Posted in Christian, Depression, kids, longreads, miscarriage, pregnancy loss

The Highest and Lowest Day

This post is part one of an October pregnancy loss series.

“We can’t find the heartbeats, but that’s not uncommon. We’ll do an ultrasound and get them that way. Plus the first look at your babies.”

I was just excited as the doctor when she offered me a first look at the two sweet babies growing in my womb. They’d seen two sacs early on and my blood work numbers were off the chart; they told me there were two babies weeks before. I was equal parts scared and excited. 

Turning the corner into the second trimester had felt like a giant weight was lifted off me. I’d seen friends lose babies before and knew getting to the second trimester was a major milestone. One not to be taken for granted and one I thanked God for every night. I did it. I was in the clear. My first major responsibility as a mom and I had nailed it. 

I went to my check up that day alone, an ultrasound before 18-20 weeks hadn’t crossed my mind! The books I was absorbing every night didn’t say anything about ultrasounds earlier and I was over the moon to think I could see my little babies sooner than I ever imagined. I knew they’d look like little dough ball people, but they’d be my little dough balls and that was all I cared about. 

The next 30 minutes are still a blur in my mind, more than 15 years later. The dim room, the crinkly table, my paper gown, and the cool gooey gel started me on my happy adventure. The stark silence, the slight squint of the eyes, moving the screen from my view, then the tech leaving to get my doctor ushered me into a journey of loss unlike any I had been on before. 

I heard words like empty, nothing, lost, and gone mixed in with medical words. They asked if I could call someone for a ride. If I needed to go to work. If there was anything they could to help me then. I think I shook my head. I know I cried and slowly pulled on the maternity pants I had already needed once I was alone in the cozy ultrasound room. I walked into the room pregnant and loving my babies, I would be walking out broken and alone. Finding the courage to open that door and leave my hopes for them behind was hard. 

I went to my car, I called my husband to tell him what happened then I called work. I did not have an ounce of tact or decorum left when I spoke to my boss. 

“My babies are dead. I am not coming back to work today, I am not coming in tomorrow. I do not want to talk about it ever. Please tell everyone so I do not have to talk about it. I will be back Monday. I do not want to talk about it.”

I hung up, I drove home, I crawled into bed, and I cried until every inch of my body ached just as badly as my empty womb and heart did. 

When the doctor “catches” a miscarriage before your body does, you’re left with a terrible choice. You can walk around and wait for your body to start the painful process of expelling your sweet baby or you can go to the doctor for a D&C procedure to remove everything and start healing your body. Make no mistake, it is the same painful awful procedure as an abortion but they call is something kinder when you’re at lowest. I’m not sure why they change the name. 

I chose the D&C. Early the next morning, without eating anything, I crawled out of bed and called the doctor’s office right at 8am like I’d been told to do. They gave me a long list of things to do and don’t do before my assigned time to report to the hospital for the procedure. I walked through the house in a zombie-like state gathering comfy clothes, maxi pads, and doing a few chores I likely wouldn’t have energy for later in the day. Then we headed to the hospital. 

I recall nothing of arriving or going into the room. I do recall waking up next to my doctor in the recovery room. Visitors were not allowed back there, but doctors were. She sat by side so I wouldn’t wake up alone and empty in a strange place. Her kind blue eyes and the warm laugh lines on her face were the first thing I saw.

Immediately, I broke into the biggest, ugliest, most incoherent tears of my life. She leaned in and held me and let me cry. Everything hurt. My body was sore and I could feel it bleeding. I was woozy and dizzy coming out of the anesthesia and feeling ready to puke from the meds in my system. Nothing felt good or pleasant in that moment. From the very bottom of my soul to every corner of my body I hurt. 

My doctor remembering I was a grieving mother in a lot of pain meant the world to me. Her kindness and love got me through the few hours of recovery before I headed home for a miserable weekend of recovery.

I thought I left the hard part of the trauma at the hospital but I was wrong. 

