Utter Clutter

I wrote this a year and a half ago, but I keep thinking back to it. My mind is cluttered to the point that I can’t maneuver around it. Incidentally, my car is too... and my closet... and my kids’ rooms... and my kitchen counters... I keep feeling like I need to sort through the physical stuff to be able to sort through the mental stuff, but instead I just run and run, keeping busy so I don’t have to deal with any clutter.

I needed this reminder. Maybe someone else does too.



Clutter.  I really hate it.  Like, a lot.  But I find myself surrounded by it.  Stacey and I started a decluttering competition on January 1.  Day 1, we had to get rid of one thing.  Day 2, two things.  Day 3, three things and so on.  The first one to not purge something loses.  I let her know that I could win this based on my closet alone.  It's awful.  It's not huge, but it's big enough to stash stuff in a hurry.  It's a compilation of all the stuff that has been cluttering up other parts of my room and I'm sick of seeing, so I'll pile it up and throw it in my closet.  The competition lasted about 7 days before the crazy kicked in, and we got sidetracked.

My car is piled high with clutter.  My trunk?  Don't get me started.  My daughter's cheer shoes are still in there.  She hasn't been a cheerleader since the 8th grade and she's now a sophomore in high school.  My son's folder from his three year old pre-k class is in there.  He's two years out of that class now.  By my calculations, it's been 2 years since I've done a deep cleaning on my car (or at least my trunk). 

When it's time to clean out the car, I get a clothes basket or a bucket and I'll fill it full of the things that aren't trash.  I'll then take the basket into the house or leave it in the garage.  There have been times that the basket is never gone through again.  It just sits there, filled with things that once seemed pretty important, but I'm too overwhelmed to go through.  It then clutters up my garage.  When Brad cleaned out the garage over Christmas break, there were several of these baskets he wanted me to go through.  I told him to stick them in the attic or throw them away.  I didn't want to see them.  It was too much. 

My countertops accumulate clutter like crazy.  Guess what I do when I get sick of it?  I pile it up, stick it in a bin in order to make it appear clean.  It's all still there, it's just rearranged into a giant overwhelming pile. 

When things get to be too overwhelmingly messy, I just sweep it all into a pile and throw it into a corner, or a closet, or a trunk, or a garage where I won't have to deal with it... until the garage gets too full of these bins.  The closet gets too hard to walk into.  The trunk won't close.  The clutter basket on the counter is overflowing.  Eventually, you have to deal with it.  Pushing it aside for awhile might make you feel better temporarily, but it doesn't deal with the actual problem at hand. 

I think this is what I try to do with the clutter in my mind, too.  When I keep myself too busy, I just keep sweeping all the thoughts I have over to the side.  If they're too painful, I'll throw them into a bin to process later.  If they might lead to confrontation, yeah... I definitely don't want to do that, I'll put that in the trunk to worry about in a few years.  Let's just throw that hurt in the closet.  The self doubt can go in the garage.  Just as long as everything looks clean on the surface, it's good enough for now.  I'll worry about the rest later. 

Until the closet is cleaned out, the paper pile is recycled and the bills are paid, the garage bins are gone through, and the trunk is empty, I don't think I can have the inner peace I so crave.  I'm speaking figuratively, but I feel that literally, cleaning these out will lead to sorting through these thoughts in my head at the same time.  I think I heard Oprah say that the state of your closet is representative of the state of your mind.  A clean closet equals a clear mind.  Though that seems overwhelming, I think there may be something to that for me. 

Enough pushing the clutter aside.  Time to face what's uncomfortable and deal with it head on. Wish me luck. 


Grandma Joyce

Yesterday started out like any other day and ended with my reflecting on a precious life that changed my own. Tonight I sit remembering Grandma Joyce. This woman loved me so much and in so many ways that I could write for hours and not stop coming up with new memories I have that involve her. I love to think that today she's looking at Matthew with the same adoring eyes that she looked at her other grandchildren and great grandchildren with. I know she will love him madly, just like she loved us. 

When I think of grandma, these are the memories that flood my mind:

  1. Watching tv in her pink recliners like Golden Girls, The Dating Game and Love Connection
  2. The word search books she kept in the table between the pink recliners with grandpa's gall bladder or stones or something in a cup right next to them
  3. How annoyed she would get when grandpa would take his teeth out to show me, so we did it often just to drive her crazy
  4.  So many sleepovers. Sleepovers with my cousins or with just the two of us. I was always welcome at her house. She claimed one night during a particularly noisy cousin sleepover that we'd better not make another sound because grandpa could hear a pin drop. I remember deeply contemplating in my silence whether she meant a pen or a pin, because there was a distinct difference in the noise level. 
  5. Staying several nights in a row over spring break at her house with Cris and Chelsea. We'd go to the movies or the Japanese Gardens and always Mazzios Pizza
  6. Going to the theaters to see Ghostbusters and Honey I Shrunk the Kids
  7. Her big rectangle trampoline and slightly dirty but overly fun swimming pool
  8. When she got mad at us cousin, she'd call us idgits. I had no idea what that was but felt pretty sure she was calling us idiots
  9. Sitting in time out with my cousins and stationed in different spots all over the living room
  10. The toilets at her house with super sensitive pipes so we were limited to just a few squares of toilet paper
  11. She taught me about mixing suicide drinks with all the sodas she had
  12. She let me eat an entire box of Fruity Pebbles in a 24 hour period when my parents wouldn't buy sugar cereal
  13. Spending days at Aunt Vaneta's lake house and the time we got home late one night and realized that I had left my "bunny foo foo" there and she made grandpa drive back to Eastland to get it for me that night
  14. The frilly lace Easter baskets that she made each of us girls and made for Hayley and Mia as well
  15. Playing in the ditch in front of her house and  balancing on the rocks around her circle driveway
  16. She would ALWAYS play a game with us if we asked. We played board games, card games, and dominoes. She was especially a chicken foot dominoes and Skip-Bo fan. 
  17. She was a puzzle master. The summer before my senior year I got a James Dean puzzle in black and white for my birthday. It was way too overwhelming for me, so I brought it to her house one day over Christmas break and we put it together in one afternoon while watching Christmas movies the entire day. She ended up buying a puzzle glue and a frame for it so that I'd be sure to display it in my room. 
  18. I spent probably 25 Thanksgivings at her house where her home was packed full of friends and family. The kids would rake giant leaf piles and spend the day jumping into them. The kids ate in the garage where there were rows of tables set up to accommodate all the guests. 
  19. When my mom went to work, if I got sick at school, she was always available to pick me up and bring me to her house. I'd lay in her bed and watch the Jetsons and Judge Wapner's court until my mom could pick me up.
  20. She was one of the few grownups I knew who didn't make her bed every day. She told me it was because she'd just be sleeping in it later, so what was the point? I loved that outlook and have stuck with it in my life. :)
  21. Her favorite story to tell about me was about the day when I was born. She came into the hospital room to see me and I was crying. When she picked me up, I stopped crying and smiled at her. Especially near the end, she would tell me that story every time I saw her. 
  22. Her shed that reeked of cat pee, but was still mysterious and exciting to go into
  23. Shooting off black cats and lady fingers on the 4th of July 
  24. Riding shotgun on many Meals on Wheels deliveries
  25. Her humming made up tunes while driving around town in her big blue Cadillac
  26. Touring the Dublin Dr. Pepper factory
  27. She had a green lipstick that went on red and it blew my mind. She would let me wear it every time I was with her, digging through her purse.
  28. The God-awful perm she got me when my parents were on vacation. It's the worst perm in the history of ever and the only perm that stayed in my hair. 
  29. How I'd call her when I was bored and she'd happily spend the next hour or more on the phone chatting about anything and everything and how if I was bored over the summer or on a weekend, I'd invite myself over to spend the night with her and she would never turn me away. 
  30. Her patience in trying to teach me to sew on the sewing machine or crochet
  31. The poodle skirts she'd make me for 50s day and many dresses she made us
  32. The excitement she had for each of my pregnancies and her love for my babies
  33. The pride she felt in showing off her family. One year she insisted that we take Hayley to a costume party at the Senior Center. She showed her off like she was her own daughter. Hayley won a prize for the costume that grandma had made and she was bubbling over with joy. 

