Friends and Fans

“Her mom never taught her how to cook, but she did teach her how to risk.”- Erwin McManus, Unleashed.

Sitting with my best friend of seventeen years this weekend, soaking in different snapshots of time. How we were then and how we are now. I’m so stinking proud I could burst. We traveled in ministry together for nine weeks of sheer torture during our college years. Three boys, one who kept his meds in his dirty socks that could rock a human video to Carmen like nobody’s business. One who could play the piano and wow everyone, one who could play the bass and make all of us wish we weren’t so white…and two petite broads calling all the shots and figuring out how we fit while coveting each other’s giftings. I guess you could say we became friends and fans at the same exact time.

At nineteen you don’t really know who you are or why you feel like such a weirdo. We are soaking in all the images of lovelies on the magazines, air brushed and just as insecure as we are. A snapshot is taken. Here is what you look like with some things shaved off and edited. Our eyes surveyed the women in our life while the younger version of ourselves felt inadequate, instead of inspired.

If all we see is what is imperfect and flawed, then we will train our minds to focus on those minor things instead of all the things that take your breath away.

We place an idea of perfection, unattainable and lofty and lie to ourselves by saying it’s possible to be and achieve it all without an IV drip of caffeine and a body double. We are convinced she really exists. The perfect woman.

If “she” really did exist…would you want to pummel her or applaud her?

Would you be her biggest fan?

Or would you feel threatened and at risk?

I could wish away my insecure days that lingered for years, but I wouldn’t be me without all those years of striving to be someone else. I’m amazed at how much time we spend trying to blend in when we were made to stand out. Being who you truly are is risky, but being someone else is a trap.

Stand out, you beautiful thing!

By standing out, you give others the freedom to do the same.

And cheer on your sisters, both young and old, in this journey.

They need a friend and a fan.

Cheering loud for you,

Jennifer

"Summing it all up, friends, I'd say you'll do best by filling your minds and meditating on things true, noble, reputable, authentic, compelling, gracious—the best, not the worst; the beautiful, not the ugly; things to praise, not things to curse. Put into practice what you learned from me, what you heard and saw and realized. Do that, and God, who makes everything work together, will work you into his most excellent harmonies." (Phil 4:8-9 MSG)

Unguarded

To say that my world has been turned upside down for the past three months would be the understatement of the century. (Cue the theatrical music.) I have sat across the table with friends trying to sip coffee like I’m okay, but have looked more like a deer in the headlights wondering if “my normal” will ever exist.

Tears stream down my face in gratitude as I welcome back my normal.

I have been given an opportunity to love with strings attached and by that I mean a little man has toddled into my life and ran away with my heart and I’m not sure that I will ever get it back. I have been kicking and screaming inwardly at the instability that has come into our lives from trying to give a young child stability. The truth is our adoption story is still a huge question mark. Bottom line, I don’t know if he’s mine forever. And because of that I have allowed myself to be guarded.

Over fourteen years ago a much taller man shuffled into my life. For days I have been whispering to myself, “I didn’t fall in love with him overnight.”

It was gradual.

There were no fireworks. Our eyes didn’t lock across the crowded room with “Dream Weaver” playing in background. No philharmonic symphony serenading us as his family questioned whether I was a suitable match and my dearest friends worried that my sensitive heart wouldn’t be able to stomach someone who wasn’t known for being “sensitive”. Our two weeks of entertaining the idea of dating ended up with tears and the parting of ways. That man of mine dropped me off at my best friend’s house, at my request.

The words shared as we parted ways left me feeling like I wasn’t good enough. It was something that cut me to the core. Sometimes brutal honesty stunts the growth of potential relationships, it certainly did for me. I walked into my best friends home welcomed like an adopted daughter. They assured me of my worth and value. They made the hurt sting a little less as they poured in love while he drove off.

Just like my son, I was dropped off needy on a doorstep. Needing a family. Needing someone to wipe my tears and tell me of my worth. Love took me in, baggage and all, unguarded.


Years ago, two very different hearts trying to find the will of God found each other. We had been given the opportunity to love with strings attached. I told him to run as I explained the family baggage he would be inheriting by marrying me. I tried to run when I felt unaccepted and misunderstood. But, love doesn’t run away. It runs to you, unguarded.