Posted in Christian, God, longreads, love

I’m Not a Real Christian

I’m not a real Christian according to some.

Some people tell me because I believe in Science along with God, I’m not a real Christian. I believe in the Science that masks, washing hands, washing surfaces, and limiting close contact with people will keep us healthy. I believe that even a 2% death rate is too much. I believe the world can reopen if everyone would follow that plan but since so many people are too selfish to follow the rules, we have no choice but to be closed. I believe if masks were not healthy, surgeons, fencers, and dentists would have been dying in droves long before this started. 

I believe the people in our world are too selfish to look beyond themselves to do anything slightly inconvenient. That’s the real plague hitting our world. I also believe until people start doing things to help people, this will be here until we start coming back loving each other how God wanted in the same way the Plagues in Exodus just kept coming until the Pharaoh finally did the right thing.

Some say I’m not a real Christian because I am pro-choice. Even though John 6-8 from The Message reminds us: “The sinless one among you, go first: Throw the stone”. For my body, I am pro-life. I wish everyone would be pro-life, but I also understand some people are in terrible situations where that just may not be possible. For those people, I love them and support them making the most difficult choice ever.

I am not without sin, I will not judge them for theirs. Instead, I will love them and fight to protect them from the unfair stones coming their way. I also do not understand how the people from the previous paragraph can be ok with 2% of sick people of dying but still yell all lives matter and pro-life is in the only way. Sounds more “Pro-birth” than Pro-life to me. Especially when we treat the poor, oppressed, foreign-born people so horribly.

Some say I am wrong for believing immigrants, refugees, and asylum seekers deserve to be welcomed. With a hot meal, a warm bed, and a chance to live a life away from the dangerous parts they came from just as the book of Matthew instructs. These are families who have taken their babies through war zones to protect them and give them a good life. They are not a threat to our lives. They are brothers and sisters seeking a better life. 

Many of them are the same people so many vacation mission trips swear they love and want to help so badly. If you can love them when you get to work in the Dominican, Puerto Rico, Cuba, and Mexico when you get to visit and work in paradise – why can’t you love them the same when they come here? Is it really about the mission then? Or boosting your ego on social media while getting a tan and visiting paradise? I believe we should love people and help them everywhere. Especially when they are on our own doorsteps. It’s literally what Revelation 3:14-20 was written for.

Some say I’m not a real Christian believe I believe love is love. Love is for everyone. Honestly, I think we got Leviticus 18:22 all wrong. The flawed human who interpreted those words then wrote it down clearly misunderstood something. I do not believe our God, so full of love, would ever say true love is wrong. He would not promote hate. He would certainly not teach us to judge, shun, and treat people unjustly over their love. I believe God Himself felt so seriously about it, He sent his son down to clear it all up for us with actual words from His own mouth in John 13:34-35: “A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.” This isn’t rocket science. Its a new commandment, one that covers the whole Bible and the whole world forever. Love everyone as Jesus loves you. 

You sin, I sin, we all sin yet God and Jesus love us. That’s how He tells us to conduct ourselves and the only way people will know we are His disciples. By loving people how we are loved. Full of grace and forgiveness. During hard times, happy times, scary times, sad times – all of the times! I searched those verses in multiple Bibles looking for the * pointing out it applied to everyone except gay people, and guess what? It wasn’t there. Not in NIV, KJV, The Message, NLT, ESV, NKJV, or anywhere. They all say it clear as day. 

Love everyone as Jesus loves you. THAT is how the world knows you’re a Chrisitian. That is what I’m trying to do. 

I don’t worry about anyone who thinks giving love and demanding justice for all the people of the world makes me less of a Christian. Their judgement doesn’t matter to me nor should it matter to you. It’s hard some days when you feel like you’re in the minority and surrounded by hate, but you’re doing exactly what we were all asked to before Jesus left. 

Jesus says that makes us all real Christians. Some people may say I’m not a real Christian but I’m not living my life to appeal to their judgemental hearts. I am living my life to love and help those around me. Just like my Bible tells me to.

