me because I promised it. It may not change a certain outcome, and it’s natural to feel defeated, worry, or confusion over why those prayers went unanswered. We have to remember that we are not privy to every single event, conversation, or action taking place in the course of our lives or those of others, so we have to trust and have faith in God’s plan and that He can ultimately bring good out of any situation.

Never be afraid of telling someone your prayer requests, having them pray for you and with you, and always remember that when you offer to pray for someone, you are coming to God on their behalf, (a) as a believer in prayer and faith in the Lord, (b) as a member of God’s kingdom, and (c) as a friend in Christ.

I hope you find encouragement in your faith, strength in the Lord Almighty, and position prayer in your life often to establish that closeness with God.

God bless,

M

Anxiety can be such a bother. It’s like that mostly nice ex-boyfriend you realized you tolerated your entire relationship, who continues calling your parents every holiday after you both, your families, about three summer solstices, six seasons of Downton Abbey, and even your pets have moved on. I have such a love-hate relationship with anxiety. On one hand, a little dose can be the driving force of motivation we need to push us out of our comfort zones and grow, to challenge ourselves in ways we never imagined. In other ways, it can really creep in and rob people without their consent. It’s wild how it will manifest between ages as well, but when it rears its unpleasant, pestering face, we’re faced with choices—more than we realized we had in one day. We are tasked with how we choose to respond to it, interact with it, control it, or give in to its demands.

My 7-year-old, sensory sensitive daughter had a dentist appointment recently, and as soon as I had to give her the necessary 3-day warning notice so she could begin settling her nerves over it, I began to grow anxious for her. She never knew that, but I instantly worried about how this visit would go, seeing as how earlier dental appointments have either gone okay for the most part, or we left the office with her in tears, refusing even a small mirror near her mouth. Her sensory focus is mostly regarding food, so oral sensitivities are a real thing in my house. I never force her into situations or with food that she is not comfortable with, especially if my encouragement is met with steadfast resistance.

“Mom, will they have to use that hook thing? How cold is the mirror? Does the dentist use the hook, too? Does it go back near my throat at all? What are the toothpaste flavors they use? Is the toothbrush going to hurt my teeth when it vibrates? Is the straw with water really cold? Does it come out really fast and surprise people? Do I have to use that, or will they just give me a cup? Will it be Ms. Casey again? I like her so much, but what if it’s someone else?”

I could feel her emotions stirring, which led me to reassure her that she would be perfectly fine, as she always has been at these appointments. My mind was racing with ways I could prepare and reassure her, so that she felt some semblance of control and expectation, though she has been to these appointments for years now. The visit went better than I could have imagined. She did worry about a few areas of the process, including shedding a few tears in the parking lot beforehand, but the dentist came in and gave her the biggest gold star report. He looked at me and said, “She’s doing great! And she’s making progress each visit. Good all-around.” She and I were both so proud of that report. Progress is a win, and I completely champion that in her life on a daily basis. So why am I so hard on myself about not being where I want to be or think I should be at a given time?

Recently, I started working on my Mexican-style embroidery shop that I created in 2020, before COVID-19 and giving birth to another daughter delayed my progress. I am mostly building inventory at this point to sell, but I have also taken my time, giving care to each piece that I make. I find it both invigorating and honorable to treat each vivid piece with respect to the Chiapas, Oaxacan, and Otomi heritage styles in which I have learned to continue this art. It feels like it has taken a lifetime to get it moving along, but I know it will be worth it in the end. I know that parenting three children is beyond a full-time job, with school responsibilities, sports, toddler schedules, class projects, meal planning in specific capacities, and the list goes on and on. I find it more and more difficult to make time for me or embroidery or any outlet really, with five demanding schedules moving constantly in our family; however, I choose not to let that worry or frustrate me because I know what my goals look like and why they exist for me. I know that I am in progress, as well as some of my projects, and that’s okay because one day, everything will move forward. I am just as impacted and motivated by the process as I am the desired outcome.

What about less outward displays and more internal capacities? What about hurt, heartache, or fear? I know that setbacks and pain are part of being alive. We have no way around them, only through the center for a quick tornado-eye reprieve, and then we dive back into the other side again, weathering it all as it comes, flying farm animals and all. In my mind and my heart, I feel like I have made so much progress, but setbacks still surface. Humanity can be a blessing, but it can also knock the air out of you with impeccable force. Right now, I’m torn about the direction of my walk with God. I know I’m pursuing Him, but it’s the manner in which I execute that plan and deliver that I’m in turmoil over. I’m not sure what He’ll call me to next, but I know that my heart has to be open for His voice, or I’ll miss it.

Isaiah 41:10-13 says,

I find significant comfort and peace in God’s love and in those words. He’s delivered me from unthinkable places, and I will forever choose Him. I want my daughter to find peace in her process from His grace also. I love her so much, and I wish I could take the burdens of her fear off of her thoughts. I wish I could open her access to healing conversations in her mind that would resonate each time she needed to push anxiety back and say, “Let me be for now.”

Recently, she left a situation where she had fretted over sitting with me or going in the room with the kid’s group at an event. She met a few people, and within minutes, she walked to the door and said, “Mom, I’m okay. I think I want to sit with my new friends.” She gave me a thumbs up and turned to walk out into the other room where her age group was located. This may seem small to some people, and I’m sure with how other children face each day, it may be small. But for Eden, this was a huge step. This was progress, and she’s still growing and changing into the young woman she will become. My hope is to support her the best way I can, and I will be the first to admit that I don’t always have the answer, but I know God is preparing me to find it without fear or frustration.

“For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind.”

2 Timothy 1:7

Where are you feeling anxious in your life right now? How do you position it with your purpose? If you don’t, then how do you address it that makes sense for you? Or does it make sense? What has the world been to you, and how do you settle pain? I’m still working my way through that one. I can tell you it is a good thing to feel okay today, even if tomorrow is completely different. We will spend our lifetimes changing and growing. Finding peace in the process is what proves more difficult. It is an important and self-defining moment to say, “I’m still in progress, and I can live with that because of where God has led me and what I have overcome to get here.” Be proud of who you are and how far you have come. It’s a long way from where you started.

God bless,

M

When I was in elementary school, I had a teacher who decided from the first week of school that she wasn’t my biggest fan. It’s probably because I talked too much, but she was the first adult in my life that made me feel like I had to recognize a situation where an adult was unkind to me. She talked down to me like I was her problem and not her student, she wouldn’t let me take bathroom breaks, and she humiliated me in front of everyone every single Friday about how I barely made it through the week without talking. She was rude, inconsiderate, and honestly, seemed like she hated her job. It’s one thing to discipline students who talk too much during class, but it’s quite another to tear them down in front of their peers constantly.

About 11 or 12 years later, I was waitressing at a local diner in my hometown, and she and her friend came to have dinner and sat at one of my tables. She smiled and laughed, she talked about how I was one of her favorite students, and she reminisced about how long ago it was and she still remembered so much about me being in her class. Over a decade had passed, and just laying eyes on her reminded me of exactly how she made me feel. I was kind to her, I served her with the best of my abilities because that was my job, but deep down, I’ll never forget how much she hurt me at such a young age, and I couldn’t wait for her to leave so we could drop the whole charade.

I have seen several videos lately, where people warn their internet audience about providing a safe, healthy, wholesome, loving, and nurturing environment for their children and how that underserves them for when they are traumatized by the world once they are on their own. I agree that no one will likely love, treat, or talk to children the way their parents do; however, I also think warning and preparing have two very different meanings here.

I know there are people in the world who will say things that may offend, worry, or provoke insecurity from my kids. I know I can’t wrap them up in a bubble and send them on their way. I know they will feel impacts from others that I cannot control. As a parent, sometimes, that’s the toughest part. Hoping and praying for the best when you have no actual hand in how it turns out. All you can do is raise them to be good people, to do the right thing, to know the right moment, and to trust themselves and their instincts.

I spent weeks before my daughter’s first dance recital trying to talk her fear down about dancing on stage. She was 4 and nervous because it was new. I tried to tell her everything I thought she’d love about it, everything I loved about it when I was a dancer for nearly two decades, and it didn’t help much. But she did it. She finished her recital, and I was nervous the entire time. When she got off the stage at her recital, she ran to me, wild-eyed and full of excitement.

Her first question was, “Mom, when can I dance on stage again?? Because that was the greatest feeling ever.”

It’s hard to explain emotion because understanding only comes after experiencing it. I think it’s impossible to completely prepare children for what could happen when disappointments come their way. The reason disappointments are such a letdown is because they’re personal. They mean something to someone. They have an impact. I think it’s difficult to really evoke that response from someone who doesn’t actually feel those feelings. Telling a child, “This could happen, and this is how it could make you feel” will never have the same response or impact as an actual experience.

Those feelings that come with heartbreaks, trusting the wrong people, learning how expectation can set you up for the ultimate fall, believing in friends who never saw you the same way, being made fun of, feeling forgotten, being scared when you should feel safe, etc. There is no way to explain heartbreak to someone who hasn’t felt it.

When I look at my life, when I was younger and made investments in people, like relationships and friendships that mattered to me beyond elementary school, I realize now that in many ways, I wasn’t a great communicator at all. In fact, I was mostly just this wound-up series of emotions with arms and legs, and every response was usually led by emotion before any form of pragmatism.

In complete honesty, I cried a lot. Major weeper. I also had a quick reaction rate without even fully listening to what the other person would say to me. My dad used to say, “Stop having so many expectations for people, then you won’t be disappointed so often.” As an adult, I still find that extremely difficult to do. My mom and I argued about things she assumed and I stayed silent over, when I could’ve been more open about what was going on in my head. Sometimes, I still think about those moments and wish I had said something more about how I felt. Maybe things would have gone differently in some of those situations if I had communicated better about the way that I felt.

There’s no way to look at my kids and explain how they need to “get through” situations that may devastate them, how crying so hard you think you may vomit turns into one day and then another, how someone you trust can hurt you like it’s nothing and walk away without another word, how friends you loved betrayed you in ways you still may not understand, how teachers may talk to you like you know nothing, how coaches may treat you like you’re not talented, how classmates may pick you apart based on something meaningless just to hurt you, how supervisors may treat you like you’re not a person, or how manipulation can take many treacherous forms, even from those you trust, and end up costing you the most. I can’t put into words for them how pain can change your ability to recognize yourself in the mirror, or how trauma can bend and break the person you were before it happened to where you can’t even talk about it to anyone. We just know those things because we live them.

On the healing side of that, there’s no way to explain to them what finding God on a bathroom floor looks like, or the gratitude that may come from a neighbor wanting to sit with you in silence while you sob in your dorm room just to make sure you’re okay, how a positive piece of mail from your mom can change your whole month when things are hard, how coping can sometimes take years of your life, how mistakes can change the core of who you are and how you look at life, or how to silence the unnecessary words so you leave room for the ones that matter. I can’t talk them through finding peace when they’re trying to figure out how they ended up eviscerated to begin with, and I can’t tame their trauma for them before they experience it. I can’t logically provide them any rational response to something they’ve never felt. I have to trust in their ability to make decisions and to find meaningful ways through them, even after if they’ve made the wrong ones.

I do think letting your kids know how to recognize a situation where an adult or peer may try to negatively impact their lives, manipulate their perspectives, undermine them, or hurt them in any way is important. I think warning them about the types of people out there who can try to hurt their position in the world, their constitutions, or their ideological capabilities, discriminate against them, try to hurt their reputations, or just affect them on a personal level is important. I think even if you grew up in a home with a healthy environment, you can still experience trauma and develop healthy ways to cope with it.

