seasons

Recently I was reminded that some things are confined to a specific season in our lives - jobs, communities, friendships, and life trials.  Trying to process the truth and reconciling my desire to not let go, I wrestle with the inevitability of seasons and the impact seasons have on each of our lives.

Merriam-Webster defines “season” as follows:

• a time characterized by a particular circumstance or feature

• a suitable or natural time or occasion

• an indefinite period of time

• a period of the year characterized by or associated with a particular activity or   phenomenon

• a period associated with some phase or activity of agriculture (such as growth or harvesting)

• a period in which an animal engages in some activity (such as migrating or mating)

• the period normally characterized by a particular kind of weather

• a period marked by special activity especially in some field

• a period in which a place is most frequented

• one of the four quarters into which the year is commonly divided

• the time of a major holiday

• a period of time when a series of new television shows, plays, etc., are being shown or performed

Reading the definition of the word “season”, I am struck by the differences between a natural/calendar season and a season of life.  

Calendar Seasons

Our 12 month calendar is broken into 4 seasons, roughly: winter, spring, summer, and fall.  
Each season brings to mind specific words and celebrations.

Winter:  cold (or at least cooler), boots, sweaters, Christmas trees, lights, resolutions, soups, hot chocolate, snow, Christmas, New Year’s, Valentine’s Day.

Spring:  beautiful weather, flowers blooming, bright colors, new life, spring cleaning, birthdays

Summer:  hot, shorts, tank tops, flip flops, swimming, vacations, more birthdays, Independence Day, watermelon, relaxed schedules

Fall:  first day of school, structured schedules, leaves falling, cooler weather, Thanksgiving

As each season approaches and we unconsciously prepare for the change, we transition.  Our rhythms transition from no school schedule to school beginning.  Our clothing changes as we put away the sweaters and long sleeves and pull out the shorts and t-shirts.  Our meals often transition from hearty, warm foods to cooler, lighter foods.  Our calendar fills with different holiday gatherings and celebrations.  We don’t necessarily think about these changes, but we transition from one season to the next because we know what to expect.

Seasons of LIfe

When you reflect on the life you have lived thus far, you will most likely see the seasons of your life.  Childhood, high school, college, young professional, married and beginning your family, moving, job changes, raising teenagers, empty nesting, and everything in between.  We experience seasons of growth, harvest, and pruning.  Unlike calendar seasons, these life seasons sneak up on us and we don’t see them coming.  Often we mark them as seasons towards the end or after, because it is then that we look back and recognize that a new season had begun.  During the life season change, I am not following a previously laid out pattern of behaviors in regards to how to enter or exit the season.  One of the most difficult parts of a season of life is that it is not a collective experience.  I may be experiencing a transition with a new job and move, but my family and friends are not experiencing it at the same time.  The change of seasons can feel lonely and uncharted. 

Seasons of life don’t follow a schedule.  They don’t begin at a certain time and end on a certain date.  They are different from one another and it is hard to rely on past experiences in order to go through the seasons.  

I cannot trust that I will always know what to do in the moment, in the season. 

I may not have company during the season. 
I may feel lonely and lost. 
I may feel creative and have great growth. 
I may experience pruning of friendships or self. 
I may experience great fruit from a previously difficult season. 
I may experience sadness or anxiety. 
I may experience confidence and joy. 

Each season is unique to my experience and who I am.  

If I cannot predict the seasons of life, then how can I experience contentment and peace in the midst of them?  How do I transition from season to season?

I remind myself that…

“For everything there is a season, and a time for every
matter under heaven:
a time to be born, and a time to die;
a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted;
a time to kill, and a time to heal;
a time to break down, and a time to build up;
a time to weep, and a time to laugh;
a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together;
a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
a time to seek, and a time to lose;
a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
a time to tear, and a time to sew;
a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
a time to love, and a time to hate;
a time for war, and a time for peace.”

— Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

From the beginning of time the natural/calendar seasons existed because of the way God created the earth and sun and the way in which our earth rotates around the sun.  Seasons of life have also existed since the creation of man.  It is not a unique experience to just me.  Today I remind myself to be present and recognize that although I feel alone, I am not.  

The entirety of the calendar is made of four seasons.
The entirety of my life will be made of numerous seasons.
Both are outside of my control.
Both are for my good.

I paused as I wrote this and searched for the song “Seasons of Love” from the musical Rent.  The lyrics are such a beautiful reminder that each moment is ultimately part of a season of my life.  Below are a portion of the lyrics.

Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes
Five hundred twenty-five thousand journeys to plan
Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes
How do you measure the life of a woman or a man?

In daylights, in sunsets
In midnights, in cups of coffee
In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife
In five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes

 How do you measure, a year in the life?
In truths that she learned
Or in times that he cried
In bridges he burned
Or the way that she died

 It's time now, to sing out
Though the story never ends
Let's celebrate
Remember a year in the life of friends

As I transition from one season to the next, I will recount the moments in my life that make up that specific season of life.  

In times of growth and in times of pruning, I will give thanks.
In times of sadness and in times of joy, I will give thanks.  
In the winter and in the summer, I will give thanks.  
I will give thanks!

“Oh give thanks to the LORD, for he is good, for his steadfast love endures forever!”

— Psalm 107:1

to the left and to the right.

Gathering women of all ages and differing cultural backgrounds is one of my most favorite things to do.  It is what I am called to do.  

As I am doing life, I will disciple.  

When I was a young mom, I accidentally fell into discipling others.  It was never anything I intentionally set out to do because I was a shy young woman.  I simply wanted to serve my local church by teaching preschoolers and middle schoolers, but a Godly woman nudged me towards teaching young marrieds and women.  I didn’t know what I was doing, but I loved God’s Word and trusted that He could use me to encourage others.

When Scott transitioned from the public school system to ministry, I woke up and became a pastor’s wife.  (God bless all pastors’ wives because it is a role that needs a thorough handbook and a bottle of wine.)  I continued to gather women.  It is what I knew and it was a needed.  We would gather in living rooms, read scripture, and talk.  One day a young mom in my neighborhood asked if I would be interested in leading a Bible study at her house.  She placed an invitation in our neighborhood newsletter inviting other women.  This was completely out of my comfort zone because I would not know the women who would show up.  They did not know me and there was no reason for them to extend grace when I messed it up.  I felt inadequate, yet I showed up with my Bible and bible study materials. We gathered around her dining room table and studied truth, spoke truth, and encouraged truth.  

When Scott became a campus pastor, I began another women’s ministry.  It changed settings and format several times as I tried to figure out what worked best for the community and the group of women who regularly attended.  This particular experience was different than my previous ministry experiences because for the first time the women gathering were diverse - ages, races, spiritual maturity, etc.  I am sure I fumbled my way through the opportunity set before me, but I am just as sure that the women who attended knew that I loved God’s Word with a passion and wanted to share biblical truth and encouragement.  I began to study the Word with fresh eyes, trying to look at it through the eyes of the women sitting around the tables.  I began to reflect upon my own story and discovered the many commonalities between women - all women.  Women who struggled with their identity, self-worth, sin, mommy guilt. We were wives, employees, community members…and the list of commonalities just grew and grew.  As I taught, I would look out at the women and see beautiful faces eagerly waiting for what I would share and what God would speak to them from His Word.  They would write their notes, nod their heads, ask questions, and experience a-ha moments.  They did not look like me, yet we were the same.  Different stories and experiences, but we were all daughters of God and I felt it.  Knew it.  Believed it.

Due to circumstances outside of my control, this gathering of women abruptly ended in the fall of 2017.  I sat at home for 3 months grieving the loss of my ministry and connection to these women.  In January 2018, I invited the women to a study in my friend’s home.  Some came...some stayed...some did not.  In time, I realized that my “platform” and ability to reach them had changed.  I needed to look to my left and look to my right.  Who is it I needed to gather around a picnic table in my front yard?  And so began the awakening.

Most weeks, we sat around my turquoise picnic table with lights strung above us and tiki torches burning (mosquitoes!).  Katie and me (two white women), Nicole (a black single mom), and Catarina, my neighbor (who is black and Latina) were the regulars. We read scripture.  Discussed what it meant.  How to apply it to our lives.  We laughed together.  We shared what was happening in our lives - parenting, being single, raising teenagers, marriage, dating, and everything in between.  We did not vote the same way.  We did not have a similar story of origin.  We struggled with different sins.  We had different personalities.  Yet, each week we brought all of it to the table.  We listened.  We asked questions.  We shared.  Other women would stop by for a few weeks here and there, but the four of us were consistent.  

Nicole and Cat are who I asked all of my ignorant-wanting-to-be-an-enlightened-white-woman questions.  They were gracious and honest.  I remember vividly asking them over a dinner what was the most appropriate and preferred term a white person should use in regards to their race.  Black or African-American.  Teach me!  And they dove in and explained to me what they thought and why.  That night I received texts from both of them - Nicole had called her mom and Cat asked her husband - to share what their responses would have been to me.  And they both said the opposite of what Nicole and Cat had said!  They told me that they could see why I was confused, but to know that they see my heart and appreciate that I ask questions with the intent of being aware and informed...it was worth it.

It was at this table that I heard stories of their experiences of prejudices and racism.  It was at this table that I heard their fears.  It was at this table that I looked into the faces of two women and really, really saw the black community more clearly.  I will never be the same and I am so thankful.

