Carey and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Allume.

By Carey

carey and the I remember being absolutely terrified to attend my first Allume (it was called Relevant) in 2011. I knew no one. I had found my roommate via Twitter and was just crossing my fingers that she was legit. I had a blog but I wasn’t some super serious blogger. I was mostly attending because I was watching Christian woman connect via the interwebs and I liked what I saw. Sure, there were also selfishly motives. I wanted to learn how to get the word out about my daily devotional for moms, grow in my writing skills, be challenged by new view points and maybe (just maybe) create some new friendships with people who liked things I liked.

The shuttle ride from the hotel to the airport set the tone for weekend. It was filled with people “I knew” or had at least seen comment or guest post in cool places. In my head I had a zillion questions to ask and while I wanted to be chatty and connect that just wasn’t in my nature. I am shy. Plus I am an introvert. Not a great combination for an overcrowded van of women and their luggage. It felt as if I was sitting on the outside of a glass enclosed room, watching all these woman be fully capable of diving right into diverse conversations, and I was unable to get it. It was lonely and I knew I was in for a long few days. I was totally wishing I was moving to Australia. Arriving at the hotel I watched as women hugged, squealed and did the happy dance all over the place for each other. It looked like such fun. Women gathered in groups and took silly pictures in the photo booths and sat in circles on the lounge floor having deep and meaningful conversations and while I longed to be a part I really wasn’t sure how to do that. I mean seriously, do you just walk up to a group of strangers and say “you sure look like you are having soooo much fun. Can I crash it?” I remember being thankful that the lounge was filled with lots of decor so I could walk around looking at the walls and not just seeming desperate and wishing someone would have asked if I wanted to join in their floor gathering. (I was having horrible flashbacks to the 1st day of 6th grade lunch room. Ug!)

I can remember standing in the stairwell of the hotel texting with my “in real life friends”, tears streaming down my face, and just wishing that someone there knew me so I didn’t seem so invisible. It was terrible, horrible, no good and I was definitely having a very bad Allume. I promise, I don’t mean to scare you! Hang with me.

friendship 3

As we enter our new July series: Friendship I wanted us to take some time to examine friendship in the context of the conference. For some, attending Allume is a reunion of friendships that they look forward to all year. Girls stay up all night and have oooh so0000 much fun! Others meet their table mates at Thursday night dinner and have instant new buds that become lifelong friends and then there is the “me” type. Are you the “me” type? Are you coming alone, desiring to be brave, but needing a little kick in the cute jeans to get there? If that is you will you allow me to provide you some ideas so you don’t wind up in the fetal position?

friendship theme verse

1. Volunteer, Volunteer, Volunteer!

After the 2011 conference I had zero plans to attend again. I mean why would I fly across the country to spend 4 days feeling insecure and crying in a stairwell? But as the 2012 tickets went on sale I found my heart wishing I had a “do over”. I wanted to try again. This time with my best foot forward. I bought a ticket. A few weeks before the conference I saw a tweet that said if we wanted to help volunteer with decorations we should email this gal named Logan. I sent her an email and told her that I was happy to help. In my mind it would give me something to do rather than sit around wishing someone was going to invite me into their awesome pow-wow circle. When I arrived someone pointed me towards Logan and it was clear that there was LOTS to get done. I could tell she had a plan but she wasn’t sure if she could trust me to execute it to her liking. Attending to details of decor was something I knew without a shadow of a doubt I could handle. So I grabbed the face of this woman I just met, looked her straight in the eyes, and said “I can do this! Just tell me what you need.” The rest is kinda history. After the 2012 conference Sarah Mae gave Logan ownership of the conference and Logan asked me to come along side her as the Creative Director. What a ride! If you have any fears about connecting at the conference please choose to volunteers. It gets you outside your own head and it is super helpful to us!

P.S. If there is ever a moment of loneliness for you at the conference will you make me a promise? Will you come to the registrations tables, ask someone to point you towards Carey Bailey and then grab me by the face and tell me you need a place to volunteer. I will 100% get it.

2. Create a Be Brave Moment.

At the 2011 conference I can remember listening to Sara Sophia share during one of the writing panels. I was enamored. I connected with her style and wanted to know more. Despite the whirlwind of insecurities happening inside me that weekend I decided to send her a private message via twitter thanking her for all that she had shared during the session and I asked her if she might have any time to connect. To my surprise she replied back and said “sure!” We sat in the lounge and I got to have some one-on-one time (much more my comfort zone) to just explore more of what she had said during her session. We didn’t become new found BFF’s and she probably doesn’t even remember that but for me it was a brave moment in which I took a risk that I look back on fondly. What will your be brave moment be?

3. Do Unto Others as You Wish Others Would Do Unto You.

Are you wishing someone would invite you to jump into their photo booth shots? Then invite someone else flying solo to jump into a shot with you. Are you wanting to dive deeper into some of the topics hit on? Then ask some of your meal table mates to meet you at a certain time to keep the conversation going. Are you longing for a buddy to sit with at meals? Then ask the person next to you at Friday morning breakfast for their number, let them know you will save them a place for lunch and then text them where you are sitting. I have learned that no one is intentionally trying to leave anyone out and that the famous lounge floor circles are open to any and all but for those of us who don’t excel in the land of lots of people we either have to be willing to tap on a shoulder of someone we don’t know and ask to come in or be okay with alone time. Allume can feel like a terrible, horrible, no good , very bad weekend for those of us shy people coming alone or we can be willing walk forward in confidence trusting that God will put the right people in front of us at the just right time.

This will be my fifth Allume and that is coming from a girl who swore to never go back again after my 1st year. Every year I learn something new. Every year I grow. And every year God pushes me way out of my comfort zone. And for that I am thankful.

Unfolding Grace.

By Carey

As I teach my kids about Good Friday, they always ask, “Why is it good? I don’t understand.”

From the outside looking in, it doesn’t appear good. It is confusing to them. How can it be good that our Hero is beaten, bruised, torn, wrongly condemned and dying viciously on a cross of shame? What about that feels good?

Looks and feelings can deceive the human eye. Oh, how often they fool us.

Seeing good in the midst of a mess is hard. Let’s face it, hard is hard.

As Christians, we can sugar coat tough times and say it is “all going to be okay.” But the truth is, that as I watch too many of my friends walking a hard road right now, and as my own family of four walks out our version of hard, I really just want to scream. I am constantly telling God, “I don’t understand. You need to fix this.” I act as if I have a front row seat to all the brokenness that He isn’t seeing.

When I take the time to examine my own crazy trainwreck of a redemption story, I am able to see the power and beauty that comes out of Christ’s journey to the cross for us. Out of mess, beauty comes. Out of all the broken pieces, a tapestry of abundant life is created. There is a bigger story being written in all this hard stuff going on and my job is to trust the Author as He unfolds grace.

It is in the unfolding of grace that hope is found. I am a witness to this playing out in my own family.

