Because he lived.

I remember it was cold and rainy that day, like it is today.  Seems fitting for what the day held. 

Remembering doesn't cut through me like it used to.

I've heard it said that when a person experiences trauma, they begin to see their life in two separate parts:  before this, and after this.  The death of my dad is no exception.  

Before it happened, I guess I was a typical sixteen year-old girl.  Caught up in the normal drama of a high school sophomore, I spent my days worrying about social standing, keeping my grades up, and keeping my parents at bay.

Back then things seemed so complicated, yet to see it in hindsight I realize just how simple things were.  Ironic, isn't it?

There were things about my life before that were difficult, yes.  For one thing, I grew up with my dad mostly absent, which was hard.  I loved him so.

But my relationship with him and my stepmom was restored in such a beautiful way when I was fourteen, that it was sometimes hard to remember all the ways I had suffered as a child.  I moved in with them and suddenly began to experience life through a lens that wasn't so broken and distorted.

For almost two years it was like that.  The three of us.  It wasn't perfect but it was pretty awesome.

I'll say that two years with him made up for fourteen without him.

Then it happened.  The it that broke my life in two:  On a rainy Sunday night fifteen years ago, my dad wrecked his truck and died.

Here one minute, gone the next.

And all of a sudden it was time to deal with the after.  And who is ever really prepared to do that?

At sixteen, I certainly wasn't.  I did it horribly.  In the decade that followed, I managed to hit a pace of self-destruction that would make your head spin.  Sick of suffering the consequences of every poor decision the adults in my life ever made, I made it my business to take control.

I guess I figured at least if I screwed it up, it would be on my terms for once.

I did everything I could think of to deal with the grief.  I self-medicated with drugs and alcohol.  I chased every stupid risk that came my way.  I cursed God.  I lashed out at everyone.  I turned into something unrecognizable and so completely opposite of who I am.

I was a cliche.

And I knew it.  Even while it was happening, I knew it.  His death became my identity.  Hi. I'm Amy, and I lost my dad.  It was like a badge of honor to me.  I lived, breathed, and slept his death.  It was all-consuming.

It hurts to think about that.  I'm ashamed of it all.  Sometimes I ache with the want to go back and do it all differently.

It was around the ten-year anniversary of his death that I hit rock bottom.  But while I was there, I discovered that I had really just been driven to my knees by my Heavenly Father, who had been loving me all along.

And suddenly I started to understand that my life didn't have to be a reflection of the fact that my dad died.  I didn't have to think like that anymore.

That kind of thinking gives death the power.  Thinking that way means that his life was only about his death.  And it wasn't.

Not even close.  Because...he lived.

In order to die, one must have been alive.  And it's in his life that I find rest.

I'll say it again:  My life was never meant to be a representation of the fact that my dad died.  It was meant to be a beautiful reminder of the fact that he lived.
 

My dad as a young boy, pictured here with his parents.

He was a pretty cool guy.  Everyone loved him.

He was tall and strong, and really good-looking.  When he was younger and had long hair, he bore a striking resemblance to Jesus, which probably served to endear him to people even more.  I used to want to marry him when I was a little girl.  :-)  

Him, my mom, and me.

 He loved working with his hands; he was a creator at heart.  Once, he tried to make a living with his airbrushing, and ended up making beautiful pieces of art for his friends and family, specializing in t-shirts and the like.  I have a denim jacket he airbrushed for a friend and, even though it's acid-washed and I'll never wear it myself, I love having something which he created with his own two hands and obvious talent.  It makes me feel like my own creator-heart makes sense, and has roots.

Me pictured here with my grandpa, wearing a shirt my dad airbrushed for me.

He loved building things too.  Another business venture of his was "Yohe's Contracting."  At the end of his life he was a roofer by trade and didn't love it but, if you ask me, I'd say he pursued these things and enjoyed being a part of the creation of things because he had a heart that appreciated beauty and the idea that something could ultimately be created out of nothing.  Me too.       

Because he had an eye for beauty, he was able to see and appreciate nature in a deep way.  I remember coming home from school on occasion to find him sitting in a lawn chair in our front yard, binoculars in hand, looking out at the beautiful view we had.  He was looking for deer, he said, but it was obvious he simply loved and enjoyed God's creation.

My dad and a few cousins out on a boat, doing what he loved.

He taught me how to fish.  We canoed together a few times.  And I remember it was always quiet when we did so.  His ability to be still was passed on to me, and most of my fondest memories of him and I together aren't marked by words, but by simply being in each others presence.  We did that well.

My daddy loved me better than anyone else on the face of this planet simply because we could be together and just be.

It wasn't always silent.  Though as a roofer he had to wake up super early, him and I spent long hours talking late into the night.  He filled my tender teenage heart with beautiful statements of his love.  He used to tell me that if he had the chance to hand-pick the little girl who was to be his...he'd have picked me every time.

When he told me he loved me, he never just said it.  It was the last thing he said to me two days before he died, when he dropped me off at my grandparent's house.  I remember he hugged me real tight, pulled away with his hands still on my shoulders, looked me in the eyes and said, "I love you, Amy."

Oh...be still, my heart.    

Me, my dad, and my stepmom at my birthday party.

I remember his way the most.  You know?  Everyone has a way about them, and I loved his.  He was quiet and so gentle.  Stoic, I think.  Those who knew him always said that he usually didn't have a whole lot to say, so when he did speak, you knew to listen.  I want to be like that.

I guess I sort of am like that.  Like him, in so many ways.

Him and me at his wedding reception when he married my stepmom.

He was a young thirty-eight when he died.  I'm not far from that age myself now, so the sting of "gone too soon" is a bit stronger these days.  It's hard not to think of all the what-ifs.

But we played "Go Rest High on that Mountain" at his funeral, and in that song Vince Gill croons,

"Go rest high on that mountain, 'cause son, your work on Earth is done."

And though I still have to stop and catch my breath whenever I entertain the idea, there's a part of me that wonders if he did, in fact, complete his work here on Earth.  In me.

I was his only child.  And while I won't carry on our name, I'm a Yohe through and through.

Looking into my eyes means looking into his, or so I've been told.  I have the same mannerisms.  I love a lot of the same things.  And I've been told a few times that when I throw my head back and laugh a certain way, that's him...big-time.

I'm proud of all that.  I'm proud to be his daughter.

I have three beautiful children; his grandbabies.  His grandson is his namesake.  They've never met him, but lovingly refer to him as "Grandpa Evan."  When they ask me about him, they do so very delicately, with searching eyes that watch my reaction.  I think they're afraid I'm going to get upset at the mention of him.

It's hard for them to wrap their little heads around losing their Daddies; it remains one of their worst fears, thankfully unrealized.  My oldest asked me recently if it makes me sad to think about him.

(She's never seen me cry about it.)

I've discovered that to a child, crying confirms that there's deep emotions over a loss, and so not crying states the opposite.  She cannot fathom how I could speak of him without breaking down.

I told her that I used to.  A lot.  I gingerly explained that I've been to very deep depths of despair over losing him, and that to think about how much I miss him used to make my heart actually, physically, hurt.  How I could hear a song or smell a smell and get short of breath and a lump in my throat.

