(IN)Courage

[Judy Harder]

Look Up
Mar 07, 2012 Ashley Larkin

I have a confession to make:

I harbor serious baseboard envy.

Perhaps it might be more accurately described as baseboard covetousness.

To be clear, I don't struggle that others possess better baseboards than my own. I do battle with the fact that they have baseboards at all.

I really want some.

I know it's not right.

Four years ago, on Easter weekend, we moved into our home—a 1904 fixer-upper in the very neighborhood in which we'd prayed for God's planting. A solid roof over our heads, floors that stand firm, doors that close against the wind and rain. Really, what do I have to complain about?

Over the last years, my husband and I, with young ones at our sides, have finished a basement, covered nearly every surface with fresh paint and our children's art, planted vegetable gardens, refinished stairs.

When I look up from mama scattering, piecing part of a task here with a half scrap there, I see this place is not what it once was. And I see life, joy. Such good.

Yet sometimes the lack of these baseboards, simple finishing pieces of wood defining line between wall and floor, undo me.

It's as if I believe their presence would speak completion, enough. So what do I think their absence represents?

Failure? Lack?

On occasion, when I'm particularly overwhelmed with the state of our current home, I look at photographs of our first house—a sweet little 50′s ranch. Charming and finished with its black and white checkerboard kitchen floors, tidy and colorful landscaping, sparkling picture window.

And its baseboards.

Ah, the baseboards.

But how quickly I forget. For in that house, just as in our present one, baseboards crow barred from walls to make way for hardwood floors splintered apart. And it took us three years to remodel the house and replace blanks on the walls with long pieces of wood we felt best fit the little home. Just in time for its fast sale.

On this day discouragement clings, and I shuffle slippered feet and look towards the floor and to stripes of old paint that hold the place for baseboards that should be. An unsightly view. Like a slip hanging from below a skirt, a comb forgotten in a bouffant. As if I don't know what a finished product should look like.

I pause and realize the desire to look right covers a deeper hunger to be right. Feel complete.

Then I hear words of call and blessed redirection: "Child, look up."

I do, reluctantly at first. From slippers to ceiling. It takes a while, but my frantic settles. Then it's as if arms begin a gradual breaststroke through blue and layer of cloud to the Holy One, The Perfecter and Finisher. Past my incomplete to His Fully Complete.

I stop inner grumbling. Stop comparing a false done to the true, good imperfect is. I rest in His adequacy. I hear Him.

Yes, you are undone, He says, and I am the One who finishes you.

These days, those ugly gaps are transformed.

I see them, but all is well in my soul. Once annoyances and triggers of not enough, now they remind me to look up.

Look up, past the undone and to the life, the beauty that surrounds me. Look up to my Perfecter, the Lifter of my Head. Look up to my God, who prepares for me an eternal Home.

To you He says the same: Look up, dear child. Look up.

By Ashley, at Draw Near



Waking Up From Someone Else's Dream
Mar 07, 2012 Angela Nazworth




Big Dreams. Big is relative, but we all dream. Many of those dreams may be seeded in reality or at least in the realms of human possibility ... but we all have aspirations blended with a dose of whimsy.

I'm a dreamer. I keep mental lists of dream vacations; top 20 places to visit before I'm 50; family activities; career goals, mission activities, etc. Sadly, many of the dreams and wishes I've claimed as my own, really aren't mine at all. I named those dreams ... talked about them excitedly, and placed each one on an invisible line of dots connecting to my future. I lived like those dreams were mine, but they belonged to the girl I wanted to be, or at least the girl I thought I should become.


Somewhere along the timeline of my life – and I cannot pinpoint the exact day it happened or why it happened – I deemed myself undesirable. I knew that God loved me and that Jesus died for me, but never grasped the entire beauty that resides in that truth. Instead, I viewed myself as someone that God had to love ... and someone whom most humans would never want to get close enough to know, let alone love. And with that warped world view, I began my quest to be wanted. I began changing everything about myself ... starting with my dreams.

Since I thought myself drossy, many of my interests became guilty by association. It is not uncommon for teenage girls to want to look and act like everyone else, so at first, my confused sense of self identity was normal for someone of my age. Yet, my desire to be anyone but me grew and aged with my body and morphed into perfectionism. Knowing that no one was perfect, but thinking that everyone else was superior to me, I began to take parts of others to create the "perfect me."

My friend Casandra is a champion cleaner. Her base boards shine and counter tops glisten. Even the doorknobs on her closet doors sparkle. I added this trait to my repertoire, along with my friend Melinda's impeccable sense of style, and my friend Molly's up-beat demeanor and zeal for multitasking. I could list at least twenty-five friends and acquaintances from whom I've stolen parts of their identity and weaved them into my own.

And I didn't stop at personality traits. I added their dreams and goals to my lists as well. In fact, the sheer notion of me making a dream list to begin with was something my friend Doreen did. When she mentioned her desire to Jet Ski through the Everglades before moving from Florida, I added that to my new list. Why not? It sounds like fun, right? Actually, it does not sound like fun to me. I am terrified of alligators and have no desire to soar into their territory. It doesn't matter that the loud engine would probably scare them away...it only takes one hungry, insubordinate gator to take the bait. Yet for years, and I mean twelve long years, I honest-to-goodness thought that I would enjoy jet skiing in alligator infested waters.

While I think there is no harm in being influenced by Godly friends and acquiring positive traits and ideas, disregarding my talents, dreams, and desires was not only befuddling, it was sin. I was disobeying the voice of God and trying to recreate what He already made.

God didn't create me to imitate His other creations. He created me to serve Him with the specific qualities he gifted to me. And knowing this doesn't make me prideful or hoity-toity, it humbles me. It's OK that I don't want to teach preschool, ride a mule down the Grand Canyon, or deep sea dive.

God also did not create me to be perfect this side of heaven. If assigned mass and tied to a string, my character flaws, quirky habits, and sins would circle the planet at least once. But God did create me for a purpose, and I will never discover or live up to that purpose if keep exchanging my character traits for those of another. It's simply unacceptable for me to hide who I am and yearn to be who I am not.

