Dahlias and Hailstorms

Sometimes I write about things and tuck them away for a while. Sometimes I need them to just be for me and for God - my own private act of worship. Then, unexpectedly, I will stumble upon them again and find that they warm and encourage my heart. Worship is that way - carrying value far into forever whether it's forgotten by our feeble human minds or not. I hope these words shower a little burst of hope over your hearts today.

Love y'all like crazy.

The storm rolled in fast. The sky fell dark and the rain started to fall. Adele’s sultry voice filled up my kitchen while I unloaded the dishwasher, my mind full up and empty all at the same time. There was so much to be thinking about that my thought-making machine had all but stopped functioning. Overload. All of it - my heart, my mind, my spirit - too full, too empty. Which is it?

And suddenly the banging started - at first just one at a time, and then faster and faster until the whole of our house roared with the sound of hail hitting the roof and the sky lights. I watched from my kitchen window as the storm intensified and all of my beautiful flowers, my dahlias that were on the verge of blooming, my hydrangea that has fought hard to come back from multiple unfortunate events, the tomatoes Josh planted - all of them stripped down to the stems by the icy marbles being shot from the sky with machine gun force. 

My oldest, my tender heart, ran into the kitchen to explain that all of our flowers were being ruined. I turned around and said, “I know, honey. It’s a bummer.” Her little face fell, and her little eyes welled up, “But they were doing so good after that last hail storm! Daddy’s tomato plant had so many tomatoes starting to show!” And then she launched into a full on cry. 

To be honest, I really just wanted to join her. I wanted to sit down on the floor and cry over our lovely, hard fought for flowers and tomatoes. Those dahlias that I was so excited to watch bloom now look broken, bare and dead. They look just like my heart feels. But God in his sweetness reminded me - “They’ll be back again next spring. They grow back.” I know it’s true, but it’s so hard to remember that in the moment of loss. It’s hard to remember how to feel the loss and hold the hope, to settle in for another year of waiting before those giant purple and red blooms appear, to acknowledge that I might never actually get to see them - the bulbs I planted and tended and waited on - in one fell swoop, the ice took away my opportunity to enjoy them, but not necessarily the opportunity for them to thrive.

Sometimes we do the work. We pour ourselves heart and soul into a thing. We buy all the way in, and it just doesn’t end up being a thing we get to watch bloom. Sometimes we do the dirty work and then a storm rolls in and sweeps away our opportunity to see the thing thrive - and we ache over that loss. That’s okay, I think, the ache - but only if it’s connected to hope and trust. Trust is the thing that allows us to walk away in peace - without ever seeing the bloom. 

Roots

Something in my chest today kept me quiet. The wind blew steadily through the azaleas and the oaks and the not-yet-green crepe myrtles, moving branches and leaves, sending bees scurrying. The old white steeple stood high peeking from behind the pink flowers. It was balmy and a little overcast - and extraordinarily beautiful. I've been there before, of course. My Paw-Paw is buried there. He went to be with Jesus when I was 9. We went a few times after that, and I always remember how green it was. Maybe that's partially because I knew the town was actually called Evergreen - I don't really know. Regardless, I remember it as abundant and lush. And going back as an adult, I can tell you that it did not disappoint. I can, in fact, tell you that it took my breath away.

I feel very nearly on the verge of tears typing this out, and I can't quite put my finger on why. There is something so deeply magical about deep roots. Family lines full of good people with good hearts and good stories - mess-ups and mistakes, to be sure - but mostly good and mostly people who followed Jesus with their lives the best way they knew how. Every time I pause to remember this, I find myself a little choked up, overwhelmed with gratitude and something that really does feel very much like I imagine magic would - pricking and warming, whispering old stories and new. Because I know what a rare and unusual thing it is to have such deep, grounding, good, healthy roots. Again I say, flawed of course, lest you think I am riding my high horse.

It makes me consider all those names listed in the Bible - the ones I just skip over because for-the-love-of-all-the-land, must I try to sound ANOTHER one out? It makes me think about how each of those names represented a whole life - lived either well or poorly, and how that life influenced the one after that and the one after that and the one after that - among all the ones that it influenced as they walked alongside one another.

In my world, family is a big, big deal. It always has been, and I am so glad about that.

But I want to say something to all of you that maybe feel like your roots don't run deep or if they do, they're not healthy and nourishing. I want to say something to those of us who think that our roots are the best roots. I want you to hear that Jesus gives us new roots. That He specifically says that the people who decide to follow Him, they are His true mother and brother and cousin. And if we are adopted into the family of Christ, it must follow that we now share in His lineage! What a gift, y'all. What roots we have! Abraham and Moses and Rahab and David and Peter and Paul and Timothy and Martin Luther and C.S. Lewis and my Paw Paw and the person who led you to Christ. What an amazing, incredible gift - new roots, wider roots, deeper roots. Roots of faith and returning when you leave and of saying what you mean and of praying enormous prayers and of making mission fields out of every piece of ground you stand on and of hanging on when everything says to let go. Good, healthy, rich roots.

Friends, this is no small thing. And it overwhelms me that God grafts us in - that whether our earthly roots are solid and grounding and good or not is really of no consequence in His kingdom, because when we say, "Yes," to Him, we get new, immovable, sustaining veins that steady us as we grow up, up, up toward the God who planted us in the first place.

We are held steady by up-from-the-grave roots, friends. Let's be grateful for that gift!

Why Noonday?

