Joy comes in the morning. Even after sorrow, even after the depths of mourning. We are promised that joy is there. God’s presence is there. Hope rises and is within us.
When you’ve been in the depths of grief and survival mode for so long, finding your way out feels unfamiliar. It feels like you can’t quite trust it, and you wonder if you will lose it at the drop of a hat. The thing I’ve come to realize about grief is that yes, even though I feel like I have come a long way, it is not linear. I don’t follow a straight path where I’m walking away from my grief. Where I simply can leave it behind. Grief follows a winding path; it takes you on twists and turns you don’t expect.
It’s been over two years since we’ve lost David, and I still experience him in my everyday life: his faith, his playfulness and his love ingrained in me and how I raise our girls. I see him in them every day, parts of his personality and who he was in their eyes and their smiles. The sadness and the ache and the grief still exist, they just change over time. You no longer feel it in the depths of your being and your bones, but your heart still misses what was and what could have been. I miss David and the life we could have shared together, but I also know that he is with me now even in the little things. I know that he wants a bright future for me and the girls and is watching over us.
Today, I feel hope for the future. Hope for what God has in store for me. There’s a sense of guilt in letting go and choosing joy, like I should stay in the depths of grief and mourning forever. But I know that’s not what Dave would have wanted and I know it’s not what God wants for me, either. He wants me to believe in His promises. He wants to hold me and guide me into his good and beautiful gifts. And I know Dave is watching over all his girls every step of the way.
Earlier this year, God brought someone into my life that allowed me to find hope for happiness again. I knew it was a risk putting myself out there, but it was a risk I was willing to take. I allowed myself to fall, to feel, to let myself be on a relationship journey again. And as hard as it was when things didn’t work out, I know that it needed to be that way. It allowed me to hope, to believe in a bright future, despite everything I’ve been through. God continues to show me that he wants what is good and best for me. And I know that I deserve his gifts, to enjoy this life that he has given me.
Today, I am grateful for so many things. I am grateful for counseling for helping me feel more like myself than I have in a really long time. My heart feels stronger and more secure. I feel a sense of peace in the present. I am grateful for the opportunities of new beginnings. Of the possibilities of what lies ahead. The future is uncertain, but it is also filled with so much love and support from those I care about.
Today, I am grateful for hope. For the gift of life. And the joy in what’s to come.
I turned 40 this year…and while it’s a big milestone, I don’t feel a whole lot of changes or major feelings about it. To me, age is a number, but each year brings about new opportunities, a chance to reflect and look back on who you’ve been and a chance to look forward on who you want to be.
The past couple years have been challenging for sure and have brought about a lot of major life changes that I never anticipated. I have thought that I would be in a different place in my life right now…but I know that I am where I am supposed to be. God has brought me through so much and continues to be with me through everything.
This year has brought about changes already. I keep thinking about the journal the girls got me for my birthday. Thanks to a good friend, they picked out a beautiful journal that says “Be happy” on the front. I haven’t yet filled it, as I have another journal I’m still writing in, but I look forward to filling it with words of hope.
I have chosen to focus on being happy this year…making positive changes and looking forward to what lies ahead. I have been able to focus on taking care of myself and making decisions that have allowed me to be a better version of myself. Accepting that I cannot face the challenges on my own, I have been seeing a counselor, which has allowed me to process more than I thought possible and afforded me the opportunity to have even more hope. To choose joy in the midst of the chaos. To accept life’s struggles for what they are and not dwell in them. To be happy in the midst of it all.
People tell me that I am so strong for what I’ve been through…and while I really don’t like to be told to be strong or that I am strong, I do see that within me. To me, strength isn’t a virtue but a choice. It is a choice to keep carrying on, to put one foot in front of the other, to have faith in what lies ahead. To trust that you are not alone. To seek help when you need it. Being strong means being vulnerable. It means asking for help even when you don’t want to. Strength lies not within ourselves, but in trusting in and surrendering to the process. Trusting that God is with us, that we can do anything through him and he is walking beside us through all of the challenges we face.
Today, I feel strong because I have come a long way. I have faced insurmountable challenges. I have chosen to believe. I have a community of people who have helped carry me through. I am trusting in the process, I am believing that God has good and beautiful gifts for me and my girls. I see the beauty of every day, and I am thankful and happy for what he has given me.