As the years went by, she became more and more forgetful, calling me several times a week to ask me the same questions or tell me the same stories. Then she went through a time where she was delusional and had outlandish stories about who she was, where she was going or what she had done. These stories saddened me and amused me at the same time, but I preferred them over the next stage. She became very hard to understand and her memory was slipping. Until the end, she would make comments about how I was always getting into trouble and she'd say it with a gleam in her eye. She, too, got a glimmer of mischief in her eye when I was around like she was hoping we might find some trouble to get into together. Any time we visited, she lit up when we walked in the room, just like she did our whole lives. 

That's how I will remember her, delighting in me when I found nothing to delight in. Cheering me on when I felt like there was not much to cheer for, supporting me and loving me unconditionally. I am so very blessed to have those memories of a grandmother who would do anything in the world for me. 

I love you, grandma. Give Matthew a million kisses for me. Hug grandpa's neck extra hard for me. I have no doubt that you'll be one of the first faces I see when I join you in heaven some day. 

Just some of the Easter baskets

Aunt Vaneta's


Hayley's costume she made her

Just look at how she looks at these babies with such love


News Flash

This just in. “It’s not about you!” What? I know! It sounds crazy, but God let me in on this secret this week. He continued, "Stop being self-centered and start being Christ-centered."

At first, I just kept thinking, “I’m definitely not self-centered. I’m so hard and down on myself it’s ridiculous.” Then it hit me that in being self-disparaging, I’m still being self-centered. I’m putting too much thought and worry into myself, my place, my people, my appearance, my work... my, my, my.

My children aren’t about me. Whether they are like Mary Poppins and practically perfect in every way or complete heathens, it’s not about me. Yes, I’m their mother. Yes, it’s my place to instruct them in right from wrong, to teach them about Jesus, and to guide them with wisdom but ultimately, their decisions aren’t about me. They can’t and don’t define me, though this is very hard for me to grasp. My constant worry about them, their grades, their choices, their friends, their futures...it’s not mine to worry about. It’s definitely mine to pray about. It’s my job to counsel and advise them but God is in control, not me. At first that seems scary because I like to have control, or at least I think I do. When I think more about it however, it actually feels pretty freeing to know that I don’t determine their path or their choices. That’s between them and God. What they end up doing with that isn’t up to me. I can’t force them to choose my way. Sure, I can punish them, remove privileges, threaten and scold them but I can’t make their decisions for them. I have to trust that I’m sufficiently equipping them with what they need to know and to believe that He’s got a big part in their lives, too. It gets harder as they get older and the consequences for their actions are more serious than the days when they didn’t want to brush their hair. I want to put them under my thumb and watch their every move to make sure they don’t take a wrong turn, but how will they ever learn for themselves if I do that?

In my work, the task before us seems insurmountable. How can we do such important work? What are we getting ourselves into? Truth of the matter is that, yes, it is too hard for us. We aren’t cut out for such big work, but once again, God takes that burden off our shoulders. We don’t have to do it; He will and He is. What He wants to happen will happen, and we are fortunate enough to be a part in His plan for ministering to families who have lost children during pregnancy or infant loss. We can’t take credit for any of the amazing things happening, though. It’s definitely not our doing and we can’t forget that. He’s opening doors to amazing people and circumstances that we couldn’t orchestrate ourselves. When people pat us on the back, we have to remember who is really doing the work and give Him all the credit.

I’ve been stuck with writer’s block for the past month or more. I just don’t feel like I have anything to say. When I write anything worthwhile, it’s because I’ve been inspired to. It’s not because I’m just full of ideas and words to spew. Unless He’s given me something to say, my pages are blank. I literally can’t do it on my own. I realized that I’ve been trying on my own to write. I’ve been wanting to write something prolific that would touch people and make everyone think I’m really a writer, because I just can’t seem to call myself that. Maybe if others believe it, I will too. He let me know this week, that once again, it’s not about me. It’s not about shares or likes. It’s about Him. If nobody reads what I write but I learn something from it, He’s pleased. He doesn’t care about how the world responds (or doesn't respond) to my writing. He cares that I’m obedient and that I do what He asks. I’m not responsible for what happens after that. I just have to follow Him, one step at a time.

This doesn’t mean that I can throw my hands up in the air and say, “Que sera sera!” I have a great responsibility to my kids, my work, and my writing. I can’t just sit idle and expect everything to fall into place. I have to listen and be obedient. I have to show up and be present, ready to work. An employee can’t just sit all day and say they don’t have to do anything because they aren’t the boss because they’re still very much needed and expected to work. They also don’t have to try to do the work of their boss, because it would be pointless. As much work as they did, it wouldn’t matter because they aren’t needed in that position. It's already covered. Their work still matters, though.

He’s definitely shown me this week that I place way too much importance on myself and my abilities. My kids aren’t about me. My work isn’t about me. My writing isn’t about me. It’s about Him. I’m just here to reflect Him and send the praises and the worries to Him. Then I’ll find rest and peace. I don’t have to carry this heavy load. In reality, I never was carrying this load to begin with. I was just picking up random weights and thinking that I had something important on my shoulders. It’s totally unnecessary. He never expected me to carry these burdens. After all, it’s not about me.


come to me.jpg


I often wonder how I can feel so lonely when I’m surrounded by people whom I know truly love me. I think sometimes I just need to know my place with people. I need to feel pursued and chosen. I need to know that I matter to people more than a passing thought here and there.

I’m struggling with my place right now. With no job, I feel dislocated. I didn’t realize how much my identity had been wrapped up in what I did. Now, with no job, I’m finding that I’ve been putting my trust and identity in who my people are. I have a lot of friends but I don’t know where my landing places is. Where do I go when the chips are down? Other than home, I just don’t know.