During this time, I feverishly read books (Cat’s hubs suggested one for me), listened to podcasts, began following people of color on my social media (Nicole suggested many), and watched documentaries.  It is during this time that I began to challenge those in my sphere to listen and learn.  It is during this time that I began to really look at my own prejudices.  And because I openly discussed my journey with my teenage children, they too pointed out my prejudices.  (LOVE truth-telling, think-for-yourself children!)  During this time, God began to merge my love for gathering and discipling with my new awareness of others and their experiences and perspectives.  God showed me that these two passions were intertwined.  Connected.  I began to change.  My friends became part of the process of molding me into exactly who God designed me to be.  My purpose.  

Nicole became a part of my life in a deeper way.  We served together on several mission trips to the Dominican Republic.  Nicole and her son, Micah, became a part of us.  Our family’s story.  Advice was shared.  Life was lived.  Our friendship isn’t like any other I have had.  It’s different.  Unique.  She is the sister/friend that I chose.  She is the woman I have learned the most from - about being black in America, about being a single mom, and the great wealth of knowledge she has in regards to her profession.  She challenged me to be better.  I would like to think I challenged her as well.  I discipled her.  She saw me and who I desired to be.  I saw her and who she desired to be.  And it only happened because I looked to my left and I looked to my right and there she was.

When we moved to the Dominican Republic in the fall of 2019, I struggled with leaving my Jacob and Emma Grace.  Our parents, siblings, nieces and nephews.  I reluctantly walked away from the opportunity to teach at a school where I could teach, disciple, encourage, and gently suggest new ways of loving others.  But I also had to walk away from the weekly encounters with my turquoise table friends. 

Over this last year, I craved the gathering.  I wanted to offer my gift of discipling and passion for God’s Word to others, but I also wanted my molding to continue.  I know it will come.  I know the opportunities are plentiful.  I know it will happen.  But, I miss it.  I am forever changed because of the gathering of women.  I am forever a better person because those gathered together were white, black, and latina.  Those gathered were mature in their faith and young in their faith.  Those gathered were single and married.  Some with children and some without.  Those gathered were young and some were in their 70s. Those gathered were different than me yet we were the same.

We have a new table on our back patio, and the memory of those gathered are a constant reminder to me to look to my left and to look to my right.  Who is it that God has placed around me for discipling and for opportunities to learn and to see.  Today I challenge you to look to your left and to your right.  In your home.  In your street.  At work.  At the grocery store.  At church.  Don’t miss the opportunities that God has laid before you.  I, too, will look to the left and to the right - as always, it starts with me.  Are you looking?  Who do you see?

Lament

“I’m just so very sorry.”  Words exchanged through a text with my friend Nicole.  

Weeks of reading social media posts, news stories, and conversations about the senseless deaths of Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor, and George Floyd.  Heaviness as I try to figure out what part I can play to make a better nation for Nicole’s son.  Watching my Jacob and Emma Grace wrestle with how the world is much harsher, more unjust, and more cruel than the small, Christian private school education they received.

I’m just so very sorry.  Words that come across as platitudes.  Words that don’t adequately express what I am really feeling.  

A few years ago, Emma Grace and I attended a conference for racial reconciliation.  During the conference, they had a time of lamenting.  It was powerful.  Raw.  Real.  Soul connecting.  We lamented together the many obstacles and injustices the minorities in our country face.

According to Merriam-Webster:

Lament - (1) to express sorrow, mourning, or regret for, often demonstratively (2) to regret strongly

A demonstrative expression of sorrow.

A demonstrative expression of mourning.

A demonstrative expression of regret.

So much more than “I’m so very sorry.”

I lament our nation’s history of white supremacy by pushing out the Native Americans and taking land and resources that were theirs.

I lament our nation’s history of slavery.

I lament the laws and systems that were put into place early in our nation with a goal of pulling wealthy white people up and pushing down anyone of color.

I lament black men and black women being treated as property and dehumanized.

I lament the great fight young black men and black women fought in order to go to schools designated for white children.

I lament the many men and women who were treated as less than and not allowed to sit next to a white person in a restaurant, drink from a water fountain, or sit freely on public transportation.

I lament the young white girls and boys who were raised in a society that shaped prejudice and racism into their very being.

I lament crime legislation that punishes low income men and women more than the wealthy.

I lament an education system that continues to be broken.

I lament a judicial system that continues to incarcerate innocent men and women.

I lament non-white men and women who make decisions every day based on how others will perceive them or react to them simply because of the color of their skin.

I lament any child who wishes their skin color was different because the country they live in glorifies whiteness above all.

I lament that mommas fear for their non-white sons’ lives every single day when they step out of their homes.

I lament that the mainstream media uses all of the division for their financial gain.

I lament the seemingly lack of politicians who will do the right thing regardless of their party affiliation instead of positioning themselves for re-election.  

I lament the prejudices and racism immigrants face while trying to live the American dream and provide their families with a better life.

I lament that a country that boasts being a God-fearing country is demonstrating such ungodly behavior.  

I lament that many American churches aren’t standing before their congregations and challenging the church to love ALL people through words and actions.

I lament that my children are having to fight for something that should have been better by now.

I lament for the things that I don’t understand, will never experience, and cannot imagine.  

I lament...

It is more than “I am so very sorry.”  

““Because of the LORD’s faithful love
we do not perish
for his mercies never end
They are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness!
I say, ‘The LORD is my portion,
therefore I will put my hope in him.””

— Lamentations 3:22-24

Lord, your mercies for ALL of us never end.  Thank you.

Lord, your faithfulness is great.  Thank you.

Lord, you alone are my portion and are worthy of my hope.  Thank you.

I lament Lord because I do not know what else to do.  May my lamentations be more than words.  May my lamentations create in me a new heart full of compassion.  May my lamentations manifest into a bold voice with steps of action.  May my lamentations reach across to hold the hands of my non-white friends. 

““Restore us, LORD, God of Armies; 
make your face shine on us,
so that we may be saved.””

— Psalm 80:19

Folding Towels and Pivoting

*At the time I write this, we have been self-isolating for 10 weeks and under quarantine and curfew for 9 weeks.  This week the President of the Dominican Republic has extended quarantine and curfew for 25 more days.

Sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed with a pile of towels, I fold each towel with precision and intention.  The way in which I fold a specific towel (bath towel, hand towel, kitchen towel, or cleaning towel) has changed depending on which home we lived in and the place we are storing the towel.  I have folded our towels in a variety of ways, but I consistently want the fold of a towel to be facing out.  It looks clean.  Uniform. I might manipulate the fold in order to make sure the towel fits on the shelf correctly, but the gentle roll of the towels remains the same.  

The rhythm of folding the towels is calming.  I can fold without having to think about it because the decision on how I will fold is already made.  I think this routine without the mental load of making a decision each time is why I enjoy the act.  Folding towels remains the same regardless of what's happening in my life.  If I am sad, exhausted, celebrating, short on time, ill, or overwhelmed by the busyness of life, the towels are folded the exact same way.  

Sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed with empty calendars, no schedule to keep, limited responsibilities, and seemingly endless hours before me, I long for the same rhythm that folding towels brings.  Our days are structured and daily rhythms are put into place based on what is happening in our life.  If there are appointments to be made, school to prepare for, work to be completed, obligations to attend to and errands to run, I create my schedule to incorporate them.  The daily rhythms of eating, exercise, stillness, morning and evening routines become reality because of the things we need to do - to accomplish.  So what happens when those things seemingly disappear?  The daily decisions decrease in some ways because the possibilities are limited, but the mental load also increases because there is time to fill and life to live.  Like the roll of the folded towel brings calm and predictability, the daily rhythms do the same. 

These rhythms have shifted and become something different.  They are no longer sitting neatly on a shelf for me to reach for, but rather they are scattered around waiting for me to bring order to our days.   Initially with great motivation and excitement over the new free time to plan, learn, and dream, I embraced the life of slowness.  But the reality is the bits and pieces of my life became a puzzle thrown on the table.  I had to make a decision every single day to put the pieces where they needed to go in order to complete the picture.  No one was demanding it, expecting it, or requiring it of me.  So when the newness wears off and I become disenchanted, the pieces remain in a big, disorganized pile on the table.  Mental load is on overdrive because there are so many decisions to be made and yet most of these decisions are ones I have not made before. I feel unprepared.  

In time, the mental load weighs heavily and the lack of rhythm begins to affect me.  I am more tired.  Unmotivated.  Hungry.  Not hungry.  Slow moving.  My body and mind are searching for the rhythms of predictability and calm like folding the towels.  Where are the uniform, rolled edges put out on display for others to see?  Where are the actions and achievements completed with ease because the decisions have already been made?  

I keep folding the towels because the way in which they are folded matters to me.  I must wake up each morning living in new rhythms because my days and the days of my family matter.  Just like I change the way I fold the towels based on our home, I must pivot now.  The new normal that changes on a weekly basis requires me to not hold onto the days too tightly, but to also not just give up and surrender them completely.  I must pivot to the next right rhythm.  Pivot to the next right way to schedule my day.  Pivot towards stillness and occasional unproductivity without the guilt.  Pivot towards the opportunities of time and togetherness.  Pivot with surrender, but pivot with intentionality.  Pivot with possibilities and pivot with purpose.

At the end of the day, the art of folding our towels brings me comfort and peace, but living life will not always be so simple and straightforward.  When life changes, I will pivot and push towards the new normal and be thankful that some things, like folding towels, remain the same.  The pivot is a choice, and my body and mind need to make this choice.  Change always starts with me and so I pivot, and still the towels sit neatly on the self with the gentle rolls facing out.

Love God. Love Others.

Should.  Should not.

Do this. Do that.

Acceptable.  Unacceptable.

Right.  Wrong.

This way.  No, that way.

Sit. Stand.