This picture was taken on my wedding day. What you can’t tell is that 10 hours prior to this picture a family “war” broke out due to my husband’s brother, Chris, being drunk. What started out as a silly, funny, drunk guy turned into rage and anger which eventually created an environment where one of the sisters didn’t feel safe. Looks can be deceiving, huh? While everyone kept their happy face on for the wedding pictures, the days that followed led to broken and fractured relationships. Things were said that were ugly and hard to mend. Chris had not drunk too much only that night. The truth was that Chris was an addict. He was using and abusing multiple substances. It was a hard reality that no one wanted to confront.

The story that happened the night before our wedding is one of many stories that would play out over the next eight years. The addiction caused a domino of mess inside of this family unit. Never would you have heard me say that it was “good” until today. After zillions of prayers said, multiple times in rehab, and a plethora of opportunities to start over, we are finally at a place where there is good coming out of the mess. Chris is now eight months sober and we are witnessing grace unfold before us in this love story.

What no one saw coming is that this unfolding grace wasn’t all about Chris. It was about restoration and wholeness of a family. It was about his twin brother finding his role in this greater story. It was about keeping hope when all seemed to be lost.

Chris’s twin, Bobby Bailey, happens to be an amazing storyteller and film maker. As one of the founders of Invisible Children, Bobby has traveled the world conveying the plights of suffering people. The stories he tells have power and purpose, but now his eyes are opened to the fact that there is an incredible story to be told, sitting right in front of him. This time it is personal. Together Chris and Bobby are stepping out to create change for those facing brokenness, inner demons and addiction. This is amazing good coming out of some really hard times. Take a moment and watch the powerful story of how God led Bobby to a homeless and broken Chris on the streets of California.

STEP INTO LIFE: CHRIS BAILEY WALKS ACROSS AMERICA from Bobby Bailey on Vimeo.

So we’re not giving up. How could we! Even though on the outside it often looks like things are falling apart on us, on the inside, where God is making new life, not a day goes by without his unfolding grace. These hard times are small potatoes compared to the coming good times, the lavish celebration prepared for us. There’s far more here than meets the eye. The things we see now are here today, gone tomorrow. But the things we can’t see now will last forever. 2 Corinthians 4:16-18, MSG

Because life-giving stories spring up in the midst of the hard, I know I can hold on. I can wait and trust. I want my kids to know that what we see in Good Friday is raw and real… human flesh vs. God’s power. It is an epic battle that they will one day fight one day too, and no matter how hard and ugly the story seems, it always ends with good.

Good is found in the sacrifice that is undeserved, unmerited and for some, unwanted. Our eyes stay fixed on the drama of Good Friday because it is hard and we can all relate to hard. But as we watch the hard, grace unfolds for us, and it is good. It is so good.

When Someone has Lost a Child Some Things to Do … or Not Do

By Mary

Twenty-two years ago today, I buried my daughter, Amy. Amy had a genetic disorder and lived 4 days. She was born on June 9, 1992, died on the 12th buried on the 16th grave. She is buried in another state and I will not be able to visit her. She isn’t there and I know that, but I still wish I were there to put flowers on her grave. To brush the dirt and grass off of her headstone. To sit quietly for a few minutes in the cemetery with the birds singing and a maybe a lawnmower running in the background.

As I reflect on that time 22 years ago, I know that the experience of losing a child played a large part in making me the person I am today. It was also the hardest thing I have ever endured. Yet, I learned much about myself and others during that time.

One of the things I learned was what is helpful and what is not during a situation such as this. I want to share some things TO do and say or NOT to do and say when ministering to someone who has lost a child.

A disclaimer: I do not profess to know other parent’s feelings. I am only sharing what I know from my own experience; what I have learned from talking with other parents who have lost children – children of various ages, infant to young adults.

DO tell them you are sorry for their loss and you are praying for them and their family.
DO take a meal. We had so much food brought to our home that family members packaged it up and put it in the freezer. After things calmed down and all the out of town family left, it was weeks before we had to cook. We could just pull a meal from the freezer. One less thing to worry about in the days and weeks after she died.
DO be specific when offering to help. Instead of saying, “call me if you need anything.” Say “I’ll come by on Tuesday and clean your bathrooms. Or is there another day that is better?” or “I’ll be by on Monday to cut your grass.” It is rare for people to call and ASK someone to clean their bathroom, but it is even rarer for those grieving to turn down an offer such as this!
DO say the name of the child. Days, weeks and months down the road parents want to know that other people have not forgotten their child. I have a sister-in-law whose birthday is near Amy’s. She usually remembers to send me a text, e-mail or phone call letting me know she remembers.
DO send a card or hand written note. Your note doesn’t have to be fancy, long or eloquently written. Just a note letting the family know you care. I was shocked at the number of sympathy cards we received when Amy died. I went back and read every single card multiple times. Currently, they are bound together and in my closet. They are precious. You may think sending a card is not a big deal. It is. And better yet, send the card or note a week or two or even three weeks after the burial. By that time, out of town family has returned home, the parents may have gone back to work and for those on the outside, things look normal. But, I assure you, in most cases, normal has taken on a new image and receiving a card and knowing someone remembers is comforting.
DO offer to babysit, if appropriate. The parents may be overwhelmed with all the details and having someone help with the other children will, most likely, be well received.
DO remember the grandparents. Not only are the grandparents grieving the loss of a grandchild, they are grieving for their children and the pain they (their grown children) are experiencing.
DO remember the siblings. Two years after Amy died, my oldest brother’s son died and two years later his only daughter died, leaving two young children and leaving my brother with only one son, at that time a young adult in his mid-twenties. A few years after Kathy’s death, my brother’s only living child got married. It was a joyous occasion. The young lady the son married was the only person that had sent my nephew a sympathy card. The only person to acknowledge HIS grief.
If the child is an infant or young child, do NOT tell the parents they can have another one. The child is not a pair of sunglasses or a vase. One does not just “replace” a child. Even though Amy only lived 4 days, I carried her for 9 months. I HAVE memories and I HAD dreams. Dreams that died with her. Dreams that slowly slipped away the afternoon she died in my arms.
Do NOT tell the parents they are lucky their child died young. Yes, I had someone tell me this when Amy died. I was lucky that she died young and I hadn’t had time to get attached. Please see number 9 above. I assure you, when you bury your child there is no feeling of good luck involved.
Do NOT tell them that it was part of God’s plan. While I knew that to be true, it was not comforting to me at the time. It took months, a couple of years even, for me to embrace that truth. Parents in the early stages of grief are not ready to hear this. It is Ok to say “we don’t understand God’s ways” or simply, “we don’t understand.”

In closing, one of the things I found to be very helpful for me while I processed my grief and walked that long road with ever-changing landscape was listening to Christian music. There are many songs that are fitting, here is just one: God and Time by Newsong

Have you lost a child or someone close to you? How did you process the loss and deal with your grief?

When Your Voice is an Idol

By Alia Joy

We spend more time analyzing ourselves than ever before. With the rapid expansion of social media and technology, we live in a world constantly bombarded with self.

Which profile picture will I use for my avatar? What do my liked pages say about me? What interests do I showcase that make me look good?

We live in a culture that capitalizes on more than our personal tastes, it capitalizes on our persona, our brand.

