Oct 072016
 

My faith has been through the wringer lately, and I may have been failing the test, letting myself fall, letting the world step in the way, letting myself give in to things I know not to do. And yet, here I am writing as part of this crazy group and I feel the cradle around me, knowing that like the prodigal son, I am always welcomed back, a feast is prepared and my presence is worth a celebration to the One true Father -our Father, yours and mine!

How wonderful to be His. To come back from the darkness and see His Light brightly shining at the end of what seemed like driving a tunnel in a car that has broken headlights. Yet, I know it is easy for me to break, shatter into a billion pieces and watch the scars scab over but never really go away.

You can glue the mirror back together again, but it never reflects the same. It’s always more fragile than it was before and the tiny shards that we couldn’t pick up and see leave scarred cracks where the glue resides, a wholeness that isn’t really complete and as best as I try to be whole I have to accept that I am only as whole as I am in Christ and that while my tests may be failed, and I may fail this journey called life, I will one day be wholly whole, in His divine presence as I am greeted at the pearly gates and welcomed into the Heavenly realm.

A compilation of 150 blog posts from the Five Minute Friday Community. The stories found in these pages span a diverse range of experiences, but share a common thread: A Love For the Bravely Written Word.
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Oct 022016
 

The strawberry plants in pots on the deck didn’t have much of a yield this year and now their leaves are vibrant reds against the greens and yellows with feelers reaching across the wood of the deck and towards the table where we didn’t eat outside because some people are afraid of bugs, but where I enjoyed my morning coffee and fetch with the dogs just the same.

The air crisp and cold this week unlike last week when the fans were all on and the air conditioning tempting. The sky has been painted in hues of blue, green and grey as the atmosphere tries to decide if the rain is the story it wants to paint of if its that of the sun setting golden behind golden leaved trees.

The wind whistles and whips and tears many of those leaves off all in a matter of a few hours and yet while out for a drive I am surprised to see that some trees stand naked and stark, a grey that is reminiscent of one who is dying -that pale colorless flesh reserved just for those who are extremely ill. And the backdrop is vibrant yellow, green and the sun pokes through just long enough for the next batch of clouds to roll in filled with the water of life that will supply these trees through their roots for the months that winter will provide.

Keeping the natural spring that all the animals congregate around, regardless of the mercury, spewing naturally warmed water into a pool for them to drink from. And I am reminded that God takes care of the Raven and I can pass my worries and anxieties and fears to Him because that Raven was an animal created for us {wo}men to care for while He cares for me directly!

“Do you hunt the prey for the lioness
and satisfy the hunger of the lions
40 when they crouch in their dens
or lie in wait in a thicket?
41 Who provides food for the raven
when its young cry out to God
and wander about for lack of food?
~Job 38:39-41~

A compilation of 150 blog posts from the Five Minute Friday Community. The stories found in these pages span a diverse range of experiences, but share a common thread: A Love For the Bravely Written Word.
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Oct 012016
 

I hadn’t planned on this tiresome walk, the one that has left my legs feeling uselessly cramped and the fire inside my muscles screams for a break as I drag heavy feet along as I shuffle, seemingly without a cause.

And, the words roll across eyes tightly closed the way credits run so fast at the end of a movie and I am reminded that “even though I walk through the shadow of the valley of death, I feel fear no evil” because “His staff and His rod will guide me ALL THE DAYS OF MY LIFE{Psalm 23} and my cup will be filled to overflowing and when I fall face first into that sandy valley He will heal the pains I feel and the steps will become easier and I will become lighter and the journey won’t feel so long.

Because, getting to know Him is a lifetime of work and yet no work at all because as our Creator, He already knows us and us Him and while we often hide it or deny it or ignore it, His presence is always in us, regardless of the roads we walk.

Creating a relationship with the One who saved me is beautiful, knowing that He has always been faithful to me, even when I wasn’t is a miracle. A journey I will likely walk 1000 times more and each time I take those first aching steps I will be reminded that He is the crutch that will help me to stumble along.

A compilation of 150 blog posts from the Five Minute Friday Community. The stories found in these pages span a diverse range of experiences, but share a common thread: A Love For the Bravely Written Word.
$12.99 USD
Aug 112016
 

I take a deep breath and point my bottom up in the air wondering how attractive THAT has to be and sorta laugh to myself how awkward yoga can look and how good it can feel. Even though I am not feeling well I decided to hit the mat and sweat it out and lift up my spiritual energy, centering it, refocusing it on the one who created me in the very beginning and saw that I was good.