And that’s all that matters.

Posted in black lives matter, Christian, love

Protect the poor and oppressed

“How can you be ok with protests for black lives during this virus when you were not ok with protests against the government during the virus?”

A completely fair and valid question I was asked. Something I have asked myself many times over the last few weeks. Am I being hypocritical by shaming one but attending the other? Am I picking and choosing when I want to fear the virus based on what is convenient or most comfortable to me? I don’t know. Maybe. I’m a flawed human, afterall, but it really boils down to Psalm 82:3 for me:

“Defend the weak and the fatherless; uphold the cause of the poor and oppressed.” 

Why do I not agree with protests against COVID-19 safety measures? Because they are there to keep the weak among us safe. Anyone with a compromised system deserves to be taken care of. They matter to their families and that’s all I need to hear for them to matter to me.We have been asked to love each other and take care of those who need it; I have an issue with people who don’t care for each other. Taking care of others is not oppression, it’s an honor I take seriously. Exactly how I would want people taking care of me to do.

I’m going to pause here for a moment to address the word oppressed: the people protesting COVID safety measures are not oppressed. You are not. Being asked to put a layer of cotton over your face and to stay home for a couple of months to save thousands of lives is not oppression. Oppression is not canceling a vacation, missing a haircut, planting flowers later than you would like, not being able to golf, or only getting take out food. Those are all privileges. Complaining about those being temporarily paused to save thousands of lives is disgusting. 

Oppression doesn’t tell you from the start there is an end date. Oppression doesn’t have an end date until generations have suffered and finally speak up. The most commonly used definition of oppression is to “keep (someone) in subservience and hardship, especially by the unjust exercise of authority.” Did the government arrest you for your peaceful protests (I’m not addressing the assault rifles many brought either)? Did the government arrest you for not wearing a mask? Were you stopped and harassed by police for not wearing a mask? Heck. They sent us all money. Oppressed people don’t get checks in the mail from their oppressors.

Parts of this order absolutely frustrated me. I had to reschedule a vacation twice, cancel one trip, and take on homeschooling (which I never wanted to do). I’ve got a solid 4 inches of gray sitting on top of my head, I miss the salon fiercely. I understand wanting this done. However, if me having some crazy hair for a few months can help stop the spread of a virus that kills thousands, I will choose ugly hair every time. 


People said “it only kills old people and people with weakened immune systems, so make them stay home.” That is oppression. You’re picking out someone for reasons beyond their control and limiting their freedoms. They are second class citizens in that narrative to better accommodate you. Not to mention, how does someone look at themselves in the mirror knowing they were ok with everyone’s grandma’s dying as long as they could get a haircut. I have yet to find any way to slightly understand that viewpoint. 

Then, comes “all lives matter”. What? You just said that old people and people with weak immune systems don’t matter. You refused to wear masks to protect babies and small children (who cannot wear masks) because it was annoying. You literally just laid out all sorts of lives that do not matter, then three weeks later when the actually oppressed people start speaking up the narrative changes?

I could respect “all lives matter”, but never agree with it, if the position stayed constant. If the words were clear. Just way what it means: lives like yours matter. Not dark skinned people lives or old people lives or sick people lives (they said it – not me). We already know refugee lives don’t matter and children of immigrants really don’t matter. 

Yes, I went to a protest during the stay at home order. I am not sorry or hypocritical. I happy to see most people wearing masks. Most people stayed apart as best they could too. I went because numbers in my area were down for Covid, some businesses had already opened (I know, not your stupid haircuts), and these were lives at stake that matter also. 

I wore a mask to protect those at risk from the virus and used my voice to try to protect good people from being unfairly treated by people in power. 

