When it doesn't feel okay...

I have had this quote running through my head for weeks: “Everything will be okay in the end. If it’s not okay, it’s not the end.” 

If it’s not okay, IT’S NOT THE END.

I am a sucker for happy endings. I like it when the guy and girl get together. When the family is reunited. When the team wins. When the hero succeeds and the enemy is defeated.

I love it all.

Sometimes the sad ending is the realistic one—but I’ve been thinking lately, even if it’s sad, it’s not over; it’s not the end. There’s tomorrow, there’s next year, there’s another season, another chance. Even in the face of death, there’s life for those who remain.

Isn’t that the truth of God’s redemptive story for us?

We have hope—always—because it’s not the end. And when it is the end, it’s going to be good, victorious, glorious.

That’s why His hope never disappoints (Rom 5:8), why it is an anchor for our soul (Heb. 6:19)—both sure and steadfast.

The other day, I feel like the Lord reminded me that anyone who is destined for greatness must have a good story. And any good story requires an obstacle, a conflict, an unfulfilled dream.

Maybe you need to hear that today. You’re destined for greatness in God’s kingdom—and He’s writing a good story in your life.

How can we be sure?

Because God’s word is true, and He’s promised His plans for us are good—to give us a hope and a future (Jer. 29:11).

What’s your obstacle right now? Whatever it is, it’s not permanent. 

Take heart, my friend, if you’re struggling today. It’s only for a season, a chapter, a section, a volume—but it’s not forever, and it’s not the end.

"Let Us Strive to Find Rest"

I’ve been reading about rest in Hebrews 4, studying from different commentaries on this word and its meaning (which is layered). Although the writer seems to be talking about multiple meanings of rest, I’ve been mostly dwelling on this:

“So, then, there remains a Sabbath rest for the people of God, for whoever has entered God’s rest has also rested from his works as God did from his” (Hebrews 4:9-10, ESV).

If God, who needs no rest, rested, how could we not follow his lead? So, I asked myself—what does rest mean to me? What does rest look like?

Sometimes it’s being curled up on the couch with a book or watching a movie or show with Howell or sitting on our front porch, watching the barn swallows. But my favorite happy place?

This.

My dad purchased a few hundred acres of land shortly after I graduated from college about an hour away, and this place has become a little oasis for us. There’s always work to be done, something that needs to be maintained—like shredding roads, spraying mesquites or weeds, repairing fences, etc.—but then we play.

And after we play, we sit. On the porch. On the patio. On the back of a tailgate.

The stars are not veiled by city lights, and the only sounds are the crickets and the distant coyote call.

That sounds like “Sabbath rest” to me.

I’ve always loved Psalm 23—“He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul.”

The Lord does it all; I need only follow and submit my heart to His. There’s no other effort.

I actually love the way the writer of Hebrews says, “Let us therefore strive to enter that rest…” (4:11).

Let us work to rest? Let us make an effort to rest?

Seems paradoxical, but it reminds me of Jesus’s words to His disciples: the only work for you to do is believe (John 6:29).

When it’s that kind of effort toward rest, it’s an easy striving.

What about you, my friends? Are you taking time to rest? Do you have a happy place—where your heart finds peace, and your soul is restored?

It’s an effort we’re commanded to make. Let us strive to find rest this week. 

Smells like Skunk

Do you see these two? Don’t they look like angels?

Perfect angels, right?

We all remember Rizzoli’s three near-death experiences, so maybe only one of them fits that description. Unfortunately, even Charlie, “the good kid,” was on my bad list a few weeks ago when both of our dogs got sprayed by a skunk in our backyard.

IN OUR BACKYARD.

They had the creature cornered where he could not escape, and they were not deterred by the stinky smells at all. We’re convinced they got sprayed more than once at close range.

It took about four days to get the smell out of the house—and even still, I swear it lingers in a few places.

We gave the dogs 11 baths (Rizzoli, the lucky one, receiving one more bath than Charlie) with all kinds of home remedies, Pinterest suggestions, old wives tales, and vet-recommended solutions. Nothing helped with the smell—at least not on first application. We did have some success with the de-skunk shampoo the vet’s office sells, but it took three applications each.

Even now, almost two weeks later, I still smell it when Rizzoli shakes her ears, her now-shedding hair flying in the air, and I groan.

What a mess!