It’s natural to want better for your children than anything you’ve ever known. It’s the part where you trust them, you trust God, and you have to let go that I’m never going to be prepared for, and when that day comes, I just hope that I’ve taught them well. I hope they know who they are, what they stand for, and if for some reason that changes, I hope they can find their way back to somewhere good.

All your children will be taught by the Lord,
    and great will be their peace.”

Isaiah 54:13

God bless you on this Thursday night,

M

Confronting Routine, Exhaustion, the Heimlich Maneuver, and the Truth about How You Feel

Peace can be quite a luxury item, at times. I had just closed my eyes when I heard my new alarm clock sounding off once again—a really adorable clock but not exactly consistent. She’s 4 months old, and for some reason, I had hoped by now that she’d fall into a deep, adult-like slumber and not stir again until after sunrise each night at least. She’s cute but effective at sabotaging sleep. It was the third night in a row that I was awake nearly every 3 hours with her. Maybe it was the fourth night. No, it was the fifth. I lose count. I woke up to a morning so full that my calendar block for the day was completely filled out with scribbled to-do lists in my circa-2003 planner, but when I sat up, ready to approach the bottle-filling station in my kitchen, everything in my body hurt. I just wanted the rolling sounds of the ocean, toes in the heat of the sand, and the haze of drifting in and out of sleep.

I placed my feet on the floor next to my bed, staring at the handles of my new rustic tobacco-colored dressers, and could not seem to wake up. My head was imploding from fatigue. My joints ached from not moving in the 3 hours I tried to sleep. My heart was already heading to the kitchen but my body was trying to determine if I was still dreaming or not.

Then it came. Help swooped in like a life raft to the Lusitania, the bread for revolutionary France, the ray of sun to a withering stem. My husband, Logan, who had a lengthy to-do list of his own since it was his day off, walked into the room and said those angelic words, “Let me take her. Try to rest if you can.” It was as if those words floated to me in a melody across the air. I still have a hard time picturing that morning, just a blur of him walking into the room and offering his hand to help. It was transcendental. I was beside myself with sincere gratitude—not because he was helping me; we help each other all of the time, but this particular morning, I was in so much need of it. I wasn’t even planning to ask him for help. I was just going to push myself until I inhaled enough coffee to feel functional and keep moving forward because that’s the only way to make it through that kind of day.

So I stopped. I listened to him and to my body, and I slept. I slept for hours. When I woke up again, I felt like a different person. I had no idea what time it was or what day of the week we were in, just that feeling you get when you are on vacation and time seems to pass before you realize it’s happened. My head felt clear. My body was relaxed and no longer aching. I was able to wrap up my to-do list and help him finish his in the process.

A week before this, I had tossed a Skittle in my mouth and started laughing at some ridiculous joke Logan said to me. Really laughing, the kind of laughing that takes you by surprise because it’s so funny and unexpected. And then I felt the candy lodge itself in my wind pipe. I looked down for a minute and tried to breathe. A slow whistling sound passed through and then nothing. No air, no Skittle, nothing. I stopped breathing in because I knew this was going to make it worse, and in all honesty, my next thought was “This is an incredibly embarrassing way to go out, if that’s what is about to happen here.”  I’m 33 years old. I should have eating down pretty naturally at this point. Then, Logan took my arm and spun me around, without hesitation, and literally performed the Heimlich maneuver until it dislodged from my throat and I was able to breathe again. I wanted to laugh at first because it seemed so fast—the whole episode from start to finish was like a flash.

It sounds ridiculous but it scared me. My husband is a firefighter and EMT. He didn’t bat an eye. He didn’t panic. He didn’t wonder what to do next. He just did it instinctively. The tranquility of his demeanor throughout the incident kept me calm, and it resonated with me after that night. I kept thinking about how I almost panicked but he stopped me from doing it. I thought about a few days later, when I needed help and he recognized the need. I thought about how I struggled and he needed me to trust him. I thought about how we struggle with things in our lives. How day-to-day routines dictate to us what our day will look like but not necessarily how it will go—we can still control if it’s a day filled with good or bad depending on our perception of it.

I thought about this in the context of our lives and how and why we come to God about our circumstances. I have the worst problem with feeling like I can handle things. I can control this. I can positively influence that. I can make this situation work. Just change a few things. I am terrible at asking for help even when it’s obvious that I need it.

Matthew 11:28-30 says, “Come to me, all of you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”

God knows that we fall to complacency in our lives sometimes, that we are burdened by circumstances even as simple as daily routines or as complex as troubling experiences. He knows when we need rest before we do. He knows when we need help before we ask. He knows that we physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually cannot control or even understand it all. He knows when we are too stubborn to ask for the help that we need. The crazy thing is that he WANTS us to choose Him, to draw close to Him, to trust in Him.

James 4:8 says “Draw near to God and He will draw near to you.”

There is no reality that exists where that will not happen. If you reach for Him, if you pursue Him, if you seek His cause and purpose for your life, if you abandon your own stubbornness for the vulnerability it takes to fully follow Him, then He will not abandon you.

I recently watched America’s Got Talent and saw a young girl with terminal cancer named “Nightbirde” surprise the world with the honesty and vulnerability of her original song. It was honest and lovely. She wrote a blog piece that identified how, sometimes, if you don’t see God, then maybe you aren’t looking as low as you should be. You aren’t on the floor yet. You aren’t in the depths of those moments where you can’t lie to yourself anymore about certain and necessary truths or realities of your life. I know those moments of absolute torture, the type of heartache that rips you apart from the inside out, the ones where you can hardly face the realities of the truth. I know what it’s like to find a relationship with God that is so close and personal that seems to begin on a tear-soaked lavender rug on the bathroom floor. To bring him your best and worst versions of yourself, of your choices, of your fears. And it’s incredible. It’s transformational to give those worries and fears over to Him. It’s what He wants for us.

I’m in a season right now, and it’s not a permanent one but it’s testing me. My new daughter will not be 4 months old forever. Eventually, she’ll be older and independent, opening Coke cans and making life choices by herself, and I will miss these days so much that the memories will form sudden knots in my throat whenever they surface. My doctoral dissertation will be finished, and I won’t have that priority sitting on my shoulders for what needs to be completed periodically in order to make progress. Our new house will be completely moved into and so many updates that we need will not be overwhelming in number.

It’s okay to be exhausted by but in love with your life at the same time. It’s okay to feel overwhelmed by routines and to-do lists. It’s okay to let fear motivate you as long it’s not in the driver’s seat. It’s okay to ask for help.

Isaiah 40:31 says, “Yet those who wait for the Lord will gain new strength; They will mount up with wings like eagles, they will run and not get tired, they will walk and not become weary.”

Bring your life—the good, the complex, the scary, the joyful, and the bad—to God. Share it with Him, celebrate it, hand over the hard stuff. Stop looking at increments of time in each routine of each day as the context of your life. We are SO much more than that. We can do so much more. Stop telling yourself that you don’t have time to fall in love with your life, that you are too tired to grow, that you are too scared to change. God is there, low or high, waiting for you with open arms—like that parent who waits to scoop you up from the dirt when you blunder those steps and end up eating some of the ground—ready to wrap you in the exact warmth of His love.

God bless,

M

It is strange to miss such simple things right now. Eating at a restaurant across from my husband, taking my kids to trampoline parks, hugging my parents, whom I haven’t seen much lately, or singing with the worship team at church. I miss coffee dates and dinner nights with my friends. The last few months have been like something out of a sci-fi movie. Incomprehensible illness, increase in global death rate, the sudden spread of infection, and a growing fear of uncertain possibilities have gripped us all and changed everything we hoped and planned for the start of summer. Mothers and fathers everywhere shudder at the slight continued cough from their children because of what it could now mean with this COVID-19 virus.

Two months ago, I was excited to wrap up two of my final three doctoral classes. I decided to double up and take two in the same term so I can finish sooner. Two weeks later, the world shut down, and I began homeschooling our kids with my husband. I already work from home, so that did not change, but I was working from home with a full house of busy, important people, who also had a set of their own priorities, schedules, and video meetings.

Two months ago, I loved working/editing during the day, book editing and homework at night, and the occasional free-time Target or Hobby Lobby browse with a mocha in hand. I loved meals with my family, hearing about the kids’ days at school, and movie nights with my husband.

I hated meal planning, cooking complicated meals, stretching work over more than one day that I knew I could finish in a day, and never having time to finish books on my reading list.

But then, everything changed. The kids were home every day, my course work for school was doubled, and I was still working and editing books. My initial feeling was to be overwhelmed, confused, frustrated about how full each day was from the moment I opened my eyes, and worried about the virus spreading to my family or that I would not handle juggling so many priorities very well.

There are days I feel like I am crushing it as a wife and mother, and there are days where I have to walk away from things, like laundry baskets and a final chapter edit so that I can sleep. A new routine has been established, one that includes keeping children’s imaginations alive while staying home, healthy, and safe. It includes educating them and finding interesting meals and resourceful cooking, creative projects, and motivational reading. It went from running to baseball practice/sensory therapy/ballet/the grocery store to a new world of Zoom meetings/water days with the pool and backyard splash park we created, and online grocery pick-ups. I cannot imagine how changed the world looks to our kids, being 5 and 6 years old, when they are still deciding and understanding what their lives actually look like as they grow into the people they will become.

I found that it was possible to carve out time to read, and then I didn’t want to stop. It was possible to care about things I didn’t love before because I found something I cared about in the process. I finally just said to myself, Okay, stop putting things off. You actually have the time now.

My grandmother, Guadalupe, passed away before I turned 9 years old, from breast cancer, and I loved her. She had the most contagious laugh and such a natural skill for telling stories. As an adult, I hate that I did not get more time with her, to learn more about Mexican culture, language, and food. I inherited her molcajete (that sat on my kitchen counter for years, unused), and I knew that I would use it one day, I just needed to know how. I spent years learning what I could from my dad, and I always wanted to get into auténtica comida Mexicana, the authentic food, but it always looked so difficult, so I put it off until later. I told myself I’d wait until I had more time to invest in it.

When both of my doctoral classes ended, I felt like I needed to fill that time with something, a place to grow or find more purpose. My mind kept drifting back to that dream of learning more authentic recipes, and that idea coupled with my bored palate from the simple meals I had been cooking stirred something up in me.

I started learning recipe types and techniques from a woman from Michoacán, and now I am in love. My kitchen looks like a different place to me, filled with wonder and spice, even potential. My aunts send me recipe tips that they use, and after some practice, I actually look forward to meal preparation. I enjoy being creative but staying within cultural boundaries. I love knowing that it’s a part of my grandma and her history, my dad’s story, a part of my heritage, and something I can pass on to my daughter because it is in her blood as well.

         

I’m careful in meal preparation now, selecting with purpose and full intention, and not cutting corners but allowing tortilla dough to rest or chile sauce to season and simmer for the appropriate lengths of time. Through experience, I’m learning how long it takes to roast guajillo chiles before they get bitter, how to differentiate between tomato and chile sauce, the perfect splash of lime in certain dishes, and the combinations that work better with corn tortillas vs. flour tortillas.

       

I’m learning to have patience with myself and the process that is necessary for the meal to turn out like it should and to embrace the unforeseen changes (e.g., pots boiling over or roasting tomatoes too long) that may take place. I’m learning to love something that I always felt was a little bit like a chore or something that did not come creatively to me. I can cook, I’ve been able to cook since my mom taught me at 16. I wanted to be able to cook with purpose and intent. I wanted to love it for the simple fact that I was nurturing others in a unique way. I wanted to enjoy it enough so that my daughter can learn it one day when she’s ready. I want her to know all of the significance that can come with preparing a meal together.

