BreLyn's Blog

"I remember my affliction and my wandering, the bitterness and the gall. I well remember them, and my soul is downcast within me. Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope: Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness." Lamentations 3:19-23

[brelyn]

Locusts

I have been thinking a lot about locusts lately.  I am not sure if it is the season of bugs and flies that have me focused there, or if it is what God is doing in my heart.  Many years ago a sweet mentor would always tell me she was praying for the Lord to restore the years the locusts have eaten.  I remember thinking “I have no idea what this means but it sure sounds ‘biblical’ so THANK you for praying for that…. Because I WANT back what I DON’T HAVE and what was TAKEN from me.  The things I felt like were stripped away and the things that left me alone and depressed and the things that I spent many years of my life bitter and angry over, that made no sense.  I am not sure I ever took hold of that promise the way she did, but she was never shy of reminding me that she was praying for those years to be restored.  

And now, all these years, I am (still) thinking about the locusts.  I was drawn to Joel 2:25 today to again read the verse that had been told to me.  

“I will restore to you the years that the swarming locust have eaten… the hopper, the destroyer, the cutter.  You shall eat in plenty and be satisfied, and praise the name of the Lord your God, who has dealt wondrously with you.”  

Wow.  I am sitting here reading and rereading the passage that was spoken to me and that I never fully grasped, until now. What a promise! This was prayed for me and over me, and found its way deep in my soul.  I don’t think I knew I was clinging to this promise, as much as I was.  Because when locust kept returning to my mind, I would smile and remember Sue sending cards in the mail and reminding me almost weekly that she was praying for this.  I opened them in the hardest season of my life, where I was clinging to anything that would keep my head above water.  I balanced divorce papers, lawyer bills, and counseling appointments.  I was working to make ends meet and locusts were swarming.  Sue could believe the restoring part, but I was in a season where I was just trying to survive the locust.  Years would go by and I watched as we moved from the apartment to the farm, and how God lavished His kindness.  A pond, cows, turkeys and a safe place for Emma to roam.  Was that what the locusts had eaten?  No… we never had a farm before - we had a home in the right school district, close to church and friends and life. That wasn’t returned.  I was grateful but I didn’t think it applied.  Surely this wasn’t the promise was it?  Then I watched as I got a job working from home until Emma was in 1st grade and then to get a job at Blackhawk, on Emma’s school schedule; a gift - but did the Lord forget, I didn’t work before.  I was a stay at home mom.  This wasn’t returned to me.  As grateful as I was, I didn’t see the promise.  Was it that I didn’t see it, or that I wasn’t looking for it?

What I didn’t see and what God was working out in my heart and life was that it wasn’t never about the RETURNING - but the RESTORING.  Returning implies you get something back that you had - restoring is always better than it was before.  

And the thing He was restoring was me.  

We went to the beach in Michigan last weekend and as I at on the shore and watched the sun dip below the horizon - my soul couldn’t help but praise the Lord.  For the day, the beauty of the sunset and the life that was around me.  My life looks nothing like the life that was taken, but it has gold threads woven in.  My heart for ministry was never forgotten, He has restored this in His time and His way, and I am just a willing grateful participant in His Kingdom work.   He heard the cry of my heart, and has quietly, lovingly, shown me He sees me and loves me so dearly.  He has protected me from what I thought was best but was not.  He has allowed me to be a full time mom and has provided a home, a job, a ministry and a life that I never saw coming.

“… You shall eat in plenty and be satisfied, and praise the name of the Lord your God, who has dealt wondrously with you.”

This part, that I didn’t know, means so much in the midst of the restoring.   He doesn’t say “you will eat what you want and get all you had…”.  His promise is that I shall eat plenty and be satisfied.   The breaking of Bre and the restoring has proven that satisfaction isn’t in what I want, but in what HE wills.  I am satisfied, not in life, but in Him.  There are things that were eaten that I pray God will one day return, but even if — I am satisfied and have plenty.  I am full because HE feeds my soul and meets my needs.  

The end of the verse says that He has dealt wondrously with me.  I would not have ever called the story of my life wondrous or glamorous.  I would have said “here is a story of hard, heavy and pain.”   But as I continue to stand up in the restoring, learning to be content, remaining steadfast as He does His restoring work, I would say this is the most wondrous story of HIS work.  He is restoring me piece by piece and I have never felt more fearfully and wonderfully made. 

Maybe I didn’t see the steps of the restoring, and at times was ungrateful or oblivious, but He didn’t stop.  He has always had a plan and a purpose through the pain and the storm, and the swarms of locust.  He was dealing with me wondrously.  So, the locust can come and eat, they can take what they want, because I KNOW the promise of my God will remain steadfast.  He WILL Himself restore.

[brelyn]

worth it.

I sat in a room where the pain was palpable.  It was pure.  And it was personal.  Each girl that sat in our makeshift circle had their own hidden struggles they had been carrying alone.  They had done well covering it up.  They played the part of a circus monkey well.  When it was time to perform, they did.   They put on a jersey, the strapped on their backpack or they went to a get together with a smile painted on and a hidden heart ache.  Yet, as time went on, the weight they were carrying nearly causing them a physical limp.  

As one girl shared, I glanced at others who had tears streaming down their face and wondered what part of this story they shared? I saw another lower her head and feel what looked like a similar weight.  One sat wide eyed, unable to move as her brain tried to process the hurt that was being uncovered.  

My eyes wandered back to the girl sharing - the vulnerability was admirable and though not the right moment or context, I wanted to cheer.  She sat and pulled back the layers of her life, unpiled all the distractions and masks, and laid bare her biggest struggle.  She sat before a group of peers, classmates and teammates - girls who had the power to raise her up in the struggle or to ruin her if they were careless with her story. 

As I sat in that room, I thought of the woman who was caught in adultery.  The woman who was dragged from the “hidden places” and thrown in the town square.  The correlation in these two stories?  (I know, sometimes you just have to go with me, it should might make sense eventually).   This woman had been trying to live a life so discrete - so under the radar, that others didn’t know the pain or the hurt she was living with and kept hidden the way she coped with it.  Empty adulterous relationships is all we are told in John 8, but my guess is there were things in her past we don’t even know.   I can almost imagine what it was like as she was hurled into the middle of the crowd, in the middle of people who saw her every day, who may even have called her friend - who may have had no idea.  

But you see, back in our little bunk room I didn’t drag any one of those girls into the middle of the circle and demand they expose their hidden hurts.  I didn’t threaten them, there was no ganging up on them, and there certainly was no pressure.  But in the stillness, with room for the Holy Spirit to move, one by one they exposed the dark secrets.  They opened up the locked places and shared the heavy and hard.  It was their story to tell and their hard to uncover - and whether they knew the outcome or not, they were obedient to share.  

The other connection my heart made in our story and the woman’s was the moment when Jesus knelt down and began to write - those who surrounded her slowly, carefully and I am certain very quietly, dropped the stones and left.  Why? Because their hidden hurts were not as hidden as they thought.  They didn’t want them exposed.  Their reputation and their position mattered far more than their need to condemn this woman.  Before them in the dirt was a visual reminder of all the things THEY had worked so hard to hide, were known and seen.  

And before the girls in our room, was a brave soul willing to share the hidden, willing to read what was “written in the sand”, in hopes that her struggles, when placed in the open would lose their weight, would help another unlock their hidden, and would maybe be just what they needed to stop hiding and start living. In the process, opened the door for others to follow in their obedience to do the same.

I had a front row seat to it.  I watched as they cried for each other, encouraged each other, and as a few said “me too.”  I watched God take the things they would call their “ugliest things” and turn them into something beautiful.   

And as the small group moments came to an end and they crossed the room to hug and hold and support - I whispered to myself “it will all be worth it”.  But at 15 would they even believe me?  The adulterous woman may not have thought so before that day where she met the One who saw all of her, loved all of her and didn’t condemn her.  Her story still matters today.  

It means something.  The struggle, the hard, the heavy.   It matters because their story is one that when it comes out of hiding, will shine Jesus in ways they may not even understand until years later or in ways they may see today.   The safest place for our hidden things is in Jesus’ hands. 

It will be worth it.   

[brelyn]

My Yes

Ever have a friend that just keeps saying “you have a gift, you should use it.” and you smile and say “thanks” but really aren’t sure.   Or maybe you have a friend that starts to pray for things on your behalf before you even know about it and you don’t quite know what to do with it all when it starts to happen?  

I have a friend like that.  

It was a few months ago when this friend said “You should come do be part of this panel at our youth group”.  I laughed and said, “that would be fun!”, but never committed.  It was one of those things were you aren’t quite sure if the person is seriously asking you or if the are just being nice... so I opted for nice (and also an option for safe).

And a few weeks after that, said friend again came with “We have this winter retreat and I really think you should come!”  I had been to many winter retreats in my time in youth ministry and they WERE a lot of fun.   About the moment I allowed myself to remember, I was quickly bombarded in my own brain by reality snow balls.  “EMMA”. “SINGLE”. “SCHEDULE”. “THERE’S NO WAY.” 

So I left the thought buried under the snow and let it be.

You see, I have been there and done that.  I lived the youth ministry life and it held some of the best memories but also the worst.  I was a youth pastor’s wife.  I was at retreats, pouring out and leaving empty.  I was enlisted to help but never empowered.  I was left watching a group of kids go for fun and leave the same.  I wanted to make a difference but I was left wondering if I had or if I would.  I was young then, naive and inexperienced.  I think why the excuses kept coming and the snow balls kept flying to put out my “excitement” was that I wasn’t sure I wanted to relive a lot of the hard and the hurt. 

