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Friends, there is a milestone here this week... these are the last few days of this job I've had for almost four years. Four long years where I've learned more than a blog post could ever summarize. I will do my best to debrief it here later so that you can have the gift of seeing all that God has done and is doing in my life. It's been ugly and beautiful, frustrating and gratifying, convicting and redeeming, but one of the biggest things this job has been for me is healing. A healing that began in my years on Young Life staff when I was young and fresh out of Texas. A healing that continued in graduate school where the most incredible professors spoke amazing truth over my life and told me I could... A healing that has continued to grow and plopped me in a place of confidence I never thought I'd have - one that's still growing, but one that I definitely didn't think was possible for me.

It's best described here... thank you Jen for speaking my feelings so well:
http://jenhatmaker.com/blog/2013/05/08/wherever-it-rises

Thank you to the pastors I've interacted with, the friends I've made and mostly the incredible boss I've been given the chance to work under - you have all changed me for the better and given me a gift no one can ever take back from me... confidence to know that I can be used and I have a voice. Thank you, from the bottom of this Texas girl's heart.

Bravo, Jesus, Bravo.

Small... FMF

Picture this: a 32 year old professional woman with a graduate level education not being able to speak not even a word, losing feeling in her extremities and being so dizzy she falls over.

This is something that's happening to me during migraine episodes as of late. You know how it makes me feel? Small. Incapable. Scared. Frustrated. Anxious.

But here's the thing I'm learning. I think that's exactly where God wants me. By nature I am a Type A, take on loads of projects, fill my schedule, got it all under control kind of gal. I get it from both of my parents. It's all I've ever seen or known. These last few weeks, I think my stress level and my life's circumstances are demanding that I learn to slow down. But to me, that feels weak - like I need help (and I do), like I need to let go of my work responsibilities (and I do), like I am back in a place of dependency and in turn like I'm not contributing to society.

In all of this I feel like God is calling me back to him. He is jealous for his time with me. He knows what will fill me back up. This has sunk me on my butt on the couch, dependent on the community around me in this new little town we live in. And I think he's smiling - he's healing me while I rest.

He's making me whole again starting with the inside of me. His word has become the air I breathe in and out; I'm living on these words, "The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still." - Exodus 14:14. I've needed his presence to calm my soul and remember to be thankful for each moment I don't have a migraine with whacky symptoms and to ask for more.

I feel so small, so useless, so over it, but then I look at who God likes to use - he used the tiniest soldier to defeat a giant, he used nimrod disciples to spread his name, he used harlots and liars and cheaters and murderers to bring people to him. And then I'm thankful that even in this yucky season where I feel useless, I am not a misfit, I belong to him and Jesus is using my life, possibly even more so because I'm small and broken.

Lonely...FMF

As I woke her up at 1:00 am to tell her that my Opa had just breathed is last in the living room, I saw the anguish on her face. The anguish of knowing what her life now was - lonely.

I helped her out of bed, put her robe on her and we walked into the living room where the hospice nurses, my sister-in-law, my aunt and uncle were standing around him, secretly hoping he'd start breathing again. My Oma calmly walked over to his bed side and sat next to him the chair, holding his hand as other family members that were staying down the street walked in the door. Soon after, she crawled onto the bed with him and started weeping softly. We all knew without a doubt that this was the most horrific day of her life. As we all wept, I sat in the corner and wept for her because I knew that the next week, all of us would go home with spouses, siblings, parents, significant others and she would be left in that house alone - with just 58 years of memories.

But in some strange way, I knew I could feel it deeper than anyone else in the room - I had just gotten out of a relationship that did not end well. I was 30 and so ready to be married, because I too (on a much smaller scale) had my fair share of lonely years. Of the 32 family members there, I was the only one with no one to go home to that night, my single cousins had yet to get to town. So after we finished having a family toast with buttermilk (gross, I know, but it was Opa's favorite), singing worship songs, reading scripture, recounting memories and praying for this beautiful widowed woman, I decided to stay with Oma. We laid there and held hands and wept. Neither of us slept much.

For the next 5 nights, I stayed with Oma - we found a way to peace and at least a bit of companionship, even if we still felt alone. Because of those hard weeks: my night in the hospital with Opa where I prayed with him, sang with him and listened to him cry out for Jesus to take him home while I sobbed on my little hospital couch and my hard nights with Oma, my eyes have been opened to what lonely really means. My compassion for the suffering, the broken and the lonely has been a gift.

Love someone who's lonely this week - bless them with the gift of your presence and a listening ear.

Broken... FMF

We watch the commercials on the tv - you know, the ones with the kids who are malnourished and literally starving to death. Those commercials are designed to break our hearts for those in need - to get off our entitled, over-fed American booties and at the very least right a check. But to me what that communicates is, "See these kids? They're broken. They need help. Since you've got it together, why don't you fix their problem with just a little bit of money?"

But you know what? I've met those kids. I've seen their faces and heard their laughter. I've also seen their tears and watched them be in the middle of a field all alone, with literally no one who cares if they live or die. It's there, in our world and it's very very broken.

But you know what else? So am I. I am broken. My poverty may not look like theirs - I may not need clothes, food or a job, but I am also in need. My brokenness is just all covered up in a pretty layer of American pride, self-reliance and entitlement. As much as I try to not be these things and think this way, it's true... and it's ugly.

Today I'm reminded that being broken is beautiful. It's beautiful because it's something that unites all humans - our imperfection makes us one. Our need for each other makes us one. Our ability be with someone else in their brokenness and let someone enter into ours is what makes ashes turn to beauty. Embracing brokenness today...

Present - FMF

The greatest gift you can give someone is the gift of being present.

Life is hard, we need each other. Gifts, flowers, cards - those things are not needs, they are extras. What we need is someone's presence. When I am truly present with someone, there's nowhere else in the world I would rather be than with that person.

Here's a secret... I never, ever regret being present with someone. Ever.

I can't help today but think of one of girls in my first Bible study; this week she got diagnosed with inoperable cancer. The doctors are doing everything they can, but they're quickly realizing it's too late to save her life. She has weeks to months left in her short 27-year-old life. ALL THAT MATTERS to her, in these last weeks and months is the presence of those she loves... and the presence of God. That's it. There is nothing that matters more.

During hard seasons of my own life, you know what I remember now? I remember who was there, who sat and cried with me, prayed with me, asked me questions, tried to cheer me up. I remember Cecilia walking in my room with a glass of wine for each of us, plopping herself on my bed and asking how I was today. I remember Lizzy faithfully texting me every single day asking how I was and how she could pray. I remember Alisha helping me do the simple things - like get groceries and tie my shoes and get dressed when my body was in too much pain to do those things. I remember Emily showing up at my house uninvited, with food, knowing that if she didn't, I probably wouldn't have eaten that night. I remember my husband walking in, long before I expected him because he knew his presence mattered.

The "things" we buy for those we love are great, but they will be soon forgotten. The hours you give, the tears you cry, the hugging, the showing up - that's what sticks. That's what's worth it. So this weekend, I challenge you to think of someone who needs your presence and grab a latte or a glass of wine and go be present.