   

I am carving out more time for books, meal planning, and Bible study. I am focusing on the positives that may come out of this season rather than dwelling on the negative changes (like my daughter never got her first ballet recital, my stepson never finished his tee-ball season, we cannot go to church every week like normal, they never got to say goodbye to their teachers in a real way, we have to worry about exposure with other people and catching a virus that is taking over the world, everyone is going stir-crazy staying at home day after day, working with a house full of people can be difficult, etc.). There are so many downsides to what is happening in the world today. The fear of an unknown illness taking the life of someone you love–it’s a scary thought. And it is a matter of choice to continue to practice caution but focus on the positives in these circumstances. And for me, that meant to stop pushing to the side something that I always wanted to know more about and love.

         

   

         

If I have learned anything in this season, it is that sometimes, we do have to slow down and take a step back. Look at the routine we are in and the way time is utilized and find better ways to do spend it with more meaning and effectiveness.

Stop putting off those things you care about because you feel like they may take too much time or are too much work, or will take too long to learn or enjoy in a successful way. Have a chat with God about why those questions or goals or dreams were put on your heart. Think about where you are in your life and ask yourself what you are waiting for in the process. Pray about it, dive into God’s Word about what He says about the desires of your heart.

Psalm 37:4-9 says,

“Take delight in the Lord, and he will give you the desires of your heart.

Commit your way to the Lord; trust in him and he will do this:

He will make your righteous reward shine like the dawn,

your vindication like the noonday sun.

Be still before the Lord and wait patiently for him;

do not fret when people succeed in their ways,

when they carry out their wicked schemes.

Refrain from anger and turn from wrath;

do not fret—it leads only to evil.
 For those who are evil will be destroyed,

but those who hope in the Lord will inherit the land.”

This is the journey, and it looks so different for all of us, but you can change direction at any point. You can decide if something is not working, to change it. You can start something new, you can fall in love with a new aspect of something you’ve done forever. After a while, those impacts will change you more than you realize and you may find a deeper purpose in it. Sometimes, change happens and our only course of action available is to adapt, and that is okay. It is part of the journey, and God will use it to bring something beautiful about in the process. Even something as simple as valuing cooking in a different way because of the meaning that it brings.

Stay in prayer, stay encouraged, and God bless you all,

M

 

“Get off the floor, get out of your head, and create something beautiful with your life.” If I could sum up a series of motivational lines my mother has given me over the years, it may be that statement. And like most situations that I have grown to realize, she was unquestionably right. You’ll get nowhere in life if you ache over it all the time without moving forward.

I love people who enjoy their lives. I love watching them, dancing through the uncertainty of time, tasting the bitterness of life and not giving up, and breaking open the inhibitions of it right in front of us for all to see. It’s like those people who dance in fountains in the middle of town or play music behind an open instrument case with their eyes shut tightly, never knowing of your existence, just hoping you’re there taking it all in and finding God somewhere as the notes fall.

When I used to be a dancer, ballet became something sacred to me. It was a place I would go, whether it was after school, or between softball practices, or after night classes in college. It never mattered what happened that day, the highs and lows, the mundane moments, the fights and break ups, the insecurities, new friendships, tough assignments, or utter failures. When ballet class was in session or a performance/competition taking place, the atmosphere was a white mist, a cloudy net that captured all of those busy thoughts in the fog and held them at bay until the music stopped.

It was a place where I moved freely, with intention, with feeling, with ease, and with satisfaction. Every down beat cast a new shape on my heart for what was to come, and I anticipated the challenge of it all. I am in love with ballet. And like most things in life, there came a certain point where it was not possible for that love affair to continue. Working full-time, having children, new priorities and commitments, and, to be completely honest, the act of aging does not lend itself to such a demanding art when you cannot maintain your level of consistency day-to-day.

I still have never found anything to replace the way that ballet made me feel, but I have fallen in love with new areas of life in the process of searching. The point is to get out there and learn. Get to know yourself. Learn your limitations, coax your insecurity out into the light, and dance with it in a fountain. Everything you try may not be a success. The things you love may not work out, but the first attempt also may not be the final answer.

 

 “’Though the mountains be shaken and the hills be removed, yet my unfailing love for you will not be shaken nor my covenant of peace be removed,’ says the LORD, who has compassion on you.”

Isaiah 54:10

In my first week of attending college courses at a university, I was new to the English department and completely naïve to how I thought my college experience would be as a whole. One of my professors, one of the toughest in the department, made me cry the second day of class by pushing me to a point where I felt humiliated in front of everyone about all of the things I didn’t know but felt I should at that point.

My midterm assignment was centered around a subject that involved me denouncing a certain truth about the life of Jesus and the written narratives in comparison to Jesus that came with Indian captivity narratives and early Christian writing.

I couldn’t write that paper. Everything in my body ran wildly against it. So I didn’t. I wrote a different paper, one that identified the critical questions in the assignment but from an angle that didn’t question the foundations of Christian values. I knew I’d fail it, but I didn’t care. When he passed the midterm papers back out, he never gave me mine but asked me to see him in his office (which we all know is never a good sign).

He dropped the graded paper on the desk in front of me and sat back in his chair. At the top, circled in red ink, was an A+. I looked at him, stunned, and he said, “You’re only one of two students in the entire class who pulled an A out of this. And I thought you were so quiet in my class you were about to fail it. But now I realize that you’re just a quiet thinker, and that’s interesting to me because very few people surprise me.” He eventually became my favorite professor in the entire department because he saw capability in me, and he continued to push me to become a better writer.

 “And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.”

 Philippians 4:7

Sometimes, you have to make the choice to stop living scared of whatever the outcome may be and just follow your instincts.  A few weeks ago, at church, the sermon was about how important environment can be and when it’s time to stop learning, how life, sometimes, “spews you back out, ready or not, and you have to survive the seasons and cultivate your own atmosphere.” I thought that was brilliant because we all live those moments where we have to stop looking at ourselves a certain way and shift the focus. Challenge what we are becoming and what we have the potential to become beyond anything we can even imagine.

 

“But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.  That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.”

2 Corinthians 12:9-10

 

   

Also, as a new student in the English department, I had taken my first creative writing class, where everyone sat in a circle and critiqued each other’s work, and you had to remain silent while they tore your writing apart until the very end. Then you could speak and defend your soul that was poured out on those few lines of college-ruled paper. I was mortified when I first saw this and understood what was coming for me.

On the first day of class, the professor outlined what we would do throughout the semester, and as she spoke, I could feel my throat tightening and the formation of potential hives on my neck and chest. My breathing also increased, and getting out of that situation was all I could think about in the moment. So I gathered my things, stood up, and walked out the door to my advisor’s office to drop that class, feeling like a coward but not caring in that terrifying moment. I was too insecure of a writer for that class, at least that was what I told myself. “I’m here to learn, I’m still learning. I can’t do that.” It was a graduation requirement, so I would have to take it again, but it was not going to be that day. I had already made up my mind.

When I came back to take the class later, I was more seasoned in the English department, I had survived many other difficult courses, and mentally, I was ready. The truth was, I was ready to take that course 2 years prior, but I didn’t believe it about myself, so I couldn’t picture it. I struggled in my first year finding an identity that made sense, navigating challenges to the identity that I brought to college with me, aligning my belief system somewhere among people who didn’t empathize with it at all, and it’s easy to feel lost in a new space that feels challenging and empty.

 “Cast all your anxiety on Him because He cares for you.”

1 Peter 5:7

 

 

 

They told us to stop looking at ourselves as students, that we had made it this far, that we hadn’t given up through difficult courses, published material, and critiques that were gut-wrenching and much-needed.

They told us to start looking at ourselves as peers in the industry we’d fallen in love with, and to be confident in that realization.

I never forgot that because it changed my entire outlook about my academic career, my life, and my ambition.

Today, I’m still searching for new areas of life that I fall in love with and want to delve deeper into understanding, like music, embroidery, editing, cooking, business, Mexican culture, and writing. The point is to never stop falling in love with life. Even when you have a hard time, or like last month was terrible for me, from experiencing a dislocated rib, a broken toe, a sinus infection, and bronchitis all at the same time. Life happens. We can lay on the floor and cry about it, or we can find a way through it.

God never intended for us to suffer uncontrollably throughout life, despite the twists and turns, the heartaches, and utter blows to our existence. God is love, and He gave us life out of love with the capability and capacity to truly love other people. So that’s what I intend to do, and I’m loving myself in the process because that is equally important for anyone to compassionately understand and cultivate love for someone else.

Stop overthinking your life and just live it. Enjoy those moments with your kids, put your phone away and talk to your spouse, get into nature more and breathe in some fresh air. Listen to the sounds it makes, the life all around you, and embrace the world where you exist. If you don’t love things about your life, then change it. Show your children what it looks like to fall in love with life and to live it, learn from it, experience it, taste it, and pursue it purposefully.

Take hold of God as you do it, talk to Him, share those moments with Him, too, and love Him for everything He created out of absolute, unfailing beauty. The parts of humanity that hurt, the misgivings, the failings, the disappointments, the unexplainable—they exist, but stop living in those moments like they determine the life you have and the one you continue to live.

You’re phenomenal, and you have something unique and important, and when you see that in yourself, you can build an empire.

 

Let God change your life in the most beautiful ways because He has the most incredible ideas.

 

God bless,

 

M

 

 

 

 

 

A few days ago, I, unknowingly, started driving to a tornado. I will follow this statement by letting you know that I do not chase storms for a living, nor do I have the Helen Hunt edition of I-like-to-smack-my-gum-and-seek-danger-zones personality, but regardless, the statement is still true. I drove right toward the thing.

I left my house to pick up my stepson from school. I could hear thunder in the distance, but the sun was shining, and I did not think much of it. As I drove the three-mile distance from my house to the school, I noticed a blanket of darkness unfolding in the view ahead, and the clouds rolling ahead of one another, challenging each new motion, in cumulus competition. My radio station cut out, and I heard an automated tone say that if you are in the north central area of my county, to take cover because there is, in fact, a tornado. I have never seen the sky do anything so quickly.

At this point, I was in the line at the school, which consists of a long road through the center of two tree lines, and I heard the city tornado siren blaring through the wind as it steadily picked up. I called the school to see what knowledge they had of this situation and what their plan for the kids looked like, and the woman who answered informed me that the kids were already in the hallway, taking cover as we speak.

Before she hung up the phone, she said, “Well, be safe out there.”

 

My first thought was that my stepson was safe right where he was in his school. My next thought was that I am out of my mind for still sitting in this car between a thousand trees, and maybe I should plan to actually do something about this . . . like get somewhere safe.

Eventually, the warning was lifted and everything was fine. The tornado went a different direction. What I realized in that moment was that (1) weather still freaks me out (my brother used to provide 5-year-old me with earmuffs and a blanket when it stormed because I got scared), and (2) we spend majority of our time worrying about what is beyond our control, whether long- or short-term moments.

This example was a fleeting moment of time, but in that moment, I will admit that the color of those clouds coupled with that ringing siren had me a little unnerved. In the book, Why Zebras Don’t Get Ulcers, Robert Sapolsky addresses how animals in the wild have stress based on certain isolated episodes, but then they forget about it. For example, a zebra running from a lion only stresses the zebra out until the lion gives up the chase (or catches a slower zebra). The zebra then moves forward with its life in seemingly sustainable peace until its next episode and does not seem to dwell on the issue. We have no wild animals chasing us, but we still find a way to pocket long-term stress and provide it a residence in our minds.

The Bible says

“Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God.”