Until she asked again. (I clearly need new friends.) This time she said “Hey, I was serious about the retreat.  There is a group of girls from Blackhawk, they are the JV basketball players and they need a small group leader on this winter retreat. Would you please consider it?” 

This time I knew it wasn’t just being nice and a hypothetical- and this was going to involve me ACTUALLY praying about it.   The thing I thought I had left buried underneath all those snowballs had surfaced again.  

Here is the funny thing:  this is how I prayed about it - like I already knew was God was going to say.  “Dear God, this opportunity is coming up and as much as I would LOVE to be a part of it, I know it isn’t my time.  I have Emma and being a single mom with my family so far away, I can’t do it.  I will for sure do it another time though.  I think I would really enjoy it and would love to be a part of this.... someday.” 

I told God what it was, why I couldn’t do it and that I would do it someday.  No where in that prayer was there room for Him to speak. Did I just feel the need to “tell Him about it” and not ask His say on the matter? Clearly I had it all figured out -  except that the Holy Spirit didn’t really care if I left no room for a conversation - He kept stirring and pricking and pushing.  So I did the next best thing I could think of -  I called my Mom.

... and I did the same thing with her.  I told her the opportunity and then told her all the reasons I couldn’t go.   1. It was a dad weekend; always so logistical with pick up and drop off.  (to which she said, and also 8 hours each of those days with Emma gone and you are free). 2. I would need someone to stay with her those nights and help transport to and from, etc. (to which she said, make a call and just see...)  3.  It really isn’t the time in my life for this. (to which she said, why not? ... to which I had no good answer).   She told me to take the steps and see if God continued to open doors or if He closed them.  

And then she said one more simple thing, “Bre, this is part of who God made you to be, the passion for teens and pouring into their lives.  If this is an opportunity God is giving you to serve - explore it.” 

So like any good daughter, I listened to my mom and I did.  I called and our sweet friend was willing and able to watch Emma that weekend.  Instantly that excuse was eliminated. I went to church the next day and God spoke directly to my heart and told me to “GO.”  There was no drowning out His voice that day, or any other day.  He will speak - it is a matter of me listening.   So after all that, I had one more call to make.

I called and said yes.  Yes I will go.  Yes I will serve.  Yes I will take the step. Yes I will be obedient.  Yes I will listen to wise counsel.  Yes I will do hard things.  Yes I will take a step.   And it terrified me, but ignited something in me all at the same time.  (Remember I said I needed new friends? I lied. They are stuck with me and I am so much better for having them in my life.) 

Noah had to say yes to building a boat in the middle of the desert even with no sign of rain.  His yes meant preserving life.  Moses had to say yes to a bush burning in the middle of the desert even when  couldn’t speak well and really had a bunch of good excuses.  His yes meant freedom.  Esther had to say yes in the middle of the most dangerous time.  It could have cost her life.  Her yes saved the life of many.   Ruth had to say yes to following Naomi wherever she went.  It meant leaving behind her culture, family and life she had known.  Her yes was obedience.  Jonah had to say yes, didn’t and eventually after being thrown overboard and a stay in a fish, his yes meant salvation for many, and a lesson on slow obedience for him.   Jesus had to die on a cross.  His yes means my salvation and eternal life.  That yes was the hardest yes and that yes was the best yes.  A yes that was modeled for me and a yes that is worth following.

Maybe my yes isn’t as profound as Noah’s or Esther’s and certainly wasn’t as dramatic as Jonah’s.   But it required sacrifice, it required obedience and it required a heart willing to say yes to what God was prompting me to do.  I think I have been Moses for too long and it’s time to drop the list of (legit) reasons why I should say no, and just keep saying yes.

[brelyn]

Seaglass

As long as I can remember, I have searched for sea glass.  Family walks on the beach growing up quickly turned into the 5 of us with our heads down, combing the beach for the biggest, unique-est, and most colorful piece of glass we could find.  And after miles and miles on the Maine Coastline - we would head home to drop our latest finds into the big glass jug that held our many year collection of countless hours of searched, broken glass.  

I don’t know what started it in my mom, but she passed the love along to me, and as you can probably tell - its clearly a genetic trait and like my left-handedness, Emma got the glass gene too.  

After our last trip to the beach, where we came up with fists full of sea glass, we sat on the beach wall looking over the treasures.  We had big pieces, round pieces, flat pieces, different colored pieces and to my hereditary-trained eye, (and her dismay) - some sharp pieces.  We sat and made sure we kept only the “ready” pieces of sea glass.  I picked up a shiny, slightly sharp piece we had found and tossed it back toward the shore and as I did she looked up and gasped, “MOM! NOOOOOO!”  

I started to explain why we couldn’t keep that piece at the same time she started to explain all the reasons why we could.  “It wasn’t TOO sharp mom, and it wasn’t TOO shiny mom, and it reeeeeeally looked like it had been in the water, just long enough, mom.”  (While she was distracted talking and reasoning and begging me not to throw that piece in, I threw back 3 more. #sorrynotsorry) They were just not ready.

It wasn’t until much later when we were again examining each piece, preparing to put them in our own (dramatically smaller than my mom’s) container of collected glass, that she leaned over and said, “So mom, can you teach me about sea glass? Like, how it’s made...?”   In my (limited) knowledge on the subject, I told her simply of glass broken - waves and sand and rocks, the slow rubbing away of the rough edges and the smoothing of sharp points.  I told her of the process - which was not quick, and perhaps the glass we found could have been many years old.

My answer seemed to suffice and she went back to organizing and examining - and I was left, once again, with an object lesson.

I am like the piece of sea glass.

Depending on the day, I might be blue or green, or even brown. Sure feels like I have been in that salty ocean water for a long time.  Sand has rolled over me, time and time again.  Every once in a while a wave will hit hard and I am slammed up against the rocks.  I have made it to the shore, a reprieve if you will, and then just as quickly been pulled out to sea again - for more tossing, more smoothing and more refining.  There have been times I have wanted to be the piece chosen, the one found, but unbeknownst to me - I already am. I am chosen, wanted, found, and carefully hand crafted - I am just not ready yet.  And back to the water I am lovingly tossed.  It doesn’t always feel good when I land back on the rocks, and I can hear the waves getting closer, knowing what that means --

But this time, I know what to expect; more refining is to come, because I have more still to learn, edges left to smooth, refining left to endure and more becoming -- so I wait. I have been here before, so I am prepared -- maybe not prepared in knowing exactly how the refining will go, but knowing it will be worth it. 

I wish I could say I am excited at the waves - but I can confidently say I’m learning to welcome them. I wish I could say I enjoy the tossing of the waves - but I am increasingly and daily thankful for them. I wish I could say I have gotten used to the waves; I have not – but even though some of them still surprise me and catch me off guard, I love that my first instinct is to reach out for my Anchor and hold on for dear life. I wish I could say I am “ready now!”, “I am done ‘enough’ ” - but I know I am not, but I’m learning to embrace the process.

I wish I could tell you a lot of things, but what I can tell you is: I am the sea glass. And I am becoming.

Unlike the piece of glass, I am safe in the hands of my Father, daily being tossed and molded and created and recreated; in His control.  All things new.  He is taking who I was on my own, every jagged, broken, rough piece of me and daily making me who HE intends me to be.  This breaking of me - is the making of me - the making of you.

I can sit here and name every wave, countless over the past 15 years, a handful of big ones in the last few months.  I could sit here and tell you stories of each wave - and maybe someday I will.  But only because I know that each wave that came, hit me hard, knocked me down and pulled me under -- did so filtered through God’s hands.  And when I surfaced, I looked a little more like Jesus having met Him, brushing up against Him in the storm.  

[brelyn]

stolen moments

We drove to the airport that Sunday in silence, except for the rental car beeping at me incessantly anytime I got remotely close to a white line, almost mocking my driving abilities.  The air was warm from the Florida sun beating down, the tension of the weekend palpable, and the emotions in full pendulum swing.

The highway stretched on toward our ride home, and I willed the miles to go by faster.  Somehow I thought as soon as we got on that plane we would return to the way things were.  Except in the backseat was a little girl with tears in her eyes, carrying the weight of her world on her shoulders - caught in the middle of realities.  

I have had choice words for these reality now and again.  But I never say them. No, I listen and I let her tell me about the other world she lives in.  This time it was a world of teal dresses, matching shoes, hair and make up, sand and dancing.  It was a world I was not a part of --which made me turn over and over in my mind the fact that I’ve never not been a part of her world.  She has new people in her world I don’t know. 

We got off at the exit and instead of taking a right to the airport - I turned left.  There had to be an adventure we could have, in the last hour before we had to check in and fight security lines and board a plane.  Just one adventure, her and me - to remind us of what was, what is, and what will still be; regardless of the uncharted realities we now navigate. 

We looked left and right; Mexican restaurants and high rises.  At the end of the road is a nature preserve and a beach.  We parked and almost ran all the way to the water’s edge. 

She tossed aside her flip flops and begged me to come with her.  Little did she know she didn’t have to beg me. I was willing and ready.   We held hands and and we wandered, silently taking in the water and the treasures in the sand waiting to be discovered.  

It was then she spotted a piece of sea glass.  A big grin at a little green sliver.  Thus started our search for more.  A few steps farther and we picked up a white piece, another green piece and she showed me an orange piece she found.  All my eyes could spot were the brown pieces.  Together we filled two hands full of glass.   Big pieces, small pieces, shiny and dull - all equally beautiful.  

