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Trash Compactor of the Heart

Trash Compactor of the Heart

Disclosure: This is just my story and how I have processed what I have learned. It is not meant to serve as a diagnosis tool in anyway or a commentary on anyone else’s journey.  If you are experience depression, anxiety or suicidal thoughts, please contact a medical professional, certified counselor or call the Suicide Prevention Hotline: 1-800-273-8255.  

After being diagnosed with depression and anxiety and finding a Christian counselor (Nate) and I was committed to the long haul of exposing the root of the problem instead of just addressing the surface issues.  (To catch up on all that read here, here and here.) 

Now what? 

Unloading on someone that’s paid to listen to you is helpful.  It relieves the pressure valve.  However, me just talking wasn’t going to get me very far.  I actually had to followNate’s guidance on the road to a healthier me. Now, Nate isn’t God and certainly wouldn’t claim to be, but he had wisdom and perspective on my life that I couldn’t see.  My way of interacting with the world had gotten me into an emotional and spiritual tangle; I couldn’t depend on my wisdom to get me out of it.  Having enlisted a guide, I needed to trust him. 

The waters of the unknown felt uncomfortable, like being blindfolded and led through a river of lava with only a few wobbly stones sprinkled along the way.  

“Journal about this…” 

“Express your feelings about that…” 

“Let it fail and see what happens…” 

More frequently than not, I pushed back. 

“You don’t fully understand my situation.”

“That would never work.”

“That’s not how my brain works.” 

“I could never say/do that.” 

Anger, disappointment, sadness, grief and even sometimes even joy take time and effort to process. As a busy mom and wife with a budding writing career, I didn’t have time to process a bunch of emotions that I chided myself for having anyway.   In some ways I wanted to be a robot, rolling through life without letting people and circumstances effect me. I also possess an overwhelming desire to what is right, (poster child of the Enneagram 1ß). I learned to suppress any feelings that could lead to wrong actions on the outside. Some feelings were sinful, but some were not. I sculpted, suppressed and white washed my emotions for so long, I couldn’t tell the difference between sin and genuine emotions I needed to let myself experience. 

My heart had become a trash compactor.  

Nate encouraged me to “let the trash fly,” to let the feeling on the inside come out. I was appalled. How could a Christian counselor encourage me to sin?  How could he want me to focus on my feelings when there were things I should be doingfor God?

He suggested that I had defined sin in a very narrow scopewhile even placing degrees on sin.  Whether I wanted to admit it or not, I believed that outward sins were the only ones that really mattered.  I would have never voiced that belief, but the way I had ordered my life clearly indicated what I believed.  Sin is fairly easy to deal with when it fits neatly on a Top Ten Things Christians shouldn’t do list.  Murder, stealing, abortion, adultery – those are all definable and fairly easy to avoid. Things like anger, unkindness, selfishness were pesky negative habits that simply had to be managed.  

So in an effort to prove him wrong and tell him what a terrible idea he had suggested, one night I let the trash fly.  My poor husband was on the receiving end.  At first it was a trickle, and then an avalanche and by the end we were both sitting in a pile of trash.  It took a nanosecond for me to see Nate’s point.  He wanted me to get a good look in the mirror.    

First, I saw what was in my heart.  Just because I didn’t let it come out didn’t mean it wasn’t in there.  All of my emotions and feeling weren’t wrong, but suppressing them soured them all into resentment, anger and bitterness.  God wasn’t impressed with my ability to check the right boxes on the outside.  In Scripture, He makes it pretty clear He looks at the heart.  In that moment the lie that only the “big” sins on the outside mattered was exposed. 

Second, I saw the pain I could inflict on someone I claimed to love.  My sin and trash compacting caused him real pain that left a scar. My husband is incredibly forgiving and does a pretty good job of not letting me see the effects of my sin on him, but that night it was undeniable.    

Finally, I began to see the damage the trash compactor was wreaking on my life and those around me. As a person created in God’s image, I was denying fundamental parts of my personhood. I wasn’t a robot void of feelings and emotions.  I needed to face my sin, my wants, my hurts, my desires to see who I was.  I had to stand in front of the mirror naked and admit what a mess I was. 

I wish I could say that the trash compactor empties out on the first try or that there weren’t other little trash compactors hidden away for difference people and circumstances, but unfortunately that’s usually not the case, especially if things have been building for a while.  It is a long road, one I’m still on, to learn to share, grieve, love and struggle in real time.  As I learn to recognize sin on the outside and inside and as I admit my need for love and grace more each day, the trash compactor doesn’t fill up as quickly.   

“Letting the trash fly” isn’t an excuse to walk around screaming angry rants at people all day or live in a cesspool of emotions, denying God’s power to work in our lives.  It is a temporary exercise to give a real clear picture into our heart.  

See, God won’t work on our facade.  He needs the real us before real work can begin, and for a lot of us, it takes some digging to find ourselves. While it can be an incredibly painful process, there is a brilliant light of truth that breaks through the darkness – God’s grace. 

I never appreciated grace until I saw my mess.  If I could keep things buttoned up on the outside, I cheapened grace to a one-way ticket to heaven.  I didn’t need others around me to extend grace if my view of sin was narrow enough to keep me in the clear.  

The only way to move forward is a really good look in the mirror of His Word.  We see ourselves for who we truly are.  Authentic self-discovery isn’t about finding a better version of ourselves. It is about finding our true selves in light of God’s grace.  

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Six Thing I’ve Learned in Spain

April marked six months for us in Spain.  (Actually it was seven months, but let’s not count that first month living in a hotel.) After a few weeks in our house I wrote about what the experience of moving to a country felt like and how change is often difficult.  When we talked to others that had moved to overseas, six months was the magic number.  Give it six months they said.  You will probably hate it for six months, tolerate is for a year and love it after that. This can easily apply to any move or major change, not just moving overseas.  Six months into any situation can bring perspective. 