Philippians 4:6 (NASB)

Sometimes, it helps you process current stressful situations by looking back to see how far you have come. There is no person alive who has not overcome some moment of stress in their personal history. In addition to that, there is no moment that you will ever live in forever. When I look back, I see plenty of good. I also see things about myself, the worries and tendencies I used to have, and the weaknesses that are no longer there.

 

I believe that desperation can be one of the loudest scents that you can wear. It can cause stress to stifle every other breathable moment out of the conversation, and there was a time in my life where I thought I knew who I needed to be because it would complement the person whom I thought I wanted to be with long-term. I was in college, brand new to establishing any type of literary voice, and in a new relationship that I thought was what I needed. He always seemed to have one foot out the door, though. I never understood it or recognized the reason, so naturally, I assumed it was because of me. I thought that if I could cook well, maintain intelligent conversations about literary conventions, and responsibly take care of our dog that he would see the value in me that I knew I had. The indifference in his demeanor made me question parts of myself that took years to cultivate. And in compromising naivety and poor judgment, I allowed it to happen. My response was to prove my worth to this person. It’s embarrassing even admitting that now, so many years later, but this whole scene played a significant role in how I became the woman I am today.

I stressed about this to the point that I would practice meals to make before I ever cooked them for him. I took notes when I read books that he recommended to me because I wanted to impress him. And the worst part of all of this is that I felt like I had to do it because I was worried that he would leave me. He had already done it twice. I stressed nonstop about proving my worth to someone because I truly did not believe that he could see any of it. Then I started questioning it myself. That should have been a sign right at the beginning, but 20-year-old me cared less about signs and more about carving my own way out of chaos. (Dislcaimer: nothing about that approach went well.)

Today, I worry about different things: responsibilities, appointments, plans, schedules, learning processes, sensory sensitivities, food aversions, sleeping through my alarm, financial obligations, making sure the people I love are not ignored, co-parenting responsibilities, and time management. I worry about my husband driving an hour back and forth through crazy traffic every other day. I worry about my daughter choking on a peach and deciding she’ll never touch one again. I worry about my stepson getting hurt at football. I worry about their emotions. I worry about their fears. I worry about their stressors and if what I meal plan for is something everyone may like.

A few weeks ago, I was going through one of my books, and I found a piece of paper folded up. When I opened it, I saw the notes that I scribbled while reading Hemingway’s, The Sun Also Rises, which was recommended and even given to me years ago by that person from my past. I had written the notes  down like a literary critic would because I wanted to discuss it with him in a meaningful way and show that I was like him and that I had literary vision—that I had a critical mind that matched his. But I wasn’t his match. I prayed a lot about that back then.

Isaiah 41:10 (NASB) says

 

“Do not fear, for I am with you;
Do not anxiously look about you, for I am your God.
I will strengthen you, surely I will help you,
Surely I will uphold you with My righteous right hand.”

 

 

God truly never fails. When I saw the desperation in that crumpled piece of paper the other day, that insecure fragment from my past, I almost laughed at myself before I threw it in the trash. I remembered all of the stress I had day after day about that relationship. It was nearly a decade ago, and I am thankful for not being that girl anymore. I’m grateful that I no longer justify situations that make my stomach knot and twist with worry rather than walking away. I still worry about things, but it takes God out of our situations when we stress constantly, and it indicates to Him that we do not have faith in His plan and purpose if we consume ourselves with worry.

 

One thing I definitely do not worry over anymore is proving my value to someone. I may worry about tornadoes <— that will likely never disappear. But it took me a long time to realize that love, real love, the kind that comes from God, doesn’t function in that way. And thankfully, I am married to someone who shows me that I am valuable to him every single day.

 

When I finally married my husband, I knew that was from God. There was a deep-seated peace from minute one with Logan, even as a 16-year-old, he was good. He was good-hearted, and he was good to me. As an adult, he is still true to himself, and he loves God. He is a leader, and I trust him in how he leads. He loves me unabashedly and allows me to be myself. He loves me for who I am without trying to change anything, and there is so much freedom from stress or anxiety in that realization.  I knew this love was beyond anything I had ever imagined because there was no selfishness in it. There was no competition, indifference, or doubt mixed into it. He’s compassionate and supportive. He contributes positivity to the moment and does not steal it away. He champions my success and dreams. He never makes me feel like an unanswered question. He never needs a break from my existence.

The tornadoes will blow through, relationships may get rocky, and you may have moments of real self-doubt. You may look back at the person you once were and wonder who that even was, and that can be a good thing.

Growth demands our direct participation in stretching beyond what we know.

Stay true to who you are, the parts and particles that make you unique, and let God carry the burden of those worries that keep you up at night. He will sort everything out, and He already has a plan for it all. Let God be God and trust in Him that everything will work according to His plan and purpose for your life.

 

 

God bless,

 

M

 

The human heart can be so deceiving. You can make a decision based off of relative emotion, be judge and jury to your own personal hearing, and commit to your decision: This is how I feel about it. Period.

When I was 6 years old, my aunt and uncle bought a van. Not a minivan. A van. A huge van. It was white with hidden compartments all over, and it had seats everywhere, TVs inside, and cupholders on every surface. To my 6-year-old brain, this was a house on wheels. I think I even told my parents that. It was huge, magnificent even. I told myself that day, “One day, when I can drive, I will have a van like this. It will be green because this month, that’s my favorite color.”

My dad still likes to joke about how I determined at such a young age what kind of vehicle I would drive based on characteristics that I thought was important. I clung to that expectation for YEARS. I was the only kid in my elementary school who thought having a van one day would be awesome. He still laughs about how I continued to argue with everyone that I was going to get a van and never change my mind when they would suggest I may grow to like something else. I never got a van, in fact, I turned 15 and, obviously, did not want a van. I couldn’t get my mind off of Jeep Wranglers, so that was what I drove.

I set my 6-year-old heart on something that didn’t make sense yet. I assumed that the things I cared about at age 6 would still be important to me at 16. Clearly, they weren’t, though extra cupholders are never a bad idea. As adults, do we not still do this to ourselves?

Except today, we call it expectation and the inevitable disappointment that typically accompanies it. Expectation is like that friend who always shows up to a dinner uninvited, but they are so optimistic and hopeful that you let them in and even enjoy their company. Disappointment is like her overly pragmatic husband that tags along, whom everyone just has to tolerate because no one knows if he’ll actually say something or not. No one knows yet if he’ll be right about whatever the situation is, but when he is, Expectation then shrinks to the back of the room in silence. Sometimes, they’re the worst dinner guests, and your own worst enemies.

A few months ago, I started a Statistics for Business Research class for my doctoral degree, and I went into it with the same mindset that I do for all of my classes. “Research is my area. This will be cake.” I knew several research papers were required for the class. I had no reason to worry. What I had not planned on was a new professor who completely hated the way that I write. He didn’t care so much for my analysis as he did for my calculations. Up to this point, I have had several of the same professors, so I knew who I was writing for and what academic style they preferred. I went into this situation naive. I may as well have told myself I was getting a green van out of it.

By the end of the course, when I passed it (hallelujah!), I realized that I learned a lot more about calculating statistics, and even research, than I had realized. I spent the first half of the class stressed out, blindsided, disappointed, and upset about a few early grades that were below my personal standard. At the end of the course, he wrote on my final, “I really enjoyed reading your papers. You conduct excellent research.” I had given up in the beginning. I honestly thought about dropping the course and studying it some more before retaking it again, and several of my classmates did drop it. I didn’t think I was ready. I got in my head about it and started to psych myself out. My progress to this point, my known capabilities, my strong constitution and confidence levels were far from my mind. In their absence, all I could see was that glaring 73 (among other not-so-excellent grades) and huge list of notes he left me on my feedback page.

But then it happened. I got ONE good grade back. I received ONE comment of good feedback in a discussion from a classmate. I saw how to calculate ONE correlation and became interested in how the scenario applied to real life, to my life. I started to care about it because it started to make sense. I just needed a little more exposure to it. I needed to stop thinking so much about my limitations and intimidations. I needed to stop assuming so much.

I needed to stop allowing the domestic dispute between Expectation and Disappointment to take over my thoughts and feelings, even guiding my actions. The heart is so deceptive, sometimes. I had made up my mind that I couldn’t do it. I wasn’t ready.

The Bible says,

“The heart is deceitful above all things and beyond cure.  Who can understand it? ‘I the Lord search the heart and examine the mind, to reward each person according to their conduct, according to what their deeds deserve.'”

                                                                                     Jeremiah 17:9-10

Since the green van incident and the business class, I still expect things to be a certain way. I’m human, but the difference is, I try to look at everything with a faithful heart. I look at things that happen in my life, in the lives of other people, and I try not to get caught up on what I think or assume should happen. I trust God. He gave me a responsibility to abandon the ways that are not like Him, which includes the human heart being, well, completely human and solely occupied with this world and not His Word.

“You were taught, with regard to your former way of life, to put off your old self, which is being corrupted by its deceitful desires; to be made new in the attitude of your minds; and to put on the new self, created to be like God in true righteousness and holiness.”

Ephesians 4:22-24

I think when we assume responsibility for expecting and controlling our universe, it really speaks volumes about how little faith we have in our Creator’s abilities, in His abiding love, and in the depths of His mercy and grace. We need to see it from His perspective, from the scope that He wants us to look at our lives through.

“Open my eyes that I may see
wonderful things in your law.”

Psalm 119:18

I hope that you can set your mind at ease today. I hope that you can hand it to God, whatever stage you’re in—whether you’re still stress eating appetizers with Expectation in blind, relentless hope or experiencing the letdown of Disappointment’s inevitable righteousness. Give it to God. Pray about it. The human heart, while deceptive at times, is also conditioned for love. You have to stop letting things that shake your confidence actually break your constitution.

Know yourself, hold tight to your identity, and if you don’t like something about where you are, then change it. Just don’t let an opportunity for growth stop you from learning from it. Step out of your comfort zone if you have to, it can be a wild ride. And sometimes, you’ll find that you’ve stepped so far out that you end up all the way across the country, encountering God, and watching a rainbow stretch its rays over the hazy, sunlit Monument Valley, Utah when you least expect it. Your awareness in those moments are what can change your life.

 

God Bless,

M

 

 

 

I love children. I love how they have a special way of communicating information to you with all inhibition and worry tossed to the wayside. I love how funny and detailed imaginations can get. I love how they call you out about things at exactly the right time. I especially love their skill for expecting parents to be mind readers just because they assume you are an adult version of them, so you should automatically identify every desire, disappointment, and emotional construct inside those tiny developing constitutions on a daily basis. My daughter has a tendency to call my name and make demands like I somehow joined her payroll and owe her a full-time salaried position of work.

Not only is it impossible to maintain a rational conversation with irrational little beings, but besides having no indication of what they are actually thinking (still not a mind reader), sometimes, it’s an impossible feat to attempt to resolve the situation or emotion at hand even when you finally figure out the original problem.

In the last two weeks, we have had dance class, football practices, school projects, a possible strep/full-body rash occurrence, the unexpected death of a friend, work deadlines, occupational/feeding therapy, doctoral degree homework, a birthday party, and the day-to-day stuff we all approach each week.

In addition to this chaos, as if that isn’t enough, my daughter has decided to resurface her emotional breakdowns that last impressive amounts of time and end with her screaming, sobbing, shaking, and almost vomiting. I thought those tantrums faded into the abyss along with her toddler years, but nearly every single day this past week, she has graced me with the fit of an emotional hurricane, where tiny tornados of rage, fear, and confusion break loose at the seams, and she can’t seem to find a way to regulate or control it until it just passes. The aftermath is usually a quiet calm. She’s 5 years old now, and when she was 2, I had no real way of figuring out what was happening, much less how to communicate with her about it.