To those who have helped carry me, thank you. I couldn’t be where I am today without you. To those who have prayed for me from afar, thank you for silently holding me up. Your prayers have been powerful and effective in giving me hope. To those who have come by my side in times of need, thank you. For loving me and helping me and giving me strength when I have needed it.
Today, I am happy. Tomorrow might be hard but I will still choose to believe. Despite what might come my way, I can choose joy. I can choose to believe and know that God is with me. I can choose to believe in God’s promises and hope for the future. I look forward to what lies ahead and know that I deserve happiness. I am so incredibly grateful for who God has made me and who he will continue to make me to be. His kingdom has come into my heart and life and will continue to pour out into my future.
The kingdom of God is within us and giving us hope for today, tomorrow and forever. For that, for hope, for joy, for all of it, I am eternally grateful.
Two years ago we said goodbye to our daddy and best friend. Our rock and our confidante. Our source of strength and so much laughter. You knew how to be silly and serious and everything in between. It’s true when they say that the first year is hard, but if I’m being honest, year two was even harder. I went through a lot of ups and downs and life changes that at times left me breathless.
I have been grieving not just the loss of you, but also the loss of normalcy as the pandemic hit and continued on longer than I ever imagined it would. I have gone through different stages of grief for in-person relationships, missing them immensely at the beginning of the pandemic and now realizing just how much work it is as a single parent to maintain them. I have grieved the home I left behind, the house full of memories with our children as I moved into a townhome. I have grieved the loss of community with our neighbors. I have grieved the many things our girls won’t get to experience with you. I have grieved so much that truthfully, some days it has felt too much to bear.
Grief, I have come to realize, is multidimensional. It’s not just about the loss of who you lose, it is the loss of everything else you could have shared together. It’s the loss of everything you imagined you thought your life would be. However, it is also about choosing joy in the midst of grief. It is holding onto hope, knowing that there are good and beautiful things in this life that I can enjoy both now and in the future. For me, grief isn’t just heaviness, it is choosing to find beauty, adapting and holding onto truths that guide me one day at a time.
I think one of the hardest parts of grief is that not many people understand it unless they’ve been through it themselves. One of the reasons I share my story and write about you is so that people will learn about those who are grieving and ways they can walk alongside them. I want others to know that they don’t have to fear talking about you, that I need it more than anything. Holding onto memories fills my heart with so much joy and is important for both me and the girls.
Another reason I share about you: for our girls. As I talk with them about you, it is my hope that the girls will hold onto their memories, but I know that in time these memories will fade. I am writing down stories about you—about us—so that someday the girls will know so much more about you. I am hoping that maybe eventually this will all come together in a book.
I also share about you for my own healing. I have been broken, yes, but I also feel myself being made new. I have recognized within myself a strength I never knew I had before. A strength that doesn’t just come from me, but that is a gift from God.
You taught me that strength from your example, holding on and trusting in the face of adversity. You showed me what true courage looks like: You trusted in whatever God brought your way, and you had the faith that He would see you through it. You believed in God’s promises and knew that you weren’t alone in your suffering.
In the same way, despite just how hard it has been grieving in the midst of a pandemic, I know that I am not alone. I felt like I lost my safety net when I lost you, but in reality my safety net has been there all along, I just haven’t seen it. I haven’t trusted in it fully. I have walked the tightrope, wobbling and fearing that I am going to fall into the vastness, into the unknown where I am asked to trust and surrender even when it’s hard.
In reality, yes, life is hard. But the truth is, this space I am in, where I am being asked to trust, is my safe place. I have left my old home, and my new home is a place to build. A place to grow. A place to believe, hope and dream.
Today I remember you, honor you and am so incredibly grateful for everything we shared together. I am thankful for everything you taught me and carry you forever in my heart.
Darkness crashes Into white Casting shadows Into the night Illuminating beauty Radiating light. I stand in awe Taking it all in Letting the purity Wash away what’s within Knowing the hope That let’s me begin Again And again. No longer bound I am set free To believe in love Because of the victory. Twinkling lights Amidst the black Tiny rays poking through Giving strength where I lack. The light is a veil In the vastness of the sky Providing a well Where my soul runs dry. My lungs breathe in The crisp night air Cleansing and waiting Knowing what’s there Beyond the veil The victory’s won I know tomorrow brings The rising of the sun.
