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. 

Making Space

Photo cred: Molly Townsend, my sister, queen of photography.

These are our babies, my sister's and mine - all spectacularly unique and still so little that they only know how to be - and make space for exactly who they are. My mom, in fact, overheard an interchange between Emily Ellen and Marilee a few months ago that still gets us tickled. They were coloring happily together until someone did something that escalated into the exchange of ugly words. They paused and Emily Ellen said to Marilee, "We should probably say we're sorry," to which my Marilee quickly replied, "I'm not sorry." At which point Emily Ellen responded, "I'm not either." And it was over. They went back to coloring. And while they may have some things to learn about apologizing when you don't feel like it, they also have some things to teach us about making space for each other. They had their tiff, said their junk aloud to one another, and then moved right along in their relationship with one another. They are so, so good at making room for each other's ugly, and I am just about smitten with it.

Can we just talk, for a minute, about how challenging it is to become the person we want to be? But seriously, I was just looking through my Evernote Notebooks (my husband just did a herkie because he has a SERIOUS Evernote crush) and found a note that I wrote in January. Not that many months ago. That I forgot existed. At all. It is a list of my goals for this year. It reads like this:

Bible

• Read through the New Testament with Calvary and journal via the FB page and Insta.

Prayer

• Pray daily with purpose and passion - but most of all with persistence.

Writing

• Write daily for one hour.

Bellwether

• Pray and watch for next steps.

Exercise

• Jog 1 mile 3 days/week. 

• Work up in ab exercises 3 days/week.

• Work up in pull ups 3 days/week.

Lumpkin.

I have managed to sort of mostly keep up with the Calvary reading plan. The end. That is all. 

I'm so good at list making and dreaming and feeling all the feelings. I'm so bad at list doing. There is more to this issue than just, "I mean - nobody keeps their New Year's resolutions." I am easily distracted by too many dreams, and I get all wrapped up in all my feelings. So many feelings and desires and passions. 

"Sometimes I have big feelings where big feelings are not needed." - Michal Lynn Tweedie

And so this becomes the issue for us dreamers. To step out of the dream world long enough to live in the real one. To put the feelings aside in order to take up the task at hand. But lists like that one up there - they are valuable, because now I remember. I remember what I set out to do in 2017, and 2017 ain't over, baby. Maybe I'll go for a jog tomorrow. Maybe you can ask me about it? Maybe I'll journal a little better about what God is teaching me through personal Bible Study. Maybe you can ask me about that, too?

Together is, in my experience, the hardest and also the most sure-fire way to get to the place you want to be.

If you're married - or really even if you are not - chances are God has put someone in your life who is the opposite of you. The very, exact opposite. I hung out with a new friend last week who expressed how very not-feely she is and how it slap wears her out when women pour out and swim in all their feelings. I giggled and shared with her that my propensity is, in fact, to BE one of those women - except that I have learned that my feelings can either be drowning agents or tools for growth. The first is what they are when I let them guide my life. The latter is what they are when I choose to look for what (or who) they are pointing me to. She later shared that sharing her "junk" in front of people is a hard thing for her. I love, love this about both of us. Can you see it? How our struggles and strengths actually complement each other?!

I have to tell you that Josh and I are struggling to muddle through how we can complement and not crush each other. We've been married for nearly twelve years, and we are so different than we were a decade ago. But our personalities are the same as they were - different as ever. Last night we had a big word vomit fest where we just laid it all on the table - everything we're muddling through. And apart from Jesus, it seems impossible to love each other well. That's the truth. But with Jesus, with Him - only Him - He can lead us both to Evernote (herkie #2) at the same time to sort out what we are thinking and feeling. Me in a coffee shop. Josh in a meeting room. And we can giggle wildly when we share our notes because his is in detailed bullet list form and mine is in the shape of a very pretty, wordy few paragraphs that reads half like a prayer and half like a journal entry.

My point is this - God has all sorts of ways of refining us - and I've come to learn that it's almost entirely through relationships. When we run into a person who challenges us, who forces us to think a little differently, who asks hard questions, who disagrees with us - what do we do? Do we run? Do we shut down? Or do we bravely, boldly say, "You. I choose you because walking alongside you will make me more like Jesus, more whole, more changed." Do we dare to be exactly who we are while blending lives with the ones who are not like we are, but are seeking to love Jesus like we are?

Gosh, I hope so. Because this is the body of Christ. Saying it hurts when it hurts. Asking about the run or the sin or the dream. Making space for feelings even when they aren't needed but loving a person too much to let them be led by their feelings instead of God's loving, disciplining Word and guiding Spirit. Making space for bullet lists even when they're boring but loving a person too much to let them be led by their doing instead of God's gracious, freeing Word and guiding Spirit. This is part of the richness of following Jesus alongside all the other ones who are following Him. It's messy and hard but He's using us to move each other toward wholeness, friends! Let's not miss it.