If I am going to tell you about my journey to Noonday, I need to go way back. Before babies and church planting and home ownership - basically before any real adulting started for Josh and me. Radical by David Platt came sprawling across the American church culture - sending us all spinning and chewing and wrestling and running. Some of us ran way too far with the whole thing, exalting him and his words to near Scripture authority - which he never demanded from us, but I digress. 

I read Radical, and I was deeply convicted. I was also deeply shamed. There is a difference. Conviction is for healing. Shame is for crippling. I had just bought some new curtains. Curtains I'd saved up for - for like, a year - because of the part where we weren't really adulting yet and therefore didn't have a lot of money at our disposal. 

I remember lying on the couch next to Josh, tears honest-to-goodness sliding down my face, and saying, "Do I have to take my curtains back now?"

And so it has gone - on and on through my growing process - this battle with consumerism. Do I control it or does it control me? Am I terribly selfish because I like pretty things, and I like to buy them for my house and my kids and me? What kind of person does it make me that there are people literally dying from lack of food and clean water while I whine about curtains?

And also God is gracious and kind and loves to see me enjoy that which I love to enjoy, within the bounds of what is healthy for me. So what about that?

Back and forth we go.

Fast forward to two babies later and I participated in Jen Hatmaker's Seven. Not because I felt guilty or because I was looking for a big, crazy change your life thing, but because I had learned that choosing to wade into what looks suspiciously like a mess of blindspots is a really valuable thing in following Jesus more honestly. And my eyes were blown open to the idea of social and consumer responsibility. And instead of thinking, "How can I spend less to give more," I started thinking, "How can I spend more wisely to empower more broadly? How can I better see people as people rather than charity cases?"

And it changed me. It changed the way I saw the homeless, the very, very different than me, the rude, the arrogant, the judgmental, the whiny pants - I started looking them in the eyes and my heart started growing tender, soft, and pliable - open and curious. 

Then I moved to an area of the country where we were the "poor" ones - and we were not poor. This was an interesting twist. Three babies in I took a job as a lifeguard which required me to pull hair out of drains - AKA the form of humility just above wiping grown-up's hineys. I didn't rub shoulders with people who had less than me for the most part - always people who had more. This changes your view point, slowly and surely.

But then we moved back to my hometown, and Josh took a job that puts us neck deep in visible, tangible brokenness along with spiritual brokenness. And I found myself face to face, once again, with my extraordinary privilege and selfishness. I strolled down the sidewalk of one of the strip malls in town and found myself face to face with a very dirty man digging in and eating from a trash can on the sidewalk. His eyes - friends - I was struck sick with all of the people, myself included, strolling in and out of stores buying what they didn't need while he ate scraps from a trash can. I didn't have any cash or any food to give him, and so I walked by - headed into one of those good ole' poorly-made-clothing warehouses, my gut still lurching from what I'd just seen.

I stood in the aisle fingering a necklace that I was considering buying (please know I hear your shout-y thoughts at me right now - I was delivering them to myself as well). I needed a new on to replace the last cheap gold number that had finally turned an awful shade of green. I flipped it over to find the price tag and discovered that it was $28. Twenty-eight. For a necklace I would have to replace in less than 6 months, that was likely made by severely underpaid employees - twenty-eight dollars that would never have anything to do with putting actual food on a person's table, or allowing them to keep and raise there own children. 

And then I thought about Noonday and what I had heard about it through social media and the IF:Gathering. I thought about how it actually is possible to, for not too much more money than the "cheap" stuff, buy pretty things AND affect change - about how we live in a day when that is a real thing. So, I began researching what it would look like to become part of this new thing called ethical fashion through Noonday.

I love that I can know the stories of the people I'm buying from - that when I buy form them I'm not contributing to another needless fundraiser or money for the sake of money - I'm contributing to the actual livelihood of a person that would otherwise not have the same opportunities to thrive. I can know their stories and sometimes look into their eyes. The truth is, people usually want the opportunity to use their hands more than they want a handout.

And also - the jewelry is SPECTACULAR! I mean truly - each one is a statement piece, and I'm a girl who likes to make a statement.

So in the end, the becoming a Noonday Ambassador was an easy choice. Click that link over on the right (you might have to scroll down a bit) and you can peruse our Fall/Winter line - and maybe buy a few things. You'll love some of it and the rest of it one of your friends or family will love! 

Follow me on social media - Facebook and Instagram - for more updates about the beauty of Noonday, how to host a trunk show, how to become an ambassador, how to get in on my Noonday launch party - about creating a flourishing world where children are cherished, people have jobs, women are empowered and we are connected. 

Let's take our privilege (because if you have a computer or phone and the internet at your regular disposal, you are already more privileged than most of the world) and leverage it for good, friends. Let's change the world!

But most of all, let's be kind and generous and conscious as we move through our days. No one should have to eat from a trash can while we buy cheap, fake comfort.

Love y'all like crazy!

Meanwhile

A whole population has reached the pinnacle of its suffering. The ache and loud, desperate cry of a broken, nearly hopeless people echoes through the heavens. There is a big, big problem and justice seems to have been forgotten.

Meanwhile...

On the far side of the wilderness, a man of once great passion quietly does the task he never sought out to do but simply found himself responsible for after a grave mistake. For forty years he's been tending sheep and finds himself both literally and figuratively on the far side of the wilderness. And it's here that he finds God. It's here that he is called out for the adventure of a lifetime!

I know a sweet mama of three who, when she was in high school, swore that it was her calling to tell world terrorists about Jesus. She just knew she was going to be the one to bring them to Christ. Now she changes diapers, loves littles, and loves well the international people who live in her neighborhood. I love that about her.