The timing was terrible, of course. It initially happened just before bed, on a night when we were already getting in bed late.

I fell into bed at 1:00 a.m., exhausted.

The next day we were leaving town, and I just wanted to give up, to lay down and say, “I can’t do this.”

(For the record, my hubs, as usual, was the rockstar. I think he gave 5 or 6 baths in a short span of a few hours.)

Two days later, the smell wasn’t better—for the dogs or our house. I felt so discouraged.

We’d light candles and spray aromas and bought every imaginable wall plug, but all of that only temporarily masked the smell.

Now that I’ve had some time and space from what really was an unpleasant experience at an inopportune time, I feel like the Lord has used that to speak spiritual truth to my heart.

Y’all, maybe I’ve only been masking the smell, but this has been a challenging six months. I’ve been tested to what feels like my core. My patience. My attitude. My humility. My leadership.

Even my values have been tested.

What’s more important: What God says about me or what people say? Pleasing God or pleasing man?

What’s do I value most: Being recognized, validated, defended, appreciated? Or Being a daughter, accepted and beloved?

It’s been tough, and I’ve seen my flesh on a new level.

I felt like the Lord reminded me that when I try to do this life stuff on my own, it’s like spraying Fabreeze around my house and hoping it will make the smell go away.

Funny, right? Because it’s so foolish.

Only the Holy Spirit can do the real work, the under-the-surface work, where the skunk’s poison resides, where it’s settled and seeped into pores and pockets.

I recently had someone speak a word over me, and he said that I needed to unyoke myself to the things that trouble my heart. Howell told me afterward that he immediately felt like that meant unyoking myself to other people’s opinions of me.

This isn’t new information or a new struggle—of course I shouldn’t care what others think, and I’ve known this is a habit of mine for a while.

But something about that phrase—unyoke yourself—really got my attention.

I always thought of the “do not be yoked” verses as relating to marriage or relationships. But Howell’s exactly right. I’ve yoked myself to what other people think of me rather than yoking myself to the Lord and letting His opinion rule.

If there’s a spiritual smell to being yoked to others’ opinions, I guarantee it’s worse than a skunk.

What about you, friends? Do you struggle with performing, pleasing, striving?

I understand completely! Let’s let Holy do a major detox in our hearts today. 

Rain That Refreshes, Renews

Sheets of rain are pouring down as I work on this blog post, and I’m thinking about the expression, “When it rains, it pours.” 

I’ve felt that way a little these last few weeks as I’ve recently had a lot of busyness, uncertainty, and ever-growing ‘to do’ lists. 

  

But rain can also be refreshing: the ground soaks in the moisture while thirsty crops catch drops of water on glistening, bright green leaves.   

 For me, the rhythm outside my window calms me, and I’m renewed, revived. 

Peace. 

Be still. 

Peace.

I’m in your midst. 

I hear His words in the beat of the drops on my windowsill. 

And after the rain stops, after the stormy clouds and unpredictable precipitation recede, He washes me clean again; he restores my soul. 

Sometimes I wonder why I ever stress at all. When it’s all said and done, He’s always taken care of me. He’s never let me fall. 

I breathe in fresh, clean air. Don’t you love the smell of rain? 

I breathe in more of His Spirit, His grace, His strength. 

The joy of the Lord is my strength.

His grace is sufficient for me.

Friends, if you’ve been near me these last four weeks, I’ve been a hot mess. But today, it’s as if the Lord hit the reset button with all this rain, and I get to resurface with a renewed purpose and joy. 

If you need to be renewed, I pray the Lord would rain sweet drops of grace and mercy over your soul today.

Training for our minds!

In a sermon once, I heard about a study where they put mice in a tank with water. For the first group, most of the mice showed signs of giving up after treading water for seven hours. But for the second group, the scientists took the mice out and gave them a break around 5 or 6 hours. That group—those mice—swam three times longer.

Why? Because they found hope. A glimmer of light. A breath of fresh air. A brief moment of freedom. And it was enough to push them forward.

Our mind is a powerful thing. I was thinking about this yesterday when I kinda felt like dying during my first experience with a core and strengthening yoga-ish class. If I listened to the music or thought about something else, the 60 seconds of [insert painful move here] didn't seem so bad. But if, at the 30 second mark, I heard the instructor say, "halfway done!", and I started counting 30 seconds in my head—each second seemed more difficult than the one before. 

