Flying

Flying gives me perspective. As the plane ascends, second by second, the hustle and bustle of city streets begins to go unnoticed and the traffic looks like a parade of ants. The earth and everything on it looks fake, like I could crush it with my foot. We tend to feel so big, so attached and connected to our own small world that we've made for ourselves as we stand with two feet on the ground. But in the air, you grasp how small we really are. From up here everything looks peaceful...everything looks quiet and still. We are like a grain of sand in the grand scheme of things-

-and yet-

He knows us.

And not just knows that we are here, that we exist, but He knows us. And not only that, but He cares. And He LIKES caring. It's funny, as the plane begins to descend, everything below seems to move more quickly again. Objects appear large once more and the chaos sets in. Although we now feel big again, we know we are but small specks here, with our own tiny worlds amongst a billion other tiny worlds. We go from land to sky, sky to land...from feeling big to feeling small, small to big. And still He knows us. He cares and knows us, all the same.

Fully Both.

He weighed most likely an average of 7 or 8 pounds. The straw from his bed poked his newly exposed skin and it was probably a bit itchy. I’m sure the well-known “silent night” wasn’t so silent, as the entrance of a new little one into this world is never a quiet matter. My guess is that he probably fell down and skinned his knee a time or two. He felt the effects of the heat of the sun on his body and sweat dripping from his brow after a long day of work. He knew fatigue and weariness. I picture him seated around a fire with people he loved, enjoying the conversation and the evening breeze that chills the air and relentlessly rolls through the middle of the small gathering of friends.

…if only the breeze knew the essence of the air which it now carried...

There were times when he reached out to others, but ended up being disappointed in the end. He experienced loss and rejection, probably more than we could ever imagine. At times he was so excited to spend the day with others, but he also treasured his alone time. He needed community, but he also needed the quiet tone of the wilderness. This guy loved a good party. I see him dancing until his feet hurt, singing at the top of his lungs, feasting on delicious food and drinks, all the while laughing from the deepest parts of him. But anger wasn’t a foreign emotion, and he, too, felt the passion rising from his belly in the midst of heated circumstances. He was humiliated more than you or I ever will be. He felt the weight of temptation that was trying to crush him. Sadness was heavy at moments, and the feelings that the tears encompassed often seemed unbearable. He knew joy, and he knew the feeling of wanting to flee. He took on physical pain. He understood emotional and spiritual heartache.

But he also knew love like no human on this earth will ever be able to fully grasp in a lifetime.

Because He was love. Love WAS this man. Love IS this man.

Without this holy night, this perfect act of love and devotion, the details of our lives really wouldn’t matter at all. Our feelings would just be weird emotions making us feel distant from our Creator. In reality, they do not separate me from my Father, but instead, they draw me closer in relation to Him, because He understands, relates, and knows.

I’ve heard it….over and over again. But lately, the incarnation has become rhema to me (in other words, the Holy Spirit has caused it to stand out with significant meaning).

Y’all, he was FULLY human. And FULLY God. I know, it’s a crazy thing to try to grasp and I don’t think we ever will here on earth. But if you ask me, that’s probably one of the most comforting and encouraging words of truth that there could ever be. 

I am an artist.

Today is one of those days when I have to write. I have to. I'm realizing more and more that it makes me feel alive and closer to what I've been created to do.

I am an artist.

Even typing those words brought on a little bit of fear. The Lord has been trying to tell me I am an artist for a really long time, but somewhere in the past 20 or so years, I have let fear suppress the creative in me, the artist in me, and for so so long she has been dying to be let out.

I recently stumbled across a picture of myself at the age of 2 or 3 years old. I had a sheet draped over me, paintbrush in hand, sitting in front of an easel. My grandmother and her friend were overlooking in the background. My painting appeared to be a rainbow, full of vibrant color.

I've always heard how I used to sing constantly, even when I was a tiny child. As soon as I could talk, I was singing, and on key, too. I loved singing and music, even then. I played the piano for 6 years and then quit. And I will say that I was good at it.

When I was very young I loved to dance around the house on my tip-toes. My parents always tell me that they called me "Happy Feet." I took dance lessons as a little girl, and I will admit that I was good at that, too. And yes, again, I quit.

It might be hard to imagine at this point in my life, but as a little girl, I was sassy, prissy, stubborn and strong-willed, and if my parents had the camera out, I wanted to be in front of it, my bossy self ordering my little brother to cooperate.

Fear is the greatest enemy of creativity, and I have had a lot of fear in my life.

I've had so many expectations and misconceptions about art and about what it looks like to be a creative. My perfectionism likes to stick around sometimes.

What I love to do, the way I look at people and the world, the way things move me - all of it points to the fact that I am an artist. And I think the Father has been trying to give me hints for a while now.

The thing I have always been so fearful of in school and HATED to do, is write. Being forced to write something over the years just left a bad taste in my mouth. I would freeze up, staring at my paper or computer for what seemed to be hours at times. It's funny, the very thing that I thought I was the worst at, is the very thing the Father is calling me to press into more and more, even when it doesn't look pretty, poetic, or eloquent. I've been believing the lie that I'm not good at it, when in fact, it's just the opposite, and it's the way that I best express myself and my thoughts.

Some days I have no idea what to write about, and He is telling me to write anyway. Other days, and today is one of them, I have about 20 different ideas that are at war with one another trying to be the first one to the tip of the pen.

But today this thought won:

I am an artist. 

And I love to write. 

I needed the world (more like whoever is choosing to read this) to know this. Because it's part of me embracing who the Creator has created me to be. I would like for everyone to think that I have known and have been walking in my God-given identity, but the truth is, somewhere along the years I lost sight of it. And even typing that leads to such vulnerability that is scares the hell out of me. Literally. Because letting it out, in my mind, means that there will now be expectations. I have no clue what this is going to look like. This is just the start.

Baby steps.

It's about obedience.

It's just one small way I'm choosing to step out of fear and into faith.

...even hitting this "publish" button in about 5 seconds is a step.

He doesn't let go.