I know a middle-aged woman who always wanted to start a restaurant but for a whole myriad of reasons never has. She is a gifted hostess, chef, and entertainer. Food and preparing a place that makes people want to linger at the table makes her come alive. She's spent her whole life cooking and preparing places for her friends and family in her home, not in a restaurant. I love that about her.

I keep thinking about what might be waiting on the other end of their meanwhiles.

When we are young, we have grand plans and dreams. They are often larger than life - and honestly, because of our youth - they often get away from us in one way or another. Life happens. Mistakes are made. We come face to face with our own flaws and limits, and we begin to release our dreams for things that are a bit more realistic or a bit more pressing. And I don't think that's always a bad thing - God gives us mouths to feed and souls to shepherd and bills to pay for a reason. There are great lessons to be learned, tempers to be tamed, and discipline to be instilled while we wander on the far side of the wilderness.

But I can't help wondering what hurt and passion God might be working to bridge with His magical meanwhile. What passion might He be looking to rewaken and use to set captives free? I just want to be ready to take off my sandals when God says, "This, Emily. This is it. Take off your shoes because I am about to blow your socks off with my display of glory."

Maybe the holy ground is the diaper changing and the place making and also maybe God is using it all to get us ready for something we never even dreamed possible - for something the wild passion of our youths wasn't quite disciplined or humble enough for. All I know is that Moses was eighty - EIGHTY - when God met him on the far side of the wilderness and said, "Now. Now we are gonna do this thing."

What's something that used to get you all worked up - that still burns in your heart but that life has tamed a bit? What if we started praying for what is happening on the other side of "meanwhile"?

God amazes me. He hears cries and sends rescue. He sees faithful servants and makes them brave again. He is the God of all things at all times, and we cannot even imagine what He is doing, what He is going to do. Let's be excited about that - and faithful to do joyfully that which lies before us today!

Praying for Peonies

Friends, it's spring! I wore flip flops this week - oh yes I did! Are you loving it as much as I am?

I've been incorporating fresh flowers into my home and cruising the internet trying to find the floweriest flowers I can for our backyard. I planted tulips and grape hyacinths in the fall, and right on cue they are lining my driveway and shouting the arrival of the new.

I love flowers, every one - even the little yellow weeds that pop up and spread all over the yard, killing everything in their path. I love it when tiny, pudgy hands place those precious weeds in mine, having picked them with me in mind. Flowers, any kind, are always a gift, I say.



But peonies. Peonies are the loveliest of all the flowers. I hesitate to pledge my full allegiance to them because there are some close contenders - hydrangeas, for example, are pretty spectacular - but then I remember how every peony I ever see takes my breath away. I've always just sort of viewed them the same I way I do designer clothes and the French countryside - lovely in all the ways, but not within my realm of possibility. And then it hit me: living in Colorado means there's a chance I might actually be able to grow them!


via GIPHY

I don't have a green thumb by an stretch of the imagination, and when we lived in Florida I had just BEGUN to learn what I could and could not grow there, but as it turns out, many of the showiest flowers perform better when they get real cold in the winter. So, when I was walking through Costco and saw the bag of peony bulbs on sale, I did not even hesitate. I didn't know where I would plant them or exactly how to grow them. I just grabbed those babies up. I also failed to recognize that they won't bloom this year at all. They may not even bloom next year, and that could feel disappointing - but...

So much of what we do is about small, steady growth. Plant and tend and prune and pray and wait - and then one day you peak around the corner and see little buds of color appearing, and you can hardly conceal your excitement about what's been happening just beyond your view. I can imagine the side of our lovely blue house lined with peony bushes. Jude at four or five, rolling trucks through the dirt while I clip off giant blooms to bring indoors. Planting peonies helps me envision our future here in this wonderful neighborhood, and how I do so hope our home becomes known as a place that is rooted and established in love.

What sort of wonder is spring bringing you this year?

Windows

It's March. I'm sipping my Good Earth tea, listening to my Selah Pandora station, and watching snow flurries swoop and swirl along roof tops and through tree branches.

Windows. Vantage points. Frames of scenes. Their significance in my own life is powerful and moving - and steadying.

Sprawling scenes of beauty are awe-inspiring, humbling, glorious sights to behold. I know. I see them every day - when I drive to work or to the grocery store. But on this day I feel grateful for the gift of windows, of boxes and circles of scenes, clippings of homes and barely budded branches and snow in March - creating boundaries for my mind's eye, so I can see all of the little pieces of beauty I might otherwise miss if there were no boundaries to my sight.

In every season of my life, there was a window - a visual representation of my world at that time - and some of the most grounding, peace-giving, restful moments that I have known have been in front of those windows. Be it silently whispering Spanish moss over lake waters kissing grassy shores again and again or the tip tops of grandiose mountains held up by the blazing red leaves of fall, windows have always invited me to pause and appreciate the grace of sameness and of limitations.

I want to know it all. I want to see ahead, to know the plan, to side step the mistakes and run hard toward the successes. I want to see the intricacy of a God-sized plan. When will the hard end? When will it begin? Will my dreams come true? Will my life matter? What is God going to do next?

I feel like I'm walking blind in the middle of today, and sometimes it's plain unnerving. But then I think about my windows. Abide. Ask. Wait. Be still. Know. Limitations can be grand gifts. They invite us to see the detail right in front of us, to take a break from staring at the horizon and rest in knowing that God has all the rest of the world held firmly in His hands, and today I am responsible for my little piece, my window. And my view won't always be the same. Soon there'll be a new window to peer and ponder through, but today I have this one, and if I take the time, there is so much to see, so much to enjoy, so much of God's love to absolutely relish.