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!

In a Million Ways

"Can I just tell you that your pictures radiate happiness? I get the feeling that it is an accurate portrayal."

I received this from a dear and sweet friend just yesterday, and I quickly responded that she is correct. We are happy in a million ways. But also that really is only half the story because nothing is ever only roses or thorns. 

I have been quiet about the hard places in my life since our move, broadcasting all the ways moving back home is a gift, a truly extravagant gift. And it is. It has been, in some ways, like taking a tranquilizer - restful and without worry. Most things feel more doable, less overwhelming because my people are here. The people who already know my flaws and love me anyway. The people who love my kids like I do. The places that built the foundation of my story. That is a grounding, good thing, friends. Adelle rides her bike to my parents' house at least once a week just to bake cookies or visit for an hour. Josh's parents drop in for spontaneous visits. We do real and true life with my sister and her family. We get to see Josh's siblings far more often than we ever have before. When we go to church or to the store or to the bakery, we see people with whom we share genetics and history and unconditional love - and aside from Jesus there is little that is more comforting and restful and grounding. 

And also this move has been hard, too. We ache for Colorado almost daily. We miss the mountains, our church, our friends, and our neighborhood. We miss Jack's, daily walks to the bus stop, snow in the winter, and hammocks in the summer. I miss Ralston Creek Trail with everything inside of me. I miss Jill and Jennifer and Abby and Laurel and a million others. I miss walking through the doors at Storyline, exchanging "Hellos" and weekly updates among a church family that God allowed us to help build with our time and hands and prayers and tears. We had built a home and a life there that we loved very much. My oldest has struggled mightly to find her place. We have all struggled with insecurities and unsurety about where exactly we fit as new people, molded and changed by different cultures and places, back in a place that is largely the same as when we left. Just as wonderful and warm as ever - but different because we are different. 

I knew this would be the case, of course. I didn't expect to arrive home and have all my struggles and fears and doubts and insecurities be healed. This is not the way of God - to heal us with circumstances. I tell it to my single friends and those aching for a baby - and I tell it to myself. God heals us when we draw near to Him for healing. 

Just today I was reading the story in Mark 1 about the man with leprosy who approached Jesus and said, "If you are willing, heal me." And it says that Jesus felt great compassion toward the man and said, "I am willing." And He healed him.

Friends, we are all broken to pieces in a million ways - and I want you to know that while moving to my hometown has been good and wonderful in a million ways, too, it hasn't stitched up all my broken places. In fact, some pieces have split wider since arriving, and for that I am grateful because when I become aware of those broken places, I know I can run straight to the One who is willing and able to stitch me up whole again.

Circumstances will not make you whole. Only Jesus will. Are you running to him with all your yucky today?

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!

Cartwheels and Collapses

13 You will seek me and find me, when you seek me with all your heart. (Jeremiah 29)

A few months, ago a reader approached me concerned about my happiness based on my social media presence. This forced me to step back and examine what I'm putting forth - how I'm writing, and the image I'm giving everyone. 

And what I want to tell you is that I am happy - and some days I'm not. There are days when the visible grace around me overwhelms me to the point of tears. There are days when all I can see is the endless one-foot-in-front-of-the-other path that spans ahead of me all the way up to forever, and I have to strain hard to see the grace around me. But I do strain to see it - and God just keeps heaping enough of it over me to be able to do that.

Life is such a grand, complex gift - and I'm not one thing or the other all the time. There are pieces of me that are still broken but there are others that are overwhelmingly full of joy and glee. Is that true of you, too? The deepest desire of my heart is to let you see my ache - the pieces of my that are still broken - that I'm still watching for Jesus to stitch right up. And for you to know that I believe Him for that. I believe Him for the healing. Because I was healed. I am being healed. And I will be healed. This is what it is to follow Jesus into eternity. 

So, friends - today, if you look out on your life and you can't help but swell up big with gratitude - that's good, so good - and true. But if you are sad and exceptionally aware of those still broken pieces - that's good, too, especially if you are looking for Jesus to put them back together again. If all you can find to be grateful for today is Jesus Himself, that is enough. That is, in fact, all there is. And it's just as true, sweet friend. Don't think that you're all wrong because you're not cartwheeling through life like your neighbor. Whether you are cartwheeling or collapsing - if you are doing it toward Jesus, you are doing it right. So, so right. And I want you to know that you are seen. He sees you where you are, as you are.  

Mostly Just a Journal Entry

Do you ever take a moment to evaluate where you and your family are in life? To decide whether or not life is happening to you or you are engaging in life? Transition is a time when you sort of naturally get the opportunity to reevaluate, to decide again.

