What I haven't told you about our house. . .

I clicked on a Facebook ad.

Facebook ads are mostly a source of merriment for me. A while back all of the ads were for toilets. Apparently SOMEONE had been shopping for toilets online.

Anyway, I clicked on the ad. It was from a mortgage lender boasting that they could give us a mortgage that would be cheaper than renting. I honestly don't know why it caught my eye. It did, I clicked it and filled out the form. I was brutally honest about our financial situation. I didn't want to get halfway through the process, fall in love with a house and then be told we didn't actually qualify.

I expected them to either respond with a checklist of things we needed to do to qualify, or not at all. I never in a million years thought they would tell us that we qualify. (Michael was actually really annoyed that I did this. He had no confidence in this at all.)

To be honest, we had given up hope of being homeowners the spring before.

So I was shocked when they responded pretty quickly assuring me that they believed we could qualify for a mortgage.

We got the documents together, submitted it all and waited.

For a little over a month we looked on realtor.com and zillow.com without making any attempt to look at anything in person.

In late February we spoke to the lender who let us know that we were approved and just needed to find a house. So we called a realtor and made an appointment to look at two houses the next day.

The next day, Michael got home a little bit late from work and we decided skip looking at the second house. I hadn't even wanted to look at it anyway.

We looked at the first house and I knew the moment I walked into it that it wasn't the house for us. It was small and awkward and . . . Not our house.

In my disappointment I reluctantly agreed to looking at the second house right then.

We walked in the door and it smelled like "old lady house". It had shag carpet, gaudy drapes, A LANDLINE and . . . it was like meeting someone new but feeling like our spirits had always been friends.

We talked to the realtor and all agreed that we needed to save a little bit more money before making an offer on anything.

I wasn't disappointed. This house was way better than anything I imagined we would get. I loved it, but trusted that if it was our house God would make a way or save it for us. But I kind of assumed it wasn't our house. I couldn't imagine God giving us a house like this.

Over the next 2 hours a chain of events took place that couldn't have been anything other than an act of God. We called the realtor back that night and told him what happened and that we wanted to make an offer on the second house.

The realtor suggested that we wait until we could look at it again, so we made an appointment for Saturday morning (this was Thursday).

We looked at it and confirmed that we did want to make an offer.

During this walk through I noticed more about the person who had lived there. It seemed like either she had passed away or had to move in with family or a nursing home.It was like someone just left abruptly.

Still trusting that if this was the right house that God would work it out, I patiently waited to hear if our offer was accepted. In the mean time, I began praying for the woman who lived here and her family. Regardless of what had happened it was sure to be difficult, so I prayed for them.

We found out that there were other offers, so instead of praying that God would give us the house, I prayed that he would give it to the right people. Regardless of who it was.

I still believed in my heart that this was too good to be true, so I didn't want to push it or beg God for it. If it were going to be ours I wanted to be sure it was because it was God's will. We had really gotten ourselves into messes by rushing ahead for something we wanted instead of waiting for God to direct us. So I wanted to be sure I didn't do that this time.

We received word the next day that our offer was accepted. Our lender told us that there were no obstacles and we began the count down.

There were several reasons that we were concerned about it passing inspection and appraisal. Once again, I was prepared for everything to come to a screeching halt. I had zero anxiety. I knew that if it was our house it was our house and if not, we would move on.

One by one each of the potential stop lights turned green.

Every day I drove by the house and tried to soak in the reality that this beautiful house was going to be ours.

It all seemed surreal. How could something this good happen to us?! It was overwhelming.

And then came closing day. THEY GAVE US THE KEYS.

I couldn't believe it REALLY happened. TO US.

We had a party to praise God.

So. . . here's the part I haven't really shared about before. This is hard to admit but .  .  . I have been depressed ever since we closed on the house. To be fair, I went through a pretty major rejection right about the same time, which I am sure accentuated the depression. But during a time when I should have been over the moon, there was an undercurrent of sadness. Of confusion. And self condemnation. And pride.

I knew we didn't deserve this house. God DID this for us and I couldn't figure out why. He literally broke down a million barriers. There is no other way to say it . . . GOD GAVE US THIS HOUSE. But why would He do that?

I knew the answer in my head, but my heart just couldn't accept it.

He loves other people just as much as He loves me and their house buying experience was frought with anxiety and obstacles. Why would He give us this house in the most peaceful way possible?

I finally sat down and processed it out on paper. And I realized . . .

I have a deep soul belief that I have to earn love. From God and from other people. And I haven't. I can't. As a result, my heart believes that I am unloved. And incapable of ever changing that.

So this house shook me to the core of my soul.