To be honest, I felt silly and juvenile wondering where I fit into people’s lives. I’m not in junior high. I don’t need to have the title of BFF in order to feel like I mattered, right? It’s just that the phrase “best friend” means that you are chosen and you have chosen someone as “your person.” You know how you feel about each other. You don’t have to worry about where you go when times are hard. You go to your best friend. It’s what you do.

I’m aware you can have more than one best friend and I know without giving it a title officially, I have quite a few. I have several people I go to when I’m needing to talk. Then there are those friends who were best friends in the past that I don’t talk to often anymore, but I know I could call them and they’d drop everything for me. I’ve got a lot of good friends, great friends even, but I guess I want to know who gives a damn as much as I do.

Like I said, as I process through these thoughts, I felt so petty. As I talked through some of this with a few of my people, however, I found it wasn’t as silly as I thought it was. People are lonely out there. We long for connection and we want to matter to someone. As my friend Sarah used to say to me about our kids, we long for someone to pick us first, to like us best. We are all born with that innate desire to be loved and accepted. We need to have a place we belong and a person to lean on. We need to know that we have an anchor that won’t move and we need to know that we can lean on someone that won’t walk away. I have a fear of the trust fall. I don’t want to fall back on someone and they decide they don’t want to catch me or they are preoccupied and don’t have the time to.

Social media amps this feeling of insecurity up 100 billion notches. When people post pictures of themselves with their best friends, it immediately stirs up my own insecurities because it reminds me that I don’t know who I have as a best friend and it makes me feel like I’ve been left out or that I don’t matter to someone. It makes me feel that I’m lame when I see how much fun people are having without me.

Why am I writing this long rant? It’s because I’m realizing that it’s a universal desire to be chosen and to belong. It’s not something I should be embarrassed about. I’m shocked as I’ve talked about this lately, most people feel this way. Lonely. Unimportant. Pushed aside. Disposable. I’m not alone in this. I want people to know they aren’t alone or silly to feel this way, either.

Is there a solution? I think we need to be more open with those we love and let them know they’re important to us. We should let people know they’re on our minds.

I can proactively brighten someone’s day by sending someone a message and telling them they’re important to me. Maybe those people will send a few messages to others doing the same thing.

If you’re feeling like I’ve been, I encourage you to think about some of the people who are important to you. Let them know you love them and care about them, that you see them. 

Ultimately though,  we cannot let our jobs, our friendships, or our circumstances determine our worth.   Who I am is not based on what people think about me or don’t think about me. I have to work on choosing myself, loving hard and figuring out who I am in my God.  That is the biggest and hardest lesson I’m learning right now. When we we wait for other people to make us happy, we will be waiting for a very long time. 


The other day I was idly playing around with Snapchat. I snapped a picture of myself and all I could see were flaws. I saw bags under my eyes and I looked so old and tired.  I slid the screen to the left and saw myself again, but with a different look. Now I had clear skin and eye makeup.  I just looked brighter and happier, but I wasn’t. I was still the same person, I’d just put on a fake mask to make myself look better. It was definitely a better picture, one I’d much rather show others than the first. "Thank God for filters," I thought to myself.

A couple of weeks later, I sent a picture of my new haircut to a friend. I threw on a filter so I didn’t look as worn out and my color was better.  She said she wanted to see it without a filter.  I seriously hesitated. I didn’t like sending pictures without a filter any more.

As I think about it, isn’t this how we treat our lives? We slap on a filter so that others won’t see the real us. We want to only show our best to others.  I read somewhere that we need to quit comparing our behind the scenes pictures with others’ highlight footage. People post on social media what they want others to see rather than their real-life stories.

What if we all tried to get a little more real. What if we went #nofilter. What if we let others see us, flaws and all, with all our wrinkles and bags under the eyes. What if we were honest about stuff we are going through in life instead of trying to be as fabulous as everyone else tries to be on social media.  Maybe we’d be less judgmental of others, knowing that they have serious stuff going on in their lives. Maybe we’d be easier on ourselves, knowing that others struggle just like we do.

I think we know that in our head, but it’s hard for our eyes to believe it when what we see on Facebook and Instagram are the highlight reels of our friends’ lives instead of big picture. What if, on Twitter, we posted pictures of our sky high laundry mountain or our messy toddlers wailing in the middle of the floor. What if we shared that we were struggling with hard stuff like depression, divorce, addiction and grief. I think we’d be pretty uncomfortable with those things. Maybe our friends couldn't handle it if we did. We don’t want to be that real with people and maybe we don't want them to be real with us. Does it make us feel better to think all is well with the world, so we don't have to step out and do something about the hurting around us?

I understand not wanting to let the world know about our deepest pains on Facebook, but what if by sharing you helped someone else know they weren’t alone. What if it gave them the courage to reach out for help or to share their own stories and help someone else. Would it be worth it?

I see the hashtag #nofilter on social media often.  When we have come to the point where we filter so much that it’s such a big deal when you actually don’t and you have to share that information, it’s too much. I crave authenticity in my life. I want to just say what’s on my mind instead of thinking so dang much.

If we live life with openness and vulnerability, maybe we’ll find others joining us in doing the same. Worst case scenario, people will find out you are a real life human with real life emotions and real life problems. Is that such a bad thing?

Quiet People Problems

1. People ask you why you're so quiet.



2. People think you're stuck up because you're uncomfortable with small talk or talking to new people.  


3. When someone asks you for your advice and then completely ignores it.

never talk.gif

4. People assume you're sad or something is wrong with you.


5. You figured out the solution to the problem they've been talking about an hour ago, but you can't get a word in edgewise to share it.



6. While you've been busy talking, we've been studying you and have you figured out.


7. When you finally speak up and they can't hear you and make you repeat yourself.


8. Sometimes it IS nice to be invisible.


9. When you say something funny but nobody hears you, but the loud mouth next to you heard you, repeats it and everyone thinks they're hilarious.


10. You hate people thinking you're boring just because you're quiet.


11. You have big fights with people in your head, saying things to them you'd never say in real life. 


12. Your good friends know you talk nonstop.


13. When people say, "Don't be so shy."


14. You finally muster the courage to speak up and then you see all eyes on you and you lose your words.


15. You decide to confide in someone and they blow you off. 

16. You crack yourself up with the things you say in your head. If only others knew you were so hilarious...


17. You come to realize that there are some benefits to being quiet and you decide you don't want to change. 


On Our 18th Anniversary

An Open Letter To My Husband On Our 18th Anniversary;

For some reason, I remember every little run in I had with you before I really knew you.  I remember driving with my sister to my friend Shawna’s house at 12 years old who happened to live on your street.  She saw you mowing your lawn and said, “Hey, that’s my friend Brad Vantine!” I just tucked that memory away.  A few years later, my sister was in Writer’s Club with you and I remember reading your poetry and thinking, “Woah, this guy seems so happy to write such dark stuff.”  That same year, you tagged along as a third wheel on a date with my sister and her boyfriend and I remember her coming home and telling me about how funny you were.  You were also her drivers ed partner and she’d come home irritated with how much grief you’d give her about her driving skills.  My sophomore year in high school, we both did the same play, The Secret Affairs of Mildred Wild.  You did it at the college.  I remember watching you perform and thinking how amazing you were.  I even remember where I sat watching you.   That same year, I went to your house to hang out with my best friend and her boyfriend who happened to be your best friend.  We hung out with you and your girlfriend, who I thought was very sweet, but I think that was the first time I saw you and thought, “Hmm. There’s something about this guy I really like.”   Each one of these meetings or conversations I heard about you I remember so clearly.  This isn’t something that happens to me with every person. God had set you aside for me before I even realized it.  