Like just about everyone this time of year, I find myself reflecting on the past 12 months—everything I have been through, have learned and see myself hoping to work on in the new year.
I’ve never been big on New Year’s resolutions; I find them to be glorified versions of personal goals (or maybe that’s just me). The trend in more recent years has been finding a “word of the year” that sets an intention. This could be a word that helps you stay focused on the person you want to be, or a quality, truth or hope you wish to hold onto.
I’ve tried both resolutions and words of the year and while in theory they have been helpful, I find myself quickly getting back into the routines and busyness of everyday life and quickly forgetting any sort of intentions (or resolutions) I’ve set for myself.
If I’m honest, I know that goals are helpful for me to stay focused and give me a sense of purpose when I otherwise sometimes feel a lack of control. While I am not setting out to name resolutions for myself this coming year, there are a handful of things that I want to do more of, and some things that I am realizing I want to do less of. In shedding the things that do not serve me, I am hoping to make fewer excuses for not doing the things that give me a greater sense of joy and purpose. Let’s call them goals of what I want to do and not do.
2022 Goals
1. Less scrolling. I find myself doing way too much mindless scrolling on my phone, namely on social media, sinking into the rabbit hole that is the internet. When I am really up for wasting my energy, I click into the comments section of a news article. Most of this mindless scrolling leaves me feeling like I have wasted my time and energy on things that really serve me little purpose. I am considering removing social media apps from my phone temporarily to help me stay more focused on the present and less on things that don’t matter.
Don’t get me wrong, I love seeing updates on what my friends are up to, especially those I don’t see very often, but I know I need to be better at picking up the phone or texting when I’m thinking about someone, even if it requires more emotional energy than scrolling. (Side note: If I haven’t called or texted you…sometimes it requires more emotional bandwidth than I am up for…forgive me if it takes me a while to pick up the phone for a long conversation. I love talking, but at the end of the day I have little energy for more than reading a good book or writing a blog post. 😊)
2. Less justifying. Sometimes I feel the need to justify my reasons for saying no to something or overexplain myself for decisions I make. I am realizing that I am allowed to set boundaries and name what I need without feeling like I have to overshare. I am allowed to give myself grace and space.
3. Less guilt. Oof this is hard. Author Nedra Tawwab says you can’t set boundaries without feeling some sense of guilt, but ultimately you need to focus on not disappointing yourself and your needs. As selfish as I know this sounds, I know that I need to take care of myself. It’s like the whole oxygen mask on the airplane thing. To be the best mom, friend, employee, family member, etc. that I can be, I need to make sure that my needs are met and my tank is full without feeling guilty. I need to make the best decisions for me and my girls without feeling guilty. I need to create space for the things I love and enjoy without feeling guilty.
Somehow I make too many excuses or don’t make enough time for things I enjoy, which I hope to change in 2022. There are several things I want to do more of.
1. More yoga. I fell in love with yoga a few years ago, pre-pandemic before everyone became obsessed with at-home yoga sensationYoga with Adriene. I have fallen out of the habit this past year, but yoga has been something that has kept me grounded, and it has allowed me to take care of my body when it carries so much stress. I’ve signed up for the next 30 day yoga journey, and while I don’t typically finish these in 30 days straight, I tend to stick with them. Yoga has helped me mind, body and soul.
2. More reading. I love to read, both fiction and nonfiction. During the 2020 year of Covid that felt like the longest year of my life, I probably read close to 50 books after a long hiatus of reading for fun. Since downloading the Libby app on my phone and having library books at my fingertips I have been reading so much more. I look to continue my reading habit next year but want to do more reading of physical books too, and not just on my phone.
3. More sleep. Ugh, this is probably my worst habit. Worse than biting my fingernails. I stay up way too late most nights. As a single parent of young kids, I definitely am lacking on time for myself. I try to make up for it by staying up far too late after the girls are in bed, crossing things off my to-do list and then trying to squeeze in plenty of wind down time prior to lights out. I know that I function at my best and am much more pleasant to be around when I have more sleep. I’m happier, less likely to say something stupid, and amazingly more patient with my children. Win, win, win. I know I need to make sleep a priority, it’s just a matter of following through and making it happen.
