Today, I find myself tired of this child’s game.

Today, I finally drop the rope and I write.

And even if I only manage to write about the not writing, I have still succeeded.  I have walked away from the power struggle—from the determination to dominate by sheer brute force.  I have walked away from the strain on my spirit created by my own two grasping hands.  I have walked away from the fear-driven desperation to pull-pull-pull-pull-pull!

I have walked away from the mud puddle and into the sanctuary—and even if the words don’t make sense, they are words on the page, nonetheless, and I am victorious.

I am not defeated by the gray skies and the cold wind that blows too early.

I am not defeated by the endless battle to silence the screaming pain in my head.

I am not defeated by the weight that clings to my midsection for dear life, refusing to let go.

I am not defeated by the fog of depression that obscures any ability to see my way clear.

I am not defeated by my infuriating inability to bring much-needed healing to my daughter’s back-breaking pain.

I am not defeated by the hands on the clock, always circling ‘round faster than I can keep up.

I am not defeated by my tendency to insulate by isolating from intimacy.

I am not defeated by the hopelessness and despair hanging around my neck like a millstone—a permanent accessory—weighing me down, down, down with its sheer mass.

I am not defeated by an enemy who roams about like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour—seeing in me a hearty afternoon snack.

I am not defeated—not when I choose to name the oppressors with words on a page like light shining into the darkness, dispersing the shadows and exposing the true size and stature of my opposition.

I am not defeated when I lay down the rope and I pick up the pen and I pray on paper and God meets me in the middle of the mess and all that clamors for attention in my head is quieted for but a moment and I find peace.

When I drop the rope and I pick up the pen, I win.

It may not be pretty.

It may not be pleasant.

But it is a victory, nonetheless.

I re-tally the score, and I rub ointment on my hands, healing their sting.

I have won today, but I may need to be prepared to pull hard again tomorrow.

There is, however, one thing that almost redeems flying for me—one tiny perk that, on a good day, can make all the heart-pounding-ear-popping-breath-holding-hand-sanitizing briefly worthwhile:

The sun.

I love-love-LOVE taking off on a gray, dreary, rainy day, knowing that within a single moment I will be miles beyond the gloomy clouds, elevated to that place where there is nothing but sunshine.  All that was oppressive is now below, and all that surrounds me is blue sky, white fluff, and radiant light.  I can lean back.  I can breathe a sigh of relief.  I can relax.  And, if it truly is a good day, you might even see me crack a smile.

In a world where light is often obscured by storm and shadow, it is good to be reminded the sun still exists—and can be found simply by going higher.

I experienced this feeling again, recently—without even having to leave the ground—when God, through a fellow lover of the written word, brought a book to my doorstep that transported me, in a way few other books ever have, above all that was oppressive and overcast and bathed me in glorious, heart-warming light.

But God—being God—didn’t just stop there.  No—he did even one better.  For there, in that above-the-clouds-of-my-life space, he shone that bright beam of light directly on me—and what it reflected reminded me of who I really am.

Gregory Boyle—author of Tattoos on the Heart: The Power of Boundless Compassion (now one of my top five fave books of ALL TIME)—is a Jesuit priest and the founder and executive director of Homeboy Industries.  He has spent the last twenty years of his life living in the heart of “the gang capital of the world” in LA, ministering to those who live there—to ALL who live there.  Because Father Boyle doesn’t just teach unconditional love.  He lives it.

I could go to great lengths trying to sum up this work—a collection of essays woven around his most moving and meaningful stories—but I think this quote perhaps best illuminates both the heart of this man and the over-arching theme of the book:

The wrong idea has taken root in the world.  And the idea is this: there just might be lives out there that matter less than other lives.  The prophet Jeremiah writes: “In this place of which you say it is a waste … there will be heard again the voice of mirth and the voice of gladness … the voices of those who sing.”

[Everyone’s] voice matters.  To that end, we choose to become what child psychiatrist Alice Miller calls “enlightened witnesses”—people who through their kindness, tenderness, and focused, attentive love return folks to themselves.  It is a returning—not a measuring up…

At Homeboy Industries, we seek to tell each person this truth: they are exactly what God had in mind when God made them—and then we watch, from the privileged place, as people inhabit this truth.  Nothing is the same again.  No bullet can pierce this, no prison walls can keep this out.  And death can’t touch it—it is just that huge.

But much stands in the way of this liberating truth.  You need to dismantle shame and disgrace, coaxing out the truth in people who’ve grown comfortable believing its opposite.

If you want to read a stirring depiction of what this looks like—and what unconditional love can do even in the most desperate of circumstances—I urge you to get this book and read it.  NOW.

I have made this comment, and others like it, nearly every day since I began reading and then subsequently finished this book.  I’ve told my small group about it.  I’ve told my women’s group about it.  I’ve told my clients about it.  I’ve facebooked and emailed friends I knew would love it.  I can’t stop talking about this book.

