500 Words: Day 8

This post is unedited, and slightly repetitive (I’ve posted on this subject at least once before). But it’s been on my mind, and I still feel the need to explore this theme.

Losing someone we love to death is an inevitable, yet shattering experience. To have them be there one day then gone the next is a tragic experience that I don’t think we ever truly recover from.

Sure, we go on with our lives, and new people may take on the role that our lost loved one filled—but things are never the same. Blue isn’t quite the same blue anymore, and our sense of time has shortened.

Have you experienced this yet?

About two and a half years ago, I was on vacation in Florida with Chad (then boyfriend, now husband) and some friends. It was the afternoon of Easter Sunday, and we had just returned to the house we were renting after spending the morning on a small, sandy island in a nearby canal.

My life in those moments was sunshine, sand between my toes, a warmth that I so rarely feel having lived most of my life in Minnesota, and the bubbly passion of the new love that was growing between me and Chad.

I was resting on a sofa in the living room, contemplating turning on the TV, when Chad came downstairs from checking his phone. Apparently, my mom had been trying to get a hold of me all day. He said that she had called his parents, and said that there was something wrong with my grandpa.

With dread, I climbed the stairs to find my phone on my bed, and saw that I had many missed calls from both my sister and my mom—none from my dad. It didn’t register consciously then, but my body tensed, waiting.

My mom answered right away when I rang her phone, told me to sit down, and asked if Chad was in the room. I said he was. Then she said the words that shattered me, the words that caused the devastation I’m still trying to sweep up.

“Honey, your dad had a heart attack.”

He was in the hospital, in a coma, and they were cooling his body in an attempt to limit damage to his brain. Or something. My mind was spinning and I didn’t really understand. I felt numbness creep up on me from the inside out.

All that night, and as I boarded a plane back to Minnesota early the next morning, I kept saying to myself, “My dad is dying.” But how could I know that? There was hope, there was God—God could do anything! How awful, uncaring and unloving of me to think such a thought.

But the thought wouldn’t leave me.

Three days later, on April 3^rd, 2013, my family and a few friends gathered in Dad’s hospital room to say good-bye. My brother played him to heaven on his guitar, singing away as our tears and broken hearts bid Dad farewell—never to be seen again on this green earth.

The wonder, the hope—the joy—of this absolutely dreadful experience is this: we will see my dad again.

You see, all of us are far from home, on a journey to become ourselves and do our part in building the Kingdom and battling the forces of satan. My dad just got to get off the boat early. He’s home now, whole and happy, experiencing the glory in Christ that he so looked forward to in his life on Earth.

For now, we miss him terribly, and within each of us there is a wound that is still healing—one that will ultimately leave a scar we can’t remove. I can’t say I’m not jealous of my Dad, for he has moved on to wholeness while we are left to pick up our broken pieces.

Again, I’ll ask: Have you experienced this yet?

If you have—have you let God in yet? He holds the superglue, you know, to stick those broken pieces back together. He won’t make you whole—not yet—because in this life we are never whole, but He will give you the strength you need to make it through the grief, the missing, the confusion of losing part of your foundation.

And, ultimately, He will grow in you to fill that hole, to become your sure foundation.

500 Words: Day 6

Some people distance themselves from God, because they believe that He doesn’t want them. They think that, because of everything they’ve done, He’s turned His back on them.

This couldn’t be further from the truth.

We are, all of us, broken.

“For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God”
–Rom. 3:23 ESV

Adam and Eve get a bad rap. As the first sinners, we often hang the Fall of Man around their necks, giving them all the blame.

But if you or I had been in their place, what would we have done?

Without a doubt, every one of us would have acted out the same story, given the same excuses, and told the same lies.

We do it every day.

All have fallen; all are in need of grace.

And there is grace! Enough to cover every one of our lies and bad intentions, our moments of impatience, lack of gratitude, and disrespect.

As soon as Man had fallen, God began his plan for Man’s redemption. He plotted a direct line from the exposed and broken parents of our race, to the Redeemer who would make us whole again.

That line wasn’t made up of perfect people. Not a one. Read through the genealogy of Christ, and you will find murderers, prostitutes, liars, thieves—altogether selfish, perfectly imperfect people.