It has been easy to be down over the last few months. I have felt a ton of pressure in the little things and a lot of slippery serpent heads slithering their ways into my thoughts and creating anxiety and fear, and a lack of trust. In the last session of Hello Mornings, which I have loved for years and even lead a group with Jen from Faith Mustard Seed in for several sessions. This intimate group of people I thought I could trust and ask for prayer in were the ones I went to when I found out my cousin had another baby born asleep. Before anyone had even commented or offered prayers in the private group I was being tweeted about it and my faith in a female lead church community collapsed -hard.

At the same time I had just finished a course in ministry and had received grades high enough to earn me a scholarship. I haven’t logged back into the site since to see what I would like to take, I haven’t even requested a copy of my transcript or diploma for the first course.


Women are supposed to be building each other up, for ever we have helped one another -raise babies, pray, stay strong in faith, cook meals for other families and even offered to help cook or clean for our female friends and acquaintances when they needed it the most.

We are supposed to be lifting each other up and instead this crazy world of social media, on every platform, has become a game of trying to be better or look better or take better photos or eat better foods or pray better. A game of my way is better than your way and the most beautiful of people from Facebook to Twitter to Youtube have worked hard to cut those life giving umbilical cords to the One who always loves and always pulls us up by showing us their ugly sides.

 

It is hard to not be pulled down when in the back ground they are spreading rumors, exposing your private moments and your broken-hard is exposed for the entire world to see.


I am having to remind myself daily as I check in with my soul that my faith in Christ has not changed, but my faith in humanity is definitely in question. It is so much easier to slam the laptop closed and keep it all inside, locked away inside the confines of my mind, but like the Queen song says “I want to break free” and in order to be healthy, I need to.

I am definitely on the defensive, my stress levels high and every one who I was trusting as my “church” community whether in real life or online has fallen into this line of wonderment where my PTSD is triggered and I have to ask myself “can I trust you?”

As I raise my hands up and breath in deeply and lift my heart I know that I am being held by God. And that is all that really matters.

Jun 252016
 

Tears are the pain my soul displays when it has nowhere else to go

Pain are the words my soul speaks, the black shroud that makes the dimmest of stars blindingly bright

I’ve needed a rest from words lately. A lot of rest. I don’t know why, maybe because I was diving deep in search of words for so much of the winter and spring.

It is exhausting to go into yourself, into the darkened depths where you have everything chaotically stashed away in mounds that would give a librarian a heart attack. Much like the wall of post-it notes that only an author can decipher and turn into a grand story.

Only life isn’t a post-it and no matter how big they decide to make those sticky sheets it won’t all fit and the darkness will creep over like fog over a marsh when the mercury rises, blanketing over the muck with a reflective dew that disappears with the rising sun and somewhere along the broken road you place your hand in the palm of the Son who has risen and you simply rest.


And yet here I am with the thunder booming in the background and the lightening flashing down on a blackened earth and my fingers are tapping away the thoughts that linger in my head and fear greets me in places I had forgot existed and I wonder who I really am?

Am I the child that hopped from rock to rock over snail infested ponds to find a place to sit and soak up the sun, the child who looked at metal barrels laying in the water 20 years ago and wondered why someone would do that to the earth?

Am I the adult who see’s a saltwater tank and grieves the loss of corals and anemones and secretly blames Finding Nemo for the tang’s and clown fish being stolen from our oceans just to beautify someone’s home?

Am I the girl who prays for the whales and the dolphins and has considered jumping ship just to land in the Antarctic whale sanctuary to protest, protect and fight for the whales whose song often falls on the ears of poachers?

Am I the 16-year-old girl who found herself pregnant and madly in love with a child growing within or am I the mother of that child whose smile is enough to light up any room and whose tears threaten to drown me because her pain are the nails through my hands and feet, the spear in my side. The pain a parent must bare in a twisted way so that their child can be fully alive?

Is that how my parents felt? Is that what Jesus told Himself as He felt the weight of His flesh tearing him apart, the sweat stinging into deepened wounds as the sins of the world separated the darkness and the light causing Him to cry out to God, “Father, why have You forsaken me?” before the sky turned angry and His flesh became Spirit?

And then there is my son, the child who nearly drowned drinking water because his laughter got the best of him and the water rushed into his lungs and sent those watching into a near panic and as he told the story he tells me “I wondered if Darin knew the Heimlich, when he pushed on my belly I knew he didn’t.” And I wonder why I worry more about the girl then I do my boy. Is that how it’s meant to be? That the boys can brave this broken world in a brotherly solidarity where the desire to protect outweighs their fear?



A world where your lungs fill with water and moments later you are playing football in the grass with a fire burning down in the background and your laughter and the sounds of your mother and your sister chatting are what fills your world because the moment you drowned you were also resurrected with a lesson learned?

Did my child really have me in stitches on the clouded, stormy ride home and did we almost hit that blur of a deer that for all I know could have been a golden shrub? Did he really just tell me that 50,000 of my cells die every day and that over the course of 7 years every cell in my body passes and has been replaced with one that is new and fresh? Did he just tell me that a sunburn hurts because the cells are protecting us from cancer and committing suicide so they don’t mutate?

