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I could hear them trying not to scream one aisle over from me. A couple, early 20s was my guess, was having a bad night. They were directly across from me, separated by the wall of coffee in front of me and whatever grocery item they chose to focus on that was anything but each other. He slammed something down with force and she threatened to leave. He raised his voice and then silence. She didn’t move. I didn’t want to hear so much of it,  but I couldn’t find my coffee,  or maybe I was distracted by the decibel of the entire encounter with two strangers that I hadn’t choosen to be a part of. I thought about my early 20s and wondered what could be so terrible that it warranted such a public display of distress in the middle of the pasta aisle. 

Maya Angelo said, “I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.” I can remember most of the moments that I intentionally tried to hurt someone. I called a girl a liar in 2nd grade in front of everyone about the musician on her t-shirt being her relative. I didn’t know if they were really related. I didn’t care. What’s worse is that I don’t even know why I did it. But I made so many people believe she was a liar,  and when she started crying, I wanted to immediately take it back. But just like that whole toothpaste metaphor we throw around as a lesson for our kids: once it’s out, you can’t squeeze it back in. The damage was done. I knocked an impetuous dent into her confidence.  I still remember and regret hurting her in 2nd grade. If I remember it, I have to imagine that she might too. 

Remembering how someone made you feel does not have to determine how you feel about yourself.  Your perspective is really what changes everything. You have the ability to make or shake your own confidence in yourself, in your outlook, in your day, in your life, and you can even help or hurt someone else’s process.   I realized this when I went through some of the most stressful times of my life with my family. Then I saw my dad take a phone call. I heard him making jokes and laughing. He was still having a good day despite every bad thing about it. I asked myself why he was not more overcome with concern or tension or frustration even.

 Then I realized it–his circumstances did not control him. They did not limit him or define him to any degree. He did not marinate in the disappointment of it all. They did not dictate to him how his life or even day would develop. He lives in the moment because once it’s gone, you never get it back.

 I have wasted so much time with worry and self-doubt that I forget how beautiful a song that life really can be when you let it play out the full length of each note–painful, endearing, or evocative as they may seem. That is the playlist I want my daughter to come to know and the one I want to recognize better than I do. You have more power to build and tear away at your own self-esteem, bending and twisting your outlook to where you either do not recognize yourself anymore or to where you become a better-equipped, stronger person along the way. 

I have seen so much life happening this week among others to constitute the worst of days: the fight to not lose both parents, marriages ending, temperamental toddlers, domestic violence over a car seat, the ache of long-distance love, the brokenness of unrequited love, betrayal, and the intensity of self-doubt. 

It’s hard to even see much happy through so much hurt. The truth about all of it is that our perspective only changes when we decide it can and when we stop sabotaging the possibilities. And when it does, that positive mindset can change your whole life. 

As my mom has said since I was in  elementary school: “Make it a good day,” and be your strongest self –especially when you’ve already come this far. 

God bless, 

M

 

I may not be an expert on not worrying about things, but I know exactly how much of a waste worrying becomes. I moved into a dorm in college, and three months before I even moved, I bought bedding to fit a full-sized bed. My mom thought I was nuts, but I told her I had concerns and a plan. I was concerned that twin bedding would not fit the extra-long twin beds in the dorm, and I knew when I finished living in the dorm after a semester or two at the most, I would then find an apartment and a full-sized bed so I would not have to buy all new bedding. At that point, I could just buy the bed. I worried about what would happen when I moved out of the place that I had not even moved into yet, but I had a plan. It feels insane even repeating that story, but it really happened, and that gives you some insight into how little I worry…(*insert cough).

Of course, I worry. I’m human. I worry about living moment to moment. I worry about not anticipating the part of my timeline that I cannot even imagine yet, which ultimately becomes an exercise in futility. “I get so overwhelmed.” I’ve heard this sentence—perhaps in different words but implying the same meaning—from seven different people over the course of the last two weeks. The state of being overwhelmed is not my favorite feeling, yet, it is easily one of the most familiar to which I can relate. I started thinking about the specifics of what these factors are that become so overwhelming to people: work circumstances, planning a wedding, a new baby, surgeries, divorce, career change, deployment, custody battles, school, marital trouble, children struggling, death, and juggling daily life in general.

I am losing that battle of avoiding age 30. I used to think 30 was pretty old, actually. And now, it is hanging out in my backyard, smoking a cigarette, and waiting for the day that I just accept the fact that we are going to have to get along. I am realizing—the more that I plummet further into adulthood—that the goalpost for what we consider “overwhelming” will consistently change throughout every phase of our lives. Eight years ago, I worried about finding good parking spaces on campus, or what I was going to do with my life after graduation, or how to find better ways to end really bad dates without asking my friends to call me with fake emergencies. Now, I worry about stimulating my toddler’s brain development, or whether she’s getting enough nutrients that she needs, and how I will get through long days when Netflix crashes, or how to fix that weird sound in my car, and honestly, this list could go on. Eventually, I’ll be worrying about retirement. It is the nature of the beast that there will always be questions that we will not have the answers to and yet, we will have to find a way to be okay with discovering those answers at the same time that the rest of the world does.

My daughter has just turned two. A year ago, she did not like solid food at all, she was not highly interested in walking one bit, and she spoke four or five words and seemed content with that. As a new mom, obviously I worried about the timeline and expectations for a one-year-old, and I was worried that she did not take an interest in things that, developmentally, she should be fully anticipating . . . but she wasn’t. I had two options: I could let her do those things when she was ready and relax about it, or I could get stressed every single time she rejected food at a meal and chose to remain idle when she could be exploring the world around her. I chose to stress about it. I asked questions at every doctor’s visit, I called my mom with more questions, and eventually, she did all of those things that I was so scared she wouldn’t try.  I learned one blatant lesson: my stress did not help anyone involved. Obviously, it came as no help to me, and it didn’t benefit my daughter in any way. If anything, it could have hindered the entire process to where she hated mealtime or trying to walk because she could feel my stress, too.

Not having control of every detail can be a struggle sometimes. Admitting failure is another tough pill for most people to swallow. Failure can look like so many things to so many different people: loss or rejection, to not be given a chance, admitting something is wrong, an unforeseen outcome. But aren’t all outcomes unforeseen? We can have an idea about how we would choose our circumstances to be, but until we get to the end of that road, our demons and fears are still tagging along the whole trip, tugging obnoxiously on our skin, asking if we’re there yet. We are always subjected to the swell of the sea, and the bitterness and joy of our experiences are what make the journey so surprising and worth it all.

I wish I had some remedy to suggest that would work every time to calm any stress or worry that arises, but I don’t. I pray, I try to stop controlling the universe that tosses me around like a weightless little plastic toy in my kid’s hand (she’s into throwing things right now, which is just perfect), and I see how it plays out.

Sometimes, the surprise of the outcome—in all of its fragility— becomes the most incredible and adventurous moment…a moment that is easy to miss when we are clouded by the tension surrounding it.

“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.”    John 14:27

God bless,

M

​“All you can control is you.”

I can still hear my dad tell my 7^th-grade-self to calm the heck down about whatever drama was impeding my ability to function with any sanity that day. My dad has similar qualities to a southern, Hispanic, Robert De Niro, who was working homicides at the time, so I am sure my middle school crises really wrecked my household at any given point (note: sarcasm). I am also sure that I could credit that moment of drama to the same type of moment that I likely had the week before, or the one prior to that: immaturity, friendships, betrayal, heartache, or the ugliest brute of them all—expectation. My dad told me it was the easiest route to disappointment. He was right about that, too.  

My parents told me a lot of things growing up, some of which stayed with me, rotating around my head at the most inconvenient times (usually when I didn’t want to admit that they were right), and some of it didn’t stick at the time but would resurface 10-20 years later when I didn’t know that I needed it to the most.

Expectation is one of the worst innate qualities that we possess as human beings, and there is no stopping it. We typically have little control over its origin, which makes it harder to fight the disappointment that comes when we are derailed from our desired course. Sometimes, the picture in our minds of what we think our lives are supposed to look like is the very essence of what troubles and unsettles the whole journey. 

When I was away at college, I had a rough time at one point. I had just changed my major and was in a new program that pushed me in ways that I could not situate within myself. I was challenged to change my entire way of thinking, and not only that, but apply that transformed ideology to a style of writing that I had never been taught how to do.

