Friday, February 9, 2024

The walls that sing

  If these walls could talk, this house would tell you the story of how God intervened to get us into this home. It would whisper the intimate details of our first night as a married couple; how an awkward pair of newlyweds dined on cheese and crackers, while watching Ironman. It would reflect on the moment a scared couple rejoiced in the news of their first pregnancy, and of all the newfound joys and firsts that followed. These walls have seen the tears and prayers of a scared father, as he paced the halls two days into his wife's labor; fearing for her life and the life of his unborn son. They'd tell of that baby's first breath, of his hesitant first steps down this hall; of his excitement over being a big brother and his growth from infant to big kid.

  These walls have seen that toddler become a big brother as the new baby took his first breath amidst fears and breathing troubles. They have been terrorized by the rowdy antics of these two brothers. The floors bear the evidence of bike races and car race tracks; each dent and ding telling a story, holding a memory. The gawdy pink bathroom bore witness to our heartache, as the floor held my weeping body after our first loss. The bedroom walls listened to my sobs in the middle of the night, while the rest of the house slept. The living room that held the family tree each Christmas, now observes my healing. 

  And now as we enter this new season, this sweet home bears witness to the hopes and dreams that are coming true; the excitement of two boys as they watch their new family home coming together. The exhaustion and stress of their father as he fights to give his family the home he's always wanted for them. And the long days of the mother as she tackles family life and moving prep. Yes, if these walls could talk, they would sing of all the memories they hold within themselves. This house became a home the day we became a family, and as that family grew, so did the love within these walls. If these walls could talk, they'd tell the story of that love: the story of our family, of our beginning. 




Thursday, November 16, 2023

But God.....

 When I think back to the 18yr old me -the me before life hit me upside the head, I'm reminded of a child: young, innocent, naive, and pure to the realities of the world. I had confidence in who I was, I had a childlike faith, and I looked to the future with excitement; eager for the unknown, with a head full of dreams.

  But that was before... before I went head to head with the enemy. Before almost losing the lives of myself and my son in birth. Before the lost friendships; before the relationship changes and challenges. Before losing our baby in miscarriage. Before life happened. 

  If the 18 year old me could see me now, I doubt she'd even recognize herself. I'm not the innocent, naive girl I was back then. I feel broken inside; hurt and grieving; battle scarred within from the trials of life. I've seen the dark side of humanity and the terrors of the spiritual realm up close and personal. Laying in the dark at night, as a talk with God and listen to my husband's soft snoring, I often reflect on the seasons and moments that have made me who I am now. In those moments it feels like I've got the weight of the world on my shoulders. But God...

  He was there through it all. Walking before me, walking with me; preparing the way for His plan to be accomplished. Preparing my heart for the growth that would follow the pain. I may not be the girl I was at 18, but in the midst of the broken is beauty.
The woman I am now has a much stronger faith; a clear awareness of the evil we are fighting, and a deeper dependency on God that draws me ever closer to Him.

  I wish I could go back and tell that scared teenager that it'll be OK. That one day, it'll all make sense and you'll see that, like Joseph, what the enemy meant for evil, God used for good. When I feel broken, God reminds me of all the good that has came out of the trials; all the growth, the faith, and the testimony that has enabled me to encourage many other people in their own trials. God has shown His face to me and revealed His power in my life. I'll never be the same because I'm being renewed every single day. God's plan is mysterious and strange, and oftentimes frustrating to our human minds. But it is beautiful, and amazing to see what He can accomplish in our lives when we allow Him to use us. 

  So I'm not broken. I am restored. I am loved. I am a new creation. My past does not define me, but it has made me who I am today.  For that, I am truly thankful. I am thankful that God saw fit to use me in His story, and that He has pulled me from the fire and refined me.

Tuesday, June 20, 2023

What is your, "why?"

 "Everyone has a reason for believing what they believe. What's yours?"


   Someone recently asked me why I believe the things I do. When you're raised a certain way - be that, catholic, Christian, muslim...etc. doesn't matter - it's hard to know whether your belief is your own, or simply as a result of having been taught that religion your entire life. For many, when we become an adult we start to wrestle with our religious identity. Who are we outside of how we were raised? Do we really believe the stuff we've been taught our whole lives? Then come the big questions. WHY do I think I believe this? Has there ever been a confirmation that this belief is real? I'm not here to try to change someone's mind, or to pound my belief into you. I am just here to share my story. This is my WHY.

  Growing up in a conservative Christian home, I was taught about God from a young age. My young mind tried to comprehend everything I was being taught. I didn't understand it all, but I knew that I wanted to know this God Who loved me to the point of sending His Son to die for me. I accepted Christ as my Savior at the age of 4. Just a typical American upbringing. But then, when I was 10, something happened that changed my entire outlook on my religion. I heard a sermon about spiritual warfare and how Christians in America tend to push it under the rug, and ignore that warfare is a reality in our lives. That night I asked God to reveal to me the spiritual battle in my life. Then came the dreams.