The point here is that no one has escaped the brokenness that is the flipside of free will. Not you, not I.

But we are not lost for it.

Don’t think for a moment that God has turned his back on you because of what you’ve said, thought, or done. Don’t think you’re worthless, or that your past can’t be overcome.

Because, at the epicenter of all our sin—the evil darkness that resides within our hearts—there shines a light nothing can overshadow, and no ill intention can quench.

The Light of Christ shines, steady and eternal.

He has the power to blot out all of our sin and shame, to raise us from the darkness. To restore us to the relationship we would have with God, if not for Eden.

And it doesn’t matter what we’ve done; our past does not stand as a wall between us and our Creator.

Christ lived the perfect life, and became the perfect sacrifice to demolish all walls between us and God—to bridge every gap brought about by sin.

“And behold, the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom.”
–Matt. 27:51 ESV

That curtain represented the spiritual separation between God and us. This was the same separation imposed on Mankind as a consequence of the Fall in Eden.

When Christ took all our sin upon His shoulders, that veil was torn in two, and the spiritual door was reopened so we could partake in direct relationship with our Heavenly Father.

The only qualifier is that we approach Him through Christ.

“I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.”
–John 14:6 ESV

Let me repeat: that is the ONLY qualifier.

So no matter how hard, how often, or how low you have fallen, the grace of God through Jesus Christ can restore you.

The only wall between you and God, the only thing creating distance between yourself and your Creator—is you. Not the things you’ve done.

God has put out his hand. He is waiting for you. Will you let go of your past and take hold of all that He has planned for your life, or will you continue to hold fast to your wrongs, convinced that you can redeem them in His eyes?

Ultimately, the choice is yours. This is why everything went wrong in the Garden of Eden. But it’s also why everything can go right.

500 Words: Day 5

My dear husband gave me a writing prompt tonight, which is what you see in italics:

Waiting. I am waiting, I have been waiting and I will continue to wait. At first, I was waiting to be older. Then, I was waiting for a relationship. Now, I’m waiting for…

I’m waiting to get going. Waiting for whatever it is that God has called us here for. Waiting for our children, for a house, for my career, and for our future.

Because it doesn’t feel as if we’ve started living yet.

Yes, Chad has work, and we aren’t completely broke anymore. But what about me? Many times, I’ll head into town with him in the mornings, spending my days at coffee shops and cafes to avoid being baked alive in the RV. And to make myself feel as if I’m doing something.

To make myself feel as if I’m moving forward…because I still feel stuck. I still feel like we’re waiting for something, and I so, so desperately want that something to be here.

But I have a feeling that when it is finally here, I’ll be on to the next thing in my mind—the next checkpoint, the next leg in the race.

I never seem to be satisfied with “now,” because now never seems to be where I think I should be.

Maybe that’s why we’re still waiting, because I need to slow down and learn to live in the moment. At least, that’s probably one of the reasons.

I’ve always been focused on the future. When I make a to-do list, it’s never just for today. It expands into tomorrow, next week, next month…you get the idea. I tend to zero in on far off points, and try to figure out how to get there without taking all the baby steps in between.

I’m antsy and impatient. So this waiting—it’s almost a form of torture.

It’s like I’m sitting in a sailboat in the middle of a windless ocean, but am not allowed to paddle, because it isn’t my responsibility to make the boat move forward. I need to maintain. Maintain, and wait for the wave I know is coming.

Instead, I continually reach over the side of the boat, trying to propel it forward with my own strength. No matter how vigorously I paddle, the boat doesn’t move, and I hardly stir the water.

I have no choice but to focus on where I am in the moment, and improve the quality of what it is within my power to improve. My marriage, home, relationships with family and friends, my walk with God, the talents He has given me—these are the things within my grasp.

I must wait. But waiting doesn’t have to mean sitting still. Waiting can mean resealing the bow, organizing rations, mending the sail and raising it high, so it’s ready to catch a steady breeze when that wave does comes along.

Waiting means paying attention to the little things in life that we miss when we’re clipping along. Because if we don’t learn to see these things now, when we are still, they easily grow in magnitude, and turn to rocks upon which we may crash our boats as they sail along.

500 Words: Day 4

Back in the saddle again.

I am absolutely awful at holding myself accountable…in anything, really. Needless to say, I don’t get much done.