I still struggle with who I am, but each day I try to take every ounce of my flesh, every molecule of my soul, every pound of baggage, and each and every one of my dreams and I am lay them down – without shame – at the throne of the Holy of Holies. For with His masterful hands, He will use all I am and all I can become for His glory. And that is my dream.



"But that's no life for you. You learned Christ! My assumption is that you have paid careful attention to him, been well instructed in the truth precisely as we have it in Jesus. Since, then, we do not have the excuse of ignorance, everything—and I do mean everything—connected with that old way of life has to go. It's rotten through and through. Get rid of it! And then take on an entirely new way of life—a God-fashioned life, a life renewed from the inside and working itself into your conduct as God accurately reproduces his character in you. What this adds up to, then, is this: no more lies, no more pretense. Tell your neighbor the truth. In Christ's body we're all connected to each other, after all. When you lie to others, you end up lying to yourself."

Ephesians 4:17-25 (The Message)

Read more thoughts by Angela Nazworth at WombWoven.


Simply Amazing
Mar 06, 2012 01:12 pm | Mary Carver




A couple weeks ago, I worked on a project with a new friend. My responsibilities weren't as simple as I thought they'd be, and I found myself wondering if I was the right person for the job. I felt uncertain and nervous, anxious to prove myself and do a good job but unsure exactly how to make that happen. Midway through the project, I talked with my friend briefly and she said, "You. Are. Awesome! You're doing great work! Keep it up! Thank you so much!"

She couldn't have been more encouraging, and I was so thankful. Her faith in me gave me the boost I needed to keep plugging along and finish the difficult project well. What's more is that her appreciation and kind words helped me later frame the entire experience as a good one, rather than finish feeling defeated and disappointed.

Don't laugh, but I even saved the text message my friend sent me. It read, "You? Are Amazing," and when my phone informed me that my inbox was overflowing, I couldn't bring myself to get rid of that little love note.

We could all use a little more encouragement in our lives, couldn't we?

If you've ever met me, you won't be surprised to learn that I was quite a dramatic teenager. I can still hear my mom's voice from those tumultuous years, saying, "Life's not fair, baby," and "The world does not revolve around you." Though I'm not [quite] as emotional and selfish as I was back then, my ears still ring with those statements that, as I've gotten older, have proven to be so true. This world is not on my side, and sometimes it's just downright unfair.

So it's easy enough to find disheartening messages. Look around or listen for just a minute, and you'll see and hear criticisms and comparisons that leave us discouraged and feeling less-than and not-as-good-as. That's why it's so important to surround ourselves with messages of hope and love and plain old encouragement.

Holley Gerth's new book, You're Already Amazing and coordinating product line, offers that kind of encouragement. In the sweet voice of a friend who knows you – and loves you – well, Holley helps you understand and embrace the truth that as a woman, you do not need to do more, be more, and have more – because you are already amazing just the way God created you to be.

After reading those words, I felt like I needed to read them over and over again, just to remind myself of these beautiful truths I so easily forget. Just like pulling out my phone and reading that text message again, surrounding myself with the words and images from the You're Already Amazing line is good for my heart.

Surely I'm not the only one who forgets how amazing she is, right? Do you need to be reminded that you, too, are truly and simply amazing – so amazing that God loves you just the way you are, right here, right now?

Let me remind you: You are already amazing. You are wonderfully made. You are perfectly loved.

Do you surround yourself with encouraging words? What helps you remember that you are already amazing?



PS– Did you see that You're Already Amazing is the the next Bloom study pick! Tune in here for details!

[Judy Harder]

Beauty In Waiting
Mar 08, 2012 Jennifer




As winter comes to an end, I think about the bulbs we put into the earth months ago. Holes dug, bulbs lovingly placed, covered with soil. Put to rest until spring. If we plant them at any other time, they would not grow. There would be no blooms.  They need all that time in the ground, in the dark. Resting. Waiting.

But only for a time.

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens... Ecclesiastes 3:1

At times I feel that twinge of impatience about something, but I try to remember there is a time for everything. Practice patience.

Sometimes I begin to feel overwhelmed, but I remind myself that this is just a busy time, a busy season. It will pass.

At times I focus on concerns about this and that. Questioning and wondering, but I remind myself I do not need to worry. He knows.



Soon there will be blooms. The time will come for these little bulbs to burst out of the soil and shine. God reminds me that there is a time for everything. This is His answer to my concerns and impatience and questioning.

He has made everything beautiful in its time. Ecclesiastes 3:11

There is beauty in the waiting. Like those bulbs waiting patiently until it is their time to shine. He is working in me... in ways I can not see or fully understand. In the quiet and dark times, things are happening. Growing is happening. Changes are happening. Even if we do not see them.

In time, at the right time, in His time, we will see. This gives me comfort and so much hope! I do not have to see to know. I do not have to seek immediate gratification because things are coming.

In His time for me, I will see.



He has a time for us. Perfect timing. We just need to wait and trust. He will bring us what is best for us in its time. With this hope, I have no reason to hurry. I can take time for the life moments that are all important. The little moments that can be rushed by all too easily. With this hope, I understand. Whether it be a season of waiting or a season of blooming, He makes it all beautiful.

I feel I am in a season of waiting and that is ok. I trust there is a reason. Do you find yourself in a time of waiting or time of blooming? With His help, are you finding the patience in your season?

By Jennifer, StudioJRU

[Judy Harder]

Let Him Dream for You

Mar 09, 2012 Stephanie Bryant

There is a big difference between doing something for God and working with Him.

He plants a dream, an idea, inspiration, in each us. When we're young, or today, that is His size. {Why wouldn't it be, since it's from Him?}

And that's the key.

A God-sized dream isn't our idea. It can't be. It would be man-made sized and not big enough to hold the very thing that we want to give Him, that He's created us for – glory.

Once it's planted and is recognized as such, a God-sized dream can't be accomplished by us. It's impossible without God showing up in His timing and perfect power, sometimes with eleventh hour timing.

These dreams that are God-sized, they are the only kind to think about. Remembering. . .

Sometimes it takes years to deliberate.