One night, my husband was at work, and we went through the whole song and dance again, this time, over a piece of paper with a heart on it that she couldn’t find, before and after my stepson’s football practice, and after I had worked all day already. I stay calm, and I tried to calm her down but to no avail. By the time it was all over, the bedtime routine was finished, the kids were asleep, and I still had homework to finish. When everything was done for the night, I could have cried. It was one of those days where I was glad it was over, but I hated how bad it turned.

I am pretty good with trying to maintain control of situations, which isn’t always a good thing. I make lists. I fill up calendars. I plan my days/weeks in advance. I like to know what’s coming and have everything ready. I like to be prepared and have confidence in what I’m doing.

I hate uncertainty. I hate feeling lost in an airport or surprised by how something turns out differently. This particular tonight, I felt more lost than usual. As a parent, we like to think we know our children and have everything figured out to the best of our abilities, but in this particular moment, I didn’t feel that at all.

I was overwhelmed and confused and worried. I started praying.  

• I prayed about how impossible it feels to parent in a sensory-sensitive situation that I can’t even begin to understand.
• I prayed about how I’m still confused by certain behaviors and how to approach them without them getting worse or creating a bigger problem.
• I prayed about how I know God chose me to be her mom because He knew I was right for her, but her emotions are so intense and surprising sometimes, and there’s fear wrapped up in it, and I don’t always know how to fix it for her or take it away for her, or how to be the mother she needs in the moment she feels so overwhelmed or out of control.
• I prayed about how to not feel so lost in this journey that she and I are both on in figuring this all out.
• I prayed about the guilt over being a mom who has to “figure it out” when my assumptions are that most moms already get it.

A few days later, she was starting ballet class. She’s very particular about her clothes and where hems or tags touch, and she won’t have a button anywhere near her. I knew she would not be completely thrilled about ballet clothes, but she was ecstatic to start ballet, so it was a start. She agreed to get her clothes picked out and try them on before class, and I told her, just say to yourself, “I’m 5 years old. I’m a ballerina. This is how we do it. I don’t get scared.”

She said it to herself in the mirror a few times, each time with more confidence than the last. When it was time for class the next day, she got dressed slowly but completely, and then she wanted to go to the bathroom. I waited outside the door, and I could hear her tiny voice through the door:

“I’m 5. I’m a ballerina. This is how we do it. And I don’t get scared.“

She came out, and it was the first day she fell in love with ballet.

That night, I talked to her grandmother about it, and she said, “You are such a good mom to her. You don’t just take fear away for her but you’re teaching her how to overcome her fears and have confidence in herself.”

 I thought about my night of being overwhelmed. I thought about all of those prayers where I just asked God to help me know how to reach her the best when she needs it the most. I certainly do not have it figured out, and every day seems to present a new challenge that I never expect or see coming (and I really do hate surprises), but the truth is that God is preparing that little girl for something, and He is preparing me, and I have no idea what it could be for, but I trust him because I know that He is good.

Parenting is not easy, and there are more challenging days than others, with plenty more ahead, but the way that we look at our kids and think about them, the way that we want the best for them, and the challenges and fears we never want them to have to face but we know they will, and the confidence that we want them to build inside and around themselves like a fortress of truth and might—these are the ways that God thinks about us. These are the characteristics of a Father who is completely about love. It’s okay not to have every answer when you think you should have it, and it’s okay to be overwhelmed or heartbroken at an emotional turn, but in the end, my loyalty and my trust reside with God, and I know that no matter what comes, I am not facing it on my own.

So hug your little ones, pray over what is on your heart, have patience for the unfamiliar and unexpected, and know that God already understands your fear or worry before you even bring it to Him. Here are some verses that will can surround your heart and mind with the comfort of peace:

 

“Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.”

                                                   Philippians 4:6-7

 

“Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God so that at the proper time He may exalt you, casting all your anxieties on Him, because He cares for you.”

                                                                           1 Peter 5:6-7

 

“Search me, O God, and know my heart; try me and know my anxious thoughts.”

                                                                           Psalm 139:23

 

“I pray that the God who gives hope will fill you with much joy and peace while you trust in Him. Then your hope will overflow by the power of the Holy Spirit.”

                                                  Romans 15:13

 

“I have told you these things so that you can have peace because of me. In this world you will have trouble. But be encouraged! I have won the battle over the world.”

                                                                              John 16:33

 

“He said to her, “Daughter, your faith has healed you. Go in peace and be freed from your suffering.”

       Mark 5:34

God bless,

M

 

A few years ago, my daughter (who was 2 at the time) and I were living in a small, two-bedroom apartment. It was a sweet apartment near the beach, full of gray and blush tones and ruffled throw pillows, with a peach cream pie candle scent that easily filled every room. She was busy, exploring constantly, and I had just started my doctoral program while still questioning my sanity if it was the right time to begin it. I know, though, if you wait for the timing to be right, you may just wait forever. There is no perfect timing, you just have to dive in and hope for the best. Life is busy. So many things push and pull you in so many directions and you have to make a choice for which direction makes the most sense.

One night, it was almost her bedtime, and I worked steadily to finish a research paper 3 hours before it was due. I had worked on it all week, and I still didn’t have much confidence that it would be finished in time. This one particular evening, after feeling off for the majority of the day, I became ill with what I had hoped would be related to something I ate and just disappear, but instead, it was a virus that made me so sick, I could only stand for about 15 minutes before I would be ill again at a time. This continued for two days, and it was awful.

“Restore to me the joy of Your salvation
And sustain me with a willing spirit.”

Psalm 51:12

I remember looking at my little girl and longing for whatever age it is that children can actually put themselves to bed. She played in the living room for a few minutes until I could gain some composure again, and I reappeared just in time to see her knock my cell phone off of the arm of the couch and onto the wood floor. The screen went blue, I assume as a final cry for help, and then it died a seemingly quick and painless death. It never turned on again, its contents were lost in the abyss, and there was never a solution. I could have panicked over it, but I was too sick to even care in that moment.

I was exhausted, stressed about school, worried about taking care of a toddler and keeping that illness away from her, upset about my broken phone, its lost contents and having to get another, and frustrated about all of the things I would have to catch up on that I had pushed to the side while I was sick.

“Yet those who wait for the Lord
Will gain new strength;
They will mount up with wings like eagles,
They will run and not get tired,
They will walk and not become weary.”

Isaiah 40:31

A couple of weeks ago, three of the four members of my household, including myself, were sick at the same time, and it was as miserable as that sounds. I had no sleep, no energy, no interest in food or anything else, I could barely stand up for longer than 10 minutes at a time, and I had to take care of three other people, two of which were also completely miserable, and I had a lot to catch up on when it was all over.  I had to cancel things, move my schedule around, and still deal with day-to-day responsibilities like grocery decisions/meal planning, paying bills, work/school, laundry, and four very different schedules that had to pick back up in different places.

It’s easy to burn out on the parts of our lives that come daily, especially when unexpected circumstances take place. What is important to remember is that no matter how mundane or routine those day-to-day moments can really be, there are people who count on you, and there is a God who can restore you.

So I have included some easy strategies along with some Scripture that can help with a renewal of the soul when you feel like your weekly water needs just a twist of some lemon in it.

“You who have shown me many troubles and distresses
Will revive me again,
And will bring me up again from the depths of the earth.
May You increase my greatness
And turn to comfort me.”

Psalm 71:20-21

Below are some areas that are helpful to incorporate into our daily lives can help unburden the sense of stress or feeling overwhelmed.

1. Find perspective of the situation. Pray about it, have a moment with yourself, understand your position and where your stress originates from. Look at the day or week or month ahead and talk it out with God, especially the walls in your mind where your stress likes to hide.

 

2. Set realistic goals for your week. Know how much time you have in a day, what all of your responsibilities are and how long they take, and know your limits and strengths. Then, you can make a list about your individual days and the things that you KNOW you can accomplish and the things that you can hope to accomplish but it’s okay if not (and I LOVE making lists).

 

3. Focus, independently, on each day’s list. Don’t look at the rest of the week or even think about how you will accomplish everything needed for the month. Think about today and only today.

 

4. Be flexible to the changes that come during the day. You may have an idea for how your day will go. Try not to have a meltdown when hiccups occur in those plans, because sometimes, they do, and you find yourself completely unable to accomplish those original goals. Sometimes, your kid wakes you up before the sun and is so sick that everything else has to wait, among other scenarios. Try to look at the unexpected as potential places for opportunities as well.

 

5. Find what brings you joy, and incorporate it into your day or week where you can. Carve out, even an hour, a week. I love to sew. I love making projects and altering clothes. I love helping the kids with school projects or dress-up “super hero/dragon/fairy” days. I love playing music. I love studying and speaking Spanish. I don’t have time in every single week to focus a ton of attention to any one of these hobbies. But I incorporate them where they can fit, and they bring me joy.

 

6. Drink lots of water. This one is simple but major. Water is good for every part of your body from your skin to your health. Healthy food makes a world of difference as well.

 

7. Try to establish a consistency to your week without tying yourself to a rigid routine. Sometimes, the routine of your week is more exhausting than the specific actions you take. Routine can be the killer of excitement and adventure, so find ways to be spontaneous with your time when you can, or simply take a step in your routine and get creative with the way you carry it out each week.

 

8. Declutter small areas in your environment or life to help you focus. My office is still full of moving boxes and books, and it will get sorted out eventually, but if it is not in some type of order (amidst the chaos), even though we cannot completely clean the room out for storage purposes, then I cannot focus until there is some type of consistency and organization around me. Sometimes, it can just help your mood to look around and see things put where they go without that nagging feeling of “Oh, I still need to put that away.”

 

9. Focus as hard on relaxing as you do about the things you stress over. Whether you like to exercise, practice yoga, meditate, read books, throw hatchets, carve soap animals, crochet, get massages, collect things, play music, or cook to relax, find the area of your life that brings you to the most relaxed and peaceful place and do more of that.

 

10. Let your body rest. As much as you try to accomplish what you can at night or when your kids are asleep, the more rest that you have, the more of yourself that you can provide for others. You will also feel so much better and wake up feeling more refreshed in the process.

 

“The Lord is my shepherd,
I shall not want.
He makes me lie down in green pastures;
He leads me beside quiet waters.
He restores my soul;
He guides me in the paths of righteousness
For His name’s sake.

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I fear no evil, for You are with me;
Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.
You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies;
You have anointed my head with oil;
My cup overflows.

Surely goodness and lovingkindness will follow me all the days of my life,
And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”

Psalm 23

 

 

I hope this helps your spirit.

God bless,

 

M

 

When I was 12 years old, my mom took me to get my eyes checked because I couldn’t read the chalkboard well in class from my seat. I already had to forfeit my vanity and self-esteem to the evil modifications of braces and frizzed-out hair, and this change was something that I unabashedly refused. I remember sitting in the office after my evaluation while my mom talked to the doctor. I heard the words “prescription” and “select some frames,” and I knew my fight was over. I thought it was the end of the world. The receptionist, watching my sadness pile on in melodramatic fashion (as it typically did at that age), said to me, “You know, having vision that is not so perfect may not be a bad thing.”

I looked at her, stunned at her audacity to try to make this better when I knew my social life was about to take on a slow-burning death, and I gave her a half smile. “What does that even mean?” I asked.

She continued, “People who see everything a little blurry can have an advantage when Christmas rolls around. Every single light on your Christmas tree or around your town or over water will have a magical glow and reflection to it while the rest of us just see light bulbs. You will see it more beautifully.”