I'm not going to say that I am cured of that belief, but understanding that I have it is a definite step in the right direction. Bringing it out into the light, where the Truth can shine on it works wonders.

And guess what topic the older women decided to do a study on and include me in?!

Uninvited: Living Loved When You Feel Less Than, Left Out, and Lonely by Lysa Terkheurst.

Ya think God is working over here?!

I am already seeing changes. I have been able to live loved in moments. And eventually there will be hours, days, weeks, months and . . . YEARS.

God is gonna do it y'all!

Getting to Know the Shepherd of My Soul

As the deer pants for water so my soul longs to know God. To drink Him in.

I grasp for Him with each breath as my spirit cries “more of you God, less of me”.

I search for Him in the pages of the Old. In the relationships vividly depicted there.

Israel asked for a king. God gave them one. He warned them, and then He gave them one.  

I used to think God chose Saul to be the first king because he was such a great guy. But I’ve changed my mind. I think God may have chosen him because He knew Saul would go down in flames. To contrast our foolish and shallow view of humanity in thinking we know what's best for us, with His all wise and all knowing perspective.

Saul was the exact kind of person to catch a human eye. The one we would all choose to be king. From my point of view, he seemed the right choice. But he quickly became cocky, unwilling to submit to God and in deep denial about his attitude and sin. He ended up chasing David around the country-side in very real 'Roadrunner and Coyote' fashion. He was eaten up with jealousy and mentally ill because of it. He wasted his own life and hundreds of others that he killed in his crusade to end David.

In contrast, David was rejected by his own father, ridiculed and dismissed by his brothers, forgotten even after his victory over Goliath. But God perceived a kindred spirit where humans saw a dirty, smelly, forgettable shepherd boy.

His frame of reference was based on things too deep and complex and wise for human senses to detect.  

Where humans can only see a minute portion of either the forest OR the trees, God sees the entire forest and each leaf on every tree.

And so, I surrender once again. I lay down the burdens and assumptions and biases and prejudices that I've picked back up time and time again. If God's yoke is easy and light, why do I keep picking up the heavy one again? The one that feels impossible. The one that requires me to live up to the standards of other people and myself. The one that has to know all of the answers. The one that has to manipulate the approval of people. The one that has to please others at all costs. The one that never measures up. The one that will never be liked. The one that isolates. The one that . . . is so. stinkin. tired.

I surrender to a God who is infinitely good, amazingly wise and unfailingly trustworthy. Whose strength is made perfect in my weakness. Who, even before He made the world loved me and chose me in Christ to be holy and without fault in His eyes. Who decided in advance to adopt me into His own family by bringing me to himself through Jesus Christ. Who wanted to do this and who took great pleasure in it.

How could I NOT surrender to a God like that?!

Window Shopping: Looking for Love in All the Wrong Places

Cold and dark. Crisp. Leaves rain from sky, settle on sidewalk and my steps choke a satisfying crunch from their lifeless leafy body.

Breath catches. I peer into the window of a home as I pass. The light from within penetrates the darkness outside. Warmth, laughter and love spills into the night.

The coziness of the scene sucker punches me. Loneliness envelopes me. 

Longing fills my gut.

Craving . . . 

to be included. invited in. loved. accepted. 

to understand the meaning behind the knowing glances and secret language that evokes mirth, but only to those who know it well.

to be completely and utterly known. And to know. 

I know this aching well. 

I've walked through life looking in windows at every opportunity to socialize.

Longing.

Wishing. 

Manipulating.

Blaming.

Harming. Me. 

If I could be funnier. If I were prettier, thinner, nicer, more easygoing, more hardcore. If I liked different things, if my goals were different. If I were someone else. Anyone else. 

Like a science fiction mind melding, I buried the feisty, musical creative girl that God sculpted.

Chameleon. Except the Dorian Grey version. 

And then I realized . . . I'm the one standing outside looking in. It's a choice I have made. 

So I'm learning what it means to really seek God first. To "live loved" by God, regardless of the messages or opinions of people. To reverse the mind melding and accept the sweet girl that God made. To allow God to build my own cozy, lit within, peaceful, loving, full of laughter home. 

I'm praying first and talking about "it" less. 

When I catch myself about to grasp for scraps of love, I stop myself and trust God to provide what I need. Grasping for scraps of love feels good in the moment, but it's not real love and always leaves me feeling empty.

And I'd rather have the real thing and be full. So, right now, I'm being a little bit quiet. Because I honestly am not sure what healthy relationships look like. I am not sure who I am. I'm letting God fill me up and trusting that when the time is right, He'll lead me beyond those borders.

I'm not avoiding people. I'm just trying to stop relying on people for what I should be seeking from God, and seeking God's fullness so I can bring that fullness into my relationships and interactions.