Sometimes it looks very different than anyone else's.

Sometimes it transforms as we grow, in body and spirit.

Sometimes it's not what or how we planned {or really want for ourselves.}

Sometimes it takes considering how He really sees us before we can even begin to connect our heart with His imagination.

Haven't we all created plans that seemed to the world they could be from the Creator? Haven't we wanted to solve the issues of our day, but were only frustrated by lack of 'I have a good plan for you' power? Haven't we tried to serve God by our good works that weren't ours' to do?

When we realize God's thoughts are not our thoughts. {He tells us that.} His ways aren't our ways. {We like it fast and big. Or maybe really slow. . .in the end, not at all.}When we understand He doesn't need our service, only our love.

That God's creativity and imagination are beyond our universe, but free flowing for us. His voice requires lean-in listening, soft and delicate most occasions. {And can at moments be confused with our own voice that says we're crazy for thinking that.}

We can only then begin to believe He has a role, a God-sized dream expressed, for us to fulfill. That role can be a part of the body that may be covered, not recognized, small or a I-never-asked-for-this-center-stage role.

Either way it's not our idea. It's not our dream. It's His through us.

It's truly God-sized, God-breathed, God-thought-of, only waiting to fill a willing vessel.

He dreamt of you. Planned for you.

Will you let Him dream for you?



Uncomfortable

Mar 09, 2012  Kelli


I walk along, the path lit only by the sliver of moonlight and a few streetlamps along the way. It's quiet, peaceful, serene. I look up through the swaying palm fronds to see a sky bursting with flickering lights. It takes my breath away and I stop and whisper to everything and no one.

"Who am I, that You are mindful of me?"

Lowering my gaze, I look out over the pond. Lights from nearby houses dance off the water to the rhythm of the bull frogs. Everything is so terribly perfect and yet here I stand...uncomfortable.



I've been uncomfortable for awhile now. Uncomfortable with where I am and what I'm doing. Uncomfortable with life and my surroundings. I've just had an overwhelming sense of isolation, despite the fact that I'm surrounded by people. And you know what?

This is exactly where He wants me.

Six months ago, our little family packed up and moved away from everything and everyone we knew and loved. We left comfort and, like a flock of birds, we migrated South. And life became uncomfortable. My husband began a knew job in a new territory. I began homeschooling our children for the first time in an area where I had no contacts. I don't know what I'm doing and I'm constantly questioning and doubting. I'm uncomfortable.

We've tried countless churches and one after another just hasn't felt right. We miss being known – that feeling of walking into a place and knowing that you don't have to smile if you don't feel like smiling.

We're uncomfortable.

Even together, my husband and I have had to learn all over again what it means to work for marriage. We had been so comfortable before. Our routine was so packed with all the things that made us tick and move that life was easy.

Now it's not. It's uncomfortable. Despite the palm trees and the nearby beach (which is ten shades of awesome, by the way), we still feel lost and a little alone. We still look at one another and wonder...will it always feel this way?

Even God Himself seems a little more silent. As I walk, the warm winter air blowing over me, I try to lay these thoughts and feelings and burdens down, but I'm distracted. The dog starts barking at a mystery animal in the brush (which growls back, by the way...what the heck IS that?!), a frog leaps out in front of me on the path causing me to jump and yelp, laughter floats across the pond from a nearby house and I wonder what's happening that resulted in such a delightful reaction.

All these things work together to distract me. I can't pray. I'm uncomfortable talking about my discomfort. Even with my God.

But I'm also hopeful and watchful – more so than I have ever been. I look closely at His Creation in a way that I haven't in a long time. I listen for His voice more closely than I have in many years. I wait for Him, for the soothing balm to my aching soul.

I long to find comfort in His arms. I am seeking Him where not so long ago, I merely gave Him a passing glance. He took me away from everything that made me comfortable – everything that made me feel whole – and He has placed me in a place where I feel vulnerable and unsure of myself.

I don't understand. I'm uncomfortable. And yet the only thing I can think to say, over and over, is Who am I, that You are mindful of me?

Who am I?

Comfort awaits, I know that it does. I won't always feel out of place, unsure and uncomfortable. But for now, as I dwell in the place where He has set me, I simply listen to the majesty of His creation and marvel at the glory of His name. Somewhere, amidst all the listening and waiting, Comfort whispers softly.

[Judy Harder]

Give God Your Art

Mar 10, 2012 Dawn Camp

Most children love to color, draw, paint, create. Mine do. I did. Somewhere along the way, however, I not only ceased to believe that I was capable of creating art, but that it would even be worthy of display or notice if I did.

I'm logical and analytical by nature, skills that served me well enough in school—and life—for a time. I could solve a problem; compose an essay; or ace a test like nobody's business. I began college at an Ivy League school; put my faith in my brain and intellect; and didn't pay much attention to art beyond what could be found in a book or museum.

Then a funny thing happened about six years ago: I wanted my crayons back.

I yearned to write again. Not essays that tested my ability to analyze literature or history, but stories, memories: my family's history. Then I started designing blogs and fell in love with Photoshop. Blog design provided the money to buy my first DSLR and I. was. hooked. This ability to capture a moment and then brush and crop and edit it to reveal life the way I see it: that's heady stuff for a girl whose artistic creativity lay dormant for so many years.

Last year I made a conscious decision to give God my blog. Basically, I asked Him to show me how to use it to better serve Him. I wrote a 31 Days series that combined scripture and photography, and overall produced more faith-based content than in my other five years of blogging put together.

This year I vowed to give God my art. Obviously I've always looked to Him for inspiration—I ask Him to guide my eye and my hand and protect my equipment—but this is a deeper, more reverent desire and its impact has been powerful, a creative high.

I'm working through fear of failure and pursuing dreams: creating, printing, opening my own shop.

Your art probably looks different than mine. It might be produced with a skillet; a hammer; paint and canvas; a musical instrument; or a keyboard. One of my best friends sautés and simmers art in the kitchen. Another designs jewelry, and forms and decorates grand cakes. Another is a masterful planner and organizer and has developed skills that enable her to help children with speech problems.