And guess what – they were right.  We would probably even be ahead of the curve from tolerating to loving it.  Obviously we don’t love everything, but there are many things to love about living here.  The sunshine topping the list.  Even in a short time, I have learned a lot but not at all the things I was expecting to learn.  I have been able to look at our lives from a bit of an outside perspective.  

So here are six things I’ve learned so far on this side of the ocean.  

Raise your hand if you need this cup!

1.I Can Live Without Target and Chick-fil-a

Seriously.  As shallow as it sounds, it is true.  Don’t get me wrong, there are times I would love nothing more than to see that white and red sign and to be able to order a number one with lemonade and kids meal instead of making dinner, but we are ok.  Now, I do have a strong Amazon supply chain for some things, yes, but Spain has food and stores and everything we need to survive.  Somethings are different and not my favorite, but I want to shed the idea that I can’t live without the familiarity of only things in America.  I can love it and enjoy, but I’m not crippled without it. 

2. Everyone Loves a Cheeseburger

On the flip side of number one, it is shocking to see how American culture has permeated other parts of the world.  McDonalds operates in 119 countries around the world.  We have McDonalds, Burger King, Taco Bell, Dominos, KFC, TGIFridays, and Five Guys here in Valencia.  (Addison almost went to blows with a boy who tried to compare KFC to Chick-fil-a.) American songs play through the speakers in stores and brands like Gap, Nike, and Under Armour are readily available.  Thera are Crossfit Gyms. The movie theaters look exactly like theaters in the US, playing all the big name Hollywood movies.  You can even watch movies in English on certain days.  We can watchThe Big Bang Theory, This is Us, Fox News, the World Series and the Super Bowl on our Spanish cable provider.  For better or worse American culture and capitalism has at least small stake in every corner of the world. 

3. Americans Use A Lot of Energy

If Europeans get an A+ for energy conservation, Americans get an F. Listen, I bleed red, white and blue, but the vast majority of Americans don’t care about energy conservation and most of the world mocks our efforts.  I never realized the attitude of my own heart in this area.  I would have never hung my clothes out on a line in the US. I would have said, “My convenience is more important.  As long as I can pay for it, why does it matter how much energy I use.” I probably wouldn’t have even been able to articulate it that well because I simply never thought about it.  It is eye-opening to see an entire continent that willingly operates with little air conditioning, even in the hot summer months, and drive tiny cars simply to conserve energy.  I’m not saying I’m completely converted in this area, but I have had a shift in perspective.  If recycling, hanging my sheets out to dry and turning my thermostat up a few degrees helps to peel back some of my self-entitled spirit, it’s worth the effort. In the past I’ve shrugged off climate change and the environment as “not my problem.”  Setting aside the politics of that debate, I do believe I need to be a better steward of the Earth because the Lord has called us to be good stewards of His creation.  I want to teach my kids that more and bigger is not always better and sacrifice for the sake of stewardship is always a win/win.  

4. Americans Are Safety Conscious

As you live in other cultures, you begin to adapt in some ways and grow to appreciate or even accept the norms of your adopted land.  There are however some things that are so ingrained, that they will never change. (Like I’m never going to get use to dinner at 10:00PM. I just can’t.) As a whole, I had no idea how safety conscience we are as Americans.  (My parents are the reigning king and queen of safetyville, so I probably have an extra dose of all things safety related.)  The reason for this American obsession is debatable, with fear of litigation probably topping the list.  Every house here has a pool and virtually none of them have fences.  My American brain can’t even fathom who thinks that this is an acceptable way to live.  Playgrounds harken back to the playground of the 1970’s and 80’s in the US with few railings, metal rails and dangerous apparatuses of all sorts.  Then there are the roundabouts.  I can’t decide if they are just an independent view on driving: people are adults, they can handle it or if it is just a layer of survival of the fittest and population control.  The upside to a less safety focus culture is a more carefree attitude, clearly seen throughout all of Spanish culture: enjoy life and don’t worry about all the what if’s. 

5. Americans Work A Lot 

America led the world in innovation, technology and development through much of the 19thand 20thcenturies.  While some of that balance of power may be shifting, America is still the power house of innovation. If you watch the movie Hidden Figures, you understand why we got to the moon.  It wasn’t luck or chance – it was hard work.  My friend Michael Phelps passed his competitors because he was willing to work longer and harder than most of them.  For most Americans the drive for greatness is inherent. Sixty-hour work weeks just feel normal to us. Why settle for mundane when you can be anything you want to be? 

In our time in Spain, I have come to see that while there are many amazing things that come out of the American spirit and drive, there is a cost that comes with it. Here Chad works less than 30 hours a week on average and gets 22 holidays and multiple weeks of half days.  Does this organization accomplish as much a unit in the states that works double that amount? Certainly not.  However, do Americans tip the scale to sacrifice all on the altar of productivity and output?  Probably so. Every American we have met in Spain have a common theme – they came here to get out of the rat race of the American cooperate world.  They saw an opportunity to live in a culture that valued something other than output.

6. Change Isn’t Always What You Expect

I can’t write a full discourse on what I’ve learned in Spain because obviously the process has just begun. However, I do think the lessons are going to be different than we anticipated.  I expected to learn a language (that reality is still totally up in the air), experience new places and then jump back into American life just like I had never left.  While I will gladly use my dryer again one day, I hope we never return to life as normal. From what I have observed Spaniards value two things above all else: family and time.  While certainly no society is immune from the drive and lust for money and power, I can see a distinct difference in what this country values.  Stores are closed on Sundays because they value something else over profits.  Life shuts down during the month of August because rest and time with family is highly valued.  Dads are present at practices and family dinners because there is a different value system that structures work hours differently.  Chad doesn’t work 13-14 hour days in the US because he doesn’t value his family.  He works long hours because the culture is designed in a way that mandates it. Two-hour lunch breaks and siestas are the norm here because productivity is not the ultimate goal in life.  Can the US military operate on a 4 ½ hour work day and still maintain the most powerful military in the world? Probably not. However, every industry, company and individual can learn lessons from a culture that places a higher value on family and time than on productivity and output.  Even as a mom and a writer, I have much to learn in this area.  All too often I am a slave to my to-do list or my kid’s schedules.  It feels completely normal when everyone around you is spinning in a similar cyclone. However, when all of sudden you are the only one spinning, you stop and wonder why.  