You're quite memorable!

Me with Shawna (who lived down the street)

Finally, in October of 1997, God decided it was time to bring us together for good.  I was in a production at Weatherford  College of A Midsummer Night’s Dream.  You watched the show and came to the cast party afterward.  Though I didn’t stay long, I was there long enough to write my email address on your forearm in sharpie.  Later I learned that was very effective because you weren’t able to get it off for a very long time so you had plenty of time to see it and think about it.  The next week at school, I asked my friend James if we were going to have another party the next weekend because I wanted him to invite you again.  Seeing as how theater kids were always up for a party, we did plan another party.  We had emailed a few times that week and you let me know that you’d be there.  You asked me out on a real date at the next party, which I eagerly accepted.  

From that day forward, we emailed questions back and forth to get to know each other better.  On our first date, you picked me up and took me to Olive Garden and to a movie.  I was taken back at how sweet you were to me.  You were so respectful, funny, kind and just made me feel so safe.  I didn’t ever want to leave your side.  During the movie, you held my hand and something weird happened.  I felt this weird shock feeling run up my arm.  It sounds silly and cliche but I knew that this was the real deal.  When you walked me to the door and kissed me goodnight, my knees literally buckled.  Luckily for me our sofa was right inside the door.  I walked inside and collapsed onto the sofa.  I just sat there, staring into space.  I have no idea how long I sat there.  I was dizzy.  My world was changing and I knew it.  

From that day forward, I was hooked. I’d stop at Super Save to buy calling cards so I could call you long distance since it was too expensive to call you long distance in Stephenville.  We emailed constantly.  I’d sit in the car, talking to you on my parent’s bag phone because it had free long distance after 9:00 pm.  I’d walk around with my head in the clouds, thinking about you.  I’m sure I was disgusting to be around.  Luckily for me, you were just as bad as I was.  We were a pitiful sight and I love to close my eyes and go back there.  It’s not hard to do.  

By mid December, you told me you loved me.  I loved you too.  I knew it but it hadn’t even been six weeks.  I was scared to death of losing you.  I knew if I fully let go and told you I loved you too and we broke up, I’d never be okay again.  The first time you said it, I smiled, said “Thank you,” and went inside my house.  From then on, I think you saw it as a challenge to get me to say it back.  You told me multiple times a day for the next couple of weeks.  Each time, I’d smile or pat your arm.  I’d say thank you or give you a hug but I wouldn’t reciprocate.  I think you learned a little about my hard headedness during that time. Finally, on New Year’s Eve, I decided to give you what you wanted most.  On January 1, 1998, the first words I said to you were, “I love you, too.”

Those butterflies you gave me never faded.  I kept thinking they’d settle down, but they didn’t.  I was madly, crazy, stupid in love with you.  It was so hard to be in different towns.  Even though we were only an hour away from each other, it might as well have been continents away.  I never wanted to be away from you for a minute.  We’d find time to meet up in Granbury which was 30 minutes away for each of us just to see each other for just a little while.  No one had ever made me feel like you did.  I could be with you 24/7 and never get sick of you.  To this day, you’re the only person I can be with constantly and not get tired of.  

In August 1998, you proposed.  You didn’t have Pinterest boards or Facebook to help you out with great ideas, so you don’t have to keep beating yourself up.  I can tell it my way since it’s my letter.  We went to eat at the same Olive Garden that we went to on our first date. Then you took me to The Rose Gardens where you got down on one knee and asked me to marry you.  (I’ll leave out the part where I was you were leading me and I tripped on the curb or the roses were dead because it was August.  The only reason I remember those things are because those are the parts you tell, anyway).  I just remember being so happy.  We set a date for the following June.  

June 12, 1999 was the big day.  I was young.  I was only 19.  People probably think I was crazy to be getting married so young, but I had never been so clear on anything.  It was the best decision I ever made.  I’m so glad I met you when I was so young and married you when I was young, because I have more years to spend with you and more time to make memories with you.  We aren’t promised tomorrow so what is the point of putting off what is meant to be?  Our wedding was a whirlwind. I barely remember it.  I mainly remember what was captured on our video and pictures. Then we were off to South Padre for our honeymoon.  

I remember it felt so surreal to be married.  As we were flying out or checking into our hotel as a married couple, I couldn’t believe this was real.  I was Mrs. Vantine and not Miss Bennett.  What the what? This was so grown up.  I couldn’t fathom it but I loved it.  I didn’t ever want to come home from the trip.  It was so wonderful to just be away together, being married, enjoying life and basking in the afterglow of the wedding.   

It didn’t take long until I had baby fever. Once again, I was young.  I was 21, but I knew what I wanted. Hayley was born about 9 months after my 21st birthday.  She was a challenging baby.  We learned a lot about teamwork and what sleeplessness looked like.  We laughed a lot at our inadequacy as parents, marveled at this amazing child we had created, and grew closer through our love for this beautiful girl.  


Three years later, we were brave enough to do this again.  Mia was so much easier.  She didn’t cry nearly as much.  We felt like we had the hang of this parenting thing.  We were pros, right?  Ha!  Toddler years hit Mia with much more venom than they did Hayley.  We’re never prepared.  We were still a great team.  Together, we can do anything.  


Then, out of the blue, we were expecting a third.  I never felt like we were done having kids, I guess.  It was a boy.  We couldn’t settle on a name easily like we did with the girls.  We tossed around Aidan or Jaxon.  Nothing seemed right.  That’s because nothing was right.  Just a few weeks after learning that he was a he, we learned he had passed away.  We decided his name was Matthew, for some reason.  It was a name we’d never even discussed.  I clung to you like I never clung to you before, but for the first time, you didn’t know how to help me.  You wanted to fix this and you couldn’t.  You watched me sinking, and no life raft you threw me worked.  It wasn’t your fault.  Nothing could have helped.  It wasn’t you who I needed to save me.  I needed to work it out with God and within myself.  I know it was excruciating to sit and watch me struggle and not be able to fix it.  You are a fixer.  You are frustrated when you can’t make a problem better.  You did everything I needed.  You stayed constant.  You never left.  When I finally came out of it, you were still there, waiting.  That means the world to me.  Thank you for your patience.  

During that struggle, Zane, came into the world.  He was what kept laughter and silliness in our home while I was gasping for air.  I’m not sure what would have happened if he hadn’t been born.  I hate to speculate.  His funny way of looking at the world, his hilarious sayings have made us all take things less seriously which is such a gift.  