I believe God gives us an inner desire to compose, conceive, or construct in some way.

Lay your art upon His alter and see if it's returned to you, multiplied.

How do you create (or are you like me, allowing your art to lie dormant)? Do you have a passion you're ready to pursue or a story of how God's blessed your creativity?

[Judy Harder]

A Sunday Scripture: Road to Easter


Jesus Predicts His Death
He then began to teach them that the Son of Man must suffer many things and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests and the teachers of the law, and that he must be killed and after three days rise again. He spoke plainly about this, and Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him.

But when Jesus turned and looked at his disciples, he rebuked Peter. "Get behind me, Satan!" he said. "You do not have in mind the concerns of God, but merely human concerns."

The Way of the Cross
Then he called the crowd to him along with his disciples and said:
"Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me and for the gospel will save it.


What good is it for someone to gain the whole world, yet forfeit their soul? Or what can anyone give in exchange for their soul?


If anyone is ashamed of me and my words in this adulterous and sinful generation, the Son of Man will be ashamed of them when he comes in his Father's glory with the holy angels."
Mark 8:31-38

[Judy Harder]

You're Already Amazing {Good Reads Giveaway x10!}
Mar 12, 2012 incourage


Oh, how we are looking forward to walking through each chapter of You're Already Amazing with our very own Holley Gerth!

With this heart-to-heart message, Holley invites you to embrace one very important truth– that you truly are already amazing. Like a trusted friend, Holley gently shows you how to forget the lies and expectations the world feeds you and instead believe that God loves you and has bigger plans for your life than you've even imagined.

So grab your copy of You're Already Amazing, find someplace comfy, and join us the next few weeks as we study chapter by chapter with Jessica, Angie, and Holley.

Holley will be joining us next week, with the full chapter studies starting on Monday, March 26th. You can view the full schedule here.

We'd also love for you to consider purchasing a sponsor book for someone who would like to join in on the study but can't afford the book. We've heard countless stories of how YOU have blessed others by purchasing a sponsor book. We have MANY people requesting a copy, and not enough  sponsored books have been purchased. You can buy a sponsored copy for only $9–  purchase two books and get free shipping with code: BLOOMBOOK. Please read our FAQ page if you have questions on how the book is shipped, shipping costs, etc.

We're celebrating the beginning of the book study with a fun giveaway from a brand new line by DaySpring  inspired by the new book!


Isn't that tote just AH-mazing? You can win the whole collection just by leaving a comment below, sharing about one lovely lady who has made an amazing difference in your life. We'll pick TEN winners and announce them on Friday.

With love,

The Bloom (in)courage team

P.S. –  You can receive 25% off any regular priced item from the Heart to Heart with Holley collection all month long. Just use code: HOLLEYG25 at checkout!



Honey of Communion {Sunrise in the Trauma Ward}
Mar 12, 2012  Alyssa


"In the lion of trial we find the honey of communion." Charles Spurgeon {1834-1892}

"Pull the curtain back," I whispered.

Isabella, my daughter, uncurled her body from the vinyl foldout bed the hospital provided for overnight guests, stretching as she stepped toward the expansive picture window.

The view from my fifth-floor trauma ward window was stunning. We faced a faded indigo southern sky infused with a predawn glow pricked by black pine and maple tree silhouettes now paling into green.


photo-bella santos

Sunrise again.

The honeyed light cut through sleepy low clouds and touched the tips of nodding trees and quiet rooftops, like a mother brushing a stray curl from her child's forehead.

Even the busy hospital was quieted by early morning. It seemed we were in on a secret, as if we were invited to an invitation-only premier.

I pressed a button and raised the back of my bed, adjusted my pillows and waited.

I imagined the chatter of birds, awake long before the sun made its appearance. I imagined the distant turn of a car engine. I imagined the watery, green scent of dew-drenched grass.

I watched fire rise and change the world with a newfound gratitude and tried to breathe deep, slow breaths. The lung was healing.

This interval of sunrise eclipsed the pain from my injuries, a gift of grace savored silently.

"Do you want coffee?" Isabella asked, but her movements told me the question was rhetorical.

She pulled from her bag of whole bean coffee, a grinder; she began boiling water in a traveling teakettle. I broke from my reverie and turned to watch my girl—almost a woman—and the decade of ballet training revealed in her every movement. Unaware of my gaze, she seemed to me a dancer on a stage, performing this domestic task out of its homey context.

The coffee ground and released its perfume.  Steam swirled above a low rumbling boil.

My hospital room smelled like home and I swallowed tears.

I grasped for each second as it passed, but my hands held only mist that evaporates with the rising sun.

Isabella placed a mug of freshly pressed coffee, rich with cream, into my hands.


photo-bella santos

With my daughter at my side and the honeyed light of dawn set alight on our faces, we watched our future rise.

"I will turn the darkness into light before them and make the rough places smooth. These are the things I will do; I will not forsake them." Isaiah 42:16b-17

#

Friend, sometimes we find ourselves in the dark. Death looms, disease destroys, obligations overwhelm and fear threatens to flood our souls. But there is a light, the Very Light proclaimed to Israel long ago:

"Arise, shine, for your light has come, and the glory of the Lord rises upon you." (Isaiah 60:1)

Your light has come. Jesus, the Light of the World, came for all of us. As the glory of the Lord rises upon us, we only need to arise and reflect his light.

Arise. Sit up and take notice. Set your face to the dawn, take the cup given to you.

Partake of this honeyed communion, borne of this lion of trial...or loneliness...or loss.

Be saturated in the light of his glory and face this future, even this exceeding darkness, illumined by the truth of God's promise: He will turn your darkness into light and smooth your rough roads. These are the things he will do. He will not forsake you.

#

Share your story with us. What darkness are your facing? What promise has become your light? What is your honey?

I remember the first time I watched a full-fledged, 1980s, gratuitous horror movie.

It was "Nightmare on Elm Street," the one with the school bus and all the teenagers end up in hell or something. It was terrible. I'd been invited to a seventh grade slumber party at Jessica Monroe's house and as we all settled into our sleeping bags, one of the girls hit PLAY on the VHS player.