I woke up one morning and felt like my “fire” was gone. It literally seemed as if it happened overnight. Like a brick wall just dropped itself in front of me. Like a switch was flipped and I didn’t know how or why. Where was my hunger and my thirst and my passion? I couldn’t read, write, journal, or even fellowship the way I used to just days before. It continued for weeks, this “funk” that I felt like I was stuck in. Deep down I know I did, but there were so many times when I didn’t want Him. But I wanted to want Him. I wasn’t desperate, but I wanted to be desperate. To feel desperate. 

I’m not good at faking it, nor do I want to be, so when a friend of mine, seeing through my held together outward appearance, genuinely asked, “Ash, how are you?”

I quickly changed the typical “I’m good” answer to “actually, I don’t know why I said that….I’ve been feeling pretty shitty lately.”

I needed that moment- to be open and honest and real and vulnerable. This was more important than class. I admitted to feeling distant from the Spirit, not because He left, but I did, in a way. I realized that desires of my flesh and of my sinful nature started to bombard me, and when they did, I panicked, therefore backing away from the Spirit because I felt unworthy. The girl that had been on a “high” for so long (even in rough circumstances) was now at a “low,” and it was scary. I felt like all eyes were on me…almost like it wasn’t okay that I was weak- that I was struggling. My fear of failure, which still likes to lurk around sometimes…okay, actually often, put a barrier between me and my Father because, subconsciously, I didn’t want to approach Him with the truth about what I was feeling and experiencing (even thought He knew it anyway.) I dug a little in the caverns of my heart to discover what I was mad about, sad about, afraid of. I knew that I knew that I knew that Christ is true satisfaction and the answer to everything, but I was tired and weary and quite frankly, I just didn’t’ want Him. My Spirit was willing but my flesh and soul were weak. Because I’m human. There was a war going on, pulling on me from opposite sides.

….and then my brother's accident happened. Life was put on pause and I went into survival mode. Nothing else in the world mattered for those two weeks. It’s as if everything I was dealing with internally was put on hold, some of which became kind of vague…or maybe things where just put into perspective. I think I was finally starting to see with Kingdom eyes again.

….all of this to bring me to a subject so near to my heart: Ireland.

Two weeks after my brother’s accident, I boarded a plane with my best friend to embark on a journey that, even now, two months later, still feels like a dream that sparked in me more passion, love, and purpose like I never imagined it would. 

...to be continued.

April 29, 2013

It’s been 3 months, today. April 29, 2013 is a day I could never forget.

You are never prepared for that type of phone call. You can’t ever be. Bad timing, but perfect, because I got the call the second I left work and pulled out on the busy street only to have to pull right back over to keep from wrecking. All I knew was that my brother had accidentally shot himself with his pistol. In the face. And that he was “okay.” But what does that even mean?! Apparently Thomas talked to Dad on the phone when he got to the ER and told him what happened. I had to get to the hospital. Everything else I had to do that day was soon forgotten. I ran through the puddles in the ER parking lot, shaking and trembling. My aunt, grandmother, and cousin were the only ones there, except Dad in the room with Thomas. I had to find the bathroom, but couldn’t manage to take the time to do that, so I turned to go back to the waiting room, and Mom comes running in, passing right by everyone in the process. I followed them into a room where the officers and detective were talking to Dad. I didn’t know whether to sit or stand. I don’t remember much, but I do know and will always remember the female officer grabbing my mama’s hands in hers and making her look her in the eyes.
She said, “Mrs. Meadows, he is going to be fine. He was talking. He was asking us to pray for him. The Lord was with him before this just like he is with him now and will continue to be. The Lord has him, Mrs. Meadows, he is going to be fine.”
Those same three officers gathered with us in that room and asked if they could pray with and for us. And I’m not just talking some dinner time prayer—I mean they PRAYED, stopped everything, circled up and held our hands, and focused our attention back on truth.
They said, “this is just what we do. We are praying officers.”
Just another one of His blessings to us in the midst of the chaos. Meanwhile, back in the waiting area, we had a whole separate room that was soon flooded with friends and family. The hospital decided that the weather was too bad for them to life flight Thomas to Savannah, so they were preparing him for an ambulance transport instead. I wanted to go back and see him before they left, even though he was sedated. Mom told me he could possibly hear us, so not to say anything that would upset him. I’m telling you, you can’t prepare for something like that. There my brother was, lying helpless and unable to see or talk to me, and all I wanted to do was crawl onto that stretcher, bloody and all, and wrap my arms around him and tell him that everything was going to be okay. But I couldn’t. In case he could hear me, I told him I was there. And that I love him. I don’t remember what I said, but as the EMTs were preparing him for transport, I started to pray, and to speak peace over the situation and his spirit. That’s all I knew to do. I walked out the door where he couldn’t hear me and fell into my cousin and uncle’s arms. I lost it. The weeping that had been held back since the phone call rushed forth with a vengeance. That was my brother in there with bullet wounds in his face and head. Will I get to talk to him again? Will I see him smile, hear him laugh? He can pester me all he wants, I don’t care, I just need my brother to come back to me. Is he afraid and scared? Does he know what’s going on?
All I kept saying is, “I just don’t want him to be scared, oh please, Lord, just don’t let him be afraid. Minister to his spirit, even now.”
Two close friends drove us in our car to Memorial Hospital in Savannah shortly after the ambulance left. That drive seemed to take eternity, and it was hard enough, but I can’t imagine what it would have been like if Dad had not heard Thomas talk. That gave us hope, because he sounded normal. But what was going on internally in his body, we had no clue. Thanks to technology, word spread like wildfire and prayers were going out everywhere, even in other countries. Once at the hospital, it was a hectic rush to try to find out any information we could on my brother…if he had arrived, where he was, if the transport went smoothly, and if he was stable. We just needed SOMEONE to tell us he was stable. Please. Because he was a gunshot victim, even though there was no crime involved, it’s policy that he have a code name, so that was rather annoying just trying to figure out “who” he was. More family and friends started to arrive to give us support and to be our hands and feet and everything else while we were temporarily shut down. Finally, we did get news that he was stable and the first evaluation looked really good. But they still needed to run all of the scans to determine what needed to be done internally. Needing to step away for a minute, I took Joshua over to the side and we sat down in front of the doors to the NICU. I wanted to see how he was holding up.
My heart ripped open when he asked me, “Who’s going to take me hunting now?”