I wasn't treading water in the core and strengthening class, and it wasn't for 6 or 7 hours, but it felt a little like that. As sharp pains are pulsating through my thighs, and my abs feel like they are about to explode out of my stomach, and I'm aching in places I didn't know I could ache. And if I could just. not. think about it, I could survive. But when I really thought about it... well, I felt like giving up. Sometimes that's what waiting fells like. Mind over matter: it's not just a thing people say; it's so very true.  

In that process, though, the Lord really spoke to my heart. When we fixate on the pain in our lives, it only feels more painful. Dwelling on negative feelings—especially in our mind—is a dangerous indulgence. This is why we’re told to renew our minds daily (Romans 12:2) and to fix our eyes on Jesus (Hebrews 12:2).

Why? Because Jesus is our hope—and hope is more powerful than anything.

Paul tells us in 2 Corinthian 10:3-6 that this battle we war is not in the flesh. So where is the battle? It’s in our mind.

He has already previously told us in 1 Corinthians 2 that we have the mind of Christ, through His spirit, which is given to us. For that reason, Paul can later say we have the weapons we need to put down strongholds, cast down arguments and every high thing that exalts itself against the knowledge of God—bringing every. thought. captive.

This is no easy thing. It requires practice. And discipline.My mind is highly, highly analytical and logical. Although I know that comes in handy for solving problems or being a scholar, sometimes I wish it weren’t so. I wish I could be carefree and laid back and just ignore the uncertainty or not allow myself to think about the unknown; that, instead, it would just literally “not cross my mind.”

But, for me, that isn’t the case. It’s a matter of my mind, my will, my emotions—each has to be surrendered daily, hourly, every second if I’m going to fixate on Jesus instead.

On my mirror, I have God’s 10 promises to me. And I read them daily, even when my mind, my will, and my emotions say otherwise.

That’s our battle. Maybe it’s cliché, and certainly I agree and know from experience that it’s easier said than done. James 3 talks about the power of the tongue—but I think the mind is doubly so, for it controls both what we speak and what we think: the thoughts we dwell on, our anxiety and worry, our fear and insecurity. It all starts in the mind.

Practice today fixing your eyes on Jesus—our savior, our healer, our defender—our hope. Your circumstance may not change. Your pain may still be there. But when we change our perspective to His, it changes everything. 

Having Faith in "The Gap"

I believe last December was the first time I ever publicly blogged about our journey with trying to get pregnant, and while I don't explicitly blog or post about it often since then, I do talk about it a lot more because that experience for me was--in a word--freeing. I received text messages and fb messages from people I had no idea were on the same journey (or had been on the same journey) as me, and what I realized is that this is something people don't talk about much. But when you're in the midst of it, you need people to talk about it. And you need people to talk to about it.

So, here I go again... Yesterday, our pastor at Harvest preached on faith in "the gap"--that is, having faith for the time between when God says something will happen and when it actually happens. And he said something that really caught my attention--if you're disappointed in the gap, then your faith is not in God. God does not disappoint. Isn't that what His word tells us? That He is faithful; that He never leaves; that His hope does. not. disappoint. 

I was floored by that. I keep thinking about how all week I've been so discouraged. In fact, my last journal entry started like this: "I should be hopeful... but instead, I feel burned out and discouraged. Why can't I just be a normal person who gets pregnant the way normal people do?"

Do I know about "the gap"? Sure, I do. I've been in it for two years now. Every day I pray for hope renewed. Why is it harder this month? 

I started to do something I'm not sure I've ever done during a sermon (yeah, during worship, but a sermon?). I started to cry. And not like little, cute, lady-like tears. Fortunately, Brad was almost done and was inviting people down to prayer, like every Sunday. And I am one of those prideful people who doesn't like to go down for that--I'll just pray on my own, thanks. 

But as soon as the service was over, Hal pulled my arm--we need to go. My sweet husband who has seen it all in these last two years and who knows what I need better than I do sometimes and who loves me and lets me be just me. Tears spilling over, Kleenex in hand--I couldn't even talk. Hal gave the short version, and the couple started to pray for us. My tears were quickly full sobs. I couldn't believe it; I was sobbing in church.