Desiring to practice my faith like a child, focusing on direct truths and not the preferences of man which only muddy the waters.  Wanting to not second guess my actions, beliefs, and words.  Listening to too many voices of so called experts.  Realizing that collectively we have complicated our faith, I seek to find the bottom line - how should I follow? I believe Scripture clearly states: 

We are separated from God because of our sin and holiness and sin cannot co-exist (Romans 3:23)

Jesus died as payment for sins - all sins for all people (Romans 6:23, Acts 15:8-11)

We must choose to believe this truth, desire to be right before God, and admit and repent for our sins. (Revelation 3:20, Psalm 32:5, 1 John 1:9, Mark 11:25)

We are forgiven, sealed with the Holy Spirit, and called children of God and co-heirs with Christ. (Ephesians 1:13-14, 2 Corinthians 1:21-22, Romans 8:17, Galatians 4:7, John 1:12)

We must choose every day to reflect upon our words, actions, and thoughts and if sin exists, repent and make every effort to fight against that sin.

We are not perfect people.  We are not worthy.  Yet God provided a way for us to be in relationship with Him through Jesus.  

We are not perfect people.  We are not worthy.  Yet God, who is worthy, placed His Spirit within us and we become a dwelling place with the ever present, all powerful, kind Holy Spirit.

There are many clear rules, laws, and moral regulations present in the Bible for believers.  Searching for meaning and understanding, I began to realize that by following two basic commands, I may just cover many of those rules, laws and moral regulations.

In the Gospel of Matthew, we read about the Pharisees approaching Jesus, wanting to test him by asking what biblical law was the greatest.  In many ways, this question of greatest has been debated within church walls and among believers by the unspoken (and let’s be honest sometimes spoken) list of acceptable behaviors, actions, and words.  When we place certain sins above others by our words of judgment and actions of exclusion, we are determining what we believe to be the greatest laws/commands.  It has been happening within the Church and in the hearts of believers for centuries.  It has happened within my own heart for decades.  Just because it has always been does not mean it should continue.  

Jesus replied to the Pharisees - 

“Love the Lord your God with all our heart, with your soul, and with all your mind.  This is the greatest and most important command.  The second is like it: Love your neighbor as yourself. All the Law and the Prophets depend on these two commands.”

— Matthew 22:37-40

Clinging to Jesus’ response, I have begun to pare down the list of rules, commands, laws, acceptable church behaviors, religious practices and the systematic prejudices and try to keep the greatest command front in center. 

Love God.  Love Others.  

I will not do this perfectly because - well, I am not perfect.  I carry life experiences that taint my views and thoughts.  I tend towards being judgmental in my search for justice and simply the desire of my heart to be right.  But I will wake up tomorrow and strive to live these two commandments in their purest form.

If I miss the mark on days (which is inevitable), I believe that I can stand before God and know that the intent of my heart was to love God and love others.  Now when I read Scripture, the number of times the authors speak of love in regards to God and others is prevalent.  The words jump off the page as though they were printed in 3D.  Glaringly obvious and shouting to my stubborn heart and mind - LOVE GOD and LOVE OTHERS! 

Challenging myself every day.  Reminding myself of my Savior’s words.  Striving to climb out of the muck of preferences and breaking loose of the bonds of religious laws and practices, I choose to love God and to love others.  It starts with me.  I am confident I am not alone in the dissatisfaction of the status quo - are you ready to choose, above all else, the greatest command(s)?

May we love God and love others.

I created a 5 day devotional to help us think through how we currently love God and love others,

what Scripture says, and to challenge each of us towards love. 

This FREE resource may be found HERE. (Scroll toward bottom of home page.)

I want more.

Here is what I am told

It’s all of the political parties.

It’s all of the news outlets.

It’s all politicians.

What I see

A country divided. Fractured.  

Name calling.  No grey areas.  Assigning blame.  Not taking responsibility.

Games being played.  Americans are the pawns.  

I am over it.  I want more.  I demand more.

I want a politician who stands up for what he/she believes and not bow down to the President, a party, or those with money.

I want a politician who says they are a Christ-follower, and the evidence of this statement is clear to all.

I want a politician who doesn’t partake in name calling or blaming.

I want a politician who will admit they are wrong when in fact they are wrong.

I want a politician who is slow to speak and quick to listen.

I want a politician who surrounds himself/herself with honest, intelligent advisors.

I want a politician who takes into account what those advisors say.

I want a politician who is for the people - ALL of the people he/she represents and not just a select few who are like them.

I want a politician who sees an injustice and works to right the wrongs.  

I want a politician whose actions and words align.

Is this person too idealistic?  Will this person rise up?

I want news media who report the news in an unbiased manner.  

I want journalists who investigate all stories looking for facts and truth and not to promote an agenda.

I want to be able to trust what I hear and read.

I want journalists whose integrity is part of every story they write or report.

I want those who are making money off of politically charged false stories to be put out of business because Americans aren’t falling for the lies.

I want the news media to hold the politicians, big businesses, and others accountable, but to conduct themselves with honor and respect.

Is it possible to be a journalist and not write from a biased perspective?

I want Americans to demand more from those who are leading us.

I want Americans to want an end to the divisive tactics of those who have a voice.

In fact, I want Americans with a voice to be the voice for the voiceless.

I want Americans to not name call or demean someone because they believe differently.

I want Americans to listen to people who have different thoughts, conduct themselves with integrity, and have a civilized discussion.

I want the generalizations about political parties to end.  Just because you are a Republican does not mean you are a racist and if you are a Democrat doesn’t mean you don’t value human life.

Is it possible to disagree and discuss differences without being unkind?

I realize that what I desire seems impossible, but when did we stop expecting more from our leaders?

I realize that some will say that it is both sides playing a game, but when did we stop holding people accountable for their words and actions.

I realize that some will say it is the other news outlet and not theirs, but when did we stop really looking at who is handing out the truth? Stop thinking for ourselves?

I realize that some will say it is what is, but when did that become our level of acceptability?

I am a justice girl and i just want people to do the right thing.

I pray for people to rise up who walk with integrity and honor.  I pray that these people decide that their path is to be truth-telling journalists and hard-working, justice-seeking politicians.  I pray that the next generation of voters would do a better job of voting and holding their leaders accountable.  I pray that my children are wiser, kinder, and listen before they speak (or text or post on social media).

I am tired of settling.  I am tired of feeling like I am just voting for the one I dislike the least.  I am tired of second guessing every single thing I read and just assume it is all lies.  I am just tired.  

Although my one vote and one voice doesn’t change how the game is played in America, I demand more from myself.  I don’t want to play the game because the most vulnerable in our country are the ones who keep getting hurt.  I don’t want to play the game because the game continues to promote systemic racism.  I will do what I believe is the right thing.  I will do my part because I want more for me, my family, and my country.  I cannot expect change if I continue to be silent and not expect more.  After all, change starts with me.

Dear 25 Year Old Amy,

Dear 25 Year Old Amy,

Oh sweet Amy, if I could go back in time and hold your face in my hands, I would whisper many things to you.  With the advantage of looking back, I am armed with some truths that I wish I could place in your heart.

You will celebrate 4 years of marriage in a few months and your sweet baby boy will turn a year old in a few weeks.  I know your hopes for a large family. You will have four beautiful, amazing children, but the journey will come with some unexpected loss and grief - miscarriages and diagnoses. Your marriage is rock solid, and you are still completely head over heels in love with Scott.  Jesus will move you past your introvertedness and insecurities and place you before women, sharing with them your love for God’s Word as you teach Bible studies that you wrote. I know - I am sure that last one just leaves your jaw open in disbelief. But, it is true. You will move with half your family to another country to serve as missionaries - crazy!  Amy, all of your prayers, tears, hard work, heartaches, and desires to be a good wife and mom will produce fruit which God will grant you many opportunities to see.  

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I watch you flitting around the room, and I just want to take your hands, sit with you, and share a couple of truths that I have discovered along the way. Believing that you need to know them, I want to place them in the very hands that I am holding. 

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You will never, ever be perfect.  Like - EVER. With an additional 20 years of living, life experiences and a lot of reflection, I now understand that your desire for perfection is rooted in your belief that in order to be loved, you must be good.  Right. Perfect. You believe there is no room for error or imperfection because the end result would be love withheld from you. Judgment made. Someone would see the flaws and never let you forget them. That possibility is too great so you just keep moving.  Doing. Achieving. Hiding. The goal of perfection and being good will only lead you to disappointment in yourself and in others. Let it go. I say that not in a flippant way, but I actually mean let go of this unachievable goal - this false narrative. You are loved in spite of your faults, weaknesses, imperfections. You are loved because of all of you - including those very things that you are desperately trying to hide or remove.  When your husband, family, and friends see you as a woman who struggles but still loves God and loves others, they accept you. When they see you struggle, admit wrong doing, and still push into your relationship with Jesus, they cheer for you. When they see you needing help and asking for it, you are providing them with an opportunity to actively love you. All of the years you will spend trying to hide the imperfections will only lead you to insecurities of yourself and unwarranted disappointment in others.  Amy - embrace the imperfections and remember that the ONE who created you - well, He is perfect. You were designed WITH a purpose and FOR a purpose, lean into it. Trust that God works in and through your imperfections because when you are weak, He is strong.