I am a proud American and love so many things about my country and culture, but I’m thankful for the chance to reflect on it from the outside.  I hope we never jump back into the rat race in the same way because in the end the core of who I am is not an American.  I am a child of God and He is using this circumstance to teach us thing we could have never seen in the US.  

You may not be able to pack up and move to another country, but we can all stop and examine our lives. What’s keeping you plugged into the rat race?  What would have to happen to things to change? 

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The Worth of Your Story

The Worth of Your Story

I think we can all agree that the US has an overload of pseudo holidays – National Donut Day, National Guacamole Day, Star Wars Day, etc… It’s a little embarrassing the random things we sometimes choose to celebrate.  There is however a trend of awareness weeks that bring to light causes worthy of our attention. 

This week is National Infertility Awareness Week. Last year when writing Losing Control, I got a front row seat to what the infertility journey looked like for one family.  The prayers, pain, joy, sadness, financial and emotional stress these families endure is an unpredictable roller-coaster ride that doesn’t always end with a baby.  Through the pages of Scripture, we can see thousands of years into the past where women faced the same struggle.  Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel, Hannah and Elizabeth each faced the pain of barrenness in a culture where a woman’s worth was defined by her ability to have children.  Hannah’s prayer in I Samuel captures the agony of longing deeply rooted in her soul. 

While I don’t know the pain of infertility, and would never compare my story to the pain of not being able to have children, I have had problems bringing my babies into the world. Just as getting pregnant seems so easy for some women, birthing babies seems so easy for others.  When I was pregnant with my first, I was the stereotypical first-time mom. I had my birth plan written out.  I didn’t want drugs or medical intervention.  (Little did I know that unfortunately I was having a baby in a state where midwives aren’t even allowed to deliver babies.) I’ve had four babies and never used that birth plan.  Due to an emergency c-section and complications with the birth of our second, I was told that it would be risky for me to have any more children, and if I did a c-section at 37 weeks or before would be the only option.  

I didn’t anticipate the pain this would cause.  Fast forward three years.  I was sitting at coffee with other homeschooling moms and was about to share the news that I was pregnant, when another mom shared her recent birth story. I can still recall her carefree tone as she described almost having the baby in the elevator of the hospital.  Clearly she didn’t have problems having babies.  I grabbed my purse and quietly slipped out the front door before the dam of emotions burst.  I felt like my body was broken.  I felt somehow unfit as a woman because having a baby would never be so easy for me.  Childbirth for me would be surgery with a painful recovery, not the beautiful, nature process I had always imagined. 

The sad part of that story is that I walked out of that house that night alone with my pain and avalanche of tears.  I didn’t want to “ruin” a happy moment with my pain. I was afraid that my pain wouldn’t be understood.  I was afraid that I was being a wimp and just needed to be thankful for the baby that I was carrying. I was afraid that no one would care.  

One of the primary lies of the enemy that keeps us in bondage is: I am alone. Satan is masterful at weaving this narrative into the fabric of our being.  If you’ve watched Planet Earth, you know that pack animals like wolves hunt by trying to attack an entire herd at once.  They pick the weakest, most vulnerable member of the herd and isolate it.  Defeat is almost certain for one left alone, surrounded by the enemy. 

We are not meant to live alone.  Social media creates a world in which everyone else’s lives seem perfect, magnifying our loneliness and pain.  We are made for community and relationship.  Even God, who is all-sufficient within Himself, models relationship for us with the Trinity.  Sharing our stories breaks the power of Satan’s argument that we are alone.   Our weakest moments are the times we need to let down our walls and invite others in. We not only receive strength, comfort and encouragement for ourselves, we also breathe strength and encouragement into others, letting them know that they too are not alone. And as believers we get to share how we’ve seen God work in our lives in its darkest moments. 

I often use the Amplified Bible when studying a particular passage.  It describes this scenario perfectly in II Corinthians 1:3-5. 

“Blessed [gratefully praised and adored] be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and the God of all comfort, 4 who comforts and encourages us in every trouble so that we will be able to comfort and encourage those who are in any kind of trouble, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God. 5 For just as Christ’s sufferings are ours in abundance [as they overflow to His followers], so also our comfort [our reassurance, our encouragement, our consolation] is abundant through Christ [it is truly more than enough to endure what we must].

Your story is worth telling because it’s yours.  Don’t believe the lie that it’s not worth to be shared because it’s “not as bad as someone else’s.” Pain is unique to each of us.  No matter how ordinary or extraordinary your story may seem, it is worth telling because it is window into your soul, a soul made by the eternal creator of the universe.  That is what brings us worth.  The God of all comfort ensures us that no pain is beyond His reach.

If you are struggling with infertility or something else that feels intensely private, share it. Don’t hide behind the lie that no one cares or your story doesn’t matter.  You matter. Your story matters.   

If you are looking for a place to share your story, I would love to feature it here.  Contact me. 

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To Change or Not to Change

Disclosure: This is just my story and how I have processed what I have learned. It is not meant to serve as a diagnosis tool in anyway or a commentary on anyone else’s journey.  If you are experience depression, anxiety or suicidal thoughts, please contact a medical professional, certified counselor or call the Suicide Prevention Hotline: 1-800-273-8255.  