I was listening to The Happy Hour with Jamie Ivey today, which, if you are looking to dabble in the podcast world or really enjoy listening to chicks talk about hard stuff, good stuff, funny stuff, etc, I highly recommend, and she was interviewing author and speaker Shauna Niequest. Shauna, in my opinion, is a contemporary writer whose work will outlast so many others of our generation. She is genuinely a gifted wordsmith and storyteller with great depth and ability. There are a lot of women writing these days, a lot of wise women, but not all of them are genuinely fantastic, could-become-classics writers. Shauna, however, is. Does that make sense?

Anyway, I digress.

So, Shauna. She said again today on of my favorite things she says - it's easy to decide what you want to be for. It's hard to decide what you want to give up so you can be for those things.

For this next year, I want to be for rest. I want our family to be for rest. Above all else, encompassing every decision we make, I want rest to be the goal. This means the surrender of so many things - of my tendency to dive head-long into leadership and community making and general schedule overcrowding. This means no to most extra-curriculars and the pursuing of certain giant dreams. It means a lot, a lot of no's. And it will go against every fiber of my being. Truly.

In addition to her comment about the "no's," she also made a comment about what your body and your life sort of repeatedly tells you - and whether or not you listen to it. She was referencing her desire to have four babies close together and her body's refusal to allow that to happen. Sometimes, you just need to surrender.

Here's how this applies to me - I promise I have a point.

My entire life has pointed me toward a career in education. Like, always and forever - it's been education. But if I'm honest, teaching isn't nearly so glamorous as any of the dreams I had in mind. Plus, I hear a lot of teachers talk about how very much they hate teaching, so there's that. Teaching and motherhood - I get the same general vibe from some of the others who are doing those things - that it's an uphill battle and they can't wait for it to be over. I am old enough now to not be naive - to not assume that I'll be different, that teaching will be Freedom Writers and Mr. Holland's Opus and The Dead Poet's Society.

I'm scared, though, to walk into a thing that I really don't have high expectations for - that I want desperately to be an amazing experience - but that isn't the same as being an author or running a business. Don't hear me say that teachers are not amazing. They totally are. Teaching just isn't my dream, and also it is.

The bottom line is, when I teach - and watch someone learn a new thing - when I see the lightbulb go off, the skill applied - I feel a joy explosion. This has always been true - always. Somehow, life always seems to bring me back around to some sort of teaching.

Sometimes, life thrusts you into a thing, and by life, I mean God. Circumstances align. You need to help support your family financially. You need a job that allows you to be home with your kids more than others, that provides good insurance. You love literature - deeply love it - and you love to watch other people love it. You believe in the power of literature to change people, to help them wrestle through their thoughts and beliefs about life. You believe in art. And you're a decent speaker. You can organize stuff. You're pretty creative.

But you're also scared that saying, "yes," to this means saying, "No," to writing the books and running that company you've been dreaming of. You're also scared because doing a new thing at 32 is freakin' intimidating. That sneaking question keeps popping up again and again - "Are you really good enough?"

Am I good enough to study for my exams for my teaching certification while homeschooling my kids this year? Am I good enough to get a job next fall teaching somewhere? Am I good enough to let go of the dreamy dreams, for the solid, tangible, necessary ones of the moment?

And still I hear the general prompting of the Holy Spirit, "Let go of good enough and let me be enough. You are good enough because I made you. This isn't the end of your dreamy dreams, but I can do far more than you ever asked or imagined - and sometimes that looks very different than what you had planned."

Funnily enough, Shauna's latest book is called Present Over Perfect (which is coming to me for my birthday from a dear friend), which seems just about perfect for me right now. Be present in your real life right now, today. Stop looking to be perfect or for the perfect thing. So, that's my new plan. And I I have a sneaking suspicion there's going to be some magic in it - that God is going to surprise me in good, good ways. And that teaching calling I've always run from? Maybe it's the dream I never new I had.

What are you wrestling with right now?

Teachers, tell me. Why do you love your job?

On Falling Back in Love with Mothering: A Followup

Back in February, I wrote a post called, On Falling Back in Love with Mothering, over at Mothers of Daughters. In it, I addressed the fact that somewhere along the way, mothering had become more of a chore than a gift - that I had allowed it to become so, and that I didn't feel okay about that. So, I offered some tips to myself and to you, my reader friends, on making the choice to see the wonder in mothering. I then began to use the hashtag #fallingbackinlovewithmothering on my social media pages in an effort to point to and document the gift of mothering.