And there are times still.

Now that I have a son, it's hard not to picture my two Evans out on a boat fishing, or walking through the woods together.  Bagging their first deer.  Talking like men.

I get a little shaky to picture my girls running to him and hugging his neck, presenting him with dandelion bouquets they hand-picked just for him.  Picking his tomatoes for him and eating most of them, just like me.

He would tell them, "If I could pick anyone to be my granddaughters, I absolutely would choose you two."  And he would mean it.

I want him to shake my husband's hand and have a beer with him.  I want him to call him 'son.'  I want my husband to know him, like I did, so he could see for himself all the great things I've always said.  I want him to look at me and say, "You picked a good one."

I want him to tell me he loves me, and that he's proud.  I want him to know I'm trying real hard to do a good job with this life I've been given.  The life I have because of his.

Yeah.  There are still times when it hurts.

But it's long been time to move forward, and I live my life like that now: moving forward.  Not despairing over what could or should've been; all the ways he and the rest of us were somehow cheated.  No longer living in regret or hiding behind his death.

Stepping forward.  In pride of my heritage, with enthusiasm about what's to come, and with the end in mind.  Getting older forces you to think about things like legacy and what exactly your life has been for.  We reflect on the why's and the what-does-it-all-mean's and the consequences of all that we do.

Some are afforded the privilege of such thoughts at the end of their lives.  Many are not.

Many--like my dad--are gone in the blink of an eye, leaving their people stunned by the injustice and burdened with the asking of all the questions.  The sorting through of all the things, like pain and loneliness and fear.          

But I've learned that in order to successfully find an answer, we have to first be asking the right question.

My question used to be "What am I gonna do with my life now? My dad died!"

Now it's, "What am I gonna do with this beautiful life?"  The one I have because he lived.

I love you still, Dad.  I hope I'm doing a good job with your legacy.

Evan Allen Yohe

February 22, 1963 - April 29, 2001 

          

Note to My Younger Self

 

I turned 30 recently!  I smile when I think about the look on some people's faces when they realize I hit this big milestone.  Some don't believe me.  Their eyes get huge and they exclaim, "What?!  No!  You don't look a day over 23!"  (Why, thank you very much...I'll put that one in my pocket for later!)

Others--those who are closer to me--raise their eyebrows and say things like, "Oh boy.  How does that make you feel?"  Their reactions make me feel like I should feel a certain way about it.  Like I've turned a corner or something.

I get that it's a milestone.  I do.  It's a completely new decade, for one thing.

But can I be totally honest right now?  I'm actually feeling relieved.

For a few reasons.  Number one:  It's about time.  Seriously.  I feel like I've lived a full lifetime already, and for me?  It's almost like my number age is starting to catch up to my actual age.  Having to grow up a little too soon has always left me feeling more wise than I probably should be.  I'm thankful for this life experience now, but when you're a twenty-something year old girl with a high-pitched voice who "doesn't look a day over sixteen," people tend not to take you very seriously.  At least not as seriously as you feel you should be taken.  So, perhaps I'm also feeling like I've "earned" this new age.

Number two:  I am SO over my twenties.  In the course of reflection, I've come to realize that I've spent much of the last decade making mistake after mistake, piling on the regrets as if it were my career.  There are times when I ache with the want to go back and fix certain things.  I know now that with every single choice you make, you are making your life.  Back then I either didn't know this, or didn't care.  Probably a little of both.

And yet, I can't help but trust that it was all for a purpose.  True, I've veered from the path so many times that I should technically be lost for good.  But ultimately I realized I hadn't forgotten my compass after all.  True North is reliable no matter how far off the beaten path you are.

Besides...the windiest roads make the best drivers.  

So, after thinking about this for a while, I've decided that my experiences thus far--good and bad--have all gotten me to where I am today.  And I like where I am.  But if I had the chance to write a note to myself, at say twenty, with a list of things to at least start thinking about?  I would.

Here's what I'd write.

:: It's not all bad.  The road ahead is rough.  As was the one behind.  But there are going to be detours along the way that have breathtaking views.  Be careful not to speed along too fast in an effort to just make it through where you are currently.  As you know, some of the best things in life happen when we're really not looking for them, and often where we never think we'd find them. 


:: "They" weren't joking...the ones who warned you that it goes fast.  This saying is not thrown around lightly, as you will come to learn.  Your beautiful baby girl?  One night you're going to go to bed and wake up the next morning with this woman-child-like thing in your house, and you're going to wonder who the heck this is and what did she do with your baby?!  Time is precious, and not just with your children.  Please please please use it wisely.

:: That time that's so precious?  You're wasting it with all these "fun" things you think don't control you.  The drinking, the smoking, the lifestyle.  There is more to life than these temporary things.  Every minute you waste getting high is a minute you will never get back.  It's just not worth it.  One day you're going to look back and wish you had every single one of those minutes to do something different with.  Guaranteed.

:: It's ok to let go, and one day soon you will.  You struggle with a few "whys."  You carry burdens that are way too heavy.  Turns out you were never meant to know all the answers, and those burdens were never meant for you to carry.  A few years from now you will find the peace you've been searching for all this time.  And just you wait.  Rest from these things will come, I promise.

:: And last but certainly not least:  your daddy was right...you are beautiful.  You are awesome.  You are worth it.  You make people proud.  And you do not need a man to confirm this.  Soon enough, though, a man will enter your life who will make you feel the way you deserve to feel.  He will love you unconditionally.  He will make you feel special.  He will be strong when you are weak, and carry you when you feel like you can't take another step.  He will rejoice with you on the mountaintops and sit with you in the valleys.  Don't worry, you'll know it when you meet him.  And just to be sure?  His name is Jesus.

Photo // Death to Stock

Mothering By Faith

Jochabed used her forearm to push the hair off her forehead.  Her heart pounded and a sick feeling settled deep into her stomach.  Her nimble fingers moved fast and silent, though her palms were slick with sweat.  Every little sound outside made her stop and listen.

It wasn't the first time she'd weaved a basket like this one--she knew what she was doing.  But this one was different; this one held precious cargo.  And if you'd have told her as a young girl being taught this skill by her own mother that one day she'd be using it as a desperate grab at saving her own child, she'd have said you were crazy.  Yet here she was.

She glanced nervously over at her sleeping baby boy.  She felt that lump begin to rise again, and even though she thought there were no tears left, a few more escaped and ran down her cheek as she tried to focus on her work and not the inevitable.

This was it.  This was the boy's only hope.  Her only hope.

And though the doubts seeped in like a foul smell on a hot day, she reminded herself that it was either this...or that.

And that would be the end of her.  That was just not an option.  Not for her and her son.  But she'd watched it happen over and over again in her village; baby boys being ripped from their mother's arms.  She'd heard the cries of the babies.  And the screams of the mothers.  She'd hugged the mothers close as they sobbed and sobbed.  There was a good chance she'd never be able to forget those sounds, though she wished she could.  She knew it would be her soon if she didn't act fast.