I'd never seen anything like it in my life.

My parents kept me sheltered from certain shows on TV and we had a rule that we weren't allowed to watch "anything with guns in it." And even though my sister and I had sneaked viewings of different scary stuff, this rattled me to my core.

By the time Freddie Kreuger had shed his razor nails for the last time, almost all of the girls had fallen asleep. Except me. I was awake, alone in a sea of slumbering 13 year olds in a strange house.

I'm not sure if I slept at all that night. I was absolutely terrified.

I hate scary. Whether it is a result of experiences like that or just how my personality is put together, I hate the element of fear and disgust that many Americans thrive on.

I am not a fan of haunted houses. I hate scary movies. So I have lived most of my life avoiding what would put fear into my heart.

This kind of fear went beyond skipping the October parties of my friends and bled over into my life choices. Many of my youthful decisions were made based on fear. I feel like I'm only learning NOW, in my adulthood how to do scary things, and how to, with steeled face, approach terrifying situations with courage.

I believe it can be very simple: leaning INTO the fear and leaning ON what you know to be true.

It isn't always simplistic in the midst of the scary, but the only way to get through something most of the time is, well, through it. Not around it or beneath it. Not above it or with deft side stepping moves. Through.

Leaning IN to fear means letting yourself do that thing that terrifies you. It's pulling off the band-aid, so to speak. Leaning into it means you breathe deeply, close your eyes, and rest in the fact that this is all out of your control. Leaning into fear is the choice to do something fear-inducing because it's good for you, you'll be a better person if you do, and it will give you courage for the next time.

Leaning ON what you know is true is as simple as it reads. The plane won't crash because few do. My children won't die because most children live to adulthood. I won't get attacked because crime has been down in the city. I won't be alone because at the end of it all, I'll still have Christ.

{Knowing that bad things DO happen, I'm addressing the irrational fears that control many of us, wake us up in the middle of the night and hijack our minds and hearts.}


Leaning on God and leaning on truth helps to bring the irrationality of fear back to the rational truth of Jesus. That He cares for YOU. That He loves YOU. And that He'll never leave YOU.

With that, with His perfect love, there is no fear.




Last month my husband and I traveled to Peru with Compassion International. I wasn't scared of leaving the country without my kids and I wasn't really scared of traveling. I wasn't fearful of dangerous situations or of the crazy drivers in the city of Lima. I was, however, fearful that seeing that kind of poverty would forever change me.

For months leading up to it I wondered at that and I was scared.

I decided that I must lean in to it and lean on what I knew to be true. As I leaned into that fear, I decided that I must go and as I went I would open my eyes and my heart to what God would teach me. I leaned on to the truths that I knew God had taught me thus far.

That His grace was sufficient.

That He would provide for each of us.

That even in change, He would walk me through.

I don't watch many scary movies these days but I've been trying to do the things that are scary in order that I may lean more heavily on Jesus.

by Sarah Markley who's heart is still in Peru,

who knows what it's like to be scared out of her mind

and who would love to see the cycle of poverty broken in Latin America.

Do you embrace the "scary?" How do you conquer fearful situations?

[Judy Harder]

My Amazing Friends

Mar 13, 2012  Mary Carver

A few weeks ago, I noticed that the two books I'm studying with two different small groups have way more in common than I had realized. You know what else? The women in those groups have way more in common that I'd realized, too.

Though the books are about two completely different topics, the themes are startlingly similar. And though the women in my small groups are from two separate churches, the hurts, struggles and experiences  shared during our discussions echo each other in uncanny ways.

In both cases the women in my groups struggle with insecurity and fight a never-good-enough mentality. I'm not really surprised at the parallel natures of these groups of friends, because this is my challenge, too. It doesn't take too much self analysis to figure out why I was attracted to both the studies and the women.

But what has struck me – and stuck with me – is that I'm not the only one fighting the demons of doubt. My friends are hurting, too.

No matter how many times, week after week, these women share their hearts and hurts with me, though, I'm surprised every time.

I can't believe she struggles with that, too!
Doesn't she know how incredible she is?
How can she doubt herself like that? She's awesome!
All this time, I thought I was the only one . . .

No, I'm not the only one who has a hard time remembering that I am loved and wonderfully made, just as I am. It turns out the amazing women in my life sometimes forget it, too.

Thinking about this universal struggle while reading Holley's book (You're Already Amazing: Embracing Who You Are, Becoming All God Created You to Be) and shopping the beautiful line of products that go with it – all this has made me want to run up to each of these incredible women, grab their arms and shout, "You are amazing! No, really! You ARE!"

You are wonderful, a beautiful creation from God!
You are enough, just as you are!
You don't need to do anything. I love who you ARE, not what you DO.
You. Are. Amazing!

I could list all the ways, all the tangible things that make each of the women in my small groups amazing. It would be a long, beautiful list. But the truth is – the truth that I need to remember myself – we are unique, amazing creations made and loved by God. No need to add "who does this" or "who always says that." We are amazing. The end.

Who do you know who needs to hear that she's already amazing?

If you are reviewing items from Holley's Collection OR You're Already Amazing in part of the Revell Blog Tour, link up your review below!

P.S. Stephanie wrote about this same thing on Holley's blog this week. If you've written about an amazing woman in your life, link up over there and share it with us here, too!
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When You Don't Feel Beautiful
Mar 13, 2012  Kristen Welch


I stood in the baby aisle at Target, overdue with my first child. Every inch swollen with expectancy. I read labels of diaper ointment and rubbed the foot kicking my side.



Someone stood beside me. I could feel her staring at my profile. I pointed my belly towards her and smiled. She leaned in and said the words like I took her breath away, "Oh, you're so beautiful."

I looked down at my too-tight shirt and tugged it over my child. I couldn't see my feet, but I knew the flesh pressed out of my sandals.

Me? I looked around the empty aisle.

I smiled shyly, smoothing my messy hair. How I longed to hear those words and not just because I was awkward and uncomfortable. I never felt like a beautiful girl. Cute, sometimes pretty, but never beautiful.

And then she tried to sell me Mary Kay.