"Just trust God." "Just keep trusting God." "Wait on His timing." "His timing will be perfect." Oh, the things people say. Really? Just trust God? Oh, okay. I hadn't thought of that. I'll start now. Why do comments like that irritate me so much? I know people mean well...and so I braced myself for grace, in expectation, as the couple began to pray. 

But the couple who prayed over us was different. She didn't pray any of those things--and she didn't even pray for us to get pregnant. She prayed for my heart. She prayed for my disappointment. She prayed for hope. She prayed for everything I needed to hear. 

Afterward, her husband spoke a word over Hal--over his father's heart. And then they prayed for us again--as parents. 

Today is a new day. I cling to Lamentations 3--that because of His great mercy, we are not consumed. Sometimes I feel consumed. But in His great mercy, He saves me. Again and again and again. 

Yesterday, Brad said that faith is not imparted; it's implanted. I choose to keep my heart soil fertile, to let His word nourish deep, to heal the disappointment, to renew hope. I choose, and I know this.

I have learned to trust in His goodness, to breathe deeply in His peace--that I can trust Him because He is good, and I say it to myself over and over: He is good. Again. He is good. Again. He is good--and I can trust Him.  

Lessons from David

I feel like sometimes we read the psalms of David, and we think his hope and his faith in the Lord strong and secure—and yet, I think we miss the glimpse of his human nature: his doubt, his fear, his hopelessness. What David did so well to overcome those feelings is to speak truth despite how he felt. He declared the work of the Lord; He spoke of what he knew was good and true, even if it didn't line up with his circumstances or his emotions at that moment.

In Psalm 13, he begins by crying out to the Lord. These are not verses of hope or faith or trust. These are verses of honesty, of raw vulnerability before the Lord, of the truth condition of his heart, his flesh, his soul—every human component of his being. He writes, “How long, O Lord, will you forget me? How long will you hide your face from me? How long shall I take counsel in my soul, having sorrow in my heart daily? How long will my enemies be exalted over me?”

Those questions reveal his despair, his anger, his doubt, his fear. And yet, David does what he always does: he changes his attitude by declaring in faith, by changing his perspective. He ends the Psalm with a “But”: “But I have trusted in your mercy. My heart shall rejoice in your salvation. I will sing to the Lord because he has dealt bountifully with me.”

Did David’s circumstances change between verses 1 – 4 and verses 5 – 6? Likely not. Most likely, nothing in his physical circumstances changed. But when he writes “But,” when he shifts, something takes place in the spiritual. David learned this valuable lesson in prayer. I think we read the Psalms and are encouraged by the declarations of faith and God’s promises because David prayed in faith. He prayed despite what he saw and felt.

But what we miss is that he did see and feel the natural circumstances he faced. We don’t know how long he suffered in hopelessness before writing these psalms of declaration. That’s why I love Psalm 13. I feel a real connection to David’s words and to his courage to write them. I imagine him standing and yelling at the Lord as he writes them.

They resonate within me because they are truth conditioned to how my own flesh feels sometimes: overwhelmed, hopeless, forgotten. But may I learn an important lesson from David—to not stop there. He felt all his emotions. But he always knew how to encourage his soul, how to declare God’s truth in faith. He knew how to change his current attitude by changing his perspective from the natural to the spiritual. His circumstances may not have changed, but he knew how to stand in faith for the things he believed God would do, based on the things He had done in the past.

We are encouraged by David’s psalms because of the promises he declares, but may we also see the patterns of his prayer and take a lesson from his faith walk. He didn't deny his circumstances. He didn't deny his flesh or his feelings. He didn't hide his heart from God – ever. But he did declare God’s truth and His word.

I imagine he often didn't feel like it. I imagine it felt forced sometimes, maybe even fake—and yet, he declared it, and each time he did, God moved. Something in the spiritual changed; something in David’s heart changed—even if his circumstances never changed. Still he declared again and again: the Lord is good, the Lord is faithful, the Lord will rescue me, the Lord will comfort and bless me. Still he declared: I will wait, I will trust, I will hope.

And so, today, so do I. 

God is Near

At the end of Deuteronomy (31:6, 8), Moses gives a word to the people of Israel and then to Joshua personally:

• "Be strong and of good courage, do not fear nor be afraid of them; for the Lord your God He is one who goes with you. He will not leave you nor forsake you." 
• "Be strong and of good courage....And the Lord, He is the one who goes before you. He will be with you. He will not leave you nor forsake you; do not fear nor be dismayed." 