“Buddy, Thomas is! He is going to be okay,” I was trying to reassure him, but not fully knowing myself if that was true.

“But what if he isn’t….” he said. I just hugged him.

More time passed, and the doctor finally came through the double doors. I was trying to read his face and demeanor.
“Everything looks really good….he was really lucky, he may not even need surgery.”
WHAT?! Excuse me?! Were we hearing correctly? He told us that the bullet made a clean path through his right cheek and out his left sideburn. There were no remnants to be found. There was some bruising to part of his brain from where the bullet bounced off his temporal bone, but it literally missed EVERYTHING vital. His eyes, ears, jaw, teeth, and brain. We couldn’t believe it. How?! I can’t tell you how much relief and happiness we were feeling in that moment. Tears, laughter, and hugs where spread around. We took up half of that lobby and circled up to give thanks to the Lord for an amazing and unbelievable report. But it wasn’t all a breeze from there, though….that night I didn’t sleep. The next 72 hours would still be critical as they were monitoring his brain and swelling. Thankfully, we were able to stay in a tiny room they had available for families in NICU. Amazingly, Thomas was able to come off the ventilator the day after the accident, and we couldn’t have been happier, and we know he was too, as I’m sure it was the most frustrating thing trying to communicate with a tube down his throat. I was thankful he didn’t have to write and spell on his leg anymore. As the week went on, they kept moving him “down” in rooms, in accordance with the seriousness of his condition. We continued to shed tears, to laugh, to give thanks, to talk things out, and to just listen. A lot of it is blurry to Thomas, but we did get to enjoy listening to him crack jokes and ramble on and on to us and the nurses throughout the week with the help of pain killers he was taking. I’m so glad we could laugh at that. He did have to undergo some sinus surgery, which was the worst part of the whole thing. It tore me up to see him in that much pain. Finally, after a long, emotional, and exhausting week living in the Savannah hospital, Thomas was released. And again, we were thankful.

I know that was long, but all of that being said, I need to say a few more things:

One.

I know I kept saying it throughout the week, and I wrote a later Facebook post about it and so did my mama, but I need to talk about it again.

God is good.

But not because he spared my brother’s life. He’s good because….IT’S JUST WHO HE IS! And His ways are higher. If my brother’s time here on earth HAD ended, I think I would have struggled and battled with actually declaring that truth. But I know that I know that I know He is. No matter what. I don’t know why I had siblings that died before they could even take their first breath. I don’t know why I’ve had to watch my friends lose their brothers and sisters before their time. I don’t know why God spared my brother’s life, except that He chose to. All of our days are numbered, and Thomas’ had not come to their completion. A lot of people think the bullet went through his cheeks, or took a less serious path, so to speak, but when someone would walk into his hospital room and actually look at him lying there, completely unaltered (except for his sinuses), and actually see the bullet entry and exit wound on opposite sides of his head, they would often just cry, or become speechless, etc. He is just simply supposed to still be here. And I am so glad and happy and thankful. It’s crazy to think of the countless scenarios that could have taken place, but seriously, there was just blessing after blessing after blessing. Thomas was coherent and conscious up until sedation, and was not affected by the immense blood loss at the scene. The girl that was with Thomas at the time couldn’t be more sweet and precious, along with her family. She was not harmed, and neither was anyone else. The bullet made the “perfect” path, with the “right” velocity at the “best” distance. The doctors were wonderful, and his ENT surgeon is a believer and follower of our Lord. Every time we got a report or update, it was always positive. All of this is just because the Lord is sovereign and He knows and we just get to be humbled and stand or fall on our faces in awe of who He is.
Like my mama said, “It’s just so simple yet so profound.”

Two.

The Body of Christ is essential, necessary, and absolutely beautiful.

The number of servant-hearted people who were there for us that week was amazing. Hands, feet, warm bodies and hearts came to sit, talk, listen, cry, bring us food, coffee, offer beds and showers and houses, cleaned our home, fixed and cleaned my brother’s truck from the accident, and most importantly, PRAYED and entered into the battle with us. The second night, the day after it happened, my body and emotions just collapsed. Something triggered it, and all of my emotion seemed to sit on my chest to the point of hyperventilation and some sort of panic attack. I’ve never experienced anything like it. My body and tears and breath were out of control. I couldn’t speak and had no idea who was even around me. I think it all just finally got to me, and anger that I didn’t know was there surfaced and exhaustion was taking it’s toll. Right or wrong, I realized I was feeling and taking on things for my brother that he would soon be facing. I hadn’t truly cried and felt, yet, until that moment. After about an hour of Daddy physically holding me up outside the hospital and trying to get me to speak, my body calmed. Three of my amazing friends who drove up that night came to sit on the floor with me in the empty lobby. They just held me. One on each arm and another at my shoulders behind me. That is what I needed. The Body, holding me, whispering life and truth into my ears and over my mind and body and spirit. They were just THERE, seeing me at my very, very worst and loving me selflessly through it. That is love. That is what I will never ever forget. People stopping their lives for a little while to encourage and support and to give of themselves.

Three.

Relationship matters. And I really love my brother.

I literally sat in a hospital and did nothing for a week. And although I was more than ready to leave, I didn’t want to be anywhere else. If I lost my job, or if my professors wouldn’t let me make up finals (which I really wasn’t concerned about happening) then oh well. It’s something I always remember my mom saying growing up when Thomas and I would fight….”you are really going to be sad if for some reason one day something happens to your brother/sister and he/she isn’t here anymore.” And yes, I always knew I would be and couldn’t imagine life without my brother, but I never thought I would come so close to that feeling so soon. Nothing else mattered in that moment of seeing my brother lying on the stretcher hooked to tubes and covered in his own blood. It’s real. It’s life. It’s not always sugar and roses. My heart swelled up with love that I didn’t know was so deep. (I can’t imagine how it’s going to be with my own kids someday….). Perspective shifts and priorities seem to fall back into alignment in an instant. Crazy how that works…..