So here we are, 18 years in.  There have been some high highs and some low lows, but my love, there is nobody else in this world I would want to walk this path with.  You’re my best friend, you’re my favorite person, you’re my deep talk partner, you’re my long walk walker, you’re my editor (so I hope this doesn’t suck), you’re my everything.  I love you with everything I am.  





I want to smile and be happy

Yet I want to crawl into bed and hide.

I want to be around people

Yet I want to seclude myself from the world.

I want to stay busy so I'm not thinking about him

Yet I don't want to think about anything else.

I want to go visit

Yet it's the last place I want to be.  

I want to celebrate his life

Yet I'm so angry he's not here with us. 

I want to celebrate his brother

Yet it feels like a betrayal. 

I want you to care

Yet I don't want you to pity.

I want to cry

Yet I don't want to live in sadness.

I want to laugh

Yet I don't want him to feel left behind.

I want to rise above this

Yet I find myself sinking deeper.

I want to sink deeper

Yet I find myself casting out hope to others.

I want to help others

Yet I'm not sure I'm strong enough.

I want to offer advice

Yet I don't know that I have any wisdom.

I want to live

Yet I cling to the dead.

The constant back and forth

Is making me dizzy, nauseated and tired

Yet I can't stop the circles. 

Dear Zane,

My love.  My laughter.  My joy.  You have no idea how much healing you have brought to my heart.  When I thought I couldn't go on, God brought you to me and I was lifted out of the darkness.  Since the day I met you, my heart has been full to the point of exploding with love.  I've probably held on too tightly to you, clinging to every step you take because I know how dear life is now and how quickly things can change.  You've taught me to cherish every single moment and I have. 

Now you're six.  You're starting Kindergarten, much to my dismay (and dread, honestly).  I dread it for myself, not for you.  I know you will do amazingly.  You're ready to spread your wings, I'm just not ready for you to leave my safe little nest just yet.  I know from watching your sisters how quickly life goes after Kindergarten.  In the blink of an eye you'll be discussing colleges and SATs and career paths.  It goes so quickly and I'm not ready for it.  I know you are ready though and that's what matters.  

I know you are smart and capable.  I know you're friendly and outgoing.  I know you're funny and you make friends easily.  I know you'll be fine.  I also know you have a hard time sitting still.  I know you have a hard time not talking.  I know you have a hard time not saying exactly what comes into your mind and all of these things can get you into trouble at school.  I know you get frustrated when you can't do things perfectly.  I know you get frustrated when people tell you things you don't agree with.  I know you want to be the best at everything you do and when you aren't, you will act out.  Take deep breaths.  Keep your cool.  Say a prayer.  Know that nobody expects perfection from you and that you're loved just the way you are.  No amount of awards or attaboys or accolades can change the depth of my love for you.  

People won't always be nice and neither will you.  Give grace just as you hope they will give it to you.  People won't always understand you, or the way you think or act.  Don't let their opinion of you change who you are.  I pray you keep your free spirit and creative mind.  Don't let haters squelch it.  It makes you who you are and if you turn it off, you're denying yourself and denying the world of your greatness.  Hold tight to who you are, because I love you to the ends of the earth.  

As you turn six, I see my baby disappearing before my eyes and a handsome, funny, smart boy taking his place.  I'll always remember your chubby little baby cheeks and your funny antics as a toddler, but now I am able to enjoy a new side of you.  You're hilarious and creative.  You're smart and imaginative.  You restored my joy during my darkest time and have continued to light my way since the day I learned you were on your way.  

I'm so incredibly thankful for you and I want you to always know that you've changed my life for the better.  Kindergarten will be hard for me but it is easier to let you go knowing how much you're going to love it and flourish.  

Thank you for your unconditional love.  What would I ever do without you, my darling boy?  




Fear of Falling

I'm not a fan of skating.  Even when I was a kid I'd hold on for dear life to that rail on the side of the rink. I'd grasp it like my life depended on it.  I'd watch with envy as those other kids would skate effortlessly by me with no need of a railing for stability.  They looked so free and happy.  Then there was forlorn Carol clumsily traipsing along the safety rail, miserably waiting for everyone in my party to say they were ready to go home.  

Every once in awhile, I'd get bold and let go of the rail (though I'd skate close by...just in case).  I'd feel like all was well when insecurity would overtake me and I'd be back to square one, back on the bar, wishing time away. Rarely did I fall because rarely did I let go of the sides, but rarely did I have any fun either.  

Moses has been on my mind a lot lately.  I've been thinking about when God called Moses to talk to Pharaoh.  Was he afraid?  Absolutely.  He told God in the beginning he had the wrong guy. He told Him to send someone else.  He told Him that he wasn't up to the task. Yeah, he was afraid.  When we are walking into something new, we will be afraid.  When we are walking into the unknown, we aren't going to like it. Turning around and running to the sidelines of safety would be much easier, but it's not really a life I want to live.  Yes, we may fall, but it's better than holding on to the railing all of our life and never trying to skate.  

I just finished reading the book The Dream Giver by Bruce Wilkinson and in it he says we will be afraid, but we have to take courage with us.  Courage isn't the absence of fear, he says, it's choosing to act in spite of fear.  When we are afraid, we have to confront what's frightening us or it will control us.  We can't just shut the fear off, but we can stand up to the one who makes us afraid because God is on our side and He's much bigger than anything that can scare us.  

I quit my job as a teacher this year.  I felt called to do something with women who have lost children as I have.  I had no idea what that was when I turned in my notice.  I was scared, but I also trusted that God was calling me away and He's never before led me astray. I knew that He would make my path clear.  I wasn't too worried.  Then May rolled around and I still didn't know what I'd be doing for a job in the fall.  It was okay though, God had it under control... right?  I had all summer to figure it out.  We are coming up on August now. I don't have a job prospect and honestly, I'm not feeling a strong urge to go find a job.  I still feel the same call to help women who are suffering from pregnancy loss, but that's not a job!  My brain tells me I need an income, but my heart tells me to be still.  He has me where He wants me. Am I afraid? When I think about it logically, I am.  I feel we need my income, but when I feel it in my heart I'm not afraid.  I know I'm walking with Him...on His path...He's guiding me.  When things don't make sense at all and they feel right, I'm usually headed in the right direction.  

I don't know what He's got planned for me, but I can take courage and face the fears I'm feeling. I have faith that He won't leave me.  Will I fall down?  Maybe.  Will it kill me?  No.  Will it hurt my pride if I fall?  Probably, but that's okay.  It probably needed to be hurt. Will I get back up and learn from my mistakes? Definitely.  Will I get stronger when I let go of the railing?  For sure.  I've never seen an Olympic skater holding on to the railing.  We've all got to let go sometime and trust that we've been taught what we need to know to skate without the bar.  We have people nearby who can help us up when we fall, but most importantly our Father is there and He will never leave us.  

Cruel or Misunderstood?