I want to be sure that you understand where I'm coming from - that I am accurately representing the thought behind the post and the hashtag:

1. I believe in what I wrote. I believe that it needs to be said out loud because some mama - probably a lot of mamas - are struggling with choosing joy in mothering, and it is slipping away without them even realizing it. If we cannot express our struggles out loud, regardless of how different or even how much better they are in comparison to others struggles, then how can we grow? How can we experience community? How can we tend to each others' needs? Now, to be fair, expressing struggles is different than complaining, and I am the number one offender in the latter category. We should allow others struggles to breed in us a sense of gratitude for what we have and compassion for what they do not. We should ask God regularly to show us how we can be better listeners, kinder companions, and more honest lovers of souls. We should do those things, but we cannot fall prey to the belief that if our problems aren't as bad as our neighbors, then God doesn't want to hear about them, and neither does anyone else. There is a fine line - and the only way to walk on the godly side of it is to submit ourselves to the Holy Spirit all the day every day. That being said, if anything I wrote came across as inconsiderate or hurtful, I apologize sincerely. My heart is for hurting mamas and women - all of you - please know that if I was hurtful, it was by accident.
2. I want to be clear that this issue of not enjoying mothering is about us, about our own hearts - those of us who struggle with this particular battle, and it's not okay. It's a form of ingratitude and discontent. We have to do something about it, and there's not much we can do apart from Jesus. I have spent the better part of the last few months making choices, weeding out extras, and petitioning God to change my heart. And do you know what? It's working - He is working in me. I am experiencing so much more gratitude in mothering - in spite of, because of all the chaos that goes along with it. I am delighting in my children again. God is restoring that for me, and I am amazed at His goodness.

I write it in part to clarify myself and in part to tell you that beginning June 1, I'll be writing a series in line with this topic. I'll be telling you all about how and what God is teaching me about falling back in love with mothering. I would love to hear your thoughts as I write, to know what you struggle with and how you are working to let God make you more whole in every part of your life!

Love y'all like crazy!

Our Safe Place

He has told you, O man, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God? Micah 6:8 (ESV)

But he’s already made it plain how to live, what to do, what God is looking for in men and women. It’s quite simple: Do what is fair and just to your neighbor, be compassionate and loyal in your love, And don’t take yourself too seriously— take God seriously. Micah 6:8 (MSG)

It's been a floopty week. You know the kind - when you're off kilter. You've had your feet knocked out from under you and you can't tell up from down, right from left. You feel entirely out of control, and you're not sure what's coming next. It's a bit like I've always imagined Alice felt while falling down the rabbit hole. But not all - or even mostly - hard because nothing ever is all one thing and none of another. My kids have made me laugh out loud. My man and I had a stellar night away last weekend. Spring is here and all the flowers, friends - all.the.flowers. Friendships have been rich. So much goodness. But floopty all the same.

Except.

Except that I have a center point, a thing to grab hold when things aren't quite making sense. The Bible - God's Word - is such a gift. It's the thing we can always count on to be true, relevant, and steadying. It is firm, unshakeable, and relevant. When we cannot seem to shake out right from wrong in our lives, the Bible acts as a sieve - giving us clear answers to screaming questions and gracious balms for our throbbing hearts. It is also an impressive work of literature with storylines woven together so intricately, so perfectly that it gets my writer's heart pumping hard every time I discover a new plot twist that I'd never noticed before.

So, when I have floopty weeks, I go to God's Word. Or I should. To be honest, I haven't really gone searching for truth from the Bible in the midst of all the unsureness. There's been a lot of praying - and it's sounded a lot like this over and over again: What do you want from me, Lord? What am I supposed to do?

That's pretty much what the Israelites were asking God in Micah - what are we supposed to DO?

And God, in a generously simple response says:

Do the right thing to and for the people around you. And do it with grace and compassion. And love me more than you love yourself.

I don't know what life looks like for you right now. If it looks like mine, it's wonderful and terrifying, beautiful and heartbreaking. And if you hear me say anything to you this morning, hear me say this:

Our concerns at the feet of Jesus and our actions in line with the truth of God's Word - this is the only safe place to be. We are every one of us flawed and complicated people - able to do great good and inflict deep hurt. Don't get caught in the trap of believing you are all one or the other or that God is not big enough to use you as you are where you are.

He is kind and good and able. Go to Him with our junk and thank Him for your blessings. Be kind and fight for justice. This is enough. Isn't that comforting?

He is enough.

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!

Again

I write this post so that all of you who are fighting for good marriages will know that you are not alone, that we are all struggling to choose to fight every single day, that we all have days and weeks and months and years where we wonder if it's really all worth it, to fight so hard for a thing that makes you so tired. If maybe it's all just a lost cause and we should settle for our relationship as it is. Marriage matters so very much. Don't let Satan slip in with His lies of not worth it because He desires to steal and kill everything that is good in this world. And marriage can be so, so good - even though on it's own, it usually isn't.