Like snow in March.


What's your view today?

When your window view frames ache and loss and frustration, you might be tempted and eager to find a new view immediately. I've been there, but God has so much to teach us, so much love to heap upon us in those views, too. If you are looking for some honest words about loss - in particular miscarriages - I wrote a book chronicling my journey through a year when my view was one that I never would have chosen for myself. The theme, though, is that Jesus always gets you where you need to be. He is pursuing you, and my journey just might give words to some of the struggles you're experiencing. Click here for a FREE copy of The Down and Dirty Truth about Miscarriages.

These Four Souls

Today I visited with an older lady who felt compelled to share with me the story of her husband's passing. I lifeguard at a pool where a lot of water walking and water aerobics take place, so there is a plethora of older folks looking for a listening ear, and I'm glad to provide it. She told me about how quickly it happened for them - how they went to the doctor because he had a strange lump above his belly button and within a month he had been diagnosed with cancer and she was standing at his funeral - just shy of their 50th wedding anniversary. This was ten years ago, so she wasn't sad anymore, per say, but I could hear the sting in her voice, the way a thing that hurts hard in the beginning hurts less five or ten years later but still makes the scar smart, like phantom pain.

And it got me to thinking about several things. If suddenly I discovered that my days on this earth were devastatingly shorter than originally expected, what would I trim down to? What would the bare minimum, most important things be for me to embrace and pour my last days into? I know it sounds morbid, but it also seems wise to me - to make a list of what would matter the very most were my days cut short.

It was an easy list to make, really.

• Josh
• Adelle
• Marilee
• Jude
• Extended family
• Writing

That's it. These are the things that carry the heaviest weight in my life and in my heart, but I rarely behave like it. Four of the six items on my list are individual people who I have nearly unlimited access to on a daily basis. These four souls are what I wish I could write on insurance and doctor's forms when they ask for my profession. Instead I write "Homemaker" and sound like I eat bon bons all day. That's fine. I don't do it for the bon bons or for their approval. But if I could, I think I would just like to start writing, "These four souls."

These four souls who I share a space with, who I throw up with, and cry with, and dance with, and am honest with. After Jesus, these four souls matter more than anything or anyone else. More than my neighbors, more than my church, more than anything. They are God's most obvious assignments in my life. When I wonder, "What should I be doing?" They are His loudest and most pronounced, "This." He has answered me by giving them to me...my greatest blessings and my most profound challenges. 

These four souls who are direct answers to my most earnest prayers - who exist in my life because God willed it to be so - because He said, "Yes," to Josh and Emily, to Adelle, to Marilee, to Jude. And He said, "No," to two other babies in between. They are here and they are mine to serve because God said, "Yes."

These four souls who lean on me for support and guidance and unconditional everything. 

These four souls who look to me for breakfast, lunch, and dinner - and every other ounce of food they consume.

These four souls who come to believe what they do - at least in part - about the character of Christ because of how well, or how poorly, I serve them.

These four souls who are protected, successful, and nurtured because I do the boldest, most powerful thing I can do - because I bring them to the feet of Jesus over and over again in prayer.

What if I treated homemaking like it was my job and I was very, very serious about it? What if I stopped acting like Esau, ready to give up God's most obvious assignment because seriously, that's nice and all but doing ANYTHING without my children around sounds way better right now? 

What if I joyfully and fearlessly pursued my marriage and my mothering? 

The holiness of our families is sacred ground, friends. It seems that maybe we have gotten so caught up in being "real" about how hard motherhood is that we have forgotten its holiness. 

Let's take that back, shall we? Let's fall back in love with mothering.

On Falling Back in Love with the Life in Front of You

It's Tuesday. Plain ole', nothing special Tuesday.

I am eating Ruffles and Ranch dip for lunch at 2:15 in the afternoon. On my desk sits a Classical Conversations magazine, a preschool flyer, a package that needs to be returned to Amazon, our Christmas Memories book that has yet to be filled out for this year, my sketch pad, some canvases that I'm working on, several printed out recipes for this week's meals, a folder full of medical stuff, and my Hope for the Weary Mom Devotional. In my lap is my planner and a pencil. Behind me on the floor of my office/the laundry room are four basket full of clean laundry that need to be folded. Above me on the HVAC ducts of our basement that makeshift as my bulletin board, are reminders that Adelle needs to fill out her Valentine's and make her box today (When on earth did it become a thing to make a box??? We had paper bags and liked it, thankyouverymuch!), a lot of Bible verses, and lists for both the girls' Valentine's Tea Party as well as Adelle's class Valentine's Party - because I'm room mom - because I tried to wait everyone out at the beginning of the year and everyone else had the same plan. The kitchen counter is filled with groceries that must be put away. There's a meal in the crockpot that there's a pretty good chance no one will eat.

This is life, and on a lot of days it's far busier than I want it to be.

You know exactly what I mean, don't you?

There are significant decisions to be made, responsibilities to be accepted and denied, but more than all of that - there are people right here under my nose that must be seen, that I get to see.

Today alone I have been greeted and snuggled and laughed with. I have done dishes and bought groceries and showered. I have the ability to choose how my children will be schooled. I can explore dreams and career options. I have a friend who writes books full of goodness and truth and love, and mails them to me with tiny, adorable vials of Serenity, which basically has the same effect as a couple of glasses of wine, relaxationally speaking. I have Voxer and pretty pink china with which to throw Valentine's Tea Parties. I have a friend who will meet me at 5 a.m. and help me whip this three-babies-later-body into shape. I have a Mama who reads scripture over me when I am discouraged and a sister who cries with me when I see God bend low.