For three months she and her husband had been able to pull off hiding their son.  But they sensed that their time was running out before the king's soldiers would be at their doorstep;  it was getting harder and harder to hide the sounds of the infant, who was getting more vocal everyday. 

The basket was done.  It was waterproof, and hopefully the tar and pitch would hold.  She'd done her best to make it comfortable for her baby boy.  Cozy.  She felt it was the least she could do.

As she lowered him into it and kissed his chubby little cheeks and his perfect little lips what she dreaded would be one last time, she caught the gaze of a curious little pair of eyes from across the room.  Her daughter was awake.

Stay strong, Jochabed.  She can sense your fear, she thought to herself, though a moment earlier she was sure she might collapse from the weakness in her knees.

The young girl--Miriam--rose from her bed and made her way over to where her mother stood.

"What's gonna happen, Mommy?" Miriam asked quietly.

"I don't know, sweetie.  I don't know," she whispered, cupping the girl's cheeks in her hands, wishing with all her heart that she had a better answer.  Wishing she knew what was going to happen.  Wishing that it didn't have to be like this.  "Come.  It's time now," she breathed, picking up the basket containing her one and only son, and headed toward the door.  He slept through it all.  Thank God for small blessings. 

She stopped in the doorway and turned back to Miriam. "You coming?"

The girl raced after her mother and followed her into the dark of the night.

It was both the shortest and the longest walk Jochabed had ever taken to the river.  And as she stood on the bank and looked out over the vast expanse of water, she fought back hard against feelings of panic.  Of hesitation.  Her mind spun wild notions of escape.  They could leave it all behind.  Flee into the desert and live out the rest of their life in hiding.  Yet she squashed that fancy quickly, knowing that it would be no life at all and--worse--if they were ever found by the Egyptians it would be certain death for the entire family.

No, this was it.  It was time to trust.  At least this way, her son had hope.  And before she could lose her nerve, she waded into the water, set the basket down among the thick reeds, released it, and turned and walked away. 

***

We know the rest of the story.  It turned out alright in the end for Jochabed and her infant son, Moses.  More than alright, when you consider how God later used Moses for His purpose, and the fact that Jochabed was able to have a hand in that. 

But as a mom?  This part of the story cuts straight through me.  We don't learn a whole lot about Jochabed, but what we do learn is that this woman had faith.   The kind of faith it takes to let go of a basket that's holding your infant son inside of it and let it float down the river.

I feel like I have a strong faith...but that's hard for me to wrap my head around.  And yet there's something familiar in it, too.


Day after day, minute after minute, I am reminded of how quickly I come to the end of myself and have to just simply trust.  Lean.  Do what I can and let the rest up to God.  Have faith.

Especially with this mom stuff.  Too many times to count I have fallen into my bed replaying my day, and feelings of discomfort seep into the deepest part of me.  I've done what I could, and I know that, usually.  But still I worry.

What if it wasn't enough?  I could've handled that situation better.  I should've said this, not that.  I missed this opportunity.  What if it's too late?

I pour my everything into every day and when my weary head finally hits the pillow all I can think about is the ways I've fallen short.  I stress and plan for how I'll do better tomorrow. 

And I wonder...perhaps it's not all the doing our best that gets us as moms; perhaps it's the doing our best, then letting go and letting God do the rest that does us in.

I've learned that one of the hardest things for me to do as a mom is to resist the urge to be the do-all, end-all for my children.  Yet I know my faith is strengthened when I am willing to release my children and my efforts into the arms of God.  Tested, yes!  But ultimately made stronger by this act.

I believe that He honors the simple act of me--humbled to my knees--offering up to Him my bloody, tattered, tear-soaked efforts of all that I am as a mother.  Because ultimately, my children belong to Him, and He loves them more than I ever could or will.  At the same time, He knew exactly what they needed in a mom, and He gave it to me!  And I know that He works all things together for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose.  (Romans 8:28)

I have to believe this.  Jochabed did. And He honored that.  And that, my friend, should be so encouraging to us as women!

One of my favorite passages from the Bible can be found in Hebrews.  (Hebrews 11)  There is so much to grab in there about the faith of those who came before us.  Verse after verse starts out with, "By faith so-and-so did this or that."  It even mentions Moses' parents:  "By faith Moses' parents hid him for three months after he was born, because they saw he was no ordinary child, and they were not afraid of the king's edict."  (v 23)

But this is the part I love the most; it goes on to explain how all of these people were known for their great faith, and yet none of them received what had been promised, since basically their stories were only part of God's plan..."that only together with us would they be made perfect."

Did you catch that?!  I think that sometimes we can get to believing that all of the fantastic stories we read throughout the Bible are the whole of God's great story.  But it was only just the beginning.

And what this passage ensures me is that these stories, plus my story, plus your story, plus my children's stories and your children's stories are ALL part of it.  His beautiful story.  He's still writing!  We only need to let Him write it.  This often means doing only what we've been equipped to do and then floating our proverbial baskets down the river for Him to take care of.

So, I can add my name to this long list of faithful characters and interject my children's names as well:  "By faith Amy did her very best to raise up Jyllian and Katelynn and Evan to be godly forces for good because she knew God would honor her efforts."  I like that.  And I love that we serve a God who would want me, you, and other courageous women like Jochabed to be a part of His story.  Don't you?

 I'm praying for you today.  For everything your basket may hold and that you might have the strength to let go of it and let God write His story.

"Let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of  faith."  Hebrews 12:1-2 

A Christmas Letter, 2013

My Sweet Girls,

Merry Christmas!

What a year this has been. In many ways, it's been challenging. We went through some big changes as a family and I know you felt the stress even though Daddy and I tried to protect you from it. But you know how I'm always saying that you can learn something from anything or anyone? This year is no exception. You guys taught me some lessons while I was so busy trying to teach you.

Jyllian, you have had to be brave and strong many times this year. Two trips to the emergency room and a messed up start to your school year could've been enough to really break your spirit. But it didn't. I look at you and you're still that fun-loving girl who can light up a room with just your presence. You've proven that underneath all that smiley wackiness is a strong, steady young woman. I am proud of you. You know, we've had to face many of the same things as girls. We're survivors. But man, I never had your spirit and spunk. Thanks for teaching me that sometimes all you need through the heartache is a good belly laugh.

I'm so totally impressed with your hard work this year in school and at home. You've been a wonderful example to your little sister. She's lucky to have you. So is anyone whose life you are a part of.

One of my favorite memories from this year is when you and I were talking about personalities. I asked you if you would rather if I were more like you and not so serious and laid back all the time. You answered no. You told me that you love me just the way I am and that our family needs a little serious sometimes anyway. Do you know how important it is to be able to love someone just the way they are? We're all different, and that's ok. God made us that way. At eight years old, you get that. Thanks for the reminder. You will make a great leader one day...even more so than you already are.

Katelynn. My little honey. You amaze me every day. You have a passion for learning and for loving that I've never seen before in anyone else. In fact, I'd be willing to bet that it's your passion that gets you in trouble sometimes. When you believe something, you believe it passionately and with all your heart. When you love something or someone you do so passionately and with all your heart. When you feel a certain way about something you feel it so passionately that it's almost overwhelming. But it's not always a bad thing.