Josh and I fought last week. We said things that were unkind. It was altogether awful - the culmination of months of unsaid, unresolved hurts. My knee-jerk reaction was to run to Barnes and Noble for coffee and books - to seek comfort in the tangible and escape through the wonder of words. But on this day I made a choice to take God at His word:

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

I knew that seeking Him would not provide an escape from my circumstances but rather a way through them, that asking to know His heart would likely lead me down the harder path. Sometimes it's just so much easier to run away, but this time I didn't. This time I went to the place where I can always sense His presence, where I always see the possibility of what He can do.

The following is what I experienced while I was there:

You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart. Jeremiah 29:13

I watch the wind tickle the gold leaves against periwinkle blue skies, birds darting across my view like mid-day falling stars, grass-hoppers bouncing about - the popcorn of the earth. I rest in the middle of it all, entirely unnoticed by creation itself but entirely seen by the Creator.

Before Him, altogether seen, I pour out my heart - the anger, the frustration, the brokenness, the hurt, and the fact that I cannot see the next thing to do. A half-obedience, a half-marriage - that's enough, right? As long as we just stay together, it's enough. It is, isn't it? But it isn't. He is not a God who accepts half-obedience because He is a God who desires His children to know full lives.

...I have come that you may have life to the full. John 10:10

I listen. I hear what He is saying. He is asking me to fight, but I cannot muster the courage to say, "Yes."

That old tree is so grand, so magnificent. She begins to rustle at the tip top. She's going to drop all those gorgeous, gold leaves again soon and she'll stand there bare and grey in the cold for what seems like too long- but in the spring, He will fill her branches once more - old to new, bare to full.

I rise and walk, understanding that He's asking for my whole, aching heart. He's asking me to reach up and hand my heart above Josh and to Him - and in doing so I must, by default also draw closer to this man I have always loved but feel so distant from at the moment. I resist because I am tired. Weary. Not again. I cannot pour myself into this - again.

So, I crunch, crunch through the drying weeds back to my familiar path. Everything feels fuzzy, dream-like, a photo with a sunburst in the corner. Real but not - because the things that we said, the ways we've let each other down, sometimes it's painfully stunning to think about.

It's only a few steps to that house, my house, the one with the cathedral window and the falling down siding, the stone chimney covered in vine turned fire-blazing red in the autumn air, the old trucks piled out front and the sweet potato vine lime green along the fence. Maybe everyone else just sees a dump - a house falling in, unsalvageable, unimpressive. But I see dinner parties on the lawn, that Cathedral window clean and bright, white siding gleaming again. I see the stone chimney accented by that vine, not taken over by it. I see that unexpected stone front porch heavy with the footprints of people who need to believe in the possibility of restoration. And the sweet potato vine? It's just perfect as it is. I see the magnificence of "again."

And then unexpectedly, my God bends low. He whispers, "Emily, this is who you are. You see what could be - the old house lovely again, the forgotten chairs painted and right again, the drug addict alive and bright-eyed again, the sex slave walking upright and free, the orphan living in love and security in a whole family. You believe in restoration and you are a fighter. You are this because this is who I am. Believe in your marriage. Be a fighter for you relationship. Look hard for the possibility. This is who you are because this is who I am...a fighter, a redeemer, a God of 'again.'"

And so I turn around and walk back to my car, back to my regular, eternal life - unsure of what to do next, still so tired of trying - but at peace, complete peace, and

...sure of this - He who began a good work (on July 16, 2005, when two naive 21 year olds said yes to forever) will bring it to completion, all the way until Jesus comes back and makes everything new forever. Philippians 1:6 (Parenthetical addition mine)

Who knows? Maybe one day my man and I will restore that old house together, and the cathedral window will be the one that watches us grow a little older together with the passing of each day - maybe that house will always and forever be God's rainbow gift to me, a promise of His unending faithfulness. Because truly, God can do whatever He wants.

Now to Him who is able to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think, according to the power at work in us, to Him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, forever and ever. Amen. Ephesians 3:20-21

Please know that if you are in a situation that feels impossible, suffocating, maybe even dead - God sees you. He is asking you to seek Him with your whole heart - no crutches, no safety nets - just the entirety of who you are before the magnitude of who He is. This is where beauty begins!

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?

Bent-knee and Weepy

On Sunday, I fell on my knees and wept at the altar of grace because this first year of church planting has sent me into the depths of myself. I thought I was coming here so that God could use me in this city, but the truth is that God is using this experience, this city, this culture, this church to uncover the lies that still hide in the corners of my heart.

"You have to prove yourself."

"You aren't all that special."

