peace – She Speaks True Words

The songs of wind chimes.

My neighbor has wind chimes, and on an especially windy day, there is a symphony of music in my yard that plays through closed windows. I hear the music amongst the passing traffic and rustling of leaves, bringing its songs of hope. The wind is becoming much more crisp these days, the warmth of the summer sun fading into the distance and shining a brilliant white light as the days of winter draw near.

Even though I have lived in Iowa most of my life, winter has always come as a shock and is my least favorite of the seasons. Gone are the days of no coats, long walks or park dates with my kids. Gone are the days of the changing leaves filling my neighborhood with hues of magenta, butterscotch and fire; they are replaced by bare trees waiting for new life to sprout in the spring.

For the past few years, I have felt much like the tree waiting for spring. Bit by bit I have been pruned, my leaves showing signs of beauty and wisdom and so much life, yet in the beauty sometimes comes the ashes and the fall. Because just as we cannot have spring without winter, we must shed layers of ourselves to make way for new life. And even though the winter has been the season of life I have been in for quite some time, I didn’t give up on knowing that spring would still come.

Because even in the darkest days of winter, when there are fewer hours of sunlight streaming into our days, the wind chimes still blow on a windy day, reminding of us of hope and singing its song back to us, even when we forget how. Even when we feel the bitterness and the cold, there are still signs of warmth and love around us when we open our eyes and our hearts.

Winter. Yes, it’s hard. Yes, it’s coming. Yes, sometimes it feels like a short season that can last a year. But when we light a fire and find warmth and comfort around us, we don’t have to let it bury us. We can let it shape us and bring us new life. Because spring is coming and it is up to us if we will bloom and prosper.

When you lean into the discomfort and let yourself find warmth and joy and peace in the midst of us, it’s amazing how God will meet you. Even in the face of uncertainty.

Breathe. You’ve got this. Spring will be here before you know it. Listen for the steady wind chimes and you’ll hear songs of hope along the way.

Faith, hope & starry nights.

On a clear night in the middle of summer, it is easy to see the countless flickering lights in the sky, illuminating the darkness of the night. The moon shines in its brilliance, whether in its full glory or showing just a sliver of itself to creation below.

I have spent many nights looking up at that sky, staring in wonder at its beauty, praying that somehow in the vastness of existence I might make something meaningful of my life. I feel my presence in the universe is so small and yet has so much to offer. I hope and pray that the chapter that lies before me would be one that I wouldn’t be afraid to read and look forward to, but rather that I would turn the page with anticipation of what’s to come.

There have been many nights that the sky has not been bathed in light, its magnificence covered by clouds and haze and streetlights. While I have been disappointed that I cannot see the sky in its full radiance, with the moon partially hidden or just a few flickers of stars blinking in the night, I know that its beauty still exists behind the veil. I know that just because I cannot see it fully, that doesn’t mean the splendor of the night isn’t there behind the shadows.

I have come to realize that just as I cannot see all the stars, just as I cannot see the full story that is being written about my life, that doesn’t mean that the next chapter and the path to writing my story don’t exist. If I’m being honest, I have found myself in the same chapter, reading the same page and paragraphs repeatedly, getting stuck in passages and letting them ruminate in my brain. I know where the story is leading and yet I find myself hesitant to turn the page. Because sometimes it feels safer and easier to stay in the same spot in the story because I have memorized what it says. The familiar feels comforting, but I know I cannot experience the fullness of this life if I don’t keep going where I know the story is leading.

Once upon a time I liked change, and I even craved it. But over the years the ease of familiarity has felt safer, and I have longed to stay in this chapter. The chapter of comfort with little risk or trying of new things. Because denying that the rest of the story could possibly become something amazing has felt easier, rather than trusting that the next chapter is where I needed to go. But as I have settled into ease, the more discomfort I’ve felt, and I know it’s time for change. I’ve felt the urge to keep reading the story instead of staying stuck in the familiar.