Why?

I’ll tell you why.

I was talking with one of my interns about it in supervision one day, when it all began to crystallize.  Why the stories moved me so deeply.  Why I constantly felt my eyes welling with tears.  Why my heart continually leapt within me, shouting, “Yes!  Yes!  YES!!!”

We had been talking—prior to me working this book into the conversation, as I am prone to do—about the importance of being authentically US in counseling, because we each bring into the room (and thereby into the relationship) our own unique reflection of Jesus.  And about how this is arguably the most important thing we can do as a counselor—be Jesus with people in such a way that the relationship we form with them gives us the platform to speak “a word of truth in good season” just the way they need to hear it, when they need to hear it.  It’s just that simple.

And it was then it all clicked.  I realized—in that exact moment of holy-spirit-ness—that THIS was what I loved so much about this book.  Sure, there was the empathy in me feeling the stories he shared.  Sure, many of the stories had sad endings that made me ache for the senselessness of the unending stream of loss.  Sure, there was the beauty of his words and the unique way his words revealed the unconditional love of the Father in a mind-blowing way.  But this…  THIS was what made me choke back tears and want to jump up out of bed and go read someone the story.  THIS was what caused the flutter of the Holy Spirit within my own when reading one of such exchanges.  THIS was what made me become overwhelmed with emotion and caused my spirit to exclaim a resounding “Yes! Yes-Yes-YES!!!  That’s it!  That’s IT!!!  THAT’S what I DO!!!”

That’s what I do.

There—in those reverberating, God-echoing moments when, from the context of a relationship forged by time and trial and truth, Boyle would speak a word so clear, so tender, so direct that it pierced through the defenses and cut straight to the heart with the penetrating truth of a love that sets us free—a word that could only be spoken by that person within that relationship at that exact moment in time—there began the ascent out of the clouds that had taken up permanent residence over my spirit and up into the presence of the Son.  And it was there, in his tender kindness, that he gave myself back to me.

In my best, most rare moments—in the moments when I am the least me and the most Jesus—this happens, by the precious grace of God, in my office, at a coffee shop, on the phone, on my front porch—and we are both for a moment ushered in to the presence of God and come away from the encounter with tiny specks of glory left reflected on our faces.

And then I watch, from a privileged place, as people inhabit the truth.

This is what I love about what I do.

And God was gracious enough to remind me.

At a time when I’ve struggled with feeling burdened.  Overloaded.  Unappreciated.  Overlooked.  Unvalued.  Tired.  Tormented. Time-starved.  At a time when I’ve struggled with feeling…

He has helped me to remember.

To remember—in this season of stormy weather—this resounding “YES!  YES!!  YES!!!” that has arisen in my spirit, reflecting back to me a tiny shimmer of “ever increasing glory, which comes from the Lord.”

To remember—this is what he made me to do.

This is who he made me to be.

Exactly who God had in mind when God made me.

Nothing is the same again.

This simple collection of thoughts and stories by a humble priest living and loving in the heart of gang territory transported me—at least for a time—above all that has felt like darkness and has ushered me into the revealing light of God’s unique and personal love for me.

And returned me to myself.

In a world where light is often obscured by storm and shadow, it is good to be reminded the Son still exists—and can be found simply by going higher.

I sat down this past Monday with one of my best friends to finally listen to a Beth Moore series I intended to listen to, oh, about *cough* six months ago, and was reminded, yet again, of this small but irrefutable fact.  Timing. Is. Everything.

I have alluded to the beginning of this year having been rough—physically, logistically, financially, parentally, maritally, professionally, creatively, emotionally, spiritually.  Rough.  What I’ve not shared—for a number of reasons—is how a rough winter went into a difficult spring then lapsed into a challenging summer then ramped up into a full frontal assault as we turned the corner in to fall.  ROUGH.

I know I am not the only one of us who has known ROUGH.  In fact, many of you, even in this very season, have known rougher.  I am not playing the self-pity fiddle—at least not today.  This is shared not to garner sympathy or elicit responses or make excuses for my absence.  It is shared simply as context.  Because in addition to timing, context is also everything.

In the midst of my own particular brand of ROUGH, I will confess I have despaired over quite a number of things, not the least of these being my mind-bending confusion and frustration regarding what I believe I heard from the Lord very loud and clear but completely lack the time and ability and energy and resources to pursue and make happen.  I have clearly—CLEARLY—reached the end of myself.  I have seen quite plainly that THIS. IS. BEYOND. ME.   And I have slowly but surely felt the air go out my sails, as hope and faith have waned.

Cue the video.  What is our topic this lovely September morning?  The fruit of the Spirit, picked out last spring when the pursuit of joy seemed noble and attainable.  And what is our title?  Living Beyond Yourself.