Whether it’s the TV shows we like, the books we read, the stores we frequent, or the places we go, there is a growing desire to share bits of who we are with others. You can tweet during your favorite shows, share excerpts of the books you read, capture your pumpkin spice latte and map your location down to your favorite neighborhood Starbucks.

Some would argue that this narcissistic bent is why connection is often difficult, why comparison and insecurity arise when everyone else’s Instagrams are so much cooler than yours, because you never eat watermelon in cowboy boots and a floral dress whilst leaning over a vintage table with the perfect yesteryear wash bathing the photo in golden hues. You just stand at the counter in your faded yoga pants and spit seeds into the garbage pail next to the pile of dirty dishes you have yet to get to.

And maybe you’re doing it wrong. Maybe the life you live is less than. Or maybe you are the girl with the cute boots and impeccable taste Instagramming away your seamless life? Even you know there’s more to your story than the pictures you share.

But social media or not, I think the human heart always seeks to compare. Our default is to be concerned and consumed by our own glory. If ever there were an idol of our times in the blog world, I believe it is our voice. Our need to always be heard saying something.

There are the shock value bloggers capitalizing on every current event, every controversial divisive line needing to be parsed and severed and inspected with scathing sarcasm and open letter rants.

There is the desire for our words to reach further, to impact more, to challenge or encourage or matter. But there is a grace-less way about always needing to have our voice heard. And there is the quiet despair for those who faithfully share their voice and stories to the humble reception of silence and wonder if they matter at all.

We gather at conferences and wonder about the elevator speeches we’re supposed to prepare summarizing who we are and what we offer. And sometimes I think we’re too practiced at saying all the right things that we never stop to listen.

Because at the heart of it all, we tie our performance with words and platform and branding to our worth. If our story doesn’t matter, maybe we don’t either?

And I know I’m not the only one, but I’m tired of it. I’ve felt the sticky fingered lure of candy coating what is, at it’s core, pride. The syrupy tongued words that pave the way to a bigger audience have sent me writhing back to silence, like a child found in bloated emptiness amid a flurry of candy wrappers the day after Halloween.

I’m an advocate for story because I believe the word of God’s people, the testimony of His beloved brings glory to Him, connection to the body, and light in the darkness but there will always be the temptation to focus so much on ourselves, our story, our path, our contribution to this writing world, that we forget that to live a good story, we’d be wise to listen and slow to speak.

Because grace happens in the pauses, when we stop to soak in words that are not our own. We live better questions when we stop reciting what we have to offer and start to champion other people’s voices. Start to believe in the storyteller who’s writing our moments with a master’s precision. When we find our humanity not just in the words we craft but also in the words we cultivate. When we worry less about our own voices being heard and allow God to speak.

I will always champion God’s people using their voice, but let us also learn to hold our tongues and listen with bold ears and hearts wide open, and maybe then, God will speak and our words will be tinged with grace, soothing to our souls, and full of life.

The Life to Which You Were Called

By Kayse

A week or so ago, I started my day with Jesus, expecting to read a chapter or two, and I got stuck on this single verse.

Truth be told, I’ve been stuck on it ever since.

“…let each person lead the life that the Lord has assigned to him…”

Lately, I’ve really been struggling with trying to figure out what my assignment is supposed to be.

I’m a writer. I write blog posts and eBooks and even have a traditionally published book coming out next year. (I know. I’m still getting over the shock.)

I’m a mommy. I’m raising a toddler and carrying a baby who is supposed to make his appearance sometime in the next few weeks.

I’m a wife. I followed my husband to a new job, a new place, a new home. I’m working on making us a life here while he works to put food on our table each day.

I’m a housekeeper (not a great one, but still), a cook, a daughter, a sister, a friend. I have big dreams and little ones and honestly, I just don’t know how they all fit together.

I feel like I’ve always been told that there’s supposed to be one thing, you know? One thing that I am made to do, and if I do it, then I’ll for sure be on God’s path for my life. I’ll be living out the life He called me to.

But there’s always more than one thing for me. I don’t know that there’s ever been just one. Life is messier than that.

As I get older, and more things clamor for my attention and focus, I’m learning that the life He has assigned to me has less to do with the one thing that I am supposed to be doing, and everything to do with the One I’m walking beside.

Maybe the life He is calling me to has many parts. Wife, Mommy, Writer – they all matter. Some days, one will require more than the others. But every day, I have a Companion along the way. One who fills me with grace and strength to do the things He’s placed in front of me.

But, maybe, it’s not really about me. Not about who I am or what I do. Maybe it’s all about who He is, and what He does in and through us.

That life He has called me to? The one He has assigned for me?

It’s a life of relationship with Him, before anything else. It’s letting go of my supposed-to’s, taking His hand, and just walking forward, one step at a time.

Because at the end of the day, all I know for sure is that I’m called to walk with Him.

Seven Ways to Help Kids Memorize Scripture

By Denise J. Hughes

When my youngest children were four and five, I wanted them to memorize the famous “Love” passage from 1 Corinthians 13:4-8. So I made a poster using a different color for each phrase

First, we focused on the red words:
Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast.
Then, we moved to the orange words:
It is not proud, it is not rude. It is not self-seeking.

We proceeded in this colorful fashion until my kids memorized the entire passage. We called it the “First Corinthians Game.”

One morning, while gathering laundry at the top of the stairs, I heard my son say to his big sister, “Let’s play First Corinthians!”

His sister responded with a bored voice. “No thanks.”

Undeterred, he said, “Okay. I’ll do it.”

I stopped to listen and savor the moment.

In his tender four-year-old voice, he began. “Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not self-seeking.”

His sister interrupted, “‘It is not rude.’ You’re supposed to say, ‘It is not rude.’”

He accidentally skipped that phrase. But he shouted back, “No! It is not self-seeking!”

She yelled again, “No! It is not rude!”

Their skirmish escalated, and my maternal moment of bliss ended. I had to march downstairs and break it up. Their words to each other were neither loving nor kind. Obviously, they missed the point.

Later, I couldn’t help but laugh at the irony.

Sometimes we work so hard at getting it “right” that we miss the point too. Reading the Bible is about transformation, not information. It’s about imprinting God’s Word on our hearts that we might love others with the same compassion Christ has shown us.

As much as I love to study God’s Word and memorize life-giving passages, I know a mere recollection of Bible verses isn’t enough. The Truth of Scripture must burrow deep into my soul, yielding a harvest of genuine service for Him.

At the end of my days, I don’t want to be known as someone who acquired head-knowledge without heart-compassion. I want to be someone who loves the way Jesus loves. And I want to teach my children to do the same. We still practice our memory verses. But we also talk about the meaning of those verses and how we can apply them to our lives.

Here are seven ways to help kids memorize Scripture:

1. Select one longer passage instead of many short memory verses.

The short weekly memory verses from Sunday School lessons are fine, but they usually reside in a person’s short-term memory. By the following week, they’re easily forgotten when it’s time to learn a new verse. Shorter verses are also more difficult to retain because they’re not attached to something larger.

