Love Always Hopes

It was a girl. I knew it. I sat in my boss’s office and began to cry. She told me I needed to name her, that naming the baby would help the grieving process. Floods of emotions and names entered my head, but only one name I refused to part with. I wiped the tears and said, “It wasn’t Whitley. She is supposed to be with me.” Here on earth, not when we meet in heaven. Whitley was the promise that I would hold onto for three years and countless doctors visit later.

Whitley: White field

Jane: God’s grace

I shake my head and still can’t believe she is turning nine tomorrow. I kiss her head and tuck her into her “big girl” bed that used to swallow her. She tells me that soon she will be taller than me. And I say, ‘not yet’ pretending to be offended. I wink and she grins.

Her hot pink lamp is on, I see her squinting to read the tiny print in her Bible. I lie down next to her, take the Bible out of her tiny hands, and ask her if I can read to her as we snuggle.

“Can you read the one about love?”

“Corinthians?”

“Yeah, that one.”

I begin to read 1 Corinthians 13. By verse four I soak her in my tears, yet continue reading.

“It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails…”

It doesn’t fail, it cannot. For God is love, the kind that doesn’t empty out or run dry when life gets too hard. He is there with us, wrapping us up in Him. That protecting, perfect, limitless love that I’ve known since I was a little girl...countless tears and whispered prayers learning to love and trust a God I couldn’t see, but felt. And in her room, I feel it still…limitless love protecting, trusting, hoping, persevering, and unfailing. And I can’t help but cry grateful tears remembering the happiest and scariest day of my life, Groundhog Day 2003. Her dad joked during the long, hard labor that he hoped Whitley didn’t see her shadow and decide to stay in there longer…I still don’t think that was very funny. Seventeen hours of pure torture (sorry honey) and an emergency cesarean later only to hear silence, no sound of cries coming from her tiny, perfect body.

But, I knew she would cry. I knew she was meant for me and that she would be okay because love always perseveres. Always hopes. You were worth the wait, baby girl. Happy Birthday Whitley Jane.

Tough Girl

I cannot tell you how many times I have heard this phrase: “You need to develop thicker skin.” But, I have yet to hear a Bible verse to back up that phrase. And so I look at them, most likely with a blank stare and nod knowing that every time to “try” to be tough I forfeit the sweetest part of me. My southern sweetness nods and then I shake it off and shake my head wondering what on earth these ladies have been through to put on such a tough-girl exterior.

The fact is, I am strong. I’ve had to be. I’m strong because I forgive even though I can’t always forget. I’m strong because I run to God and not away from Him. I’m strong because I’m not at all. I’m weak and His strength is made perfect in my weakness.

I’m not sure who told women that we needed to wear the pants in the family, serve it up hot in the kitchen (and the bedroom) and get over our natural, God-given, femininity by having thicker skin. But, I’m afraid for them and for their hearts.

We can be Proverbs 31 women in the making, consider the field (or minivan) and buy it. We can dress our children in fine clothing, or pick it up off the floor and hand it to them ten minutes before the school bus arrives and pray it doesn’t have stains on it. We can celebrate our respected husbands who provide for us well and come home to a somewhat clean house and happy wife who sometimes isn’t happy. We can paint the house, stain the cabinets, and use a staple gun to update the fabric on our chairs. No one loves a staple gun more than me and to be real honest, I would rather have a staple gun over a waffle iron any day.

We can do it all, or at least we try to. But, at the end of the day when we have worked like a man while trying to smell like a girl...you can bet your discount shoes that we are going to cry because we are tired. And calloused hands still hurt.

But what happens when you are unhappy and your soft skin feels tender, rubbed raw, and the ones around you are pouring lemon juice into your wounds instead of a healing salve?

You take in words straight from the heart of God telling you who you really are and what you are really worth.

You are far more precious than rubies, Proverbs 31 woman, but you do not have to be a cold, hard stone.

NLT says that the Proverbs 31 woman is energetic and strong, a hard worker. Her hands are busy (but, it doesn’t say anything about having a busy mouth. Hum, something to ponder.)

I wonder if she is energetic and strong because she knows when to rest, when to pull away, and regain her strength? Because if she is going to have anything worthwhile to offer her family, she must be well versed in saying no to everything else that distracts from her highest calling.