Trying to stay away from sweets in an effort to be healthy? Oh, look: cookies! I’ll just have one. Or two or three.

Attempting to consistently write at least 500 words a day and post them on my blog? Ooo, how about a movie, or a walk, deep cleaning the RV, or doing laundry. And don’t forget to grab another cookie!

See what I’m up against, here? I’ll go out of my way to do things that I normally avoid (like cleaning) in order to put off writing.

It isn’t that I don’t like writing—I actually enjoy it! And it isn’t just because writing is work. Writing is definitely work, but so is cleaning!

OK, sometimes I do put off writing because I’m being lazy and don’t want to work, but most of the time I procrastinate for one (or all) of the following reasons:

Writing requires me to stretch myself.

It requires tapping into my creative side, being transparent and willing to learn. These things don’t happen easily. They require stretching, trimming, editing, and PAIN. Lots of pain.

I’m not good at pain. So I don’t write.

I have to quiet my thoughts to write.

My mind tends to want to work at warp speed, processing daily tasks, appointments, observations, conversations, goals, etc faster than the Flash can circumnavigate the globe. (This is only a slight exaggeration.)

So when it comes to a task like writing, where I need to quiet my thoughts and focus on what I’m doing in the moment, I have a hard time slowing down. In fact, slowing down sounds more like going backward, and I have a fear of going backward.

Because of this, I don’t slow down, and I don’t write.

By putting pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard), I’m staring the “fear of inadequacy” monster in the face.

Every single time I sit down to write, the fear of inadequacy pushes back at me. This monster says things like: “I’ll never be as good as the writing greats,” or “everything I have to say has already been written in a better way by someone else. So why say it at all?”

Sometimes, I just don’t have the courage or the energy to fight back. It’s those times that I don’t write.

404 words. Come on, Hannah, what else can you say about why you don’t write?

I’m scared. Just a big fat chicken. I’ve wanted to be a career writer for as long as I can remember, but I’m scared that I’ll fail. My logic is if I don’t write, then I won’t fail.

Except that by not writing, I fail more than if I had written.

My brain is too drained to unpack that thought right now, so I’m going to write random nonsense until I’ve hit my 500 word quota.

Random nonsense. Random nonsense, random nonsense.

There. Done!

500 Words: Day 3

I heard something today that changed my perspective on where I’m at right now:

“Clarity comes with action.” (Jeff Goins, during a Start-up Camp Podcast)

Have you ever heard something—a phrase, an idea, a perspective—that you already knew, but hearing it in someone else’s words, or just hearing it out loud, clicked the entire thing into place for you like a puzzle piece?

Does that make sense?

Because this is what hearing Jeff say that did for me—clicked it into place.

Like I’ve said, I have no idea what I’m doing. But I AM DOING. And in doing, I take a step forward down my path in life. Taking a step forward means that I can see further down the road…just a little further, but further all the same!

Clarity, i.e. an understanding of what on earth it is that I am doing, comes with action. For me, that action is sitting down to write a 500 word post everyday, or volunteering at my church in every facet that I can. Clarity comes when I step into the uncertainty I see before me, and DO.

We never figure anything out if we’re just standing still, waiting for the perfect conditions or perfect clarity. That’s like standing in front of a blank canvas, paintbrush in hand, waiting for a picture to appear before we begin to paint.

This goes with something else I’ve heard quite a bit lately: God uses those who are in motion, because they are able to be redirected. A stationary person must first be put in motion before they can be nudged in the direction God has prepared for them.

For much of my life, I’ve been that stationary person, waiting on the sidelines for God to show me every aspect of my life before I really began to live it.

The sidelines were warm, comfortable, and safe. But they were also boring, and depressing.

I didn’t do anything on the sidelines except agonize over the fact that I wasn’t doing anything, and wondering when I would begin doing something.

How sad is that? All I had to do was take a step forward, but because I couldn’t see the entire picture of my life right away, I stayed within my comfort zone. On the sidelines.

Ugh.

THANK GOD I finally started stepping out! I still haven’t received a complete picture of what my life is going to look like (and I’m 100% sure that I never will), but I can see what’s directly in front of me, and catch glimpses here and there of what’s ahead.