Slow down and be present. I see you loving on an almost 1 year old Jacob.  (Oh my word - He is just the cutest thing and you are going to be so proud of who he is and who he becomes!)  I see you wanting to do everything you can to be a good momma for him. I see you doing - being busy doing stuff.  If I could tell you another thing 25 year old Amy, it would be to slow down just a tad and be present. You are so busy doing all the little things that you are missing some of the best parts of being a momma.  You are missing the playing, laughing, experiencing life through the eyes of a 1 year old. I, also, know that this busyness will continue to be a struggle for you. When your Jacob is joined by 3 others kids, you will exert a lot of energy creating a safe, clean environment, but fail to spend as much time living and enjoying the mess.  Let me be clear - I believe your adult kids will say that you have been a great mom and that they know that you love them. But, I also believe that their memories of you being truly present and listening to their hearts are few and far between. Listening to them and hearing them is one of those things you cannot go back and redo.  Oh your kids have so much to share and they want to share it with you. Listen to them! (Helpful hint - That boy of yours will talk to you when he is a teenager if you just take him to eat!) Slow down and be present because it is worth it and you will not regret it. They are so worth it.

Your time will come, but in the meantime keep on dreaming. Scott will begin his first Masters degree in a few months.  Yes, I said first! (Don’t worry he will only get two.)  He has ambition and these degrees are necessary for what he wants to do.  You will support him and give him time and space to go to class, write papers, and do all the things he needs to do to get the degrees finished.  Simultaneously, dreams of your own will begin to bubble up. Scott wholeheartedly supports you and wants you to chase your dreams, but you will play the martyr because you think that is how the story should be written.  You incorrectly believe that moms must always be the martyr so that Hubs and kids are able to achieve and strive. Be patient. Keep dreaming. Practice writing. Creating. Teaching. Your time will come, and your sweet man is going to support you 100 percent.  He believes in you. During the years of waiting (and learning), seek ways to believe in yourself. You will find that there is no shortage of people who see your abilities, but you will have the most difficult time trusting that your voice matters. Remind yourself over and over that your desire to create and write is not about you, but it has always been about encouraging others and glorifying God.  If your audience of ONE is pleased then you will be blessed beyond all imagination.  

I cannot wait for you to meet your daughters, Emma Grace, Scottie, and Zoey.  Mothering 3 daughters continues to polish and refine you because your deepest desire is to be a godly role model for them.  And these daughters you will raise are strong, vocal, and opinionated. Your family is like many families. There are hard days and there are fun days that are just a little easier. The next 20 years are beautiful and full of joy even when things are hard.  

The truth is as much as I want to give you these truths so that you don’t falter and stumble through the next 20 years, maybe you need to falter and stumble.  You were able to model repentance and forgiveness to your children because of all of the mistakes you made along the way. Your experiences (the good and the bad) have become the very material you write from now.  Your marriage was made stronger because of how hard you and Scott tirelessly worked to create a loving, thriving marriage. Your relationship with Jesus was made stronger during the times you waded through your insecurities and unknowns.  I guess I don’t want you to know too much of your future because the truth is, you did the best you could with what you had.  And when you knew better, you did better.

Sweet 25 year old Amy, give your baby a hug and kiss today.  Tell Scott you are proud of him. Then go before God and give Him thanks for all that He has done, is doing, and will continue to do in your life and in and through your family.

I am proud of Amy and you are loved.

Love,

45 Year Old Amy

Intentional (grace filled) Planning

Create a plan.

Offer grace to yourself every day.

Make a choice.

As we enter day 16 of our family quarantine due to COVID-19, I find our days have slowed down. WAY down. In so many ways, it is a welcome breath of fresh air to the busyness of life. A newly discovered gift of slowness. (Forced upon us, but still a gift.) We spend our days reading, watching tv, completing puzzles, and playing. The to-do list seems less pressing because the deadlines are now fluid. After a few weeks of fully embracing the slowness, I look at the to-do list and the wish list of future projects, and I wake up. The truth is that the two weeks of slowness and stillness are a gift, but perhaps I am not fully taking advantage of this time. Perhaps what I need is to find a way to combine the slowness with tackling the creative projects and spring cleaning. I don’t want to sacrifice one for the other.

A few months ago, I developed a way to manage my daily schedule. I needed to include several things into every day:

• manage the household

• work on developing internship program

• spanish language learning

• complete an enneagram coaching course

• research and develop my writing

• write

• intentionally develop relationships with our staff and friends in the DR

• spend time with Hubs

• support Zoey and Scottie

• and somewhere in there, carve out space for personal priorities like spending time with Jesus, diet, exercise, reading, etc.

Years of creating and recreating to-do lists and waking up with good intentions often led to feeling like I failed because the list didn’t get smaller. Years of dedicating hours to my job and ministry, while my dreams and passions received the leftover energy and time. This desire to be intentional is imperative to having intentional, productive days, but it is just as important to create a way to offer myself grace within the schedule. Just because something didn’t get accomplished that day does not mean I failed. Grace given freely to myself is what encourages me every morning to begin again. To keep pressing forward.

Sunday, I created my schedule for this next week of quarantine. Each day contains my top 5 tasks, a few bonus tasks, and my personal priority list. I choose to look at this time of quarantine as a gift not a punishment. During this time, I want to work on some creative projects, practice my Spanish, and complete the Enneagram coaching course. I hope to create moments for Scottie and Zoey. Moments of play and laughter, and not moments of fear. I desire to spend time with Hubs dreaming, relaxing, and strengthening our marriage. Perhaps creating a balance between slowness and accomplishment is the ultimate gift because when this quarantine is over and life returns to normal, I want the intentional scheduling of my days to continue.

Interested in my technique for scheduling my days? To receive the FREE Daily Planning Sheets, complete the form below.

As always, I do not give any challenge to my friends without taking that challenge myself. It always starts with me and includes an open invitation for you to join me.

Create a plan.

Offer grace to yourself every day.

Make a choice.

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I am SO excited to have join me on this journey!

Amy

Firsts.

First place.

First words.

First steps.

First day of school.

We live in a world where we celebrate the firsts. Writing them down in a baby book or posting on Instagram, a mother marks the days of her baby’s firsts. We strive for first place in races, contests, and games. Coaches, parents, and players will do anything to win - cheating, bending the rules, and pushing their bodies to the limit. We believe Ricky Bobby when he says, “If you’re not first, you’re last!”

Recently, my family visited Santo Domingo, Republica Dominicana. Our goal was to explore the capital city of our new country, spend time with friends, and learn a little Dominican history. Playing tourist, we visited three firsts of the New World. (Santo Domingo boasts 5 firsts.) The first hospital, the first street, and the first monastery were all built in Santo Domingo by the early Spanish explorers. In 1496, Bartholomew Columbus, brother of Christopher Columbus, founded Santo Domingo as the capital of the first Spanish colony. Part of their settling process included bringing western institutions and infrastructure to their new colony. We could physically touch these firsts and stood in awe of their existence and importance. However, the truth is that I kept thinking about the second hospital, street, and monastery.

Hospital of St. Nicolas of Bari

The first hospital, constructed in 1503-1508, is indeed an important building that served an invaluable purpose. The structure itself remains impressive and what an honor to walk among where countless others have walked. The design and location in the city illustrate a clear understanding of the importance of a hospital. But, what about the second hospital built in the new world? It is no less important. It treated and saved the sick and dying just as the first one did. What if the men of this new colony had been afraid to fail and not meet the expectations of the first? What lessons did they learn from the first one as they designed and operated the second hospital? I imagine if I entered the second hospital, I wouldn’t care that it wasn’t the first. I would only care that they could help me. What if I lived every day not striving to be first, but I strove to learn from those who went before me. What if I choose to be more attentive and make better choices than the one that finished first. Second may not receive a plaque and become a tourist location, but the second hospital achieved success and fulfilled its purpose. Striving. Learning. Choosing.

Calle Las Damas

The first street was created in 1502 as a primary path for commerce and social interactions. The ladies in waiting for Doña Maria de Toledo, wife of Diego Columbus, took strolls along this street. Building over time, the street grew little by little. How many steps did they travel on this street? Often times when a new path is laid before me I hesitate to take my first steps. I am paralyzed by fear or insecurity, but ultimately I take a step of faith. I celebrate. But the truth is that the second, third, and subsequent steps are just as hard. In some ways, they are harder because I begin to realize the path is exhausting and difficult. Every moment I must choose to continue down that path because the ultimate goal is to finish - not to be the first one. What if I celebrate every step and not just that first one? What if I willingly strolled with intention and purpose down the path before me? Each step is important and leading me toward fulfilling the works God has prepared for me. I will step into those works, those purposes. Stepping. Moving. Choosing.

Monasterio de San Francisco

The first monastery of the New World was built between 1509-1560. The early Spanish settlers knew that faith would play an integral part in the new colony. Men dedicated their entire lives to serving God. History shows us that some of these men compromised their calling and commitment because of greed and power. As I peered though the gate, I thought about the men who walked inside of that monastery. I reflected upon my disenchantment of the men and women who lead church. The failed expectations, disappointing actions, and inconsistencies in behavior. Hypocrisy. Standing on the steps, I was reminded that those in the 16th century and church leaders now are all broken individuals. Sinners. Like me, they are not perfect and will disappoint those who expect them to be perfect. At 18 years old, I walked into my first church as an adult with my sweet boyfriend (present hubs) and throughout the years experienced many firsts within the church structure. The truth is that I didn’t fall in love with Jesus in those first moments. My love for Jesus and God’s Word came through the hours of reading, journaling, and praying. Gathering together with believers while doing life, my faith became stronger, more mature. The time spent preparing and writing Bible lessons is where I found Jesus. Those moments provided me with opportunity to grow. Those moments did not fail to meet my expectations - they exceeded anything I could have dreamt of when I first walked into that first church building. What if I extended grace to those who have disappointed me? What if I zoomed out and kept the big perspective in view? What if I choose to be thankful for the dozens of beautiful second moments? Extending. Keeping. Choosing.