That statement meant nothing to me that day, and in fact, I think I forgot about it for a few months until Christmas came around. I realized that she was right. It was a problem with my vision that turned out to allow me to see things in a way that I never could have imagined. I still think about it at Christmas, and not that it significantly changed my circumstances of having ridiculous eyesight, but that she took my perspective and what seemed like a nightmare to a 12-year-old and made it magical.

In college, and as an adult, I have encountered circumstances that made that “problem” almost laughable. I’ve been in situations and relationships, and I’ve made choices that looking back, I can’t imagine what I was thinking. I had faith in the wrong people, I let other people down, I was selfish, and I tried to control everything instead of giving God the chance. I’ve had fear and felt numb and afraid of things like consequences, reaching out, prayer, or intimacy.

Dying to yourself, in some ways and while it seems like the end of the world, changes you. Those parts of you that are weak or vulnerable, the places that you hide inside of, the questions that you run from, they show you exactly what you need to know. They show you what your capacity looks like. They show you how your vision and perception can be skewed. They show you that value is not something we create, it is predetermined by God when He made us. He knows it, we just have to see ourselves the way God sees us.

And while you ask God, “Why? Why do I have to endure this? I don’t even know what to do or feel, I can’t find what to take away from it that could be for good. I don’t even know how to pray to You right now,” it’s important to remember that, sometimes, our vision can blur.  Sometimes, it can happen by someone else’s hand, the hand of God, or it can be by our own hand, and the results are the same. You find yourself confused, hurt, numb, angry, or unrecognizable to yourself.

It does not matter what you do, or who you have been, or what mistakes you have made. It doesn’t matter how afraid you feel, or confused, or how lost hope really seems. Loneliness and isolation in this state are not the only options because God promises to never leave us.

“When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;
And through the rivers, they will not overflow you.
When you walk through the fire, you will not be scorched,
Nor will the flame burn you.”

                 Isaiah 43:2

When you face a situation where you are unjustly taken down, God will take you into His hands and justify it according to His plan when human nature and justice have let you down.

He can take your blurred vision and make something beautiful out of it.

It can take time, but no moment in time ever lasts forever. Change always takes place. He can grow your capacity in ways that you never imagined about yourself, and He created us in love and for love, with value, and if we crash into Him in those lost spaces, He will pull you through no matter how strong the current.

“No evil will befall you,
Nor will any plague come near your tent.

For He will give His angels charge concerning you,
To guard you in all your ways.”

                        Psalm 91:10-11

 

God bless,

M

(Photo by Megan Morse Photography)

“Am I equipped for this?” It is not an unreasonable question. Being a parent means wearing many hats and knowing how to face many unexpected challenges. Preparation means you act with intention, with information, and with a degree of expectation. A prideful parent may never admit asking him or herself this question. But right now, pride is something that I throw out the window, going down a highway that I still get lost on from time to time. I can’t get it out of my car fast enough.

 

(Photo by The Slate Group, a Graham Holdings Company)

There is a species of bird, the Gray Jay (recently renamed the Canada Jay), that survive in the deepest winters of the North every year (basically, it’s always aware that “winter is coming”). I recently read about one, a female, with four babies in her nest. On one particularly cold and wet day, she spread her wings and tail out to cover the hatchlings in the nest like an extraordinary, tiny umbrella of warmth and promise.

She also uses sticky saliva to glue food to branches above snowfall lines to help store food items for longer periods during winter. They are clever, fearless birds, and the mothers are equipped to keep their young alive through the coldest and rainiest winters. Even the new Jay moms figure it out; how to keep their young alive in the toughest circumstances.

Self-Doubt

But back to the question, “Am I really equipped for this?” I wish I knew how many parents ask themselves this question. I wish I knew how many people raise children and survive things they never talk about, but I know that the answer is many. The answer is most likely, everyone. Recently, a few changes have modified the way I look at my life, my relationship with God, myself as a mother, and my patience with myself over things that I have no experience with or fail to understand right away.

Sensory-processing awareness is a new acquaintance of mine. As parents, we know when things are just unique to a child and when they seem indicative of a larger, more complex issue.

And it is into this tumultuous, yet tranquil, ocean of personal truth that I am about to dive, so bear with me. Some people know my journey with sensory awareness with my daughter, but many do not. It’s a conversation that I’m not afraid to have because I probably know the least about it at this point. But I’m learning. And I am trying to learn more and not feel so alone in understanding it.

 

Sensory-Processing Awareness

It can be a lonely journey, but as confused and in the dark as I feel about it, my 4-year-old daughter feels it much more emphatically. She feels everything more, and it confuses her in much larger ways. She’s only had four years to figure out what her world is supposed to look like, and she’s still figuring that out. Aren’t we all, though? The world is big, confusing, sometimes scary, and constantly changing. People and behaviors are unpredictable. Tendencies and preferences can change. Ideological constructs can shatter and be reborn. Personal constitutions can stay delicate or grow stronger. Everything changes. People can even surprise themselves.

My daughter started having trouble with foods as an 8-month-old. I have trouble with the word “delay” because aside from the stigma that we, as a culture, tend to unnecessarily place on that word, developmentally, I never saw her miss anything major, though she did completely skip the stage of putting anything in her mouth while teething. She’s sharp. She’s curious. She picks everything up so quickly.

As a new mom, it is hard to admit that something may not be falling in its natural line with your child. That’s a hard line to assume about though, isn’t it? Children are so different, and they set forth on their own, very specific, paths.

The Food Failures

But food has been an issue since the beginning. Let me just say it this way:

One of the hardest things in the world is to watch your child reject something that is needed to survive, every single day, like food.

 

There was a lot of difficulty with solid foods for her. A lot of gagging or vomiting, even as a baby. This led to a restrictive toddler diet, one that primarily consisted of bananas, grapes, blueberries, graham crackers, cookies, or Pop-Tarts. No meats, no cheeses, no breads, no vegetables. She seemed okay with cereal for about 2 months, but after getting choked up on a grape skin one day and a piece of cereal another day, she has never touched either of those foods again. She eventually gave up any fruit with a skin and bananas as well.

 

Knowing Your Child Despite Public Opinion

Initially, everyone treated the issue like maybe it was related to a tongue-tie, but feeding therapy for that issue, specifically, did more harm than good. She had a bad experience, threw up again, and shut down to the entire process completely. Eventually, her diet became more restrictive, which is hard, but as she got older, it became more obvious that food was not the only restriction she was setting for herself about the world around her.

 

Certain clothing textures, hem placement, buttons, her ears, loud noises, climbing up or down, balancing, and of course, new foods, all became a problem. Emotional self-control was an issue where tantrums would happen over something seemingly small to me, but it would feel huge to her and last for nearly an hour at times.

She drew a hard line in the sand between herself and certain activities, objects, foods, or sounds. And after a few months, she would seem fine with climbing certain stairs or that dress with those two evil buttons, only for a new fixation to surface.

 

The truth is, I never see it coming. It can be about a crease in her hair from her ponytail, her sleeve touching a certain part of her arm, a food touching a different food, too much food on her plate that overwhelms her, a routine that gets broken in some way, or an assertion of independence. She doesn’t always want help, and I have to stop helping so much. I have to listen to my instincts that tell me to be her mom and make things easy for her because she feels so much, so intensely, and I have to mute that voice. I have to tell myself that she has to figure some things out for herself so that she can make the decision about them that they are okay and not scary. It allows her to experience that process for herself and to eliminate the anxiety or fear she develops and associates to that particular situation or activity. I have to stop listening to everyone else—the people who do not know my child and want to tell me how I’m doing this wrong, or that I worry too much, or that she just sounds picky and let it go.

I have to let her try and be her own person and make decisions about what works and what does not work for her world today. Tomorrow, that world may look entirely different. But today, this is what she has decided she needs, and I have to learn to hear that.

I have to learn to listen to what she is not specifically saying and interpret triggers that I never knew existed. At the same time, I have to understand those triggers and if they are too much, eliminate them so she isn’t overstimulated or overanxious to an overwhelming degree. I also have to let her be a child, because she still is one. It’s a difficult place to recognize where that line exists.

After a few months of unsuccessful feeding therapy, I took her back to the doctor for a weight check because she was not gaining much at all. I poured out the new developments, the behaviors, the food rejections, the new triggers that seemed excessive to me; everything that I thought should be discussed, I poured it all out on her exam table with an exhausted heart and flailing hope.  She looked at me intently and listened from her candy-apple red office chair, and then she said it.

The Diagnosis

“I think we’ve been looking at this entire situation with too narrow of a scope. I don’t think this is about feeding, specifically.

I think we should look at sensory-processing evaluations.”

It is almost sad how little of a clue I had about what she was saying. “Look at what?” A million defining things raced through my mind. Is something wrong with her? What does this mean? Did I do something to inhibit her process or create this heightened awareness she has?

 

She referred us to a center that specializes in working with children to desensitize certain elements of their environment and help integrate those textures and foods for more successful progress. I thought about the feeding therapy and how awful it went. When the center called me to schedule her evaluation, I told them no, at first, to getting right on the schedule. I wanted to talk to someone about what exactly this all meant, what they would do, and how these sessions would go. They had the director call me back.

What happened next was incredible. She called me and answered so many of my questions, and then started asking me questions about my daughter. “Does she prefer solid and more soft/solid textures? Does she prefer to eat at the table when no one else is eating so to eliminate any pressure? Does she seem apprehensive about certain playground equipment? Does she get visibly upset when you make a drastic change and then have a hard time controlling her emotions?”

It was the strangest thing. It almost seemed like she had met my daughter and knew her, personally. Yes. How did you even know any of this? That was so specific. She explained to me what heightened awareness looked like and then what developmental delays looked like. She explained a pyramid of sensory-processing steps, of tactile and vestibular attention, occupational and speech/feeding therapy, of how they work not to pressure kids or push them too hard because once children shut down, they won’t be able to reach them anymore.

I thanked her, hung up the phone, and started crying. A 30-minute phone call with a perfect stranger made me cry, because finally, someone knew what was happening and why it was happening, and what to do about it. Finally, all of those prayers and answers I couldn’t find on my own were on the other end of this phone call. And for four years of my daughter’s life, I have tried to figure it out and nothing had worked.

Today, and Every Day, It’s a Process

But now, we have both come a long way. I’m still learning but I’m not quite so lost. She still has a restrictive diet, but her sense of exploration with less fear and her emotional control have really progressed in such beautiful ways. I embrace it and appreciate it even more when she has those magical moments of figuring something out for herself and finding excitement over learning something new. She still works with an occupational/feeding therapist and she’s incredible. She started out rejecting so many things out of fear, and now, she is so brave and resilient.

I still have blindsiding days where nothing I try works or I think I have eliminated a trigger of some kind and a new one forms. The only way I learn about that is her reaction. Sometimes, I expect a reaction and nothing happens. She surprises me a lot. Apprehension may never completely go away for her, but it doesn’t keep her from trying or functioning how she needs to, and I admire her for that. I admire her for having a perspective that I don’t understand and situating it inside of her world.  I admire her for finding beauty and emotional response in places I don’t, but maybe should.

In a women’s ministry meeting the other day, they mentioned how people love to talk about God’s love and His promises, but they always have a hard time talking about the process—the parts that ache getting to what matters. The purpose of this outpour of honesty was not to mention a Cinderella bow-tie-ending story or a possible behavioral cure, but to share that the process, while sometimes heart-breaking, can be especially beautiful. I’m 31-years-old and my 4-year-old teaches me so much about myself and about life. She doesn’t even know how much.

For years, I had questioned myself, if I was overthinking it all, if everyone telling me to let it go because she’s just a picky or particular child was right, if I was doing the right thing by focusing on it the way I had, if subjecting her to feeding therapy was the right decision or if it made it worse. I questioned God for how powerless I felt and how He presented a situation to me that I didn’t understand and couldn’t fix for this little girl. And I’m her mother. If I don’t have the right answer for my own child, who would?