Being diagnosed with depression and anxiety in November 2017 jarred me.  (You can read more about that here and here.) I didn’t see any glaring problems in my life and I thought what I was experiencing was an outside pressure that needed to be removed.  If I could just pinpoint the issue and remove it, then life would return to normal.  I figured a counselor could help pinpoint that issue faster than I could on my own, so the cost benefit analysis worked.  Pay someone to help me, fix the problem, and move on with life.  Super clean.  Super Tidy.  Super efficient.  

For me, choosing a Christian counselor was a non-negotiable.  I couldn’t talk to someone or receive counsel from someone that wasn’t coming from the same foundation of wisdom and truth in Scripture.  

After the first few weeks of sessions and talking through my diagnosis, fear welled inside me.  Three questions beat against my chest. 

First: How did I get to this point? During our first session, he asked me to talk through the basics of my life, schedules and interactions with others.  To recap in a nutshell, I explained that I coped with life in a steam-roll manner.  The tasks that needed to be accomplished drove dictated my time and often my emotions. Life as a military spouse often left me on my own to juggle all my responsibilities.  Combined with a tendency to over-commit and a determination to keep those commitments, my life often felt like a whirlwind with those closest to me sometimes becoming collateral damage. But why, I asked, was my system all of a sudden breaking down? Why couldn’t I muscle through things anymore? 

He explained that for most people life follows this general flow.  This graph is really rough, but maybe you can get the basic idea…

 In our teens and twenties physical strength and ability is increasing. For most people physical stamina and ability begins to plateau in our thirties and early forties. This trend is obvious with one look at any MLB or NFL roster, with people like Tom Brady being the exception, not the rule.  What is also plateauing is our mental capability.  In our twenties we can eat whatever we want, sleep as little as we want and still seem to keep the plates spinning, but eventually for most people that ability tapers off.  We need sleep and sometimes a bigger belt.  

While physical capability is plateauing or decreasing in our thirties and early forties, our life stress is increasing. Again, this is a generalization, but for most people their thirties and early forties is when their work stress is at its highest.  You are past the entry level job, expectations and responsibilities are higher. The pressure of “whatever I’m going to do professionally with my life, I better hurry up and do it” is real.  Kids are growing and need more of our mental energy and our time with school and sports activities.  Parents are aging and need more of our attention.  Financial pressure increases as things like college tuition (times multiple kids) and retirement race toward us.  

At the intersect of this increase of stress and decrease of physical ability is often a jarring episode of plates beginning to fall.  For some, that may look like a mid-life crisis, while for others it may be a subtler tug of discouragement and frustration.  

It was a light bulb moment.  

My second burning question: Is medication the only way out? I didn’t want to take medication.  It is my goal for my family and I to never take medication for any reason anyway.  In some circumstances medication is an amazing gift of the Lord that can save lives. If my child needed a transplant, I would be thankful for modern medical advances and the medications that would make it possible.  However, sometimes medication simply masks symptoms.  If my back hurts, I can take medicine to relieve the pain temporarily without knowing or addressing what is actually causing the pain in the first place. I honestly didn’t know which situation I faced.  Would medication be a necessity or would it simply mask the symptoms of a deeper problem? 

My counselor explained that sometimes medication is a necessity. Imagine trying to teach math to a kid that is starving.  Because of his physical needs, the child would never be able to learn the math concepts until his physical need for food was met.  He explained that sometimes the chemicals in the brain are so out of balance that medication is needed to bring the levels back to a place where talk therapy can even be beneficial.  Things such as genetics, stress, and abuse can all lead to a chemical imbalance in the brain to varying degrees.  He felt strongly though that even when medication is an appropriate measure, talk therapy is vital to uncovering the true causes of the surface symptoms.  We both felt comfortable with me proceeding with talk therapy without medication and would revisit the topic if needed.  

My third burning question: Am I going to be like this forever?  I wanted to know if this was a season I had to work through or would this be a life-long struggle? This time his answer wasn’t as clear cut.  Remember I wanted this to be tidy – fix the problem and hit eject back to normal life.  He explained that I could be one or the other or both.  His words still echo in my heart today. 

“This isn’t something that is going to get better on its own.  It is going to get worse if you don’t deal with it.  You are feeling some of the effects now on yourself and your family, but left uncheck, the consequences will continue to snowball.” 

In his book, Change or Die, Alan Deutschman asserts that when given the choice, 9 out of 10 people don’t change their lifestyles and behaviors, even when their life depends on it.  My husband and I had discussed this concept years earlier while he was in grad school.  I knew the statistics for change and I was scared. I was scared of what would happen to me if I continued down the path of relating and coping with life that I had so carefully constructed.  More than that, I was scared for my kids.  What if the things I thought were tiny, invisible cracks were actually gaping craters that would color how my kids would view life, their mom and most importantly God. 

I knew I had to change.  I wanted to change.  In that moment it wasn’t even so much for me as it was for my kids. So in that moment I committed to doing whatever I needed to do to change.  I would spend the money, spend the time, wade through the deep emotions I would rather ignore, face sin in my heart that I didn’t want to see, all for a chance at real change. 

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Embracing Change

I hate change.  Any other fellow change haters?

Maybe I just resist change.  I mean, instantaneous change wouldn’t be so bad – learn a language in a day or six-pack abs overnight.  It’s the whole uncomfortable change process that I don’t like.  I hold onto to cell phones until Apple stops supporting them.  I have eaten the same thing for breakfast virtually every morning for the past six years.  I wash laundry on Mondays and clean my house on Fridays.  I have two (of my many) Excel spreadsheets hanging on my fridge with an hour by hour schedule of the week and a meal schedule (breakfast, lunch and dinner). I don’t like to go shopping, other than for food, because that would probably require trading something old for something new.  I thrive on tradition, schedules, norms and predictability. I like what is comfortable and familiar.