We learn by association. So when we tackle a larger segment of Scripture, one section at a time, we stay focused on the same passage for a longer period of time, which supports retention in a person’s long-term memory. The children’s ministry at my church devotes every six months to learning one passage. Last winter, it was 1 Corinthians 13:4-8. This spring and summer, the memory passage is Psalm 23.

2. Make a poster and give each section a different color.

Create line breaks to denote appropriate pauses. It’s much easier to absorb individual lines than one solid paragraph. This helps visual learners, especially when each line is assigned a specific color.

3. Create a pathway through your home and assign each line of the passage to a specific room or location in the house.

Start with the front door. When your child enters, have the first verse presented on one 8 ½ x 11 sheet of paper. Let the child color the page. Then frame it. Set the framed words where they’re visually prominent. Then travel along a predetermined path — perhaps through the living, kitchen, dining area, and hallway — and end at your child’s bedside table or shelf. This helps physically active kids move through the house, associating each section of the passage with each sequential location. Each verse becomes a part of the house for the duration of the whole project. This especially helps kinesthetic learners.

4. Put the words to music.

It could be a new melody your child makes up, or it could be a tune as familiar as “Row, Row, Row Your Boat.” Sing the passage together while driving in the car or walking around the block. This especially helps auditory learners.

5. Add motions to your song, or make it a cheer.

The more we engage our bodies, the more our minds have to pay attention.

6. Make a book.

It doesn’t have to be anything fancy. Staple a few sheets of blank white paper together. Have your child write each verse from the passage on a separate sheet. Then draw a picture on each page that tells a visual story. Read the book often and admire your child’s artwork. Your child will associate each verse with the picture he/she drew and remember the sequence of the visual presentation.

7. Take turns reciting the passage before going to bed.

Kids are famous for wanting one more glass of water or one more hug before bedtime. The presence of their parents is comforting. When my kids were little and wanted to cuddle before going to sleep, I’d lie next to them in bed, and we’d take turns practicing our memory passage. They knew the routine. It wasn’t time to chat about the day. Once they finished their turn, they’d close their eyes and fall asleep while listening to Mom quietly recite the same passage.

Kids learn by example. And memorizing Scripture is something the whole family can do together. Then it becomes a central teaching focus for several months.

What helps you memorize Scripture?

Writing for Him,

Denise

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On The Move

By Crystal

It’s been over four years since I started blogging. Four years, 536 blog posts, hundreds of thousands of words given to me by God to use for His glory. It’s been a testimony of God’s faithfulness, the power of persevering, of discovering who I am, Whose I am, and why I write. It’s been so much more than a hobby.

Without my blog, I would not have:

Been introduced to the power of online community
Discovered my passion for encouraging women
Chased a God Sized Dream to become a Virtual Assistant
Met some incredible, life long friends
Been brave enough to go to Allume by myself last year
Watched God open – and close – doors to completely change my life

In my story, more than anything else, God has used my love for writing to bring me closer to Him. He has called me to stay in it, in faith, when I wonder why I should bother. In those moments when looking at blog statistics and comments and reach and all the other things that scream “success” whisper “failure” at me, God reminds me of the moment in middle school when a teacher saw my talent and invited me to join the school newspaper. He brings back the memories of the joy when I saw my stories in print for the first time. He reminds me that I once wanted to live in New York City and work for a magazine as an editor.

I laugh now at those dreams because they are so far from where I are, a toddler mama writing blog posts in a small town coffee shop. But really? Though the journey has been different, the passion is still there. The desire to write words that bless others – it now looks like encouraging women instead of working at a magazine. The joy of seeing my story printed – it now looks like guest posts at my favorite sites and seeing friends sharing my words when they touch a special place in their hearts.

This writing testimony? It has God’s fingerprints all over it, but I never see them when I’m in the middle of the mess, the early mornings of writing, the deadlines and the goals. It takes a moment of intentional reflection to look back and see what God has done, how He has changed me, and where He has taken me. He has a plan for your writing too – a story He wants you to tell, a testimony of faithfulness, answered prayer, His glory shining through words typed weary and afraid. God is on the move – let’s take a minute to see where He’s taking us.

The House He Gave

By Jennifer

I remember when my eldest asked why our house is so small, why we don’t have a big yard.

We had just spent the evening with our friends, who live in the hills on a large piece of property outside town. While the parents chatted, the six kids climbed trees, raced mountain bikes across the large back and front lawns while playing hide-and-go-seek, and planned spy missions in the huge oak tree over the vegetable garden, where the zip line connected with the tree house. We spend summer afternoons swimming here, jumping on the trampoline, helping feed the chickens, and playing with their adorable dog.

When he asked me, we stood in our dining room, in the middle of our beloved old house, the room that speaks of over 90 years of meals, of conversations with the light spilling through the two side windows. The floors creak in a few places here, and this is where I don’t tread in the early mornings when I fear to disturb the quiet. But I love the ache of this wood floor, the unspoken stories of the feet that have tread over these beams. There is a history here my family gets to step into and live and breathe–God’s plan unfolding to us over these six years we’ve been here, our youngest a baby. This is the house where God came for this family, and we will remember.

The House He Gave 2.jpg

The House He Gave 4.jpg

When my husband and I first got married, we got our living situation a bit backwards. We had spent years living in city apartments on the East Coast, and so when we moved back home, to California, we were eager to live in a house. The problem was that housing rents were sky high; but, in our determination to not live in an apartment, we paid a lot of money in rent to live in a real house, with unshared walls, and we did that for three years. A lot of money was poured down the drain, and, with us feeling new to the area, not a lot of people came over. Crazy. Soon it was time to move on.

When our first baby arrived, we finally got some sense and decided we had better start being more responsible with our money, more frugal, and we moved into a 900 square foot cottage for a year, and then a condo in our sleepy little downtown–three kids on the top floor. Soon, for the sake of our neighbors below–and because we were bursting at the seams–we knew it was time to try and look again. And that is when God showed us our home.

Due to the high prices of houses in the California Bay Area, we didn’t know if we were going to be able to stay here, despite my husband’s job making it necessary, then, for us to stay. It was years of planning–hoping–yet knowing our hearts needed to stay present, wherever we were, with Him, the provider of all. And then, on the way home from a visit with our realtor to another house that we could possibly afford but would need to spend tons of time and effort to fix up, God brought us home.

Our realtor had a surprise for us, he said. Just when we thought we were heading back to his office, he pulled into the driveway of a gray arts-and crafts bungalow that I had seen listed six months ago but was not even close to our price range. A house forgotten. With hearts beating fast, my husband and I walked onto the porch, one step in the door, and locked eyes. We didn’t have to say a word. This was our house. This was what He was giving. And with each new step in, we felt His hand guiding us, His joy, His child-heart’s delight, in showing us the details only He knew we would love.

The story of how the house sat here, with no offers, for six months, weeds growing in the yard, when there were no problems in the fine print of any of the inspections, flummoxed the neighbors, who didn’t like a house sitting on their street for so long without being sold. The price jumped down after a few months, then again, and then it went off the market for a while and was bought by the company of the previous owners, who then began to mow the lawn, made the inside look cute, and lowered the price once again. And when it came on the market again, after sitting for months and the price being lowered to a crazy number, God grabbed our realtor’s hand and drove us to the driveway of our house. We were home. This was the house He gave. We didn’t have to see the whole house to know His heart.