 

But after that phone call, I cried. I knew we were moving in the right direction, that we found the right place, that I was right not to just ignore my maternal instincts. God knew it the entire time. Every time that I cried to Him, that I doubted myself, that I felt alone or lost, that I felt I was failing her as a mother for not understanding more, He knew it. He also knew we had to experience those trials along the way to show us both what was happening so we could know how to address it.

 

God showed me what being a Gray Jay mom of a little bird really means. It means that as a parent, He has equipped me to know her needs, to trust my maternal instincts, to keep her afloat in the nest, to help her thrive, and to show her when and how to fly on her own. He knew that I would be the right mom for her and that I would figure out what I needed to, and He knew that she was the perfect daughter for me.  He showed me that it’s okay not to have every answer or any control of a situation, to have faith instead, and He taught me how to be patient with myself over the mysteries that come with uncertainty.  He has equipped me for where He brought me.  I pray that you parents with heavy hearts over your own nest find comfort in His promises as well.

 

Praise God for understanding the things that we do not, for preparing us, and for revealing them to us at just the right time.

“Do not fear, for I have redeemed you;
I have called you by name; you are Mine.
² When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;
And through the rivers, they will not overflow you.
When you walk through the fire, you will not be scorched,
Nor will the flame burn you.
³ For I am the Lord your God,
The Holy One of Israel, your Savior.”

Isaiah 43:1-3

“You can throw it down, it’s just a rock.”

I recently told my daughter that when she located a rock and treated it like this precious object before getting in the car.  I thought about this later, how it seemed valuable to her in that moment, how it doesn’t take much to see value from a different perspective.

The smallest, most insignificant rock that finds sanctuary on the highway means little to you until a tire sends it ricocheting off of your windshield, fracturing the glass along with what little clarity you may have enjoyed for a moment, or for a lifetime.

It’s easy to care about so many things.

Singing Disney songs with my daughter at bedtime (still trying to get over how sexist Mulan really is, even for the 90s), making sure that the people I love can feel that from me without relying solely on words,  white chocolate pretzels,  antiques that hold life and stories, playing music,  finding God in everything from a tapered Wyoming sunset to the lavender blossoms emerging with victory on my porch after I thought I accidentally drowned them,  preparing food to share with people I care about, listening to my grandmother’s stories, Mexican culture and retaining what I can of it to share with my little girl since it’s in her blood too. . .

Most of all, I care about people. What else are we really doing with our lives if not intrinsically connecting them to other lives? I care about peoples’ lives—the voices who aren’t always the loudest, the fear behind the ones who are, the women with resilience, and those who need encouragement to find hope.

I care about impact and how we are all walking around leaving footprints on people with little regard to the effects of our presence on another’s self—with little regard for not only what people see when they look at us, but what we see when we look at ourselves.

There are moments in my life that I’m proud of, I can live with them—a heroine of sorts whom you just want to root for during the entire episode because so many meaningful choices were made.

Other moments, I still cringe over their existence, wishing I had turned the channel, still finding acceptance of them difficult, still aching over how I could ever allow such miscalculated blunders to come inside and take a seat—questioning how my body failed me by not rejecting so much difficulty and instead, offered refuge to parts of the world I wish I never knew.

But the end result is the same.
I am here. I see and know more about myself, my capabilities, my fears, my limits, and my resilience than I probably ever even thought about before.

I know what endurance means, what proximity can conquer and sometimes break, and the despair in an unrecognizable reflection. Knowing that showed me how to get beyond it.

Love and kindness are natural for humanity. We have instincts to want to help people, encourage people, motivate people, rescue someone in need–physically or emotionally, inspire and reassure children—even over something as small as a rock full of enchantment, a “Moana’s heart of Te Fiti,” as my daughter called it.

Value is really wrapped up in a nice little perspective package, permissible only to its holder. Sometimes, the rock that shatters the windshield carries more purpose than just inconvenience, and losing sight of everything is what has to happen before you can really see yourself.

It’s exhausting, trying to maintain a fighting chance when nature is running its course all over your heartstrings, but it matters to stay resilient, to assign value to your own rocks without devaluing someone else’s, to appreciate the little things that bring you joy. Sometimes, you just let your kid take the rock and retain that sense of enchantment. And sometimes, finding out more about yourself opens a line of reflection for someone else and you inspire people without even realizing you’re doing it.

God bless,

M

 

 

Four years ago, I moved to a sweet, little beach town. One of the first things I bought besides a couch was a jewelry box. I couldn’t resist it. It was a vintage-style, red wood chest with brass handles, butterfly hinges, and Japanese artwork inside. I loved it so much that I sent pictures of it to my brother just to showcase it, despite knowing that it coming home with me did not exactly constitute “news.” In the last four years that this unique box has been in my possession, it has weathered a few moves and a few car rides, and ultimately met its fate at the hands of a two-year-old little girl. My daughter was also enamored with this jewelry box as I was and in her spirit of excitement, she removed each handle from each drawer–and not in the dainty, delicate way, but more like the Jurassic Park way. There were no handle survivors. Not the end of the world–a little more difficult to open–but it was a little disappointing at the time.

I don’t see the same jewelry box now. I can fix the handles and most likely will, but the issue is that they were severed from the drawers. The lining that covered the interior of the screws is torn, some of the back pieces are missing, and whatever I do to this thing now, it will be “modified” in my efforts to return it to its original form. The finished product will never be the same again. It will have points of vulnerability throughout where I have had to repair damages. I’ll have to remind myself to be careful with certain pieces because they may break a second time. This box is not only fractured in physical and visual forms, but its state is fractured in my mind as well.

I think any time we see disappointment, we see it as something to “come back” from–a tear in our armor we have to overcome. A few screws that got carelessly knocked out and we can no longer locate them. The goal is always to find a way to return to our original state, but we never do. Sometimes, you miss the version from the past or aspects of it. I happen to believe that time–as relentless and unforgiving as it can be–has also been kind to me. It has shown me things that I would have never seen otherwise.

I can remember when I finally held a guitar and it began to feel natural to me and less awkward. I remember the first heavy rain storm I drove through that didn’t incite fear. I remember when I got the hang of eye liner without the result resembling one of David Bowie’s back-up dancers.  I remember when I wanted to give up the idea of going to graduate school because one rejection letter tore me in half.

These seem trivial, but I remember them. I remember when I realized all of those moments, and they all have one thing in common: time had to show me their worth. Time had to offer me practice points that I didn’t realize were even happening. Those moments mean nothing to other people, but they are branded in my mind forever.

I did finish graduate school, and now I’m currently working on a doctoral degree as a single mom with a full-time job. The timing could not be more insane, but I do not think readiness will ever come if I wait. I had some moments of serious doubt once I started this endeavor, and I struggled with some disappointing feedback. Time is coming through for me yet again, though, and failure is not something to which I gravitate, yet I know exactly what it feels like.  I know disappointment takes on many forms for many people. We see it every day: disease, failure, death, divorce, infidelity, abandonment, rebellion, loss.  I have seen enough to know that every single outcome is but a piece of this glorious puzzle in the splendor of surprise we all must endure. Trying to control any part of it–the exhaustive efforts of each attempt–only deplete the source (<- that means you).

The fear of failure is like walking up to a vintage-style, red wood box with no handles and staring at it, wishing and aching to know what is inside–angry at its blatant refusal of you. Let’s face it, a door without handles is impossible. It involves further action, such as leaning the unit over or locating a tiny object with which to coax each drawer out. Sometimes, you focus so long on the door being shut that the remedy never occurs to you. Maybe it’s not your door. I don’t know how many times I have been relieved that every desire of mine was not fulfilled.

The best part about experiencing disappointment is not only being forced to navigate the waters around it, but the part where you are changed forever. Your interior contents will never be the same, and you will never look at certain situations the same. You come out of it stronger, smarter, and sometimes, your guitar just feels less awkward.  It starts to suit you, and you find comfort in its presence. And sometimes, that can be enough. Give God the credit He deserves for knowing what He does. It’s everything you don’t, and I’m actually really thankful for that.

God bless,

M

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s touchy, but we’re going there. We should all do ourselves a favor and stop compartmentalizing this subject under the “it’s none of my business, but tragic at best” file in our minds. It IS your business. It’s the business of us all because this problem has not only existed since, I’m assuming the beginning of humanity, but it’s growing increasingly worse. Sure, it’s an uncomfortable subject. I’m not attacking men here, either, in case you’re prematurely casting judgment before you read this in its entirety. Women are abusing and killing their children and spouses every day,  too. I’m attacking the problem of abuse. 

Maybe you flinch hearing about news headlines because it reminds you of someone you know. Maybe you’re a part of the generation who still think women shouldn’t talk about personal matters outside of their homes. Maybe you would just rather not know because it’s easier not to think about it. Maybe you grew up in that environment and it has taken all you have to not look back. 

 Despite any personal experiences, expectations, or judgments—this is a growing problem, and I’m baffled as to why it is becoming more and more common and yet, we are not speaking up more about it.

In the last month, I cannot even count how many women have come to me about this subject as a friend. It’s more than six in ONE month. I cannot count how many news reports I have read where women are going missing, children are being killed, mothers and daughters are found murdered, mothers are killed in front of their children. One devastating, underlying fact in most of these cases is that a history of emotional and verbal abuse preceded a pattern of physical abuse and violence. 

I know there is a certain level of shame and embarrassment that women face in coming forward about most victimizing circumstances. The rape victims who are shamed in small towns because of the football stars who are “unlikely to do something like that,” or the athletes’  wives who retract their statements to the police, despite the obvious attacks caught on cameras around the world because the public hate and shaming are so unbearable. The girls who suffer assault and are later attacked for putting themselves in compromising positions. 

According to the National Coalition Against Domestic Violence:

• On average, nearly 20 people per minute are physically abused by an intimate partner in the United States. During one year, this equates to more than 10 million women and men.
• 1 in 3 women and 1 in 4 men have been victims of [some form of] physical violence by an intimate partner within their lifetime.
• 1 in 5 women and 1 in 7 men have been victims of severe physical violence by an intimate partner in their lifetime.
• 1 in 7 women and 1 in 18 men have been stalked by an intimate partner during their lifetime to the point in which they felt very fearful or believed that they or someone close to them would be harmed or killed.
• On a typical day, there are more than 20,000 phone calls placed to domestic violence hotlines nationwide.
• The presence of a gun in a domestic violence situation increases the risk of homicide by 500%.
• Intimate partner violence accounts for 15% of all violent crime.
• Women between the ages of 18-24 are most commonly abused by an intimate partner.
• 19% of domestic violence involves a weapon.
• Domestic victimization is correlated with a higher rate of depression and suicidal behavior.
• Only 34% of people who are injured by intimate partners receive medical care for their injuries.

Here is another swift kick to your thinking cap: The problem isn’t just men who have a problem. It’s women, too. Hear me out: the problem is real, no one can deny that. It exists for both men and women. Whether it has to do with substance abuse problems, mental health, learned behavior, anger problems, you name it—the problem exists.

The reactions of women who play direct roles in the lives of these men are sometimes perpetuating the problem. Charles Swindoll said “Life is 10% what happens to me and 90% of how I react to it.” Mothers and wives who turn a blind eye, who justify it in fear…they authorize their acceptance of it every day on repeat. This response validates every heightened, toxic moment of that behavior and tells not only the abuser but the children who watch that it’s permissible…that this is what love looks like. Then,  that becomes the only version of love and marriage that they ever see until they seek their own. 