In fact, my love, it's what will help you find that 'fire in your belly'. Remember when we talked about that? Find what it is and then throw all that passion into it. God will use you for some big things, no doubt. Thanks for teaching me to stand tall and stand up for what I believe in.

I learned your love language this year. You love quality time with people, don't you? This was hard for me at first. Mommy's so "busy" all the time. But I'm trying. My natural way to show love to people is to do things for them. But you've helped remind me that my children don't need for me to clean as much as they do for me to just stop and be. I'm becoming a better mom because God gave you this need.

And thank goodness I'm learning this lesson. Otherwise I would have missed out on our awesome time together the other night. Remember? You and me by the Christmas tree? Daddy and Sissy were busy. We turned out all the lights and hummed and sang and cuddled. Christmases will come and go, but this memory will be mine forever. Thank you.

In fact, you girls have given me many things to tuck into my heart this year. Now I'd like to give you a few.
We've been talking about the first Christmas. You know a lot about Jesus' birth and what it means. But did you know that there are lessons we can learn from the Christmas story that are important to our everyday life?

Like Mary. She was scared and confused when she found out that she would be giving birth to Jesus. That would be scary, huh? She couldn't believe that God would use her for such a big job. But she obeyed anyway. And submitted herself to Him. She called herself His servant. She teaches us that when God calls on us to do something big, we should obey and give ourselves to Him. Remember her when you're scared and you think you can't do what you're being asked to do. You can.

Remember the shepherds? They were just a normal group of men, seemingly unimportant, working and minding their own business. When the angel appeared to them, they went to find Jesus and, when they found Him, they dropped to their knees and worshiped Him. They told everyone they met about the miracle they had seen, and they praised God for it. I pray that the miracle of Jesus Christ is always enough to bring you to your knees, and that you never stop praising God and proclaiming the good news to all who will listen, no matter how busy you are. Just like the shepherds.

Even Joseph, who we know very little about, had a lesson to teach about faith and trust. Imagine it--being engaged to a girl, only to find out she's pregnant and you're not the dad!? Disappointed, he had already decided to break it off with Mary when an angel appeared to him and asked him to trust God, even though he didn't understand what was happening. Sounds familiar, doesn't it? I want you to have faith and trust Him in everything, even in the unknown. God is good. And that's all we need to know.

We can even learn from the wise men. I learned that they were very smart. The kind of people who are always learning and finding out about things. (Like you guys!) When they found out about Jesus, they followed a star to find Him and worshiped Him once they did. Girls, it's okay to be smart and to want to figure things out. But sometimes it's best to just believe. Never stop following that star in your heart that says that God most certainly does exist, and He lives in you.

And ladies...remember this:

The rainbow always comes after the storm. And as long as you learn from your struggles and remember that you are being made stronger because of them, that rainbow is going to be all the more beautiful.

Thank you both for who you are and what you do for our family.

I love you always.

Love,

What have you learned this year? What is your favorite thing about the nativity?

A Story and An Announcement

We took a family camping trip a couple months ago, and on the way home we saw the funniest thing--a goat. The goat was standing in a field surrounded by grass as tall as its chin. And it was really going to town munching on this grass.

Normal, right?

The thing is, the goat was standing next to a fence. And for whatever reason, the grass that was outside of the fence and way out of reach of this goat was the only grass it was interested in eating. So it stood there--again, surrounded by all this tall grass--and craned and contorted its neck over and under and all around this fence just to get the slightest taste of the grass that grew outside of its fence.

I thought, "Isn't that funny?! What the heck is wrong with that goat?!"

But two more hours in the car, a naturally introspective mind, and an insatiable desire to find an object lesson in everything left me with this realization: I am that darn goat. And this grass-is-greener thing can really creep up on you if you're not careful!

I wrote that as a social media post for Our String of Pearl's Facebook page.

This picture came first:

I had created the image with a plan:  to write a whole post on the subject.  I figured I'd accumulated enough experience to be able to do so. 

This whole thing--the grass is greener thing--had started to creep up on me and it was getting pretty painful.  Here's what that was all about...

We'd been trying to have a baby for two and a half years.  When we began tossing around the idea of growing our family, we had decided that the best thing we could do was give it to God.  So, I stopped getting birth control injections, and we began the process of letting it go.  We assured each other that when--or if--it was time, He would bless us with another child.

Surrender, we found, was so much easier when it was kind of a far-off notion we had just tossed around a few times.

But you could say we got used to the idea of having another baby.

Liking it, even.

Then it became a desire.  Suddenly we were so sure that a son would perfectly complete our family, and therefore, the opposite was true...without a son, our family wouldn't be complete.  I began counting cycle days and bookmarking articles on conception methods.  Which isn't something there's necessarily anything wrong with.

What was wrong was that our posture had gone from open-handed submission to closed-fisted frustration.

Month after month we tried and month after month we were disappointed.


By the beginning of this past summer we were convinced that it just might not happen for us.  And to make matters worse, it seemed like we were surrounded by pregnant women and babies.  Baby boys, to be more specific.  It was torture.

Then God started working on me.

I can't remember exactly what the circumstance was.  If I'm being totally honest, I was probably on Pinterest pinning things to my "Baby Fever" board.  (Yeah, it was that bad.)  But I remember seeing a picture or reading an article or something and--for the first time in a long time--thinking, I've been pregnant twice already.  I have two beautiful, healthy children.  Our family is beautiful and complete just the way it is.  I believe God whispered that to my heart.

Suddenly I realized that I'd been so obsessed with the desire to conceive another baby that I'd been missing what was right in front of me all along.  I'd been missing the blessings my life was already so full of.  He finally (lovingly) asked me to stop, and thank goodness.

I finally felt free to let go of this picture that I thought was going to be perfect if only--and see what was so perfectly perfect all along.  Free to really see the miracle of my sweet Katie Paige again.  My sweet, strong, determined little lady who is suspended somewhere between being able to pour her own drinks and yet is still able to be brought to that baby belly laugh when Daddy tickles her real good.  And my Jyllian Olyvia.  There are times when I look at her and see this incredible young woman...in the way she looks, the way she talks, the way that she relates to people.  It's hard not to see glimpses of the woman she's becoming, and I love what I see.

And the incredible miracles that they are began in me.  Once upon a time I sat in anticipation, so anxious to meet them.  I sang to them, talked to them, worried about them.  Felt their first kicks.  Agonized over itchy pregnant bellies and hurting hips.  I willed them into this world and from the moment I laid eyes on them I loved them each more than anyone has ever loved anyone or anything.  They're mine and they're a gift.

I hate that I spent a single moment forgetting that.

But, back to the camping trip.  That was late July, and by that time my heart had begun to take this turn.  So when I saw the goat on the way home, I immediately recognized that I must look just like that poor soul.  Totally surrounded by beautiful, yummy, tall grass and yet completely miserable because it wasn't the grass I wanted. 

Totally ridiculous.  And that was my stance for a little while.

We stopped trying.  Well...I stopped counting days and all that jazz. :-)

And then...