She is clothed in strength and dignity. But, I wonder if her skin was still soft and supple even though she had hands that are familiar with hard work? Heaven knows we all need some cream and lotions, and this girl is smart y'all...she probably whipped up her own batch of wonder under-eye cream!

She laughs, without fear of her future. Perhaps she cackles like me, from her gut with her head back, relentless because she’s taken a lifetime of fighting, crying, and putting on strength while remaining very much a woman. She makes a choice to be soft and strong all at the same time. Because after all, she knows what matters most and it’s not everyone else’s lousy advice and 10 Easy Steps to make your house, kids, and husband look fabulous while you smile and call Walgreens because your Zantac bottle is empty.

Can I tell you that being soft and sensitive is not a curse? It opens way to the gifts of helps and cheap and affordable therapy for your friends while giving you a shoulder for the toughest girl in the world to cry on.

Being tough is not the answer, realizing that you are not at all, nor do you have to be, is.

God didn’t make me to be tough; He made me to be soft. And everyone that tries to tell me otherwise doesn’t know me. At all. (And I mean that in the nicest possible way.) I’m not taking about being overly sensitive and so insecure that when the person next to me sneezes and makes a funny face…I assume it’s because of something I’ve done. I got over that after High School and I’m definitely not returning to those days. My ponytail and pom-pom days are over, so I can put on strength and not have to punch people in the face, or with my words, to do so.

A Not-So-Tough Girl,

Jennifer

Lessons from a Former Broken Girl & The Sweetest Gift

It doesn’t end. I wish that I could tell you that one day you will be over it. Whatever it is. Abuse. Neglect. Abandonment. Death. Loss. Scars that no one else sees. The heart doesn’t forget. But, a wise woman told me not too long ago…He removes the sting. She could see the sting all over me and she was right. It doesn’t sting anymore.

When the hurt runs deep there are layers upon layers that only Christ can break through. Broken pieces that look like you, words that cut, everything placed before you and you take it because you think you have to, but you don’t. Let it shatter, your yesterday, your broken life, and watch what God does with it. One day it will be a masterpiece, I pinkie promise. God doesn’t take our pain without offering something sweeter in return.

He takes your pain for you with a love that your mind cannot fathom because He is love. He bore your sorrows in the shape of cross and bloody stripes on His back that can heal the hurt that no man sees. He carries your pain. And just in case this hasn’t been modeled out before you, our Daddy God is the perfect gentleman. Perfect, no air of superiority or fist waved above you. God is not like that. He will not pry the hurt from your hand or order you to let it go. You have to give it to Him. It’s your gift of surrender as you rip off your victim label, resigning your unofficial title of the walking wounded. Hurt can make you bitter, or it can sweeten you to love Him like none other. Can I tell you? Can I beg you to choose the latter?

This is not a holly, jolly topic but there are those who can’t sing the choir songs or deck the halls because they are hurting. They grieve and go through the motions hoping that someone will take notice with something actually worthwhile to say. They are numb and distracted standing on shaky legs because they no longer walk in strength because they walk the walk of wannabe survivor trying to keep their heads above water. Can I beg you to choose your words carefully to the fragile, or say nothing at all?

“But no man can tame the tongue. It is an unruly evil, full of deadly poison. With it we bless our God and Father, and with it we curse men, who have been made in the similitude of God. Out of the same mouth proceed blessing and cursing. My brethren, these things ought not to be so. Does a spring send forth fresh water and bitter from the same opening? Can a fig tree, my brethren, bear olives, or a grapevine bear figs? Thus no spring yields both salt water and fresh.” (James 3:8-12)

To the mother that just gave her baby up for adoption with ache and longing running through her bones and empty arms… you gave life and you gave a gift that the barren woman rejoices over. It’s okay to hurt and dream of a day when you are ready to mother for good. You are still a mother, you will always be. But sweet girl, you gave life and you gave a gift. So I say thank you on behalf the child that will grow up happy because you gave life.

To the mother that buried her beloved; your tears do not go unnoticed. God sees you and holds the hand of the one you lost…but don’t’ forget He’s holding your hand too. Squeeze it. Close your eyes and remember the hope of heaven because it’s real and waiting for you.