We’re cruising along with the introductory session—flipping around in our Bibles, laughing about her hair, dutifully taking notes—tracking with her exhortation to live life to the full, when she suddenly lands on this BEYOND word.  And she suddenly dives in to Philippians 3:12-14.  And she suddenly begins to talk about pressing on.  And I suddenly begin to squirm.

“Hmmm.  Isn’t that interesting timing,” my friend says.  Beth Moore keeps pressing ahead.

Whatever God has planned and purposed for you here on this earth, it is undoubtedly something that is BEYOND YOU.  It is going to be a reach.  It is going to be a strain.  It is going to be beyond your natural talents and abilities.

“Okay, I’m ready for this segment to be over,” I remark.  My friend gives me a familiar side-ways glance.

This thing can ONLY be fulfilled through the Spirit—every bit of the destiny God has for you is going to be beyond the natural realm of what you’re capable of.  It is going to force you to reach.  It is going to force you to strain.  It is going to force you to press on. 

What ever made us think that what God has called us to isn’t going to COST us anything???

“Whose stupid idea was this, anyway?” I ask, fighting back tears I don’t wish to be seen.

“Hmmm.  I don’t know.  Maybe GOD’S?”

She moves on from Point Number Three (My __purpose__ is __beyond__ me), and I take a deep breath, thinking I am off the emotional hook.

I am not.

Point Number Four.  My seasonal __circumstances__ are often __beyond__ me.

I give my friend the “you have GOT to be flippin’ kidding me” look.

Somebody listening RIGHT NOW is going through a season where they are about to despair of life.  There are going to be times when we are going to go through things that seem beyond our ability to endure.

I am almost beyond my ability to hold it in.

Point Number Five.  My unrelenting __daily__ __demands__ are __beyond__ me.

I have since stopped giving my friend the “are you kidding?” look as it would risk giving away the depth of emotion I am struggling to contain.

We have to learn to struggle with HIS energy, not our own.

God wants to USE you.  And when he unleashes the mighty power of the Holy Spirit on your life, and you are doing things you KNOW you can’t do—things that are BEYOND you—THAT is when you’ll know God is God.

And I am BEYOND done.

Fortunately, so is Beth Moore.

It’s about time.

Fast-forward to the present, as I sit in front of my computer caught in the tension of having entirely too many things to do today to be able to focus on just one.  And this is the conclusion I draw, from these last nine months of frustration and futility:

Trying to live BEYOND yourself from WITHIN yourself is akin to that Sisyphus dude rolling the same ball up the same hill day after day after day.

You don’t get anywhere.  And you get tired.  And you gain weight.  And you get sick.  And you get sick AND tired.  And you get discouraged.  And you begin to question the point.  And you begin to wonder if somewhere, somehow, your earnest and well-thought out attempts actually crossed over and began coloring outside the lines of the will of God.

Or maybe it’s just me…

So did I step out of God’s will when I came home from my writer’s conference last July and began trying to put into place much of the good advice I’d gotten?  When I revamped my blog?  When I started a second?  AND a newsletter?  And started seriously writing 15 to 20 hours a week?  To the exclusion of exercise and quiet time and playing the piano and, well, everything else?

I don’t know.

I just know that when Beth Moore said Some of you listening today are at the point of despair, my heart and my spirit and my tear ducts all said, YES.  That would be ME.

That would be me.

I have said all along that this thing was beyond me—that if this writing thing, this speaking thing, this ministry thing was ever going to happen, it was gonna HAVE to be God, because I didn’t have it in me to do all that it takes to MAKE this work.  The self-promotion thing?  It’s just not me.  The platform building?  It’s a full time job.  And I already have two.  The research?  Are you kidding?  I need an assistant.  The push to get my name in print?  Another full time job.  Now I’m up to five.  And that’s not even taking into effect the REST of my life.

So.

Where does this leave me?

I have determined it leaves me right back where I started.  With my paper, my pen, my Bible, and the thoughts inside my head.

I’m going back to what I do best—simply writing.

What will that look like?  Until I hear a clear “this is the way, walk ye in it,” it will look like paring down to one blog (Live Like You’re Loved) and ditching the newsletter.  My energy will be focused there:  building the number of resources available on the site, creating some e-books, maintaining a regular posting schedule, writing what God puts on my heart.

The Joy Project is still on the radar.  It will likely move over and reside here when I am ready (and instructed) to pick it back up again.  The manuscript is still alive, though existing somewhere in limbo until I hear a clear directive as to how and when to proceed.  In the meantime, I am working on notes for a second manuscript, which will be percolating in the background (and may likely be the inspiration for several blog posts).  I am NOT giving up.  I am simply going back, as Fezzik said, “to the beginning.”