How did you become so wise young children? Where did you learn these things and when? Why is it that I see so much of myself in your love for everything and then sometimes I look at you and don’t see me at all?


I am proud of you, both of you. Because you aren’t me and because you are pieces of me that I never allowed to develop and grow. You take big leaps and tiny steps and go where the wind blows, color outside of the lines and walk against the grain all at the same time. You are far more brave than I ever was or ever will be and I am so happy that you aren’t me. That you walk your own paths.

I love that you embrace conflict and hurt and pain because as the saying goes “no pain no gain” and I want you to gain. I want to see you suffer because that leads to growth. I want you to fear because that leads you to cling to the One who alleviates the need. I want you to love fully and be passionate and chase your calling, whatever it may be, whether it’s the Antarctic whale sanctuary where you take on the poachers of the world, or into a mission field learning a new culture and language and sharing your own journey with the world in the name of the One who saves you each and every day. Maybe your dream is to be a mom or a dad and never leave this small town and you want to plant your roots down deep and firm.

Wherever you go, whatever you do, I will be in the cheering section while simultaneously handing you to God, because while this may be your journey, He is the one who holds the map.

Apr 072016
 

It’s been a long time since I have known what feeling whole actually is and sometimes, okay, a lot of the time, I wonder if I will ever experience the feeling of being whole during my time on earth. It seems like everyone is living a whole life, husband, kids, church and they seem to have it all together and time to spend just with God everyday and perfect children and a clean house and I always feel like a ragged mess that has been dragged by the rabid jaws of a dog and tossed off a mountain side with my hair matted and poofed out while simultaneously being glued to my head. ß-Run on sentence??

I breathe in the crisp spring air each morning or afternoon or whenever I crawl out of bed and I know that in Christ I am whole, after all, He isn’t in the business of making the broken and defective. I remind myself to do what I can do glorify him wholly in my actions throughout the day and I know that there is always more to give and less of me to do it and as I exhale the stench of the day I know that I have done my best and that in His eyes I am the child He created me to be and not a creation of this world, or myself.

And, I don’t want to be. I don’t want to be whole if it is something that is given to me by humanity or my own selfish needs.

Jen mentioned whole milk and I think about how if milk isn’t homogenized it will quickly separate in the fridge and the fat and the thin will break apart like oil and water and you will need to shake it to make it worthy of consumption. The heavy “cream” sitting on the top in a way that seems to defy gravity. Any mama who has pumped her breast milk will have experienced this and many will wonder if the milk is still good. The fact is, it is perfectly whole even in its separated state.

So, in turn if I am milk and to be whole I need God then He is the cream on the top protecting me and keeping me safe down below and when the world shakes and its my time to go we will unite and look clean, new and fresh. Wholly-whole.

Mar 032016
 

Tonight I literally got side tracked more than I did party with the FMFParty people. I got dishes done, counters cleaned off, dishes done again, hair braided, dogs fed and put to bed, joked with my dd and reminded my ds to take his meds. AND I even managed to get in a tweet or two. I missed the news though about Kate so I will have to go back and read what is going on! Whatever it is I am sure it is awesome, because we always celebrate the awesome ways God is moving in our lives, our little community is beyond great that way. Sharing the news of Christ, even if we are experience a time of sadness or loss, is still worth sharing of His abundance of love for each and every one of us.

I am sure I could list 1000 gifts right here and now about all the gifts we have experienced in our FMF Family. From books to babies, boyfriends, new jobs, old jobs, ministry. Yeah we are definitely a blessed bunch, all in the name of Christ. All because of the news that day when the stone was found rolled away and the body of Christ was not there.

Was that the moment that Christianity began? Or was it during His time of ministry as He roamed the land? Perhaps it was when He hung on the cross struggling for breath and those who put Him there realized what they had done.

In the “news” we are seeing everything about the election and it breaks my heart as a Canadian to be seeing the sad injustices of whats going on in the states. The amount of fear and hate. Fearing others because they aren’t Christian enough, they have different beliefs, the “wrong color skin”. It breaks my heart that the leader of the free world may be the one who causes the most persecution, fear and hate.

I have had about 45 people ask me if they could come and stay here if a certain person is elected president. American refugees. I never thought that that would be a question, or that it would even be a joke, yet it is trending, and I am being asked. Thinking to myself, sure I have so many acres but where will everyone sleep, how will we care for them, will their government even let them out?

We are definitely in a world of chaos and uncertainty, but God is always certain and we have to trust that whatever comes on the earthly plain has already been rectified in His holy name. Because, by His stripes we (the world) are already healed.

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