“Mom! You look up here and I will look down here ok?!”   I looked at her with a smile in agreement and began searching.  I walked and watched her bent over in her search, and realized as we stood side by side on that beach; together but apart, that this was a small picture of our life.  We have walked SO many journey’s together, and we have many more ahead I am certain - but this latest one, we walk a bit differently.  I see her, combing the path ahead of her for hidden gems and I cheer her on as she shows me her latest find.  Simultaneously, I search my path for a piece that will add to the collection of sea glass that I can show her when she comes to deposit her latest finds.

We finished up our search and left to catch our flight home (after we stashed our treasure in our checked bag of course).  

I wish I could tell you change was my favorite.  I wish I could tell you after all these years I am good at it (believe me, I should have a P.H D. in it) but alas, I am still not good at it.  I realized I am not good at the unknown that comes with change.  Except, on that little no name beach, for 38 minutes, the unknown produced handfuls of sea glass, quality time with my girl and a lesson I keep coming back to.  I cannot fear change because without it I won’t grow.  I cannot avoid change because then I miss the beauty it brings.  I cannot deny it, because it comes whether we are ready for it or not.  I have to keep embracing it, meeting it head on - ready for whatever it brings.  It will be joy, and sorrow.  It will bring pain and celebrations.  It will bring successes, failures, moments of jealousy.  It will bring ample opportunities to practice patience, occasional seasons of loneliness, wisdom and lots of lessons.  

Just like a slight detour on our way to the airport brought us to this little beach with stolen moments, life’s detours can bring a whole slew of things - but it is how we embrace them, face them, and process them that makes all the difference. (like with defiant joy, unwavering hope and unending gratitude).

This girl?  She is my greatest adventure, my sweetest joy, and the sweet soul that God continually teaches me huge lessons through.   That weekend she went in head first, apprehensive but confident - and she showed her mama just how brave she is.  She has a heart full of love, a head full of truth and hands full of treasures --  I think I will follow her lead and embrace the waves of this life the same way... 

... and that is a whole other post entirely.  Stay tuned. 

[brelyn]

Look Up Child

I was driving to pick Emma last night and I was on alert.  You see, the light was fading, evening was falling and I had my eyes peeled in case a deer decided to jump out at me on the back country roads of Leo and challenge me.  As I kept my head on a swivel the entire drive, I noticed the trees starting to slowly change their colors.  I noticed the light fading from the sky and when I checked the clock, realized how much earlier it was than it seemed.  I turned up the radio somewhere along that bumpy back road and  listened as Lauren Daigle filled the silence of the ride.  (Yes, it is actually indeed a fact that we have listened to this CD non-stop since we got it and there is little evidence to show we will stop this anytime soon.)

“Look Up Child” came on a few minutes later and for the first time in a long time, I didn’t sing along.  You see, this week the word I would use to describe myself, would be flat.  I have felt flat and worn and exhausted on all levels.  Let me give you an example;  Monday, I tucked Emma in at 7 pm, crossed the hallway and crawled into my bed with a tired body and tired mind.  I got messages and missed calls anywhere from 7:30 pm on, and had no idea until I woke up at 5 am. I was apparently THAT tired.  Tuesday didn’t look too different and Wednesday, well I had to stay away because of the bumpy road and hiding deer that I just KNEW were lurking behind every bend ready to pounce. 

As I sat quietly, listening to the words, I found myself really asking the questions as she sang.  “Where are You now?  When all I feel is doubt.  Oh where are You know, when I can’t figure it out?” 

Oh I hit the “back” button and the song restarted.  This time I sang a little, making the lyrics my prayer.  “Where are You now....” was the question.  The answer came, over and over....

“Look Up Child.”

That is all it says.  Simple yet profound.  

As I was driving, the image of Peter climbing out of the boat came to my mind.  He climbed out, confident he could walk to Jesus.  Jesus had said “Come!” He was waiting on him.  And then Peter saw the waves.  He realized the magnitude of the waves, the wind, the strength and power the water had. So standing there, looking down, the waves grew bigger.  No longer did he remember the words of Jesus, who had beckoned him into the water, onto the mighty waves, standing a short distance away most likely with His arms out to him;  he only saw what surrounded him.

“I hear You say, I hear you calling my name - oh, Look Up Child,”

At this point, the speakers were crackling and the deer were no where around as my big voice filled that little car as I drove the rest of the way to the white church were I was to meet up with Emma.  I was least concerned about my pitch, my tone or what the guy behind me thought - I was belting out the song and had my hand up and I was face to face with what had dragged me down all week.

You see, I think this week has been a week of wave watching for me.  It wasn’t intentional, it wasn’t really what I wanted to do or desired to do.  But the waves were swelling by the sides of my boat of confidence, the dark skies were looming overhead cast shadows on my hope and the storm threatened my joy. I felt it, unable to shake it and frustrated as I was sinking - in true Peter form.

That’s when the “Look Up Child” hit me and I had no other choice but to sing it with everything I had.  Look Up - get your eyes off the waves.  Look Up - keep your focus on things above.  Look Up - the things I have ahead for you are going to be greater than the things you keep looking back to.  Look Up - My arms are outstretched and I am beckoning you to Me.

Looking down always heightens my inadequacies and my need to do more, be more, control more.  Looking up adjusts my view to see the One who is enough.  Looking down creates panic and anxiety at the magnitude of the waves and situations around me.  Looking up fixes my gaze on the One who holds the power to calm the storm.   Looking down multiplies the waves as quickly as they come, increasing the once small things into bigger things.  Looking up takes the pressure off me to stop them, fight them, control them or diminish them - because when I look up I see the outstretched hands of my Savior, beckoning me to safety, to rest in Him.

“You're not threatened by the war You're not shaken by the storm I know You're in control. Even in our suffering Even when it can't be seen I know You're in control Oh I, I-I-I, I hear You say I hear You say Look up child.”

That’s the challenge isn’t it.  Realizing that always, no matter how bad it is, or how flat we are, or how tired, worn, lonely, frustrated, scared, empty and inadequate we feel - when we look up -  the problems dim in the light of His presence.  Even the winds and waves obey His voice.  Not one wave crashes out of His knowing.  Not one crashes that He cannot handle, or - equip us to handle.  Not one.

I listened to that song, over and over, and heard Him lovingly say, “Hey - Look Up, Child” like a mother who tenderly encourages a child.  I heard it as a yell, above the thrashing, deafening waves, “LOOK UP, CHILD!” -- and I heard it as if He had (ahem, HAS) said it time and time, and time again; “look, up, my child.  Bre - look up!” 

I am so thankful for that country road, that quiet Wednesday night alone, where I heard Him say, in all the ways -  “Look Up Child.” 

[brelyn]

spilled and poured out

Emma was maybe three and we were playing in the living room early one morning.  If I remember correctly, it was probably just after 6 am.  (This remained pretty much accurate from birth until she started kindergarten and then she discovered the wonderful world of sleep).   I had just made coffee and sat down to play doll house or craft with her and set my coffee down.  I said to her, “I am setting my coffee here, do.not.spill.it.”  and gave her the look.  Listen. You can spill cereal, you can spill milk, but you cannot, under any circumstance, spill coffee.  That will make a grown woman cry.  

She said “Ok Mommy!” and went back to playing.  A few times she crept close to my steaming cup of sanity and I said “ah! be careful of my coffee!”   

It was minutes later that I stood up to grab something and spilled my entire cup of coffee -all over the floor.  In .5 seconds that cup was empty, the carpet drowning and my heart breaking. 

She looked at me.  I looked at her.  I had just spilled the coffee I had gone great lengths to protect from a crazy little girl.  (and I am almost positive at this point in the story, she was trying hard not to giggle).  

That story flashed into my mind Sunday at church as we sat down after the worship set.  It might seem a little odd (and painfully clear that I still suffer from PTCSD - post traumatic coffee spill disorder) but also, we had just finished singing “Great Are You Lord”.   The chorus sings 

“It's Your breath in our lungs So we pour out our praise We pour out our praise....”

The word pour stuck out to me and I couldn’t shake it the rest of the morning.  I tried to picture pouring out praise.  But the word pouring brought with it a difficult image to compare.  I get up every morning and eagerly await the moment I can pour the freshly brewed coffee into my waiting cup.  I then pour the (pumpkin) creamer in.  I pour milk onto Emma’s bowl brimming with Apple Jacks  so she can devour them before school.  I pour a glass of ice cold water on a hot summer day - and I..... pour out my praise?  It didn’t settle right with me.

It was then that I pictured my coffee all those years ago - poured out, albeit unwillingly, all over the carpet. 

spilled and poured out. 

And then, I saw me.  Time and time again, my life has been tipped, knocked over, interrupted - and I was left empty.  

spilled and poured out. 

It wasn’t my choice at times - this emptying.  but what was my choice was what spilled out.   I would be lying to you if I said nothing bad ever spilled out.  There was a time when bitterness was what spilled out.  Anger spilled out.  Resentment spilled out.  I am not proud of it, but I am thankful it ran out quick and God dried that up.  No one wants to be around a spill like that. Believe me,  that kind of stuff tends to pour out quickly, before you know it, it’s gushing and taking over anything in its path, staining everything around it.   

spilled and poured out.  

And then - there’s the pouring out when you just cannot.  You want so badly to but you are stuck.  (ever tried to spill molasses; case and point).  I have had seasons of spilling that took a sweet eternity.  I wanted to just let myself be poured out and used - except time goes by and little by little you get closer to that “pouring” - but I realized that kind of pouring, the “make myself do it” becomes molasses like, or end of the tube of toothpaste like - it is hard to manifest on its own. 

spilled and poured out.