Learning from those who went before me.

Stepping intentionally day after day.

Remembering where the sweet moments are made.

Lean in close and hear this truth. First is first. But second means that you made a choice to finish strong and not give up. First place may receive a ribbon, and the winner will hold up their trophy and give an acceptance speech. Second place may not be remembered or memorialized in history. But for me, seconds illustrate endurance, perseverance, and courage.

Will you embrace second? I shout SECOND is AMAZING because as always, it starts with me.

Books! Books! Books!

Walking down a two lane road in Disney, Oklahoma on a hot summer day, I trailed behind my two older brothers. A few moments of freedom and somewhere to go while visiting our grandmother, we looked forward to these walks to the corner store. Perusing the aisles, we take our time choosing what we want to purchase. Candy. Coca-cola. Chips.

The summer before my 6th grade year I picked up a book. Reading the book’s summary, I was immediately drawn to the story about twin teenage girls living in California. Placing my book on the counter, my brother completed the purchase and we headed back to Grandma’s house. Book in hand and hours to read, I devoured that book. Opening the book to the second page, I read the titles of the books in the series Sweet Valley High. The realization that there were more of them out in the world opened my eyes to the wonderful world of books and storytelling. I wanted to read every single book and with great satisfaction, I would check off each book as I read it. Much to my delight, my parents never limited my book buying and always encouraged my developing love for reading.

The Sweet Valley High book that I read that summer at Grandma’s!

This book series written for young teenage girls across America continues to give me warm fuzzy feelings. It makes my heart happy! Jessica, Elizabeth, and their friends invited me into another world. A world of other people’s problems, always ending with a chapter where everyone remains friends and their problems are solved. I needed and wanted the escape. I experienced a different life through fictional eyes. I fell in love when they fell in love. I hurt when they hurt. I was angry when they were angry. I was all in because I didn’t know how to read any other way.

I still use reading as a way to escape the present and live in another world - just for a few hours. Thankfully, my taste in books has matured - a little. Staying up entirely too late, I read for hours and hours with the covers pulled over my head so that the light emanating off the Kindle won’t wake Scott. I can easily read 4 to 5 simple novels a week. Every free moment. Road trips. Down time. Night time. Sitting on the couch. I love books!

Good storytellers draw me in and show me how other people live and experience the world. Lately, I have realized that good storytelling isn’t just for works of fiction. Good storytelling is found in books that inform, motivate, and inspire - nonfiction. Trying to live an informed life and understand ALL of my friends and the communities I live in, I choose books about racial reconciliation. Books that stretch what I know to new boundaries. Books that I cannot stop thinking about and recommending to others because we should ALL read about others lives and experiences. I choose stories with ethnic, cultural, socio-economic, and ability differences. I have read several books whose main character is a man or woman with high-functioning autism. Oh, what an honor it is to climb inside their experiences. Reading biographies or memoirs provides an opportunity to learn from others and give permission for their stories to impact mine. The exchanging of ideas through the written word is such an incredible gift.

Through books, I find my heart becoming more sympathetic and empathetic. Through books, I am challenged to pause before I act or speak to ensure that my actions and words are not insensitive. Through books, I experience heartache by stepping into someone else’s shoes. Through books, I find a few hours where I am not consumed with myself. My problems. My opinions. Through books, my worldview has expanded and grown.

Walking home from that little store by Grandma’s house, a whole new world opened before me as I stepped into the imaginary world of sisters, school, friends, and teenage drama. I love storytelling and the storytellers who share their gift of knowledge, perspective, and creativity with others.

Dwell: Live In (verb)

When I find myself dwelling upon the negative, the past, the unknown, and the injustices of the world, I discover my everyday joy, faith in the goodness of people, and overall demeanor slipping into an unhealthy place. I find myself dwelling in pessimism, loneliness, and regret.

The choice of who and what I dwell upon resides solely with me… it’s an individual choice. Despite the circumstances I find myself in, I must choose every single day where I plant my thoughts. Knowing and believing this to be true, I determined to explore where I have been dwelling and where I want to dwell.

Dwelling upon the past. I look at what scripture says about the past. Book after book in the Bible, I found stories of the people of God remembering their past. When the Israelites crossed the Jordan River (Joshua 4), Joshua had 12 stones placed as a memorial. He wanted the memorial to be a way for God’s people to share with future generations about how God miraculously led them through the Jordan River, as He had through the Red Sea. By reflecting upon their past, they would remember that God’s hand was mighty. In Acts 7, Stephen stood before his accusers who were eager to stop Stephen from sharing the gospel. He recounted the history of God’s faithfulness and the persecution of God’s prophets. He reminded them that there was a pattern of rejecting God, but that God always provided for His people.

They would summarize their history and remember the ways in which they stumbled and how God was faithful, They repeated these stories of history for a couple of reasons:

1. To ensure the next generation would know their history

2. To remind themselves of the faithfulness of God

3. To keep the promise of a future Messiah ever present in their minds (Old Testament)

4. To evangelize and disciple by sharing the past actions of Jesus Christ and what it means for our present and future

It appears to me that the people of God are not dwelling (living) in the past, but they are actually remembering the past. They reflect upon the mistakes, the successes, and the mercies of God, and they are choosing to take their remembrances and move forward. What happened when they chose to forget their past? They repeated it.

Learning from the Israelites, I need to make a choice to remember my past (the good, the bad, and the faithfulness of Jesus), but I should not dwell there. Instead of sitting in the past, I must choose to move forward towards Jesus, towards the future with Him. I share my past with others because I want them to see the goodness of the Savior. I should not dwell on my past. because that would keep me from being present and moving forward.

Dwelling upon the present. When the Israelites were wandering the desert for 40 years, they were consumed with their physical discomforts - water, food, and the familiar. Their grumbling consumed them because they were not using their past to encourage them in their preset. Paralyzed by their present desires and fears, they planted themselves in a field of discontentment and distrust. Dwelling in my present circumstances narrows my perspective to a point that hinders my ability to believe in a larger God’s purpose and plan. Perhaps instead of dwelling on my present, I should rest in the goodness of God and the knowledge that He is sovereign. I will share my present struggles, fears, and joys with others in such a way that they are encouraged by my faith. I should not dwell on my present.

Dwelling on the future. What does scripture tell me about living, planting my thoughts, in the future?

“Therefore I tell you: Don’t worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Isn’t life more than food and the body more than clothing? Consider the birds of the sky: They don’t sow or reap or gather into barns, yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Aren’t you worth more than they? Can any of you add one moment to his life span by worrying? And why do you worry about clothes? Observe how the wildflowers of the field grow: They don’t labor or spin thread. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was adorned like one of these. If that’s how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and thrown into the furnace tomorrow, won’t he do much more for you—you of little faith? So don’t worry, saying, ‘What will we eat?’ or ‘What will we drink?’ or ‘What will we wear?’ For the Gentiles eagerly seek all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be provided for you. Therefore don’t worry about tomorrow, because tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.”

— Matthew 6:25-34

Why do I worry about a future that I have no control over? My Creator loves me more than the birds and He will provide for me. The more I dwell on the future and the series of what-ifs, the more anxiety and fear creep into my life. Consuming me. Keeping me from fully trusting in the One who designed me with purpose and for a purpose. When I dwell on my future, I want it to be with anticipation and hope of the goodness of God.

Coming to the conclusion that I should not dwell on the past, present, or future, I desired a specific list of the things that I should dwell upon.

“whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable - if these is any moral excellence and if there is anything praiseworthy - dwell on these things”

— Philippians 4:8

The Greek word for dwell in this verse is logizomai, and it means “to take an inventory”. Paul makes it very clear that I am to dwell, to take an inventory of what is true, honorable, just, pure, lovely, commendable, morally excellent, and things that are praiseworthy. Taking an inventory would require me to think about, remember, and recall. What would happen if I sat down in the middle of these things instead of my fears, insecurities, lies, shame, and my failings? How would my perspective shift from my narrow view to a great big God perspective? What would my overflow look like if I became less focused on self?

“and that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith. I pray that you being rooted and firmly established in love, may be able to comprehend with all the saints what is the length and width, height and depth of God’s love, and to know Christ’s love that surpasses knowledge, so that you may be filled with all the fullness of God.”

— Ephesians 3:17-19

The Greek word for dwell in this verse is katoikeō which means “to inhabit, to live”. As a follower of Christ, I believe that the Holy Spirit lives in me. By faith, I trust that Jesus lives, inhabits, and dwells in my heart. If Christ dwells in my heart and if I am rooted and established in love, then I can rest in the truth that His love for me is so immense that I can not fully grasp its greatness. However, I am told that because He dwells in me, I may be filled with the fullness of God. What would happen if I lived in this truth? Would I experience the fullness of God in a new and beautiful way?

“Let the word of God dwell richly among you, in all wisdom teaching and admonishing one another through psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs, singing to God with gratitude in your hearts. ”

— Colossians 3:16

The Greek word for dwell in this verse is enokeō which means “to dwell, to live”. Paul encourages me to allow the Word of God to dwell in me. His Word should fill my days, my thoughts, my actions, and my words. I should run to scripture and plant myself in His truths. His promises, His loving story. What would my overflow look like if I dwelt in the Word of God? Would I make different choices? Encourage better? Love more like Jesus?

Instead of dwelling on the past, present, and the future that I cannot control, I will choose to take an inventory of what is true, honorable, just, pure, lovely, commendable, morally excellent, and things that are praiseworthy. I will choose to believe that Christ dwells in me and in that I am firmly rooted and established in love. I will choose to dwell in the Word of God - not the words of despair, fear, and shame.