Yes, that first step away from inaction—from being stationary and comfortable—was terrifying! But as I continue to move forward, it becomes easier to let go of what I don’t know and dive into the uncertainty, brush color on the blank canvas, and type words on the empty page.

As I do so, my fears of not knowing what’s ahead are eclipsed by an exhilaration of the unknown, of trusting in the plan God has written for me instead of clinging to the small part I can see.

Case in point: I just hit 527 words without trying. Take that, comfort zone!

This song has been in my head ALL DAY. Probably because it’s a perfect correlation of what I just wrote about!

 

500 Words: Day 2

Have I mentioned that I have no idea what I’m doing? (Career-wise…any-wise)

Shouldn’t I have all of this figured out by now?

I’ll turn 30 near the end of this year…30!! Don’t most people have their career stuff figured out by 30?

Apparently, I’m not most people.

I spent the first half of my 20’s trying a bunch of different things, because I didn’t think I could do what I wanted to do, and because I was terrified of choosing the wrong direction for my life. I was paralyzed by the fear that I might not pick the career God intended for me.

What I didn’t realize (and what I so wish that I had figured out), was that I just needed to finish/commit to SOMETHING, and God would nudge me onto the right path if I was going in the wrong direction.

I started to understand this in the second half of my twenties, when I came to comprehend all the goodness and grace of God’s gift to us in Christ.

When I finally understood who I was to God.

If you’re reading this right now, and you don’t have the whole Jesus thing figured out yet…well, let me tell you: He makes ALL the difference!

Once I fully grasped who I am in Christ, I stopped beating myself up (most of the time) about not knowing what I should do as a career.

See, I always thought it was what I did that would get me into God’s kingdom. That’s why I was so afraid of making a mistake when it came to my career! The truth is, it’s Who we love—Who we draw closer to, cling to, and put above all else—that gets us into the Kingdom. Not the things we do! (Hint: God. The “Who” is God–through the grace of Jesus.)

What a relief!!

 

When all of this dawned on me, I was able to let go of who I thought I should be, and begin walking down the path to being myself. The path to being who God made me to be!

And all of that disappointing stuff—all of those moments of defeat, of quitting, of allowing fear to rule my life—all of those moments that lead up to the financial situation Chad and I are climbing out of…

All of that crap is being redeemed!!

Because it’s God who directs my paths. He who has given me the desires of my heart is leading me on a journey to their completion. The dreams he has planted in me are meant to come to fruition!

And when I put my trust in him instead of in myself—when I stop worrying about whether I’m good enough, talented enough, confident enough, etc—it’s then that I’m walking down the path I was meant to take, whether it be in my career or otherwise.

This all sounds fabulous and a little crazy, right? I mean, how can I know for certain that, no matter the mistakes I make, when I put my life in God’s hands and choose to follow him, he will redeem those wrong turns?

For two reasons:

1.) I know this because when I was nine years old, the Holy Spirit told me I would marry Chad. 18 years later, after falling and straying from the path time and again, then finally—fully—giving my life into the hands of my Savior…well, I DID marry Chad!

2.) The Bible tells me so. (That sort of trumps the first reason, but I like telling my Chad story.)

When we are seeking God whole-heartedly, he realigns all of our mistakes and missteps, weaving them into the story he wrote for us before we were born. There is nothing we can do to mess up his plans for us.

Which is why, even though I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing, I’m not afraid. I know the dreams that I’ve been given are a future reality, because my hope rests in Him.

668 words. BOOM!

500 Words: Day 1

I am a writer…who doesn’t really write. To remedy that, I’ve challenged myself to write 500 words every. single. day.

So here goes.

Over the last couple of weeks, Chad has gotten quite a bit of work. He even accidentally overbooked himself for this week—talk about a good problem to have!

Because of this, we now have money. Woo! Time to catch up on those ever-present (but someday to be eliminated terminator-style) debt bills. …Woo.

Also because of this, Chad no longer has time to film for our YouTube channel, which is no bueno, because he is the filmmaker in this duo! I do the writing, most of the social media and some photography, but he’s the bread and butter that puts together content for me to market. (If what I do can be called marketing.)

What’s ironic is that this comes after we relaunched Our Debt Free Journey, and committed to posting a new video every Friday at 5 PM.