From there, well, that’s beyond me.  Fortunately, that seems to be the point.

As is learning how to press on without running ahead.  Or how to persevere not in my own strength but in the Lord’s.  Or learning to trust—there’s a novel idea—that God will finish the work he has begun in his perfect timing.

Trusting God and his timing.

That’s, well, pretty much everything.

We came to breakfast tired.  Hungry.  Heavy-hearted.  Reluctant to leave.  And as we did every morning of our trip, once we had eaten, we invited God to join us there.

I opened our time with the June 13^th reading from Jesus Calling, one of my favorite devotionals and one that had been well-utilized during our times together.  It was as if Sarah Young had written that day knowing exactly what we would need to hear:

I am creating something new in you: a bubbling spring of Joy that spills over into others’ lives.  Do not mistake this Joy for your own or try to take credit for it in any way.  Instead, watch in delight as My Spirit flows through you to bless others.  Let yourself become a reservoir of the Spirit’s fruit.

Your part is to live close to Me, open to all that I am doing in you.  Don’t try to control the streaming of My Spirit through you.  Just keep focusing on Me as we walk through this day together.  Enjoy my presence, which permeates you with Love, Joy, and Peace.

If nothing else, it spoke to me loudly and clearly.  The promise of a new work when I had just written before our trip about sensing this trip was somehow a turning point.  The irony of that work being JOY, which I had begun studying at the beginning of this year, only to be derailed by illness and chronic pain and fatigue and (further irony) depression.  The reminder that this joy is not merely for ourselves—it is for others, as well… perhaps even most importantly.  The prompt to spend time in God’s permeating presence—a reminder I unfortunately need more than I would like to admit.

I knew I couldn’t be alone in that.  I had known several of these women before the trip, and had come to know more of them fairly well throughout the course of our week together.  I knew I was not the only one coming to that table with a heaviness of heart that preceded our trip, let alone our trip’s end.  I knew enough of each of them to know that we longed for more of God.  For more of his heart.  For more of his freedom.  For more of his joy.

I believe, that week, we received a new glimpse of what both the pursuit and experience of these things should look like—and as they closed their eyes and allowed the images of the week to come and go, I read to them from Galatians 5:

It is absolutely clear that God has called you to a free life. Just make sure that you don’t use this freedom as an excuse to do whatever you want to do and destroy your freedom. Rather, use your freedom to serve one another in love; that’s how freedom grows. For everything we know about God’s Word is summed up in a single sentence: Love others as you love yourself. That’s an act of true freedom. If you bite and ravage each other, watch out—in no time at all you will be annihilating each other, and where will your precious freedom be then?

My counsel is this: Live freely, animated and motivated by God’s Spirit. Then you won’t feed the compulsions of selfishness. For there is a root of sinful self-interest in us that is at odds with a free spirit, just as the free spirit is incompatible with selfishness. These two ways of life are antithetical, so that you cannot live at times one way and at times another way according to how you feel on any given day.

But what happens when we live God’s way? He brings gifts into our lives, much the same way that fruit appears in an orchard—things like affection for others, exuberance about life, serenity. We develop a willingness to stick with things, a sense of compassion in the heart, and a conviction that a basic holiness permeates things and people. We find ourselves involved in loyal commitments, not needing to force our way in life, able to marshal and direct our energies wisely.

Legalism is helpless in bringing this about; it only gets in the way. Among those who belong to Christ, everything connected with getting our own way and mindlessly responding to what everyone else calls necessities is killed off for good—crucified.

Since this is the kind of life we have chosen, the life of the Spirit, let us make sure that we do not just hold it as an idea in our heads or a sentiment in our hearts, but work out its implications in every detail of our lives.

Of all the things that stood out to me—and there were many—it was this final line that most resonated.  This new work within me—this work meant not to benefit merely myself but to overflow for the profit of others—would not ever come to pass if the things God put on my heart of the course of the last week (and, indeed, the last several months) remained merely ideas in my head or sentiments in my heart.

So what, then, I asked both myself and mi amigas, should be our response to the week we’d just experienced?  How are we to work out the implications of such an experience in every detail of our lives?