The women who internalize all of the anxiety, hatefulness, sorrow, exhaustion, violence, verbal assaults, etc. are eroding themselves from the inside out when they start believing it all. Even worse? When they start believing they deserve it, which is a natural progression of habit in this broken pattern. Eleanor Roosevelt said, “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.” This statement could not be more accurate, and our inner voices are so much louder than any other, however aggressive or delicately hateful in nature of delivery. 

We all have choices to make throughout our lives. Choose the ones you can live with. Speak up. Talk to someone, talk to anyone,  and if someone comes to you, don’t brush it off as a trivial domestic spat that “isn’t your business” if everything in your gut tells you it’s more than that. We’re not loving each other by skimming the surface of really caring about each other’s well-being. If you’re the problem, you should speak up, too. You shouldn’t want to destroy the people who love you. Find the resolutions necessary because they exist as well. 

Love is not what someone decides it should be according to them, especially if all it ever makes you feel is empty and broken.  It doesn’t require your constant justification for its wrongdoings, excuses for its misgivings, and it doesn’t attempt to destroy you and then decide the decibel of ruin that you’re allowed to feel and recover from. It doesn’t demand your constant handholding to make any progress, only to drag you below the surface again. I believe it’s possible to come to a point where you can’t recognize yourself anymore. I also believe it’s possible to find yourself again with more clarity than you ever thought possible. 

R.W. Emerson wrote, “The only person you are destined to become is the person you decide to be.” Be the person who finds awareness, who helps and  does not hurt. Be the person who cares about others, the one who really listens. Be the person who can find clarity in the midst of despair. Be the person who can recognize love and distinguish between its actuality and its shell. Sometimes, it’s a relief to find that you were wrong. 

Be someone who perseveres.

God Bless,

M

 

 

 

 

 

Gratitude does not come easily for most of us during adversity.  In fact, a large majority of us are not even interested in asking for help (insert your own opinionated statistic about how men hate to ask for directions or how women insist upon proving a point and refuse to ask questions). Our blossoming ideological constructs have little to do with this, I believe.

I see how intrinsic it is now because I watch a two-year-old figure it out daily. I see her refusing my help and avoiding vulnerability. Assertive in her new independence, she wants to try some things herself. Sometimes, this is not a reality for her (that whole being-alive-only-two-years thing and all), but sometimes she accomplishes something on her own, and the outcome of that is astounding.

I keep thinking about the recent conversations I have had with other people, and the one recurring theme in many of them is one underlying statement, possibly never uttered aloud but implied at the very least:

“My life doesn’t look exactly like I thought it would at this point.” (*Insert apologetic, self-conscious grin.)

So many intangible moments wrap up that sweet little package for so many, and the final delivery containing the reality of it all is the part that makes us not want to open the door to its truth. Zora Neale Hurston wrote, in Their Eyes Were Watching God, “There are years that ask questions and years that answer.”  I could not find this line more accurate.

I can think of more than one time, for me personally, when an unexpected crack blew through my hemisphere and the universe shifted into some questionable abyss of desolate confusion. The most interesting part of it all, looking back, is that the events that took place were never what I remembered the most. The limelight of those wretched memories fell on my reactions to the events. What I remembered the most was my response and recovery from the initial impact. Sometimes, it’s impossible to be untouched by the world and what it can do, but you always have a choice in the way you accept your truth.

Recently,  my daughter practiced stacking pillows in the floor so she could bounce on them. I watched her prepare, calculating the parameter she would need and amount of fluff to break her uncertain fall. After two or three bounces, she lost control and the velocity of her changed direction catapulted her to the carpet.

She looked frazzled, confused by what happened and how it could have happened. She could not decide if she should cry or get angry. After all, she was so prepared just to have such a disappointing outcome occur. I expected her to ask for my help to make this endeavor go the way she intended, but she didn’t do that.

For the next three days, I watched her try to recreate the scenario. She stacked pillows and instead of bouncing to stay within the boundary of her initial comfort, she tried to fall off of them again, laughing with each attempt. Then I realized what was happening.

She liked it. She was surprised and thrilled by the adventure of it–by not knowing what would happen. She turned what should have been her disappointment into something that made her happy. She pursued it as a lesson, trying to understand what happened and attempt to repeat it so she could find enjoyment from it again. Instead of focusing on the shock of the fall, she focused on the good parts.

This sounds simplified in the world we live in, but it isn’t. This is the world we live in. We are surprised every day by people and events. It’s okay not to have the answer you’re looking for the moment you feel like you need it and deserve it, no matter how lost you may feel without it. The answers will come because God knew them before you ever asked the question.  Be thankful for your truth and know that it’s okay to ask for help. It’s also okay to create something new from unfortunate surprises. The timing and uncertainty of it all is what makes life one of the greatest adventures yet.

God Bless,

M

 

I think we can all agree that we are tired of hearing about how this election has developed no matter what side of it, despite any stance you may have taken. In the last 24 hours, I have learned some eye-opening realities about the nation I’m fighting so hard to still recognize. This really isn’t about either candidate, to be honest. It’s about the effects of the election itself on the actual people of this country.

I have learned how unabashedly divided we are, regardless of how far we have come. There are moments in our nation’s history where we tend to come together for a cause or due to a devastating blow to our country’s armor. We forsake distance and contribute whatever empathy or resources we can. Then, there are moments like the present when we are ready to fight because of what we believe in and know to be our “truth.”

The problem with the aggression in this move is that there is not one person alive who believes that his or her opinions/beliefs/perspectives are irrelevant. The wonderful thing about our country is that we have the right to them. The problem with our country is the sense of entitlement that we have in using them to attack others.

I have learned that we are not only divided, but easily manipulated in any political party, manipulative in how we project our positions, and insensitive to the positions of others.

We spend so much time using what we believe to create a platform and instead of using that platform to help, educate, or encourage others, we’re using it to blow their constitutions to pieces. 

Abortion. Such an ugly word, isn’t it? Most of us avoid the subject or cringe, especially parents. People post all over social media about how terrible it is and how these women don’t deserve life after it’s done. Then you find out your little sister had one and you had no idea, or your best friend, or someone else that you know and care about. You find out that the circumstances surrounding it, while likely could have been avoided and wasn’t, and they have died every day since.  Every time you broadcast your hate for those women, you’re torturing them further, this person you seem to love.

Lesbian. Gay. Bisexual. Transgender. More words some people have discomfort over. It is not our jurisdiction to determine one person’s right to love another person, to determine someone’s identity for them. Yet, so many people take to social media to do nothing positive but only tear down the truths that so deservingly belong to someone else.

Does it feel good to know that in fighting for your cause, you’re destroying people around you? Of course not, and if it does, then you have a bigger problem.

The worst part about all of it–this fighting over the election, over one person’s morals and rights vs. that of another–is that I am watching people hurt people without even realizing it–even their friends. The saddest people of all are the ones who do it knowingly and do not care.

My daughter stood watching a concession speech today, and as distracted as her two-year-old mind is, she stood and watched the part that addressed women and young girls.

It was a profound moment to watch for a mother of a little girl.

My stance? I love Jesus. And because I love Jesus, I love people. I can’t imagine believing in anything that matters and using it to judge other people and possibly perpetuate their hurt further. I know that God holds the ultimate say, and He knew the road to and outcome of this process before any of us. He also knew the divide that would ensue because of it. I know that God loves me despite my shortcomings, despite my mistakes, despite any of my irresponsible choices. He loves every damaged and selfish part that makes me who I am–the parts that especially do not feel worthy of His love. He loves those too.

I pray for every American tonight. As much as we want to stand on our soapboxes, kicking and screaming our views until everyone agrees with us, we are all still in this fight together, finding a way to choose less hate and more love.

M

Fall is finally in the air, and with it is the taste of peace, love, and everything pumpkin. I love this time of year, mostly because it brings people and their constitutions–diverse and complicated as they may be–together in some way, shape, or form.

I recently took my daughter shopping with me. She’s two years old, so as any parent of any two-year-old or former two-year-old knows–it’s not always an easy endeavor. There are mood swings to navigate and consider dependent upon nap times, duration of naps in question, mealtimes, snack times, and just how the general demeanor has progressed throughout the course of the day.

On this particular shopping trip, my daughter and I were next in line when the computer system had some malfunction during the woman’s transaction ahead of me. My tiny two-year-old tot of emotions next to me was in the initial stages of the “I-don’t-want-to-stand-here-stationary-with-you-one-more-minute-without-a-meltdown” song and dance. She’s shared that particular performance in stores before. This wasn’t exactly something I was afraid of, yet, it was that time of day, the catastrophe of the computer system in front of me, and the length of the line that made me grow more aware of the situation, as my intentions were to try to prevent a screaming toddler from closing out everyone’s evening of shopping in peace.

Then, a remarkable thing happened. An elderly couple, mid-70s if I had to make a guess, began talking to her beside me. They asked her about her dog that she carries with her everywhere, and they complimented her shoes. The wife asked her if she liked to dance. Music was playing, so her response to that question was to actually start dancing. This seems like a typical evening for any parent, maybe not one any should go on to write about, but what happened next is why it mattered to me.

I walked away that night feeling grateful to two strangers for being kind. They diffused a growing situation in which my attempts were futile to keep her from exploding into a tantrum, and they enjoyed my daughter’s interaction with them while telling me about their grandchildren.

Sometimes, it’s easy to blow by moment after moment and not really live in it–take it in, inhale it completely, release it through your skin, and marinate in it after it’s gone.

Three dear friends of mine have all had real-life events happen in the last week. Each of them, strangers to each other, leaned on me very hard during their tribulations. I was grateful that I’m considered a strong enough person and friend to carry that weight with them. The one thing I noticed about each of their situations was that they had three things in common:

1. The solution and often opportunity within the problem involves risk. Taking a chance on people, breaking what exists to make it stronger, or realizing it’s breaking in the wrong parts. Beginnings have to mean the end of something else, and playing it safe every time can mean that sometimes you’re only playing against yourself.
2. Walking away does not equal weakness. We make choices every single day. Some of them are huge, some of them are small, and some of them we never think about again and, yet, they open a door to something huge. And there we are, front and center with our destiny, wondering how we could have ever arrived without those insignificant details from before. I pray for strength all of the time, and most of the time, it’s because I feel like I need more of it.  The truth is, looking back and seeing how far you’ve come is the strongest testament of perseverance–especially when you know the integrity of your fight along the way.
3. Relevancy is what we decide it becomes. We choose to believe so much and so little, and when the game changes (with or without our permission) we have to decide the focal point of our position and goalpost moving forward. What someone else determines is relevant does not mean it is relevant for you too.

The waters never stay calm for long for any of us. Along the way, the tide continues to change, the seas grow increasingly rough, and sometimes our boat capsizes without our ever understanding how it could happen when we didn’t see it coming.

The best part of loving the God that I know and trust, and whom I know loves me back, is that whatever happens isn’t a surprise to everyone. Everyone in my universe doesn’t get blindsided and caught off-guard. He sees it coming from a million miles away. Disappointment’s swift-kick to the chest without warning comes when it is supposed to, and no matter how big or small, those blows are survivable. I’ve learned more about myself, about life, and about how to coexist with change in this life through some of the best and worst feelings/experiences I’ve ever had. You can decide that whatever tries to destroy your constitution doesn’t get to, and it certainly doesn’t get to decide how wrecked you’re allowed to feel after the episode.

Open your window of perspective up each day to see how–despite not knowing the ramifications of the event later–the details happening now are a contributing factor in some way, good or bad, and leading you to the next version of yourself.

Appreciate kindness without judgment, and know that no whale can swallow you in the sea forever.

Tomorrow is a new day. God bless,

M