On paper, this makes me the antithesis of a stereotypical military wife: a flexible, adventurous, spontaneous woman who welcomes change and new friendships with open arms.  I take a long time to settle into a new place. I unpack every single box.  I agonize over furniture placement because once it’s there, it doesn’t move again until the movers pack it up. (I had a roommate in college that loved to rearrange our furniture.  I would come in from class to a completely new design every few weeks.  After an initial wave of hyperventilation, I would just sit in awe that someone would wantto change things around just for fun. Mind blowing.)  Even after the boxes are gone, it normally takes me months to crawl out of my shell and speak to people around me.

As you can imagine, this predisposition sets me up beautifully for success when moving to another country…

Last year, my husband threw out the option of moving out of the country, you can imagine that everything in my screamed, “Absolutely not.” Every fiber of my being wanted to stay in the comfortable and familiar: my family, friends, The Commissary, Target, Chick-fil-a, churches that look and act a certain way and of course, the English language.  I wanted to get closer to home, not further away.  I wanted easy.  I wanted normal.

Yet here I am.

I typically don’t put myself in situations that I have a high probability of failure.  I like a large margin for success.  I knew moving to a foreign country would be hard and would challenge my margin for success.  I knew I couldn’t speak Spanish.  Everyone told me it would not be fun for the first few months.  (Spoiler alert – moving to Europe is not a permanent vacation.) Even with all the mental prep, it has been tough.  In this type of move, I am frequently confronted by my weaknesses and resistance to change.

Not being able to communicate with people is incredibly humbling. Learning a language at thirty-six is hard and most days feels impossible.  Moving expenses have wrecked my budgets and spreadsheets.  Seeing my extroverted children miss their friends and family is painful for a mama to watch.  I grasp to hold on to bits of normal and familiar, which often looks like me staying at home and ordering comfort foods on Amazon and Wal-Mart.  I know the travel and adventure will come as time and the budget allow, but in the meantime is normal life.

So many times over the past few weeks I have asked myself the question, “Why exactly did we do this again?” Given the possibility of such a big move, we took the opportunity to examine our life and what we wanted for ourselves and our children.  We saw the chance to change and grow in ways we never could in the familiar surroundings of “home.” We saw the opportunity to slow down and to get out of the rat-race.  We saw an opportunity for our kids to learn another language and appreciate another culture. We saw an opportunity to travel. Most importantly, we felt like we were being given an opportunity to shine our lights in a pretty dark place. So we jumped.

The small church we attend here is a far cry from the mega-churches of the Bible Belt.  We struggle to feel at home in a church that is so different from what we know as “normal.” But last week, while sitting in the nursery, I met a fellow mom from a Muslim country in Africa.  They were here on holiday and about to return home.  Through her limited English (no judgement…ANYTHING is better than my Spanish), I listened to the story of how she and her family came to Christ through a TV program comparing Islam to Christianity. I asked how I could pray for her.  She said her biggest concern was her young son’s safety in going to school.  “I don’t want him to go to a Muslim school.  He talks about Jesus all the time, which is dangerous in a Muslim school.”

I immediately saw all of my first world problems and complaints for how pathetic they really were.  (“Oh yeah, I will pray for you.  Can you pray that I find some cheese and pickles that taste normal?”)

I don’t want my kids growing up with a subconscious belief that God speaks English.  I want them to see firsthand that He is a God of the whole world. Maybe if they see us take a step of faith and do something hard, then big things for them won’t seem so hard.  I want them to grow up in a way that if God called them to a foreign mission field, they wouldn’t be terrified to say yes.

I sent Chad a card in Afghanistan a few years ago: “Embrace the suck.”  (I would frame it in my office, except I don’t really want my kids to say that on repeat.)  I want to be in a place that I welcome hard things.  I want to fight the desire for comfortable and familiar for something bigger. I want to look back in three years and see how much we have grown because we were willing to jump.

It’s not wrong to live next door to your parents or your best friend.  It’s not sinful to go to the same church your entire life or have dinner with the same friends every Friday night. However, when we live in such routine and familiarity all the time, I think we miss opportunities if we aren’t careful.  We miss opportunities to learn and grow and see God in a whole new way.  Scripture makes it clear that we learn best through trials and hardships.  Mountain tops and wide paths don’t teach you a whole lot.

So here’s to embracing hard things, whether in Spain or Marietta or Washington D.C. Let’s see what God can do when we are willing to jump.

 

 

 

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Me & MP

Anyone that knows me well knows my obsession with the Olympics.  Don’t bother calling or texting when The Games are on.  We are busy.  Twenty plus days staying up until midnight to cheer on Team USA.  The back stories, the random events, the theme music.  I love it all.

What I love most are the stories about the athletes.  I always wanted to be an Olympian.  (I had no skill or talent, but I had a dream!)

I am drawn to the passion, focus and self-discipline Olympians often display.

It is no surprise then that I have been drawn in particular to the story of Michael Phelps.  I’ve read all his books, and his coach’s book, and his mom’s book.  I follow his wife,  sister and Boomer on Instagram.  I think next year will be my year for invite to Thanksgiving Dinner with the Phelps’ family.

Michael Phelps clearly has unique talent and ability.  However, he and his coach assert that what truly set him apart was his determination to work harder than anyone else.  He didn’t just win all those medals by luck.  He was a kid from a middle class family that worked really, really hard.

In his books, Phelps talks about the roller coaster of emotions after the Olympics have ended.  After the thrill of victory and the goal sheet wiped clean comes a void.  Like many other Olympians, his lowest lows come right after the highest highs of an Olympic games.  Despite the title of Greatest Olympian of All Time, he battled depression and burn out as he searched for purpose and meaning in his life outside of his achievements.

The comparisons between Phelps and me are few, no doubt, however in one small way I can see a parallel.

I spent the past year of my life writing a book, an Olympics of sort.  In June, we arrived at the finish line.  Maybe I had envisioned a glorious celebration, running across the finish line with confetti and pompoms.  Instead, I felt bloodied and bruised, limping across and collapsing at the line.