Little by little I have let myself read ahead. I have let go and stepped out in faith toward new things. Even if that means facing challenges and taking risks in order to find my way. I go back to my anchor and my faith when I need a reminder of what is safe and true, and I continue to do the work of healing, of believing, of trusting in myself and of knowing I am capable and worthy of great things.

Getting over the hump of disbelief or lack of faith in ourselves or God’s plan is what is necessary to keep us going. Learning to trust ourselves and the process is what gives us hope. Letting go of our own doubts and fears and surrendering to trust is what gives us the courage and strength to move forward.

It is in the letting go that we are able to hold on to what is good and true. We let go so we can trust in the vastness of the night before us, even when we can’t see the full picture.

We let go so we can hold on. We hold on so we can trust. We trust so we can become who we are made to be. We are made to be something beautiful and amazing. And that’s why I look forward to what lies ahead. The next chapter is waiting for me and I’m ready for it.

Potential.

I do not have a green thumb whatsoever. For as long as I can remember, I have been terrible at keeping plants alive. I tend to forget to water them, then over-water them when I get around to it. This doesn’t always stop me from attempting, and this year I accepted the challenge when I purchased a beautiful flowering plant for my back patio.

The scorching summer sun has been beating into it, and each morning I try to pour just a little water to dampen the plant, crossing my fingers I won’t drown it or find it wilting the next day. As I stared at my plant with its small pink flowers this morning, I was reminded of something Hannah shared with me earlier this spring. She filled out something at the end of the school year sharing what she learned, and one of the things she wrote was, “It takes time and effort to achieve your goals.” Such wise words for an eight-year-old.

Hannah has been working hard at mastering several gymnastics skills and has grown leaps and bounds since she started the sport a year ago. While it’s a little terrifying to see her tackling such moves with no fear, I am very proud of Hannah. I love seeing her set her heart and mind to working hard and growing, pouring herself into something she loves. She is seeing the reward for the time and effort she puts in, and it encourages her to push harder.

As I look at Hannah tackling gymnastics or Hailey at dance, and as I see the growth of my blooming plant, I am reminded of the potential within myself. The past couple years I have given myself permission to push the easy button in several areas (OK let’s be honest, just about every area) of my life. It’s been a whirlwind, and I have allowed myself to get caught up in it, giving myself grace to simply survive and get through it. And while some days I still feel like I am struggling to catch my breath, needing to hold onto a floatation device to keep my head above the water, I am finally feeling like I can swim on my own.

For too long, I have felt stuck, as I try to navigate my way and look ahead to what’s next rather than focusing on the present. David was so good at simply letting things be as they are, finding joy in the simple moments of the everyday, and it’s something I continue to strive for. Honestly, it’s probably something I will always seek more of, being mindfully present and joyful in the gifts God has given me. In yoga, you are constantly reminded to focus on the breath and practice mindfulness. To acknowledge your thoughts without judgment and release them, coming back to the breath. It is what grounds you and reminds you of what matters. In my breath, I feel focused. I come back to the present; I come back to joy and the gifts God has given me; I come back to who I am.

Who I am is so much more than what I give myself credit for, and I know that. It’s easy to get caught up in the everyday, the to-dos, the what-ifs and the “where is this all going” questions. Who I am is a blooming plant with potential for beauty and growth. Who I am needs nurturing, just like my daughter, just like the plant I am trying to keep alive, both with patience and love. The scorching of the sun and life’s challenges will beat down on me, but I don’t have to let myself hide in the shade or drown in the water. Slowly, I can take care of and believe in myself. I can see the gifts in my life for what they are. I can choose to nurture them and spend the time and effort working on them so I can reach my goals. Daring to dream and believe again feels scary and yet inspiring and joy-filled at the same time.

I started a book earlier this year, and I know my brain is going to tell me to avoid it, to press the easy button or give up, but I know that I don’t want to. Like all good things, it requires time, effort and a lot of self-love, patience and nurturing to achieve my goals.