“It's Your breath in our lungs So we pour out our praise We pour out our praise“

I realized something this week after singing that song that has been in my heart and mind, and begging me to write it down.  I tried on Sunday and couldn’t - it was like these thoughts were in the dryer of my brain and needed to tumble around some more to get completely shaped.  That chorus that sidetracked me on the word “pour” holds another powerful word in there.  “Your”

The day I spilled my coffee all those years ago.  I had to bring my empty cup back to the source - and pour more.  I couldn’t wave my hand over it and fill it back up, I couldn’t un-spill my cup and make it better.  Nothing I could do would put that coffee back into my cup - unless I went to the giver of coffee, the source of the goodness.... my trusty ol’ coffee maker.

That is when the coffee pot wasn’t a coffee pot anymore, and it wasn’t the coffee I was really talking about - it was me. 

Bre spilled and poured out.

spill out all of me.  The humanness, the not-enoughness, the brokenness, the fear and pain and things I hold on to and try to control.  Spill out the things I hold on to, the need to know, those hurts of the past, those fears of the future.  Spill out the attitudes, the tears - pour out all of me.  Because when there is all that me in there, where is the room for Him?  Where is the space for Him to do His best work in me? 

spilled and poured out.  

Once I am spilled and poured out - all the empty space is taken over, by the giver of life, the source of all things, my Jesus.  I am empty and filled, but this time I am filled to overflowing.   It is His breath that fills my lungs, when they are finally emptied, and His deserved praise that fills and flows from me.  The emptier I am, the better I am.  

spilled and poured out.   

He pours into those spaces, too long occupied and reserved for things of me, and He willingly fills every space, continually, over and over when I stand empty and willing - to be filled and poured and spilled out.  Oh my heart pours out praise.  It pours out the joy of the Lord that we all long for, but cannot manifest on our own.  It pours out promises that He reminds our souls of and helps us cling to.  The peace of God flows and spills out as we stand empty, arms wide, in the middle of unknown diagnosis’, in the middle of the road we were on and now find ourselves feeling lost, in the middle of parenting and marriages and finances - that peace is not of us and cannot be filled and spilled out unless we stand before God and allow HIM to pour it in. 

spilled and poured out. 

I have been spilled quite a few times in my life, and often times it has been unwillingly.  And I am sure along the way, the result has been wet carpets, stained places and deep cleanings.   But the best part is - He never left me where I was, full of what I was, He kept me spilling and pouring and filling and spilling and pouring and filling.  I have not perfected this yet.  But I hope and pray as I spill and pour and I am filled, the stains that are left behind aren’t harsh deep coffee stains, but stains that show “Jesus was here” - stains that show the hard things I had to do, how Jesus used it for His glory, and how HE filled me to overflowing with HIM so I could pour out HIS praise and sing HIS goodness, and shine HIS faithfulness.  

I want to spill gracefully, yet sometimes I still tumble and gush. I want to spill faithfully, yet sometimes as I spill, I doubt. I want to spill sweetly, yet sometimes I am not sure.... I want to spill daily - I don’t want to stop. 

“Make me empty So I can be filled ‘Cause I’m still holding Onto my will And I’m completed When You are with me Make me empty.

‘Til You are my one desire ‘Til You are my one true love ‘Til You are my breath, my everything Lord, please keep making me.”

spilled and poured out.  We must be empty to be filled.  I want to be empty.  At whatever cost.  Compliantly pouring, forced dumping, sudden spilling, or... I hesitate to say, broken glass kind of spilling.  I’ve done all - and the result is always “empty” but the solution is never “stay that way” it’s “I use empty vessels - watch this.” I sit here this morning, empty.  I am pouring out Bre as an offering at His feet.  I am asking to be filled and to be used and for Him to keep making me.  I never want to be “full enough”  -

spilled and poured out.  over and over and over again.

[brelyn]

Here Again

Around here my alarm goes off around 5:30am - and by 5:35 the coffee is (s.l.o.w.l.y) brewing, I’m en route to my favorite spot where my bible lays waiting for me --- and the music starts.  Sometimes it’s Spotify, other times it’s a YouTube song that I wake up with on my heart and then whatever songs follow, and then there are days like today.  Today, it was the same song, on repeat, all morning.   

Hold up.  Actually, that’s a lie.  It played all night long on my phone.  Over and over and over.  And I just never shut it off.

The music will play quietly while I sip my coffee and meet with Jesus.  It plays louder during showers and lunch packing and wakes the cows up as we make our way to the car.   It turns off only when the CD picks up where we left it, and I get “play #...!” requests from the back seat.  When we get out of the car at school, Emma will take my phone and play a song that fills my office as we get ready for the day.  

Music is always, everywhere with us.  

Do you ever do that?  Find a song that you just cannot stop listening to.  There is something about the lyrics, about the message.  It is like a cool drink of water for your parched soul, like a balm for the blisters of your heart.  It is like medicine used to soothe the ache that life just seems to exacerbate.   

I have had approximately 2,794 of those songs.  They change with seasons of life, they linger through the pain and joy.  If a song comes on the radio, I can typically pin it to a memory - a season of life - a time where God used it to motivate me, challenge me, break me, and grow me. 

Oh man, my current song is wrecking me. 

I saw the first stanza of this song on Instagram about a month ago.  I hadn’t heard the song, but the lyrics lept off the screen. I took a screen shot and made it my wallpaper on my phone - my constant reminder.

“Can't go back to the beginning Can't control what tomorrow will bring But I know here in the middle Is the place where you promise to be.” 

If you know anything about life, as much as we wish we could go back to the beginning, or the part of our story where the plot twisted and we weren’t ready for it,  that no one asked our permission about, and we are standing toe to toe with the director shouting,  “CUT! Redo!” - we cannot go back.  And while that is happening, we have no idea what happens in the next scene.  There is no table read, no discussion about what the character will face - there is just “Action!”  But oh, in the middle - that’s where the promise is!  He is with us, never leaving us.  Not during the yesterdays we wish to relive, somehow change or fix, go back and do better, and not in the unknowns of tomorrow, in the fears that creep in:  He is there.   I had that sinking into my heart, and a constant reminder on my home screen.  

And then one day when YouTube was taking over my morning playlist, I heard the actual song that went with my cute wallpaper: 

“I'm not enough unless you come Will you meet me here again Cause all I want is all you are Will you meet me here again?”

Fact: over the past month, the phrase “here we go again” or “I’m here, again”  kept spiraling in my heart and mind.  I heard it and sang it as negative as I said that phrase.  Life is hard and it skews our view if we let it.  By focusing on where “I was again” - I missed the goodness of what the words were actually saying...

“As I walk now through the valley Let your love rise above every fear Like the sun shaping the shadow In my weakness your glory appears.”

I let the words wash over me - begging God to do just this.  Rise above the fear, shine into the shadows, use the weakness; again.  I was here again.  I was back to the place I thought for sure He lead me away from - but things looked so familiar.... 

“I'm not enough unless you come Will you meet me here again Cause all I want is all you are Will you meet me here again.”

It was then the words finally sunk in.  I realized that though the scenery looked familiar - it was not where I was again.  I was no where near where I was in other seasons, in other trials, in other times on this journey.   I was just in another place where I needed Him to meet me.  I needed Him to meet me, again.  I needed Him to meet me where I will never to be enough.  I will never be in a place where I don’t need Him to meet me. And I can tell you years ago I thought I could meet myself, do it myself and knew for myself what to do.  (Anyone else?! I look back on 20 year old me and think, Oh Bre - all you had to do was ask Him to meet you there...)  

In any place, at any turn, in every season.  He is wanting to meet me, willing to meet me, waiting to meet me.  In these days lately, where my heart knew the familiarity of the pain, the loneliness - the uninvited, unexpected plot twist - God graciously reminded me that the  “here again” isn’t the same place - it’s just the place where I am, on my knees, in need of Him to meet me.  Again.

“Not for a minute Was I forsaken The Lord is in this place The Lord is in this place Come Holy Spirit Dry bones awaken The Lord is in this place The Lord is in this place.”

The whole song up to this point has been building.  It’s how music works. It starts quiet, the song builds, the energy and tempo grow - and then the bridge.  The song explodes -  like my heart lately lately.  Everything leads to this - “not for a minute, was I forsaken - the Lord is in this place.”  The lyrics stopped me in my tracks this morning, mid lunch packing.  Reminder: I had listened to it 58 times so far and it never was so clear.

“The Lord is in this place.”  My ears heard it. My heart felt it.  And then a smile crept over my face.  He had lead me to this very moment - this point in my story.  The path I was following obediently and assuredly was where I was supposed to be.  I hadn’t gotten lost and ended up back where I was. I never picked up the pen to make edits to my own story.  I had trusted Him - tucked in behind Him and followed as He went before me.  And even though this is where I am now -  I was where He was.  He is in this place. Ready to meet me again.   My weary heart rejoiced, right there in the kitchen.  My eyes closed, my arms wide, my heart grateful and my mouth whispering, speaking and then shouting the words.  “NOT FOR A MINUTE, WAS I FORSAKEN - THE LORD IS IN THIS PLACE.” 

He is in the hard place. He is in the dry place. He is in the lonely place. He is in the confusing place. He is in the quiet place. He is in the dark place. He is in the unknown place. He is in the waiting place. He is in this place.   With me. 

Not for a minute did He leave me.  And I know I didn’t leave Him.  The growth!  The assurance!  The JOY!   He promised to be in the middle.  In the middle of whatever comes next.  I am not enough unless He comes to meet me.  He won’t meet me unless I ask him and recognize daily I am in a place I need Him to meet me.   And I am learning to thank the times that remind me that I am not enough, so I learn to ask Him to come meet me, so HE is enough.  Because all I want is truly what He is, and what He has, and where He leads.