I alone control

• what I dwell upon

• what I allow to dwell within me,

• what I dwell on

And, I will choose Jesus. Only Jesus.

Oh friends, what are you dwelling upon? What new choices do you need to make? What steps must you take?

Once again, it starts with me.

Completely Transparent

Completely transparent.

You sit beside me.  Ready to listen. Available.  Thoughts and feelings swirl inside of my head and heart.  Yet, I do not speak. I do not share. I hesitate.

You ask what is on my mind.  You are the one I trust completely. My encourager.  Thoughts and feelings race to form coherent sentences.  Yet, I do not speak. I do not share. I hesitate.

Why am I not able to share?  I have an actual list of these thoughts and feelings because a part of me wants and needs desperately to give them a voice.  I hold that list close. I know you see it in my hand. Yet, I do not speak. I do not share. I hesitate.

What am I afraid of?  I know with tremendous confidence that there are no words I could speak that would cause you to love me less.  You will not reject my heart. Yet, I do not speak. I do not share. I hesitate.

As you sit beside me, waiting, I remember the day our Zoey was born.  The epidural wasn’t as effective as it should have been, and the anesthesiologist kept increasing the dose.  Eventually I was completely numb. Physically I felt paralyzed. My body. My mouth. The thoughts, feelings, and fears were screaming in my head.  I looked at you thinking ‘why can you not hear me…help! This is not normal. Something is wrong.’ Yet, I could not speak. I could not share. I hesitated.

As I lay in bed tonight, hiding my tears, I search for a reason for my hesitation.  

In high school History class, I remember using tracing paper to trace the outline of a map.  My map never looked like the map in the book. It was imperfect.  Sloppy. Everything just slightly off.  

As I try to process why I cannot do the very thing I want to do, many what-ifs circle like a carousel in my head.  What happens if I chase the what-ifs to the very end?

What if you hear my words and try to fix the problems?  Fixing means changing. Changing could lead you to make sacrifices that I do not want you to make. You might lose sight of your own goals and purposes.  No, I cannot allow that to happen because I see clearly what your purpose is and it is far greater than me.

What if you hear my words and they hurt you?  What if you misunderstand? No, I cannot allow that to happen because it really isn’t about you.  

What if I hand you a pencil and piece of tracing paper and you attempt to draw my thoughts and feelings?  What if you see that I am imperfect? Sloppy. Slightly off. Then everything changes. I like the way you look at me now.  I don’t want you to see me.

What if I voice my words, thoughts and feelings and they are known by you?  I can no longer deny them. Ignore them. I am now accountable for them. I am forced to acknowledge fears. Loneliness. Dreams. Weakness. Change. Then I become transparent in real time, and I no longer have control.  No time to process and create the woman sitting beside you.

Vulnerability, for me, has always been limited to what I had already processed and then offered to others - willingly.  Transparency, on the other hand, is allowing you to see me before I see me. I can be vulnerable, but transparency, like that epidural, paralyzes me.  Perhaps I do not speak. I do not share. I hesitate…because it requires something of me. Courage within myself. Acceptance of the imperfections.  Belief that I am worthy. 

Now…boldly stepping through the facade.  Emerging from the murky water of self doubt.  Accepting my lack of control. Embracing the unprocessed.  Acknowledging the sloppy map. Showing you me.  Wanting to be seen. Desiring to be known.

It is a choice.  It has always been a choice.

Speaking.  Sharing. Willing.  

Choosing to be completely transparent.

I detest pictures of myself, but perhaps taking a picture is my first step in seeing myself.

Black Coffee and Nachos (11/19/2019)

Black coffee.  

Nachos. 

When I was younger, my mom would take my sister and me to get our haircuts at a little place in Spring, Texas.  It was one of my fondest memories growing up - a simple haircut. We would easily spend 2-3 hours as each of us took our turn in the chair.  I remember listening to the women talking. Laughing. It was great that my sister JoAnna and I had the opportunity to observe women and how they interact with one another.

Gayle, the hairdresser, would take us to the washing station and wash our hair.  I don’t remember ever having a haircut where they used just a spray bottle to wet my hair.  (Sorry Denton girls that you had so many haircuts with the spray bottle!) The feeling of warm water.  Fingernails scrubbing my scalp. The smells of the shampoo and conditioner, mixed in with the chemicals of hair dye and the ever-present smell of someone getting a perm (it was the 80s after all).  When I reached middle school age, I was secretly horrified that Gayle would still ask me to sit in a little booster chair because I was SHORT! Once my mom figured it out, she let Gayle know. I wasn’t embarrassed about my secret being out, but rather relieved that my mom solved the problem.

My mom always had a cup of coffee with her.  When it cooled off and she was nearing the end, she would let me drink some of it.  Black coffee. I felt like she was allowing me a glimpse into the secret club… the “those who drink black coffee” club.

With our hair washed, cut, dried and styled, we would leave.  The three East ladies. More times than not, mom would stop at Del Taco and we would get nachos.  Del Taco no longer exists where we live, but I still get the Supreme Nachos every single time we stop at Taco Bell.

I am all about favorite things.  And if you spend any amount of time with me, you will discover that I am wildly obsessed with black coffee and nachos (all nachos - the good and the bad)!  It isn’t just about the cup of coffee or the container full of chips and cheese. It is really about the experience.

The experience of the black coffee.  The routine of preparing a pot. The smell.  The coffee mug that fits perfectly in my hand.  The first drink of black coffee. Remembering my mom.  My sister. How many times have I sat with coffee in my hand as I read, studied, and prepared for a Bible Study? Every Bible Study gathering included coffee.  How many times have I met friends to talk about life and a cup of coffee was very much a part of those discussions? How many secrets spoken, tears shed, and laugher shared over a cup of coffee?  How many more coffee dates will I have with the women here in the Dominican Republic? How many cups will be poured in our home? Will I pass my cup to my granddaughter one day in the future?

The experience of the nachos.  The taste of the cheese. Sour cream.  Jalapeños. A food meant for sharing. The movie theater cheese was fake and gross but shared many times between Scott and me.  And those ballpark nachos when we were watching the Astros or our Jake playing in a little league game. Now when we go out to eat, Zoey and I like to try the nachos because she is my nacho eating partner.  Will I share nachos with my new friends in the Dominican Republic? Will I sit at a ballpark with my grandson one day eating my chips and lukewarm cheese?

The nachos and black coffee bring back the fondest memories of my past, continue to be a part of my present, and will most definitely play a part of my future.  

They are some of my favorite things for a reason.  They have always included some of my favorite people.  And been part of some of my favorite experiences.  

Nachos.  

Black coffee.  

The Mango Tree (6/20/2019)

We were gifted with an unexpected slow afternoon in the Dominican Republic.  Our Group Ministry team headed to Paradise Island for a little fun in the sun and team bonding.  We are at the Mak House (where we host our teams) because Scottie and Zoey are sick. I parked myself outside of their room with my Bible, journal, calendar, book, phone, and computer.  My plan was to have some intentional time to be still. To read the Bible. To journal. To catch up on podcast episodes. To finish reading the book, The Next Right Thing by Emily P. Freeman (buy it and read it!!!).  In between doing these things, I would check temperatures.  Refresh the washcloths. Hold their hair back while they throw up.  Adjust the fans. Mother my babies.

Sitting, I find myself staring at a large mango tree in the backyard.  I cannot stop thinking about this beautiful tree. I turn to Scott and ask him questions: How do you think they get the mangos down from that tree?  (It’s so tall and they aren’t using ladders.) Do mangos just fall when they are ripe? Did you notice that the mango tree is one of the largest trees in the yard?  I told him several times that I really think there is a lesson in that tree. Scott looks at me and says, “Maybe you should blog about it.” Ok. He may just be trying to shut me up, so he can move on to his work because he was actively working on the computer when I began my tirade of questions.  He knows his wife and when my brain gets hooked on something, there must be a reason. He also knows that I process things best when I write about them.

Some initial observations about this beautiful mango tree:

It is beautiful.  Shady. Interesting large leaves.  The branches aren’t as thick as an oak tree would be so climbing it to the top isn’t going to happen. Gorgeous solid trunk.  The fruit is large. I can easily see them hanging in small clusters. The fruit covers the tree from the top branches to the bottom branches.  The fruit just hangs there. Slowly riping.

A couple of days ago, my friend Jacque, Scott and I were watching Scottie play in the backyard.  She wanted a mango but was unable to reach it. It was hanging just above her head, and she made a small attempt to jump for it. Knowing she needed some help, Scott got up and walked towards her.  Before she saw him, she looked down and saw a tennis racquet laying on the ground (not sure why it was there). She picked it up, hit the branch causing the mango to fall, and reached down and grabbed the fruit.  Jacque laughed and said, “She’s going to be a Dominican kid before we know it!” (Full disclosure: Scottie wanted the mango because she wanted to throw it at the neighboring cows).

Scottie saw the mango.  Wanted the mango. Reached for the mango, but it was out of reach.  Then she problem-solved and used the resources around her and knocked that mango down.

Lesson learned.  Sometimes we see the fruit and if all we do is half-heartedly attempt to reach the fruit, we will miss out on getting the fruit.  We will miss the pleasure of eating the fruit. Action folks. Sometimes we have to take action and grab what God dangles in front of us.  

But here I stare at this massive mango tree.  There is so much fruit. And most of that fruit is out of reach for any human.  What on earth are we supposed to do in order to reach that fruit?