My face flamed. I dropped the butt paste and turned, leaving my cart and my pride in the baby aisle.

I believed the stranger for a second and then it was back to self-loathing.

I continued to pass mirrors without looking and tried to disappear in a room full of pretty people.

It was years before I believed I was beautiful. It was years before I realized beauty had nothing to do with my complexion or eyebrow shape or latest fashion.

Ralph Waldo Emerson says beauty is an outward gift, but I believe true beauty on the outside begins when we love ourselves on the inside. It is perfected when we love others more than ourselves.

"Beauty is not in the face, beauty is a light in the heart." -Khalil Gibran

Beautiful isn't a feeling. It's His light in our hearts making us glow. When I started taking care of the inside, loving myself, others more, that's when I started to feel beautiful.

I am getting older: my hair is turning gray, laugh lines (wrinkles) are evident and my once-firm body, isn't.

But then I remember:

"Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting; but a woman who fears the LORD is to be praised." Proverbs 31:3

I watch my 12 year old daughter. She is in the discovery stage. She fixes and primps and seeks out beauty in the mirror. I pull her close at night, we read, talk, I pour into her: Beauty on the outside isn't bad, but what are we doing to make the inside match?

I ran my fingers thru her hair the other night and ask: "Would you rather be gorgeous on the outside and just okay inside or stunning on the inside and okay on the outside?"

She said, "Can I be both?"


Source: etsy.com via Angie on Pinterest
I laughed and said yes. But I gave her a challenge. One I want to offer to you:

For every minute, hour you spend primping and beautifying the outside- your hair, clothes, body, etc. I want you spend that same amount of time on the inside.

I reminded her it's not just about doing good works: it's putting others first, serving, encouraging and forgiving. Inner beauty comes from accepting our weaknesses and offering them to God. Beauty is seen in being genuine and spending time with God. It's about who you are when no one is looking. It's about fearing God.

And now I'm talking to me.

Because odds are I will wake up tomorrow and catch a glimpse in the mirror and wonder if I'm beautiful.

My answer will have nothing to do with my appearance.

Written by Kristen Welch, We are THAT family

[Judy Harder]

I hoard shampoo.

Well, I did for a few months anyway.

It all started when, after eight years of marriage, my husband Ted and I found ourselves sharing a bathroom for the first time.

How did we go that long with his and hers? It boiled down to multiple bathrooms and young children who cared little about sink or drawer space.

The problem is, though, that not sharing for all those years brought with it mystery. I found myself often wondering, What would it be like to share? Would it bring us closer together?

With relocation, came my opportunity to find out. Little did I know it would lead me into a life of hoarding.

Something happened that my dreamy-eyed, new-bathroom-sharing self didn't anticipate. I begin to notice that my face wash – the natural scrub that I ration to make last as long as possible – started to disappear more quickly than usual. Was I really consuming that much all of a sudden?

Then it struck me. Ted was using my face wash – without asking!

For me, sharing in marriage didn't include my favorite face wash – at least not without permission first. I quickly confronted him on the issue. The result? Well, my complaints didn't gain me much. To this day, he still uses my face wash – just a bit more sparingly.

I admit, I walked away cynical. I started to wonder if anything was sacred in the bathroom. What was next? My toothbrush?

When I found my favorite brand of professional shampoo on sale, I stocked up. And then I ... well ...  hid the bottles under the bathroom sink behind a box. I'd slip my shampoo into the shower when I needed it and then I'd dry it off and hide it again once I was done.

The truth is I was afraid if I shared it, it would be gone quickly and I wouldn't have the funds to buy more.  Plus, Ted didn't care that much about the type of shampoo he used, did he?

A few weeks into my new habit, I realized that my hoarding reflected something deeper than I cared to admit. After two years characterized by loss — miscarriage, two lay-offs, multiple moves, and  a house that refused to sell — there was a part of me that feared God wouldn't take care of me. This fear had translated into my bathroom habits.

It was then that I was reminded of Psalm 34:8-9 where David wrote:

Oh, taste and see that the Lord is good! Blessed is the man who takes refuge in him! Oh, fear the Lord, you his saints, for those who fear him have no lack!

In my shampoo hoarding, I'd forgotten God's goodness. I'd failed to remember the ways He'd cared for me through difficulty. Sure, we'd experienced multiple losses in the last couple years, but God had sustained and provided for us time and time again.

We'd received money from strangers.

Friends and acquaintances brought us food.

Family members had cared for our house in our absence.

We'd been given clothes for our kids.

We weren't once without health insurance.

After each lay-off, it had only been a month or two before Ted found new work.

More times than I could count, we'd been the recipients of "no lack!"

While part of me misses the days of having my own bathroom, I've learned to co-exist in one with Ted. And, I no longer hoard shampoo. Instead, it sits, front and center, in our shower just begging him to use it.

By Ashleigh Slater



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Detour Ahead
Mar 14, 2012 01:10 am | Mary Carver




Last summer I drove several hours out of state for a funeral. I had my three-year-old daughter with me, so I was a bit restricted on just how early I could leave, but according to the directions I'd printed out from the internet, we had just enough time to drive 300 miles, stop for lunch and take one bathroom break.

Getting lost was not on the agenda.

About two-thirds of the way there, I realized my directions were leading us astray. Though Google Maps said I should have turned by now, the road to turn on was nowhere in sight. So, I kept driving.

Well, driving and mumbling, which led my inquisitive passenger to ask (repeatedly), "Mommy, are we lost? Are we there? What are you saying? Why are we going this way? Should we stop for directions?"

After I drove for several miles without seeing the road my directions told me to take, I finally gave up and turned around. I drove back into the nearest town, stopped at a Subway and asked the first person to make eye contact for help. She kindly informed me that we had, of course, been driving the right way and just needed to keep going.

I hurried my kiddo back into her car seat and got back on the highway. Eventually we came to a detour sign and took a two-lane paved road into the corn. We drove for what seemed like hours without seeing another sign. Every mile that passed raised my blood pressure a bit more, convincing me that a) we were certainly headed the wrong way and b) if my car broke down, nobody would ever find us.