"You can't get it together."

"People think you're snobby."

"People think you're annoying."

"People think you're stupid because you talk slow (aka with a southern accent)."

"You are shallow."

"You are weak."

"You aren't very fun."

"You don't know that much about Jesus or the Bible."

"You aren't intellectual enough to engage people here."

"You better not say that out loud because 'they' might not approve."

"You are SUCH a church girl. Ugh."

"No one actually needs you."

"Meek? Pugh. Not in the cards for you, sister."

And on and on and on it goes. These aren't things that run through my head in formed thoughts and words, necessarily, but as time wears on, I find that my decisions are based on these lies. Who I am in Jesus becomes smaller - Jesus Himself becomes smaller in my life - and I start to live in fear and darkness because what if I mess EVERYTHING up?! What if "they" are all (gasp) disappointed in me?!

I have found myself feeling increasingly isolated and defeated. But, per the usual, God pursues me hard and breaks right through in love, mercy, grace and usually a heap of tears (on my part). Via an encounter with an old acquaintence who meant well but stung deep, a series of morning devotions leading me back around to the issue of pride, and one of the best sermons about pride I have ever heard, I fell bent knee and broken before my God and acknowledged that somehow, I'd let it become all about me...again. And just to put a shiny stamp of boo-yah on His faithfulness, God provided me a great deal of healing balm in the form of sweet Jessica, 1 John and Jen Hatmaker's For the Love.

Here is what is resounding through my heart this week, what I hope will give you something to chew on as well if you find yourself in the depths of...yourself:

1. The problem with the lies that I believe is that they all have to do with what other's think of me and with the impossible expectations that I place on myself. Nine times out of ten, this is the root of every sin issue in my life. Me. Me. Me. But in 1 Corinthians 4:3-4, Paul nips this in the bud.

3 But with me it is a very small thing that I should be judged by you or by any human court. In fact, I do not even judge myself. 4 For I am not aware of anything against myself, but I am not thereby acquitted. It is the Lord who judges me. 

To paraphrase Ben's paraphrase of these verses, "I don't really care what you think about me. But also, I don't really care what I think about me. I only care what God says about me." Like both a knife and a bandage to my aching heart, I am free to acknowledge that I have stopped caring so much what God's Word says about who I am in Him and instead have believed that lies of the Liar, that what I do (or do not do) matters. I am free to embrace that I am so broken, so screwed up, and so completely made whole. The upside down economy of our sweet, sweet Jesus played out in real life.

2. This believing of the lies about who I am is a straight shot into isolation, because I must not let anyone see the real me. They'll know quickly that I am not enough and I must prove them wrong. I must somehow BE enough. I become critical and unkind in my heart - lacking entirely in grace and living guarded, unsure of what I'm allowed to say and what I am not. But then I read in 1 John 1:5-7:

5 This is the message we have heard from him and proclaim to you, that God is light, and in him is no darkness at all. 6 If we say we have fellowship with him while we walk in darkness, we lie and do not practice the truth. 7 But if we walk in the light, as he is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus his Son cleanses us from all sin. 

Not only can I release the weight of pleasing anyone but my Father, which was done in full when Jesus died for me, but I can also release the weight of getting it "right" because I am free to just - live. As long as I am inviting the Holy Spirit to do His cleansing work in my life, I don't have to conceal things, to live in darkness. In fact, this living in secret cannot coincide with living in Jesus...because He IS light. When I hide in the darkness, my communion with Jesus is broken, yes, but so is my communion with other believers.

Hear me: This brave, out-in-the-open living is jaw-breaking hard. There is no way to waltz through it, happy and glowing. It's messy, gut-wrenching, and sometimes supremely awkward. But we must, must lean into it anyway. We must rip the curtains off and say, "Today I cried at the altar because God showed me that I have been living in sin for a year and I didn't even realize it." My friend Jessica saw me afterwards, tears still flowing and ugly cry threatening to pierce back through, but she didn't act like my world or hers was falling apart. She gave me a hug, and as I told her about what I was dealing with she simply said, "Sanctification (this process of being made more like Christ) is hard." Can we do more of this? Can we just be present with people? No more pity or condemnation or embarrassment? Just the acknowledgement that we are all screwed up and will be having moments of knee-bending repentance for the rest of our ever-loving lives on earth! And that we are loved by our people no matter. Isn't THIS the way of Jesus?