I hated the circumstances, but I treasure the moments I got to just sit there, holding my brother’s hand. I wanted to hear his heart, his fears, his thoughts, and to just be there. I was honored to cut up his food, to change his cold cloths, to swab his mouth, to clean his nose, and change his bandage (which I felt I could do a lot more gently than some of those dang nurses). But why does it take something like this crisis to make me WANT to do these things? I want this to be my first reaction, my first thought, my normal, everyday responses…..because you never know what the next second holds. I know we always say that, but it’s true. We. Don’t. Know. And we can’t control it. So what are my last words to the people I love when I hang up the phone? What’s the condition of my heart towards them when I walk out the door? What have I held back or let out that I regret when I lay my head down at night? Don’t waste time. There isn’t much of it, really, in the scheme of things. It’s short. It’s fragile. It’s precious. But there is still plenty to enjoy…plenty of time to tell those people you love them, to speak life instead of death, to really listen, to share your heart, to give a kiss or a hug or a smile, to serve them just because you can, to forget about yourself for just a minute and see what truly matters in life. Relationship. People. Love. Everything else can wait. I’ll admit, I’m far from perfect and I find myself screwing up daily, but it changed me. Being on the brink of my brother’s possible death drew me out of a funk I felt I was stuck in, and pointed me back to the Sovereign One and to His great love and power and involvement in every detail of our days. 

Frou Frou Said It Well

It's been about 4 months since I last posted, and that's a bit too long in my opinion. I've been meaning to write, or at least journal, but I haven't even done that lately. It's weird, I usually let all of the thoughts, words, revelations, etc. build up and then I try to get everything out at once. I'm not sure I like that. One of my best friends just told me that I do my best work when things build up....HA....maybe she's right, but I don't know. 

So here's my attempt to just let the thoughts flow....because I need to get them out so I can see them. This might be rough....but I like rough and raw. Because it's real.

I'm living at home...with my family, once again. How I got here, I don't know the answer. The Lord just said, "Go." The desire that was His quickly became mine. Has my return to St. Simons Island been what I expected? Nope, not in the least bit. Then again, when is life ever what I expect it to be? 

I think that's what makes it beautiful.....

When someone makes a comment about a beautiful day, I believe most of us automatically turn our attention to the window in expectation of a crystal blue sky and golden sun.....sunny with a high of 75. It's comfortable. 

But what about the day it rains? Or the week? Or when every summer afternoon has a forecast of showers? What then? Do we comment on it's beauty?

The rain isn't comfortable. It makes things difficult. Your feet get wet trying to jump over puddles, you can't see through your windshield, your hair gets frizzy, and most of the time, you just don't want to get out of bed. 

.....but there's something beautiful about the rain. 

Some really great memories came from water falling out of the sky. My first kiss was in the rain. There's just something about spontaneous dancing in downpours that makes me joyful. Rain makes mud, which makes Ultimate games more fun. What I thought would ruin my skydiving experience actually made it more breathtakingly wonderful--I was surrounded by lightening and rainbows. 

Hurricanes often make for the best surfing waves.....

So here I've found myself standing in the middle of this proverbial downpour. My hair is dripping. My make up is smeared so my eyes are now black. I can't differentiate between the raindrops and the tears. There's no point in wiping them away because I just get more soaked. I feel broken in every way. I can't breathe. I'm tired of this familiar drenching.....

I didn't expect this much rain in one day...or even in a couple months period. It can be overwhelming...physically, emotionally, spiritually, relationally. It's confusing when the weatherman predicts a sunny forecast and then you walk out your front door and it's gray....or wet....or cold. It's confusing when there's confirmation in your spirit but reality is telling you something different. 

So what do you do in these times? I've found that you keep dancing. You embrace the rain. Yeah, you can be angry that your sunny-day plans our now hindered by the cloudy skies, but you accept what it is, and continue to hope and wait in eager expectation for the brighter days to come. 

The rain keeps me humble. It protects me from getting too sunburnt and keeps me coming back to the Weatherman for an update and forecast. Personally, I don't think I would depend on him so much if it were constantly sunny. Rain washes away dirt, debris, and prepares the earth for sun again. It makes the grass greener and the flowers bloom. So why is it again that we are so opposed to rain?........

At one time in my life, I did drown in those waves that the rain produced. Once you're at the point of taking in that much water, much resuscitation is needed. But, I do think it was drowning that helped me learn how to swim in the waves. Yeah, I've fallen as a result of some shakiness recently, but you know what? I didn't drown. Each time I get up more quickly. That's growth. It's encouraging to hear others confirm my growth, especially when I'm not aware of the extent of it myself. It's amazing to finally be able to see beyond the circumstances....to see that the rain is producing so much rich soil in me that I wouldn't believe it if I really saw it right now. To have a whole new perspective....it changes things. 

So....there's beauty in the rainy season---because it's producing roots that go deep, making me unmovable and unshakable. It's beautiful because it's real and rough and raw and exposing. It's beautiful because it's potential protection from possible disaster, and simply because His timing is perfect in every way. It's beautiful because, "unbeknownst to my hopelessness, God is stirring." So let me count this as joy.

It's beautiful because I'm learning how to play in the mud. 

"I'm a mess."

He told me, "messes can be beautiful."

There's beauty in the breakdown.

november 10

Sitting on the porch in the North Georgia mountains, trying to write, trying to hear, trying to pray, almost feeling guilty for not. I want to make it happen. Nothing is coming. Finally, after battling the thoughts, I decide to just sit. Just be. And it’s okay.  Just be in the presence of my Lover. No need for words, no need for force. Just relax, sink into the warmth of the blanket and breathe in the cold air that chills the tip of my nose. It’s a clear night, moonlight shining through the bare tree branches, making silhouettes against the twinkling sky full of stars. It’s good to just sit with Him. I don’t have to talk. He doesn’t have to either. But I know He’s there, and He enjoys my presence, too. And that’s enough.

a day long awaited

It’s just an ordinary day, really. I don’t realize how much time has passed, the days, the weeks, the months. It goes so quickly, and yet, some days never seem to end.

