The first time I realized I was suffering from “Dream Came True Blues” (DCTB) was a few weeks after our wedding when my husband gently asked me to stop buying bridal magazines. Not only did they take up half of our 600 sq. foot apartment, but at almost $9 per magazine, I was basically throwing away our Costco hot dog money. Oh, also, we were already married. Read More
Earlier this week I made a connection with a mother who adopted a child from Ollie’s orphanage. I had photographed her daughter while we were visiting the institution during our trip to bring our son home. Her daughter’s face “haunted” me, in a sense, when I first saw her and I have thought about her many times since that day. I was thrilled and thankful to hear she had been adopted and is now a part of a beautiful French family.
But then I begin to think about all the other children in thoseorphanage rooms. I had never seen them or thought much about them before that day. But now I know them. Now I have memories of them. I have their pictures on my phone because I can’t seem to muster up the will to delete the images. Those children and their realities have broken my heart.
I recently had a conversation with someone who said something to the effect of, “I never watch the News. Too many sad stories. It just depresses me.” It wasn’t the first time I had heard someone say that and, before I continue, she has every right to choose what she watches and doesn’t watch. But there is something about the sentiment behind avoiding the News that makes me cringe a bit because I think the reality is, in order to have the “beautiful feet” that Paul talks about, we have to risk having our hearts broken as well.
If we are going to bring Jesus to the broken and messy and hurting world, we are going to see things and hear things and read things and will be painful. We need to know our audience, and that will cost us something.
Here is my challenge for you, today:
Moving to a new city with three kids under seven (and one with anxiety issues) means it takes a ridiculously long time to settle in to a new routine. R to the I to the Diculous. As we’ve been struggling to find our new normal pace of life, I’ve had a lot of time to be in my head. This is both a blessing and a curse. It’s a crazy world up there. I can go from a republican to a democrat to a socialist to wanting to move to a convent in about 4 seconds flat. Maybe I need to look into the Green Party. Are they still a thing? Me and myself get into some nasty fights too. Inside my head is rarely a calm place these days.
All that to say, one of the things I’ve been rolling around up there is the relationship between insecurity and pride. At face value, they seem to be pretty opposite, right? I mean, when I think of an insecure person I think about someone who thinks they are not enough or who is always trying to compensate for a lack of something. I wouldn’t call them “prideful.” But what if pride feeds on insecurities? Like, as it’s primary diet. I can do some bat crazy things when I am feeling insecure. Based on some of the stories I’ve heard lately of broken relationships, I’m not the only one.
When we feel insecure we go into fight or flight mode. Here are some examples of hypothetical conversations you may have with yourself when insecure and in “fight” mode (I may or may not have had similar thoughts at one point or another. May or may not.) Read More
My husband and I were sitting at the foot of our hotel room bed. He had just finished a job interview and we were on the phone with my parents, giving them the update and running through our pros and cons list. My dad listened and then, in his “this is important so I am going to speak quietly” voice, he said, “Don’t overthink this. I give you permission to be one of the top 10 in your field. If this job is going to get you there, take it.” I remember chuckling a bit at the statement but then, as I really thought through what he said, it began to land hard and take root. There was something about my dad giving my husband permission to be great that resonated in my spirit.
There is something in me that longs to do great things. I don’t want to be a little light, I want to be a big one. When my kids and I sing “This Little Light of Mine,” we sing “This Giant Light of Mine” instead. The light in me is the same as the light in the Man who healed the blind and calmed the storm. In fact, Jesus said I would do even greater things than He did. Read More
It was only a 3 minute conversation. Short and sweet and, I hoped, age appropriate. We had referenced the topic before but this was the first time I could tell she was starting to understand.
Grace. God’s crazy, perfect, necessary grace.
Jane, my “full of personality” four-year-old, had just simmered down from a moment of less than appropriate behavior and the resulting consequences of her poor choice. Being the animated child she is, the conversation to follow went something like this:
Jane: “Oh Mother, do you even love me when I choose to do the bad things?” Let me pause for a moment to assure you this is a true conversation. When feeling like the situation needs an extra sparkle of drama, my four year old refers to me as “mother.” Yup. Read More