That doesn’t seem like much, but it made me question so much about myself. It also made me lose confidence in my plan. It seemed like everyone else had already figured it out, especially after a professor humiliated me for my lack of understanding at one point. Then, I was so sick with a fever that I could not eat, focus, study, or sleep, and the girl in the dorm next to me cried loudly every day after screaming at her boyfriend about him ditching her to go to the soccer games. Every day. The best part came next, though. My boyfriend, whom I had most of my classes with, broke up with me over the phone from two buildings away. He may have made it through two full sentences before we hung up and he rushed off to class.

When my mom called me to see how things were going, the sound of her voice, comforting from so many distant miles away as it was, caused me to burst into tears. I felt out of place. I felt alone. I was not sure that I made any of the right choices. In fact, I was pretty sure at that point they had all been wrong. I don’t remember what she said to me on the phone. I believe it was something to the effect of “you just have to keep pushing forward,” or something supportive and encouraging. What I do remember is about a week later, I checked my mail, and there was a card. It was from my mom, which was odd because it wasn’t my birthday or any holiday where I would have expected it.

It had a nice picture of flowers on the front, and I don’t remember what the printed message said. All I remember, nearly a decade later, was what she wrote:

“I can’t promise you that anything in this life will go smoothly or that it will happen like you want it to. But I promise you that I am always going to be here for you.

Love, Mom”

Cue more tears. She was right. Nothing has happened before or since then that I thought would happen. I’m grateful for that most days. I think when we stop trying so hard to control everything around us, life can be really beautiful,  and we can finally see where the pieces start to fit. I get the most joy that I never thought humanly possible just hearing my daughter laugh. I can’t describe one sound or song that comes even close to how happy that makes me. I also never thought that was even possible–to find such incandescent joy in something so seemingly simple.

A few days ago, my dad said to me, “You know, you can’t fabricate character. People either have it or they don’t.”  I think we are all weathered by the ups and downs–the good with the bad. You know what life has been to you, and it’s hard to imagine the possibilities of what could be down the road. It’s hard not to expect what we want to happen.

I have learned to stop planning so hard. Stop expecting so much. Relax the grip you have on all of the part and particles of sand falling out of your fist the tighter you try. You can let your lessons find you without setting up camp in them. You don’t have to live in them to learn from them. Give back the sorrowful part and keep yourself.  Look for compassion and understanding in people. Find out what brings you joy. Don’t be afraid to care. Love the way you make your bed, or drink your coffee, or the scent of fresh towels, or the linger of a good conversation once it ends. Most of all, keep some hope about you…even if you can’t see what to hope for or why it matters. Hope that what is right for you will find you.

 M

It’s funny how we will go to ridiculous lengths to defend or betray a stranger. For example, an 85-year-old woman cuts you off in the grocery line. She’s holding a small basket of items and you immediately tell yourself, “She’s elderly. She’s only buying a few things. Maybe she’s in a hurry. Don’t be a jerk about it.”  Then, you see the four wine bottles and pack of cigarettes on the counter and you realize she’s just having a party. Now it’s, “She’s probably drunk already. Did she drive here? How rude is this?”
I also have these really loud neighbors who sound like they’re running a furniture business out of their unit. Otherwise, I can’t determine what all the noise is about. I heard what sounded like a table rolling down the stairs at 10:00pm last night, only today to find a cooler turned over. Were they letting ice drain? Was there a Rodent of Unusual Size (ROUS) inside (I’m convinced they exist beyond the realm of Princess Bride)? I can’t explain it, but it all seems bizarre to me. I had a neighbor once who never spoke to me and after three years leave a dead plant on my patio the day I moved out. Why? I still don’t know. Maybe she was being kind and, like me, can’t keep anything green alive. Or maybe it was some kind of voodoo and I missed the magic of it. Either way, it was weird and unforgettable. 

Drivers are the worst. Road rage is such a real thing that I don’t trust people who say it doesn’t exist. Last week, I had to drive an hour to have some tests done. I drank two full bottles of water before I left (like I’m five years old again and didn’t know that was a going to be a huge mistake) and not even fifteen minutes into my drive, I met road construction where concrete was poured and one lane of traffic moved at a time. I was, unfortunately, in the lane that was not going anywhere.  When my lane finally moved again, we were directed through a few different detours to other roads, so I chose one. That moment of relief was soon obliterated when I saw only one lane was moving again. Again, due to road construction, and my lane was the one sitting, smoking a cigarette, and laughing some pre-cancerous, taunting laugh at my finding another road to sit on for a while. My body, holding the seemingly 15 gallons of water, was not laughing. It was mentally rocking in a fetal position somewhere in a corner of my mind in agony.

I eventually turned onto the road I needed and was again sitting in another lane. Then, the gas light on my car lit up and I think I saw red for about two minutes. This is real? This sounds like a poorly-written sitcom. When I got to my tests, the nurse told me that my blood pressure was high, and it’s never high. So. . . that’s how I know road rage is a real thing.

The part of this story that actually matters is that later I found out that there had been a car accident involving four vehicles, and an 11-year-old boy died, while five others went to the hospital. I immediately felt ridiculous. I was so busy getting worked up about sitting in traffic. We have this fast-food mentality that we impose on every aspect of our lives sometimes. We want everything to happen exactly when we think it should happen. We hate commercials, we hate lines, we hate slow internet service, we hate waiting on phones to charge, we hate waiting on wives to get ready, we hate waiting on 5:00pm to roll through, we hate waiting on someone to call back, we hate waiting for a table or on food to come.

We hate being patient for anything.   I was humbled that afternoon. The sad part was that I saw two more car accidents that same day. One of them left the car looking unrecognizable. I was mad about sitting in traffic and other people had a black hole blow through their families that day. They lost someone.

The bottom line of any of this is that everyone has a reality unlike mine. And my reality is unlike theirs. I can’t stop thinking about it. The parents of that accident lost a child. Their reality is certainly unlike mine. Every time I turn on the news, there’s more death and defiance and obliteration of lives. Parents who can’t protect their children from war. Realities unlike mine.

I met a woman in a CVS line two days after I moved here, and she talked to me for 20 minutes about her daughter and how she absolutely loved her pacifier as a baby. I found out later in our conversation that her daughter had died young from health problems. She went on to tell me about her small dog and how attached she was to it. She showed me a picture of the dog on her phone. The first thing I noticed was that the dog had a pacifier in its mouth.

Sometimes you can’t explain anything you see or hear. You can’t resolve its placement or relevance in your day or life. You can’t situate solid rationale between heartache or shock. You aren’t supposed to. Isaiah 41:10 says, “So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”

Be brave, love hard, and have some compassion for people without making them earn it from you. 

 

 

 

 

 M

 

 

 

When I first moved away from my college town to a new place–a new change of scenery, and a new life–I started to notice things that I likely would not have stopped to lend my time to before: the vastness of a meadow, the quiet calm of an office balcony, the patterns of a familiar flock of birds.

This flock of birds was present nearly every day in this area that I lived and worked, and they fascinated me. I knew they had to be blackbirds or starlings, or something delicate, capable, and swift. I took an interest in this flock, mostly because I grew up in a small, quiet town with a diverse population of wildlife, and I had never seen birds do what this flock would accomplish. They almost danced to a perfect rhythm that only they could hear. They resembled smoke from a distance, taunted by the wind yet taunting back. I started reading about them, and I learned that the flocking behavior parallels that of fish. I learned that they can possess wing speeds up to 40 mph and turn in an instant, even in large groups. I learned that birds who flock do so out of protection and fear of captivity. I can’t explain why they branded my memory as they did, maybe because I saw them every day in my journey to drop my daughter off at school and to work, and home again, and it felt like they were on the same busy, unpredictable path I was following.

I have a daughter whom I often refer to as “Birdie,” and this is because from the age of two weeks old, to five months old, to almost two years old, she has made gestures and produced mannerisms that coincide with what my idea of a baby bird must be like. She also loves birds and grows frustrated with me when I am not able to catch one and bring it to her so she can introduce herself to this tiny, high-spirited creature, kindred in nature. I watch her learn patterns and words, and I am amazed. Her capabilities far outreach everything I could possibly show her. Even when I can show her, she prefers to learn for herself in some cases, and I choose to let her.