This ordinary day turns to extraordinary.  Nothing “happened.” There was nothing eventful, actually.

Then I realize:

It doesn’t hurt anymore.

Hold on….wait….what?

Yeah, that’s right. It doesn’t hurt anymore.

I look into those once broken places and realize they are whole. I take a second look.

Yep, they’re still whole.

Pictures don’t bring tears, words don’t sting, and the memories are just memories.

Oh.... shoot. The memories. They are there, though. Reality is, I can’t forget.

It’s alright. Many of them are fading. Blurry. I realize that they don’t affect me anymore. They do not define me. But they have shaped me. Molded me. Made me.

I search once more for the sadness that once loomed over and filled in the little cracks and spaces in my fragile heart. I cross my fingers, hold my breath, expecting it, in some form, to poke it’s head through the hole in which it has resided for quite some time.

Just wait for it.

......nothing.

Still nothing.

Could it really be?! When did this happen?! How?!

My child, it happened through the quiet moments, when it seemed as if I wasn’t there, but you chose to trust Me. It happened through the tears when you chose to surrender. It happened through the laughter, the letting go, the accepting, saying “yes” to Me. It couldn’t happen in a day, a month, or even a year. I wanted to take time in pursuing you, precious one. I wanted to woo you, romance you, and I wanted you to choose Me. Oh, the times I wanted to take the pain away, to show you it wouldn’t last forever. But I wanted you to want Me. To WANT Me. To want ME.  To NEED ME. It was happening, little by little, everyday. Through the monotony and adventure. Through the busy and the boring. Through your attentiveness and unawareness. It happened when you gave Me your heart, every part, and let Me write your story. I promised you this day would come. And I know you didn’t believe Me. I’ve been waiting for it. Waiting for the perfect time. Oh my beloved, I know you have, too. The time is here. The time is now. Rejoice, my loved one. Rejoice.

Healing. Restoration. Redemption. Freedom.

The Lord really is in the business of these things. It’s who He is. It brings a smile to His face.

october 20

I’ve lived 23 years of life, my whole life thus far, with all four of my grandparents. They’ve always been around. It is my “normal.” This is all I know. I guess I always knew there would come a time when my normal would change. Not only mine, but the rest of the family’s as well.

What a full, long life my Pop Pop lived. As the oldest grandchild, I guess I would remember the most about him. Pictures help corral the memories. He always did build the best fire. He kept that thing burning like no one else could. It was nothing less than perfection. I see him standing in the kitchen, whipping up his famous pound cakes, preparing ambrosia especially for Mamma, and cutting the turkey with the electric knife on the old wooden chopping block. I picture him standing over the fryer in the “playroom” frying chicken for a family meal. You couldn’t leave the house those nights without smelling like grease. I recall his car and desk full of clutter and stacks of papers and yellow note pads. I see where my daddy gets it. I hear his voice, so clearly, telling me, “’Atta girl!” A signature part of my Pop Pop was his “dog bite.” He had a little bump right above his lip where a dog had bitten him when he was young, and we would always have to ask him about it. He was the best wrapper of Christmas gifts. Man, did he love some tape. We could always tell which gifts he wrapped. I can’t ever wrap a present without thinking of him. I remember pulling in their driveway and seeing him on top of the roof putting out the big wooden red sleigh and reindeer. We thought that was the greatest thing ever.

Pop Pop loved for the whole family to be together. It didn’t even matter what we were doing. When I got the call just over a week ago, I knew I had to come. My family is everything to me. This whole week, as hard as it’s been, has been a blessing. All seven grandchildren have been able to be here. We all piled into the room at Hospice, around Pop Pop’s bed, rotating in and out holding his hands. The first couple of days he could still talk, but it was very limited. But you better believe that when we looked at him and told him we loved him, as hard as it was for him to get out, he would answer back, “I love you too, sweetheart.” That’s the Pop Pop I know. Gosh, he loved us. We literally camped out in that room for a week. There was a day later in the week where he had not opened his eyes in quite some time. My cousin and I started singing, and then more of the family came to his bedside and joined us. His eyes suddenly opened and he was looking around at all of us. Was he seeing angels?! He closed his eyes again and relaxed a little more, and that was the first time we told him that it was okay to let go. If he saw Jesus, it was okay to go with Him. We are going to take care of Ma B. We are all going to be fine. We knew that he could hear us, even though he couldn’t always speak. He would often give us little signals to let us know he could hear. Friday night we spent the night filling his room with songs and hymns. We didn’t know it for certain, but I think we all had a feeling that we were saying our last goodbye. I wish I could describe it to you, but I can’t. Words can’t reiterate what was experienced in that room. Maybe some things are just meant to be left in your memory and are just too precious to share. But believe me when I say it was powerful. It was hard. It was tender. It was special. We were only home a few hours when we got the call to return to Hospice. His three children were right there, holding his hands when Jesus took him home. Ma B was with us, because we knew that she needed rest, and that is what Pop Pop would have wanted. So there we were, at 3:30 am, looking at my sweet grandfather, as peaceful as ever. I was overcome, through all the tears, with a rush of joy, and I had to declare that at that very moment, HE IS WITH JESUS!! He is home!! He is doing what we can only imagine doing. He is looking at Jesus face to face! Woah, Heaven became closer to me at that moment.

This has been one of the longest weeks of my life so far. All the days are running together and we are exhausted. But the Lord’s hand has been on it all. I would not trade this time for the world. The Lord allowed us time to grasp the reality that Pop Pop will no longer be with us here on this earth. It really was a gift. And we will see him one day soon. Very soon.