To the woman abandoned and left behind. Breathe deeply and grieve deeply, joy will come again in the morning for the Lord is near to the brokenhearted. He pours in the oil and wine, bandages your gaping wounds, and whispers the sweetest love song that sounds like this, “I am your husband. I see your worth and your beauty so find your safety in me. My soul provision will blow your mind because I am not capable of failing you.”

The sweetest gift you may give someone this Christmas is persistent, liquid prayers.
The sweetest gift you can give yourself with clinched fists is the release that comes from knowing God fights the battles for you as you let go of your “right” to be angry. Shake your fist at the enemy of your soul, not at man, for God will grant you victory. Fight the good fight.

Hurting people hurt people. If you can see through that and their lies…it hurts a little less. But, it still hurts so let God take it. Today, right now, choose salty tears over a root of bitterness that grows deep. Choose a spring of life yielded to the heart of God…not salt water that stings.

Today I choose joy. Today I choose fresh water over salty. Today I choose a heart that doesn't sting. I embrace the sweetest gift, my Savior came wrapped in flesh...and that my friends, is real reason to be jolly.

Much love to you from a Former Broken Girl,
Jennifer

My Grownup Christmas List & Coveting

She must have known. The tears begin to fall softly and I'm grateful. Let them come, because I know the power of liquid prayers. As I sift through the emotions and glance at the time. I know I should be sleeping and bear-hugging a pillow instead of staring at my husbands dated laptop. I smile, it's the best of both worlds: the dated laptop and my iMac in the room where he sleeps peacefully. The state of gratitude that I feel and the war of frustration I feel when I think about want verses need. I don't want to get it, because she raised me better than that.

Sometimes Mother really does know best.

I can honestly say I don't know what it's like to be truly hungry, but I know for certain that in my childhood we had less, although dirt-poor could not be an accurate description. I didn't walk uphill in the snow both ways to school. I had nice things and clothes; clean long hair while my sister sported the girl mullet. (It was the 80's and apparently that was in.) Honestly, if we flipped through some old family photographs my sisters horribly wrong hair cut would be the only indicator that we were “poor.”

I had nice things because I had a mother that sacrificed so much. What she couldn't give me in material things, she taught me by telling me the classic one-liner. Money doesn't grown on trees. Heaven help me, I'll probably say the same thing to my daughters as I teach them not to covet and do my best to instill the fine art of being thankful for what they have.

I'm trying to make my grown-up Christmas list and I'm wrecked. This once impulsive buyer looks at things through different eyes and it clicks.

She knew.

God was faithful to speak to my mother's heart and whisper words that would help her let go of a little girl who was called to a different life. Mom told me when I was in Junior High that she knew I was called into ministry. I was ironing; I hate ironing. I was frustrated, trying to communicate what she already knew…that I was different. Somehow I hoped that my future wouldn’t include a domestic, tied to the kitchen life. I was trying to explain to her that I didn't want a normal life; I wanted to be in ministry full-time. No one enters ministry thinking that they are going to be rich, unless they are crazy. So, thanks Mom. Somehow I don't think either of us imaged the call of God would look quite like this.

What I didn't know then was that the call of God looks like so many things. It looks like a stay-at-home mom. It looks like a working single mom trying to juggle life and kids, wants verses need. It looks like a missionary in the heart of Africa with battle scars and a love that makes him release his grip on comforts for souls and empty eyes that light up when they hear the good news. The call of God takes on many shapes, chiseled by different seasons of life. We do the same things with callings, titles, and positions of authority. We covet, looking down our noses at the role that God has blessed us with, counting talents, burying them, wasting them.

Want verses need. Gratitude verses covetousness. My grownup Christmas list? I might give you a few hints later, maybe a teaser, but brace yourself…it’s not normal.

Much love,
Jennifer

Surrendered Soul, Abundant Harvest

For days my thoughts have turned to the farmer in Africa, here in the states, and abroad sowing seeds while his family suffers from hunger, sobbing from the nothingness that fills their bellies. They have nothing and so they cry.

I think of the single mom who measures out her children’s portions giving herself less so that they can have more. They have next to nothing and she feels the weight of it, crying herself to sleep at night.