The yes.

This test was taken on September 11.  We see the doctor for our first ultrasound tomorrow.  As far as we know, Baby Strouth will be welcomed into the world in early May.  We're so excited and humbled all at the same time.

And as I sit here sick as a dog, I can't help but smile and think how so many times in my life I've been reminded to just. let. go.  Just water the grass where I stand, and God WILL take care of the rest.  No matter the outcome, it's always perfect.  Always.

Again, for the First Time

Dear Girls,

I adore a new notebook.  (That's where you get it, Jyll!)  The possibilities are endless.  Somehow the clean, crisp pages represent new beginnings, a fresh start.  That's exactly what I needed back in May of 2012.

I'd purchased the notebook to use as a journal, though I'm not sure I knew then how sweet it would be to be able to look back and read the beginning of our love story...mine and God's.  I remember being unsure of what I should write first.  (Again, the possibilities are endless...that's torture for my personality type!)  I'm pretty sure I owned the thing for at least three solid weeks before deciding what to write first.

Then I sat in church on Mother's Day and listened to our pastor explain what it meant to be a Proverbs 31 woman.  And I knew that was it.  I remember hearing those beautiful words for the first time and knowing that that was exactly the type of woman I wanted to be.  It was the perfect place to start.

Sometimes I think we can beat a thing to death.  We can analyze it and blog it and spin it and insert it just so into the places where we need it, when we need it, exactly how we need it.  There's nothing wrong with interpretation.  It facilitates understanding and application.

Yet there's something so beautiful about viewing a thing in its raw form.  Or through the lens of first-time discovery.  Which is why, this morning as I cracked open the pages where I scribbled the newborn baby steps of my spiritual journey, the beautiful words nearly took my breath away.

I know I am not the woman I was back then.  And perhaps it's the look back at the bittersweet, up-and-down landscape of my journey toward becoming the woman God meant me to be that brings the flood of emotion.  It's been tough.  It's been wonderful.

But the time has come to start a new journal; another new beginning.  And I am so glad to be able to go back and remember those first moments.  My child-like faith; when I hung on every single thing I read in His word and every single one had the power to just totally slay me.

I felt that again this morning.  And not that it's been long since I felt that, but...this passage.  I remember.  I remember resolving to become this woman what seems like a lifetime ago.  I had written it down eagerly and promised myself that I'd read it every day to remember who I was made to be.  I've messed it up at times, but I've also nailed it.   And the journey continues. 

In case you find yourself in need of a reminder today as well, I invite you to read with me Proverbs 31:10-31, right where you are.  Let it encourage you and challenge you and convict you, just like the first time.

Enjoy.

Love,

The Wife of Noble Character

A wife of noble character who can find?

She is worth far more than rubies.

Her husband has full confidence in her, 

and lacks nothing of value.

She brings him good, not harm,

all the days of her life.

She selects wool and flax

and works with eager hands.

She is like the merchant ships,

bringing her food from afar.

She gets up while it is still dark;

she provides food for her family

and portions for her servant girls.

She considers a field and buys it;

out of her earnings she plants a vineyard.

She sets about her work vigorously;

her arms are strong for her tasks.

She sees that her trading is profitable,

and her lamp does not go out at night.

In her hand she holds the distaff

and grasps the spindle with her fingers.

She opens her arms to the poor

and extends her hands to the needy.

When it snows, she has no fear for her household;

for all of them are clothed in scarlet.

She makes coverings for her bed;

she is clothed in fine linen and purple.

Her husband is respected at the city gate,

where he takes his seat among the elders of the land.

She makes linen garments and sells them,

and supplies the merchants with sashes.

She is clothed with strength and dignity;

she can laugh at the days to come.

She speaks with wisdom,

and faithful instruction is on her tongue.

She watches over the affairs of her household

and does not eat the bread of idleness.

Her children arise and call her blessed;

her husband, also, and he praises her:

"Many women do noble things, but you surpass them all."

Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting;

but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.

Give her the reward she has earned,

and let her works bring her praise at the city gate.

Proverbs 31:10-31, NIV      

What about you...do you have a verse that makes you want to be a better woman? I challenge you to revisit it today and see it with fresh eyes--just like the first time.

 

The Easter Bunny Died and Left Us Resurrection Cookies

 Dear Girls,

I've talked before about traditions we've begun to observe as a family.  Easter, for us, was always one of those holidays that was steeped in tradition--but our rituals lacked substance.  Just like during Christmas time, we did a whole lot of celebrating but didn't fully understand what the party was about.

As a little girl, I don't remember ever buying in to the whole "Easter Bunny" thing.  I mean, come on...a giant rabbit who goes around stealing people's eggs only to hide them around their house and yard and leave behind baskets full of treats and toys?  That's just weird.  And have you seen those giant rabbits at the mall?!  CREE--PY.

So, Dad and I made the decision to kill the Easter Bunny.  As fairly young Christians ourselves, we only just learned that Easter is truly the cornerstone of our faith.  Because yeah, Jesus was a man who lived, taught, and was crucified, but if we don't believe in the resurrection, our faith is nothing.  When we made that realization, we knew we didn't want anything overshadowing the reason we celebrate this holiday.  Especially not a huge, creepy bunny.

We've kept some traditions.  We still paint eggs, though now we talk about the stories behind the eggs.  You guys still enjoy the baskets full of cool stuff, because Dad and I can't resist the opportunity to celebrate with you in that way.

It's just now we have new traditions.  Sunrise service at church is so beautiful.  And I absolutely love doing Resurrection Cookies.  I love how it employs all of our senses to more fully understand the events surrounding the arrest, crucifixion, and resurrection of Jesus.


I hope you feel the same way, and I hope that this continues to be a tradition that we enjoy for years to come.  Enjoy.


Love,

Resurrection Cookies

1 cup whole pecans
1 teaspoon vinegar
3 egg whites
a pinch salt
1 cup sugar
a zipper baggy
1 wooden spoon
scotch tape
Bible

What You'll Do:

These are to be made the evening before Easter.  Preheat oven to 300F.
(This is important to do first!)

::
Place pecans in zipper baggy and let children beat them with the wooden spoon
to break into small pieces.  Explain that after Jesus was arrested, He
was beaten by the Roman soldiers.  

Read: John 19:1-3

::

Let each child smell the vinegar.  Put 1 teaspoon vinegar into mixing bowl.
Explain that while on the cross, Jesus was given vinegar to drink. 

Read: John 19:28-30 

:: 
Add egg whites to vinegar.  Eggs represent life.  Explain that Jesus gave His life
so that we would have life. 

Read: John 10:10-11

 ::

Sprinkle a pinch of salt into each child's hand.  Let them taste it and brush the rest
into the bowl.  Explain that this represents the salty tears shed by Jesus' followers,
and the bitterness of our own sin. 

Read: Luke 23:27 

::

So far the ingredients are not very appetizing.  Add 1 cup sugar.  Explain that the
sweetest part of the story is that Jesus died because He loves us!  He wants us to
know Him and belong to Him. 