I grasp some tiny, fragmented, partial concept, then, of how God loves me. I have learned that the expectation of what you imagine anything in this life to look, or feel, or help, or hurt like, never does. And the pieces have to break, the learning has to come, the blessings have to pour, the experiences have to build on their own, and He lets them. He allows it. And that isn’t the case of punishment or being forsaken or forgotten, or usually, however we perceive the circumstance to be. It is to let us be, and choose, and learn.

In reading about these birds, I also learned that weight plays a tremendous role in the capability of flying. It is a force produced by gravity, and every flyer has to produce lift in order to counteract weight. Despite moving through the air, everything moving forward produces a drag, which slows it down. It is then up to the persistence and perseverance  of the flyer to oppose the force of the drag by producing a forward-moving thrust. What an incredible concept that parallels our lives.

I learned a lot about birds, and I can’t explain why, but I’m glad that I did, because it showed me that we really are all the same.

God bless,

M

 

 

 

 

“Get up, shake it off, start again tomorrow.” I can still hear my brother’s 8-year-old voice in my head, convincing me to pick up my bicycle after my 6-year-old self crashed it for the hundredth time, refusing to ever ride it again. Truth be told, he was likely the cause of that crash and just tried to keep me from getting him into trouble for it. Despite the cause, the advice stuck with me, and as a 28-year-old, it still rings ironically true. It’s all we can do. We don’t have many “do-overs” in life. In fact, we get none. We can control our action and reaction to anything, but beyond that? We’re subject to the current, whichever way it leads, boat-thrashing, will-breaking and all.

Margaret Feinberg once said that she looks for the “ping” when constructing a platform for her writing…a connection between people, places, and ideas. Life often hands them to us and we can choose to hear it or we can pass it by, unnoticed and untouched by it. It’s all in the details.

Here’s an example. She had a friend who suffered a terrible divorce and changed her name when it was all said and done. She changed her first name as well as her last name and later addressed how the name and meaning behind it was powerful and meaningful for her.

A few months later, she was in a dialogue with a friend who rescues dogs. Margaret learned that when a new dog is adopted, the dog gets a new name. This seems confusing, but the reason behind it is because dogs who have suffered abuse will often connect that treatment with their name.  Ping. 

I understand that more now.

I think it can be easy to focus so intently on the details that add up to anything good or bad that happens in our lives, and we spend so much energy and attention on the impact of those details that we forget the scope of the actual events taking place.

For example, last week,  I successfully (and accidentally) dropped a set of keys down a 19th floor trash chute, raked through the trash with a kind (but slightly obnoxious) security guard, while avoiding glass bottles and metal saws (<–not kidding) that were thrown down the chute as we searched. I never found the keys. I did drive an hour the next day to retrieve a spare for the set, and then I was involved in a car accident. But this is life, right? These unexpected adventures that may not always make the highlights of our month or year.

I don’t want to be that person. The one who looks at the weight of the details as holding individual hands tied around my neck. I can laugh about it now, the irony in the inconvenience of it all. I don’t know that anyone’s lives turn out exactly like they think it will. Sometimes it’s a relief to find out that you were wrong, or it’s a surprise to learn what you’re capable of, and what could be waiting just around the river bend (thanks Pocahontas).

Be grateful for everything you are, everywhere you have been, and the person you are becoming, despite the details that brought you here or nearly prevented it. Sometimes it’s hard to be proud of yourself. The journey isn’t always easy or even pretty, and I wish we could choose the people to unburden it for us, but then we would never really know what we are made of. I am thanking God tonight for showing me what it means to break your own will for the right reasons. I’m eternally thankful for the people who recognized those pieces of me and worked endlessly to put them back where they belonged.

M

I recently attended a wedding—a very delicate and intimate wedding—of a dear friend of mine. The ceremony took place on a plantation, where an exquisite mansion stood in all of its splendor adjacent to an agreeable lake. White lights twinkled from the trees, casting their amber glow, while a family of ducks played by the waterline with seemingly lighthearted joy. It was a scene out of a Nicholas Sparks novel, or a favorited 1940s film, or the only perfection you could possibly dream up for one of your closest friends.  Aside from my one-year-old daughter’s playful hiccups (which amused her), the ceremony went undisturbed and delightful. The officiant spoke with a comfort and relaxation that I can only assume came from sharing his life with another person as well.  In his opening lines, he stated something that has since stayed with me. He said “take your time.”

Initially, I thought, “With what? Life happens; you’re either ready or you’re not.” Then, he continued, “Take the time to actively participate in each moment because beyond that moment, they become memories.”

I thought about this for a long time. I considered how often I’m contributing to some form of social media, or glued to ABC and CNN updates, or research of some form or another about whichever subject that recently strikes me in some evocative way. I thought about how many times my daughter may see me on my phone when she wants to play or talk awhile or read a book together.

Someone once said to me, “I wish people could really enjoy a sunset instead of take 20 pictures of/with it and try to pick the best one to post to the internet. By the time they’ve settled on one, the transformation is gone and their memory of the ordeal was only trying to obtain it.” I think that is undeniably and unfortunately true.

It speaks volumes about our generation that we become so enthralled by the quickest update, the newest post, the funniest viral video, the most controversial news, etc. We have sensationalized every moment to the point that we become bored without a shock factor, without a sensationalized story.

I wonder how often people can sit alone without the compulsion to check their phones. I have found that learning how to be alone, really alone, and honest with yourself is the most caring and healthy action you can take. Sometimes it takes removing the millions of influences that pull at your opinion, your judgment, your self-esteem, and your honor before you really see what is in front you: yourself.

It has become abundantly clear to me that children absolutely watch us. My daughter has started to imitate everything I do, down to opening the mail. The last thing I want to do is give her an impression that any large window of my tiny phone could possibly be more important than her role in my life.

So, take some time this weekend to contribute your attention, your respect, your patience, and your time to the people who play an active role in your life. Create memories that you are actually apart of and not witnessing from the sidelines, behind a lens.

God Bless,

M

“Police.” This word contains a variety of meaning for all individuals. Some people look to them for help, some think they are all crooked, children may see them as heroes or are afraid of them. It truly differs from person to person based on how you have developed police identity in your mind. I find it troubling, to say the least, that our nation has succumbed to such random acts of violence against each other in all aspects of the word. I suppose a certain degree of confrontation and media imposition have always intertwined with American history, exploiting a “side” to every story. The recent violence against police across this country is something that hits home with me.

First, I think it is important to identify that despite our history of police violence, aggression in violent protesting, or outright murder, the bottom line is (a) people cannot be generalized based on race, gender, sexuality, or social class. They also shouldn’t be generalized based on occupation—every person is an individual who will have to take responsibility for his/her actions, and (b) not all people are good or filled with integrity and honor, even when they hold a position where we assume that they possess these traits.

When I see a police uniform, I see someone who puts his or her own life on the line every day, with every traffic stop, every call to a scene, with every call. We become so complacent with the phrase, “risk their lives,” because we use it so often in conjunction with military/policemen/firefighters/etc. How many of us can say that we voluntarily do this daily? How many times do we face certain trouble, with no knowledge of an outcome or resolution, on purpose?  It can be terrifying to find yourself in a situation where you know you may not walk away from it.

When I see a police uniform, I see someone who walked away from a growing market, a family business, and a lifestyle to join a police force and put the passion to serve others to good use.

When I see a police uniform,  I see someone who did not let racial stereotypes, an unforgiving academy, and months away from family, break him or stop him from pursuing his ambition.

When I see a police uniform, I see help. I see someone who is trained in emergency procedures and skilled in not panicking in any situation.

When I see a police uniform, I see someone who will only take a life when it is threatening other innocent lives, and even then, as a reluctant last resort.

When I see a police uniform, I see someone who would stop his day to help a stranded citizen with a flat tire, drive this person to pick up a new tire, then change it for him.

When I see a police uniform, I see hope. I see the honor and honesty that I believe they should have, and I have seen it exemplified to the highest degree.

When I see a police uniform, I see someone who has worked decades of fatalities and then notify families that they just lost someone they love. Then, return home to his wife and children, where I know it’s nearly impossible to leave “the office” at the door.

When I see a police uniform, I see someone who endures emotional turmoil. I see someone who has pulled an infant from a car that had just crashed and watched the child take his final breath in his arms, his efforts in saving the child’s life rendered useless because of the injuries.