I cannot understand or wrap my mind around suffering, yet I know their tears are not wasted and unnoticed. For God is there, with the broken and contrite heart as the tears run down their faces. He is the same Jesus moved in his gut with compassion while the widow grieves the passing of her only son.

He is moved deep within, churning with action as He raises her only hope for provision, the one she used to cradle and comfort. It seems so delayed, but it’s not. Not for one second is our God not thinking of His loved children.

A spirit of brokenness while sowing seeds brings about a harvest of results leaving them with joy uncontainable- but not for the present, no, it’s the gift and the promise of tomorrow. Today you will cry, fearful that you cannot provide. But your harvest is coming so you throw out what you would rather cling to. There is not another choice.

They wept and planted, in their diligence they pressed on longing to remember the taste of joy. Brokenness within personal famine leads us to a breakthrough like none other. Delayed gratification that lingers with empty ache while the Lord sees, deeming their diligence as pleasing.

“When, the Lord brought back the captivity of Zion, we were like those who dream.” (Ps 126:1)

The picture of Zion is symbolic of safety. Our sweetest dreams are best entertained when we feel certain of our provision, not with barren soul and soil. The dream drains out, salty tears and scattered seed on rocky soil. But, when freedom from captivity comes, freeing us from the things that hold us back, it releases chained humanity bringing with it our joy. The dream that refuses to die…the little girl who dreams loud as she twirls filling up her now grownup shoes as she gathers up her abundance, carrying in the sheaves. God never wastes our pain.

“He who continually goes forth weeping, bearing seed for sowing, shall doubtless come again with rejoicing, bringing his sheaves with him.” (Ps 127:6)

We sow seeds of surrender by releasing what we hold dear. We wait and watch as God waters the soil with our tears and when the tears no longer spill out, we feel the sunlight again. Bursting forth, our harvest comes in abundance.

We will never taste anything sweeter than the fruit of surrender.

Perhaps you are holding onto the seeds, something of value- a relationship, a friendship that you want to work out, a job, your children. Afraid to scatter in surrender, you hold it tight-fisted and red faced.

You feel like you are about to be swallowed up by your situation, but a seed cannot grow in a cupped hand.

Plant with the hope of an abundant harvest, surrendered souls; you will not taste anything sweeter than the fruit of surrender. Doubtless, your joy will return releasing something far greater than a scattered heart. Safety and surety awaits you, giving way to that dormant dream that God hasn’t forgotten.

Much love to you,
Jennifer

Beautiful Surrender

Have you ever noticed that the leaves on the trees are more breathtakingly beautiful right before they surrender? Their colors and hues make me weep as I stand in awe of a world that God set into motion through His spoken words. He breathes in and says, “Let it be” and it is. And it's glorious.

The weather affects the autumn colors. A succession of warm, sunny days and cool, crisp but not freezing nights seem to bring about the most amazing colors. The amount of moisture that seeps into the soil enhances the colors. The leaves are beginning to sprinkle the ground and yet some still remain on the tall branches in a display that is captivating. But, soon enough the wind will turn colder encouraging them to let go as they fall to the ground signaling another season passed.

I feel like the leaves ready to surrender, a new level and layer of letting go. Perhaps we surrender in layers just like we heal. Our Master Gardener peels back layer by layer, going deeper into a place that is familiar with pain. He shakes off the clumps of dirt and rearranges me so that I can flourish where He plants me come spring. I am no longer afraid of winter and things stripped bare.

Shake off the dust and soil. And graft me in, Master Gardener. I wither without You, fading without purpose.

Winter may come, but warmth still remains because I am hopeful, more respecting of even the seasons that chill me to the bone. In the past, my seasons of spiritual winter
left me wanting, feeling barren and cracked, and unproductive. But each season in our spiritual lives give way to something greater, a new level of letting go and deeper surrender.

So, I let go even if the color drains out of me.

I let go even though I would rather remain in higher places.

I let go of the familiar to step into the unknown that I know God is calling me to; beautiful surrender, more of Christ and less of messiness of me.

The leaves may fall to the ground much like our tears, but they are not wasted. They decompose and restock the soil with much needed nutrients. Our wintered soul cries the tears of surrender until what once was calloused and cracked runs smooth. The winter is coming bringing bare trees, but not barren trees. They will still be strong and tall without the decorations of color that I much prefer.