4. More writing. The lizard in my brain tells me that no one really wants to read what I have to say, that my writing doesn’t serve much purpose other than to get the thoughts out of my head and onto paper (or computer). I know deep down that this isn’t totally true, but I make excuses for not writing more. Confession time: A few months ago I started a book. I abandoned ship after one writing. I’ve gotten approximately two paragraphs written. I’m hoping to come back to it next year and dedicate a whole lot more of my time to writing it.
5. More time with friends IRL. For those who don’t know the lingo the kids are saying these days, IRL = In Real Life. The combination of being thrust into single parenthood in the midst of a global pandemic has put a huge damper on my personal life. I need to get over feeling guilty asking people to watch my kids so I can have one. There is no substitute for in person conversations, hugs, prayers and quality time.
I’ve set some what I feel to be attainable goals for myself next year that allow me to focus more on who I want to be. It’s been a year (ok let’s be honest, two years) and I’m hopeful that the next year will be one of challenges, growth and joy. I am grateful for my girls, my tribe, and a community that has supported me through this journey called life. God has given me more than I could ask for or imagine, even with all of the challenges and curveballs. It is by grace that I continue to find joy and hope in what’s to come.
Today marks 12 years since I lost my dad to cancer. In some ways it feels like it was a lifetime ago, when I was a different version of myself, before I had kids. And in other ways it feels like it was just yesterday I was talking to him on the phone, telling him about my latest adventures. I can still hear his laugh, see his smile, feel his joy, remember just how proud he was of me. Memories of carving pumpkins, playing card games, taking trips to visit family during the holidays, walking me down the aisle on my wedding day—they feel distant yet near in my heart.
Experiencing loss and grief was different with my dad than it is with Dave. The void is much greater. The pain is deeper when I remember the final days and his sickness. My day-to-day life has drastically changed, and I am propelled into this place where I need to be strong while still focusing on taking care of myself.
Grief is different for every loss, for every person. But what remains the same is the need for understanding. For compassion and connection. The need to feel loved and held in the midst of it. To know that in time, the chasm will not feel so wide between my old sense of self and this new place of uncertainty. In time, I will hold more joy in my heart and less sorrow.
What’s not talked about a lot with grief is the void. The place where you feel the absence of your loss, the drastic changes in your life, and the feeling like no one understands the depths of what you are going through. Wondering if anyone could possibly know what it feels like to be lost at sea, the waves crashing over you, knocking you backward and leaving you gasping for air. While no one has had the same experience as me, in ways we have all experienced grief and loss of some kind. And while no one completely understands my pain, it doesn’t mean that I am alone. One of the biggest lies we tell ourselves is that we are alone, or that we shouldn’t burden others with our pain.
It’s easy to feel alone in grief. After a time, people don’t reach out as often. Then the depths hit of what happened. I’ve come to realize that this is the point where we need to ask for help. To figure out a way even when it feels hard. I need to admit that though I may feel alone that no one wants me to walk alone.
I’ve started to recognize that self-care looks like admitting when you need help. I recently started seeing a counselor who has helped me start navigating where I am at, what I’ve gone through, and where I am going. I am starting to feel more like myself again, less anxious, and while the void is still there it isn’t cutting as deep. Slowly, I am adapting and finding my way. Experiencing more joy in the midst of it all.
I share all of this not for sympathy but to encourage those who may be in a place of uncertainty, who may be feeling alone, to reach out. Whether it’s to a counselor or trusted friend. It’s easy to sit in a place of despair and convince ourselves that we are better off figuring things out for ourselves but that only leads to a place of burnout. Of loneliness. Lies and untruths that we convince ourselves are true.
And while some days I do feel lonely I know that I am not alone. I have a wonderful church community, family, friends and colleagues who care for and support me. I am grateful to those who have walked alongside me through this journey and continue to be there for me, whether in person or just a phone call away.
The thing is, we aren’t meant to live this life alone. We are made for community, to carry one another’s burdens. Deep down, I know that people in my life wouldn’t hesitate to help me anytime. These truths are being etched on my heart. Each day I will embrace them, along with the blessings poured out for me.
Today, I am grateful for all of you who continue to pray for me and are there for me and the girls. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.
My daughter Hannah got a blister on the monkey bars at school a few weeks ago. She absolutely loves the playground, whether climbing, swinging or getting as high up as she can, which raises my heart rate, but I instinctively want to trust her, to let her not be afraid of taking risks and show her I know she can do hard things.