I love the police. Their job is hard. Which is why the BAD COPS NEED TO GO. 
I love all people. Life is hard. Which is why the BAD PEOPLE NEED TO GO.
I love peaceful protests. America is beautiful. LOOTERS AND RIOTERS NEED TO GO.
I love protests I don’t support. PROTESTS THAT PUT PEOPLE AT RISK NEED TO GO.
I love people. ACTUAL OPPRESSION AND DISCRIMINATION NEED TO GO.
I love Jesus. Jesus loves people. I love people I don’t agree with. HATE NEEDS TO GO.

I could go on but I don’t see the need. I will do whatever I can to protect people, promote peace, spread justice, and practice love like Jesus did. 

Posted in Christian, God, longreads, prayer, Uncategorized, wtf

Bad Apples

That escalated quickly.”

Did it really though? I’m not sure quickly is the right word for this sentence. Perhaps finally is a better way to describe the events of the last week.

I say finally because hate, anger, fear, and violence are not new. The struggle for minorities but especially black Americans is not new. It’s never gone away and has been brewing in our nation for years, occasionally rearing it’s head before the outrage quietly subsides again.

We shouldn’t be surprised this happened. We should be embarrassed.

We should be embarrassed we allowed our fellow man to be treated this poorly. We should be ashamed of how we have labeled every officer as racist. We should be outraged that conversation in cooler hands are being ignored. We should be heart broken that people with bad intentions are taking attention off fixing a problem through their riots and looting.

This isn’t a cut-and-dry matter. There are more honest, loving, frustrated, good protesters marching for equal treatment for everyone then there are destructive looters.

There are more honest, kind, helpful, brave, good police officers then there are bad, racist, hateful ones.

Bad Apples

My grandma used to always say “one bed apple ruins the bunch” and I don’t think I have ever agreed with that statement more than I have in the last week. Instead of blacks against cops and citizens against government, we should be fighting this battle as love versus hate. All sides need to come together to a dress and weed out the hateful members of their groups.

We are letting the bad apples from all sides cloud the space for conversation and change. The bad apples are polarizing our sides and creating division. The bad apples are working together to stop our progress and hurt all sides.

The Bad Apples Need to Go.

Anti-racist people need to call out those who are causing destruction in violence during what should be peaceful protests. Nothing can be positively changed coming from a place of violence.

Bad cops need to go. Their brothers in blue need to stop protecting them with their code of silence. That’s where the real change starts.

You know how much I love Uncle Sol and all the great advice he left us in the book of Proverbs. So, Like so many other times, I turned to him this week and I found great advice in chapter 6 verses 16 through 19″

“There are six things that the Lord hates, seven that are an abomination to him: haughty eyes, a lying tongue, and hands that shed innocent blood, a heart that devices wicked plans, feet that make haste to run to evil, a false witness who breathes out lies, and one who sows discord among brothers”

His words, not mine, but exactly what we should be focusing on now. Speaking the truth and doing it peacefully. Calling out those doing evil and addressing these problems with love. Not getting sucked into destruction and arguments or covering up to protect those we love who may be doing things we hate.

No one should protect anyone who is spreading discord among the people.

Do Better.

I’m praying for black America and for blue America. I’m praying for the good apples to resist the bad and keep the bunch good. We’re better than this America. We have to be.

Posted in Christian, longreads

I can breathe. They cannot. – Hate has no place here.

I CAN breathe. 

I can have my breath taken away by a breathtaking view while the warm sun breathes down my neck as I wait for a celebratory bottle of wine to breathe next to me before I breathe a sigh of relief as it all breathes new life into me. 

I can do all the sayings. 

I can do all the breathing things. 

I can breathe freely. 

A basic bodily function necessary for giving life, continues to be a struggle for others. All because they’re trying to breathe while having dark skin. 

They have to hold their breath walking through neighborhoods where others might feel they don’t belong. 

They whisper reminders to themselves under their breath to be calm and be cool during a simple traffic stop over a burned out blinker. 

They do not breathe a word when confronted for no reason, attempting to diffuse the situation and quietly move on with their day. 

They keep breathing their last breath under the heavy knees and bullets of people who hate for no reason.