When I see a police uniform, I see someone who (in a small town) would call a teen’s parents if he or she were pulled over for something in lieu of writing them a ticket or letting them go with just a warning so their accountability for the infraction was not lost before they even got home.

When I see a police uniform, I see someone who took the stuffed animals that I wanted to throw away as I got older and put them in his car for when he worked a crash where a family/children were involved. He gave the animals to the kids to help comfort them in case they were afraid.

When I see a police uniform, I see my dad.  I don’t see the title he wears as lieutenant, I don’t see a badge and a gun, I don’t see relentless authority, I don’t see a stereotype.

I see the man who taught me that doing the right thing made the most sense, could help someone else, and yielded the least regrets. I see the man who taught me that life isn’t always so terrible or difficult, but when it is, there is always someone who can help.

On my 16^th birthday, my mother and I were shopping when my dad called to let her know some news before she heard it on the radio/television. He was involved in a shooting incident. In a small community not far from ours, a gunman with several rounds of ammunition was firing shots in a neighborhood at anything and everything when police were called. He gunned down the first-responding policeman in his front yard, firing numerous shots into his fallen body. My dad was the second the officer on the scene, and this man put forth his best efforts to kill him too. My dad saved the policeman’s life who was bleeding to death on the ground, and today he lives. The cost was high, but later he found out a child next door was watching through the window. If the gunman had seen this boy, it would have been over. It could have been over for my dad that day, but it wasn’t. All because someone was randomly firing shots throughout his neighborhood.

I am so sick of hearing specific “lives matter.” All lives matter. When did we decide otherwise?

You may not agree with me, and that’s fine. This is a matter very personal for me and on my heart lately.

God bless you, those who put your lives on the line for any and every life, those who don’t see the stereotypes, just the need. I know this does not describe every police officer, but for the ones it does:

You’re the real heroes.

M

You just want to go home. It’s been a busy day, and despite the incessant distractions, you still notice them–Heartache and Hurt–following you home again. They never give you a break, and even when you try to sleep, they work to ensure that your empty room is less hollow than your heart. I suppose it’s a necessary healing process, when you are left no choice but to bid farewell to someone in death. The contempt, confusion, and considerable sorrow of losing someone in this magnitude does more than crack our surface. When do you stop hearing your dad’s advice in your head before your own voice or stop comparing every shade of blue that resembles the variety of your son’s eyes? I don’t know the answer to those questions, but I know what grief inevitably follows.

Recently, I attended a Christian women’s conference where Angie Smith (Selah/Todd Smith’s wife, blogger, author, inspirational speaker) spoke. She spoke openly about the loss of her daughter, Audrey, who did not survive beyond childbirth. The doctors had given them a choice early on to terminate the pregnancy, knowing that she would not survive, and Angie chose to wait and to pray. Audrey was born, alive only minutes, weighing less than five pounds.  Angie’s statement after this still resonates with me: “I was given the option to say goodbye to her sooner, and I didn’t. And now, she will forever have weight in this world.”   Then, she had a moment of silence for all of the women who had lost a child through miscarriage, tragedy, health complications, abortion, and the list goes on.

Loss is similar to a smile, even mathematics—it is the same in every country, regardless of the means by which it is carried out. The hole still eats away at the same nagging pace, the bitter aftertaste lingering far longer than it should, drowning each heartbeat in more contemptible solace.

The hurt doesn’t change, just the decibel at which it resonates.

It may never stop tormenting you, but the truth is that it doesn’t have to swallow us whole. John 8:51 says, “Truly, truly, I say to you, if anyone keeps My word he will never see death.”  I hold this tightly in the depths of my bones because, not only does it speak to my soul, but it wraps a warm blanket of truth around my memory and heartache over losing a life, several lives, actually.

My daughter is nearly a year old, which still seems impossible to imagine. The other night, she didn’t feel well and woke up rather later than expected, choking on pitiful, whimpering sobs. When I picked her up, she reached for my shirt, clenched it tightly, and burrowed like a small rabbit who had been rescued from the depths of the wilderness. She buried her tear-laden face into my shoulder and squeezed her tiny fist around the sleeve of my shirt while I rocked her, softly singing Bob Dylan, and brushing her hair with my fingertips. Within forty-five minutes, she was snoring. I gently returned her to her crib and quietly exited the room. A few minutes later, she cried back out. This time, only for a moment and she was back to sleep. I knew what happened, though. She stirred and realized that I was gone.

I imagine, to a one-year-old, a momentary glimpse of losing a parent is catastrophic.  As a 27-year-old, losing anyone who means anything to you can be just as damaging, whether it’s a parent, a child, a spouse, a best friend, a cousin, a grandparent, a co-worker, and the list goes on.

I know my daughter has some sense that this is normal and I will return when she wakes up. As adults, we tend to view death as a more permanent condition, a final farewell, when in reality, we should hold this view too. We should see their absence as a temporary separation, a moment where they stepped out of the room to go home, and we will one day join them again. I certainly do not believe that this is the end. I believe that it is important to focus on the endurance of love rather than the finality of death.

“Put me like a seal over your heart, Like a seal on your arm. For love is as strong as death; . . . Its flashes are flashes of fire, The very flame of the Lord. Many waters cannot quench love, Nor will rivers overflow it.”

                                         Song of Solomon 8:6-7

We typically have no control over the outcome, no choice in the matter, and our uncertainty keeps us awake. So many of us claim to have a desire to relinquish control—she doesn’t like to pick the restaurant, he lets you plan the weekends—but once we lose whatever control that we thought we had, we lose some sense of ourselves.

Our pragmatic perspective then morphs, before our very eyes, into an overwhelming discomfort that paralyzes the mind from commanding the body to react or simply understand. When we get a  bittersweet taste of control over our environment, we want it to stay around a little longer so we can skate around in its comfort zone and defy the uncertainty in our hearts. We begin to like it.

When a life is plucked away from us, we lose our footing again. Then, we look for someone to blame.

Isaiah 25:8 says, “He will swallow up death for all time, And the Lord God will wipe tears away from all faces, And He will remove the reproach of his people from all the earth.”

I know that the ache of saying goodbye to someone in this life will never fully remove itself from the scarred tattoo that’s been placed on your heart. I know God, though, and He is capable of comfort beyond anything that I will ever know how to explain in words. When He knows your heart, there’s no escaping His love for you, and I will admit, as vacant as I once was, He certainly found my attention as well as the gaping, wounded hole in my heart.

I am praying for you tonight, dear reader, for your circumstances, for the torment in your heart, and for your deliverance. I pray that you come to know the ultimate Healer.

God Bless,

M

“But when this perishable will have put on the imperishable, and this mortal will have put on immortality,

then will come about the saying that is written, ‘death is swallowed up in victory.

O death, where is your victory? O death where is your sting?’

The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law; but thanks be to God,

who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. Therefore, my beloved brethren,

be steadfast, immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord,

knowing that your toil is not in vain in the Lord.”

1 Corinthians 15:54-58

You have a story. Maybe it’s not a very good one. Maybe it’s not one that you’re proud of, or maybe it could be better. No one knows it, or will ever understand it to its fullest capacity, better than you. You may never know what it feels like to be enslaved to something, to have it poison your thoughts with its relentless whispers, to have it own you and comfort your heart while simultaneously ripping it out. You may never have something grip you so tightly that you forget how to breathe without the inaudible taunting of your each inhale. You may not know that feeling. You may still only see a semicolon.

The semicolon’s place in the world is to maintain the consistency and fluidity of the sentence. It was designed to carry the weight of the pause, the reflection, the setback. It is never equipped for an ending, nor can it substitute for one. It has no place at the end of a thought beyond its designated role. It’s the quiet place before the thought continues. The thought must continue beyond the semicolon.

I absolutely love how this tiny punctuation mark is becoming a place of peace and love for those in the process of pausing or for those who have lost someone to the perpetual quiet. This movement (Project Semicolon) provides an embrace for those who fight the fight against suicide, addiction, depression, and self-injury. The burden of bloodshed–of anguish and torment–that brings someone to a semicolon is deafening.

I have lost friends to addiction, I have watched the losing suffer in their anguish, and I have overcome my own pause, the moment of transition, the weight that set out to overpower, the pressure of distress–my semicolon. It is a scary place to find yourself unsure of what your capabilities are and to seem numb to their consequences. I have learned that burden can break bodies but not spirit, and no matter how many friends or loved ones try to pull you from the wreckage, they can’t. Even if you are begging them to and hoping they succeed–it’s impossible if you aren’t ready to walk away from the devastation. I chose God, and I watched Him accomplish what no one else could: He pushed me through the pause.