The monkey bars are one of her favorites, so Hannah was bummed when she developed a huge blister. We covered the wound with a bandage, which held up but needed replaced frequently. Hannah quickly realized that she couldn’t do a lot of things she used to before she hurt her hand. She had to hold things awkwardly, eat differently, and she needed to ask for help doing things she could normally do herself. Hannah quickly got frustrated.
“You have to adapt,” I told her. “You have to learn how to work around or through the pain.” I explained that she would get used to the Bandaid, and she would eventually learn how to do things differently until the wound healed.
As I reflect on the past year and a half, I too have done a lot of adapting. Bending at the curves, covering the pain with a bandage and learning to work around it. Adapting to the challenges and pushing through when it’s been hard. As difficult as it’s been (and still is), and as much as I haven’t wanted to, I’ve learned to accept things as they are, and very slowly I am finding my way.
The process of adapting, I have come to realize, is twofold. First, in order to learn how to work through our pain we must let ourselves truly feel it, fully and completely, without trying to avoid the pain or numb ourselves to it (because let’s be honest no one likes to face the hard things). When Hannah needed staples in her head for an injury last year (I swear there are times I want to wrap the kid in bubble wrap!) she had more pain in her head when she had it cleaned out in urgent care than when she actually injured it or got the staples put in. Digging deep into the wound hurt more than anything. But it was a necessary first step so Hannah’s wound could heal properly.
Just like injuries to our bodies take more time to heal depending on their severity, so do our life experiences and the pain caused by them require more time for us to heal, especially if we do not properly address our wounds to begin with. When we do, in time, we realize the second part of adapting: We may have to learn to do things differently or not the way we are used to. We may have to learn how to live our life with pain without letting it consume us. We learn to accept life as it is, even if it’s not the way we imagined. Because we can still experience joy and see that there is beauty to be found in this life even when we still feel pain.
That’s grace, that’s the goodness of God at work in our lives.
Here’s the thing about pain that I’ve come to realize: Too often, it is in our nature to want to skip over the hard parts and taking care of the wound itself. It feels much too hard to feel the pain intensely, to fully acknowledge everything we are feeling so deeply. I too have tried to skip over this part, to try to adapt to life as it is without feeling the depths of what I’ve gone through.
When we try to skip over this part, the wound gets bigger. The pain cuts deeper. But we don’t realize it until it starts to bleed again. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, yet still struggle with, it’s that I have to go through this life one step at a time, one day at a time, letting myself feel everything even when it hurts.
I tell my girls all the time that it is okay to feel what they do, and there are healthy ways to feel and experience their emotions. I sit with them through their big feelings and accept them as they are. As parents we feel like we need to be strong all the time, but I have to remind myself of the same thing I tell the girls.
So, I let myself adapt. I feel the depths of everything, I admit that it hurts. I also know that I am finding my way, my footing even where the ground feels shaky. I step forward along the path, one foot in front of the other, one day at a time. I know that this life isn’t what I imagined but it doesn’t mean that it isn’t good, and there are an abundance of blessings I can count each day. I see the good and beautiful gifts God has given me, and I trust in the plans he has for me and the love poured out that gives me hope.
Today, I adapt. Tomorrow I will, too. One step at a time, I will find my way.
At this year’s Olympic Games, Simone Biles was poised to dominate artistic women’s gymnastics and go home with the all-around gold medal and help win the gold medal for the American team.
Her withdrawal from multiple events last week stunned the world as she chose to focus on her mental health rather than succumb to the pressure to perform when she wasn’t in the right mind. Getting lost mid-air in her vault, Simone realized that she needed to take care of herself mind and body before she could dangerously injure herself.
I can’t even fathom the extent of the pressure she is under as the GOAT, the things Simone has had to endure as an elite gymnast, or the frustration and anger she’s felt from the lack of support by the USA Gymnastics organization for the covered up assault she went through for years. However, I will say this: I applaud Simone for being willing to step up and set boundaries for herself. To recognize that her mental health and safety as a gymnast are more important than winning.
During the all-around competition, as I watched Suni Lee prior to her final tumbling routine before clinching her gold medal, I saw her hands shaking and watched Suni place her hand on her stomach, breathing in and out to calm her nerves before starting her routine. She too felt the pressure and needed to find herself in the midst of it.
Breathing. Finding her center. Both of these women modeled courage in different ways. Courage to listen to themselves. To catch their breath and find what they needed in order to succeed—both on and off the mat. Because their true success is in their strength of character and not in what they accomplish.