Read: Psalm 34:8 and John 3:16 

::

Beat with a mixer on high speed for 12 to 15 minutes until stiff peaks are formed.
Explain that the color white represents our purity in God's eyes because of Jesus' sacrifice. 

Read: Isaiah 1:18 and John 3:1-3

::

Fold in the nuts.  Drop the mixture by teaspoon onto parchment paper-covered cookie sheet.
Explain that each mound represents the tomb where Jesus' body was laid.
Read: Matthew 27:57-60 

::

Put the cookie sheet in the oven, close the door and turn the oven OFF.  

::

Give each child a piece of tape to "seal" the oven door.
Explain that Jesus' tomb was sealed. 

Read: Matthew 27:65-66 

::

Go to bed!  They'll probably be sad about this--they were expecting to eat cookies!  

Explain that Jesus' followers were in despair when the tomb was sealed. 

Read: John 16:20 & 22

 ::

On Easter morning, open the oven and give everyone a cookie.  Point out the cracked
surface and take a bite.  The cookies should be hollow!  Explain that Jesus' followers were amazed
to find the tomb open and empty. 

Read: Matthew 28:1-9

He is Risen--He is Risen Indeed!

More Than I Can Handle

My Sweet Girls,
 
Lent began on March 5th.  I made the decision to do something that God had been calling me to do for quite some time and I've just been blatantly telling Him no.  I quit smoking cigarettes.  The plan is to never go back.

The first three days were amazing.  No cravings.  I felt great.  I thought, Wow, this is so easy!  Why in the world was this so hard before?!

Yeah.  And then on the fourth day, I got some weird personal news that scratched open a wound that had just started healing, and suddenly I never wanted anything more than I wanted a cigarette in that moment.  Instead I "vented" to Dad, who just sat there and listened and nodded as I spewed all kinds of nasty in his direction.  Poor guy.  He suggested I go pray a while.

Good idea.

The whole point of this thing was to begin to binge on Jesus instead of running to these fake and temporary securities I had set up for myself.  He saw me through that moment.

But a lump had taken up residence in my throat and it hurt and I started to wonder if I could actually see this thing through.

Later that night my phone rang.  It was 9:30 and Grandma Melanie was calling.  I knew something was wrong before I answered it. My Pap (your great-grandpa) had been rushed to the hospital and was not expected to make it through the night.

The lump grew bigger and more painful and I wasn't sure if I wanted to cry or scream or throw things or all three.  One thing was for sure...I was coming out of my skin.

I promised her I would pray, and called on fellow prayer warriors to go before God and beg for a miracle.  And I'll be honest with you and say that half of my prayers were for my Pap and the other half were for me.  They weren't sure he was going to make it, and I wasn't sure I was either.

We both got our miracle that night, and Sunday morning found us both alive.  But his fight was just beginning and I started to understand that mine was, too.

It became less about me not smoking cigarettes and more about me being angry and mournful over the fact that I've allowed myself to be overtaken by so many addictions in my life.  Their grasp is tight and hard and I'm not strong enough to break free on my own.  But I hate them.  And at times I hate myself for being such an easy victim.  I hate that I've spent so much precious time numbing myself and so little time running to my Savior's arms.

The ravages of alcohol and drug addiction have robbed me of so much.  They've been conquered, but seem to be constantly present, waiting to claw at me and wrestle me back into submission.  So my measly attempt to break free from the last of these white-knuckled monsters is so much more than that.  It's a reminder that I am so totally incapable of doing this thing on my own.  And that's a big deal for a girl who loves to feel like she has control over her own life.

Monday brought sickness.  I got ahold of some intestinal virus thing, which caused me to become pretty well acquainted with both the couch and the toilet.  Ew, I know.  Three days of this brought lots of time to think and pray...things I needed to do anyway.  I emerged from this feeling cleansed, almost--both physically and mentally.

But Thursday brought death.

My Pap finally went home to be with his Lord.  Relief came before sadness, because he had fought for a long time to live and it was about time he had some rest.  But the sadness was inevitable.  The pain of being separated from him is very strong and very real even though we know it's only for a little while.  He brought so much joy to all who knew him.  And in these moments?  Thinking of him being in Paradise is comforting but it doesn't take away the blow of reality.  He's there and we're here.  That's the thing that's so hard.

My lump became bigger and my prayers became more desperate.  And suddenly there's a trip to be planned because Nan and Pap lived in Tennessee.  Organizing a trip like that was stressful, at best.

The trip was a blur.  Eighteen plus hours round trip in the car, a funeral, and watching Nan sort through a lifetime of memories was agonizing, at best.  (Though you ladies were awesome through it all.  Thank you.)  All of this in a three-day period.

Returning home left me exhausted again, both mentally and physically.  And I swear, it has been enough to almost break me.

Two-and-a-half-weeks of a storm such as this has me reaching for a truth I learned at the beginning of this year.  Our friend Brian was filling in for our pastor one Sunday when he delivered a message titled, "Ten Things God Won't Do in 2014"  The list had things on it like God won't abandon you, He won't tempt you to sin, and He won't break a promise.  But the biggest for me was #2, because it completely shattered a paradigm I'd carried around for a while:

   God won't give you more than you can handle?

Notice the question mark.  It's there because Brian challenged us to question that notion.  It seems like every time we turn around, someone's trying to comfort us with the promise that God never gives us more than we can handle. Yet, did you know there's not a single place in scripture where we are promised that?  Not once does it say that the burden we're given will be heavy...but not too heavy.  That we'll have to bend a little...but not so much that we'll break.  In fact it says the opposite.

It's only in a state of brokenness that I have found healing.  And the bigger and heavier the burden on my back?  The faster and more likely it is that it will bring me to my knees.  Right where I belong.

I have never found comfort in the bottom of a bottle.  Ever.  Nor have I found truth when I'm high.  And eighteen days without cigarettes have taught me that they've never done a single thing to relieve my stress.  But when I demand that Jesus sit with me right here, right now?  He does.  Suddenly I know comfort and truth and a strength that I would never have achieved on my own with the things of this world.

And suddenly I realize that the lump in my throat is Satan's nasty stronghold on me and my life.

And he will not win.

Please understand, this is about so much more than battling addictions and mourning a loss.  It's about surrendering it all.  Leaning on the one who is never turned off by your neediness, never shocked by your honest confessions, never tossed around by the messy chaos you create.  This is about Jesus stripping me of my own empty words and promises and challenging me to just simply hang on to Him.  Just hang on.

Do me a favor?  Any time you're tempted to tell someone not to worry because God never gives you more than you can handle?  Reconsider.  Odds are they are struggling with something so much bigger than losing a grandpa or quitting smoking.  Odds are they're dealing with a burden meant to bring them to their knees.  Tell them to let it.  Tell them you know it feels like they won't make it through.  It'll be a chance to tell them about a God who never designed them to do that on their own in the first place.

I certainly wish someone had told me that a long time ago instead of a flattering me with lies about how "strong" I am.  Because I don't have to be.  And that's pretty good news.

"I have been driven many times upon my knees by the overwhelming conviction that I had nowhere else to go."  -Abraham Lincoln

Love,

 

What has God given you that was more than you could handle? How has it changed you?