The House He Gave 5.jpg

This is God’s house. This is the house for which we are so thankful, and we try to hold it loosely, like He asks us to hold our hearts loosely with Him, and offer them up. It is our house for His children, for His children to be let in.

And over the years they have come in clusters on Monday mornings to gather, and they have come as a circle on afternoons to pray. They have come with toothbrushes for sleep-overs and pink swirly skirts for fairy parties and torn-knee jeans for play dates after school. They have come as couples to talk in the studio we call “the cottage” in the back on Thursday nights; they have come in small groups on Friday and Saturday night for dinner and squeezed in around the table. We know we must open the door to be fed by His heart in us. This is His house He gave for us to give.

And so with my son that day I stood there, cared for, in the room He built, within the walls He asks us to give up, in His name, and I told our son it is not yet time for us to move. I sympathize with this boy with energy bursting, his young body wanting a greater freedom to move, to make long arches with a football, to build a tree house to climb up into, read in and dream. And I remind him of the story of this house, the house God gave, and how we may never move, we may never have a big yard. But oh, how God knows the definition of Home.

Six Stories Every Mom Should Tell

By Denise J. Hughes

I take my seat on the top row of metal bleachers and peer across the football field.

The high school band plays the familiar “Pomp and Circumstance” as the graduates begin their procession. They’re wearing identical caps and gowns, so I strain to find the one I’m here for. The one who made me a mom, eighteen years ago. The one I stayed home with. Every day. Year after year. The one I taught to read. The one I taught to swim. The one I drove to piano lessons and theater rehearsals and youth group.

The one who is about to leave for college. In another state.

On the field below, I notice the way the breeze pulls the green and white balloons in one direction. And that’s how I feel as a mom. Every instinct inside me wants to pull in one direction. I want to preserve each moment and resist this onward march toward the future.

Yet, I also want to embrace this new season the way an artist enjoys a new palette of colors to paint with.

It’s with this curious mixture of joy-for-the-future and nostalgia-for-the-past that I’ve been doing a lot of reflecting lately. And from this mom-heart-place of looking back and looking ahead, I’ve realized six of the most important stories I want my children to know.

They’re stories that happened when my kids were either too young to remember or perhaps not yet born. They’re stories I’ve taken for granted and assumed my kids already knew. They’re six stories every mom should tell.

Six Stories Every Mom Should Tell

1. Tell the Story of Their Birth

For Mother’s Day last month, I wrote the birth story of my oldest child. When my daughter read it, she commented on the parts she had never heard before. Her words surprised me. I assumed she knew all those details. So we shared a long chat over herbal mint tea as I told her more about the day she was born.

If you’ve adopted children, tell the story of how God brought them into your lives. Nothing in all creation is more beautiful than an adoption story, for it echoes God’s heart and the way He has adopted us as His children (Ephesians 1:4-5).

2. Tell the Story of How You Picked Their Name

What process did you go through when you chose your child’s name? Did you pick a name that carries part of your family’s history? Did you select a name that reflects a truth or a person in Scripture?

3. Tell a Story that Reflects Their Strengths

From the moment a child is born, parents observe certain characteristics in their kids. In Hebrews 11:23, it says that “Moses’ parents hid him [from Pharoah] for three months after he was born, because they saw he was no ordinary child.”

What stories can you recall — of your children when they were young — that clearly point to their strengths?

4. Tell the Story of How You Met Jesus

Of all the stories we could tell, this is the most important one. After reading Bible stories together, let’s also tell the story of how we met Jesus. Let’s talk about the way Jesus continues to transform us into His image a little more every day.

5. Tell the Story of How You Met Their Dad

As husband and wife, we live our story every day. We know the events that brought us together. But our kids need to hear this story too. One of the ways we can honor our spouses and express unity as a couple is to celebrate with our kids the story of how we came together.

I understand that not every story comes straight out of a Disney storybook. Many of us have experienced the pain of broken stories. But when we surrender our brokenness to Christ, our lives become stories of redemption and hope.

6. Tell the Story of Your Dreams

When our children are young, it’s hard for them to imagine that we actually once lived before they were born. It’s like the teacher who meets one of her students in the grocery store. The student is surprised to discover that her teacher exists outside the classroom. In the same way, our children might be surprised to learn that we once dreamed of being an astronaut or a veterinarian. Share some of your dreams with your kids — dreams both past and present.

At the end of the graduation ceremony, the seniors move their tassels from the right side of their caps to the left in a symbolic gesture of completion. If I had a tassel of my own, I’d need to move it too. Because in a way, I’ve also graduated . . . into a new season of motherhood.

I watch as my daughter and her friends toss their white caps into the air, and I breathe another prayer, placing these past eighteen years into the Hands of Him who loves her even more than I do. Then I recall each story I’ve told her, knowing she takes these stories with her, everywhere she goes.

Have you told these stories to your kids?

Have you written any of them down?

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Our kids take every story we’ve told them, everywhere they go. <Tweet this!>

I want to embrace this new season the way an artist enjoys a new palette of colors to paint with. <Tweet this!>

When the Small is Really the Big

By Guest

The mountains in our lives are mole hills to God, but even the mole hills
are not hidden from His gaze. A week ago I was praying hard. I was praying hard
for things that I couldn’t see.

Sometimes you pray for small things when what you are really asking for are
enormous, if-God-doesn’t-show-up- we-will-not-make-it sized things. Our
life is full of unexpected right now and there are more questions than answers
scattered along this faith road, but still we walk and we hope.

I had a hope. A flicker of a hope in the midst of a tighter than tight
budget that I might return to Allume this
year. Last October I gathered with women from all over to talk all things
blogging and Jesus. It inspired. It grew my vision. It made me just a bit more
fearless. I was hoping to go this October, but we’re about strike out into
a new God-sized dream and funds are limited to say the least.

While praying for a means of purchasing my ticket for Allume I felt God’s nudge.

Do you know what I mean?

That moment when you know God is saying more than what meets the eye through
your circumstance.

He gave a nudge to my heart reminding me to not stop short in believing for
the small things. I’ve got to believe Him for ALL things. If I am willing to
pray that God would provide for a ticket to a blogging conference then how
could I shirk back from believing that He will provide everything for where my family is
headed?

The little stuff and the big stuff
are all the same to God.

That is why it really shouldn’t have come as a surprise when I opened up
twitter to see that a friend, an anonymous friend, heard this need. This woman
heard it in her heart from the same God, by the same Spirit, that speaks to me
and loves me and calls me, that she should be the hands and feet of Jesus in my
life.

I’ve got a ticket to Allume because someone listened to a God-sized nudge, a God-sized voice.

I was humbled, humbled right down to the holy ground that is all of life for
anyone who dares to follow Christ.