  I dreamt that I was standing in a dark pit under a dark dark moonless sky. In front of me was a haunted, deserted town. Behind me blank nothingness. To my right was a dark, hooded figure. I couldn't see his face but the evil that was pouring off of him, terrified me. I knew he was after me. As I knelt on the ground, covering my head to hide from the darkness and fear, there was suddenly a light to my left. When I looked up, Christ was standing there. He looked at me with His kind eyes, and He held out His hand and said, "Fear not, My child. I am with you."  As I reached for His hand, the shrieks of the demons subsided and the devil cowered back.  Waking from that dream, I had a knew awareness of the battle that I was facing ever day as a Christian; the battle over my very soul. It became like a 6th sense; this intuition when something wasn't right spiritually.

  As a teenager, I often babysat for a family whose house was haunted. I would hear footprints when nobody was there, and hear things that weren't actually happening. I felt something walk up behind me once, and breath down my neck. It fled upon hearing me pray the name of Jesus out loud. It was in this same house that I "saw" the enemy for the first time. My sister and I were babysitting overnight for this family, and I had been up and down all night because the "baby was crying, " (she was in fact, fast asleep. It was not her crying.) At one point, as I was walking down stairs, I felt a presence come up behind me. I heard it walk down the stairs behind me and pause in the doorway as I climbed into bed. As I turned to look, the entire doorway was filled with a darkness, as if there were a dark figure standing there. With the darkness came this bone deep chill and fear. I closed my eyes and prayed that Christ would be present. All at once, I felt a different presence take up a stance beside my bed. The fear was gone and I was able to sleep peacefully the rest of the night.

  All of these occurrences continued to confirm for me that there is a literal battle again darkness in the world, that Americans are ignoring. But the clincher for me was my trip to Africa. There is a whole different relationship between the spiritual and the physical in Africa. They both acknowledge and accept the spiritual as a reality. And as a result, the enemy is not shy there. The warfare is obvious. It is common. And it. Is. TERRIFYING.

  The enemy tried to get to me while I was in Zambia, but the Lord prevailed and my life was saved. But the enemy wasn't done. Upon my return from Africa, the heavy presence in my life increased to the point of chronic, traumatizing nightmares for years. At first, I chalked it up to ordinary fear. But then, the visits started. I would often wake from these nightmares to a dark presence in my room. The room would feel cold and unnaturally dark, with a sense of evil so thick you could almost feel it in the room. And then I'd see him. Sometimes standing in the corner, other times by my bed. Always watching. Always terrifying.  I would immediately start quoting scripture and praying aloud and the darkness would flee. One time, I woke to the feeling of something pulling at my blankets, upon waking, I saw the darkness launching itself at my bed. I shrieked the name of Jesus and it recoiled.

  I know many of you that are reading this, are probably thinking that I'm coo-coo. And that's fine. We live in a time and place where people don't want to acknowledge that such darkness and blatant attacks are possible. But for me, I've stood in the battle and have felt the very claws of evil reaching out for me. I have witnessed first hand, the reality of our battle, and the might and power of our God. The answer to my "Why?" is that I have see the enemy vanquished before me. Not by my might, but by the power and the name of Jesus. I prayed a prayer years ago to see the battle in my life, and I have lived the answer to that prayer.

  I may have been raised Christian, but my experience with the spiritual is what makes my faith real to me.
There is a spiritual realm at work in this world; a never ceasing battle around us for the souls of God's people. No matter how hard we try to ignore it; to hide it or downplay it. It's here and it's happened every day around us. The world tells us this is a lie. Our culture tells us it's an idea more than a reality. But my experience has proved it to be horrifyingly real. Our only hope in this midst of this battle, is that God Himself is here. He is real and He is powerful. And He is ready to fight our battle for us. " The battle belongs to the Lord."

  I have found my "why?." 

So now I ask you friends: what is your "why?"

For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, 
but against principalities, against powers, 
against the rulers of the darkness of this world, 
against spiritual wickedness in high places." 
Ephesians 6:12


Wednesday, January 4, 2023

Joy in motherhood: 2023

 


  JOY. I see this word scattered across my house, tucked into the Christmas decor everywhere I look. A raging reminder of my need for joy. My lack of joy. My deep and utter longing to reclaim the lost joy in my life. To return once more to that gleeful, child-like woman I used to be, not too long ago.