“Call to me and I will answer you and tell you great and unsearchable things you do not know.”  Jer. 33:3

He is in this place. Your place.  My place.  He is in our current situation. He is in the waiting and the hoping.  He is all through my yesterdays and waiting for me in the tomorrows.  And I know the tomorrows hold things I am not be ready for, that I am just not enough to handle.  I know they will hurt, and if they hold answered prayers of my 8 year old’s heart - they may even hold some amazing things.  But here is the thing:  whatever they hold, I want to look back and say “Look, that’s where He met me there, and what He did with my not-enoughness.  He was enough.”  and then I look forward in expectation, of when we meet in the tomorrows - that faithfulness will be the theme, with joy and hope and gratitude and thankfulness dripping all through it.   “Here in the middle, is the place where You promise to be.”  {Welcome to the middle friends, bring your not enough-ness, lay it at His feet, cling to the promises and ask Him to meet you here again.  Because, truly, all we want is all He is. He will come. I promise.} 

[brelyn]

Plastic Heart

We have learned something living at the farm, keep your eyes peeled.  Every morning INSIDE the house is the same:  alarm goes off and I am either thankful it’s finally time to get up or I am wondering how the heck its 5:30am already.  I head to make coffee, meet with Jesus in my favorite spot in the living room before its shower, pack lunch, refill coffee, wake up my tired 2nd grader, grab breakfast, more coffee and out the door.  If you were a fly on the wall, you would find this to be pretty routine - but OUTSIDE.... that’s a different story.   

Some days there are 7 cats on or near our steps, waiting for the cat whisperer.  Other mornings the turkeys are mid-escape plan and need shooed back in or it’s a noisy cow who can’t quit complaining.  A lot of mornings the farmer’s equipment is poised in the gravel driveway ready to cut hay, bale hay or haul hay.  Regardless - the moral of the story is - keep your eyes attentive and always look for what is new. 

The other morning as we walked to the car I saw a clear plastic heart on the walkway from the deck to the driveway.  I thought to myself,  “huh, a heart: I wonder where that came from....”  and hurried on to the car.   Emma saw it, knelt, picked it up and climbed in the car.  She wondered out loud how it had gotten to our front yard and I said off-handedly, “It’s a little God wink - He wanted you to know He was thinking of you.”   She smiled at the thought of being thought of, (whether she thought I was crazy or not) and just kept playing with the little treasure.  It was quite for a while before she said, “Things look so different!”  I looked in the rear view mirror and she had the heart plastered to her eye and she was looking through it at everything as we passed by. (and by everything I mean the Amish farms and acres of cornfields).   I said, “so, if this is God’s little love wink to you, and you are looking through it and everything looks different - maybe today that’s our challenge to look at everything we see through God’s love.  The people we see, our friends at school and work, anyone; anywhere.  Let’s see them how Jesus sees them.” 

She accepted my challenge. (willingly or to make me stop talking - #debatable)

{John 15:12 "This is My commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you.}

As we drove, I noticed she had set the heart on the arm rest between the two front seats, just below the coffee ring stains.  As I made a mental note about cleaning those stains, I also made a mental note about that silly plastic farm heart.   I have no idea where it came from, what it was really for or how come I noticed it that morning. (I honestly have no idea where it is right now.)  But I can tell you I haven’t stopped thinking about it ever since that ride to school.  

John 13:34 "A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another; as I have loved you, that you also love one another.

....Love as I have loved.  Love one another.  Show love.  Give love.  Be love.  LOVE.   Something that seems so “easy” yet repeated, over and over, I realize the weight of the statement:  it is HARD.  It is HARD to love unlovable people, frustrating people, misunderstood people, tired people, hangry people, people different than us people.  Yet when Jesus gave these commands,  there was no *.  There were no exceptions or clauses or conditions.  Anyone, everyone, anytime, always.  

{John 15:17 "These things I command you, that you love one another.}

This week has been hard for me.  I am worn out.  To be worn in one area is one thing, but to be worn emotionally, mentally, and physically is just a breeding ground for germs.  That sinus infection I mentioned?  It has staked its claim on my face and has decided it’s never moving out of my head.  I have no power here and I am just the worn bi-product of this unilateral decision.  But  fast forward a few days after I found that plastic heart, and was challenged to love well, and God sends me not 1 but 3 reminders of His love, and visuals of my little heart.   

{John 13:35 "By this all will know that you are My disciples, if you have love for one another."}

I saw people bring flowers, coffee, send notes of their reminders of that they are praying for me.  Reminders that I am loved.  They were loving well - whether or not they knew my heart needed it, they did it because God told us to.  They were looking at life through “a plastic heart” - and their obedience to do so, coupled with what God was whispering to my heart this week, was a sweet little reminder of what it looks like to love like Jesus and be obedient in His call to love. 

I never mentioned that heart again to Emma until yesterday when I saw her in the backseat with alligator tears rolling down her cheeks.  She thinks she accidentally threw away the heart, because she couldn’t find it.  I told her it was not important enough to cry over - “But MOM!  You said it was like God had sent it to show us His love for us and then we used it to look at things like we were looking at them from God’s eyes and it was so important to me!”  

(Guys, I admittedly say a lot of words - sometimes I think I say them out loud for my own heart and mind - but I didn’t realize she actually paid that much attention...girl was devastated!)  But I then had to coolest opportunity to SHOW her what it looked like to REALLY look through that little “plastic heart” of God’s love, with our eyes, on HIS people and situations - this week for me it looked like coffee and flowers from friends - next week it may look completely different but we ALWAYS have a filter to look through, ways to be obedient to the Spirit’s prompting to look through that “plastic heart” and love others were they are, just like Jesus. 

What does it look like this week?  Does it look like sending a text when that person has come to your mind for the 6x?  Maybe it looks like seeking that person out and hugging them, no words necessary.  Perhaps it means slowing down as you are hustling about your day to ask that person you see how they are doing, truly.  It might be green tea and flowers to a friend at work.  It may be a Facebook message to encourage, support and say a prayer for.   Jesus didn’t give us rules to follow on how or when or to whom - He just told us to love like He did.  He saw the hurt, the need, the left out and worn down, He met with the outcast, the diseased, the lonely.  He met with the rich and the powerful.  He played with the children.    I’m going to love well by keeping this sinus infection to myself. And by keeping my eyes and heart filtered through that little plastic heart to see what God has for me next.... 

[brelyn]

Memory Lane

Whoever created Timehop gets equal amounts of grateful praise and harsh curses from me daily.   Oh I love seeing the memories: remembering them like they were yesterday, until I remember them like yesterday and realize it was 5 or 6 or 7 years ago. (Make it stop.)  Sometimes the memories I see make me want to go back and relive that day over and over again, sometimes they make me laugh as hard as they did the first time, and sometimes I am just thankful that memory stay exactly where it is- in the past.  But with every scroll, every day, and every “___ years ago” post, I am always looking backwards...   I was scrolling yesterday and about to curse the mastermind behind this stupid app yet again when I got to 6 years ago and stopped.  It was a picture of Baby Emma, her princess doll tucked under her arm, in front of an open dishwasher.  

Let me set the stage for you:  we were about a week out from unpacking boxes in our new home.  We had taken up residence in the upstairs loft of sweet friends house.  Two bedrooms and a bathroom to call our own.  She was still recovering from getting her tonsils and adenoids removed and tubes placed.  We were settling into a new normal, learning what that looked like and where we belonged.   It was one of the first mornings after the bustle of the family getting ready for work and school, lots of goodbye’s and then it was quiet.  Almost too quiet.  (Quiet sometimes is so welcomed, but other times - completely dreaded.  At this point, I was in full dread mode.)   So, back to timehop...

I noticed the “clean” light lit on the dishwasher and in an effort to make the quiet go away, I opened it up - deciding the best way to get acquainted with a new home is to put away dishes.  You inevitably have to play a guessing game and open all the cupboards and drawers to find where things belong.   I turned around for one minute and then there she was....

She was squealing and said “OH MOMMY! THIS IS SO FUN!”  .... and it became a thing.  

As I sat looking at this photo, reliving the simple moments that are forever etched into my mind, I smiled.  At one of the hardest points where I would have rather laid in bed and put on a show for her to watch, we unloaded a dishwasher with way too much pep in our step.... and we did it joyfully every.day.after.  

As quickly as that memory faded, another flooded in.  

“I remember I remember. You have always been faithful to me.  I remember I remember.  Even when my own eyes could not see. You were there, always there“

Living in our apartment - coin operated laundry -carrying it up and down flights of stairs, out of our building to another and back again... another not so favorite time.

This same girl who cheered over dishwashers, had FORBIDDEN me to do this chore without her.  3 years old and insisted on (trying to) carrying that basket, pour the laundry soap and grinned as each quarter clinked into place.  She especially loved when we MacGyver-ed a clothesline on our 3rd story “balcony” and hung out it all out to air dry (oh yes I did). 

In the moments when I was the saddest, she was the happiest. 

She had NO idea that this was a chore for me - all of it - she just loved it. 

I blinked back tears as that memory morphed into 3 years ago when we moved to the farm... and had our own washer and dryer - IN THE HOUSE.  I started our first load in the middle of unpacking and lost track of Emma.  I went looking for her and found her sitting on the floor in front of the stacked unit - mesmerized by the wash.  

I put the phone away and slowly made my way back to 2018 and its own set of “chore” realities (where the joy in unloading the dishwasher and doing laundry isn’t nearly as cute or common) and instead of moving on to what was next, I couldn’t stop thinking about the remembering journey I had just been on - through a series of the hard memories - they were laced with the sweetest moments.  

