trust – She Speaks True Words

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.

Dare to dream.

This summer, one of the things I enjoyed when the weather was nice was sitting on my back patio on a clear night, staring up at the vastness of the sky, at the glimmering lights illuminating in the darkness, daring to dream about the possibilities.

The North Star is almost always visible, and it draws me in with its certainty and assurance of its guiding presence. Because even when all the darkness surrounds, it never fades. It leads me and guides me home even when I have lost my way.

One of the things the girls and I enjoyed over the summer was wandering the furniture store (and let’s be honest, testing mattresses and eating free cookies). On a recent visit, I came across this artwork, displaying the promise of hope: “Only in the darkness can you see the stars.”

On many of those nights I spent staring up at the stars, I have found myself praying, looking toward the future, dreaming for something bigger than myself. I longed to use my gifts and talents and didn’t want to stay in a place where I felt the clouds were keeping my light in the shadows. I felt such a yearning, such a pull toward an answer that honestly felt right yet terrifying at the same time. In the darkness, I saw the stars pointing the way, the North Star in all its certainty giving me the courage to take the first step.

I knew it took reaching this place of darkness, of solitude, of uncertainty, to see what has been sitting in front of me the whole time. My true north. It’s easy to deny what we know to be true when it feels like a sacrifice, when we know it will be a challenge, when we know it will require a leap of faith far greater than we could have imagined. The fear that sits within me is real, but I know that if I ignore this light that is illuminating in the darkness, if I turn away and head the opposite direction or let my anxiety win, my heart will know I have ignored what is true. What is right. What is good.

So here I am, daring to dream. Speaking my light and words and sharing my vision with some dear friends and loved ones. Speaking your dreams out loud is terrifying and yet gives you the courage and confidence to pursue them. I’m not ready to share my long-term dreams with the world yet, but I know what the next step is for me. Now, I must trust. I must trust in the interim and trust in the Lord to determine my steps and provide the right timing.

Now, I must keep my focus. It’s easy to let my eyes wander to what the light illuminates around me rather than what is right in front of me. It’s easy to want to chase after everything I want all at once rather than trusting the process, knowing that I can’t control every step of the way. I can’t will things to happen or try to make things go on my terms, I must trust and believe. The North Star promises to guide me. Encourages me to take that first step. I can’t be in my own way anymore, I must let go. I must trust in God’s promises and know that He is with me every step of the way.

So today, I am choosing to take the first step of many. To know I am made for great things and that God is going to give me the strength even when it feels hard. I’m taking the leap, knowing that I am not alone in this process. One day at a time. I trust and believe. I dare to dream.

Happiness.

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: Finding hope.

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.

Self care takes real courage.

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.

Stepping out of the boat.

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.

New beginnings.

I step
Into the chasm
Into the unknown
Into tomorrow
Looking ahead
I follow the voice
That calls me
The door that is open
Is the only one I know
The only one I trust.

As this day ends and
The heavens twinkle
Crisp lights in the darkness
Illuminating the way
In the clear, dark night
The new day promises
New hope
New beginnings
New mercies
And I go
One step at a time
There is something
I must choose
I must hold onto
And I know
It is the only
Certainty I can cling to.

A love that promises
A love that perseveres
A love that never fails
A love that conquers all
A love that endures forever.