3. Lastly, I just read Jen Hatmaker's For the Love. I laughed 'til I cried in the middle of Starbucks. No joke. But on every page I breathed kindness, and joy, and enough. There's a quote by C.S. Lewis that says, "Joy is the serious business of heaven." This book takes joy VERY seriously and thus, for me, is a little slice of heaven. It celebrates that we WILL disagree. No doubt. Without fail. The very fact that some of you are not Hatmaker fans and I enjoy her so entirely is testimony to the fact that we can love God and follow Jesus AND disagree entirely on personality and writing style and motives and even interpretation of Scripture. Can I ask, though, that we give each other the benefit of the doubt? That if we are teaching Jesus as the only way to heaven, the only One who can lead us into a full and complete life, we give wiggle room in the areas that we honestly could possibly be wrong about? Can we assume a posture of humility and not condemnation? Can we assume the best until we are given reason to believe the worst? I am speaking to myself especially, here. Can we extend what has not been earned - respect, kindness, good-heartedness - because those things have been so freely extended to us? I am begging God for this in my own life - a softer heart, a gentler spirit - because He has already done it all, resolved it all, healed it all. I need not go around try to be enough or right.

I love you all dearly. Truly. And I am so grateful to be able to learn from you, walk with you, laugh with you, and cry with you. Thank you, more than anything, for extending an inordinate amount of unearned goodwill.

Dueces, my peeps.

Pray That Junk Down

It has been some months since I've written. Church planting, pfh...more like soul stripping. In all the best, most painful ways. Nearly one year after moving here, I find myself, our family, never more aware of either the weakness in my spirit or the power in my soul. Everything has changed, and yet everything is just the same. There are still bills to paid, children to be raised, cheeks to be kissed, toilets to be cleaned, clothes to be washed, and apologies to be given. And in addition to that there is a church to be nourished - as an entity and as a gathering of individual, imperfect hearts. Our own insecurities, insufficiencies, inadequacies - they bob up and down on the surface of our hearts, demanding to be seen, making us weary with their dependable returns. In short, we - I - am laid bare.

But this is beauty, you see, to stand in my dining room waiting for the extra pot of coffee to brew and know that I am responsible for the rough start of the day. I am. There is no way around it. But to also know that wearing that responsibility like binding chains is exactly the opposite of what Jesus has done, is doing for me. And to, instead, bow low to the ground, eye level with the dried up cheese bits and the smelly old carpet, and whisper, "Jesus, I am out of wine." I do not self-deprecate or moan, I simply look him in the eye and state the obvious, "Do you see me down here with everything that is gross about my life? I have no magic fairy dust. I have nothing lovely or delicious to offer anyone. I cannot support a husband, raise children, keep a house, hold a job, be a friend, be part of a church-plant, and start a new ministry. I cannot. I do not have what it takes. I. am. out. of. wine. But I love you. And I believe that you are who you say you are. I don't know what that means in my particular situation, how exactly you will work a miracle, but I know you will - because you are my Jesus." And then I stand up and walk through my day, expecting him to do the miraculous.

Please do not miss that in this story Jesus first tells his mother, "No." He tells her that it isn't time. He asks her what she wants him to do about it. And what she does next shows unparalleled trust and faith. She holds his gaze, orders the servants to do what he says, and then she walks away. She doesn't kick or scream, but she does show him that she trusts his heart, that she knows he cares about every minute detail of the hosts lives, and that he is capable of doing the miraculous. She doesn't try to make a plan and force his hand. She just orders obedience and then fades out of the story, trusting him to be who he says he is, who he has proven himself to be, choosing to be an instrument in the manifestation of his glory. There is room - no, necessity - for both quiet trust and bold action in our lives, and often times they are actually the same thing

I was talking with a friend a couple of months ago and I said, "But what do you do when you know you are right but you can't see a way to make it happen?" Her response was strong and beautiful and honestly pretty kick-butt. She said, "You submit. And then you pray that junk down." So, there it is. If you are standing before the monumental task of life living, and you cannot see a way through it all, bow low, take a good hard look at the old dried up cheese bits of your life, own them. Then submit - submit to this season, to God's very intentional ordering of your life, and pray.

Pray that junk down.

This is the essence of faith, friends, and God is laying us low every day so that we can receive the rich reward of knowing this kind of life-altering faith-power!

Always Ask

I am a dreamer. I dream wide and long and often. Every day I dream new dreams about what could be - in my home, in my family, in my church, in my community, in my career. When I was in high school and time stretched out before me, long and lazy, I would spend hours letting my thoughts wander, letting my dreams frolic as they pleased. And it seemed then that they were all possible, probable even. It was glorious.

And then life struck. I turned twenty and entered that decade that brought on wave upon wave of washed up dreams. Ideas and possibilities choked out by natural circumstance and limitation and life itself. It was hard. Very, very hard. So for a bit, I put all of my dreams in a closet and locked the door. Easier to lock them all away than watch them run free only to drown in the sea of real life, and all of that.