So is Sadness really an enemy I have to fight, or a friend I'm avoiding because I don't like conflict? When I first saw Inside Out  in the theaters, it was on Mia's 11th birthday. I cried harder than a Disney movie should make a person cry. It hit so close to home, though. For a children's movie, it had a lot of depth. The underlying message was that we don't need to push away our sadness. Joy kept pushing her aside, afraid she'd corrupt their girl Rylee into a depressed girl, but by not feeling her sadness, she became empty inside. Once Sadness was allowed to go in and do her thing, everything was resolved. Rylee didn't sink into a deep depression because she felt her sadness, instead she was able to be herself again.  

Sadness, when pushed aside constantly makes us bitter, hard, cold and ugly. We sometimes have to let her in to do her thing so we can move forward. I have to trust that she won't drag me down into the depths of despair where I imagine she lives. Feelings are okay and need to be felt. 

I have spent so much time pushing Sadness into a corner. I run and hide, but she doesn't go away. I keep busy to avoid her. She becomes larger than life to me, someone I fear. When I actually face her, however, I find that she's not as scary as I thought she was. 

I'm slowly realizing Sadness isn't my enemy. She's there for a reason and it's best to feel it now before it is overwhelming and out of control. There is a difference between sadness and depression. When sadness is ignored for years and years, she turns into depression.  That's why it's so important not to cast her aside, but to listen to what she has to say, even if it hurts for awhile.  "Weeping may last for the night, but joy comes in the morning." (Psalm 30:5a)


Cruel Sadness

I've found myself lately trying to fill every single minute of my day with the company of another human being. I'm afraid to be alone. I'm afraid of my own thoughts. I'm afraid of the stillness, of who is lingering in the silence. 

Please don't leave me alone. Please entertain me. Please just talk. I don't care what we talk about or where we go, just distract me. Keep talking and I will be able to avoid the great big scary giant in the room, slowly following me. He seems to leave me alone as long as I'm with others, as long as I'm busy. As soon as I am alone, I feel him inch in closer and closer to me.  

Today, I can't escape. Today, I let him come over to talk, with no one here to distract me.  Today, I sit and invited the Sadness over. 

"You've been following me for weeks," I say. "I've been trying to avoid you but you won't go. I ignore you. I stay busy with any and everything, but I can always feel you near. As long as I'm moving, you can't catch me."

Today I stopped moving. Today, I had nowhere to run. Maybe I was tired of running. Maybe I missed my old friend, Sadness. 

On days like this, I remember the times Sadness was there for me. These days, I could depend on him to catch me when no one else was there. On days like this, I'm angry at the rest of the world for speaking against him. They medicate me to keep him away, but he never leaves. He's patient. 

They don't like me when I'm friends with Sadness. They don't understand me. When we are friends, I want to crawl in bed and stay there. He doesn't mind. He tells me I deserve it. 

"Stay there as long as you need," he says.  "They can't, won't and don't want to understand." 

"Don't bog them down with your problems.  Tell them to me," you tell me.  "I'm the only one who cares."

"I'm the only one who has been there through it all, even when you turned your back on me," you remind me.

"The people who 'love' you? Where are they? They have lives of their own. They have troubles of their own. Don't bother trying to get them to understand. You don't want them to know the real you anyway. They would hate you." 

"I've got you now, haven't I? Falling deeper. Deeper. Deeper. How easily you fall when you're alone." 


Where Are You Focused?

Last week while eating lunch with friends, Zane accidentally took a big drink of his friends soda instead of his own chocolate milk which he was expecting.  He immediately spit the coke all over his grilled cheese sandwich and french fries, rendering the whole meal inedible.  I’ve felt like him before though.   It goes right along with the sermon at my church today entitled, “Life Is Like a Box of Chocolates.”  I’ll be going about my life when suddenly, I’m not anywhere near where I expected to be.  Our pastor, Jon, reminded us that we have to keep our focus on Jesus and not focus on the situation that is causing the anxiety or you’ll end up like Zane, ruining a perfectly delicious sandwich.  We control our reactions to the situations.  

In May, I ended my career as a teacher because I felt confident that God had called me away.  Away to what, you might ask? That, my friend, is an excellent questions.  It’s a question I ask Him many times a day myself and an answer I still don’t have a clear answer to.  When my eyes start to stray away from Him, when I start to look at my circumstances and our finances, I start to stress out.  It brings to mind two Bible stories.  

The first is when Jesus calls Peter to step out of the boat and walk on the water with him.  Peter does it.  He hears the call.  He steps out of the boat.  He stands up, his eyes fixed on Jesus.  He takes one step and then another. Amazing.  Suddenly, he starts looking around.  He starts to notice the waves crashing around him, splashing his legs.  He realizes that this isn’t natural.  People can’t do this.  People can’t walk on water.  He starts to sink.  The moment he took his eyes off of Jesus and focused on the situation around him, the situation consumed him.  He had, as Jon called it today, “success amnesia.”  He’d forgotten the times Jesus had come through for him in his times of need, when he’d trusted.  In poor, daft, Peter’s sake, it had only been a matter of minutes ago.  Jesus asked him, “Why do you have such little faith?”  I feel myself walking on the water.  I’m trusting that He will provide.  I know that He called me out of the boat.  I’ve stepped out.  I’ve kept my eyes on Him, but lately,  I’ve started looking around and seeing the day coming up when my paycheck will stop coming.  I see the bills pouring in and I start sinking.  I cry out to Him to save me and He does.  Time and time again, He saves me, but He keeps asking me, “When will you believe that I will provide for you?  Have I ever let you drown?”

I’m reminded of the father who asked Jesus to heal his son. Jesus tells him he must believe.  The man proclaims, “I believe, but help me overcome my unbelief!”  The man said in the same breath that he believed but he wasn’t sure he did at the same time.  He thought he believed, but maybe he actually didn’t because he was consumed by worry.  If he truly believed, he would have believed from the get go that Jesus could save his son.  I am like this man.  I say I believe, but then when I see no change in my situation in my timing, I start thinking I need to take matters into my own hands.  

When I keep my eyes on him, when I believe He is who He says He is, when I believe He loves me and works all things together for my good, then I can take the stress from my shoulders knowing that I’m not in control.  I never was, and I don’t have to be. What a relief.  I don’t want that responsibility.  My responsibility is my reaction.  All I have to do is take my anxiety to my Father and let Him handle it.  

You're a Good, Good Father

The song Good, Good Father always hits me differently on the Sundays we sing it, depending on my mood and where my head is that day.  There are days I've felt so appreciative of God.  I've been able to proclaim loudly "You're a good, good father.  It's who you are and I'm loved by You!"  I can say and sing those words with confidence.  Everything in my life is falling into place and I can see His hand at work.  It's easy to believe He's a good, good Father on those days.  

On other days, when I feel like I've been cut off at the knees, it's harder to say those words with as much confidence.  Every step I take feels like I'm stepping deeper and deeper into quicksand.  I'm sinking fast.  I can't understand why a good, good father would allow his child to sink, despite their cries for help.  I'm gasping for air.  Am I really loved by You, Lord?  I love my kids and I couldn't watch them slip away without doing everything in my power to save them.  It's harder to keep singing "You are perfect in all of  your ways" on days like this.  