When people ask me if I enjoyed writing a book, my answer is always the same: “It’s kind of like having a baby.”   See, it’s fun and exciting in the beginning.  Then it gets really painful and at the end you are exhausted.  Everything hurts.  You hurl every last ounce of energy into one final push.  The reward is totally worth all the pain, but you are still in need of recovery.

That is what writing a book feels like, at least for me.

In my own small way, I think I can imagine what the post-Olympic high feels like: the goal that had been consuming your entire horizon is now behind you.  What now? In the weeks following, you should feel the most accomplished.  The task is complete.  The goal is checked off, yet there is a void and something rushes in to fill it.

Insecurity.

Satan is a cunning and ruthless liar and he is really, really good at it.  For months I have stared at my keyboard, unable to write.  I claim to be an author and a blogger, but I couldn’t bring myself to write.  At first words and I just needed a break.  (I don’t recommend writing a book so quickly while juggling homeschooling and four kids, especially your first book where the learning curve is so steep.) But there was a deeper ache in my soul about my writing.  Satan had convinced me that my words didn’t matter.

Last fall I poured my heart out into creating a blog.  One post that I was so excited to share got zero views.  Zero.  It didn’t take much for the devil to convince me that what I had to share didn’t matter.  What was the point of writing if no one wanted to read it?

Coupled with the insecurity of writing was my own personal emotional pain.  Over the past three years, our family has endured some pretty significant heartaches and deeply personal wounds.  All of this led me to counseling last year.  Just in the past few months have things really just started to come into focus in my own heart.  The Lord has taught me so much in the past few months.  I have learned a lot about my own heart, how I relate to Him and how I relate to others.  Painful, honest looks in the mirror of God’s Word has revealed things I never knew were there.

In her book, The 20 Hardest Questions Every Mom Faces,  Dannah Gresh, points out a question that Satan often poses:

Who do you think you are?

Who do you think you are that you can lead a Bible Study? Who do you think you are that you can homeschool your kids? Who do you think you are that you can write anything that people would care to read?

For me, and I’m sure for many of you, I have swallowed the bait far too many times.  However, on my own, Satan is right.  I have no place writing or teaching or anything else, but WHO I am makes all the difference.

Just this morning I listened to the words of this song as I was getting ready.

Who am I that the highest King
Would welcome me?
I was lost but He brought me in
Oh His love for me

I am chosen
Not forsaken
I am who You say I am
You are for me
Not against me
I am who You say I am 

I am a child of the Most High King.  I have a story to tell and it’s a really good one.  It’s one of unbelievable grace and love. My story is His Story.

So for now, this is what I will write about.  If you have ever thought, “Oh she has it all together,” please stay tuned.  I most certainly do not have it all together.  However, I am growing from a place of true honesty before myself and the Lord and I would love to share it with you.  I’m going to write because God has called me to be a writer, even if He is the only one that ever reads it.

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Losing Control – The Story Behind the Book

My name is on the cover of a book, and while I haven’t held it in my hand yet, it is still surreal.

Being a writer is an interesting job.  While a byline may be the ultimate goal for some, at the heart of every writer is the burning desire to tell a story.  Writers like Tolkien, Dickens and Twain transport us to intricate worlds with complex characters.  Even non-fiction writers communicate ideas and information through stories.  The Magnolia Cookbook doesn’t fly off the shelf because people have been dying to know how to make biscuits.  (Don’t get me wrong, the recipes are amazing, but seriously, when’s the last time you made a biscuit.)  It sells because people have connected with the story of a growing family that tries to share beauty to those around them.

Writers can take a series of dates and events and craft a story to feed the natural human desire to connect.

Nine months ago, I approached my friend, Ashley, about writing her story.  I offered to be a ghostwriter, penning her story from her perspective. Even on the surface her story is amazing.  As a 26-year-old young woman, she and her husband were expecting their first baby when she was diagnosed with Stage 4 cancer.  Despite every effort made to save her life – an early delivery of her son, surgery, meetings specialists – her cancer spread rapidly cause her grim diagnosis to teeter on hopeless. Her miraculous story of healing just a few months later is awe-inspiring.  It is an amazing story. 

As a ghostwriter, you almost have to literally crawl in someone’s head to tell their story in a compelling way. I wanted as many details as possible to transport me to the events, as if I had been there myself.  Through interviews and the writing process, I began to see another story emerge that was almost more powerful than the miracle on the surface. I saw the story of a young woman grappling with her faith in the face of death.  She struggled to understand her circumstances in light of her faithfulness to the Lord. Like many of us, she asked, “Why me?”

All of a sudden, it was like looking in a mirror.

See, I cannot relate to being diagnosed with Stage 4 cancer, but I can relate to the devastation of my world falling apart despite my futile efforts to hold it all together.  I can relate to screaming, “Why is this happening to me?” and feeling like heaven is silent.  My guess is you can too.

Dear friends, I cannot explain to you how excited I am about the story contained in the pages of this book. Ashley’s story is gripping and has all the highs and lows of a blockbuster Hollywood drama and worthy of being told, however, Hollywood dramas don’t change your life.  Only Jesus can do that.  Losing Control is the story of God taking the ashes of brokenness and turning them into the beauty of purpose.  It is about seeing our story in light of the gospel. It is the story of hope – hope that beauty and purpose and life can come from every story, not just to a young mom with cancer.  Even you.

Losing Control: How God Used Cancer and Infertility to Bring Me to the End of Myself is available here.  While the book officially releases in July, in honor of Ashley’s ten-year remission anniversary, take advantage of this chance to reserve your copy now!  The first 200 preorders will receive a signed copy!

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The Love Pursuit – Guest Post

In military spouse world, friend dating is a real thing and is done at lightning speed most of the time.  There is no time to slowly get to know someone when you move every two years or so.  Although, it never fails, a few months before you’re schedule to move, you find a potential soul mate friend, but alas, the moving vans come and you’re left as Instafriends.  (Which is still a perfectly acceptable way to carry on a friendship!)