I believe we are to make some commitments.  To ourselves.  To those most in need.  To the God who gives all.  I shared with them the list God had put on my own heart:

• A commitment to pray.  To really pray.  And to lift up needs beyond my own and those closest to me.  To pray for the girls we’ve met by name.  For the project directors.  For the projects, themselves.  And for my heart to be burdened in such a way that I cannot NOT pray.
• A commitment to gratitude.  To embrace a renewed and redeemed perspective— on God, on wants versus needs,  on what is enough, on what is good, better, or best, on what I really deserve, on grace—and to thank God as I should.
• A commitment to sacrificial giving and service.  Among those who belong to Christ, everything connected with getting our own way and mindlessly responding to what everyone else calls necessities is killed off for good—crucified.  I have given, but only to a comfortable degree.  We are called to more.  We are called to question, especially as Americans, what is truly necessary.  And to make redeemed choices regarding what we do with our time, energy, and resources accordingly.
• A commitment to selflessness.  To live freely, animated and motivated by God’s Spirit, so as to not feed the compulsions of selfishness. For there is a root of sinful self-interest in us that is at odds with a free spirit, just as the free spirit is incompatible with selfishness. To learn to not be driven by commitments to personal comfort that end with me placing myself before others but to instead  put the needs of others before my own.  Consistently.
• A commitment to working it out.  It is all too easy to return home and slip back into our break-neck pace and mind-numbing routines, pushing the events of the last week into the far recesses of our memory.  I must commit to slowing down.  And to making an intentional and conscious effort to not only revisit my journal and my pictures but to actively wrestle with the convictions and revelations and stirrings and callings they created (and continue to create) within my heart, mind, and spirit.
• A commitment to Romans 12: 1-2.  So here’s what I want you to do, God helping you: Take your everyday, ordinary life—your sleeping, eating, going-to-work, and walking-around life—and place it before God as an offering. Embracing what God does for you is the best thing you can do for him. Don’t become so well-adjusted to your culture that you fit into it without even thinking. Instead, fix your attention on God. You’ll be changed from the inside out. (The Message)

What more is there to say?

You will be changed from the inside out.

Look, I am doing a new thing!  See how it springs up?  (Isaiah 43:19)

I am creating something new in you: a bubbling spring of Joy that spills over into others’ lives. 

We left the Dominican Republic that morning, reluctant yet still just as expectant as we’d been when we’d arrived.  There is more work to be done.  In us.  Through us.  And, by the grace of God, even in spite of us.

We are ready.

We are able.

We are willing.

Your kingdom come, Lord.  Your will be done.  On earth as it is in heaven.

Amen, and amen, and amen.

I sit here, staring at my laptop—the breeze blowing through the tiny little hideaway from which I have been hiding—and my thoughts won’t slow down long enough for me to catch one and throw it up on the screen.  Grasping for words usually isn’t an issue for me.  Unless, of course, there are more words than I know what to do with.

The last three months of hit-or-miss writing have not been born out of a lack of words as much as an overabundance of them.  Heavy words like pain, depression, fatigue, or illness.   Expressions laden with double meanings like under the weather and over the limit and have had my fill.  Phrases that cut to the core like there’s nothing I can do to help you or we’re going to need to try yet another medication or I’ve done all I can do.   Tired, weary, well-worn words like suffering, faith, perseverance, hope.  Words I can’t quite put into sentences.

Words I would like to erase.

I would love, instead, to fill a fresh page with a lifetime’s worth of new words:  Adventure.  Healing.  Peace.  Passion.  Joy.  Intimacy.  Love.  Health.  Contentment.  Laughter.  Gratitude.  Expectancy.  Faith.  I would like to write passionate sentences imbued with their meanings.  I would like to live a life that strings them together, weaving an intricately simple storyline of restoration and redemption.  I would like to taste their promise—to eat them whole and then sit, fat and happy, while they fully digest, their flavor still lingering on my tongue.

It is no coincidence that I now, finally, find words—now, a week away from leaving on our mission trip.  Now—with phrases of another tongue slipping through my brain faster than I can get a hold of them and file them for future use—now I am able to sit down and reflect on the past five months worth of dark, desperate words.  To consider how it could possibly have been that in the midst of experimenting with joy I found myself once again in the grip of clinical depression and chronic pain.  To contemplate what on earth the past 150 days of reading and wrestling and struggling and lamenting and pleading and shaking my grimy, clutchy fist could possibly have to do with what comes next.

And yet I know they somehow do—in that way that you just know that you know.  Something is stirring in that deep, wordless space within my spirit, and with a week to go I am increasingly aware of a vague, unsettling sense that I am on the verge of something.

I do not yet know what words will fill in the blanks that follow the what, where, when, and why’s.  I just know the blanks are there.  And I have the distinct feeling there are new words I will be learning over the next few weeks, the most important of which will probably not be in Spanish.

Where these words will take me, I cannot predict.  Where they start and where they end are mysteries beyond my capability to understand.  But sometimes, it’s not so much about where to begin.

Sometimes, it’s all about where do we go from here.

There is, believe it or not, something that actually trumps my own chronic pain.

It is my daughter’s chronic pain.

It is the sight of her face when it has a hold of her.  When she’s weary.  When she’s missing out.

It is the helplessness of not having the resources to throw everything we can at this THING in an effort to bring healing.

It is the frustration of knowing that I can’t even fix myself, so how can I possibly fix her?