I'm ready to be known. Really known. To stop trying to figure out what will make people like/love me and feeling empty and defeated because it doesn't work.

Father, I'm sorry for rejecting the person you made me. I'm sorry for burying her. I'm giving you all of the things I've used to win the approval of people. . .people pleasing, assuming, manipulation. Father I trust you to give me what I need. Please root me and ground me in love so that I can bring your fullness with me where ever I go. In Jesus name I pray, amen!

Had it Not Been the Lord Who Was on My Side . . .

4 years ago today, the kids and I carried all of our earthly possessions and set them in our driveway for Michael to pack into the trailer. We had planned and schemed for over a year.

Somehow we had the money and the time seemed right.

We moved to CA when our kids were 5, 4, 3, 15 months and 15 months. I was 25 and . . . barely alive. Physically and mentally.

We needed to get away. A fresh start.

I think the most significant thing that happened while we lived there is that I really and truly gave my life to Jesus. I stepped out of my denial and admitted how messed up I was and how I had completely messed up my life. I realized that my brokenness was all I had to offer and I gave it to Him to deal with. I learned that He wanted that all along.

That eventually brought our family to Texas. Irving. Older women. Spiritual counsel. Celebrate Recovery. Bible study. Confession. Better mom. Transformation. Growth. Learning. Layers of onion peeled back. Festering, gangrene-esque wounds cleaned, dressed and healed. New ( but really, old) wounds/bad habits exposed.

Sadly, some relationships didn't survive all of this. I'm sorry about that and I pray that someday there will be restoration.

But for now, I'm working on my relationship with God. Resting in Him, getting to know HIM and making THAT relationship my priority...gaining all of the approval, pleasing, loving that I have sought from people for a loooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooog time, from God. Allowing Him to show me who He made me to be and all the ways I have buried that in an effort to make myself into someone other people could like/love. Believing all the while that I couldn't be someone that people like/love because of my inherent vileness and unloveable/unlikeableness. Manipulating people into giving me what I need. And then walking away feeling empty anyway.

I don't want that. I want to be filled with all of God's fullness so I never walk into a room feeling like I'm on the outside looking in again. So I can stop looking for love in all the wrong places.

Like a baby being swaddled, I've kind of pulled all my limbs in close. Being quiet and letting God hold me. Seeking God first. Trusting His transformation and wisdom.

2 days before my 30th birthday I got purple streaks put into my hair.

Uriah and Elisabeth playing in the Pacific.

Lis and Lilla participating in an AHG ceremony.

Lilla got her tonsils taken out when she was 5.

A soccer ball cake I made for one of Caleb's birthdays. Nailed it. ha!!!!

My 30th birthday party.

On our way to CA in 2007.

At the beach in San Francisco

Family selfie in 2009, I think.

Birthday dinner probably in 2009.

Halloween 2010, I think

Halloween 2010

Christmas 2010

Michael was going to work and school, both full time. So I was a single parent for 3 or 4 years. Back to school night with all these wild indians.

They wore daddy out 2011.

Me in my helmet!

Michael in the motorcycle gear. He rode his motorcycle to work and school, rain, shine or freeze.

2011

Easter, 2011

Family picture 2012

2011

2010

My cozy little kitchen for almost 7 years.

My softball days. All five of the kids sat in the stands cheering.

Summer 2011, I think.

Easter 2013

2012

Bible Bedtime

2010

2008

2009

2008

2012

2012

2014

About to give his first speech. 2013

  

2014

2012

Right after we moved back to Texas August 31, 2014

July 2009

2012

Judging Peter

I've judged Peter before. But not today.

I imagine the wind sweeping through his hair, blowing into his face as he calls out to Jesus.

Words come out of nowhere, "Bid me to come to you on the water!"

Peter steps out onto the water and

. . . things change. The impossibility of walking on water and virility of the wind just gets to him.

Talk is cheap. It's the doing that costs.

I feel called. I dream and scheme. I make a plan.

But the moment I take a step toward actually DOING the plan . . . a big step that could be life changing and devastating if I heard God wrong.

I can't catch my breath. Panic.

Can I undo this? This is crazy! Why did I think this was a good idea?!

I think of Peter. And I don't judge his fear of the wind.

My plans are God's. He can do with them what He will.

I am not looking at that wind.

I am not questioning the mechanics of the impossible. That's not my job.

It's my job to put one foot in front of the other . . .

and to keep my eyes on Jesus while I do it. 

Battlefield of Another Kind

Air stale. Putrid. Thick.

Gunpowder. Rotting flesh.

Graveyard of unburied bodies. Flies.