It’s impossible to know exactly where another person is in his/her life, but there is enough hope to go around for us all. My wish, if this speaks to you, is that you know how worthwhile you are and how much weight that semicolon can actually carry. I may not know the circumstances, but I know that there is no pause too great for the God who delivers me. I’ll be praying for you tonight wherever you are in your narrative.

God Bless,

Megan

“I’m not really a baby person.” I can imagine how many of us have ever heard or uttered those words, myself included. I never knew much about children prior to having one of my own. I still don’t, and I’m learning this as I go. I was never the person who would gravitate to all of the moms with babies in the room and take them into my arms, cooing and babbling or whatever it is that we have determined is the way children engage with our world. Maintaining the assumption that children, much like dogs and bees (according to Ray from Jerry Maguire), can smell fear,  I knew that somehow, between my presence and theirs, they could sense my discomfort and confusion in my awkward arms. They played on my nerves and cried for their mothers, so I have historically not become the “baby whisperer” or the person with whom children would make any real connection.

It’s hilarious how much life changes you. It’s unnerving, actually. I recently heard someone say that it’s funny how day to day, we feel the exact same. No major significant changes really take place. Then you look back one year, or two, or five and you realize that you’ve changed. Maybe you like sour cream on your baked potatoes now, or you know how to regulate your day and crawl into bed at a decent hour, or you gave up some bad habits for the sake of maturity or a loved one, or maybe you think you may want children now. Maybe you decided that you never want a family, or you hate your job and you want to give up something you thought you wanted for the real thing. Maybe you’re not even the same person anymore and you don’t even remember who that person was, looking back.

Recently, two torrential downpours took place at my home, complete with power outages and fire alarms going off every time lightning would strike, and rain so heavy that I figured not only were my rose bushes suffering from this necessity in nature, but I didn’t mind the wild, stray cat hiding out under my car (who often scares me when he runs out) for once. In fact, I had hoped that he was under there because it was safe. The day after these two storms, I heard some rustling outside of my bedroom window that leads to a patio. I curiously looked through my blinds and found a bird’s nest. I couldn’t tell if there were eggs, the tunnel was woven deep into this pile of earth, but the rustling would cease when I opened the blinds. I did a little research on nesting and found that in most species, the female carries out the majority of the construction. There are other species where the male does most of the construction, too, but one thing I found interesting was that the female would choose the location.

I saw the work that this tiny provider had already accomplished for its young, and it was incredible to watch the calculated effort behind the preparation for a new life, or possibly several. Then I wondered if this is how God felt about me, about any of us. The type of preparation that went into each experience and lesson and hardship. The work that went into–is still going into–the progression of who this person is today, the woman I have yet to become.

No one told me when I had a child of my own what it would mean. No one mentioned the tear at your heart when you drop them off at school and they cry for you. No one said anything about those sleepless nights that you somehow forget a few months later because they’re irrelevant when your treasure is in need. No one told me that I would question every decision and outcome and opportunity with how it would ultimately affect them. No one sat me down, looked me in the eyes, and said that I would be forever changed.

But I am. I think about that little bird in my window, hiding from the storm, protecting its most prized possession. I don’t know if the storm was scary to it, maybe it was used to weather episodes. Maybe the storm was terrifying now that this protector was responsible for another life. No one told me that having children would involve the whole human experience, sometimes more than once a day. Then I take one look at my daughter’s indestructible smile and even the hard or exhausting days are worth it. No one told me many things, but God did. He took the weeds of fear out of my heart and gave me something so much better. He gave me a garden.

I know some of you are the provider, working tirelessly to sometimes just get through the day. You put forth so much effort for a rainstorm to push you . . . to corner you in a strange window sill, a foreign country, another home, just like that little bird. Know that your path is your own–this compilation of distorted lessons, molding ideologies, and I hope, lots of laughs. Know that you’re on my heart tonight, and I’ll say an extra prayer for you.

God Bless,

Megan

The duress under which we live – the commitments and responsibilities to others, to ourselves, to our children, our past, the uncertainty of our future – plays the antagonist on the set of the main-stage of our lives. Lately, it seems more prevalent than ever. Divorce, death of a spouse, death of a child, custody battles, depression, adjusting to parenthood as a new step-parent, unrequited love, miscarriage, and the list goes on. You really know your own strength when you are tested beyond your overwhelmed belief.

It is a lesson that drags you, kicking and screaming in defiance, to the moment when you prepare that ideological construct of surrender. You begin imagining what forfeit will taste like and how soothingly warm it will be to fade into, and if guilt will season it to ensure that it digests better. God has a way of surprising you sometimes. He can take it, proving your weakness wrong. That’s how you figure out what you are made of, and when you learn a lesson like that, it stays with you.

I have noticed my daughter will cry more often now when she sees me leave the room. This typical stage, obvious in its reasoning for an infant to want a parent, recently revealed something to me. I know when she cries that she is okay. She has everything that necessity requires and I never panic or worry. I know when I walk back into her room, she will acknowledge my return and instantly calm down. To me, this episode is small, temporary and understandable for where she is in her life at this point. To her, this is a crisis. Though I believe that children learn patterns and that she most likely knows that I am coming back for her, I have to imagine that it is a terrifying thought to witness your mom or dad walking away from you and leaving you alone somewhere, unsure if they will return.

Uncertainty surrounds our every day, and despite how complacent we find ourselves at any given stage, the truth of the matter is that it can all change in an instant. The issue is not the event, which will happen regardless of our actions, but the method in which we pick ourselves up off the bathroom floor, wipe the streams of mascara from our faces and say, “Enough is enough.” I believe grief is real and necessary in the process of healing. I also believe the grit of some events will scar us for life, carving their fragmented particles deep into our surface and making a haven to hide there.

This event does not have to define you or me or anyone. Sometimes, the biggest setback can yield the healthiest fruit, the better-lit path, the most trustworthy results. Maybe you’re making the hard choice, maybe it was made for you, or maybe it was the wrong one and you’ve already made it, trying to learn how to live with it. The most important part of loving yourself is establishing trust in who you are and what you represent to yourself and others.

Deuteronomy 31:6 says, “The Lord your God goes with you; He will never leave you nor forsake you.”

I used to not like church. I grew up in church and loved it at a young age, but the day that I saw my home church split in two was a disheartening day for me. Opinions raged like a fire consuming everything in their paths, and I left that night in silence wondering how rational human beings ever get to the point where they attack so vehemently until the weaponry guts the body from the inside out, leaving skeletal remains and a gaping wound.

It changed my attitude and I started seeking God in other places: the smell of calculated dust in Monument Valley, Utah, the way the stars fall on Lubbock, Texas after a rainstorm, the heat dancing through the sand of Death Valley in Eastern California, the ice cold liberation of the Colorado River, the rainbows crashing into each other from a rooftop hotel lounge in Ottawa, Canada, the  group of strangers you travel with who become like family, rescuing you from flailing about before you realized it yourself.  I saw God in all of it. More importantly, He saw me, regardless of where I was looking.

I then learned how to release the burden of my tribulations and nail it to the cross. It’s not my burden to carry anymore. Romans 8:38-39 says, “I am convinced that . . . neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”  What a powerful passage. . .

I’ll be praying for those of you tonight who are in the perpetual cycle of emotional turmoil. You are stronger than you think. It certainly is not easy, especially when endurance wears thin, but God hears you before you ever know the question.

God Bless,

Megan

She made sure that you had enough lunch money before school and that you left the house looking like a decent human being. She helped you search for that prom dress you loved and never hesitated to let you know when that skirt was too short or if you had mascara on your cheek. She could touch your face and know immediately if you have a fever and always made sure you had a birthday cake. She’s your perpetual cheerleader, the supporter of all of your endeavors, short-lived or irrational as they may be, and she’s a large part of why you believe that you can do or be anything of your choosing today.