It is the cry of a mother’s heart to the Lord to please make it stop, and the reply that I’m not finished with her yet.

Bub has had her fair share of disappointment—it’s a lesson she has actually learned with grace.  When she had to step away from the sport she loved and excelled at, she did so with the spirit of a champion.  And while this injury was not as traumatic as the broken arm, it has not, to our great dismay, been nearly the same success story.

Today has been one of those Lord, REALLY? kind of days.  Rather than ordering an MRI herself, our primary care doc referred us to a neurosurgeon, figuring he would want to order his own images.  I knew surgery wasn’t on the table (no pun intended), and so was actually looking to forward the appointment with the hope we would finally get the diagnosis we needed to know how to treat whatever it is we’re up against.

Instead, he looked at the x-rays and bone scan images from a year ago, and determined an MRI wasn’t warranted.  I think it’s muscular, he said.  I think you need to do some type of therapy, he said.  I can’t help you, he said.

Never mind that we’ve BEEN THERE, DONE THAT.  Never mind the shooting pains down her legs.  Never mind the pain at the BASE OF HER SPINE.  Yes.  I’m sure the muscles are tense.  MUSCLES TENSE WHEN  YOU’RE IN PAIN.

We left his office, both near tears.  You mean he’s not going to do ANYTHING??? my daughter asked.  Why can’t someone tell us what’s wrong and make it better?

Indeed.  Why not?

Many of you who know me well know there has been a common theme around here lately—how does one live a life of gratitude in the midst of pain?

This question is hard enough to answer when the pain is your own.

When the pain is your child’s, you begin to ask even harder questions.  Questions like, How can I trust you with her when you allow things like this to happen?  Or How on earth can this be for her good?  Or What the heck do I do NOW???

In my head, I know the “answers,” as if there are definitive responses to such questions.

In my heart, however…

in my heart, I struggle.

I believe in a good God.  I believe the plans he has for us are good.  I believe he brings good out of that for which the enemy intends evil.  But I cannot, no matter how hard I try, balance the equation.  In my feeble, human brain (and in my feeble, human body), PAIN does not equal GOOD.

For I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord.  Plans not to harm you, but to give you a hope and a future.  (Jeremiah 29:11)

When I see a hope and a future, I see my daughter running track.  I see her tumbling in her cheer uniform.  I see her sitting in class without pain or depression.  I see her worry and pain-free, no longer inhibited by a body that is in a state of constant distress.

But I don’t see what God sees.  And this can be hard to remember.

I do not see the work he is up to in her heart.  In her mind.  In her spirit.

In her body.

And faith is, as we are reminded in Hebrews, confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see.

This lesson, apparently, is so important for me to learn that he is hitting it on multiple fronts.

I hope, for her sake as well as mine, that I learn it soon…

The writing thing?  Yep.  Was prepared for THAT stretching.  Knew it would be uncomfortable.  Knew it would be hard.  And time-consuming.  And eeeeeeennnndlessssssssss.

But these newest helpings on my plate?

I don’t know where they came from.  I just looked down and they were suddenly there, touching the other food on my plate and overwhelming me a bit with their portion size.

Both of these big scoops of faith-stretching goodness have to do with my middle school daughter.  And, soon, will expand to include a whole slew of middle schoolers…

Did I mention the feeling overwhelmed?  No?  Well, let me mention it NOW…

My daughter, over the years, has grown to have quite an incredible heart both for children and for Jesus.  She has thrived in her “mommy’s helper” job and just took her Red Cross babysitting course.  She continues to grow in her desire to “make a difference” and comes up with a new idea for ways to raise money for missions or for service projects about once a month.  She is learning about and experiencing the Holy Spirit and is stepping out in leading worship for the middle school at church.  And she is hungry for MORE.

Ever since the hubby went to Zambia, five years ago, my daughter has asked regularly and repeatedly to go on a “real missions trip.”  We have always given her the same response: When you’re older…

In the meantime,
we’ve taken her down to the food pantry to serve.
She’s done multiple service projects for school.
She’s done multiple service projects with the youth group.
She’s thrived on the student council as a leader and a servant.

Her heart for missions has not been satisfied.  In fact, it has grown.

And so, we’ve prayed for God to bless that within her, and to give us safe opportunities to allow her to pursue this further.

And along came my friend Tami Beihn.

Tami is in the women’s group I lead, and we’ve been friends for several years.  Recently, Tami and her husband felt lead by the Lord to sell their beautiful home in Old Worthington and downsize in order to be able to take the profit they made and buy an orphanage.  They were obedient to this leading, and have provided a home to 22 children in the Dominican Republic through an international relief ministry called Vision Trust.  They have since traveled to the Dominican three times with their two children to help with the move and get to know the children.  We have had front row seats to this adventure, and my daughter has been very inspired by their family.