As I’m lying here on the bed in this cozy, packed, love-filled house, I am thankful. I am blessed. I am proud to be a part of this family.

Nostalgia Overload

Over the past few weeks, I have been sifting through many different emotions, thoughts, and revelations. Honestly, it’s been a bit overwhelming. A few weeks ago I took part in one of my best friend’s wedding. We have been friends since birth. The whole weekend was very bittersweet, bringing on many mixed emotions for me. It was more surreal, I guess. It had been a while since we had all of our high school friends all back together again in the same place where we did life together, making life long memories. As contradictory as it may seem, the weekend was so fun that it almost brought about a sense of sadness for me. 

It hit me like a ton of bricks- the start of my freshman year of high school was eight years ago. 

Eight. Years. 

I remember a specific moment on my brother’s third birthday when I was feeling so depressed because I hated high school, didn’t like the change, and never thought I would ever get through the year. I remember my mamma telling me, “You can do it. We will look forward to each weekend when you can relax and have fun.” That was 8 years ago. I was 15. And now I am 23. Not only are my high school years gone, but also, somehow, I am at the age where my high school class is graduating from college. That blows my mind even more. The details, the feelings, the conversations are all there like it was yesterday. I came to a strong realization that I really miss those friends. Life looks different now. And it’s supposed to. People are getting married, having babies, starting careers. The wedding weekend ushered in floods of memories—so many of them wonderful, some of them dismal. It was like we were 16 again, all friends, all together, before loss was added to the picture. Things have changed. It IS different. Parts of the pictures that once were aren’t there for me anymore. It’s hard for me to let go. It’s a process, and I have realized that there are still little threads that I have to release, once again. We have all experienced a little more life, we’ve grown, we’ve changed, but over all, we are still the same. And all of the bitter memories are overshadowed by the sweet.

I never thought I would miss high school so much. Something that the Lord is teaching me in this season is to make the most of every moment. I don’t want to spend my life wishing it away. I’ll admit, I focused a lot on the negative. I hated school, so I focused on that. I never thought I would get through. And now, eight years later, I don’t see so much of the “bad” anymore, but miss the “good.” I miss the monotonous volleyball practices, the jeep rides, the days and nights spent out on the dock, and trying to fill up every minute before our 11:00 curfew. I don’t want to wish this season away, because four years from now, I’m going to look back and wish I had it again. Although I miss my teenage years, in reality I wouldn’t want to be back there. It wouldn’t be the same. And I’m glad for where I am now. It’s right where I am meant to be. All of this to say that these realizations have opened my eyes to see that I want to embrace the moments in front of me. Embrace people. Embrace both the smiles and the tears. Yeah, there are years worth of memories and pictures that bring about heartache, and I can’t ever forget them, but even they are starting to become less and less painful. I can’t try to block them out, because at one time they brought me so much happiness. The bad times hurt. And they were real. But the good times were really, really good.  I’m glad I can look back, laugh, and say that I am very blessed.

For those of you reading this, I really miss you. Truly. Thank you for being who you are—each one of you. I am so glad for the uniqueness and differences in each and every person. That’s what makes friendships beautiful. Y’all have all added a piece of tile to the mosaic of my life that can’t ever be replaced by anyone else. I treasure that. I treasure the moments that I have had with you. I look forward to the times when we are together again. 

Joy and Thanksgiving

It’s sad to think that I lived many years of my life on the pessimistic edge. It’s very easy for me, as it is for many of us, to let my circumstances dictate my inner condition. Over the past couple of months, the topics of joy and thankfulness keep surfacing in many different forms. I believe my Lord wants to show me a thing or two.

It’s easy to let my situations get the best of me. When my physical condition and health are not improving and I see no breakthrough, I am discouraged. When someone wrongs me, and I feel rejected it’s easy to get angry and depressed. It’s easy to lose hope thinking that everything good is distant and not available to me. But reality is, ALL that is good, trustworthy, and whole is right in front of me. The Maker of the universe takes up residence in me!  He was rejected so that I wouldn’t have to be. 

He is working all things for good- all is well.

It’s hard to see if we are zoned in on what the world says about our circumstance. We must have eyes to see and ears to hear! I have been reading the book One Thousand Gifts where Ann Voscamp states, “But the secret to joy is to keep seeking God where we doubt He is.” It’s hard to see God in my family’s health conditions. It’s difficult to recognize Him in relationships that have caused so much pain. Where is He in the job that you hate? I am discovering that living a life full of thanksgiving, even in the smallest things, is a beautiful, if not the best form of worship to the Lord. It brings everything back into perspective. Whispering a simple, “I trust You” brings my mind and thoughts back into alignment with His. He is in EVERYTHING.

My job is not “my thing.” I never look forward to going, but I know He has placed me there. I know He wants me to keep persevering, even when I can’t see any fruit.  Although I may be unhappy, I can possess joy because I can rest in the fact that something good is coming of it. Old things are being chipped away, I’m being put through the fire, and my character is being built. Ann Voscamp also states, “Only self can kill joy….The demanding of my own will is the singular force that smothers out joy –nothing else.” I must agree with her. I can ALWAYS find a reason to be thankful. To choose joy- it is not an easy task, because our human emotions well up and want to smother out our deep inner knowing that God is in control. Hope seemingly lost in relationships is really not lost hope at all, but an opportunity for Him to show me that He has someone picked out for me who will surpass all my wildest dreams. His plans are to prosper and not to harm me, to give me hope and a future. I must condition my mind to continually put on the fact of God instead of picking up the lie of the enemy.

Each day truly is a gift. There is no wasted time with our Lord. Today is not a “filler” day. He is in every moment, every detail, orchestrating everything to show me that He loves me. Even the trials are blessings.

One last quote from Voscamp:

"True saints know that the place where all the joy comes from is far deeper than that of feelings; joy comes from the place of the very presence of God. Joy is God and God is joy and joy doesn’t negate all other emotions –joy transcends all other emotions. Though my marriage tree may not bud and though my crop of children may fail and my work produce little yield, though there is no money in the bank and no dream left in the heart, though others may choose different ways to live their one life, till my last heaving breath, I will fight to the death for this: “I will take joy” (Habakkuk 3:18 ESV)."