When I remembered, it wasn’t the pain and the hard that trumped, it was the sweet and the joy and the good.  

“I can't stop thinking about I can't stop thinking about I can't stop thinking about Your goodness”

The faithfulness of God threaded into each memory is undeniable. The goodness of God at each turn is unquestionable.  The provision of God in each transition is blatantly obvious.   He never made the “chores” easier.  He never just did them for me.  He never let me quit.  He stood beside me, in the hardest, toughest and darkest times and walked them with me.  As I did the literal and figurative chores, He did chores too.  He was pruning and growing and breaking and making me.  He was refining and redeeming.  He was tirelessly working in me - and He used a little girl to help do it.... a little girl blissfully unaware of what life was really like, who could care less about how far we had to walk laundry or who’s dishwasher we were unloading, as long as we got to do it together because that was the best thing ever. 

Thanks Timehop - for bringing me back so that I can see clearer as I look forward.  Thanks for reminding me that chores aren’t that bad when you have the right attitude and eyes fixed on things above, and that eventually - the hard “chores” I am working on right now - will be looked back on to see that same thread of faithfulness, of provision, of goodness and of growth weaving all through them.  

What do you see when you “Timehop”?  It isn’t too late to change it going forward so you can look back and enjoy the view.  

[brelyn]

“I can’t stop the rain...

...from falling down on you again.  I can’t stop the rain, but I will hold you til it goes away.”

This old Third Day song brings me back to 2003 and my trek to college.  A good family friend played the guitar and sang, recorded some of my youth group favorites and sent me off to the Blue Ridge Mountains with a CD to remind me of home.  That’s probably the last time I remember listening to that song...

Yesterday it popped into my mind as Emma curled up beside me on the couch, held on tight and let the weight of life settle around her like the 5 blankets that she was buried under. She was cozy, and freezing.  (Fact: if it feels like fall, I WILL:  wear boots, hoodies, open the windows and freeze out everyone in my house and temporarily light candles that smell like fall. I cannot be talked out of it, stopped, or helped. #justloveme).  The rain was falling outside and - by the looks of it, it was falling inside too. 

I sat there with her cold toes pressed up against my leg, her chin on my chest and I just let her be.  I didn’t make her say the words, because I knew her heart.  I didn’t make her smile because I knew she didn’t have it in her.  I didn’t try and fix it, because let’s be honest:  sometimes there is just nothing you can do to fix it.  Especially for an 8 year old who feels big things, who loves with her whole entire heart and who has braved battles some of us only imagine. ( Or for her mama who is similar in a lot of ways.) 

I let her be. 

I let her be near me. I let her be still. I let her be sad. I let her be quiet. I let her be not OK. I let her just be.

I sat there in that quiet moment and realized that she was doing exactly what I have done SO. MANY. TIMES in my life.  I have run, crawled and sometimes have been dragged to the feet of my Jesus and just clung on.  I didn’t need the “this is going to be OK...”  “You just need to...”  “don’t forget that....”  I just needed to be. 

I sat with Emma and silently thanked God for the times, over and over, that He has just let me be.  And let me tell you, I have needed “to be” a lot of things.  

I’ve needed to be empty and sit at His feet to be filled.  I’ve needed to be sad and cry at His feet.  I’ve needed to be angry and be real at His feet.  I’ve needed to be scared to death and white knuckle grip His feet.  I’ve needed to be broken and see His wounded feet, broken for me. I’ve needed to be reminded and be face down in gratitude at His feet. I’ve needed to be like a child and be safe at His feet. 

Yesterday after a little while, when she felt like talking - we did.  She shared her heart; I shared mine.  Then, when we were ready, we ate a disgusting amount of buffalo chicken dip, watched football together and continued to “just be”.  She perked up a bit before bed and we both thanked God for a new day that was just around the corner before we both fell asleep.   I think what I’ve learned most over the past few years is that, no matter what the weather - if the storms are raging or if the sun is shining, the best place to be is at His feet.  Let me rephrase that.  The best place to be is REAL at His feet.    You see, Emma knew I knew what was wrong.  I know her.  I can read her like a book.  She can try and pretend she is OK.  She can try and pull it together and fake it til she makes it.  But the truth is, that may work on other people but she ain’t foolin’ mama.     Just like we can’t fool our Daddy.   He would rather us curl up at His feet, lay bear our hearts and souls, and just be with Him.  He LONGS for us.  His DESIRE is for us. He LOVES us.

“Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside your Father’s care. And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. So don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.”  Matthew 10:29-31

If He takes the time to number our (colored, falling out, turning grey, crazy) hairs, and follow a sparrow as it flits here and there, HOW MUCH MORE does He care for us?   He cares enough to take us as we are: that means every tear and scrape and bruise and exhausted and fearful and empty and excited and confused and joyful and worried and worn bit of us.  

So, the rest of that Third Day song... (I had to google the lyrics) ...it goes like this:

“Rest awhile it'll be alright No one loves you like I do When the rain comes I will hold you...”

He is beckoning us to come and be safe, be held, be loved; just be.  

[brelyn]

Count them, then do it again.

The last two weeks seem to be flying by in slow motion.  Each day looking a bit like the day before.  We hustle out to the door, grabbing at book bags, coffee mugs, adding “did you brush your teeth” and “don’t forget to shut the door!”  as we try (unsuccessfully some times) not to trip down the stairs on the way to the car.  I hop in as Emma wishes the cows a good morning and we are down the long dirt driveway by 6:58 am, on a good day. 

As we catch our breath, I turn on the radio and as if we hit play on a CD, one of two songs is almost ALWAYS on the radio.  It’s to the point where Emma and I expect it.  I turn to look at her and she has her go-to phrase, “guess we really do need to hear it, Mom!”

Fast forward to 4 pm. as I am leaving work, driving across the street to pick her up and head home and I hear the tail end of the same song.  After signing her out of After Care and listening to the stories tumble out of her as we make our way to the car, we head home.  I turn down the radio to hear the rest of ALL.THE.THINGS that happened over the 7 hours we were apart.   When she stops to take a breath, she reads the radio “now playing” title as it scrolls across the display.  “Mom, see what songs playing?!”  I smirk, turn it up and we belt out the bridge together.  

Any guesses on what these 2 songs are?  For a while if you answered “Joy” by Tori Harper, you’d have been correct.  If you added “Joy 2″ (as the girls call it) by For King and Country - you’d have been 2/2. We’ve had some epic sing-alongs and dance parties to those songs.  They will always be on the “favorites list” but they aren’t the soundtrack we are talking about. 

The songs that play every day, nearly every time we are in the car are:

1. Counting Every Blessing - Rend Collective 2. Do It Again - Elevation Worship 

As we were driving home tonight, the first few strums of  “Counting Every Blessing” started and my sleepy girl in the back seat said “it’s on again Mom.... we better start counting.” and she closed her eyes.  

And I counted my first one:  1. that sleepy 8 year old girl who is brave and kind and challenges me daily. I smiled as I drove the country back roads and kept going... 2. a car that, after weeks of issues and weird dying instances, has been running fine. 3. the cupcakes I keep eyeing from a sweet friend - tempting me in the front seat. I signaled to turn left and as we rumbled down that dirt driveway toward home I added another: 4. The farm. 5. Cool fall nights. 6. A place to call home.  I climbed the stairs (carrying 6 coffee cups/mugs from today this week #dontjudge) and as Emma got ready for bed I kept going-

7. COFFEE 8. My dishwasher (that one helped me be thankful as I loaded it)   9. A job that allows me to be mom but provide. 10. Daily chats at my desk that leave me encouraged and uplifted 11. Friends who pray for and with you 12. Phone calls full of hope and answered prayers. 13. Kids singing worship songs at the top of their lungs at chapel. 14. Waking up in the middle of the night to talk with God.  15. A blue rocking chair in a purple room, and a wise woman who spills wisdom and shines Jesus, and encourages my heart.

It’s getting late now and I am ready to tuck Emma in when she says, “we can’t forget to do my Quest work for today!”  So we snuggle in to do her bible study page and I add that to my growing mental list.  16. Her heart for Jesus 17. Goodnight prayers and kisses. 18. Bedtime (hallelujah) 19. Open windows and crickets. We add a few more of our blessings in our bedtime prayers, I kiss her goodnight and fall into bed. 

As I am sitting in the quiet, thankful for the song that started this counting of blessings and in doing so, aligning my heart and attitude to His - the other song title hit me in the face. 

I laughed. 

“Do It Again.”

Together they pack quite the punch:   “Count Every Blessing, then Do It Again.”  

Do it again? Sure, I can rattle off “Coffee, cupcakes and sleep” pretty easy but when it comes down to it, and I start really thinking and focusing on my blessings -  something happens.  My eyes cannot stay on the circumstances that weigh me down, the waves of life that seem to creep in like a rising tide, or the negativity that in my humanness would love to take over. It just isn’t possible. My eyes cannot be on these things and count blessings at the same time.  That’s when it felt like God whispered, “Good job on counting your blessings, but now do it again. Don’t stop.  Don’t give your eyes a chance to wander back to what is around you. Keep looking! Keep counting!”

“Eucharisteo means 'to give thanks,' and give is a verb, something that we do. God calls me to do thanks. to give the thanks away. That thanks-giving might literally become thanks-living. That our lives become the very blessings we have received. I am blessed. I can bless. Imagine! I could let Him make me the gift! I could be the joy!” ― Ann Voskamp, One Thousand Gifts  

Give thanks.  It requires action on my part. It isn’t supposed to be something I keep, hoard and bask in. And it for sure isn’t supposed to be easy - it is supposed to require work, a heart change and perspective shift, and a moment-by-moment, day by day dependency on God; the giver of good gifts. The source of my blessings -- the One who longs to see me become a thanks-living person.  The goal may be to change my focus and align my heart, but in doing so a greater purpose emerges - I live out the thanks, my life becomes a banner for His goodness to be seen and an avenue for Him to shine to those around me.  In counting my blessings, He becomes greater and I become less. and when you get to the end and you can’t count anymore ...do it again.