I see the potential within myself. Not just as a writer but as who I am. I am wired for creativity, for passion, for love, for speaking truth, for encouragement, for reckless abandon. Deep down is the girl within me who sees just how beautiful this life can be when you embrace it, when you let your hair down, when you invite in the beauty of connection and friendships, when you seize adventures and live with less fear and more trust.

That’s the potential for this life I see and long for. And I can’t wait for the ride.

When grief feels lonely.

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.

Blessed are those who mourn…

The other night I was getting Hannah ready for bed when the big question came up.

We were talking about how when her daddy was diagnosed with cancer, we prayed and hoped for the best outcome, for him to be healed and get better.

Then came the question: “Why did God say no?” Her deep brown eyes and long eyelashes looked up at me, pleading for an answer.

I paused, knowing this question was coming. “That’s a good question,” I answered. “I don’t know. God doesn’t always answer prayers the way we want Him to. But God promises us He is with us, He loves us and takes care of us even when it hurts and is hard.”

Hannah didn’t say much; she just listened so I went on. “And that doesn’t mean we should stop praying, either. What I do know is that God is with us when we pray. God wants us to talk to Him and pray and get to know Him.”

I’m not sure how much of this Hannah really took in as she then changed the subject. The big “why” question is something I have pondered even before this…why God allows pain and suffering. From my limited human understanding, and from what I’ve read in the Bible and know about the heart of God, I can see He hurts just as much as we do when we are in pain. I think suffering is a result of the broken world we live in. Why is a big question…and I don’t claim to know the answers.

What I do know is that God is near those who mourn, suffer and are brokenhearted. He sits with us. Brings light to our darkness.

“Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.” – Matthew 5:4

“The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” – Psalm 34:18

This is my truth right now. Mourning…grieving…brokenhearted…yet also comforted and deeply loved. The character and heart of God seem so complex to our human minds, yet His love is so simple and pure. I don’t need to earn it or go out of my way to find or understand it. I just need to let myself rest in God’s love and be comforted. It sounds so simple. Sometimes it is that easy. Sometimes my anxiety or grief take over. And I have to let myself breathe. Rest. Let things be as they are.

I know that my days aren’t going to be perfect. I know that grief is going to be messy. I know that sometimes my anxiety will get the best of me. But I also know that I don’t have to try to figure everything out all alone. I am navigating this brokenness one day at a time…by the grace of God.

I am grieving and brokenhearted.
I am hurting and yet I am hopeful.
I am hopeful in promises and truth.
I am in pain and yet I am comforted.
I am surrounded and I am blessed.
I am blessed because I am loved.

Image by S. Hermann & F. Richter from Pixabay

Rise.

As I drove the girls to school this morning, I saw the full moon in front of me, dimly shining in the early morning sky. Its full beauty was stunning, even without the black night sky as a backdrop, simply because of its light, its size, its magnificent presence in the pure blue light.

The further I drove, the more I could see the sunrise behind me, the shimmering golden sun counterbalancing the full moon in front of me. The weight of the moment was absolutely striking. The two edges of the sky told a story.

There is a balance that occurs when we let glory outweigh fear. A balance that holds up the lights that sink in the sky each day. A balance that can hold the weight that sits on our shoulders. That sits in our guts in the name of fear or anxiety.

If I am perfectly honest with myself, I know the busyness of my days since the funeral has been partially to outweigh the anxiety that is buried deep. The fear that is known to come out in stressful situations. I received a card in the mail today from someone who said she admired my strength in the face of adversity. These are words that have never been used to describe me. I am typically far from calm in a storm. That was David’s role much more than mine. He was my rock.

But here’s the thing. Somewhere in the midst of the storm of the past several months something in me changed. I knew that hanging in the balance something far greater depended on me letting go of myself. My need to let control win. My need to overthink, over plan, over analyze. One day at a time has been my mantra since the diagnosis because I knew that is all I could handle.