WE’RE STILL GOING TO DO THIS. We just have no idea how.

Hopefully, things will calm down some next week (once Chad is no longer over-booked), and we can really sketch things out.

Because, for some crazy reason, we’re going to make a thing out of this YouTube…thing. We don’t know what that thing will be, but it will be SOMEthing!

Are we nuts? We moved to Tennessee in a demoed RV, and are building up an audience on YouTube by telling our life story. Are we deluded to think that people are even interested in us? Idk, but we’re excited to see where all of this goes!

270 words.

Right now, I’m sitting in a coffee shop (Lasater’s in Mount Juliet—check it out!!), writing this, watching YouTube videos, and messing around with social media. Trying to figure things out.

I have no idea what I’m doing.

Job prospects for me are still somewhere in the future. I would love something that utilizes my skills, and is some of what I like—or even love—to do. But if I have to, I’ll get a job just somewhere doing something. Because money.

Right now, Chad is making a good amount of money, so we’re not too worried about me not being employed. Once everything has settled into place again, however (i.e. we’re caught up on our bills and hustling on that debt snowball), it will be a good idea for me to take whatever I can get if I’m not already employed.

Sigh.

I hate that phrase. “Take whatever I can get.”

I KNOW that I have TONS of potential…I’m just not sure what to do with it. Also, confidence—don’t have much of it.

So that’s where I am right now. FUN.

In the meantime, I’ll just keep myself busy with Our Debt Free Journey, and figuring out this writing bizness. It’s sort of fun. Though I know pretty much no one will read this.

Sad face. Sort of. If someone actually did read this, then “embarrassed face.”

Lol.

503. Peace out!

After the Leap

Let me tell you something about leaps of faith: after we’ve jumped, we don’t always end up where we think we will. Or even where we want to be.

It’s been 83 days since Chad and I landed in Tennessee, and nothing has gone the way we thought it would. Work has been sparse, bills have gone unpaid, and we’re feeling more isolated than ever.

We thought we would be able to jump right in, find work right away, and get hustling on our dreams.

Instead, we are like distant satellites stuck in limbo. Now and then we feel warmth from the star we orbit, but mostly we are shrouded in the bitter cold of Outer Space.

And it doesn’t feel fair. Or right, or just.

This is one of the hardest seasons I’ve had to go through—it’s almost as difficult as losing my dad. You see, I know where Dad is and that I’ll see him again, but I have no idea when this current season will end. I don’t know where it leads.

At the same time that this uncertainty overshadows the future, my inhibitions are being demolished. My comfort zone is a wasteland. I’ve never been this broke, felt this out of touch, or this distant.

Yet I have never been so full of hope for the future.

Even though our situation continues to look bleaker, and our financial hole seems to grow deeper, I know that God is with us. He is here, and he is for us.

“It is the Lord who goes before you. He will be with you; he will not leave you or forsake you. Do not fear or be dismayed.” Deu. 31:8

Our Provider has not failed us. We have food to eat, a roof over our heads, and we are together. To the world it may seem as if we are failing, but I know that we’re on to something good.

With each passing day, hope grows stronger inside me. I have been torn apart from the inside out as God rips away my fear and doubt, but I know that his purposes are good.

And though pain may continue to litter the path ahead, if I keep my eyes fixed on Christ, I will make it to the top of this mountain.

God did not call Chad and I here to abandon us. He has gone before us, and he will not forsake us.

Easter Sunday: Death to Life

On Easter Sunday three years ago, I sat on a bed in a rented house in Florida, as the world I knew shattered.

Chad and I had been down there for a few days so he could photograph a wedding. It was my first trip to Florida, and I was in love with the heat, palm trees, and salty ocean air. Maybe with Chad a little, too. 😉

We spent that holiday morning watching kids hunt for eggs on a nearby island. It was an absolutely perfect day—sunny and quiet, with no clouds in sight. At least, none that I could see.

That afternoon, when we returned to the house we were sharing with some friends, Chad found out that my mom was trying to get hold of me. From the intel he gleaned from his parents, it sounded like someone from my family was in the hospital.

I called Mom back, dreading what I would learn, and she immediately told me to sit down.