No matter where I am, however, He IS perfect in all of his ways.  Isaiah 55:8 says, "My thoughts are nothing like your thoughts,' says the Lord, 'and My ways are far beyond anything you could imagine."  He knows things we don't.  He understands things we don't understand, so when our prayers aren't answered in the ways we would want them to be answered, we have to believe that "God causes everything to work together for the good of those who love God and are called according to His purpose for them." (Romans 8:28)  It's during these hard times that we need to trust Him and lean into Him more, claiming that He IS a good, good Father and we ARE loved by Him.  It's who He is and it's who we are.  During these times, I've seen my faith grow the most, when I've clung to Him when I understood him the least.  

If Zane wanted to sit down and play where I knew there were fire ants, he might get mad at me when I wouldn't let him.  He might not be too eager to think that I was a great mom because he wouldn't know why I wouldn't let him play there.  He might throw a fit and refuse to talk to me.  He might beg and plead.  I, most likely would lead him to a different spot to play and he would eventually be happy with his location, even though it's not where he thought he needed to be. or in his timing.  Who knows, maybe he would walk by where he wanted to play and see the ants at some point and understand that I wasn't saying no to be mean, I was saying no for his protection.  I had more information than he did.  I saw the big picture that he couldn't see.  I said no because I love him.  Yes, I could have let him sit in the ants, but why would I do that when there is a better place to sit, away from the ants?

If Mia wanted to stay in her room all summer on her phone, and never come out and see the daylight, I would know that's not in her best interest.  Sure, that might be what she wanted, but knowing statistics on what happens to a person who stares at a tiny screen all day, mixed with the lack of sunshine and interaction with people would lead me to have to tell her no.  She might not like that answer.  She might think I'm not such a great mom when I had to tell her to put her phone away, but I do know what's best for her and that is what I want for her.  In the long run, she would understand as well.  Yes, I could give her what she wanted. I could let her stay on her phone all day and that would make her happy in the short term, but that's not what would be best for her.  

When Hayley has a problem with a teacher or class at school, I've had to let her deal with it.    She has to learn to deal with people and difficult situations.  Can she come to me for advice?  Absolutely.  Can she tell me her worries and fears?  Of course.  That's what I'm here for, but if I saved her from every situation, when she was older and came across harder situations, she would never know how to deal with those because she never learned how to deal with the smaller ones on her own.  Yes, I could step in and do it all for her.  I could probably make the whole problem disappear for her and make her happy, but what would she learn? 

Sometimes we are being protected.  Sometimes we are getting what we need, though it's not what we want.  Sometimes we are having to learn to do things that will prepare us for the future. He says no because He loves us.  He says no to protect us. He says no to prepare us. We have to understand that He makes all things work together for our good.  Not our timing.  Not our plans.  His.  No matter what, He's there every step of the way, cheering us on.  He IS a good, good Father. 

Accidental Marathon

She was running, exhausted and alone

A marathon she didn't sign up for.

Now she’s all alone. 

Now she is hiding in the deepest, darkest corner

Of a basement that’s never seen the light.

Now she busies herself with straightening papers

In the middle of a tornado.

She was insistent on leading her family,

But she had no map.

She was blazing a trail, fast and furious

But to where?

She might be the first one there,

But once she arrived, she would find

She was alone. 

She was too busy forging ahead. 

She didn’t realize that she was alone. 

Those she loved most couldn’t…

Or wouldn’t keep up.

They stayed back or took a different path.

She alienated those that meant the most.

Those who would have given her the world

Didn’t get the chance. 

She had places to go. 

She assumed they were still there. 

She never slowed down to check. 

Now the race is over.

The race she never signed up for. 

The race she didn’t want to run,

But since she was there, she’d better be first. 

Even if it was the wrong way, the wrong race. 

Now she’s all alone. 

Now what?


500 Word Challenge

So I've taken on a challenge to help better my writing skills.  After reading a book by Jeff Goins, then listening to his podcasts and reading several of his articles, I have decided to do his 500 Word Challenge.  In this challenge, I'm to write at least 500 words a day and post them. Here they are and here they'll stay.  I won't post them all here.  Some are being submitted other places, but the ones I can post, I will.  

Road Trip

I'm a girl who likes to know where she's going.  I'm a planner, a checklist making pro...some may say a smidge controlling.  Spontaneous, bold and brave are not words that are synonymous with my character.  Lately, though, God has been working on some of this and I know it's God's doing because it is so unlike me in my natural state.  I love my comfort zone.  It's my happy place, but lately I'm finding myself seeking locations beyond this 10 mile radius of my safety net.  

In walking with a friend through an excruciating miscarriage, I found my desire to share my own story of loss with women beyond my immediate circle. In order to do so, I have had some work to do on myself.  The word vulnerable would become a life changer for me.  Without even knowing all the research that backed it up, I knew that vulnerability was where I needed to rest.  I had to be willing to expose my heart, even the weakest, most tender places, if I was going to meet these women where they were.  I'd have to relive the pain, and sometimes deal with it for the first time.  

I decided to start blogging and journaling, but what I didn't expect was how much I would love the writing.  I would lose track of all time when I sat down to write.  God really took a hold of my soul and turned my universe in a whole different direction.  I was no longer content to sit quietly and observe.  I needed to be a part of life again.  I had a new boldness, something that I'd never had before.  For the first time since Matthew died I was finding my joy again. Removing the mask when I was in front of others and in front of God was so incredibly freeing.  

The more I wrote, however, the more I wanted to write.  I didn't have enough time in my day.  I couldn't write, parent, teach, be a wife and friend to the extent I wanted to be.  I felt very called to do all of  these things, however, except one.  That one thing took up over 40 hours of my week.  I knew I needed to step away from teaching.  I had no other plan, no backup income...I just knew my heart was with helping women find healing, with writing, with family and friends, and something had to give.  I wasn't sleeping.  I had constant words in my head that needed to be penned.  Sleeping and working seemed to be the two places I could find time, and losing sleep wasn't sustainable, so in mid January, only a couple weeks after He laid it upon my heart, I turned in my notice, effective the next school year.

I felt like God wanted me to follow Him, step by step, and stop trying to run ahead.  It's like when Brad and I take two cars to the same location and we end up racing home.  We will take different routes, we speed, we might be a tad bit reckless just to be the first ones home.  God knows me well enough to know that is what I'll do if He gives me the big picture.  I will try to take it and run ahead with it.  I'm not even supposed to be in my own car, much less driving on this path.  I'm supposed to be in the passenger seat, letting Him drive.  I just need to enjoy the journey, talking to Him on this road trip.  I need to stop being a distracted passenger, too.  Get off my phone, or out of my books, and quit talking to everyone but my driver.  I get so focused on everything and everyone else that I forget to stay in contact with the one driving me.  

I remember going with my dad on a quick trip to Austin when I was in middle school.  It is one of my favorite memories with him.  We drove and talked.  We laughed and sang.  I knew we were going to Austin, but I wasn't worried about how to get there because I knew my dad did and I trusted him completely.  I felt safe in his capable hands.  I didn't really know the plans, didn't really know where I was going, but just went because my daddy invited me to and I wanted to spend time with him.  