And that is all I can continue to handle. Yes, I know I am letting myself still plan to an extent. Be busy. I have a lot of dust that needs to settle. But I know that the beauty of balance, of glory, of peace, doesn’t come from me trying to figure it all out right now. I can’t. I don’t want to. As much as everything inside of me is still trying to. I’m fighting against my natural instincts in order to let myself surrender and be free. To let myself truly live and embrace the beauty in each day. To find light in the darkness. Balance in the weight of glory.

One of the many things I admired about David was his ability to let things be. He didn’t overthink. His calming presence was always exactly what I needed. Now, I am trying to carry on what he instilled in me: Embrace things as they come. Life is full of challenges and adversity. It is about how you respond and rise through them, knowing you can and you will. God will walk through the storm with you.

On David’s last day on Earth, I knew that I needed to carry on this legacy for myself and the girls. To continue to let one day at a time be how I put one foot in front of the other. To honor David and give God the glory.

One day at a time. Eventually these days won’t be so hard. So full of emotions. Unknowns. Rising up through this adversity isn’t going to be easy. But I know I’m not facing it alone. By God’s grace and with the love of wonderful people in my life, the weight is not just mine to carry. They are helping me rise and magnify the beauty of the One who fills me with light.

Be Still

Be still
And rest
Take refuge
Be blessed
By the One
Who can cover you
With the hope
That brings peace
Beyond understanding
Or circumstance
Breaking through
The deep sorrow
The piercing sadness
To bring rays of light
Shining in the darkness
Illuminating life anew
Beyond the shadows
That linger
Like a dark cloud passing by
The truth remains
That this is temporary
There is far greater
Beyond comprehension
Yet the soul aches
Yearns, cries out
For healing
For strength
For freedom
Be free
Dear one
Let yourself fall
Float in the river
Of surrender
For it is letting go
Trusting in tomorrow
Finding faith in promises
And the Holy presence
That we find
The weight we carry
Isn’t our burden or pain
What we hold onto
When we let ourselves
Be held
Is the weight
The freedom
Of glory.

For unto us … Jesus came.

The words of Isaiah 9:6 have been on my heart this week leading up to Christmas.

More than ever they speak to my weary, hope-filled heart. In spite of my current life circumstances, I find my heart filled with a peace that transcends all understanding. It’s no wonder that these words were spoken shortly after Isaiah 9, verse 1, which says there is no more gloom for those who are in distress, and verse 2 which says, “The people walking in darkness have seen a great light.”

I am reminded that Christmas isn’t just about a savior being born into our broken and weary world. It isn’t just about Him coming to this world in humility to rescue us. It isn’t just about Him promising eternal life for those who believe.

More than anything, I am reminded that God came out of love. He came to sit with us in our darkness. He came to counsel us in the hard times, to walk with us. He came in mighty power to show us His beauty, grace and truth. He came as our Father to draw us into His presence and loving arms, finding comfort in His warm embrace. He came to show us we are not alone. And He came in peace, to rescue us from ourselves, from our pain. Not to free us from it, but to bring His Holy Spirit to dwell in us and for us to dwell in Him.

And for all of that I am eternally grateful. Merry Christmas.

Breathe.

Inhale, exhale.
The breath calms me
Letting myself feel
Each rise and fall
Concentrating on the breath.
I feel more deeply
Than I’ve ever felt before.
The fear is real
The pain goes deep
Yet I don’t give in
I let myself breathe
Breathe in life
Breathe out fear.

The unknown taunts me
Whispers in the dark
Shadows lurking around
The bend.
It covets my mind
To give in to the worry
To stop trusting
Hoping
Believing.

Cancer is a sickness
But it cannot drive us
Away from the light
Into the darkness
Into fear.
We must hold tight
To the hope we profess
Cling to truth
Faith
The love that guides.

Don’t be afraid
Dear one.
Don’t let yourself
Fall.
Rise up
On eagle’s wings
Where you will not
Grow weary.
Rest in my shadows
Lay your head
On my shoulders
Find rest
Peace
Home.