We drove through the countryside, seeing nothing but corn and seemingly deserted farmhouses, for about 30 minutes. [No, it was not hours. But like I said, it really felt like it!] Then, thankfully, I saw a second detour sign. We turned onto another state road and . . . did the same thing all over again.

Again with the acres of corn with no detour sign in sight! Again with the uncertainty of knowing if we were truly headed in the right direction! Again with the never knowing if we'd ever arrive at our destination!

Of course we did arrive – with a good half hour to spare, even. But remembering that story got me thinking. That scary detour through the corn is a lot like life, isn't it?

Realizing that you've followed your directions only to end up in uncharted territory?
Looking around and not recognizing any landmarks, but feeling unsure if you should keep going or turn around?
Following one little detour sign down a frightening path, wishing for more confirmation or direction?
Finally spotting another sign, only to end up going down another scary road?
I've certainly found myself lost and trying to follow life's detours before. Quitting my can't-believe-they-pay-me-for-this job to go to graduate school, which I ended up hating, was one. Admitting I'm called to be a writer, even though I don't know what exactly I'm supposed to write about, is another.

Maybe your detour is a painfully long adoption process or the frustratingly slow baby steps to get out of debt. Maybe you're driving blind on the road to your master's degree or trying to figure out how to be content and confident as a stay-at-home mom.

I don't know what your detour is, but I know the One who drew the map – detours and all. "For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." (Jeremiah 29:11)

It's true. No matter how far off course we get or how deserted our road may seem, God knows where we're headed. He knows that we'll reach our destination – or, rather, His destination for us.

Are you following a detour right now? Have you ever wondered where God is leading you?

[Judy Harder]

The Importance of Being the Prodigal Parent

Ann Voskamp


I don't know who said you couldn't, but they were dead wrong.

You could be death wish over a toilet, a flagrant sinner over a credit card, a Pharisee over a pulpit, and it doesn't matter.

It doesn't matter a hill of beans.

And it's a hill I'd die on, because that's exactly why a Carpenter really did: whoever you are, wherever you've been, whatever you've done and whatever story you own — you can always come home again.




Waiting at the gate, looking for him, it's why I'm thinking about a bone marrow transplant –

so he knows the truth of that right in the center of his bones too.

I keep craning the neck every time that automatic door slides open, looking for those blue eyes of his behind ever swollen suitcase.

Watch the arriving flights blink up on the screen.

Heart ballooning joy when I see that the Indonesian flight via Seoul flight had landed and he's here. He's somewhere under this roo

It's like labor and delivery all over again and I just need a door to open up so I can behold his face.

Why hadn't someone told me that a mother's labor and delivery never ends and you never stop having to remember to breathe?

He should be at baggage claim by now. Did the father of the Prodigal son, did his neck strain like this?

What if a son comes home with no news that any father wants to know?

When he walks through that door, I don't care what I look like and, I've witnessed it — mothers can be hurricanes of happiness. I descend. Fling arms open wide and it catches him off guard; he flashes a grin, a grace, "Hey Mom."

How can just that one "Hey Mom" be so unexpectedly, exquisitely vulnerable?

How can you look up to your child and see right there, the same infant you swaddled close and how in the world can time have anything on the wisdom of mothers who refuse to let any circumstance cloud their memory of that first love?

And no, I don't get any snapshots of any of this; sometimes the best way to frame a holy moment is to simply live fully in it.

We talk at the same time. I ask him how the missionaries were, how his uncle and aunt running the quest house were, if he remembered to change his shirts.

He tells me that he had mudfest down at a river, worked with men wearing nothing but body paint and a dangling gourd, and he lost his boarding passes for one of the flights in Indonesia but they let him on board anyways.

He's grinning like his father, like he knows it now, that the worst mistakes can be just the beginning the best memories. I think he's at least an inch taller.

His nose is peeling from how many days in the sun. Why do kids keep molting into someone new?


All the way up the escalator, he tells me of teaching Bible stories to kids up near the tribe and I'm listening and I'm not and he stops.

"Mom?" he steadies his luggage on the steps. "What are you thinking, Mom?"

It's so good to hear his voice.I don't want him to stop talking. And I look at this boy taller than I am, browned with the sun of the world, and what I want to tell him is that I'm thinking of when he was two.

When his father would throw him high up and away, straight into the air, and he'd belly laugh, suspended in full space just for a moment, just above us. And I'd touch his father on the shoulder and say, "Be careful — just don't lose him."

"Look." His father would say, arms outstretched. "Look how I just have to open my arms. And he comes back to me." And he'd fall into his father's arms and together they'd laugh in the reunion and I can still hear them. "Just keep the arms open. He always returns."

I know there are no guarantees that anyone comes home again.

I know sometimes what messes our life up most — is the expectation of what our life is supposed to look like. Entitlement can leave you feeling entirely empty.

I know the He only means everything to reshape us and nothing to reduce us.

"Just..." I reach over to pick up his bag at the top of the escalator and I don't know how to say this or why it even matters because he's just come home from a mission's trip and his eyes are all lit and he can't stop smiling.

He's hardly the prodigal but I want to kill the fattened calf and celebrate the miracle of return and how do I make sure he always knows?

"Just — no matter what story you're carrying," We pause at the top of the stairs and I reach over and grab his arm, the closest thing I've got to a bone marrow transplant. "Know you can always, always, always come home."

Who, if you knew their whole story, wouldn't you love?

He nods and forget wondering if maybe someday, some son will be a prodigal. Forget wondering if someday some prodigal son will come home again.

Forget that.

Because I"m the Prodigal.

I've been the Wayward Prodigal Parent. Prodigal in the negative sense. The wasteful one. Irresponsible in my spending.

The Prodigal Parent who's extravagantly wasted too many gold moments, too much priceless time, too much of my spiritual inheritance on the blinking and the shiny and the fleeting. He takes his bag from my hand and I have no idea how his shoulders got so broad. We only inherit so much time.

How do you live so that when your kids think of the Grace of the Gospel, they think of you?