 

"I Wanna See Jesus!"

Dear Girls,

So...Katie, you discovered the voice recognition search feature on my phone a couple of weeks ago.  And now you're totally obsessed.

It's actually pretty cute to watch.  You touch the microphone key and patiently waits until it's time to speak.  When the time comes, you blurt out whatever comes to mind first and insert "I wanna see..." or "Show me a..." in front of it.

It's usually pretty random.  I've heard you say, "I wanna see what a cavity looks like" followed by "Show me a submarine" and then, "I wanna know what milk is made out of."

It's adorable.

And it's funny...you don't even click on the search results that come up.  What you do is check for any images (since you can't read yet) to confirm that it did, in fact, hear your request and heed it properly.  If so, you move on to the next request.  Like, Tourretes-style.

The problem is that the voice recognizer thingy doesn't always "hear" your request properly.  So something like, "Show me how a pencil is made" will turn into "Shoby cow apprehensive dismayed" which obviously doesn't make a lick of sense and doesn't produce the results you want.  You do not take to this very well.  Especially when it happens several times in a row.

Just the other day you were "doing your research" while keeping me company as I took a shower.  (You're so sweet like that, knowing that I can't possibly stand to be alone for even a few minutes!)

Ahem.

Anyway.

Going about your usual, my poor phone clutched in your hand, you requested to see everything from what a human heart looks like to Little People videos.  Then you said it:

"I wanna see Jesus."

Apparently it didn't work, so you said it again.  A little more slow and pronounced this time.

"I want to see Jesus."

Nada.

Again, and I can hear the frustration in your voice.

"I want to see JESUS!"

Still nothing.  And at this point I'm trying to imagine what in the world it's actually coming up with.  But you were getting desperate and finally lost it...

[shouting, in true Katie fashion] "I SAID...I.WANT.TO.SEE.JE.SUS!!!"

And man, I can't get that outta my head.

I'm learning that out of all the things we teach you girls and of all the ways we try to keep your eyes on God, this one's a biggie...are you seeing Jesus in me? 

Are you seeing Jesus in me when a car pulls out in front of me while I'm driving?

...when you hear me talking with friends?

...when things are tense around here and I'm tempted to just flip?

Have I showed you that He is the Lord over my life and that I have surrendered it to Him completely?

Do my actions reflect Him?

And I know you're watching. My heart's burning desire is that you girls will grow to be women who love Jesus and will have a heart to show the world what He looks like.  In order for that to happen you need to learn what that looks like--and you'll learn that first through me.

I send you to school every day and pray for opportunities for you to shine the light into the dark places.  I pray that for myself as well, though I fear that sometimes when those opportunities arise, my flesh takes over and I find that I'm not always up to the task of allowing my Savior to shine through.  It happens.

But man...if the world has ever needed to see Jesus, it is now.  Every single time I turn on my computer or read the news or overhear a conversation, the only thing I hear amidst all the anger and perversion and hatred is:

"I want to see Jesus!"  Just.  Show me Jesus.

Not judgement, not condescension, not religion, not doctrine...

Just...Jesus.  That guy who hung around with sinners, not condemned them.  The guy bold enough to confront the "righteous" and make them think twice about the stones in their hands.  The guy always willing to stop and love on people and meet their needs no matter how tired or busy or overwhelmed he was.  The guy who dared to speak to the lowly women, or children, or even lepers, no matter what the popular beliefs were.

That man who was willing to speak and hold onto the truth--at all costs. 

Our Jesus.  We know him and love him.  A lot of the world does not.    

So today, I pray that we can all have the strength to courageously, unashamedly, and unapologetically show Him to the world.  In our home, at school, and everywhere we go.  Let's walk the walk.  I believe they really do wanna see it, don't you?

Love,

Photo // Death to Stock

Is there someone you know who needs to see Jesus today? What's one thing you can do to show them?

Imperfect Pearls

Dear Girls,

In the last twenty-four hours I have yelled at you, Katelynn, like a mad woman, for not wanting to get out of your sister's side of the car (last night) and refusing to get your shoes on (this morning) and had a fight with Dad for being "unjustifiably offended" by something I said (right before bed).

Way to go, mom.  Good job.

Even as I write this I can hear that voice inside me whispering, "But she had been demanding and disrespectful nearly all day long yesterday and that last one was just the last straw.  And him!  All I was trying to do was have a simple conversation about something.  He didn't even listen to what I was saying.  He didn't even try to understand where I was coming from!"

Part of me believes that my reactions fit the circumstances.  I am only human, after all.  It seems I have a threshold for the amount of crap I can take in and still manage to keep my words and attitudes smelling like roses.  And man, some days my cup runneth over--with crap.

And then there's that part of me that hesitates to even be writing about this because there's this thing that goes on inside of me and a lot of other women that makes us want to present our life as a pretty little highlight reel of precious moments that make it look a certain way.  A way that it's really not all of the time, is it?

A quick check of my Facebook and Instagram profiles would be evidence of...what?  All of the beautiful stuff and none of the ugly?

I mean, I think that's fine--to a point--because I am happy and our life is beautiful and we do have a wonderful, close, family.  Usually.  And I do believe wholeheartedly in being a light in this dark world instead of another negative, bitter soul.  So I try to be that bright spot in others' news feeds.  

But yet here I am today.  Using the word 'crap' to describe what's going on inside of me in this moment .  And boy is it easy for me right now to sit here and think of all the ways my family has poured that yuck right into me over the past day or so.  With your constant needs and complaints and demands and negativity and ungratefulness and more needs and more demands and just so. much. crap.  

I mean...is this okay?  What in the world am I doing here if I'm not bearing my heart?  Even when it's full of...crap?  I feel like you need me to be transparent here.  Because I know for a fact that you both are going to have days like this yourselves.  Lots of them.  And I guess I just want you to know that I relate. None of the pearls on my string look alike and you know what?  A lot of them are misshapen and imperfect.

Some nights I do sit and quietly string my pretty, shiny, round ones just so.  I smile and reflect on a day when I've gotten most of it right.  And that's great.  Let's rejoice together. 

But sometimes?  Oh boy.  Sometimes I look at my pearl and the color's not right, the shape is dumb, and it annoys me how no one's concerned about how hard I tried to get it to form "the right way" and so I throw it across the room to be found and dealt with in the morning.

You will too.

So let's smile and laugh AND cry together.  Be real with each other.  Life can be so beautiful, yet so ugly and imperfect too.  At the same time, even.  I know.

Yesterday started off great.  Yet by the time I drifted off to sleep it had turned U-G-L-Y.  (And I ain't got no alibi!)  But seriously, there's no excuse for the way I reacted to you, the ones I love most.  True, I am only human.  And I do have a threshold.  But I draw from a God whose grace is constantly flowing and never ending.  My job is to receive that and then turn around and pour it directly into my man and my girls.  If it gets stopped up somewhere in my heart--that's my issue, and I need to fix it.  A lot of days that is so hard to do.  I thank God for His grace that allows me (and you) to do just that.