So, when Tami began talking about wanting to take a mother-daughter trip this summer, my heart began to race.

And when I told Bub?  Well, if you know my daughter, you can just imagine her response.  To say she was excited would be to severely understate her reaction.

So, we began to pray as a family.  And we began to ask for confirmation.

The only dates we could conceivably go came back approved.  Vision Trust was willing to sponsor our trip and take care of all the details.  The details of the team began to line up.  My daughter came with me to the women’s conference at church, and received prayer—several words were spoken that all pointed in this direction.

And then came the quote one Friday morning.

I was judging the ACSI regional speech meet at Tree of Life that day, and as I was sitting in the library, I looked up at the wall and there was a printed sign that read, in red, at the bottom, Dominican Republic, June 2012.  Well, that’s interesting, I thought.  That’s when we’re thinking of going…     I wondered if perhaps their senior class was going for their class trip, as was ours in a few weeks.  And then I took a closer look at the words above it.

All around you people will be tiptoeing through life just to arrive at death safely. But dear children, do not tiptoe.

Run, hop, skip, or dance–just do not tiptoe.

To say this has been a theme in our home lately would likewise be to understate the significance of this statement.  It was a direct and meaningful confirmation.

And so, as a result of all of the above, we have decided as a family that my daughter and I will be going to the Dominican Republic from June 6th through June 13th.  Our flights have been booked, and we are stepping out in faith, based on God’s confirmations—believing we are meant to go and that we will be able to raise the funds necessary.

It is a bit scary.

But not as scary as what came next.

As all of this missions trip stuff was getting stirred up, God began stirring in other areas, too.  And he began putting the exact same idea not only on my heart but on the heart of my daughter, as well.

And the idea scared the crap out of me.

The idea?

We are starting a middle school small group.  My daughter and I, together.

Because my daughter wants MORE.  She wants to teach.  She wants to worship.  She wants to serve.  She wants to, in the words of Alex and Brett Harris, Do Hard Things.

The name of our group?

I. DARE. YOU.

*GULP*

God is funny.  And not necessarily in a ha-ha kind of way.

To say I’m a bit scared is an UNDERSTATEMENT.  Because the reality is this: I do not have time for this.  I do not have the energy for this.  I do not have the personality for this.  I do not have the resources for this.

But when it all boils down, this is what God keeps impressing firmly upon my heart:

Now is the time to invest—not in a “here’s my leftover time and money and energy” kind of way, but in a “dig deeper and give from the place where it hurts” kind of way.  I have been presented a critical (and RARE) opportunity at a critical time in my daughter’s life.  There is a spark for Jesus and for missions lit within her heart, and I can either fan that flame, or I can put it on the back burner, not knowing how long it will remain lit.

 I choose to fan the flame.  I do it with shaky hands and a deep breath and a prayer for grace and no small amount of “what am I thinking?!?!?!”  But I do it.

And I pray with all that is within me that it will become an all-consuming fire.

I do not believe I will regret it.

In time.

But in the meantime, the stretching feels a lot like fear and uncertainty and discomfort and insanity.  And I’m certain, as with most stretching, that it’s bound to leave a few permanent marks.  But this is what God does.

He marks us.

So I will take a deep breath,

and I will prepare to be forever changed.

Somewhere, along the line, things have gotten off track.  I’ve been feeling it for a few months now, but haven’t been able to put my finger on it.  At least not until I attended the Killer Tribes inaugural conference in Nashville a few weekends ago.  And that was when I realized why this blog had started to feel like work, and why readership was becoming a bit flat.

I had lost my voice.

You would think, for someone who has built her whole writing career up until this point on finding my voice, I would have known better.

And, to my credit, I was simply trying to put into practice what I thought I had been taught to do.

But it wasn’t in the right key for me.

I began the Becoming a (Biblically) Better Me series because it was good content.  I had gotten good response to it in the past.  It fit well with the whole New Year’s Resolution theme, and it was content I have taught on before, so half of the work was already completed.  It was a nice, complete package, and would have filled about seven to eight weeks worth of content had life not interrupted (as life is want to do.)  It made sense.  And it accomplished what they taught me at the platform-building workshops I’ve attended: set myself up as an expert.

And that is exactly where I went wrong.

Because the reality is I am NOT an expert.  And that is what many people tend to like most about me.

My true voice—the one with which most people connect—is not the voice of an expert.  It is the “I am just as messed up as you are—I just have the benefit a couple more degrees and a lot of life experience and a willingness to be real ” voice that resonates most with friends and clients and readers alike.

And that is the voice to which I need to return.

I will say it again: I.  Am.  Not.  An.  Expert.  And truthfully, I am suspicious of those who claim to be.  Because I know what goes on beneath the surface in my own heart, and in the hearts of those I counsel.  And I know that it often is not pretty.