Leigh is one of those friends for me. We met when I plopped myself at her kitchen table in New York, desperately trying to pick her brain about her Paleo lifestyle (we diverged paths when cheese was mentioned).  As a fellow military spouse and blogger, Leigh is definitely in the category of “I want to be like her when I grow up.”  Right now she shepherds her little herd of five across the ocean from everything familiar and American, yet she shows grace, humor and Jesus in all she does.

Leigh’s blog, The Prime Pursuit, is hands down my favorite blog.  Leigh’s honest and witty approach to life is down to earth and yet always has such a deep message!  She is also my recipe and workout inspiration.  It is always my first stop when I am searching for a new healthful recipe that is sure to pack a ton of flavor!  (Cilantro Pistachio Dressing!) 

I hope you find her words today encourage and as timely as I did!
You can find the original post of the article here.

I never really checked on my Azerbaijani neighbor, Ruslan, all year.  He is a Shia Muslim, a man of few words, and he lived without his family, in Kansas, for the entire year.  I had excuses like, he probably doesn’t want to talk to women…he wouldn’t want to eat any of my wacked-out paleo concoctions…and I will ask him too many ignorant questions about his country.

In a gesture of generosity, he once left a bag of 5 dying catfish on my doorknob that dripped a pool of blood onto my floor.  I thanked him, assured him we would enjoy them, and chalked it up to a cultural miscommunication.  I should have returned the favor.  With brownies.  We always said hello, but I never really reached out to him, revealed true American hospitality, or made sure he didn’t need anything.  We just said goodbye forever on Monday, and I felt a tremendous amount of shame for not loving him well during his time here.

What a missed opportunity for both of us.

I’ve been mulling the concept of real love.  It’s such an overused and undervalued word loaded with varied meanings!  I continually pursue optimal nutrition, fitness, and even spirituality…but I haven’t given extra thought to the concept of love.  What is it good for?  After all, it’s the second greatest commandment!  It’s more than fondness, or admiration, or saying “I am sending good thoughts your way” (or its Christian cousin “I’ll pray for you”).

Love–the kind that impacts lives–has another name: charity.  Charity is not a word we use very often in our culture.  It seems faceless, institutional, and connotes throwing money at someone else’s problem.  But after a brief word study, I can see that charity is simply LOVE in ACTION, altruism.  That’s what it is good for.

After my disappointing past year, I’ve been stalled in this area.  But I have to be very careful not to let this legitimate hurt turn into the devil’s playground.  This hurt–and lingering disappointment–impaired my vision to extend charity to my neighbors; and  honestly, I hadn’t consciously recognized it.  Until Ruslan left.  It hit me that day like a ton of bricks: we are supposed to love well during our disappointing times.  That is hard to admit publicly.  “If the enemy can take our eye off our brother, then he has completely succeeded in snuffing out our positive influence upon our world”  Dr. Larry Crabb, 66 Love Letters.

While I was waiting around to feel whole again, my external influence became stagnant water.  Truth is, I will never be whole in this world–too many disappointments.  I was living with the mindset that once I am whole, then I will be able to love others well.  But in Christ: charity can overflow now, because I WILL be whole again one day…and soon.

The race to achieve self-fulfillment is the religion of our culture, which is like trying hold water in a sieve.  What if our culture instead began to practice systematic charity right outside our front doors?  Our neighborhoods would burst with vibrance and vitality.   And I imagine all of our hearts would be much fuller.  Join me in looking out for opportunities to meet a need.  It just might be the grace someone needs for their moment.

overflow

A few examples of relevant charity:

Encouraging words (Hebrews 3:13, Ephesians 4:29)
Standing in the gap for those who have lost/are separated from loved ones.  (Deuteronomy 10:18)
Keeping your schedule fluid enough to be available for people.  (Psalms 82:3-4)
Taking initiative to meet others’ needs (Galatians 6:2)
Being a reliable neighbor (bloom where planted)
Offering a patient, listening ear to someone hurting
Sharing possessions (Acts 2:45)
Keeping negative comments quiet (Psalm 141:3)
Welcoming people into your home. (Romans 12:13)

For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.  And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity.
1 Corinthians 13:12-13 KJV.  I just love this verse in that translation!

Honestly reflecting,
Leigh

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Penguins and Depression

One evening shortly after he walked in the door, I began rapid-firing information at my husband, full-blown wife mode.  He replied, “Whoa. I cannot handle all of that information at once.  Penguins are quickly falling off the iceberg.”  As a writer, I love creating pictures with words, and instantly that image was seared in my mind.  Penguins.  Icebergs.

I have a lot of penguins on my iceberg these days.  I am a master trying to squeeze as many penguins on the iceberg as possible.  I balance them along the edges, maybe even stacking them on top of each other.  However, most days I have more casualties that I would like to admit.  We all experience times like that, important things sliding off, going undone or not done well in an effort to keep all the plates spinning.

There are however, some seasons that an earthquake hits and knocks all your penguins down and you struggle to find your equilibrium again.  Ever been there?

It is no accident that the blog has been silent for a while.  Writing is a unique job.  It is not simply a task that can be accomplished, at least not for me.

I’m not creative.  I don’t sew or paint.  I do not decorate with any enthusiasm.  I don’t craft or refinish furniture.  However, words are my medium.  I love crafting a story and communicating emotion through written word.  I constantly write in my head (chapters for a book, devotions, blog posts, letters), but sometimes there is just a block between the keyboard and me.

A fellow mom of four and I were chatting one day about work.  She’s a nurse.  She goes into work and can immediately immerse herself in the tasks of her job, even if the cares at home are weighing on her mind.  I envied a job where I could “check out” and just accomplish a task.

Writing for me is difficult when my mind is overwhelmed.  It’s not even writer’s block – the words are there – it is just sorting through the sea of emotions and thoughts to articulate them well.  For the past few years, I’ve sensed this sea of emotions growing inside me.  As the years past and hard times came, it became more than I thought I could bear at times.