Three months ago, love took a little boy in. Wearing only a diaper and a button-down shirt with his head shaved, I took him in my arms scared to death.

What if he doesn’t love me?

Can I love him as we walk through attachment issues?

Can I give myself over to loving when it could end in heartache and disappointment just like the children that I had miscarried?

I could not love him guarded. Fear had to break in me.

Once again these words came to me, “You did not fall in love with him overnight.”

It was gradual.

As all the walls came down and the fear subsided, I realized that once again…a man had stolen my heart and I will never be the same.

I could quote you scripture and verse telling you that we are supposed to guard our hearts because it’s the wellspring of life. (Prov 4:23) And when our well has been tainted with bitter water, it spills out into the rest of our lives. So often we read this text and apply it to the toxic people and disappointments in our lives. But this is not talking about guarding our hearts from “people and pain” but from ourselves.

Clarkes Commentary of the Bible say it this way, “I know that the twenty-third verse is understood as principally referring to the evils which proceed from the heart, and which must be guarded against; and the good purposes that must be formed in it, from which life takes its colouring.”


By “guarding our heart” from others we mistakenly keep love out.
I’m reminded of a God who has loved me with a jealous and unguarded love even when I didn’t deserve it. Perfect love casts out fear.

But that is what love does.

It runs to you, not away from you.

It loves unguarded.

It loves even when it hurts.

Love takes you in making you sons and daughters, no longer orphans.

You are loved fiercely with an unguarded, unending love.

“There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear...” (1 John 4:18)

Much love to you,

Jennifer

I find myself in a season where everything is up in the air and nothing is certain. Trapped in the temporary, I find myself familiar with mascara stains and desperate prayers as I seek after the God that carries me. I want to know the end result after the rug has been jerked from underneath me. Even though the future looks like a question mark, He remains my constant source of stability. (Is 33:6 NET)

And yet here in this place I'm no longer the mother. I am the needy child with arms outstretched waiting to be picked up. I long to know the outcome to this waiting game and yet it's not for me to know right now. I simply have to wait, to rest, and allow myself to be carried. When I carry my children they never seem to worry that my footing will be unsure. They simply rest in my arms secure for the journey. With their legs wrapped around me and sweet head on my shoulder, their gaze remains on what is behind us as we move towards where we are headed. One day our yesterday will be a blur and only the faithfulness of the One who carried us will remain.

"Indeed I am composed and quiet, like a young child carried by its mother; I am content like the young child I carry. O Israel, hope in the Lord now and forever more." (Psalm 131: 2-3 NET)

I'm not sure where you are on your journey, but this much I do know. God desires to give you a composed confidence as He carries you. Your arms are probably tired from the load you are carrying. But, place your hope in the Lord, sweet child of God, and allow yourself to be carried.

"And she will have no more fear of change, being full of salvation, wisdom, and knowledge: the fear of the Lord is her wealth." (Is 33:6 BBE)

Much love,

Jennifer

When The Words Run Dry

When the words run dry and there is nothing left to say, grasping for words that never come. The tears fall freely and He hears our hearts in the silence. Sometimes words aren't needed to the God that formed our hearts. He never changes and His goodness never runs dry. His mercy is never ceasing and His love unfailing.

He spoke the worlds into existence, so I pray tonight that He will speak to the wounded heart in you and hold you close.

Framed and fashioned by God, Dear One, you are not hidden from Him. You are hidden in Him, gathered up and protected. Wonderfully and fearfully made, a wonder He delights in. You are not a mistake. Every dreaded misstep and battle wound that lingers serves to remind you...yet, He came to free you. Taking the stripes on His back so that you may be free.

If all you can whisper or mutter before the Lord is, "I surrender." I promise that is enough.

We don't have to fake it and act like we have it all together. We don't have to know what the next step is, we just have to trust in the unseen.

"Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen." (Hebrews 11:1)

Maybe you can't see how God is working all things out for your good. Maybe your faith is shaken and you feel all alone. Here is a promise you can hold onto and recite until it changes the way you see things.

"Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for he who promised is faithful." (Hebrews 10:23)

Much Love,

Jennifer

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