So, yes. It's a plain ole', nothing special Tuesday. And today I choose to fall back in love with mothering, back in love with this very life in front of me.

What about you? What is there to love instead of be overwhelmed by in your life today? How can you get wrapped up in the goodness around you instead of the vastness before you?

The best way, I've found is make a list of everything that's wearing you slap out and making you straight crazy. Write them out, one, two, three. And then make a list that corresponds to each wearisome item citing what they point to in your life, how they are representations of good, good gifts. Sometimes, maybe, they're only good for making your more like Jesus. Sometimes, they are just legitimately hard things that make you lean heavier into the Bible and telling God the truth. This, my friends, is a greater gift than anything else you've been given. Even if reading that makes you want to hit me - I promise...pain that points us to Jesus is always an extravagant gift.

I wrote a book about hard seasons. It's called The Down and Dirty Truth About Miscarriages and it's yours fo' free when you sign up for my Newsletter on the right hand side of this page. It's about far more than miscarriages - it's about dealing with grief of all kinds. I'd love to send it to you!

Wonder. All of it. Wonder.

I stand outside pointing the big green water hose at my freshly planted mums. The smell of pumpkin bread swirls out the back door and beneath my nose, carrying with it warmth and wonder. Three precious blessings giggle in the background, stripping off socks and shoes so that they can run through the frigid water on what will probably be our last warm day for a while. I can hear the crack, crack of old aspen limbs as my man breaks them between his hands and sets them aside for outdoor firewood in the coming months. The wind shakes the leaves above, making them glimmer in greens, golds, purples, reds, and oranges - sort of the same way the sea glimmers beneath the sun in every shade of blue and green.

Wonder. All of it. Wonder.

I perch on the edge of my seat and consider that we have been here one year. A whole year of working, planning, praying, and living. We really, really moved here, planted here. It's the first time in my whole adult life that I've done that on purpose. And, as it turns out, it works out nicely to invest in a place. I listen in gratitude as my pastor, our dear friend, lays bare his heart before our whole, ever-growing congregation, and I feel grateful that our families have been given the rare gift of bare bone honesty that looks exactly the same in privacy as it does on the platform. I weep because I sense how much all of this matters.

Wonder. All of it. Wonder.

I stand in the kitchen, my little walking man (as of today) toddling about at my feet, gurgling out syllables and enjoying a brief reprieve from the teething. I brown meat and chop onions and watch Parenthood. I feel grateful and I mourn because it never goes away for me, the way I yearn for my family. Sunday evenings always feel the hardest - like they were made for eating cereal and doing nothing with the people you love the most. Except a lot of those people are a half-country drive away for me, so that sort of natural, easy like Sunday morning (or in this case evening) togetherness just isn't a part of our lives. I still ache for it sometimes. Sometimes for more than two days in a row. And I smash my finger in the back door, say a lot of ugly words, and cry like a baby - because my heart is aching and a smashed finger is just enough tangible pain to open the floodgates and release it all.
The interesting thing is that the pain is no less present than it has ever been, but the joy stands strong and proud right beside it now. They live together, and I am amazed by that.

Wonder. All of it. Wonder.

This was all in a day. In one single twenty-four hour period, we have the opportunity to see, to experience, to know so very much. But we - I - miss it more often than I'd like to admit. I feel cranky that I have to cook dinner while everyone else enjoys this lovely weather on their bikes. I let overwhelmed function as my buzz word and my crutch. I see everything as a burden when, in reality, all of it is chocked full of wonder. All of it is a bundle of precious gifts as God does is work of grace in my heart.

What has left you in wonder today?

Lovelies

We moved. Again. I've mentioned that, right?

Slow. Intentional.

Back in Florida, as I prayed over our move, over our new home - wherever that would be - I kept hearing these same two words over and again. So, as I consider this new space we occupy, I am working hard to reign "Get it done" Emily in and push harder into "Chill it out" Emily.

As I move through the process, I'd love for you to accompany me. I'd love for you to watch with me as blank walls are given life on purpose, as rooms evolve and find meaning within our family's life. It's an adventure - a gift - to make things lovely.

This is our entry way and what I'm referring to as the front room. It's mine and the kids' space, mostly, so it's a little quirky - which is my favorite way to roll. Both of those chairs came from Goodwill for a grand total of about $60. True life. All of the kids' books and craft goodies are stored in the IKEA shelf. See that box under my desk. It holds some lovely curtains from Pier 1. Now I'm just waiting on the bay window curtain rod to arrive from Home Depot so we can get hose babies up! Curtains make all the difference. Also, notice that some of those frames are still empty and theres a lamp hanging out on the stairs. Real life, friends. Real life.

This is our living room. It's the wonkiest room in the house. I'm not really sure WHAT people thought whilst designing spaces here, but those gorgeous windows MOSTLY make up for the wonky lay out. Again with the curtain fabric in the corner and the iron sitting out on the table waiting to Stitch Witchery the seams because ain't nobody got time to pull out the sewing machine. Please note the cutey in the pink jammies as well ;) What other little real life treasures do you see?