Wait.  Wait for it to ripen.  Wait for nature to do what it is going to do.  Wait for the fruit cluster to be just heavy enough that it falls.  Wait for the rain. Wait for it to be ready. The action needed in this case is to wait and watch.

“Make your ways known to me, LORD;
Teach me your paths.
Guide me in your truth and teach me,
For you are the God of my salvation;
I WAIT for you all day long”

— Psalm 25:4-6

“I WAIT for the LORD;
I WAIT and put my hope in his word.”

— Psalm 130:5

I continue to study this tree.  I notice that because of its size it has become a place of shade for the roosters and cows.  They gather under the tree because it provides much needed shade from the harsh Caribbean sun.  

“I will dwell in your tent forever
And take refuge under the shelter of your wings”

— Psalm 61:4

“I am at rest in God alone;
My salvation comes from him.
He alone is my rock and my salvation,
My stronghold; I will never be shaken”

— Psalm 62:1-2

Lesson learned.  As we wait for the fruit to fall, perhaps we are called to gather beneath the shade so that we can be protected.  Sheltered. Comforted. Refreshed. Maybe the experiences we have under the tree are the very events that will shape us.  Mold us. And perhaps the people we meet in the shade are our future mentors, teachers, disciples, and co-laborers. I need to take a good look around in the shade and savor my time there, not wishing it away.

“Rest in God alone, my soul
For my hope comes from him.
He alone is my rock and my salvation,
My stronghold; I will not be shaken.
My slavation and glory depends on God,
My strong rock.
My refuge is in God
Trust in him at all times, your people; pour out our hearts before him.
God is our refuge.”
”

— Psalm 62:5-8

Discovering my need for purpose and ministry in the Dominican Republic has been on my mind the last four weeks.  As I stare at this mango tree, I am reminded that there is much fruit to pick. If the fruit is hanging on the low branch, I need to really reach for it.  I must take action and use the giftedness and talents that God has already given me. But what if the fruit is hanging on an upper branch? Perhaps during this period of waiting for the fruit to fall, I should just run to the shade and hang out with the roosters and the cows!  I need to trust that if it is a time of waiting, it is because God wants to provide me with some much needed shade. He is preparing me for what is to come. And the waiting… the rest… is part of the journey.

I think this mango tree and I are going to have a beautiful, long journey together.  

Asking Questions (3/25/2019)

Perfectionist.

Planner.

Organized.

Efficient.

All character traits that have served me well over the years. Four children, teaching, running a household, and serving the church all required me to be on top of things. It was important to me to plan for every scenario possible because I wanted to be “good”. A good momma. Wife. Friend. Teacher. Pastor’s wife. I didn’t want to let anyone down or fail. So, I controlled. The character trait that rises to the top - controlling.

Intellectually, I understand that I am never really in control. Spiritually, I understand that God is sovereign and that He ultimately is in control over every detail. Yet, I continue to elevate my precious to-do list above all else because it is why the house is clean, the papers are graded, and the Bible lesson is taught. I tightly grasp our family decisions because I need to think through every option and determine what is best and most efficient. With my words, I say that I trust God. But with my daily actions, I put my trust in myself.

Then God sets us on a path where I have no control. Zero. Scott and I came back from our trip to the Dominican Republic with this overwhelming feeling that it is time to make the decision to move full time to the DR. I felt peace. Inexplicable peace.

We were keeping our decision quiet, waiting for direction and timing. We started to plan. I created my precious to-do lists. Then, I took my girls to Mary Poppins Returns. In one scene, Mary Poppins draws the children’s bath and throws things into the bathtub to ensure they had everything they need for an adventure. The children pelted her with questions, and Mary says, “We’re on the brink of adventure children. Don’t spoil it with questions.” What?! I immediately took out my phone and made note of this truth.

We are on an adventure. I can ask a thousand questions and miss what is before me, or I can trust that God is in control. I can choose to be present. To listen. To pay attention. The second option is the most uncomfortable for me. It goes against every natural instinct I possess, but I have no doubt that it is exactly what I am supposed to do.

God told Abraham to pack up his family and go. Abraham was not handed a map with the destination marked. Abraham asked questions, and God just kept responding with His promise. Abraham was obedient, and God blessed him and his family for generations.

Four months later and these words are still bouncing around in my head.

What would it look like to not seek every answer or plan for every possible scenario? What would happen if I asked less questions and listened more? I wish I could tell you the outcome, but it is still too early. But I can tell you that I have more peace about this single decision, than most decisions we have made in our married life. I can tell you that I am confident about the path we are on, the adventure we have begun.

As we prepare to move in 7 months, I will ask less questions. Trust more. Be present. Listen. Pay attention. I am beyond excited for the great adventure, and I do not want to ruin it with my controlling questions!

Present (3/4/2019)

My word for 2019 is PRESENT.

I want to learn to sit in the now, listen to God and those before me, and pay attention.  No longer looking backwards with regret or longing. No longer meticulously planning and attempting to control the future.  But simply being present.

Scott and I recently spent a week with the Makarios staff in the Dominican Republic.  What an incredible week! God gifted me with time and the opportunity to practice being present.  One afternoon, we were sent to go find a quiet place and reflect. I found a spot. Read a chapter in John. Listened. And reflected on the week…

February 15, 2019

Present.  Stillness.  Listen. Pay attention.

Sitting here in the mountains

Worshiping with men and women who sing with abandon and confidence

Reading truth

Struggling through hard things…the unknown

Believing that we are equipped for this challenge

Hoping for God’s favor

Watching faces light up with laughter

Witnessing tears and hurt

Processing our present

Laughing with new friends

Looking towards our future

Trusting God with our children

Embarking on an adventure

Walking, no longer sitting and waiting

Encouraging with smiles and limited words

Realizing shared experiences create similar stories

Building relationships

Drawing closer to Scott

Running towards Jesus

Practicing boldness

Sharing meals

Trying new things

Thanking God for perfect timing

Paying attention

Listening

Writing my thoughts because I want to remember

Missing my family

Remembering our story

Leaning into the unknown

Clinging to the ONE who loves me

Choosing to be me

Opening my heart to new relationships

Releasing control

Praying

Lifting my arms to my Abba Father

Present.  Stillness.  Listen. Pay attention.

Thank you. (6/1/2018)

Thank you, Joan.

When I was in my early twenties and newly married, Scott and I made our way to a church that was not the church he grew up in or a place anyone knew us.  We met other young couples who were starting their families.  We attended worship, joined a Bible study, deepened relationships through home groups, and began serving at our church.  We formed some of the most amazing relationships with other couples, and to this day, they are some of our closest friends.  After ten years, we moved to the other side of Houston.  But the friendships, spiritual encouragement and teaching we received at that local church shaped who we are today.  One particular person made a huge difference.  Joan Bogar’s investment in me was beautiful, life-changing, and sparked a deep desire to disciple and mentor others.

Joan and her husband, Jim, were leaders in our young marrieds Bible study.  They had just sent their son off to Texas A &M, and they chose to invest in a handful of couples beginning their families.  Joan stood in front of our group of men and women and taught God’s Word with detail, truth, and application.  She boldly spoke of how to love your husband, show respect, and support him without being a doormat or a passive, quiet wife.  She modeled what she taught.  She was who she was, and we knew what to expect when we asked her for advice.  Truth.  Always truth, but it was sprinkled with love and humor. 

We attended a leadership training at our church, and the Bogars were in the same training.  I don’t remember who spoke or what they were training us for, but I do remember they encouraged leaders to find someone to mentor.  They stressed the importance of mentoring and being mentored.  I remember that moment so clearly because I remember looking over at Joan and I knew.  She would be my mentor.  She chose me.  Quiet, introverted Amy.  She saw something in me that I certainly did not see.  She believed that I was capable of more...of something larger than what I could imagine.  Of all the young women she could have chosen, she chose me.  

Over the next few years, she continued to teach.  Encourage.  Disciple.  Equip.  Rebuke.  Model.  We simply did life together.  She mourned with us when our first pregnancy ended in a miscarriage.  She celebrated with us as I grew LARGE with our second pregnancy, and she showed up when Jacob was born and we were terrified because things didn't go well.  I had unexplained chronic arthritis and holding my baby was extremely painful.  Joan pulled us aside at a church service accompanied by a handful of men and women.  She sat me down, and they prayed.  Prayed with confidence and boldness.  A few years later, as she held my Emma Grace, I determined I would mentor my daughter they same way Joan mentored me.  When Scottie was born and we began to notice developmental delays and began the process of finding out why, Joan prayed and spoke truth.  When I look back over those years, her face, words, and actions are written all over our lives and my relationship with Jesus.

Introvert is not a big enough word to describe me.  My lack of confidence and inability to see my giftedness followed me for years.  But, Joan saw something and she challenged me.  She knew that I was feeling called to missions, and asked me to teach our Bible study class.  What?  I taught middle schoolers and little kids, NOT adults!!!!  But there was no way I would tell Joan no.  A couple of weeks later, I stood in front of the class and I taught.  She sat there beaming, encouraging me.  Shy Amy came alive when I spoke about God’s Word.  I felt confident and began to find my place.  She encouraged me to keep teaching. 

I am 43 years old, and I am still striving to disciple and mentor others just like Joan did for 22 year old Amy.  Her decision to intentionally disciple me changed my life.  I am forever thankful. 

• I will disciple others.

• I will encourage them to step out of their comfort zone and do bold things.

• I will mourn with them.

• I will celebrate the big (and small) things with them.

• I will model what I “preach” because that speaks more than just words.

• I will do life with them.

• I will be their biggest cheerleader.

• I will speak truth, but sprinkle grace all over that truth.