Explosions, gunfire fly like cars on the Autobahn in heavy traffic. Body no longer reacts to the sounds.

Weapon hugged to chest.

Eyes meet. Recognition.

Dirt and soot and sweat cling to skin like masks.

Those eyes . . . a respite from the battle. For a split second, we are not on the battlefield, not in war...home. And I know, the ugliness won't consume me.

We didn't know each other before our world became life and death. Miles apart. Contrasting sides of "the tracks". Interests, viewpoints, life goals separated us like roaches when you turn on the light.

But here.

Here.

In the trenches. Through the battle.

Brothers. More than blood. Soul-mates.

Reason to keep walking.

Sustainer through bitter cold and deep weariness when feet refuse to carry on.

Doctor wounds, tell stories, live our faith that someday this will be over. Carry each other through gun fire, darkness and despair.

No competition. No scoreboard. No tally of who saved whose life or who hit more targets, carried the most weight, treated more wounds, told the best stories.

We survive. Together. Pray for one another. His survival and mine - one and the same.

Eyes remind me this battle will not last forever. Foreign land is not our home. Love transcends time and space to cover a multitude of things nothing else will.

Spiritual warfare. Though not physical, battleground nonetheless.

Spiritual trenches.

And though we are different. From different places, contrasting thought processes, various races, diverse socio-economic statuses.

Brothers in arms.

Soul mates.

The battlefield draws us together.

We doctor each others wounds, tell our stories. Carry one another through gunfire, darkness and despair.

Remind.

Point to Jesus.

No competition. No scoreboards. No tally marks.

We survive. Together. Pray. Together. Confess sin. Together.

We are in this. Together.

Out of the battle ground, our Father weaves the ashes.

His story.

His glory.

Our gain.

Together.

Parenting: Ambassador to My Son's Heart

Eyes filled to brim.

Body shaken and tense.

Confusion, disappointment contort the face of child at jagged edge of manhood.

He didn't get in.

Questions, tears escape together.

"Why is he luckier than me?"

Spiritual warfare wages. This boy formed in my womb, knows of God. But doesn't know the Father who can only be known through time and trial and...seeking.

Teeth clenched, heart aching. Determined. Satan will not win. Not this battle. Not. this. boy.

"Satan, get away!"

Words come. God's ambassador to this boys heart. I tell him about the Father I know.

Higher ways. Wiser thoughts.

Good. My good. The good of those who love Him and are called according to His purpose.

Faith. Without knowing. Without seeing. Abiding.

And . . .

It's okay to be angry. But tell Him. It's okay for the words to be raw. He'll hear your heart.

Tell Him. Ask Him. Trust Him. Thank Him.

Decide.

Lies seem true. But they are lies construed to deceive. To trap. To kill.

Seek God. Whole heart. Entire mind.

He is good. He is true. Always. Infinitely. Forever.

I am thankful for my own scars. For the trial by fire that nearly consumed me.

Because, I know my God. I know how to find Him.

So, I draw this sweet man-child a map. Instill a compass in his heart. So he can find his way through the storms and fires and wreckage.

Jesus, my sweet son. Jesus. He is the way. The truth. The life.

God. He is Yours. You are good. He is Yours. I like to think he's mine. But in these moments I am thankful he is not. Take Him Father. He is Yours.

What Freedom Feels Like

The patchwork quilt lies quietly in ripples across the sea of grass growing wildly and abundantly into the sky.

The breeze swirls and dances through the peach fuzz on my arms. Sunshine seeps into my soul and feels like being baptized in God's love.

I breathe in the honeysuckle sweetness and breathe out the toxicity poisoning my spirit.
The heaviness that bearing the weights of my world inflicts upon my heart.

This world is beautiful. But broken. I am broken. By my own sin. By others' sin.

In my brokenness, I pick up the pieces and clumsily tape them back together.Like trying to mend the pieces of remaining flesh after a lion has feasted on its prey.

Believing that it must be done before it can be a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God. Before the spiritual act of worship.

But duct tape and clumsy hands cannot repair. The heart is too complex, too essential, too. . .

Broken. Shattered. Incinerated. Obliterated.

Pieces too small for human eyes and hands to maneuver.

It is God's work. His hands, small. And big.

His eyes see.

The Great Physician heals. Whole. Complete.

And so, I stop frantically searching for pieces. Trying to hide and heal what is broken.

I stop.

Leave the mess where it lies.

Open heart wide.

Offer it up. Whole. Entire. The most mangled, deeply rooted and disgusting parts.

Hide nothing. Bare it.

And let God work.

Let His light seep into my soul and His breath tickle my skin.

Breath Him in, breathe me out.

Freedom.