That is what God wants me to do now, so I'm pulling my car over.  I'm throwing out the keys.  I'm going to step into the passenger seat with my Heavenly Father.  I'm going to talk to Him, learn from Him, hear His stories and be ready for the adventure of a lifetime because I know and love my Daddy and know He only wants the best for me.  I'm not sure where we are going, but I trust my driver to be with me every step of the journey.  

Cardiac Masonry

Ezekiel 36:26 - I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you; I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh.

I’ve been hurt...betrayed...heartbroken.  I’ve lost people I love dearly.  I’ve taught myself that pain is not my friend.  I don’t want to feel it nor do I need to.  I don’t have to.  I can protect my heart.  I've learned that I just need some bricks to put around it. I’ll just brick around my heart.

I watched my grandfather battle cancer when I was in middle school.  I loved him so much and it tore me apart to watch him suffer...to watch my family suffer.  I started experiencing anxiety attacks, though we didn’t know that’s what it was at the time.  Pain was not my friend, I was learning, and pain was to be avoided. We lost grandpa that year and it ripped my heart from my chest.  It was a horrendous, intense pain and I was ill equipped to deal with it.  I felt my only option was to go double-time on building that brick wall.

Middle School is a nasty time in most people’s lives anyway and I'd already laid that foundation around my heart.  Every sling, every arrow just built the wall higher and thicker.  Mean girls?  BRICK.  Nasty friendships?  BRICK.  Lies, gossip, back stabbing?  BRICK, BRICK, BRICK.  It was terrible and I kept adding those bricks because I refused to let anyone hurt me.

I quietly moved onto High School and made a lot of good memories, but I was secretly on a pretty self destructive path.  Life changes so much during those years and the wall I'd built started taking on colossal proportions.  Betrayal. BRICK. Loss. BRICK. Hurt feelings. BRICK. I was well on my way to a solid life in masonry, but I started to notice that my tears were nowhere to be found.

I met Brad in college and he’s really never known me to be an emotional person.  Looking back, I can't even pinpoint when I lost my tears.  Year by year, they’ve come less and less.  I guess by now, I’ve become a master brick layer and precious little penetrates these walls.  Don't get me wrong, every once in awhile I’ll find a weakness in the barricade through silly things like commercials and YouTube videos, but it seems that in those moments where it really counts, those walls are sturdy and keep my eyes water-tight.

Lately, however, I’ve discovered a nagging problem.  My heart has gotten really heavy and it's become impossible to carry.  It’s exhausting, honestly.  Sometimes I want...no...need to cry and I've got absolutely nothing.  I've come to the terrifying revelation that a God-sized jackhammer is in order.  As Chip and Joanna like to say, "IT'S DEMO DAY" and God and I are going to have to get to work destroying this wall.

I realize it's necessary and I'll really love my new heart's open concept, but it's strangely bittersweet to consider saying goodbye to this wall that I’ve so carefully, masterfully crafted.  Ultimately, of course, my strong, sturdy wall had a fatal flaw from the beginning.  I built no drains, gutters, doors or windows.  I only left the tiniest of openings for a few people to actually get inside and hide out with me and I never wanted to let them outside.  If you worked your way out, well, have fun storming the castle because it would take a miracle for you to ever get back in.  I chose the occupants of my heart-shaped prison very carefully to ensure pain did not come my way.  If anyone hurt me inside my walls, everyone became an immediate threat.  Would they leave me?  Would they hurt me?  Should I go ahead and push them out first?  Hurt them before they could hurt me?

I recognize that it’s well past time to renovate.  I mean, these bricks are so last season and I’m in need of an update in the worst way.  It is time to tear down walls...time to see what’s inside because I don’t think I even remember what I've left there.  I know I was carefree, adventurous and fun.  Grandpa described me as “The life of the party” and I'm finally ready to rediscover that girl.  At this point I’d be happy to just want to go to the party.  Remind me who I am, Lord.

So if you see me any time soon and I look like I've spent some quality time in an intense construction zone, don’t worry about me.  Be encouraged that God is doing some mighty things in me.  Things usually look pretty messy and ugly before they look better.



Let me set the scene for you:  There is a bustle of excitement up ahead, behind, the galloping of horses and the shouts of soldiers.  All around you, a giant wall of water, seemingly ready to fall in on you at any minute.  Moses held up his staff and the Red Sea has freaking split in two.  In the Bible stories we've read as kids, the people of God just said, "Sweet!" and bee-bopped across the parted sea as if it were an everyday occurrence.  The Bible says in Exodus, "And the people of Israel went into the midst of the sea on dry ground, the waters being a wall to them on their right hand and on their left."  A wall?  Of water? How big of a wall are we talking, because I'm betting it's not just an 8 foot or 10 foot wall.  They just walked across, just like that?  Were they worrying about the water crashing down on them, because I can assure you if I was there, that's what would be going through my mind.  I can just picture my inner dialogue now.  

I'd first be looking around, calculating other route options, but realize quickly that I'd better go because the enemy was on my tail.  If I took much longer, I'd be captured and taken back...taken back as a slave.  Slavery was terrible, sure, but it was something familiar and something I understood.  Freedom sounded nice in theory, but it came with its' own set of problems.  So much uncertainty came with freedom.  At least with slavery, you knew what to expect.  You knew where you'd sleep.  You knew where your meals would come from.  With freedom, there was so much unknown.  Sure, I'd been taken care of miraculously, to this point, but how did I know that would continue to happen?  Sure, I'd seen God do miraculous works back in Egypt. Absolutely!  It did seem like He was on our side, but what if He changed His mind and I'm swallowed whole by the sea?  

But... what if I'm not?  What if I trust Him and I cross?  What an amazing story of deliverance I would have to share.  What if I believed that He had already delivered me from Pharaoh's army and will continue to keep me safe?  How would my life change if instead of worrying about the "what ifs," I believe the "what is" and the "I AM."  If I waited too long, I'd miss out on God's blessings and might fall into enemy hands due to my own hesitancy.  He was offering to rescue me, but I might wait too long.  Yes, I guarantee this is what would be going on in my head... and I wonder why I don't sleep.  

I feel like I am standing there at the giant wall of water, weighing my options.  Do I move forward into the unknown, where I've never been, where the waters are parted for me and He is waiting to take me on the adventure of a lifetime? Do I hesitate, weighing my options, seeing risks and possible dangers, thinking my slavery to fear wasn't so bad?  At least it was familiar. Just a reminder: it was that bad.  The anxiety ate you alive.  Your self doubt was crippling.  Worst of all, you had little eyes watching you, mimicking what you did.  You want more for them.  You want them to live boldly.  You would never want slavery for them, so don't choose it for yourself.  

Move forward. Take the next step.  One foot in front of the other.  You don't have to see the whole path laid out in front of you.  All you need to see is the next step. Trust The One who is guiding you!

"He won't let your foot slip, He who watches over you won't get tired." -Psalm 121:3