I want this person to know, whoever they are, that God used you in a big way.
Yes, you bought my ticket to Allume and
that is a tremendous gift, but you also showed my weak faith that every step on
this journey my family is about to leap into without a net is already taken
care of by a God who sees me and even cares whether or not I go to a blogging
conference.

How much more does He care that we have enough to pay the bills, to fill the
empty, to meet all of the ends? If our end is Christ then all our ends will meet in Him.

In the end all of it is God-sized and the dreams we dream with pursed lips
and through blurry eyes filled with tears are heard by the heart of God and sometimes
whispered to others on our behalf.

If we believe the small we can believe the big.

Some of you are walking through impossible
circumstances and every little thing seems to require a mountain of faith. Some
of you are hoping for your own anonymous Allume
ticket.

He knows the plans that He has for
you.

Walk strong in Him, pray even when your words falter, believe that God is
for you and will supply every need. His riches are endless.

Thank you sweet anonymous friend. Thanks be to God who shows up big in the
seemingly small.

Jessica Hoover is a wife, mama, writer and grace lover. She lives in the hills of North Carolina where her family serves with a missionary training organization. She dabbles as a birth doula and loves chocolate, {hot or iced and
always sweet} tea, British dramas, cheering on other mamas and heaps of good conversation. She blogs about her belief that grace is the biggest kind of brave and can be found talking about it all on twitter and facebook.

When We Choose Pouting Over Praise

By Mandy Scarr

I spent the first year at my job wishing it away. It wasn’t what I wanted, and I let a pout be a permanent fixture in my attitude.

I went back to school with the intention of graduating into my ideal ministry position. I dreamed about that position throughout my three years in grad school. I longed for the day of ministering to women, pouring Scripture into their hearts, and connecting deeply with the Spirit in prayer beside them. I had a dream, I had a vision. But He wanted something different.

I graduated and He opened a door to a position much like where I had come from prior to grad school. In fact, it was a few steps backward in many ways. But He made it obvious this is where He wanted me, and so I obeyed His lead and accepted the position. As time went on I grew to dislike the position more and more and I grew bitter.

Instead of being grateful for a job in a struggling economy, I allowed misery and self-pity to overtake my heart. I soaked in the waters of anger, and I chose not to look at the blessings covered beneath the surface of this job.

Gratitude was something I had lost–a lifestyle, an attitude, a focus I chose to walk away from.

Over time the Lord began to pull up the weeds of resentment, showing me why He had me there. He revealed the purpose- the very reason I was placed there. Over time my heart changed.

But looking back I am saddened that for so long I wished away that season, excited to move on to what God had for me next.

Look what Paul wrote of the Macedonian churches in 2 Corinthians;

Out of the most severe trial, their overflowing joy and their extreme poverty welled up in rich generosity.

Those in Macedonia faced great persecution because of their faith. Their situation deteriorated and poverty spread through the Church. Despite the difficulties they faced, they still chose to praise God and bless others. They contributed financially to Paul’s missionary work during this difficult time, they gave out of what they did have, instead of focusing on what they didn’t have. The Macedonian’s faith increased even in the midst of great trial. They chose to see the grace of God, soaking in His blessings even in the midst of a storm.

The Word of God gives us testimony after testimony of this very attitude, the attitude of living in gratitude and sharing the joy of the Gospel of Christ in every and all situations.

I wonder what would’ve been different if I hadn’t ‘wasted’ a year pouting over the season He had chosen for me.

As I reflect on that season, I see that He is patient. He is gracious. And He is a great Teacher.

I needed that season of pouting to learn that sometimes my story isn’t equal to His story. Sometimes He has different plans for a season then I do, and that doesn’t mean it’s a waste of time. When my attitude learned to adjust to His plans, when I accepted where He had me and chose to be present and purposeful, I saw His abundant blessings. I saw Him.

After two years in my position, today is my last day. God has moved me into a new season, and I am walking away from this job. I am grateful for where He is leading me, but I wonder what would’ve been different if I hadn’t allowed my pouting attitude to cloud that season.

I am grateful for the lessons He’s taught me on this journey, and I pray that my heart will overflow with gratitude, like the Macedonian’s, no matter what challenge or storm this next season brings.

Are you in a season you didn’t picture for yourself? Are you weary and bitter? Are you pouting the days away?

Let’s choose gratitude. Let’s choose to see Him in the midst of this season, being open to what He might have for us there.

By, Mandy Scarr at mandyscarr.com

When You Think You Just Might Slide Off

By Mary

It was a foggy weekday morning as I drove back from early mass. I was reflecting on the words of the priest and the words the Lord had been speaking to my heart for a few weeks.

He’s been speaking words that I truly do not want to hear.

He’s been speaking words that make me uncomfortable.

He’s been speaking words that ask me to stretch myself.

And I want to ignore these words.

As I was driving along and thinking about this, a car approached going the other direction and all of a sudden something flew out of the car and hit the road.

Almost immediately I realized that this something didn’t fly OUT of the car, it flew OFF of the car. This something was a plastic food container.

The lid came off and the contents scattered everywhere! What someone probably intended for their lunch was now bouncing and rolling all over the road. It would become food for birds, squirrels, rabbits…whatever could get there to eat it.

My guess is that the person driving the car was hurrying to gather their belongings, get in the car and head to work. They put their lunch on top of the car while they juggled their briefcase, their keys, possibly a child, a handbag…you get the picture.

Once safely in the car they pulled away and started driving. Since this happened in an area without a house directly on the street, they had obviously driven for a few minutes and the container just sat on the roof of the car.

As they got on the main road, gained a bit of speed and started down a slight grade, the container slid right off the car top.

It hit the road and red cherry tomatoes went everywhere.

Life is like that sometimes. Things and life are moving along just fine. There is no problem, so we get out on the main road and we gain a little speed. We start down a slight grade…and we slide right off the top of the car!

Remember those words that I was reflecting on when I saw this happen? They are words that will ask me to get out on the main road.

They are words that will ask me to gain a little speed.

They are words that, if I am not careful, if I try to do things my way, then these words will send me sliding off the top of life’s car.

At the same time, they are words that are life-giving. If he is asking me to do something (and he is!) and I follow his will and trust his heart, he will NOT let me down.

I will NOT go sliding off the top of the car.

If he leads me to it,

then he will lead me through it!

He is asking me to step out in faith. To trust him. To try something new.

I am going to have to juggle my briefcase, my keys, my handbag and my lunch. I’m going to get in the car. I’m going to make sure I am safely buckled in, then I am going to hold on…because I am not in the driver’s seat. I’m leaving that to Him!

Are you weary sister? Did you leave your lunch on the roof of the car?

He is there.

He will supply your needs.

Just get in the car and buckle up. Because riding with Him can be a wild ride…

Mary writes on faith, healthy living and life at http://www.marybonner.net/

5 Reasons to Tell Your Story

By Jacque Watkins

**Loving all Kris shared yesterday and echoing her thoughts even more today, as I already had this post in store for you without even knowing of hers. With a synchrony of hearts we share a united message … and I’m just loving how God does that!

Our stories hold power. Where we’ve been. What we’ve faced. How we’ve been hurt, and how we’ve failed. They all shape who we’ve become. And our stories can change the world.