What I’ve appreciated about what has happened this last week is the conversation it has started around mental health and prioritizing self-care over self-sabotage, or being true to yourself and what you need.
If I’m totally honest, I haven’t been completely true to myself and what I need this past year and a half as a widow and solo parent in the midst of Covid. I’ve had hard days and easier days and some great days and just days that are longer than long. I’ve grieved but also have let myself “get lost in the air” as I busy myself with day-to-day tasks, parenting, scrolling social media or watching mindless television.
I have mentioned before the anxiety I’ve dealt with, the elephant on the chest feeling, the pit in the stomach that comes and goes. This high functioning anxiety allows me to push through, to tackle what needs to get done, to live in hypervigilance despite the stress and the weight of grief, but I’ve come to recognize that the pressure of the weight I’m carrying is getting to be too heavy. I can’t keep carrying on as I have been. So here I am, nearly 1.5 years after losing David, recognizing that my mental health matters not just for me, but for my girls too, and I’m prioritizing more meaningful self-care. Not the pamper yourself kind of self-care, but I have decided to meet with a counselor to walk with me in my healing journey.
One day at a time. My mantra since the beginning. Healing is a journey and not one that can be resolved overnight. It could be argued that we are all healing from our own wounds. Our own losses. Who’s to say that we couldn’t all benefit from prioritizing our own mental health? We take sick days when we are sick, and let’s be honest, mental health days when we need them (although probably not as often as we should). We go to the doctor when we aren’t feeling well physically and we ought to normalize going to a professional when we feel that we could use the support to get through hard times.
I know that this step is just one of many in my healing. If there’s one thing I’ve learned this past year it is that grief is not linear. You don’t just start and stop over time. Grief changes you and comes and goes in waves. The waves become less tumultuous and windy but they are still there.
So for today I choose trust. I trust in myself and my inner voice that tells me to pause. To pause and to trust in every part of the healing process – even the hard parts. Trusting requires a continual surrender to the path and the process. But trust doesn’t always have to be about martyrdom, either. Trust and faith require me to let go and be present, letting things be as they are. Giving in to the here and now and letting myself be fully present in it.
The here and now is messy and hard and painful but it is also beautiful and exquisite and filled with good things…I just have to be patient through the process and take care of every aspect of myself, letting myself receive fully God’s grace and love. And when I do, that is the true mark of courage, a strength that truly is remarkable.
“For we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things he planned for us long ago.” Ephesians 2:10
I’m not very good at being present in the current moment. My mind tends to wander to my to-do list, future plans or anything my overthinking brain wants to ruminate in.
As a mom to two little girls I find myself resisting my natural instincts, longing to slow down, to be present. I love watching and being with them, whether dancing, playing at the park, doing puzzles, or snuggling up in my bed early in the morning. I wish that I could bottle the feeling of pausing, of being fully present in every moment of my day.
Leading up to moving has left me little time to slow down, and now I find myself somewhat settled into our new home. Attempting to pause and be present. The lazy days of summer lie ahead and I’m eager to fill them with activities and playdates and doing things to make our home feel complete. As I stare at our bare walls and shelves to be filled my mind wanders to the potential, to the things I could do to our home. It feels both overwhelming and exciting at the same time. And yet I also find myself looking back at where we came from, remembering the home we built together and longing for a different future. I know that I cannot change the past, I can only find hope in the present and in the promises God has to give me a hope and a future.
So here we are, looking at the vastness of our walls to be filled, to our potential, to our future—and to our present. The planner in me wants to do it all at once, to do all the things, to finish our home now. There’s so much I want to do, so much I see, and I’m not sure where to start.
So then I pause. Breathe. Slow down. The girls and I spent the morning doing a puzzle today, each of us taking a section, helping each other out, fitting the pieces together. We each had to start with one puzzle piece, finding the others that fit into place, then we connected them all where we found they came together.
I feel a bit like that puzzle. I know there is a vastness that lies ahead, a story that I’m writing, and I’m trying to write it all down now. I’m trying to make sense of it all, putting everything into its place, finding a way to control what I cannot see. I’m reminded that I cannot do it all at once. I cannot fill every bare spot on my walls, get everything I ever wanted for my home, and make everything feel complete.
Because my life is not complete.