    When they say that parenting changes you, nothing can prepare you for just how deeply and inexplicably, you change. When you hold your baby for the first time, your whole world changes. Nothing else matters but that tiny human. Before too long, you lose yourself in a wonderful world of hugs and diaper changes, and slimy hands that want to hold your unsuspecting face. You don't even see it coming, but suddenly, you don't recognize yourself anymore. You have lost your sense of self to this thing called motherhood. And I think- in it's own speciel way- that it's beautiful. Motherhood is supposed to redefine who we are and what we think we can do. It challenges the very essence of our strength and fortitude, stretching us to our breaking point. Yet somehow, we push past the fatigue and the emotions, and dig deep into the ocean of love that we have for our children. It's that very love that inspires us to get up each day and start again, faceing all the meltdowns and the tantrums, and the dirty diapers: to once again, find the joy and fulfillment that motherhood offers.

  When we find ourselves stuck in the rutt of exhaustion and negative emotions, it can be hard to redirect our minds. It can often feel menial and monotonous. But even on those days, one can find fleeting reminders of why we chose to be a mom in the first place. It's those small- seemingly insignificant- moments, that make us who we are as mothers. The love that we have for our children, and the joy that we feel in the fulfillment of our God given purpose, alters our very beings, as we morph into the mother our children need.


  The past couple months I've been in that rutt. Ever since Everett weaned, I've been struggling with finding joy and finding a new sense of purpose in who I am. I've been nursing and/or pregnant for nearly 4years. Even though I never particularly enjoyed nursing (rough nursers both times!), I loved that I was able to do that for my children. It made me feel like a successful, worthy mother. When Everett's nursing journey came to a fairly abrupt (and unpleasant) end, I felt like I had failed as a mother. It's been over a month now and I'm still struggling with that feeling of failure. I'm frustrated and sad, and frequently feel overwhelmed with life. All of which is robbing me of my joy.

  But God. God was not done yet. 

  God is not done working on my heart, or bettering me for my children. He has been speaking to my tired heart, whispering that it's time to find that joy again: HIS joy. "The joy of the Lord is my strength," shall be my song. My word for 2023 is: JOY. With the help of the Almighty, I want to retrain my mind to let go of this feeling of failure. My son is strong and healthy. That's all that matters. I want to focus on the joys of motherhood instead of the struggles. Motherhood IS a blessing. My children are GIFTS. I am choosing to walk through life accordingly, with that in mind. Keeping my eyes on the Lord, to live in JOY.

Tuesday, July 12, 2022

Our beginning

 

 I won't say it was love at first sight; I don't believe in such a thing. But what I do believe, is that ours was a God ordained love story. I believe that the night I met Dan, God told me he was the one. While it wasn't an audible, "this is your future husband!" kind of thing, it was an unexplainable and undeniable feeling that I had already known him my whole life. It sounds cliche, but he was the most familiar stranger I'd ever met.


  It was December 22, 2015. I had only just moved to Idaho 3 months before. My pastor and his wife were trying to help me meet some people my age so they threw a Christmas party for all the college age kids at church, and insisted that I come. Normally, I wouldn't go to such an advent while I was so new to the church, but I had an unshakable feeling that I needed to go to this one. I arrived 15 minutes late and as the pastor and his wife introduced me to everyone, the faces and names went by in a blur... until HIM. The quiet, muscular guy sitting in the corner. His soft smile gave me butterflies and instantly made me feel comfortable and secure. Somehow, he made me feel safe in a room full of strangers. This was a big deal for me.

  A couple years before, I had experienced a scary ordeal in Africa. The short version of a long story is that I has several frightening encounters with men while over there. While nothing happened physically, the trip left many emotional and mental scars that took years to overcome. By the time I met Dan, I had already come a long way, but I was still nervous and distrusting of men. So for this guy- whom I had only just met- to have such an impression on me was astonishing.

  As the evening wore on, we found ourselves thrown together time and time again. Conversation flowed easily and cocomfortably. We found that we had a lot of similarities. I had had other interests and "possibilities" before. But he was the first one that didn't feel forced or awkward. After that night, we didn't speak again until May 2016. But he was often on my mind. I found myself praying for him every night. Being creatures of habit, we often found ourselves sitting near one another at church. I'd smile and say hi; he'd give a sheepish smile and a nod. I often watched him when he was sitting in front of us. His attentiveness and scripture study during the sermon was impressive. As too, was the fact fact he sang along during worship. Anytime we passed each other in the halls or the (one) time I tried to approach him, he fled like a wild animal. Turns out, he was just as "curious" about me as I was him. But he too, was socially awkward and afraid to approach me.

  That May, my brothers and he became buddies and started hanging out. One Sunday after church, they found a way to break the ice and get us talking. As I approached the group, one of them swung his arms towards me and announced, "Here she is! 21, single and reeeaaady to miiiiingle!" Both brothers then abruptly left, leaving Dan and I suddenly alone. As we laughed off their joke, we started chatting. This led to weekly conversations after church until he eventually started following me home each week  to hang out; and the rest is history.