Then at the beginning of the book of Joshua, God again directly gives this word to Joshua as he steps into Moses' position: 

• "As I was with Moses, so I will be with you. I will not leave you nor forsake you." 

The phrase "I will never leave you nor forsake you" is referenced again in Hebrews 13:5, and it serves as a comfort and a reminder of another one of God's attributes: His nearness. He is always near. He is with us. His nearness is, to me, an endearing attribute. And yet, how often do I forget that He is with me? At times of major crises, this attribute is, of course, the one we cling to most. But for the every day, the mundane, the day in and day out? At the end of John, Jesus tells his disciples He is sending the Holy Spirit, who will be their helper. Literally, this means One who walks with or walks beside. 

This week has been a crazy week for me. Sometimes I let life pile higher and higher until I'm overwhelmed, and this week has been one of those weeks where I over-commit myself and promise too much to too many. By the end of the week, I'm running on empty, and I'm thinking, how did I get here? 

The Lord gave me a picture as if I were putting a piece of furniture together by myself, and I needed to hold the two ends "just so" while I drilled. I can't hold two pieces and drill at the same time. Imagine, though, that someone is sitting next to me as I squirm and wiggle trying to hold the pieces "just so" while I drill. It seems foolish, right? Why wouldn't I just say, "Hey, can you help me out here?" 

Now, that's just one project--maybe a once-in-a-while kinda thing. But imagine if I were putting furniture together for a living. Day in and out, I'm squirming and wiggling and frustrated trying to balance everything "just so" while my partner, my helper sits there next to me, twiddling his thumbs. 

It's a silly picture, but visually it really resonates within me--as someone who has put together a lot of furniture over the years and as someone who doesn't do very well letting others (a.k.a. Hal) help me as I do it. 

It's no less foolish to live like I have this week, trying to juggle it all. I've been forgetful (for three days in a row, I ran out of the house in such a hurry I forgot to set meat out to thaw for dinner), I've been late to every appointment or meeting I've had (which, if you know me, is very unlike me!) because I'm always on the rush, from here to there, trying to get one more thing in, and I've been exhausted. I got so run-down from staying up til 1 a.m. trying to "get it all done," that by Wednesday, I was sick. This always happens to me, too... I let myself get so worn down that I just end up sick. 

And at the end of the week, my Helper gently says, "You know, if you'd like, I can hold those two boards while you drill." 

The point is God is always near. It's not only an inherent attribute, it's His promise too: I will never leave you nor forsake you. And we have the Holy Spirit to help us, to walk alongside us. He's more than a fire fighter or a disaster relief aide. He is there for the every day to empower us. 

This week is over - and I'm so thankful. Because of this week, I got to be reminded of God's most endearing attribute, that He is near. But next week, I want to live by that truth and walk, instead, with the empowerment of the One who walks alongside me. 

Hanging on

It has been over a month since I last posted. And I don't think I have the words to describe the up-and-down of the last month.

Have you ever been tested, to the core of you? And you REALLY believed God for something...and you prayed and trusted and waited and prayed... And then, it didn't happen. The thing you truly needed. What you believed God would work out and take care of--He didn't. Ever been that disappointed? At first, I think I was stuck. I couldn't believe that God really hadn't answered my prayer. I'd been so sure He would. And of course, I'm surrounded by the "right answers" for the appropriate situation-- God knows best, God works all things for our good, He has the bigger picture in mind, He is sovereign, etc.

Deep down, of course, I believe all this. His goodness and faithfulness are at the core of my foundation. They are what keep me trusting. Yesterday, I feel like Hal and I traded one trial for another. God sort of answered our prayer, but only to raise another problem.

I don't know what God is doing, and I don't see the bigger picture. But every morning, for the last 6 weeks, I've continued to run to Him. I take all my pain, my confusion, my doubt, and my frustration--and I lay it at His feet. I know that we are weary, but I hold onto the promises He gave me almost 10 years ago: "Do not grow weary in doing good, for at the right time, you will reap a harvest, if you do not give up" (Galatians 6:9) and "In this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while, if need be, you have been grieved by various trials, that the genuineness of your faith, being much more precious than gold that perishes, though it is tested by fire, may be found to praise, honor, and glory at the revelation of Jesus Christ" (1 Peter 1:6-7).