People often seem me as competent and quick at organizing tasks; combined with my struggle to say “no,” it often leads to my calendar being overwhelmed. I organize and push my way through, even when I feel like I’m drowning.

When we lived in New York, I stood in a friend’s backyard.  I was preparing to move our family on mine own – a decision certainly not of my own choice.  After venting my frustrations and insecurities, my friend simply replied as she walked away to help her daughter, “Well, if anyone can handle it, I know you can.”  What she meant as a compliment stabbed like a knife in my heart.  I felt so alone.  With tears rolling down my face, I looked at her husband who stood just a few steps away and said, “Why does everyone think I’m so capable?”

See, I’ve built this wall of “capableness” around myself.  I would push through any obstacle to accomplish a task – sickness, sleep deprivation, friendships, people I love.  I viewed life almost exclusively through tasks to manage.  After 35 years of ordering my life like this, cracks began to show.

On more than one occasion in the last year, I would find myself sitting in my closet, sobbing, a weight of fear and failure surrounding me.  Tasks that seemed simple one day, would paralyze me the next.

This past November, I finally sought help.  I was diagnosed with depression and anxiety.

I was shocked when I heard the word depression.  I pictured depression like the commercials portray: someone who can’t get out bed and cries all the time.  After all, I only cried in my closet.  I couldn’t be depressed.   As I grew to accept the diagnosis, I felt a change.  I could put a label on what I was experiencing.  It didn’t define me.  It was a season of life I had to walk through, but it did not have to consume me.  It wasn’t who I was.

I have learned much about myself in the past few months as I have walked this road of healing.  I hope to share much of it here when I can move it from raw emotion, to a more comprehensible state, but here is one thing I know for sure – I am not alone in this diagnosis.  It is a crushing issue for our society and the church is not immune.

Anytime I share my diagnosis, I fear what others will think.  Few Christians talk about depression and I have always felt like it was something avoidable if you were growing in your relationship with the Lord.  I feared that people would look at me as if I had a “problem.” I have feared that people will view me differently and that the wall of “capableness” that I had so carefully erected would come crumbling down, leaving me exposed.  Those fears are all still real to me, but are just beginning to fade as I see light in this dark tunnel.

The light at the end of the tunnel is simply this – I am loved and accepted by God as His child no matter what I do.  I can’t earn anymore of His love an acceptance, no matter how hard I try, no matter how “good” I seem to be.  I am fully loved and accepted by my Heavenly Father, even in my lowest, ugliest, most miserable state.

If you are struggling with depression and anxiety, I urge you to seek help from a Christian professional.  Christ is the hope and the answer.  Just because the answer is easy, doesn’t mean it is an easy journey to get there though, I know, but there is HOPE!

Here are a couple of resources I have found useful.  I hope you will too.
Depression: The Church’s Best Kept Secret

Louie Giglio’s new book, Goliath Must Fall, is an excellent resource.  He also offer’s an encouraging seven-day devotional in which he talks about his own journey.  Sign up here.

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New Year, New Who?

Back in the day when I had one kid, didn’t homeschool, my husband was gone most of the time and was basically footloose and fancy free…I went to the gym 5-6 days a week. I would get so annoyed at all the people crowding the gym in January.  I knew I had about 6 weeks to endure the cramped weight room and classes until people would fizzle out and the new year’s resolutions would fade.

Don’t get me wrong, I can’t claim any moral high horse for resolutions.  I have a war within me though when it comes to resolutions.  I either get on a roll and list a lot of things that I want to do or improve or I refuse to make any.

A few years ago I heard a message from Andy Stanley where he concluded that most resolutions are focused on ourselves – how to make ourselves better.  He gave the challenge to focus on resolutions that would impact people outside your four walls.  That always brought me to an impasse when I would pick up my pencil and a fresh sheet of paper each January 1st.

So last year, I decided to make some goals and tried to focus at least half outside myself.  well…I just read my list from last year and realized I accomplished maybe 5% of my list.  Number one rule of goal setting – keep the goal in front of you or your will never accomplish it!  (Apparently I should have been training for a triathlon last year….)

The one area I did improve was reading.  Compared to some avid readers, my list looks measly, but I’m exciting about the upward movement.  I finished 8…almost 10 books:

1. Beneath the Surface
2. Best Yes
3. No Limits
4. A Woman of Strength and Purpose
5. Magnolia Story
6. Golden Rules
7. Killing Kennedy
8. Killing Lincoln
9. Shepherding a Child’s Heart
10. The First Five Pages: How to Stay Out of the Rejection Pile

In looking forward to this next year, I want attainable, yet stretching goals.  I want fewer goals and a determination to work toward them.  I want to paint with a broader stroke with the encouragement to improve, but not the condemnation for not checking a million boxes.  More forgiveness.  More grace.  Nothing like a little accountability, so here ya go…

Spiritually – renewed focus on prayer, summarize each Psalm and write out the book of James by memory

Relationships – One word: invest    Invest in my husband and my kids.  Not just doing things for them, but investing in them.  Invest in my family.  Invest in friendships, old and new.  Look people in the eye, see their needs, pray more for them and encourage them in new ways.

Professional – finish the book and trust the Lord to find a publisher

Physical – be consistent   Whatever it looks like, just be consistent in strengthening my body and being active to be a good steward of the years God has given me

Personal – read 20 minutes a day, finish at least one baby book (I know no one does it…but it is a strange, nagging desire of mine!) and floss everyday.  For real, this has been a goal for the past ten years and I just can’t seem to do it.

Dream big my friends.  Dreams will look different for each one of us.  Maybe you already floss everyday, but what is one thing you always say you are going to do, but just haven’t done it?  What could the Lord do through you this year? Don’t be afraid to get out a fresh, blank sheet of paper and see where the Lord wants you to go!

What are some of your resolutions for the New Year?