“Your dad had a heart attack.” The words rang in my ears for hours afterward, as I attempted to navigate through the fog they created. Surely, I was dreaming. I can remember pinching myself, more than once, in an attempt to awaken.

But the nightmare continued. Dad was in a coma, and it wasn’t clear what would happen. So I boarded a plane early the next morning to fly home to Minnesota, leaving Chad and our friends behind in paradise.

It was my first time flying alone, but I don’t remember much except for the strange desire to spill my story to those around me, and the on-going debate in my head about whether or not Dad would die. I do recall feeling empty—wanting to cry to release my pain, but unable to summon the feelings that would bring forth tears.

My aunt, uncle and sister picked me up at the airport in Minneapolis, my adorable niece in tow. In her little voice, she informed me that Grandpa had a “big owie,” then told everyone to duck as we drove under a bridge.

Still, the tears refused to flow.

For the next three days, I sat with my family in hospital waiting rooms. We talked a lot, sharing some of our favorite stories about my dad—I learned quite a few things about him that I hadn’t known. There was also laughter (it wouldn’t be my family if there wasn’t laughter!) and prayer. So much prayer!

Though I hoped and prayed for an outcome in which Dad would stay with us here on earth, I felt God speaking softly to my heart during those hospital days, preparing me for what was to come.

On Wednesday evening, a little more than 72 hours after his heart gave out, Dad left this life, surrounded by a room full of family and friends. It was a beautiful good-bye, filled with prayers, tears, and music from my brother’s guitar. He played Dad to Heaven.

Whenever I talk about this experience with other people, I say that it was a bittersweet farewell. Bitter, because of the obvious (the gaping hole it left inside me), but sweet because…well, because of what Easter is all about.

When Christ sacrificed himself for our sins, a pathway was reopened that had been closed at the Fall in Eden: a way to relationship with God that brings us new life in Eternity. This is a promise and a hope that He has given us.

It’s this hope that mends the hole left behind by the loss of my dad, and instills in me the knowledge that the hospital room good-bye will not be forever.

There is a day that’s coming when all will be made new, and we’ll be reunited with the ones we’ve lost.

None of this would be possible without the sacrifice Jesus made for us on the cross. Without Him, death would be a permanent end. Now it’s a new beginning.

Thank God for that! It’s with this hope hidden in my heart, and engraved upon my mind, that I can greet each new Easter morning and rejoice. I thank God for the past—the sacrifice of His Son, the time I had with my earthly father—and also for the future: an eternity filled with endless joy, after all who died in Christ are reunited.

This is a hope that we all can share in, through surrender to Jesus Christ. My prayer is that all of you have a share in it on this glorious day!

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! According to his great mercy, he has caused us to be born again to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead… 1 Peter 1:13 ESV

Happy Easter, friends. God bless!

Salty Waves

We’ve been living in Tennessee for almost two months now, and we’re still unsure as to why God called us here.

For me, time has gone by as a frustrating roller coaster ride. I’ve been riding high on hope and joy one minute, then crashing and burning in a fiery pool of worry and doubt the next.

This whole experience has been a huge testament to the fact that this life is a refining fire, preparing us for an eternity with the Father.

My need to control, to know when we’re going to have money, why we’re here, or where we’re going—all of these idols that I’ve unconsciously lifted up over my life are melting away.

What’s left behind is a pile off goo, to be honest. An unformed mess that gets all over everything, and continually collapses in on itself like a dying star.

Yes, those are my tears, and no, they will not be dammed or ignored. They will overflow the barriers of my eyes as they please, creating puddles on the floor and perplexing my husband to the point where he is worried for my sanity.

But they release some of the pressure from my soul—a soul that is being stripped bare, just as we stripped the inside of our RV down to its foundations.

Eventually, my soft, emotional goop of a self is beginning to solidify, and someday she will gain a form. For now, I journey on one step at a time, seeking the face of my Creator, as I attempt to walk the path he’s set before me.

There are still tears, but the sea is drying up inside me as I learn to put every last bit of trust in my Lord and Savior. I have lost the reins of my life, but they’ve been placed in better hands.

This is something I must remind myself of daily, as doubt and worry wait at the door, eager to unleash another deluge of salty waves upon my life and my dear, ever-bearing husband. Love you, honey!