So...the next time you find yourself stringing one of those "ugly" pearls, know that I get it.  Our strings aren't just made of those perfect little gems that we're proud of.  It's okay.  I promise to show you my ugly ones too, so that you know you are not alone.  You are never alone. 

And I am so sorry for days like yesterday.

For now, you'll have to excuse me.  I need to go clean out my cup.      

Love,

   

What about you? Are you willing to put your imperfect pearls on display? (There's not a more beautiful way to preach the gospel to your kids or the people around you.)

Love Your Vision

Dear Girls,

The Strouth family sat down to breakfast this morning and discussed our vision for the new year.  That seems to be the topic of the day around here.  That's fine with me, because I'm in that mood.  Maybe it's because we've spent the last 365 days in the trenches, but I just feel so good about the thought of starting fresh.  New year, new beginning.

I got to start a new devotional today, which I'm really excited about.  On my way to have my quiet time, coffee and bible in hand, Dad asked, "So did you actually read the bible every day last year?"  The question caught me off-guard and I had to think about it for a second, but in that moment it hit me that I did.  I hadn't thought about it like that.  He said, "So I guess it's safe to say you created a habit!"  I guess I did.

I hadn't actually set out to do that--create the habit of reading God's word every day.  It wasn't a conscious thought I had last January 1st, that I should commit to such a goal.  Don't get me wrong; I'm a very goal-oriented person.  I did sit down and write out a list of things I wanted to achieve this past year, but "Read the Bible each day" wasn't on it.

You know what was?

"Get closer to God."

I suppose I fell so deep in love with the vision of a more intimate walk with Jesus that the process of achieving it became more of a passionate endeavor than it was reaching a goal.

"Read my Bible every day" might have become too cumbersome of an action to take every day after a while.

But the "means" of getting there--closer to God--such as reading my Bible, praying, meditating, totally took over the idea that it was all to achieve the "end".


It makes me think of how many people are out there like us who are busy coming up with goals for themselves for the new year.  We tend to call them "resolutions" when we talk about them in the months of December and January.  We promise ourselves we will eat less, exercise more, ditch some bad habit, chase a dream, quit cussing or gossiping, get along with our sister better (ahem), change careers, take a much-needed vacation.  We start off strong. Then sometime around February we get a little overwhelmed and depleted, don't we?

I think it's because that's around the time we stop and take stock of our progress.  We may look in the mirror and realize that we're no closer to our goal than we were when we started.  Usually, that's when we give up.  No immediate results = no motivation.

I wonder what would happen if we fell in love with our vision rather than look at it like something to conquer or a goal to achieve.  A check in the box.

If you fell in love with the vision of a healthier, more energetic you, would you be better able to follow through with it than if you simply wanted to "Lose Weight?"

Perhaps if you fell in love with the vision of a better marriage or other relationship, it'd be easier to take the steps to achieve that, with or without seeing the results right away.

Just like I woke up each day this past year and dug into God's word because I loved that spiritual growth that it was creating, I think it's safe to say you'd be more willing to commit to the means if you loved the vision of the end you were trying to achieve.

If a habit is what we repeatedly do, then can we just simply fall in love with the vision for our life and then take repeated steps to get there?  I think the rest would end up falling into place.

Just a thought.

Love,

  Do you have a vision for where you want to be a year from now? What about five years from now? Next month?

Inviting the Birthday Boy

Dear Girls,

Katelynn, you were born on a cold afternoon in November five years ago. That year I found myself full to bursting in anticipation of the holiday season.

I busied myself with plans and preparations. A huge tree was placed in a corner of our tiny apartment and set ablaze with twinkling lights and just the right amount of balls and ornaments. Presents were wrapped, cookies were baked, and the sound of Christmas music could be heard from morning to night. (Much to Dad's dismay!) Decorations debuted early that year and even you, little ladies, were adorned from head to toe with ribbons and red velvet. Stockings were hung on the wall with such care that anyone could see the holiday spirit was there!  That holiday celebration lasted from Thanksgiving to New Year's and was one for the books, for sure.

Now before you go thinking that I missed the mark on the true meaning of Christmas, allow me to proudly inform you that we did, in fact, have a beautiful ceramic nativity scene that we dutifully placed on top of our television set. We even took time out of our festivities to explain to you, Jyllian, that Christmas was when Jesus was born!

But that was it.

We then quickly returned our attention back to the electric glow of our tv, nervous that you would ask questions. Because back then we just didn't know the answers.  

And anyway, what's Christmas without watching The Grinch?!

As the holiday approaches this year, I remember that Christmas fondly. After all, it was our first holiday season as the family we are today. It could have been the hormones still running rampid through my body from recent childbirth, but still...somehow they translated into warm, fuzzy, holly-jolly feelings, and the thought that maybe Christmas could still be magical.  All we needed was to turn up the music a little.  Or eat a few more cookies.  A glass of wine?  Maybe a little more tinsel?  Or...what?  

You see, along with the memories floods a heavy case of the shoulda-coulda-wouldas.  I shoulda learned more about what happened in the stable that night so long ago so I coulda taught it to you girls sooner and the gift and wonder of seeing our Messiah lying in a manger woulda been yours to behold earlier in your lives.

But alas...at that point in my life that nativity scene meant no more to me than did the icicle lights hanging from our roof. It was just a symbol. A novelty, even.

I wasn't following Christ then. I knew little about His life, His death, and even His birth, though ironically I knew it was important enough to to throw a huge celebration every year. In fact, I celebrated with such gusto that I even forgot to invite the birthday boy himself! While part of me knew He was the reason for the season I guess I, like many people, failed to understand just how relevant His miraculous birth was to me and my life.

I've since given my heart to Him.  With that came the insatiable curiosity about His life, His death, and--you guessed it--His birth.  And what I've learned, I've then turned around and tried to teach to you girls.  Like how it's okay to give and receive gifts at Christmastime as long as we remember that we have already received the greatest gift of all.

How it's okay to celebrate as long as you know what you're celebrating. 

"For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life."  John 3:16

This verse--which happens to be a favorite for both of you--came to fruition that night so long ago.   Do you understand the weight of that?

No one's ever given me a gift quite like that one.  Complete, unconditional, love and redemption.  God cheerfully gave it, and it is ours for the taking.

And that, my sweethearts, is something to celebrate. 

So, we decorated the tree this weekend.  It snowed.  The view from our kitchen window would've made a beautiful Christmas card while you and Dad made an awesome snowman in the back yard before falling in the door, wet and cold, asking for hot cocoa.  Christmas tunes have been blaring in our house for weeks now, and we'll be hanging some lights outside tonight.  Our celebration has begun!

And that's okay.  And perhaps forgiveness is in order.  Forgiveness for myself for not giving my children this gift sooner.  I pray you're still young enough that you don't even remember that there was once a time where Jesus wasn't the center of our celebration.  That we often forgot to invite the birthday boy.

Truth is, you probably don't remember because one day a few years ago the birthday boy actually moved in.  Yep.  He came to visit one day and never left.  He's a big part of our family now, and we give His birthday more attention than all of ours throughout the year combined!  We don't mind, do we?  He's truly something worth celebrating.

Love,