And here we have the kitchen and dining. The dining room I love - or will love. We bought our table from World Market with two giant coupons. Score! Those chairs sat on our back porch in Florida for all the years we were at our last house. They were a yellow-ey oak color with some spectacular mauve-ish still plastic covered fabric on the seats. Now the seats are covered in a classing Herringbone - like a man's suit. They're lovely. The collage wall - there was supposed to be an animal head in place of those Brazil goodies. But, alas, I couldn't find one I felt excited about and also there are other things I should be spending money on now. The same goes for the modern print on the right. Someday that will be a lovely, warm rustic - sort of masculine - maybe a little abstract canvas. For now, we are working with what we've got. The curtians for this room are still in the works. I'm having to sew panels BACK together. A new chandelier will happen someday, too. Slow, y'all. Slow. I wanted this room to feel like warmth - all the kinds - with a hint of adventure and some good conversation starters since we hope to have lots of dinners with lots of people in this space!

And then there's the kitchen - that everyone loves except me. I don't want to talk about it. Don't get me wrong - I'm grateful for a very fancy kitchen. It just isn't my taste but I'm trying to figure out how I can feel more excited about it without painting the cabinets [gasp]. Suggestions welcome!

There is much to be done. These are the only rooms in the house I have touched. Slow. Intentional.

God makes all things lovely in His time. Ecclesiastes 3:11

I am nearing the end of another project - one that is proof of His ability to transform everything into beauty. In February - nearly four years after the hardest year of my life to date - it's all written out and ready to bring healing to anyone who is struggling with letting go of control, to anyone who is brokenhearted and weary from trying to carry it all.

Today it's a home tour - exactly as is. In February, it's a tour through the deepest corners of my heart - corners that might look a lot like your own heart-corners.

Would you join me in celebrating the gift of His loveliness? Sign up for my Newsletter [over there on the right] and receive a once a month extra as well as inside ways that you can partner with me in the saying aloud of truth. Later this week, I'll give you a sneak peak of February's extra for incentive.

Love y'all like crazy!

Watching for Open Floodgates

What no eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor the heart of man imagined,what God has prepared for those who love him.

I have been wrestling hard with whether or not I truly believe in the goodness of God. I believe in his ability. I know that He can do whatever He wants. This I do not question. And, honestly, I never would have said out loud that I questioned His goodness until I started to examine what I was willing to ask Him for. If I don't ask for much, then I protect myself from the crisis of faith situation if He says, "No." And He does. He says, "No." But also, He says, "Yes." I never assume that He will. I am always surprised when He does.

Our old pastor friend sat on our couch. As he talked about his life, his family, his congregation, I reflected on his goodness - on what a truly good man and pastor he is. I felt grateful for our time under the leadership of him and his wonderful wife. He talked about God's blessings and what He's capable of - what He WANTS to do for us. He said something along these lines:

"We walk in faithful obedience to what God has asked us to do and we pray earnestly for the desires of our hearts. Then, when God gives us exactly what we asked for, exactly what we needed, we are amazed and bewildered. Why is that? He says that He will open the floodgates of heaven. He challenges us to test His faithfulness. And still we are shocked when He does what He said He would do!"

And that has been rolling around in my head ever since. Somewhere around that time, I shared with my friend Ashley that I haven't really even been able to pray about Jude's arrival. It terrifies me, to be honest. God's going to do what He's going to do. He's going to allow what He's going to allow. Why should I ask Him for a beautiful, redeeming, incredible birth experience? These are her beautiful words of advice that helped me get over the hump and just start asking God for different:

Do you have a birth plan? Like a general idea of what you want? That helped ease some anxiety. You are going into it with two hard past experiences. You know what bad looks like. What would be the best experience? Then plan and commit that to prayer...You can't let Satan steal away the joy that only you will know of bringing your babies into the world. Even in the chaos. No one else will ever have that with them.

So, I began the next morning - humbly asking God for exactly what I want, what my heart yearns for. I want you to know that my attitude, my fears, my doubts didn't change automatically. But as I woke morning after morning and set my simple requests before Him, something began to happen - I began [really am just beginning] to lean into His goodness, to rest against His kindness, to snuggle into His generosity.

In less than ten days, who knows how many less, I will give birth to another baby. A little boy. Jude - the praised one. He is already so very loved, and I am desperate for his birth to be sweet and simple and intimate - to be an experience that leaves praise upon my lips, the kind that I do not have to choose but come to because only God himself could open floodgates like these. 

Things may be a little quiet around here for the next few months. I am going to be doing some reading and journaling and living and praying. I am going to be looking for the goodness of God - expecting it in my everyday - and therefore, hopefully, allowing Jesus to facilitate a deeper, more genuine belief in His sweet goodness. I'll still be keeping you updated on all things family and Colorado over at the family blog, but this space - my soul space - is going to be practicing some quiet seeking for a little while.

Also, I'll be caring for a newborn and moving and stuff - logistically, somethings gotta give!

Won't you join me on Social Media as we still aim to live with #EyesThatSee? Click on those little buttons over there on the right to remain part of that fun!

When Stillness Feels Like Failure

Some days later, I sat in the balmy air of another Florida morning - on the back porch that is another of my sacred places - and I wondered:

Why does stillness feel like failing to me?

Can pressing on look more like waiting in the stillness and just breathing?

Does my value come from what I do? 

Do I really know who I am in Christ?  

Coffee in hand, I let those questions soak in and percolate for a bit. In the still and quiet, I tried to make room for that which hides beneath the surface to make its way into some open space. This is what wound up on the pages of my journal:

Often it may look as though I am pushing forward, rocking it out as a Christian wife, mama, and leader - maybe to others, maybe even to myself sometimes, but I'm afraid that I've left no room for the gentle, quiet voice of the Spirit to instill in me humility, self-control, gentleness, and faithfulness.

