500 Words: Day 9

There are days when the world becomes too much. Traffic is congested, people and electronics vie for my attention, finances are overwhelming, and our home is a mess. All of it combines to form one massive noise that pounds against my head, weighing down my soul and threatening to pulverize my spirit.

It’s easy to lose sight of God in all this busyness. Though He continues to abide beside me, whispering and guiding, my soul becomes parched—I long to hear His voice more clearly, to feel His presence more tangibly.

It is then I must go to the wilderness, to seek God in the quiet beauty of His creation.

This was easy when I was younger. Raised in the country, I only had to step out my front door to experience all the glory and wonder our Creator puts on display through nature.

I would walk partially down our gravel driveway, turn onto a grass path that navigated the soybean fields, then follow it into the forest and down a steep hill to the river. When the water was low, it revealed a rocky peninsula where I would sit for hours, listening to the birds and the water as I wrote and prayed.

There, surrounded by so much of the beauty of my Heavenly Father, I was able to recharge. For this reason, I have always been attracted to the outdoors—to rushing waters, warm sunshine, and mysterious forests.

Nature is the beauty and glory of God on display; it’s where I’ve always been able to find Him, without fail.

These days, I don’t have access to the fields and forests of my youth. Maple and Boxwood trees have been traded for towering forests of Cedar and Pine, fields for rolling hills and majestic mountains.

My world is bigger now, and instead of simply stepping out into nature, I must actively seek it by traveling miles away. Needless to say, this doesn’t happen every day.

The transition was difficult, at first. My soul was thirsty and confused, wanting to run undaunted down the grassy paths of my childhood. But when I opened my front door, there was only the RV park, the highway, and the city beyond.

It took some time for me to realize that God was using this new setting as a teaching aid. My lesson: to hear Him better in all the noise of life, and be more intentional in my relationship with Him.

Instead of running away from busyness into a wooded world, I’ve learned to better control my surroundings.

I put down the cell phone, stop worrying about finances, and put off cleaning to focus on Him. As I go about my day, I expect to hear from Him; and in the expecting, I do.

Don’t get me wrong—this is still a learning process. There are days where I go without listening for Him, without seeking out His voice. And on those days, my soul suffers, shriveling up as it bakes under the heat and pressure of this fast-paced world. But now I’m better at understanding when this is happening, and am able to submerge myself in the cool, living waters my soul so desperately needs.

Yet, no matter how intentional I become, or how much I grow spiritually—the woods and fields, hills and mountains will always be the best places for me to meet Him, and listen for His voice.

Meeting God in nature is the closest I’ll get to Home on this great journey.

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 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!

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!