I’m still amazed after sharing my story how many contact me. In the midst of a desperate place, they send an email, type a message, or give me a call. And without fail, I’m often one of the first people they choose to reach out to, because until now they’ve felt all alone.

In some God-appointed way they found me. And because I shared my story first, they feel safe to reach out to me with theirs.

Some are discontent in their marriage, feeling alone and afraid,

Some have inappropriate emotional attachments and don’t know what to do,

Some were betrayed by their spouse–full of deep hurt and overwhelmed with pain,

Some are wrestling with an affair, which is burying them with guilt and the shame,

And some have friends facing pornography addiction, ongoing infidelity, or divorce, and want to know what they can do to help.

It’s a humble privilege to walk alongside someone in the midst of crisis. They offer me chances to speak wisdom and whisper words of hope to their hearts, in the midst of very personal and sometimes dire circumstances.

When I dared to show up, bare my heart, and tell my story, I asked God to use it in ways only He can. And because He is faithful, He continues to bring opportunities to me–amazing and humbling divine appointments. And in His lovingkindness, He has used even me, to help others in the midst of their mess.

Your mess can become your ministry.

No matter what you’ve been through in your life, we need you, and we need your story.

Because there is someone out there who feels lost and alone,

Someone who feels discouraged and beyond hope,

And someone who is believing the lie that they’re the only one facing the difficulty of their situation.

As you consider the story God has woven within your life, I offer 5 reasons you should tell your story.

5 Reasons to Tell Your Story

1. Telling your story will help you heal

Sometimes our stories are too fresh and new to share. Because we are still healing. There may be unresolved issues or damaged relationships limiting the freedom of what we can divulge.

At one point this was true in my own life. And it was more than a decade before I unfolded my story publicly–more than a decade of processing, healing, and restoration in my life.

As you consider telling your story, perhaps it’s time to begin to pursue some resolution. And maybe, as healing gains momentum in your life, writing your story will be the tool God uses to complete the healing He longs to do in you.

2. Telling your story will help us know we’re not alone

People in crisis feel alone. I know I did. I was hurting and wounded, ashamed and afraid. I sought someone, anyone, who even hinted at being capable of understanding what I was facing. And few were available.

When you tell your story, the one of the road you’ve travelled, we will be reassured as we realize we’re not alone. Your story will shatter the secret place where we’re hiding. And it will open a door, inviting us to join you in a new room–a room of transparency, authenticity, and freedom. Our heart will be free, and your story will empower us to be brave enough to tell our story too.

3. Telling your story will give us hope

It still amazes me that every time I tell my story, someone tells me it gives them hope.

Hope to have more courage.

Hope to be more brave.

Hope to face the pain.

Or hope to know someone understands.

Within everyone’s story is a mirror of hope. And when we hear your story, the reflection we see will captivate us. We’ll grasp for the hope you offer in a desperate attempt to hang on. We’ll witness how you survived, how you endured, and how you were changed. And as we do, we’ll see a glimpse of light beyond our current darkness and the possibility of joy beyond our silent pain.

4. Telling your story will offer us insight

There were many days I had a limited stance and a warped point of view, because it’s difficult to see clearly in the midst of a mess.

Pain blinds us from truth, and suffering limits our perspective.

And that’s why we need you. Because you’ve already been where we are. You understand our struggle and relate to our crazy feelings. As you tell your story, we’ll see your mistakes and take note of your breakthroughs, and we’ll trust you because you trusted us and let us in. We have much to learn from you, and as you share your insight and wisdom, it will help with ours.

5. Telling your story will bring God glory

God created us to bring Him glory.

He is our Redeemer and Restorer.

A God of grace.

And a God of mercy.

And as He works in our lives we are evidence to the world of His great love.

As you tell your story, we’ll witness the way God redeemed and restored your life. How He took your pieces and made them whole. And we’ll believe He can make ours whole too.

As we hear His story in you, no matter how traumatic your tragedy or profound your failure, it will bring God glory, as you give thanks and tell of all He’s done in you. And I can’t wait to hear you share!

With love and cheers from afar,
Jacque of jacquewatkins.com

Have you ever dared to tell your story?

What happened when you did?

Tweetables:

Your story shatters the secrets I’m hiding & makes me know I’m not alone. [Tweet that]

As God works in our lives, our stories are evidence of His great love. [Tweet that]

Your story offers a mirror of hope for us to grab hold of, and hang on to today. [Tweet that]

When God Builds a Team

By Jennifer

I sit with my husband in a coffee shop. It’s mid morning and I feel like I’m playing hooky. This is just too fun. Partners in adventure . . . gathering a team.

We wait, expectant for God’s leading.

Married 17 years, we are co-leading a family mission trip to Tecate, Mexico, our third time–a trip that begins two weeks from today. We have been on four mission adventures so far–one to Ethiopia, six years ago, and the last three, with our children–to the Navajo Nation, in Chinle, Arizona, and to Tecate, Mexico.

My fingers fold around my cup. God continues to meld together this one heart, His one flesh.

On this morning, we sit abreast, at the counter, excited to meet a single mom who will join the team. So many conversations over the late winter and spring about the team–hearts shared at busy outdoor barbeques or at bustling coffee shops, steaming java in hand. We squeeze moments between play dates and work. We seek His guidance and wait to see who He brings.

Adventure awaits His team.

Through the spring we trusted Him to put together a team–strangers turned family who will work alongside one another to build a children’s home for orphaned children in Baja. Through months, and now just weeks left, of preparation, we gather supplies and check lists and plan final meetings. But mostly, we wait.

Expectant.

Excited.

The best way to prepare for these trips is to be ready to see God. I am going to be stretched and uncomfortable. I am going to feel depleted and raw. I am going to get dirty and feel tired and want to take a break sometimes, when I can’t. The only way a trip like this can be measured a success is if we feel, the entire time, we don’t have what it takes, on our own, to do a thing.

We have to be ready to let God in.

Connecting hearts to His is the only plan.

An adventure with God can be a trip to our neighbor’s house next door. Or it can be a trip across the earth. He wants to show us how, in fact, He’s made the world small. Big enough so that we feel lost in it when we try to do things on our own. Small enough for hearts to unite despite geographic boundaries, despite linguistic barriers. Through ever trip God builds His team, transforming strangers into family.

God has no barriers.

And so we will pack bags and cook food. We will worship and sleep and work alongside one another. Grandfathers and fathers and mothers and children.

We go, knowing His faithfulness, trusting His plans are good. We go, expecting adventure, anticipating not knowing the answers and having to tackle the unknown. We go, believing our Father is the leader, the one sure thing, the heart that never sleeps. We go, leaning into Him, where He will pick us up if we fall.

I send out support letters to friends and family today, asking for prayer for the team in Tecate. We pray for further trust in our Leader, as He guides us and protects us and leads the way to loving with full, open hearts.

I would love to hear one of your stories of God asking you to trust Him–and where He has asked you to go. I am curious, have you ever returned from a trip a changed person, and with new, deeper relationships with the people with whom you traveled? I can’t wait to hear about it, friends.