 I have been striving so hard to get the house ready, to prepare for Jude, to make life more fun for the girls, to get to Arvada, to be a part of Storyline. So hard, when what I should be doing is covering it all in quiet prayer - prayer for the house to sell, prayer for a new home, prayer for a safe delivery and a smooth transition, prayer for my girls and my parenting, prayer for Arvada and for the details of our trainsition, prayer for Ben & Lynley and our whole team. I have failed to lay a foundation or stick to the blueprints of what I know works. Instead, in this time of transition and change, I have been desperately trying to work my way out of fear.

And there it was: the revelation of truth in my try hard heart.

I am afraid of so much right now. The feeling small and the fear and the failure in stillness - it's all connected. It seems that the best, maybe the only, way to continue to dig around this issue is to jump right into that which I am avoiding - the stillness. And God, in His sweet timing, has provided me with a newborn to help me do it. There is a cocooning that happens in the first several months of a new baby's life...it can feel like loneliness but it can also be a beautiful gift.

Is there something God is calling you to make space for dealing with? Could we have eyes that see better if we made room for the soft-edged, sometimes barely visible Holy Spirit to do his work? Can we learn to feel less small by embracing more still?

I don't know. I'm still working through it all, but I do know my Jesus. I know that He always gets us where we need to be. We must only keep pressing harder into Him.

...for I know whom I have believed, and I am convinced that he is able to guard until that day what has been entrusted to me. 1 Timothy 1:12

I Feel Small

We pulled up to the beautiful home, chatty and enjoying ourselves - my friend and I. As we walked to the door, I noticed how pristine it all was without being stuffy. There were little signs of life all over, and I appreciated that. We knocked. She opened. And I became instantly and painfully aware of my rolled up jeans, knock-off Toms, two day old top knot, and sweaty, pregnant body. They were all dressed, in my eyes, for more.

I sat in a room full of gracious, fun, transparent women. We laughed together, set some troubles out before each other, and talked a little about our journeys as bloggers and writers. It was a genuinely great evening, but on the car ride home as my friend and I digested it all, I blurted out, "And I don't know why, but being there in that room with those women who have published books [friend included] and done big bloggy things, I feel small."

Without missing a beat, she said, "You need to write from there."

That was more than a month ago. I haven't written from there yet because I've been trying to process what that even meant, why I felt it - why I feel it, WHEN I feel it. I've been asking God for the eyes to see MYSELF more clearly, and what I am uncovering is sticky, unclear, and all around is causing me to ask questions that I really don't feel excited about learning the answers to.

As I hopped into the shower that evening, I began to ask myself why. Why did I feel so small when all I received from the other women present was warmth and kindness and welcome? This was about me, not them. So, why?

Because I felt like I had nothing to bring to the table. I feel small when I have nothing to offer - when I have not achieved as much, when I am not known.

And there it was: gross, raw, unearthed truth. I am still all wrapped up in trying hard, keeping up, being more. I still haven't learned to accept grace in it's fullness. I still don't receive, accept, and enjoy gifts without feeling like I need to do, give, contribute something in return. Why? And what does THAT mean?

What about you? Do you ever feel small? I challenge you to think about when you feel small and dig deep into the things that trigger those feelings because there's a pretty good chance there is a thing hiding behind that smallness that our God wants to heal!

Eyes That See: Heart Change in the Home

There is nothing like staying at home for real comfort. - Jane Austen

I think I've mentioned it before - we moved a lot when I was a kid. Mostly we moved a lot within the same neighborhood. It wasn't traumatic. It was just the way we rolled. I never really thought much about it, honestly. My parents have lived in their current home longer than any other home we lived in when I was a child, and they didn't buy it until I was a senior in college.

When I got married and we began our moving escapades, my Mama told me, "Emily, hang curtains and set out things that matter to your family. Make wherever you are home. It took me too long to learn that lesson."

So, I took her advice. I hung pictures in our first, tiny apartment with dated, dark wood cabinets in the kitchen and all hand-me-down furniture. We made it ours, but I always dreamed of the day when I could have a nice house and new things and a queen-size bed...because that's what you are supposed to do. I didn't see why and how what I had right then was more than good enough - it already was beautiful.

All of this contributed to, or was caused in part by, my battle with discontentment. The truth is, I've always had an eye for beauty. Color play is a gleeful game, and as my taste as evolved, so has my ability to take the unimpressive and make it into something interesting - albeit a little quirky. I know what I like, and I like all sorts of things. Myquillyn Smith's blog and now book, The Nesting Place, her decorating and all around life philosophy, "It doesn't have to be perfect to be beautiful," helped me see the breathtaking beauty in what I already have.

Her stories, her advice, and her blissfully quirky spaces don't teach me how to make things beautiful, they teach me how to decorate my home with purpose - on purpose. They free me up to own my home decorating as a gift, an act of worship even.

When I saw our house from the lens of a good camera, I just felt grateful for a God who allows us each a blank canvas to paint upon - because we all have a place that we call home. [And if you think that you can't REALLY make your place home for various and sundry reasons, go out and get the book. Your mind will be changed.] Our home ISN'T perfect. There are unfinished projects and dust on the blinds, but I think, I hope, that our home says a lot about what matters to us as a family, about how we want people to feel when they enter our home.