I will take joy.

Satisfaction

The fulfillment of one’s wishes, expectations, or needs, or the pleasure derived from this= satisfaction.

The season of life I’m in right now is one of transition. It’s a bit awkward. It’s a period of waiting on the Lord for a lot of different things. I am not totally sure what is next. I have thoughts, dreams, ideas, but nothing is certain. There isn’t confirmation yet. I love Birmingham. There are so many perks about my job. My roommates are incredible. The fellowship that I get to be a part of day to day is abundantly rich. Life truly is good, and yet, it’s one of the hardest seasons in my life, thus far. I’ve had trouble pin pointing the reasons, because it doesn’t make sense for these feelings of depression and sorrow to be creeping in. Why is there anxiety and a sense of unrest and uneasiness when there doesn’t seem to be a source? Is it the fact that I don’t know what is next? Is it the fact that my job is stressful, and I really don’t enjoy it at all? Would I really feel differently if my circumstances were something other than what they are? I don’t know the answers to these questions. 

One question I keep asking the Lord is, “What do you want to be for me in this situation/season that you can’t be for me any other time?” This is what I keep hearing: Satisfaction. Jesus Christ wants to be my satisfaction, contentment, and my confidence. I know, in my head, that He is the ONLY thing/person that can satisfy me. That is truth. But I so desire for this to be my experience and my reality. I yearn to know the Lord as satisfaction. 

This God/Person that I call “Lord of my life” wants to be Lord over every detail. I must allow Him to reign not only in the areas of my comfort, but also my discomfort. I cannot say that He is my Everything unless I allow Him to embed Himself in the places where it’s hard for me to dwell. He not only wants to be Lord in the classroom at LEGACY or at JH Ranch where truth is being fed to me, but He wants to be Lord in the restaurant where I have to choose Him.  He wants to reign in my singleness so that He can later reign in my married life. 

I am realizing that as of lately, I’m not very good at staying in one place for very long, at least in my mind. It scares me, in a way and for whatever reason, to think of being stuck somewhere for too long if I have the desire to “pick up and go.” I love to travel. I love spontaneity and adventure. There are so many ideas in my head about where I could go next, what I could do. I’m having a hard time being still, and really being in the “now.” I am coming to the realization more and more that a new place or environment and new adventure (which can all be great things) might be exhilarating for a little while, but ultimately, they will not make me content. I will only want to keep looking to the next thing. I do NOT want to live like that- always looking to the next thing only to miss what is right in front of me. 

My job, stressful or not, is not what is going to make me satisfied. Moving to a new city is not going to fill me up. Having a man who adores me and will love me forever will not fix empty feelings inside me. It HAS to be the Lord. He wants to go deep, and that often involves pain, suffering, and discomfort. Through all of it, I can rest assured that something new and of gold, in some way, is being birthed. 

Survival vs. Living

I am FREE. Some days I “feel it” more than others, but truth is, I am. Jesus Christ is freedom, freedom is Jesus Christ, and He is alive in me, therefore I AM FREE. This as been true for most of my life, but I haven’t always walked in it. It wasn’t until recently (the past 2 years) that it has become my experience. For so long, I feel like I was just existing—surviving. I wasn’t aware of it, though, until I began to experience truly living. I liked having my life planned out, the one that consisted of playing Ultimate, Georgia Southern, and getting married (so I thought).  I liked life in my comfort zone, where it was safe. But I didn’t know any different. Even though I had already been set free from much fear, I didn’t know I was still very much afraid. I didn’t realize I was so insecure.

 I didn’t know who I was.

My life getting turned upside down was the best thing that ever happened to me.  Being pulled away from the school where I was comfortable and the sport that I loved were needed.  Getting torn away from the person I loved and the relationship that I tried so hard to hold onto was my life saver.  Did it hurt? Yes. Did I shed gallons of tears? Of course. Did I try to fight it? Absolutely. Did it all make sense at the time? No, I felt like a lost, hopeless wreck. Could it all have gone just the way that I thought I wanted it to and I have been happy? I believe so.

But it wouldn’t have been the BEST.

I had to let go of the good, to grab hold of the great. I had to release the comfortable to experience adventure. I had to be emptied of me to be filled with Him.

I had to let go of getting by—surviving—to understand living.

Saying that the Lord has freed me from fear is actually a broad statement. Sometimes I don’t recognize myself. The fearful little girl who used to stand in my shoes isn’t there anymore. It is so beautiful, encouraging, and exciting to see as time goes on how the Lord has delivered me. Many times it takes me by surprise. My recent skydive just confirmed it even more. The girl who used to take 30 minutes to jump off a 15 foot diving board jumped out of a plane a few weeks ago WITHOUT A SINGLE OUNCE OF FEAR—just pure excitement and awe for my Lord. The girl who used to literally be gripped by darkness and fear of everything, even lightening, now loves the way it lights up the night sky.

He’s freed me from unhealthy perfectionism and fear of failure. It wasn’t until my senior year in high school that I could actually enjoy the sport I was playing. I could finally eat on game days. I was always too hard on myself, terrified of making mistakes. I can now go into an interview without feeling sick to my stomach, because I finally let go of control. Those are just some examples.

The girl I used to know would never move somewhere with all her belongings without knowing where she was going to live. But that is exactly what I did 2 years ago. The old me wouldn’t move to a different state for any other reason except the knowing that the Lord was leading me there. Once again, that’s what I did in January. I didn’t even have a job. My life these days seems to be “last minute.” It’s awesome, though, because to us it might seem that way, but my Lord isn’t last minute. He isn’t limited or defined by time. It’s always perfect. I’m just thankful that I can now enjoy the excitement and thrill of it all.