The Unearthing

By Jennifer

the unearthing 900 2

They sit, these sisters, clasping tea in hands, telling me the story I know. The story of silence, the story of keeping it all hidden, pretending everything is okay.

They sit and share the wounds of the darkness, love muddled in attempt to keep things clean, organized, simple. The problem with pushing down truth is that truth cannot be hidden forever. And there is a cost to silence that is more bitter than the initial pain itself.

Repercussions to silence are felt in new ways–all for the fear of letting light shine.

Avoiding conversations about the tough stuff may mean avoiding the potential mess that occurs when hearts are spilled open, raw. But avoidance–choosing silence–opens the door to believing lies, to making agreements about things that aren’t true.

Do you, friend, have a memory when you, as a child, tried to put together the pieces to a situation you didn’t fully understand? Do you feel the burden of silence, of things unspoken, of relationships strained?

We are made for relationship. We are made for community. We are made to share stories and let His light shine on the places of pain, of fear, of pride.

My friend leans forward. We must unearth truth, she says. We must unearth lies that need to be surrendered. We must unearth wounds pushed deep into hard, dark ground.

I squirm in my chair and my heart leaps with recognition. Yes, I understand this. This invitation to unearth–seeking to discover lies of my past–makes me both excited and afraid.

For I remember. I’ve been here before.

Unearthing creates turmoil in the dark places, underground. The roots have been established, wound their way through shadowless dark. Silence plants the message: deal with your burden on your own; figure it out; ignore it; time will make it all go away.

Over the years, the yearning for truth is squelched, pushed down, too far. And the darkness receives it, swallows it whole.

There the lies are nourished, fed by the years of handling the silence on our own. And there, the agreement is made: I don’t have a voice, I am alone, I need to figure this out by myself, the cries of my heart don’t matter, I am not good enough.

The silence makes its insidious crawl, pushing its way from the deep recesses where it is further watered and new sprouts shaped. It curls upward and winds it way along the surface of the ground, a vine snaking in shadow, away from the chance of life outside.

And that is when the unearthing must come. The vine must get pulled up by the roots because it prefers lurking in darkness and fears brightness of light.

“The Light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not comprehend it” (John 1:5) .

“For God, who said, ‘Light shall shine out of darkness,’ is the One who has shone in our hearts to give the Light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Christ” (2 Corinthians 4:6).

Dear sisters, you are not meant to be silent. Your wounds are not invisible, forgotten, uncared for. Your voice, when you call His name, reaches to the heavens (Psalm 10:17). His love for you cannot be contained. The silent scars you bear are not invisible to Him, are not silent to Him, are not unnoticed by Him. He calls your name and cradles you close, knocking, asking if it is okay for Him to lift you up, to unearth the pain you bear (Luke 11:10). He promises to take that burden from you, carry it Himself, longing to remind you that He did it already, when He hung on a cross for you.

His voice called your name, breaking the silence of death with His death. His last cry to His Father was for you, as He chose, in His love for you, to suffer and die. He allowed His body to lay cold, in the earth, alone, so that you can be unearthed, dear one, and rise with Him.

Let the Father unearth you like He unearthed His Son. He redeems the darkness. He makes everything light.

^“Then Jesus again spoke to them, saying, “I am the Light of the world; he who follows Me will not walk in the darkness, but will have the Light of life” (John 8:12).

As writers, as sisters, as daughters, as friends, we are called to bring light to darkness. We are called to give voice to truth and trust that He sets the captives–of silence–free.

A Reluctant Blogger

By Guest

Write from Obedience .jpg

^“The word of the Lord came to me, saying, ‘Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I set you apart; I appointed you as a prophet to the nations.” Jeremiah 1:4-5

I’m not like many of you. The ones who write because you love it, because your words flow out like honey and because you must write as it is your life source. I’m not super poetic with my words, I’m not even funny (well, sometimes I’m funny) yet I have reluctantly come to the realization that I too am a writer.

I’m not so much passionate about writing as I am about Jesus.

My journey to writing or most specifically blogging began two years ago. I was studying the book of Ephesians and though I had read it many times before, this time I was struck by Paul’s ability to encourage the church at Ephesus through his letters despite the challenges that must have come with writing during that time.

I marveled at how easy it is nowadays to share Jesus with someone through an email, Facebook post, tweet, etc. And I wondered why don’t more people do that? And then wait, why don’t I do that?

And very clearly I felt the Lord nudge me to start a blog where I could share my faith and encourage others. I thought OK, maybe except for the fact that I don’t actually like to write and that no one really wants to read my thoughts anyway, right?

But the Lord said to me, “Do not say, ‘I am too young.’ You must go to everyone I send you to and say whatever I command you. Do not be afraid of them, for I am with you and will rescue you,” declares the Lord.

So I did nothing for a while, sure that the Lord would be OK with me ignoring Him this one time and that the whole crazy writing idea would just pass.

It didn’t.

He spoke to me through friends, other blogs, and church sermons. Until finally, I could ignore Him no longer.

So I played it safe and started a family blog, thinking at least my out of town family might occasionally read just to get caught up on our news and I could sprinkle a little bit of Jesus in there somewhere.

And that’s exactly what I did for about a year because, really, I wasn’t a writer.

Yet the passion that stirred in my heart to share written words of encouragement grew to the point that I even approached our church’s women’s ministry director about starting a blog where ladies could share their faith stories and encourage one another. She thought it a great idea and I became the editor for our collaborative blog.

I was convinced other people would have great stories to share that would be way better than mine.

And then just a few weeks ago I found myself getting increasingly frustrated with the lack post submissions for our women’s ministry blog. I kept thinking don’t they know how important this is? Don’t they understand how their words could be used to bless others?

And then I felt it very clearly. No, they don’t. And that’s OK because I didn’t call THEM to write, I called YOU.

And I cried. Because I knew the Lord was telling me what I had been trying not to hear.

Not everyone is called to write. Some are called to minister in other ways. Just as not all of the apostles wrote letters.

We know Paul, Peter and John did but does that mean the other apostles didn’t work to expand the kingdom as well? Of course not, I’m sure they used their talents and calling to bless others as well.

I had to stop focusing on what others were not doing and finally accept the task the Lord had given me.

To share my voice and write because He wanted me to.

There may be others of you reading like me. Reluctant bloggers/writers that write out of a sense of obedience to share the gospel rather than out of just a love of writing.

Today I want to encourage you because you too have been called and you are writers.

Because it’s not about how good of a writer you or I think we are or how many followers, likes or shares we get, if you’re called to write and you answer the call, He will give you the words.

Then the Lord reached out his hand and touched my mouth and said to me, “I have put my words in your mouth. ¹⁰See, today I appoint you over nations and kingdoms to uproot and tear down, to destroy and overthrow, to build and to plant.”

Zohary is wife to her sweetheart and bf Tim and mom to 4 ages 3-16. She above all a receiver of grace and as a counselor and coach loves to use her words to encourage women in their walks. She also loves a cold coca-cola, and anything mint chocolate. She’s writes about living grace-fueled at zoharyross.com