[brelyn]

I hear You, but I’m not listening

Emma and I were snuggled up on the bottom bunk the other night.  She had been wrestling with some things and really wanted to talk it through.  I was in the middle of what may have been the best illustration I’ve ever come up with when she said, “Mom, today at school someone was sucking on their eraser, put it on my desk so I had to get hand sanitizer and rub it all over my desk...”   I stared at her while she looked up at me like “what?!” and I had no idea how to respond:  I was debating between “I was giving you my best stuff girl and you just tuned out everything I said!” or “You chose to sanitized your desk after a spit covered eraser ended up on it?!”  #secondgradeisweird

I opted for option #3, the “art of redirection” and after we circled back and finished our discussion, I tucked her in and kissed her goodnight. 

It wasn’t until I woke up hours later, (and I do not mean in the morning, I mean the wee hours between 12a-5a when lately God likes to nudge me awake and speak to my heart.  If I’m honest, it made me frustrated at first - the lack of sleep and the excess processing - but now it’s kind of fun to see what time we will have our “meetings” each night. 

As I lay there that night, I wondered how many times I have cried out for answers, begged God to tell me why or who or when or how and said all the words in an attempt for Him to just reveal something to me...

...and that’s when Emma and the saliva ridden eraser crossed my mind (and I mentally sanitized.) 

“I don't wanna miss one word You speak 'Cause everything You say is life to me I don't wanna miss one word You speak Quiet my heart, I'm listening.”

Has He given me answers; time and time again but I am too concerned with the things around me that pull my attention and focus, drowning out His voice with all the noise around me?  Has He been in the middle of His “best illustrations” and I start in again, interrupting, with my own agenda and wants and demands... only to cut myself off from the wisdom and insight and clarity He was offering me.  Has He given me the answer I long for but I am too scared, to stubborn or too in my own head to stop long enough to truly hear the answer?!

“I don't wanna miss one word You speak 'Cause everything You say is life to me I don't wanna miss one word You speak So quiet my heart, I'm listening.”

It was early in the morning that Samuel came to my mind.  He heard a voice and got up and went to Eli.  Trouble was, Eli was sound asleep and had not called him. Yet again, he heard his name and responded.  It maybe did take him 3 times to figure out ol’ Eli just wanted to sleep and was indeed not calling to him, but then -  after hearing his name, he was obedient to respond.  He simply said:  “Speak Lord, for your servant is listening.”  

Unfortunately, what he heard that night was not exciting, uplifting or something he really wanted to see happen.  But that wasn’t his choice.  His choice was to be obedient in his response and listen to whatever followed.  

“Your ways are higher, You know just what I need I trust You, Jesus You see what I cannot see.” 

When God whispers my name and asks me to be obedient, sometimes its an easy choice.  The yes rolls off the tongue almost before I can think about it.  Sometimes, when He whispers my name, He asks me to do hard things.  (And by sometimes, I mean a lot of times.)   It’s in these times when I want to start talking about spit eraser things -  why I shouldn’t have to do this or that, or when is it going to just not be like this! 

It’s in those times when I have to quiet my heart and say “Speak Lord, for your servant is listening.”  Because His words ARE life to me.  His ways ARE higher and I DO trust Him even when I can’t see. It’s HARD.  It takes WORK.  And to avoid sugar coating, it HURTS.  But through all of the painful hard work, there comes a beautiful dialogue with my God, in the stillness of the night or in the quiet moments throughout the day - just Him and me. And let’s be real:  it isn’t always me agreeing.  Sometimes it involves tears, things I need to say to Him (that He knows already), and lots of processing.  

But after watching Emma that night, seeing myself so much in her responses and distraction, I am quick to quiet down and keep my own “sanitizing desk” stories to myself and listen to Him.  He holds the answers my heart long for.  He carries with Him the peace that passes my understanding.  He sees the big picture and the quieter I stay, the closer to His heart I hide, the more I sit still at His feet, the better chance I have to see more clearly and understand.  

“You whisper peace when I don't have the words to say I won't lose hope when storms won't break You keep Your word, oh and Your promises will keep me safe.”

[brelyn]

remembering...

Not sure I remember how to do this.  (Also I sure didn’t remember my password for a solid 45 minutes, but that’s beside the point.) 

This trusty old computer has been set out for Emma to take practice quizzes of her vocabulary words and every night this week it has seemed to question me when I pass by as if to say, “remember when you wrote about things?”  and I rushed right past to clean up the kitchen or grabbed my book to read because this isn’t the week I should start blogging again.  Each night I would bury it under papers, throw a discarded sweater over it and ignore it as it sat patiently waiting for me to answer.  It was like a game of chicken, except who plays chicken with a computer... 

Tonight after I tucked Emma in, I decided I would answer the relentless call of the computer and see what would happen.  What happened was a good hour of re-reading things that made me laugh, made me cry, and made me realize how far I’ve come and yet how far I really still am from where I thought I would be. 

The last time I blogged was Emma’s 7th birthday - she turns 8 in 3 days.  The last time I blogged I titled it “Hard Things” and it made me laugh out loud because I think every day in any life could be titled the same thing, except it made me smile because that hard thing isn’t so hard any more but another hard thing has popped up in it’s place - its like a revolving door around here, ever feel that way?  The last time I blogged I was committed to learn to cultivate a heart of gratitude, after years of the hard practice of choosing joy - and now here I am headlong into a year of watching hope unfold and if I am honest, wondering why the heck I chose that word.  Except the truth is, I didn’t choose it - God gave it to me, knowing this year I would need to look for it, see it, feel it and cling to it. (He is a pretty wise guy, so I won’t question it.)   

The last time I blogged I had no idea that the ride the next 365 days would bring immense gratitude, joy and hope.  The last time I blogged, I didn’t know the next 365 days would bring lows that would challenge my gratitude, circumstances that would try and steal my joy and situations where hopeless seemed a more fitting word than hope.   But - the last time I blogged, I didn’t know Jesus nearly at the depth I do 365 days later; even after all these years  - there’s so much of His heart still to learn.  He is relentless in his pursuit of my own heart, ever breaking it and healing it and growing me, until it looks like His. 

“Hallelujah My soul will sing Hallelujah You are good to me You are faithful, always faithful.” 

The last time I blogged was too many days ago, with too many things I missed documenting to look back on in another year to see the threads of His hand and constant faithfulness. He has been so good to me, even when it doesn’t look like what I thought it would, when it doesn’t feel like I think it should and -even when it does.  He has been so faithful.  Maybe, just maybe, the beckoning of the computer was really a beckoning from deep within of not only the forgotten joy of writing but the joy of remembering.

“Remembering with thanks is what causes us to trust - to really believe.” ― Ann Voskamp

So here’s to remembering: the things that hurt so we can remember the One who heals, the things that bring joy so that we can remember the Giver of our good gifts and our Source of joy, the things that happen, big and small, so we can remember the things that make us who we are all while reminding us Whose we are --- and to remembering our passwords. (I really should just make it 1234 like my library card password, I never forget that one.  Oh don’t worry, you won’t get very far with that information -but you’re more than welcome to pay my fines.) 

[brelyn]

2,555 days.

After the gaggle of girls were done screaming at dinner, the presents and birthday adventures were over and the prayers were prayed, I tucked my big 7 year old girl in and kissed her goodnight like I’ve done for the past 2,555 nights.  

2,555.  

I stared at her sleeping face, remembering back to the first night I held her in my hospital room, surrounded by beeping machines, IV cords and nurses in and out.  I held this pink, puffy faced little girl I had just met, but felt I had known forever. We lay there studying each other, both unsure of what was next or how to do this mother/daughter thing.  If she cried was she hungry? Scared? Tired?  I had so much to learn.  Who was this big puffy faced, tired eyed lady holding her?  If she cried, was she scared? or Tired? 2,555 days later and we are still learning.  

2,555 days.

I wonder how many of those days I prayed would end.  Colic and little sleep can make a mama pray some desperate prayers.  I wonder how many of those days I’ve wished away; if only she was potty trained, or if only she would eat the food I put in front of her instead of throwing it on the floor, or I wish she could tell me what’s wrong, just answer me instead of just saying “ah, ah, ahhhhhh.”  So many days I spent frustrated at another trip to the doctor for yet another ear infection/antibiotic.  I wonder how many days I spent with her, playing and singing silly songs, blissfully unaware of how fast they were going by.   So. Many.  Days.   2,555 to be exact.

As I watch her sleep, now 7, I wonder now if I have savored the days as best I could.   I like to think I have, as many as humanly possible.  I admit, I’ve prayed for days to go fast; days like today when I wait for her to get back home.  I’ve prayed for time to stand still; days like yesterday when all there is to do is laugh and adventure and celebrate.  But not all the days are going to be like yesterday.  They will be work, they will not be fun, they will not be always easy, but I will still, with all my might, savor them, memorize them, and learn from them.

2,555 days.  