And I don't want to miss that gift. I want eyes that see the power I have in the way I arrange, decorate, and use my home...no matter how imperfect it is. Heart change happens in the home. What we do with and in our spaces matters. It doesn't need to be the same. Your purposeful space will be different than mine. It doesn't need to be - dare I say it should NOT be - perfect. And isn't that the beauty of our God? Our homes are tools that we get to use to let people into our stories...walls, floors, windows and all - another way for us to reflect the beauty, the diversity, and the sense of humor of our sweet God. What a gift!

Get the book. Read it. Examine each photo with eyes that see. It's like a really fun game of I Spy! [I've purchased four, count 'em four, copies so far for family members. It has mattered that much to me.] And then read Myquillyn's blog for more inspiration and freedom to be who you are, for your family to be who it is in your home - and for it to be a place that people are eager to walk into and be who they are.

Also, if you want to buy our current house, we would feel excited about that because we have a home that is a new blank canvas for our family to write upon that is waiting for us somewhere in Arvada. We'll need to sell this one before we can start that project ;)

P.S. Y'all are rocking it out on the social media #eyesthatsee business. This week - things in the home. What hidden gifts are there that you might normally miss?

Eyes that See: Stay

Yesterday, I wanted to run. Well really, I wanted to stay in bed under the covers all.day.long. All of my projects were completed. The house is as beautified as it will be for a potential buyer. I had just finished telling someone the night before how surprisingly not stressed I have been in this whole process.

That's because there was so much doing that needed to be done. I didn't have time to stop and consider what is happening in our lives. I'll talk more about that on the family blog tomorrow, but what I want to tell you is that I kept saying to God yesterday morning, "I just need a break. I need to get away. When can I just be alone with my thoughts to process what is happening?"

And, lovingly, He simply said, "Stay." I remember reading this in Rebekah Lyons book, Freefall to Fly. She was freaking out and felt like she was falling hard and fast toward a painful end. She wanted to run. God said to stay.

I think that too often I forget what it is to stay in the mess, in the hurt, in the fear, in the weary - so that I may learn to lean harder into Jesus. I just want it all to go away. I feel like if I can only have a break I will be better equipped to handle what is before me. Maybe, though, what I really need, what my family needs, is to learn what it is to let God teach me while I live fully in this moment - sometimes in the moment where all I can hear is the wind whipping past my ears as I fall hard and fast into the unknown.

So, I asked Him to meet me where I was yesterday. I asked Him to help me remember that I don't have to go anywhere to know His relief. I had lunch with the sweetest toddler around.


We ate chicken and waffles and made silly faces. We napped together and I marveled and just how much I didn't know SHE knows. We colored with chalk and we picked up a big sister. I watched as her freckles popped against her sun-kissed skin, as she colored a pretty impressive rainbow on the baking hot concrete, as she showed me that she's my little girl big way too fast.
We all watched Barney together. I read magazines while the girls played at my feet and interrupted me with requests to read Where's Spot one more time. I dreamed a little. Josh and I watched the girls play in the sprinkler as it quenched the thirst of our parched veggie garden. We ate leftovers. I embraced the not having to run and do and prepare. I stayed. And it turns out, eyes that see were easier to come by because of it.

Is staying hard for you, too?

Eyes that See

Our life has been busy for the past, I don't know, a lot of years. I think I've used that as a crutch to "just get through" to the next season, because surely it will be a little slower. So, I step out of my bed each day into the super-sonic tunnel of to-do lists and ministry opportunities and being who God created me to be. But, as I enter a season of change - a season that will transition us into a whole new way of life, I feel like maybe I've rushed past this one. I have seen faces and moments fly by on each side of the super-sonic tunnel, but I have not had eyes that REALLY see the life that God has given me right now. Today.

Eyes that see. God keeps gently whispering those words into my tired and weary Spirit. I didn't even realize I was tired and weary because I haven't had eyes that see. I haven't stopped to notice. Life is a beautiful, compelling, challenging, changing, valuable work of art with details that will go unnoticed, unappreciated, and unloved if I don't take the time to see them, if I don't ask questions that could possibly alter the way I saw the art to begin with.

Take this picture, for example. What do you see?

At first glance I see the dirty ceiling grates that need to be cleaned, but if I take a moment to consider everything that is represented here, there's so much more. There is the gift and the challenge of tiny feet that fill tiny pink shoes. There is sunlight on the fern that makes my back porch feel softer, cooler - that beckons me stronger to come and sit a while outside of the super-sonic tunnel. There's the wind chimes that I bought with my mom and my sister - just because I loved it. There's the reminder that All Things Grow with Love, right there over those tiny pink shoes. There's a peak into our home where meals are shared and tears are shed and tiny little voices seem sweeter and louder than can sometimes be borne. There's whimsy and freedom and blessing...and dirt.

I originally snapped the picture because I loved the way the sunlight was hitting my fern, but when I stop to look at it more closely, there is so much more to love - and also much to be challenged by.

I have to tell you the truth. This is a bit of an experiment. I don't know exactly how it's going to go down. I don't know what all God is going to teach me through it, but I keep coming back to:

No eye has seen, no ear has heard, no mind has conceived what God has prepared for those who love him...1 Corinthians 2:9 and Isaiah 64:4

Would you join me hear every Monday as we explore what it means to have Eyes that See? I would love to hear what you have to say on the matter!

I challenge you this week to snap a picture of something - anything - that inspires you. Then, take some time to list all the things you notice that you didn't see to begin with. Do it on social media using #eyesthatsee and just list one or two extra things so we can all see. I'll be there all week doing the same!

I'll be back on Wednesday with some Just for Fun goodies.