She’s your mom. Whether  you are best friends today, estranged, you never knew her or were only granted a limited time with her, we all have the concept of her being and if you’re a mother now, then you embody that rite of passage to your very core. Ironically, Disney removes her voice entirely for us when we are mere children, as almost every character (Show White, Cinderella, Pinocchio, Bambi, Pocahontas, Ariel, Jasmine, Aladdin, Quasimodo, Peter Pan, Mowgli – to name a few) was without a mother.  The role of “mom” is such a very important one. This is not to discredit Dad, however. Dads, you will always be the pillar of strength, the one who can fix anything, the protective force, the superhero. Some parents hold both titles and have equipped themselves with how to be everything they can to their children.

As I set out on my journey through our nightly routine tonight, I noticed something about my 8-month-old daughter – she’s growing up fast, and she’s already to a point where she is so active that she rarely sits still in my lap or falls asleep in my arms anymore for any given amount of time. I didn’t realize how much I missed that until I noticed just how busy she has become. She has recently started resisting bedtime with all of her tiny might, and through the tears and thrashing about in defiance, she eventually exhausts herself. This particular night, however, she was calm and already worn out from the day.  I knew it would not be long before she would cozy up with dreams of sugarplum fairies or talking toys or wherever it is that babies go when they dream.

I took her in my arms, all 16 pounds of her, bundled up in her pajamas laced with sweet lavender, and I rocked her and walked around singing “The Colors of the Wind” from Pocahontas (I’m still not sure why this song, it was already in my head today). In a few moments, she was asleep. She was asleep in my arms, and I was so elated with joy that I didn’t realize I had been walking around singing to her for nearly 20 minutes. It then occurred to me that I can’t typically hold an 8-pound bowling ball longer than a few moments without it growing increasingly heavier and I have the urge to put it down. But tonight? 16 pounds of perfection draped over my arms never phased me. There was no burden, no heaviness, no urge to put her down because I had enough. I felt as though I could have held her all night to ensure she slept well, to bring her comfort, to guarantee she felt loved. This unconditional love, this willingness to give and to protect and to comfort. . . this is the unmatched love that we have from God. He wants to hold us close, to keep us safe, to guard our hearts and ensure we know our worth and that we are loved. His love never ends.  Psalm 119:76 says, “May your unfailing love be my comfort, according to your promise to your servant.”

It was a blessing to find that sweet girl asleep in my arms. I know those days are passing me by with every week, every month, that she continues to grow and change and demand more independence. They are fleeting moments that I wish I could freeze and hold close to me. I pray that she knows how much she is loved by not only her mom and dad, but also her Father in Heaven. I pray that she carries me in her heart, as I carried her before her tiny feet ever impressed upon this world, and as I carry her in comfort and in protection and in love today. So embrace those moments with your babies – whether they are 2, 22, or 42 – you are still the embodiment of home, an example set out from God, and you will forever hold the weight of all that is “mom.”

Praying for all of you moms tonight,

Megan

“If I could just do it again. . . ”   The decibel at which this statement resonates varies among each of us. The impact sets in at different speeds, the caliber of loss colliding with regret or sorrow or frustration or sometimes relief. You can feel this way about anything…an opportunity, a choice, a fear. Sometimes it’s a relief to find that you can’t go back. The irony of this epiphany usually reveals itself to you when you’re miles from the main event, despite the scars that have tattooed themselves to your irrepressible heart. The heart really is the most resilient muscle you possess, and it’s a wonder the elasticity persists – not only after all we put it through – but in such a way that it can fool you in believing it was never tormented with the complexities of fear or disappointment or even death.

When I was a little girl, I was afraid of a good thunderstorm. The salty surprise of a little rainstorm never bothered me. The voice that came out of it did – the thunderous yelling and shouting from the sky coupled with flashes of light, as if to answer back, in quick-bursting screams. As a child, I would leave my room to sleep on the floor of my older brother’s room. Eventually, he learned the drill and left me a pillow, blanket, and earmuffs in the floor when it stormed. The pallet of peace, I found it. The earmuffs were thick – red with black edges. I still remember how they felt, plastic and somewhat uncomfortable, but they were my favorite. This image is one of the most comforting memories I have kept during a state of fear from my childhood . . . because it happened often. I could still hear the storm through the earmuffs, but I felt brave with them in my possession. I felt that if they stood between me and my ability to receive and experience such a storm, then they were protecting me from something that could swallow me.

Sometimes it isn’t that easy.  We all have our Vietnam. You enter the battlefield, intending to return with your shield and instead, you emotionally return carried in on it.  Fear grips us all and giving in to it only makes it stronger. It feeds off of those who yield themselves to its consumption of their confidence. It’s a relentless dance partner, preferring only the ballads. It’s a natural state of humanity,  but in the revelations that derive from experience, I finally learned how to change the music. The comfort I have found in my own journey is finally understanding what the grace of God felt like…how it looked and felt to the touch and blanketed me like the smiling friend who shows up in a crowded room full of strangers. I wanted to know what it was like to experience this, and I never knew how to encounter it. Then one day I did. God gave me a decision to make, and I certainly made one.  I chose selfishness.  You’re familiar with what that looks like: the better option to benefit none other but you . . . the presumptuous one, the one you make out of fear and convenience, the one you ultimately regret the minute you make it. . . and then comes the period of living with it. You know, the hard part.

Whether you are afraid of how you will make ends meet, or if your young son knows that despite your impatience last night, he is still loved, or if your husband will look past your exhaustion and still find you beautiful, or if your choices you made yesterday were the best for you, for your family, for your peace of mind — you have the promises of God in your arsenal, and He will not forsake you. Romans 8:15 reminds us that we did not receive a spirit enslaving us to fear. In all of our lives, there are defining moments, millions of them, that determine if we are having a breakdown or a breakthrough. The difference lies in your approach, in your choice, in your deliverance.

Isaiah 41:10 says, “Do not fear for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”

We all need our red earmuffs at times. . . the shield we carry when a storm blows in and overwhelms in all of its might. I once told my brother during a tumultuous time, “I wish I could go back….I wish I could sleep on the floor and you hand me those earmuffs again and I could ignore this.” His response to me was, “Why? That would be awful. Then we would never know who we would become if we remained adolescent and afraid. We would never know our strengths or learn how to manipulate fear for our reuse, to make us brave despite the attack on our confidence.”  I didn’t see it then, but looking back, he was right.

I’ve since found that God’s mercy far surpasses a pair of plastic earmuffs. He took on their role when I learned to trust Him, really trust Him. From the depths of the darkest despair, God pulled me out when no one else could. He spoke to me with familiarity when I no longer recognized myself. He helped me find the shield that I didn’t know I had, and He showed me how to use it to confront the fear in my heart that once negated my voice. Fear carries no weight here and is not welcome. It contributes no substance, offers no benefit, only a crack in my surface, a chip at my exterior.  “I sought the Lord, and he answered me; He delivered me from all my fears.”    Psalm 34:4

I pray you find your shield, your red earmuffs, your Savior. I pray you overcome your fear by placing your trust in Him, by changing the station, by finding the strength in your song.

God Bless,

Megan

We’re in this together, moms. If I have learned anything since I entered the uncharted territory of motherhood, I have learned that moms will come together for the common good and interest of their children but also for the wellness of other moms. The words that describe the feelings that we share are exhaustion…aches….fuzzy to-do lists that we forgot to write down…wishing we had time to wash our hair some mornings… injuries from midnight stumbling into things to make impromptu feedings (my knee is still bruised from the coffee table catching it just right), and the incessant, growing list we maintain and develop throughout the day to ensure our order of operations and routine and that of our family stays on track. I put my daughter to bed, check on her sleeping peacefully in her crib, and in that moment, everything I stressed over for the week is put to rest and I am reminded why it was worth it.

This week, though? It has been a long one. Whether it was visits to the pediatrician over my daughter’s recurring ear infection, a broken car seat clip leaving school and the stress of driving with a semi-protected baby just to make sure we get home, a heavy workload at the office, weekend plans, expectations, and travel preparations, a mountain of laundry taunting me from the laundry room, or figuring out what to make for dinner each night – all blanketed under half-sleeping and early morning feedings – it can be overwhelming. Sometimes you still hear your baby, wake up, and have a hard time going back to sleep even when you are not the one doing the feeding. Between laundry and cleaning bottles and preparing for the next work/school day, I go to bed late.  I wake up today and the cycle then begins all over again – make sure clothes are in order, that my daughter’s bag is packed for the day, bottles are made and baby food is ready, lunch is packed and finally, ensure that I look somewhat presentable and less like the corpse I feel I am. To top it off, last night, I dropped a Mother’s Day gift for my mom that shattered all over floor.