At thirty one, I now see things differently. I feel more free to let my dreams roam as they may, knowing that many of them will simply wander off, likely meant to be breathed alive by another. As each year passes and I come to learn more about my God and about myself, I feel more and more comfortable with the idea of them wandering to live with another.

Even still - there is a fullness of belief I've yet to discover. With nearly ever dream, ever idea, I stand facing the road block of time and money. It's always the same. Time and money. Money, in particular, makes me want to throw myself on the ground, wail, scream, pound my fists. It happened this morning as I journaled. A brilliant idea, a dream that has lingered for a great many years and just keeps growing in my heart and mind, refusing to wander on, a dream that is honest and compassionate (mostly) not about me - it flowed out of my heart and onto the pages of my journal in the color of black ink. And it just stared at me. A lovely, God-given idea that I cannot imagine being possible. Because of the money. The money. The money.

Emily.

God does this sometimes when I am swimming deep in a sin and entirely unaware of it. He lets me wade in and get worked up before He quietly, tenderly says my name.

No one can serve two masters. Either you will hate the one and love the other, or you will be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve both God and money. Matthew 6:24

"Well, yes, Lord. I know. I don't love money. I hate it. I loathe it. I despise stupid, stinking money."

Who do you serve?

"(Sigh)You're right. You. I serve you. But I'm acting like it's money that rules me. You can do whatever you want. You don't deal in the currencies of money or time. You operate outside of them. Beyond them. You do. I know you do. But it always comes back here - to that which has made me feel bound my whole life - the squasher of dreams, the perpetual log in the road. I can't figure a way around it. I feel stuck."

Remember the loaves and the fish. I make much from little. Instead of looking at your own lack, look at my abundance. And ask. Always ask.

"But they did not understand what this meant. It was hidden from them, so that they did not grasp it, and they were afraid to ask him about it." Luke 9:45

"You do not have because you do not ask God." James 4:2 

It'll always be something. There will always be something that I lack,.something that makes a thing seem impossible. Always. I must be careful not to let the lack draw my focus. I must carefully, intentionally steer my focus toward the one who deals only in the currency of blood and sacrifice, the currency that you and I have been granted in limitless amounts - if only we ask. We must always, always ask.

Sex, Thrills, and Fifty Shades of Grey.

Fifty Shades of Grey.

Let's just go ahead and throw it out there. The chatter is endless. The stances are varying.

I'm not here to write a critique about the movie or the books themselves. I've not read or seen them, and I do not plan to do so. It's a bad idea for my walk with Jesus and for my marriage.

Some of you are rolling your eyes. You think I'm being dramatic. You think I'm a prude and don't know how to let loose and have some fun. I want to tell you something...

I like sex. I like it often. I like it fun.

I like it with my husband - who is the only man I've ever done it with.

I know a lot of women stand on the side of sex as a chore - but there's not a thing about sex that feels the same as doing laundry to me.

When we first started - y'all. It was awkward and funky. Bless our inexperienced hearts. But it was okay because we figured it out together. It hasn't been without work - meeting each other's needs and loving each other selflessly in the bedroom. It is not without work ten years in. But seriously, it gets better and better the longer we practice. With each other. No one else is invited - not literally, not metaphorically.

There certainly have been seasons when I've felt so discouraged in our sex life that I just assumed it would always be mediocre. Early in our marriage I read tips in Cosmo and more than one cheesy "spice up your sex life" book. I bought crazy lingerie and tried my hardest to "get creative". None of it ever seemed to matter.

Finally, I started praying about it. I mean specifically praying about the details our sex life. At first it felt weird and sort of like writing this blog post knowing that my parents will probably read it. But then, slowly, things started to change. My relationship with Jesus deepened because in inviting him into this area of my marriage, I was inviting him into more of my heart. And Josh's and my sex life - all I'm going to say is - Prayer works, ladies.

I am also very familiar with that feeling of desperation to just feel SOMEthing again. To know fun and thrill and a life different than where you have ended up. I know what it is to want to escape. Running to Jesus is the answer there, too. I'm not saying that in doing so, everything suddenly comes up rosy. What I am saying is that as we run to him over and over again in the midst of our monotony, something in our hearts changes. Our need for adventure and pleasure doesn't diminish, but our focus shifts to the One who placed those needs in our hearts to begin with - to the one who will fulfill them in measures we could not even imagine.

Like I said, I don't know enough about the movies or the book to give any sort of accurate critique BUT I do know that your sex life doesn't need anything but Jesus to be awesome. Your real life doesn't need anything but Jesus to be delicious and exciting. Everything you're looking for - a way to escape, to feel alive again. You're not going to find it in some smutty movie. You will only find it when you start running with Jesus wholeheartedly.

I know from experience.

Fifty Shades of Grey is not the answer.