My life is the puzzle. My pieces are fitting slowly together, intricately telling a story that I’m not going to see until the very end. Only God knows the plans, the hope and the future he has promised me. All I can do is be present, to find the pieces that fit the parts of the story that I am writing right now. I cannot change the present, the past or the ending to my story. All I can do is embrace it and find one piece at a time. I must connect the parts as they come together, coming alongside those who are walking with me in this journey. They are a part of my story, my puzzle, and they see my potential and encourage me along the path. They help me to see that I cannot complete it all at once but remind me to pause, to be fully present, to let God use me in this story that I am writing.
We all have a story we are writing, and it is up to us whether we embrace it, live in it, and are fully present to what God has for us. We must trust the process, take the pieces he has given us, and put them together to make something beautiful.
Because our puzzle, our story, our lives we are living are a masterpiece.
Earlier this year, just after those frigid weeks of subzero temperatures, I wore one of my usual pair of boots to work. It was a typical day, but that day I did a lot more running around than normal than sitting at my desk. By the end of it, my feet were sore and tired. So the next day I retired those boots in favor of my more comfortable pair. By the end of the week, my feet were feeling still a little sore but like they were on the mend.
That same feeling persisted…sore yet not painful, almost tired. As the weeks went on the pain increased. So after a Google search of my symptoms, my self-diagnosis encouraged me to get my feet checked out. Sure enough I had what was known as ball of foot pain (ie inflammation or metatarsalgia). Consequently, I needed to rest. To heal and let myself get on the right path.
At the time when my pain started to get worse, I felt a nudge, hearing God whisper. To stop running like Jonah in the opposite direction as to where I was to supposed to go. To trust in where God was leading me, even if it felt difficult. I felt like I was being led in a direction I didn’t want to, or perhaps was not ready, to go. I was afraid and didn’t want to go it alone. I didn’t know where the path was taking me.
And the voice persisted, to let go. To surrender and trust. To take just the first step out of the boat. I didn’t need to know the whole path. I just needed to simply step out of my place of comfort and into a place far greater than I could have imagined.
Needless to say, I still resisted. I’ve known for the past year that I want to move into a townhome, and yet I have been scared to leave this place of comfort behind. Wonderful neighbors whom I hold dear and have been a rock and comfort for me and my girls. Proximity to close friends and my church. And yet I knew I needed to move, to find my way, even if taking that first step was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.
I resisted. I questioned my path. I tried to find the right one on my own and shut out the option that would have made the most sense. The pain in my feet persisted. Finally, I opened my options of moving farther from where I am and closer to work. The door opened to a beautiful place that the girls and I will be moving to this summer.
The same day that I put in the offer I went to the doctor and he tried something on my feet that brought immediate relief. I no longer have any pain when I walk. Finally, I had chosen the path marked out for me. Finally, I stopped running the opposite direction. Finally, I listened to that still, quiet voice that called me to trust and take that first step.
There are so many questions and unknowns and next steps to navigate…and despite the anxiety I have felt the past several months over moving I finally feel a sense of peace. Don’t get me wrong I am still overwhelmed by it all, but I no longer feel afraid of where I’m going.
I had a good cry several weeks ago when I was still uncertain of where I was going, feeling like I was leaving a chapter of my life behind that I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t want to step outside of the plans David and I had laid out for our future. I didn’t want to leave the home we built and the memories made here.
I haven’t been big on talking to Dave (I’ve been talking more so to God) but I talked to David and felt his comforting presence reminding me that he was with me no matter where I go. That our plans we made together don’t have to determine my future. That the decisions I make for me and the girls, as I seek to honor Dave, don’t have to be tied to what our plans had been. I could feel David telling me that he trusts me and is with me and the girls every step of the way.
So the girls and I are stepping together into what feels like an ocean…a huge tide and yet with calming waters because I can trust in God to be with me and keep the crashing waves from washing over me even in the storms. And I can trust in Dave to show us the ways he is with us in these big and small decisions, no matter where we go.
My feet continue to feel better as I slowly heal. My body reminds me when I need to listen and be still instead of running, to hold tight to God’s promises and listen to his voice instead of trying to go my own way. Though the future is uncertain, I know for certain that I am not alone. I’ve got an amazing community and support system and a wonderful family who has been supporting me through this process. And for that I am eternally grateful.
She Speaks True Words 
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