That’s how long I’ve been a mom.  Oh things have changed physically, gotta love the “permanent eye bags”(and all the tired moms said a collect “amen sister”), wrinkles and likely grey hairs. According to a recent study (ahem, or facebook quiz... but who cares) I have lost 139 days of sleep, changed close to 8,000 diapers, made 17,000 meals and  rocked her to sleep at least 730 nights.  I’ve wiped countless tears and lots and lots of snotty noses.  In those 2,555 days I put myself always second; her first.  I changed my priorities, I have had more joy, felt more love and have experienced more of God’s goodness since that day in September.   2,555 days. That’s a lot to a mom staring at a new little one, learning her cries and needs. I wish I could tell her it will be wonderful, all the days.  But then I would be lying.  It will be the most exhausting, exhilarating and challenging 2,555 days. It will be hard, it will include battles never dreamed of fighting, too many tears and unshakable fears, but a courage found inside they didn’t know they had.  They will be unable to stand alone, even if they have to do it alone, but there will always be One stronger, braver and good right beside them, walking the days and nights with them.  He is the good good Father in all those days we are tired tired mothers.

2,555 days since that 7 lb. 4 oz, 2 week early, kept me up all night laboring on labor day weekend, strawberry blonde (yep, surprised us all, then quickly became the whitest hair known to man) little girl was born.  2,555 days I’ve loved her, learned her and prayed for her.  2,555 full days. Oh, I pray I have grown and matured, and been faithful to take care of this little girl God entrusted to me.  Its harder than I expected it would be, but so much more than I deserve.

She will be 14 in 2,555 days; in a blink of an eye. I’m ready.  Let’s do this.

[brelyn]

Hard Things.

Guys, I had to reset my Tumblr password; it’s been that long since I logged in. (Also, its 2017 and I’m pretty sure I’m the only one still using Tumblr.  and yes, I am proud of myself.) This summer God had to do a work IN me before I was able to be a vessel He worked THROUGH.  I feel like there are many, multiple, times in our lives where we are put on the potter’s wheel where we are stretched, formed and molded, and sent to be refined and cured by the fire, to come out ready to be filled and poured out.  So, here I am fresh out of the kiln.} 

I pulled up to the house at 5:15.  

She asked to play tic tac toe.  It was a cat’s game she giggled after no one won.  She wrote a number line 1-10 and aske me to circle where I thought she was, in regards to her excitement for what was ahead.   Before I could answer she added a zero and circled it.  I followed up with “This is how excited I am for 7:15!” and circled the 10.  Then we found ways to change the negative to positive and took turns circling the 10, for how brave she was, how thankful we were and how proud I was of her.  

She smiled and then her eyes filled with tears.  She tried to hold them back but she couldn’t.  She is my girl that feels all the feels, and feels them big.  I told her it was OK to feel them and it was OK to share them.  Being brave isn’t holding back, but being real in the midst of hard things.  

She blew her nose and wiped her eyes before a fresh set of tears came and this time the tears brought words that she had been able to process; naming what she felt and how it made her feel.  I let her ride the waves and didn’t tell her to stop or to get over it.  I let her break and let her tell me her heart.

It was a few minutes later and I told her how sometimes God gives us hard things and asks us to walk through them, but HE promises to give us the strength to do them, and promises to go with us.  She looked at me and asked, “have you had to do hard things, Mom?”  (Insert all the cry emojis that tumblr doesn’t have because it was created in 1994.)  I told her I had, and I had seen God in the middle of them.

She was real quiet and said “I think I can feel Him tugging me to do the hard thing.”  Gave me a brave, watery eyed smile and opened the door.   She asked if I could get out and give her a hug, to which I quickly did.  She held on tight and with muffled words as her head was pressed so tight to my middle, she said “sorry I wasted your gas sitting there, Mom.”   I laughed and whispered, “I’d waste gas for you anyday, Kid.”  

She walked ahead with her head held high, her mind made up and her heart still not sure but strong in the Father’s love.  I flashed an “I love you” as I drove away, whispering silent prayers of strength.

The clock said 5:45. 

It took her 30 minutes, what takes me MONTHS, if not years.  She felt a tug on her heart, she was obedient and she went forward in His strength and in His care.  Oh I wish I was that brave.  I get it, her almost 7 year old things aren’t my 32 year old things, but in some ways, some days, they are harder.  I look at her and feel the Spirit tug at my own heart, challenging me to do in my own life what I just helped her do.   

I have walked hard things, I know you have too.  And we have to walk more, unfortunately.  Some of us are just coming out of the valley and others of us are heading into one.  We may go kicking and screaming, or we may go peacefully knowing that God will walk it with us, hand in hand.   What I’ve been learning is that we have to experience the trials and testing, in order to see the provision and the promises He has for us; otherwise we would miss out on some of the greatest gifts.  

Speaking of...

She ran up the stairs at 7:15 joy creeping into her eyes and lips, and declared, “I’m so glad to be home!” - and then gasped, and pointed.  On the porch chair was the biggest, prettiest butterfly she had ever seen. She smiled and confidently said “Mom, I think God sent that to me to say, ‘Good Job Emma, I’m Proud Of You.” and climbed the rest of the stairs, safely home.

She was looking for God in the midst of the hard thing, and who’s to say it wasn’t from God; a sweet sign of her obedience and His faithfulness.  I don’t want to miss it.  I’ve missed so much over the years never getting past the “cry and feel all the feels” stage, into the feeling the tug, being obedient, and expectantly watching for what God will do in and through the hard times.   My prayers is that as we walk the road set before us, we would do it with our head held high, our mind set on things above, and even when our heart isn’t sure of the circumstances, it is unshakably sure of Who is with us in them.  My prayer is that we would see the gifts and trust our never-changing, ever present help in trouble, and our anchor, to see us through.

It may take 30 minutes, or 30 years, but really, all that matters is that we do it. The result is SO worth it. 

[brelyn]

Let me tell you about my Mom.

She wasn’t any one special.  She didn’t earn a Master’s degree or become a doctor.  She didn’t live in a fancy house or wear the finest clothes.  She became a mom 5 years after marrying her high school sweetheart, again a mere 14 months later, and added one more for good measure (and the boy they had hoped for) a short 2 years later.  3 in 3 years - someone turn over the supermom title to this woman.  She wasn’t perfect, but she was pretty darn close. She worked from home while raising us.  I remember falling asleep to the sound of her keyboard clicking in the hallway, the glow of her light ever so faintly falling in our bedroom door step. (I never felt as safe as I did when hearing that clicking mix with the hushed tones of a sports game Dad had fallen asleep watching.)  She worked late hours and then woke up early to have breakfast ready and make the next day an adventure, regardless of how tired she may have been or how much work. 

She never complained. 

I never went to preschool like most kids.  While my brother and sister napped, Mom would take time to practice my letters, numbers and make math problems for me.  When the littles woke up, we would write our bible verse for the week on big white paper and then she would go back to the little hallway she called her office, to work a little more.  She worked hard, to help Dad pay bills, for dance lessons for sister, horse riding lessons for me, and for whatever my brother wanted to try next.

She never gave up..

As I grew, life changed.  We moved towns, we went to school, we home schooled, we changed churches and we grew.  If you ask my mom, there were dark days in her life.  She was lonely, she grieved the loss of things and change life brought.  She struggled parenting and knowing if she was doing the right thing.  She taught school, helped at church, ran the office side of my dad’s business.  She cleaned, cooked and was in the trenches of life.  She cleaned scraped knees, she soothed broken hearts, she corrected ugly attitudes and selfish behaviors.  She raised 3 distinctly different children, and gave attention and affirmation to each of us, in the ways we needed it. 

She never wished for a different, easier life. 

But most importantly, my mom LOVED Jesus.  He was her rock, her safe place, her strength.  He was who she met with in the morning, and brought to our breakfast table.  He was in the way she showed grace, compassion and loving correction.  He was her shepherd and her anchor.   He was what she was full of, and it spilled over to us.  She lived her life in such a way as to bring glory to God, in the dishes, the way she loved my Dad, in the less-than-perfect houses, in the hard seasons and in the good seasons.

It has been a sheer privilege to be the daughter of this woman. 

I have watched her struggle, and come through it.  I have watched her put value in time, not things, in relationships not replaceable items, and in her kids not her self promotion.  I have watched her grow in Jesus. 

Being a mom in the 1980′s must have been so hard for her.  No facebook to tell her it was ok to feel tired and isolated as a mom in the newest mommy post of the week.  No other way to compare days with mom friends, unless you picked up the LANDLINE phone and dialed their phone number.  We have it so easy huh?   OR do we.

Guys, I grew up knowing my mom loved me.  I ate dirt and I drank from a hose.  I saw her face when I woke up and when I went to sleep.  I knew she loved me beyond a shadow of a doubt, not but what she bought me, where she took me, or how she instagrammed me, but by what she gave me. 

She gave me her time.  She gave me her best. She gave me her love. She gave me guidance. She gave me security. She gave me truth. She gave me fun. She gave me correction. She gave me an example of Jesus.

I submit it is harder to mom in the 2017′s.  We are drawn to put value in things that have place in our children’s lives. We try and clean it all up and make it look just right, not for our kids, but for ourselves. We play the comparison game, we measure our status by someone else’s yard stick and we plant our success in a garden of unrealistic expectations.

I just want to be like my mom.  I want my child to fall asleep knowing she is safe.  I want her to wake up and see the face of an, albeit tired mom, the face of someone who loves her to no end.  I want to be present and make her a priority, just like my mom did for me.  I do not want to hide the struggles, but not focus on them. I want to rejoice in what God is doing in and through our lives and trust Him to do what He needs to, to make me the mom I need to be.  If/when my mom struggled, I had no idea, because she left it at Jesus’ feet, walked in obedience and allowed God to prune her so she would flourish. 

I want to shine Jesus like she did, and still does. 

If I turn out half as great of a woman that my mom is, I will be happy.  There is no greater earthly example to follow; so here I go.