I could have cried. The option is always there to bury myself under the stress and stir up such anxiety around the routine and planning to the point that I no longer enjoy each day and what it has to offer. We do this a lot, moms. We find ourselves bogged down in the immediate moment of duress in which we live from day to day and in turn, we are prohibiting not only our own joy, but also our ability to live and breathe and embrace each moment as delightful and meaningful quality time with our family. We rob ourselves of God’s grace and are basically telling Him that our hopelessness is all-consuming, rather than meeting the sacrifice of Jesus.

This is not to say that we should never feel this way… we all get overwhelmed, that is inevitable, but we don’t have to live in it…to swim around in it and cloak ourselves so deep in it that we are unable or unsure of how to climb out. Isaiah 40:31 says, “Those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength, they will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.” What a great verse, isn’t it? “They will renew their strength,” . . . “and not grow weary.” Somewhere we find the strength to do what we thought we couldn’t, don’t we moms? That’s God reminding us that we can. “If I could just get one more hour of sleep”. . . but you hear your little one, and decide 4:00 a.m. will have to begin your day, and you do it. Sometimes it’s also easy to feel like we’re not doing so great of a parenting job, and it can be a certain struggle.

Recently, my daughter had her first ear infection. I had no idea what those looked like, only the few symptoms that coincided with those of teething. She never ran a fever, fussed when sleeping at night, or pulled on her ear. In fact, the only way I knew something was going on with her was because her teacher called me and said there was drainage in her left ear. I knew this was a bad sign. I took her back to the pediatrician to find out that she had been suffering an ear infection and it ultimately ruptured her ear drum. I could have sank down in my chair when she told me this news. I just hugged my little girl, and felt that if I had done something sooner, if I had known, she never would have had to suffer this. Did I miss the signs? Did I get so tired and busy that I just didn’t notice? It’s up to me to look out for her and I could have prevented this, right? I battled these feelings a few days until I realized. . . you know what? We all feel like sometimes we’re not doing it right. Sometimes, you see the mom on Facebook of 4 children with 20 cooked meals in the freezer and the expertise in how to save and use coupons – even she gets discouraged sometimes.

It’s easier to tell ourselves what we are doing wrong than praise ourselves for doing it right. But you are doing it right. You’re doing a great a job, and you may not feel that your late night feedings or last minute planning or exhaustion from having laundry and bags packed isn’t paying off, but it certainly is to your family. You are building trust with your babies that you will be there….those little angels who call you “mom” or at least know you to be “mom” if they aren’t saying it yet – they rely on you and have faith in you. You will always have one of the most important and influential presences in their lives, and they will come to you for comfort, advice, help, praise, truth, wisdom, and unconditional love.  So keep your head up the next time you’re up at 3 a.m. wondering if you will ever sleep again. You’re awesome, mom, so keep up the good work and put your hope in God.

“We rejoice in the hope of the glory of God.  Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us.”

   Romans 5:2-5

God Bless,

Megan

If you posses any form of self-expression, you know what it does to you. You know that transcendental moment when you simultaneously find yourself and lose yourself in a euphoric, consuming abyss from which you dread the return. You know what it feels like to feed a fire and watch it burn beauty and capability and adoration. It’s welding yourself a trophy of passion and granting your own liberty to take it home. For me, this was ballet. My fifteen year stint in this aesthetically pleasing endeavor ultimately gave back to me more than I could have ever imagined.

Today is National Scrapbooking Day, which is a form of art that dates back to the 1800s, and possibly earlier. Anything can be considered art from cooking to gardening to making people laugh. I learned that anything can be art at the Museum of Modern Art in New York City when I saw a video of a man moving his arm back and forth and saying,  “This…is…art.”  Ralph W. Emerson identified that people should pursue happiness in something, “whether it be to make baskets, or broadswords, or canals, or statues, or songs.”  It’s anything that creates tangible or intangible beauty while surrendering the reflection of one’s self.  Jeremiah 1:5 says, “‘Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you, before you were born, I set you apart,’ says the Lord.” We are uniquely made and every talent we have comes from God, the Father who loves us.

So here are 7 examples of how I looked beyond the bruised toenails and bloodied knuckles and found that ballet, my form of artistry, enriched all aspects of my life:

1) I learned discipline and self-control. There is a right way and a wrong way to do it and an accurate pace to do it within. It taught me that in life, sometimes patience dictates our next move and when we mess up, thinking we had it right, we can give up, or we can find the remedy and use it to cure our mistake.

2) I learned how to use nervousness to my advantage and even better a performance with it. Even as adults, we still find ourselves in places where stage fright and timidity can kick in when we least expect it. It taught me that no one in that audience knows what’s coming up next on stage but me. In job interviews and intimidating circumstances, this philosophy still plays a powerful role. No one knows more about you and what you have done but yourself, and no one should find it easier to discuss than you.

3) I learned how to self-motivate and set goals. Learning combinations and positions and jumps in ballet is no easy feat. In fact, it’s tedious and overwhelming and sometimes defeating, but when you want something bad enough, you invest yourself in it and you become obsessed with it and you make the effort. There is pride that comes with accomplishment that regenerates the cycle to the next complicated piece of choreography that comes along. You make it attainable because you set your goalpost at a reachable place, until you reach it, then you reset your goalpost. This is how “overwhelming” becomes “obtainable.”

4) I learned how good posture gives way to confidence. Poise, grace, elegance – these are terms typically identifiable for ballet dancers and a large part of that is because this form of expression demands the integrity of honoring the correct positions. It’s impossible to do that without having good posture. It leads to better sitting and standing practices, which not only reduces the amount of back pain you would see, but it also sends a message to yourself and to others of self-confidence and how you view yourself.

5) I learned what an escape feels like and how to use the quiet. Dancing was the only time that I could do something and the day’s prior events were laid to rest at the door. It was like a crack formed in the planet, freezing it in time,  and my thoughts respected the consolidation of movement with music and were silenced. I learned how to embrace my haven, a quiet calm to reside in, to take refuge in whenever I wanted or needed. This taught me how to reduce my own stress and be free.

6) I learned how coordination, balance and strength facilitate control of the body and its sequential movements. I also learned that eating well contributed to these in the process. Most of our actions demand some type of coordination on a daily basis to ensure a smooth transition and result. A healthy diet makes a world of difference in not only our bodily movement and development but also how we feel each day.

7) I learned how to work for God, how to work as an individual, and how to work as a team. I credit God with giving me the ability to dance. It was not easy, in fact, there were several times I almost gave up. I didn’t because I loved it, but also because I didn’t want to waste something that He handed me, knowing my passion for it. I learned how to build and develop my specific role within the choreography, how to make it work for me, how to make it my own, how to become that part. I also learned how to situate my role within a group ensemble, never outshining my team, but contributing to it, enhancing it, and making our performance the best possible. Learning how to be a team player without getting lost in the crowd is paramount. It says you have the motivation and individuality to enhance your role, while contributing to the prosperity of your team objective.

This is a short list, but a vital one in how my life was forever changed in my form of artistry. If you haven’t found your form of expression yet, try different avenues because eventually you will find the right fit and it will grab hold of you, and wrap itself around you like a tangible dream that you never knew you were having.

God bless,

Megan

My daughter has no idea what the word “confidence” means. At 7 months, she actually doesn’t know what any words mean yet, but she will. She will learn this word just as swiftly and effortlessly as she will discover words like “insecurity,” “envy,” and “disappointment.”  We learn the meaning of these words early, don’t we? We live in an age where women, especially, want to be more of this and have less of that. When do we stop and say, “I am enough?”  It’s incredible, the things that stay with us, and the reasons why they hinge themselves to our memory, relentless in letting go. This would be a great time to tell you a story where someone hurt my feelings and how it helped me restore confidence in myself in some profound, revealing way later in life, but that isn’t the one I’m about to share.