• I will strive to live what Titus 2:3-5 says, “Older women likewise are to be reverent in behavior, not slanderers or slaves to much wine. They are to teach what is good, and so train the young women to love their husbands and children, to be self-controlled, pure, working at home, kind, and submissive to their own husbands, that the word of God may not be reviled.”

• I will mentor just as Joan did.

Thank you, Joan.  Your faithfulness to God’s prodding and your willingness to love and mold me have left a lasting impact.  

Thank you.

Am I Disciple? (2/16/2018)

What is a disciple?  The word disciple is a word that is thrown around churches, but do we understand what it means?  Can it mean something different to different people?  What does the word mean for me? 

Disciple

• noun

• a follower or student of a teacher, leader or philosopher

Step One:  Am a disciple of Christ?  What does it require of me?

We are all disciples of something or someone.  Who do I want to follow?  Who do you want to follow?  Who we follow needs to be an intentional choice that we each need to make.  Often times we need to make that decision over and over again.  If I choose to follow Jesus, then I need to really view Him as my leader, my teacher. 

A student learns from his/her teacher by listening to their teaching, modeling behaviors after their behaviors, and entering into a relationship with the one who leads him/her. 

• As a student of Christ, I will create opportunities to learn from Christ through His Word and by being still, so that I can hear him.

• As a student of Christ, I will model my actions after Him which will require me to change my behaviors/actions to align with Christ's.

• As a student of Christ, I will choose to enter into a relationship with Christ. A relationship requires me to spend time with him. I must create time for Him and make it a priority.

The first step in discipling is to recognize that I must be a disciple first.  Since I have chosen to be a Christ-follower, every day I need to develop an intentional relationship with Him.  The ways of developing this relationship are limitless.  Read God's Word,  listen to solid, truth-filled teaching through sermons, podcasts, and books.  Talk to Jesus through prayer and daily conversations.  Worship my Jesus through song, stillness, and appreciation of creation.  Relationships with other believers who continually point me towards God's truth.  If I desire to disciple others, I must make sure that I create time and an environment for my personal discipleship.  The list of ways can easily overwhelm me because the number of days that slip by without praying or reading the Bible creates a guilt that paralyzes me.  Remembering the reasons why I should pray, read, worship, and spend time with Jesus, gives me a sense of urgency to strive for a sweet relationship with Christ.  My days may not be perfect and without conflict, but I discover that the grace, mercy, love and beauty found in an "I-choose-to-follow-Christ" attitude makes it all worth it.  No longer is the list a list of unattainable expectations, but instead, I view the list as a road map for something I really, REALLY want.  I want to follow Jesus.  I want Jesus to be my teacher.  I want to be His disciple.  When others know me, I want them to know that Jesus is my teacher, and I am His student.

““Being a disciple of Jesus means that we are being transformed into His image. God wants to change us so much that it intrigues others.””

— Francis Chan, Multiply: Disciples Making Disciples

Choosing to be a Christ-follower can only be my choice.  My decision.  No one told me to do it.  No one pressured me.  Choosing to remain in a disciple-teacher relationship can only be my choice.  No one can force it or guilt me into it.  I, Amy, choose to be a disciple of Christ.  It Starts With Me.  

Who are you choosing to follow?  

Christ-follower. Disciple. (2/6/2018)

We are not the church.  Excuse.

We are not the parents.  Excuse.

As I look around, I see Christ-followers passing the responsibility of discipleship to others.  The teacher says the parents or the church should disciple.  The pastor's actions and words don't emphasize discipleship.  Their words and actions shout numbers...we just need more people in the room, so that we have the appearance of success.  The teacher or school administrator (public or private) sees a student struggling with anxiety, self-worth, sin or any other heart issue, and he/she says we aren't the church.  The doctor cares for a sick child and neglects to address the emotional and spiritual well-being of the child or the parents because that is the job of the church.  The checker at the grocery story has the opportunity to speak truth over the young, single mom who is struggling, but chooses not to because that is not her responsibility.  The mom walks past her daughter in the hall, but does not intentionally disciple her because she goes to a good, Christian school and church.  

When did discipling become the responsibility of others?  When did the church decide that discipling wasn't just as important as evangelizing?  When did the educator decide that the heart of their students was not just as important as their education?  When did the neighbor stop caring for those to the right and to the left?  When did the dad decide that raising his son to become a strong, Christian man was not his responsibility, but rather it was the church's?  When did we as Christ-followers decide that Matthew 18:19 no longer applies to us?

"And Jesus came and said to them, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you. And behold, I am with you always, to the end of the age.”

Is it not clear?  

The word "go" in the original Greek is a participle and reads "as you are going".  Disciple is the imperative.  We cannot make disciples.  I cannot force someone into following Jesus.  BUT, I can disciple.  As I am going, disciple.  

When I wake up in the morning, I will disciple my children.

When I go to work, I will disciple my students.

When I talk to my sweet friends and neighbors, I will disciple.

When I walk into the church, I will disciple.

When I buy my groceries, I will disciple.

For far too long, we have pushed this responsibility onto others.  I cannot control what the pastor believes and does in regards to discipling.  I cannot guarantee that the administrators/teachers at my children's schools enter every day with the same passion to disciple as I do.  I cannot force my sweet daughters to follow Jesus completely and freely, but I can disciple them.  I can speak truth to them.  I cannot change my students' behavior in class, but I can serve them and address the heart issue.  I cannot solve my friend's marriage problems, but I can love her and speak biblical truth to her.  

We cannot count on any institution or single person to be the only person responsible for discipling.  We, as Christ-followers, must be all in.  All of us.  I do my part as a mom, friend, teacher, and neighbor.  Church, you do your part,  Educators, you do your part.  Flight attendant, you do your part.  Mail carrier, you do your part.  

I believe that it is worth it.  The perspective adjustment is worth it because we are talking about the hearts of the next generation.  We are talking about giving hope to a hopeless people.  We are in the unique position to truly be the hands and feet of Jesus.  Discipling is not optional.  We should not chose when and whom, but it should be everywhere we go and to everyone we encounter.  It is such a responsibility, but the reward is SO worth it.

Christ-Follower.  As you are going, disciple.  

Power in the Through (12/1/2017)

Sometimes when I read Scripture, a word or a phrase will spark my interest.  On the surface it isn't necessarily an important word, yet I cannot get that word out of my head.  Inevitably, I will continue to see the word used in other verses.  Then I begin to investigate.  Meditate.  Wonder.  Speculate.  Apply.  Over a week ago, I read Acts 15:11 and it started the word search for a deeper meaning...

"But we believe that we will be saved THROUGH the grace of the Lord Jesus" Acts 15:11

Through.  Seemingly, so simple.  In fact, it almost seems too simple.  It is difficult coming up with the right definition, so I looked it up.  Truth is, I didn't really enjoy the official definition either.  A few more days of reading and thinking and I began to play a little game.  I thought of different ways that I would use the word "through".

I walked through the door.

The thread went through the needle.

The needle pierced through Zoey's ears.

Through is a simple preposition; however, it has changed the way I understand and apply some verses that I have read dozens of times.  When I see the word through in my simple statements, I realize there is a commonality.  An object going through another object requires action, which ultimately means these two objects physically collide.  

When I walk through the door, I must take action and walk my body throw a doorway where my body meets the opening of the doorway.

When a piece of thread goes through a needle, the thread is carefully placed in the eye of the needle and the two objects meet as the thread passes through.

When a needle pierces my daughter's ears, someone places the ear piercing gun on her ear and takes the action that causes the needle to go through her ear.  The needle and her ear meet.

Through.  A simple preposition, but there is a great power in the through. 

Acts 15:11 states that when we believe, we will be saved THROUGH the grace of Jesus.  Friends.  Give me a little grace as I take my new fondness for through and apply its awesomeness to this verse.  When I believe (which requires action on my part), I am saved (from death, hopelessness, loneliness, separation from my Creator) THROUGH (my action forces me to move towards and through) the grace of Jesus.  My action allows me to meet Jesus's grace.  We have an encounter that is powerful and beautiful.  I am not sitting still waiting for Jesus to plop his grace down next to me.  He often comes close...oh so close... but freewill means that I must take action to move into His grace.  Visually, I imagine me, in all of my ugliness and flaws, moving through Jesus's grace and it wipes, polishes, and molds me.  

"and hope does not put us to shame, because God's love has been poured into our hearts THROUGH the Holy Spirit who has been given to us."  Romans 5:5

We receive Jesus's love (which gives us hope) THROUGH the Holy Spirit.  We have an encounter with the Holy Spirit and it passes through our lives.  When we are in situations or circumstances outside of our control, we have hope because the Holy Spirit works through us and in us to fill us with a Savior's love.  There is a hopeful power in the through.

"But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory THROUGH our Lord Jesus Christ." 1 Corinthians 15:57.  

We will have victory because Jesus has pierced our lives.  We have met.  We are one.  When I feel Satan attacking or I feel as though all hope is lost, I am reminded that through my Jesus, I will have victory.  There is a victorious power in the through.

Do you see the pattern?  I believe that each word in scripture plays a part and has meaning.  The preposition, through, is powerful.  There is power because it reminds me that I have the opportunity to have encounters with Jesus every day.  The encounters are not passive.  We aren't sitting near one another without melding and mixing.  Jesus doesn't sweep past me, but offers love, forgiveness, grace, hope and mercy through a piercing, intimate, molding, life-changing encounter.  This type of encounter requires me to take action.  To make a choice.  Sometimes the passing through can be painful.  Confusing.  Shocking.  But the process provides the opportunity for an intimate relationship with Jesus. 

Oh, there is power in the THROUGH!