I’ve been set free from a lot of deep insecurities- things that I could never truly grasp in a relationship with a guy. My identity was being defined by things that it shouldn’t have. I let it eat me alive. I believed lies and often got stuck in a pit of despair. I praise Jesus that He turned it around—that I know I’m beautiful, talented, creative, and perfect. I’m worth it. I’m worth fighting for and being pursued. I know Who I belong to. The Lover of My Soul knew it needed to be just me and Him in order for me to understand.

It wasn’t until this past April that I finally felt a new sense of freedom from my past. There were a lot of things I was holding onto without realizing it. Although my relationship with the one I thought I was going to marry had officially ended over two years earlier, it had still been dragged on. Even though all of my questions were not answered on that Resurrection Day weekend, and I was feeling a flood of mixed emotions, I sensed that it was the beginning of a new-found freedom. It was like the Lord allowed me to see things as they really were, to hear the things that I needed to, and to let go of trying to get answers to things I was never going to be able to understand. Although the three hour drive back to Birmingham was accompanied by tons of tears and closure to a huge chapter in my life, it felt good to release it. It brought hope. People thought I was crazy for facing something that might be painful, something, or rather someone, who I had not faced in over a year. Honestly, I thought I might be crazy, also. But Jesus knew. He always does. He knew exactly the conversation that needed to happen to show me that something I had wanted for so long was not meant to be.

And finally, through the tears of realization and acceptance, after many years, I could see it, too.

We aren’t always going to agree with others, situations are going to be out of our control, and we are going to have to leave some things unsaid because it just isn’t our place to say them anymore. But when you can look at what was once your dream, in the eyes, and walk away without all the answers because you know there is something better for you, you know the Lord has done a work in you. The release of something once so important brings new freedom and a deeper level of trust in Him. It’s been a long, long journey- an exhausting process. But something is different now. In a good way. I don’t believe it was coincidence at all that this monumental day was also Resurrection Day. He makes all things new! He redeems the time. When one door closes, something new, greater, and beautiful is always birthed. I am beyond excited for what He has in His plans for me. 

For most of my life, I have been afraid of death. I accepted Christ early, so I knew I would spend forever with Him, but I was afraid of dying. I didn’t like talking about His return. Honestly, I don’t know why. I wanted to experience all that life has to offer, and I didn’t want to miss out. It wasn’t until I truly fell in love with Jesus and realized that this life is not about me that I could finally say that I’m not afraid of death anymore. The truth is, JESUS IS LIFE. How incredible is it that when we know the Lord, we will never experience true death!! That is such good news. Obviously, I’m not ready for my time on Earth to end. I DO want to experience all that the Lord has for me here, but it’s not what I live for. He knows my number of days. If I meet Him face to face tomorrow, HALLELUJAH! If I meet Him in 70 years, HALLELUJAH! Either way, I can now say, “Come, Lord Jesus!” and actually be excited about it. This earth is not my home.

The deeper my fellowship with the Lord, the more I feel like I step into who I really am. I’m not tied down to a place or a person, so I am discovering more and more of how my God has wired me, my gifts, my likes, dislikes, and dreams. I actually have a dream list now, where as before, I didn’t know I could dream. I didn’t really know how. I used to be so cautious, almost too cautious, to the point where I wasn’t having fun, taking chances and risks. I wasn’t spontaneous. I needed a logical plan. This wasn’t all bad, in and of itself, but I believe that these things were in me all along, but had been suppressed for so many years. I love spontaneity. I like being able to pick up and go. I love this wild and crazy ride I’ve been on the past few years. It still feels like a dream. The best dream ever. One of my best friends who I’ve only known for a little over a year asked me, “Have you always had this free spirit way about you?” My reply was, ”No, but I think it’s been there all along just dying to come out.” It’s just taken a while to be revealed. But I think this is “me.”  Those who have known me my whole life know that I have come a long way. Thanks be to Jesus.

Over the past 8 months or so there have been several weddings that I have attended. I love weddings. And I love the receptions, the ones with hours of dancing and a ton of good friends. It hasn’t always been that way, though. I used to refuse to dance. It made me nervous. I can barely remember dancing with my boyfriend of four years, I guess because I was self-conscious, insecure, etc. A few months ago, after thinking on this, I recalled my nickname that my family gave me when I was a little girl. They called me Happy Feet. I would prance and dance around on my toes, full of joy, thus the nickname. For many years, I didn’t feel like I lived up to that name. I’ve never thought of myself as a good dancer, so therefore I wouldn’t dance. Finally I came to the conclusion: WHO CARES. Who cares what people think and who cares if you don’t know what you are doing. I can’t let that stop me anymore. I have fun. That’s all that matters. There have been a couple of wedding receptions that will forever go down in the books—some of the best nights of my life, literally, dancing my heart out without a care in the world. Sharing the experience with others who feel the same way makes it that much better. So, I finally feel like I am stepping back into the name that was given to me long ago. I feel like I’ve gotten my “happy feet” back.

“…I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.”

Life is Jesus. Jesus is Life. He’s in the big things, and He cares about the small details, too. He’s given me permission to dream. He’s given you permission, also. He loves to give me the desires of my heart, because they are His, too. I'm not going to be on this earth forever. But I am here now. Therefore, I have purpose, and meaning, and I want to embrace it all. Yeah, this world is a mess, full of heartache and darkness and sorrow. But Jesus Christ is still on the throne, and He reigns, and that’s a reason to rejoice. I’m going to keep laughing, a lot, and at myself, because I can now and I believe it's healthy. I’m going to travel, because I love it, and I want to see this diverse world that the Lord has made in all its beauty. I’m going to treasure the late night talks in my apartment with my roommates, dreaming and pondering and processing. I’m going to ride the roller coasters ten times in a row with my 9 year old brother even when my head hurts, just because he loves it, and I’m going to scream and laugh my lungs out. I want to soak up every story from my grandparents’ mouths because they are priceless gems.  I want to love and love well, even though it’s risky. Life is beautiful when lived with the Creator.

I will end this novel of a post with a quote I love:

“It is in all of us to defy expectations, to go into the world and to be brave, and to want, to need, to hunger for adventures—to embrace change and chance and risk so that we may breathe and know what it is to be free.”