“In spiritual winters, our fullness is thinned out so that, undistracted by our giftings, we can focus upon our character. In the absence of anything to measure, we are left with nothing to stare at except for our foundation.” ~ Alicia Britt Chole (anonymous)

Prayer:

Let it be in me just as it is in the leaves right before they release their grip on the strong tree that fed them and held them in place for so long. Let me be a display of your splendor, a woman who lives in surrender. Seasons change, but You remain the same. A God of wonder, a God I seek after, a God who is still speaking me into motion and making something beautiful out of the mess of me. I’m not afraid to let go anymore! Amen

Who needs the colors of autumn when God longs to decorate us with a crown of beauty instead of ashes? Joy instead of mourning, a garment decked out in praise instead of a withering spirit of despair. We will be called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the Lord for the display of his splendor. (Is 61)

It’s time to embrace beautiful surrender!

Much love to you,

Jennifer

I've Got You

A few days ago we met some new friends on a play date. As I got to know this adorable, new friend our daughters played and enjoyed the gorgeous sunshine. I guess you could say that I’m not really a country girl, but I love to enjoy every aspect that country life brings. I love the simplicity and the thought of working your land. I would like to think my girls could thrive in both worlds…the country life and the city life, the known and the unknown.

Lately I have been teaching my youngest that she can do all things through Christ who gives her strength. Not some things measured out with human limitations, but all things when God is in it.

Without hesitation I watched my little girl scale a tree for the first time. I was honestly nervous, but she climbed that tree like she had been climbing trees for years. There was something inside of her telling her to climb and go higher. She was so high that I just needed her to know I was there and that I approved. Yet, I was right there when she wanted to get down. I politely excused myself and made my way over to the tree.

“Be careful.”

“I will, Mom.”

“Not too high, alright?”

“Ok.”

I want my little girls to soar, to tackle their fears head-on. I smiled and waved, and stepped away so they could play. In a matter of minutes my oldest wanted up and now there were four adorable little girls in a tree having the time of their life. I remember tree houses and sunshine, and the smell of playing hard for hours. You can always tell just how much fun a child had by the sweaty-kid smell that lingers afterward.

When it was time to come down, I watched both of my girls panic while the other girls, being seasoned pros at tree climbing, looked at them with questions. Getting up there was easy, but coming down was a different story. The ground seemed smaller and the tree stories higher. I made my way to the base of the tree and looked them in the eye.

“Baby, you can do this.”

“I’m afraid of heights.”

I kept thinking, you’re not afraid of heights…you just climbed a tree! You used to be afraid of heights!

“It’s ok. I’m right here, I won’t let you fall.”

“I’m scared, I’m really scared.” She begins to cry.

“Look at me. Take my hand…I’ve got you.” She hesitates, fear swallows her, and I refuse to let it.

“Baby, I’ve got you.” Our eyes locked. She believed me.

As I removed my oldest child from the tree relief washed over both of us. I repeated the steps one through three and echoed these words as I reached for up for my baby who seems so far out of reach. A different fear reflected in her eyes, but it didn’t change her need to hear these words again as it sinks into her soul.

You can do this.

I’m right here.

I’ve got you.

I watched fear turn to trust in their little eyes. They each responded differently to their fear, my youngest was back to normal in a matter of minutes laughing and playing while my oldest wrapped her legs around me, held on, and cried.

I don’t know what fear you are facing right now or if you are stuck somewhere far out of reach from what you deemed safe, but I know that I need to tell you this:

You can do this.

He’s right there.

He’s got you.

As your mind races with questions and you wonder how you can conquer your own fears and model that out before you children, you need to be more certain that ever that you CAN do this. He is right there. We scale the wall of our dreams and life. It looks so daunting, an uphill battle. Sometimes we realize that we are in the wrong tree and we want down. We have a God that fashioned and formed us for greatness, but we have grown comfortable with our imprinted cushion from our backside. We’ve been sitting in the sidelines cheering for those hard in the game for too long…

You’ve forgotten how to climb.

You’ve forgotten how to play.

But, He’s got you.

“Eye has not seen, nor ear heard, nor have entered into the heart of man the things God has prepared for those who love Him.” (1 Cor 2:9)