  Like I said before, Dan was not my first interest. He wasn't even the first guy to ask me out. Under normal circumstances, I probably never would've given our meeting a second thought. BUT GOD. God knew that Dan was exactly what I needed for this exact season of life. Dan inspired me and challenged me in ways no one ever had, nor had ever needed to. He came into my life right as I was starting to heal from that last trip to Africa, but right where he needed to be in order to help me fully heal.

  As our relationship progressed, my fears and anxieties started to pop up again. It quickly became apparent that getting close to a man subconsciously stirred up those past memories. The nightly nightmares became so bad that I wasn't sleeping and was barely eating. The closer we got to our wedding, the worse things got. Dan was the sweetest, most supportive boyfriend through all of this. He never once got upset when I was withdrawn, nor pushed me too hard. When things got bad he would simply sit in silence and hold me. Lending me his strength and support. He prayed with me and challenged me to pray for the men who had caused these fears.

  I remember sitting in the car crying that first time he asked me to pray for them. When I couldn't do it, he did. He held my hands as he prayed for the men who had chased me and grabed at me; the very men who haunted my dreams. A few months before our wedding, he gently called me out for my bitterness towards those men and led me to the Bible to help me let go of that. It was a long process, but over the course of our 6 month engagement, Dan helped me overcome all my fears and truly let go of that bitterness. He eventually enabled me to pray for those men with a genuine spirit of forgiveness.

  God put Dan in a position that one else had been able to step into, at just the right time in my life where I would be accepting of him and open to the help he offered. I truly believe that the first night we met, the Lord was already preparing my heart for the crazy journey that this man would take me on. Our love story may sound simple and unremarkable to other people, but to me, it was more life changing and transformative than I could ever say. This man; this- wild, reckless, mountain man- pulled at my heartstrings with the gentle guidance that the Lord had prepared him for. A man I trusted (still do) with my whole heart and soul, to let him close enough to share the burdens and struggles that few people knew of. He healed my heart and enabled me to finally be able to put the past behind me. That is how our story started: with redemption and healing. All because two socially awkward homeschoolers listened to the pulling of the Spirit, and went to that party that night in 2015. 



Monday, April 25, 2022

A mother's tears

 


Motherhood is beautifully hard. You share much laughter and tears with these tiny humans. You make memories - and mistakes- with them. And in them, you get to see yourself; the good parts and the bad.

  I look at Frasier and I miss that newborn baby with his fluffy hair and huge man hands. I miss the tiny tot, reaching those chubby arms up to "mama." All those late night snuggles after a bad dream. The list goes on.

  I realized the other day that I don't remember the

last time Frasier crawled into bed with me at night. It's been weeks. He no long crawls in with me for morning snuggles. He no longer calls for me to get him after a nap. He's growing up. He doesn't need me as often anymore. 

  And while I might not like it, it's life: he's going to grow up whether I like it or not. All I can do is embrace the new stages; the new memories. And hold my boy close, while I still can. One day, that sweet toddler of mine is going to be a man. But for now, he's still my little boy, and I don't want to miss a second of the time I've been given. 


Tuesday, April 19, 2022

How deep a Father's love

 


Here is a man who loves his children. Who serves and cares for his children with a selfless love: an unquenchable, unchanging love -no matter how his  children may act out or wrong him.


Last summer when we lost our (then) 2 year old, I was barely holding myself together by a thread. I kept thinking, "if anyone can find Frasier, it's Dan." Then, to watch the panic on Dan's face as he ran to a fro, searching and calling for our son; my heart shattered within me. Dan was usually so calm and logical, but here he was: freaking out and going through every worst case scenario. Later, as I snatched my son from his uncle's arms, I saw his father run up beside us. Through my own tears, I saw him drop to his knee with a look of utter relief and gratitude. I heard the deep sigh of relief as he saw that our son was safe.

  THIS is is the infinite love of a father. A love that drives a man to seek his child's well being and joy above all else. The kind of love that inspired a father to send His Son to the cross for His children.

  Imagine, if you will: God the Father has such a love for His children, that He bears the agonizing pain of separation as He sends His Son from Him. He is then forced to ignore the entreaties of His Son, as He inquires of a different route: one free of suffering. Knowing this path is the only one, the Father turns away, as the Son *willingly* goes to His death. Imagine the groan of utter pain and grief as He watches His Son endure the cross: a groan that darkened the sun and struck the earth with tremors. Then the roar of jubilation and relief when His Son rose that Easter morning, rattling the earth and shaking the graves open, as a Father rejoiced in His Son's return.

  This Father's love and ultimate sacrifice- that Son's willing death- was for YOU. You are the child that strayed; the child that was long sought after and grieved over. Today, the Father extends His love to you- reaching out with nail peirced hands to offer you hope: Will you hear His voice and accept His gift??