But I’m supposed to be the expert—and that is what makes this whole writing and counseling thing HARD.

Because the life thing is HARD.  And the God thing can be hard.  And the wife thing.  And the parenting thing.  And the working mother thing.  And the raising a teenager thing.  And the being like Jesus thing.

And truthfully, I struggle.  Despite my knowledge, despite my experience, despite my position and upbringing—I struggle.  Depression and anxiety are always somewhere in the room at any given point in time.  Fear and pride and self-pity and resentment and even despair weave tangled webs within my thought life, fogging up my brain with their sticky, clinging strands.  Chronic pain and fatigue strike frequently and inconveniently and are obnoxiously resistant to treatment, be it medical or spiritual.  And don’t even get me started on my tendency to self-medicate with fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies…

How can one be an expert, when one struggles with so many of the same issues?

One cannot.

Nor does one wish to.

So, friends, this is what it boils down to:

When I revamped this blog, I chose this title as my tag line not because I am already an expert at experiencing the love of God, but because I want to be.

And this is the place from which I will continue to write—not from the voice of an expert, but with the voice of a fellow traveler.

I will go back and fill in the remaining two weeks worth of content for Better Me, because I still believe it’s good content.  And, truthfully, the content may not have even been the problem—it was probably the voice with which much of it was written.  But from here on out, I will remain true to my voice—and we will resume an honest and open dialogue about what it’s like to walk out this whole messy, mysterious Christian life thing… the good, the bad, and the ugly of it all.

 And hopefully, we will all learn more of what it’s like to Live Like We’re Loved in the process.

I don’t know about you, but this is the hardest for me right now, friends.  I naively thought that once my children were in school they would need me less and I would have more time to pursue my own interests and calling.  To say I was wrong would be a grave understatement.  If anything, I think, in many ways, they need me even more.   And it is a challenge, some days, to not balk under this precious yet weighty responsibility.

I remember picking up a book while perusing the shelves at the Christian bookstore, years ago, called Eight Choices That Will Change a Woman’s Life.  I didn’t buy the book, as I felt I received pretty much everything I needed from it simply by reading the chapter titles.  But I still have those titles posted to this day on my bedroom mirror—and it is choice number seven that most often speaks to me a not so subtle reminder of where my energy would be best focused: Persevere Under Trials or Protest Your Life.

I can be guilty, all too often, of protesting my life.  The lack of time.  The constant interruptions.  The responsibilities I didn’t ask for.  The ones that I did.  The multitude of factors that try my patience and rob my energy for the rest of my life—the chronic pain, chronic infection, chronic discomfort.  It is hard to not fight my life, some days.

And it is hard, at times, to discern between that which I’m fighting too hard against and that which I’m fighting too hard for.  Both are equally frustrating.  Equally time- and joy-stealing.  Equally draining and demoralizing and destructive.

And both are equally difficult to cease and desist.

Quote: This is a time in your life when you must learn to let go: of a loved one, of possessions, of control.  In order to let go of something that is precious to you, you need to rest in my presence, where you are complete.  Take time to bask in the light of my love.    As you relax more and more, your grasping hand gradually opens up, releasing your prized possession into my care.  You can feel secure, even in the midst of cataclysmic changes, through awareness of my presence… As you release more and more things into my care, remember that I never let go of your hand.  (Jesus Calling, March 24^th)

This is our answer, and yet I confess this is immensely difficult for me—this resting in His presence.  It is so hard to rest, when:

• I always have something going on in my head.
• I am a worrier—my mind is always on a “what if.”
• I am a planner—my mind is always on “what’s next.”
• I am restless—my body wants to be doing something.
• I am busy—there are other things I need/want to be doing.
• I am selfish—I want what *I* want, not what my kids want  or my husband wants or…

It is more often than I would like to admit a HUGE challenge for me to be engaged at the dinner table, to not shortcut on bedtime, to sit in front of Dirty Jobs AGAIN, to stop paying the bills and go play four square.

And yet, every time, the payoff is worth the effort it takes for me to push through and engage.

So if we are to learn to surrender—to both stop fighting that which we don’t want and to lay down that which we so desperately do—we must learn, as Sarah Young so gently and lovingly reminds us, to rest in Jesus.

And it is only once we learn how to find this rest that we may accomplish our efforts toward enjoying the life God has given us—mindfulness, gratitude, surrender.

Rest.  That sounds like it might be something worth considering… eh?

Why is it hard to be IN the season you’re in?

How do you practice trusting God with tomorrow so as to enjoy today?

If you sat down with a blank piece of paper, how long would it take to fill it with things you are thankful for?

Are you willing to try it and see?

What might you need to surrender to the Lord in order to enjoy the life you have been given?