That's the crux of the thing: By being the Wholehearted Prodigal Parent. Prodigal in the positive sense. The lavish one. Extravagantly, sacrificially abundant in my giving.

The Prodigal Parent who extravagantly loves, recklessly spending on sacrifice. The Prodigal Parent who wastes time waiting up, listening for, praying long.

The Prodigal Parent who lives this lavish mercy, this opulent, offensive grace.

I look over at my boy come home. Why hadn't someone told me that parenting was less about avoiding prodigals but more about becoming a better Prodigal parent?

"Mom?" Our son's walks ahead of me towards the parking garage. "When we get home, I've got to tell you all this story about the blow gun and the rats."

I shake my head, chuckling. His father will laugh, I know this.

His son whose flown high up and away, falling back into his open arms.

That would be the last picture he would show us from his travels, the photo of the church there in Indonesia.

And I would trace my finger over it and our son, he'd flash that grin, and we'd laugh again.

That rainbow would arch over everything, all us fallen ones —

falling back into the arms of the Prodigal God
::

~ Ann Voskamp.... from one Prodigal to another

Related posts:

The first segment of this story: What a Parent Needs to Say to a Child Before They Leave

Second segment: When you're worried while they're gone: What to do in Hard Times




Q4U: How are you Prodigal?

How could you become a better Prodigal?

What's your Prodigal Parenting story?

Concerned about a Prodigal? How can we pray for a prodigal in your life today?




Email readers and RSS readers — Come join the conversation by clicking here?

{Twitter Party Tonight!

You can always come home to the Body, the community of sisters.

Will you join us for a party at Twitter tonight? For the launch of  our agenda for the (in)RL conference? Come hear about the whole amazing itinerary, of what is exactly happening and when and be part of the joy of Coming Home to Him and His daughters — right where you are! 10pm EST, Twitter, for all the details– come just as you  beautifully are!  We're tweeting under hashtag #inRL — and we're all just a bunch of prodigals — learning to be like our Prodigal God and extravagantly love and reach out in real life. We can't wait to meet you tonight!}

[Judy Harder]

Hope For Marriages

I visited my eight-year widowed grandmother this weekend. It still shocks me to see her without my grandfather by her side. They were a matched pair, a perfect set, now waiting for the beautiful day they will be reunited. And she limps along with a smile, but with the gait of one who is missing half of herself.

I came home to wave at my one-week widowed neighbor. The grief is still too new, too raw to process. For how do you even decide alone what to eat for breakfast when you've been making decisions together for sixty-four years?

And then yesterday I heard the tale I've listened to so many times, told with tears running down the face and exhaustion in the eyes. The details change a little depending on the teller, but the stories are all pretty much the same. How the marriage started well, but has slowly died and is heading to the place beyond hope of resurrection. How wounds have been inflicted and trust has been broken. How love was taken for granted and priorities were shifted. How they wish it could change, but just don't see how.

And I can't help seeing those two women while I listen. Two women who would give anything to be held once more by the man whose socks once littered their bedroom floor. The same two women who will tonight go to bed alone instead of beside the snore that kept them awake for countless hours. The two women who now have only themselves to cook dinner for.

What would those women say in this moment?

I think they would say it's worth it. Your marriage is worth it. It's worth fighting for. It's worth hurting for. It's worth sacrificing for. It's worth healing.

I think they would say that the best marriage you'll ever have is the one you have right now. I think they would tell you to seek God and not be afraid to change where He tells you to change. I think they would whisper in your ear that a lifetime spent with an imperfect person you have chosen to love is too sweet to throw away and that with Him, all things are possible.

And I think they would tell you not to waste time with unforgiveness, for time is precious, and when it's gone, it's gone.

I think then they would hold you close, bow their heads, and pray for you to have resurrected hope. And they would pray until you could say, "Amen...so be it."

***

We recognize that this kind of prayer is best applied in the context of a loving marriage. Where abuse or other broken elements are present, very different choices would likely be necessary.



Now I Know What Love Is
Mar 16, 2012 01:10 am | Heather Gemmen Wilson


When the UPS guy dropped a package off at my door, I rushed over, tore it open, and kissed the item inside. Ever done that?

Before I tell you what was inside, let me give you some back story. When the package arrived, I was getting ready to head out the door to visit my 16-year-old daughter who has been attending a boarding school for the past eight months.

It's hard to say that out loud.

It's even harder to admit it's a school for troubled teens.

I'm one of those moms who talks about her kids nonstop. I'm the kind of mom who has birthday parties and takes pictures (obsessively) and makes favorite dinners. I'm the parent who stays up way past my bedtime because that seems to be when teenagers want to talk. I love being a parent—and everything that comes with that job.

So how does that kind of mom decide to send her child away?

Let me just tell you that when my husband and I drove away from her school last summer, I cried so hard I thought my insides would come out. Truly. I didn't think my body would physically be able to handle all that weeping—and yet I couldn't stop. All weekend long I kept crying, hardly taking a breath. In part it was because I missed her already; but it was more than that. I wept because I was worried about her, because I didn't know if they could help her, because I didn't want her to have such a difficult life, I didn't want her be in these circumstances, I didn't want her to need help in such a profound way...

I sent her only because it was the only option I had left.

By the mighty power of the Holy Spirit, Rachael has begun the process of radical transformation (I see her nearly once a week, and the change is tangible); but my little baby girl still has scars (physical, emotional, and spiritual). Sometimes I can hardly bear to see her struggling with her self-worth—especially when I know what a powerful, beautiful, child of God she is.

So when I was getting ready to walk out the door, you can imagine the emotions battling within me.

And that's when the package arrived. And inside was a book written by someone I personally know to be godly, genuine, and wise. And the title of that book: You're Already Amazing. The very message I was hoping to share with my precious daughter—a work in progress, for sure, and yet already, by the grace of God, amazing. God sees the beauty in Rachael. He knows the great things she will do, even if she doesn't (yet).

Anyway, I couldn't wait to put this book in her hands—and to know she would share it with the other girls in her dorm who also need to hear this powerful message.

Thank you for obeying the Lord by sharing this message, Holley. Love you!

by Heather Gemmen Wilson