I remember being 6 years old and making a girl cry all because she wore a t-shirt with a famous woman on it and said they were related. I called her a liar. The truth is that she was, in fact, related to this person, but the truth is irrelevant here. I thought it was funny how I could unravel her. This shameful type of event happened one or two more times in grade school over subjects like the Spice Girls or using mirrors, and then I eventually didn’t see her again until several years later. As a freshman in college, we were ironically in the same tedious course where she ended up taking notes for me while I was out sick for nearly a week. I was speechless.  She was the reason I even passed the class, and I didn’t deserve a fragment of help from her. I would have settled for whatever scraps that she was willing to throw me, if anything. I was humbled by her generosity towards me. She was admirable in her character and confident in herself, her reasons behind her actions and her capabilities as a student. She exemplified Hebrews 4:16, “Let us then approach the throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need,” and I will never forget it.

I think about how and why my views are generated, tested and determined, and I wonder how I will ever teach it all to my daughter. 2 Corinthians 3:4-5 says, “Such confidence as this is ours through Christ before God. Not that we are competent in ourselves to claim anything for ourselves, but our competence comes from God.” How will I teach her how important it is to be confident in not only herself, but in Christ? How to have compassion for people around her because her actions may resonate loudly to someone else? How to destroy insecurity for the sake of respecting her self-worth? How to negate the troubling voices of doubt so she can delight in all of God’s grace? Psalm 27: 1,3 says, “The Lord is the stronghold of my life – of whom shall I be afraid? … though an army besiege me, my heart will not fear; though war break out against me, even then will I be confident.” I want her to be strong and unshaken and to love with an unbridled and unburdened heart. I want her to defend who she is and remain unmoved in her convictions.

Recently, a girl I had not seen in over 15 years since grade school found me on Facebook. In her opening message to me, she wrote, “Hey, I never did thank you for teaching me how to tie my shoes. So thank you.”  I was baffled at her memory of such a distant event.  When I thought of her, I remembered how hopeful and positive she always seemed. She was confident in exactly who she was and confident in her encouragement to me as well. It’s incredible, the things that stay with us, and it meant the world to me that something I helped give her confidence with had stayed with her. We never fully know or determine the outcomes of our choices or effects of our actions. If I could go back to being a 6-year-old on a playground, I would’ve done more building than breaking. I hope today you can encourage someone in their struggle for confidence and send a signal of support their way.

Sometimes the day gets really long. . .considerably longer than the days before it. My daughter was up at 11:00 p.m., 2:00 a.m., and 4:00 a.m., and by the time work started at 8:00 a.m., I was whatever that stage is beyond exhausted, if such exists. When I got home from work, my husband and I had picked her up from daycare and then our nightly routine began. I worked on dinner, he fed our daughter, and usually while he helps clean the kitchen, I get my time with her when I get her ready for and put to bed.

Tonight was different. She was so exhausted from school that she was irritable, hungry, tired and extremely impatient. Before I finished making dinner, my husband had already fed her, cleaned her up and got her to bed. I knew this was the only necessary option, but I ached over the fact that I had not seen her all day and my time was then cut even shorter. She typically wakes up for a final feeding around 10:00 p.m. and I knew that would be my window for the day.

At 9:30 p.m., I went to get a shower as I knew I would have 30 minutes before my much anticipated time with my little girl. To my disappointment, she woke up while I was in the shower and my husband took care of her final feeding for the night. I could hear her waking up in the other room and knew my window was gone.  I know this sounds like a small defeat. After all, it was only one night, right? After she was born and I returned to work, I still sometimes get sensitive to those short windows I have with her each night. This ultimately was beginning to destroy my night. I was upset, negative, and nearly in tears before I felt a sense of calm sweep over me and God may as well have started calling me ungrateful.

I started thinking about the men and women out there raising children with no help. I thought about the children who don’t know a parent’s love and they identify the word “parent” with “abandonment.” I thought about how many children go to sleep hungry at night. I was being narrow-minded and short-sighted and undeniably selfish. John 1:16 says, “From the fullness of God’s grace we have all received one blessing after another.” I have a child who plays all day with other children and it wears her out to the point of exhaustion at night. She’s healthy and happy and full when she goes to bed. She knows she is loved.  I know what it’s like to feel loved and I know my family does too. What part of this story constitutes crying? This was a good night. I missed my daughter, but I appreciated the circumstances as they developed in the nature that they did. 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18 says, “Be joyful always; pray continually; give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.”  My night was salvaged by a quick shift in perspective. So next time you think things are on a swift decline, attempt a gracious viewpoint and see what it changes.

I recently attended a conference for Christian women, and it was one where the music marinates in your mind for a few days after, and you wish you were best friends with someone like Margaret Feinberg. Then you leave, return to your normal routine and pick up your life where you paused it for this main event. My mom and I try to attend this conference every year and each time it’s the same: I leave, take up Bible study more than I did before, and ultimately fade back into the same habits of hurry or over time develop new ones. This year was very revealing. From where I sat, I could see the deaf ministry section and the interpreters. The theme for this 2015 conference was Amazing Grace and how to “fight back with joy.” According to the Bible, Jeremiah 31:13 says, “For I will turn their mourning into joy and I will comfort them and give them joy for their sorrow.”

I watched the members of the deaf ministry and the interpreters throughout the conference. It was incredible to me how enthusiastic they were, especially when the music played. They couldn’t hear a note of the gorgeous melodies that were synchronized into passionate, evocative songs, but they could feel it all. You could just tell. They could feel it in their bones, and they danced and sang out and swayed. Their devotion to God was so apparent, it made me question the caliber of my own. And I heard everything. In fact, I looked around and noticed how many people were just standing there, hardly singing, unmoved. I couldn’t take my eyes off of the deaf ministry because they made me want what they had.

I think it’s important to make the attempt to encounter God. When we expect Him to meet us the whole way, it negates His word, and it undermines the sacrifice of Jesus. Philippians 2:1-2 says, “Therefore if there is any encouragement in Christ, if there is any consolation of love, if there is any fellowship of the Spirit, if any affection and compassion, make my joy complete by being of the same mind, maintaining the same love, united in spirit, intent on one purpose.”  If anything, the conference speakers did open my eyes and heart to new perspectives; however, it was the deaf ministry who really ministered to me. They made the attempt to praise and hear God, and they did it with the enthusiasm and joy that should be in the heart of any follower of Jesus.

I think it’s safe to say we all need encouragement sometimes, and whether you’re a wife, a mother, a father, a son, a daughter, a husband or a friend, you have a place here and are welcome to stay as long as you like.

I’m a new mother to a 7 month old little angel. She makes every day exciting and new and purposeful. I love watching her learn new things and discover something as incredible as socks or how to pick something up. It’s hard watching her struggle to sit up or crawl or hold her head up when you just want to sweep in for the rescue and do it for her or help her in the process.

I changed her clothes today, and I’ve noticed over time that she hates long sleeves. Every time I put an outfit on her with long sleeves, she gets uncomfortable and impatient in the process of me finding her arms and pulling them through the sleeves. She can grab things really well now, including my fingers. Every time I would put this type of outfit on her, I would find myself saying, “Just take my hand and I’ll do the rest . . .  I’ll pull you through it.” It was less work for her this way and if she kept her palm closed, it was actually much easier to pull her arms through.

When I started thinking about the simplicity in this statement, I realized, this is such a parental thing to say about something so small. “Let me do the work…I want to spare you difficulty.” After all, that’s our job as parents, isn’t it? To protect our children, to make them feel loved and safe, and to reduce their hardship. It’s also our job to teach our children how to be capable individuals, but as a new mom to a 7 month old, I still want to do it all for her.

This is how our Father in Heaven feels about us too. “Just take my hand and I’ll do the rest. . . I’ll pull you through it.” Psalm 23:3 says, “He restores my soul; He guides me in the paths of righteousness for His name’s sake.” Isaiah 66:13 says, “‘As a mother comforts her child, so will I comfort you,’ says the Lord.” It’s in our nature to want to take control in situations, to be strong and direct and independent. Sometimes we want to fit our arms through our own long sleeves and even when we struggle to find the opening, we still refuse help. I’ve recently learned what it truly means to give something, anything to God. I never knew how to do that before but once I did, it was the most freeing and rehabilitating moment I have ever encountered. Isaiah 58:11 says “The Lord will guide you always; He will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land and will strengthen your frame. You will be like a well-watered garden, like a spring whose waters never fail.”

I know the day will come when my little girl can put her long sleeves on all by herself and she won’t need my help with it. I will be proud of her. I will be thankful for her ability to learn and be independent and strong by herself because I know she will still need my help in other ways. In all of her days, she will never stop needing my love, just like we will never stop needing the love of God.