They may not have breath anymore, but their names and stories should be reminders of why we need to use our breath to demand changes. 

Use your breath to SAY THEIR NAMES:

They can’t breathe. Many more like them can’t breathe. Even more will not be able to breathe some day if we don’t use our breathe and voices to stop the spread of hate. 

Maurice Stallard. Vickie Jones. Timothy Caughman. Clementa C Pinckney. Cynthia Hurd. Susie Jackson. Ethel Lance. Depayne Middleton-Doctor. Tywanza Sanders. Daniel Simmons. Sharonda Coleman-Singleton. Myra Thompson. Philando Castile. Alton Sterling. Walter Scott. Michael Brown. Eric Garner. Laquan McDonald. Marlon Lewis. Kajuan Raye. Ritchie Harbison. Christopher Sowell. Alfred Olango. Terrence Sterling. Terence Crutcher. Levonia Riggins. Alfred Toe. Kendrick Brown. Fred Barlow. Joyce Quaweay. Dalvin Hollins. Clarence Howard. Antwon Shumpert. Ollie Brooks. Jessica Williams. Willie Tillman. Kevin Hicks. Terrill Thomas. Peter Gaines. Marco Loud. Randy Nelson. Freddie Gray. Breonna Taylor. Ahmaud Arbery. Atatiana Jefferson. Yassin Mohamed. Sandra Bland. Sean Reed. Rayshard Scales. George Floyd. 

Share their names. Pass along their stories. Never forget their names. 

Posted in books, Christian, happiness, moms, motherhood, selfcare, Uncategorized, What I'm Reading

The Best books to read in Quarantine – according to me.

The Best books to read in quarantine – according to me. I’d like to say there’s some science behind this to prove how correct I am, but there isn’t. I just love books.

So, I guess the best books to read in quarantine may be a stretch, since they’re all a matter of opinion, but I’m giving it a go anyway. It’s been awhile since I’ve shared what I’ve been reading so this seems like as good of a time as any. As always – I want to know what you’re reading so can add it to my list 🙂

My top 5 favorite reads right now

  1. Untamed by Glennon Doyle – It’s no secret I love her. She is real, she is full of love, and she has overcome some serious things to find her happy place. This book is no exception. I am currently reading this and its taking me a bit because I’m so busy underlining things and drinking in every word. If you’re feeling like life isn’t what it should be or that you aren’t feeling how you “should” about life, this one is for you. 
  2. It’s Not Supposed to Be this Way by Lysa TerKeurst – I seem to suggest this book constantly but that’s just because it’s so freaking good! There’s no denying life is going to get messy or mixed up and not always turn out how we planned. This book walks us through those hard times from a Christian perspective. My poor copy is full of my handwriting and highlighting , which tells you how great it is. 
  3. My (Not So) Perfect Life by Sophie Kinsella – sometimes a light, humorous, “chick-lit” book is what is what life needs. It’s not a style I read often but this one is good. What happens when you get everything in life and it all seems to be going perfectly before it all comes crashing down. We all know that feeling right now, don’t we? But of course, good things can come from change and do. 
  4. A Perfectly Messed Up Story by Patrick McDonnell – yes, it’s a picture book. Yes, its meant for kids. I started reading it because my daughter loved it and asked for it at bedtime. Now, I think it applies to us all. Young or old, get a copy and embrace it.
  5. Little Fires Everywhere by Celeste Ng – Honestly, I haven’t read it yet. I’m starting it soon. This looks so good AND there is a Hulu show to start watching too. But read the book first. Always read the book first.

What am I missing?

These are some of the best books to read during quarantine according to me. I could go on, but then you’d have no time for reading books! Get lost and inspired in a book to ride this out. What else should I read?

*this post contains affiliate links, to help support the costs of hosting and running this site*

Posted in Christian, Depression, God, prayer, Uncategorized

Online Church isn’t the same. But its still good. – SheProclaims.com

“For where two or three are gathered together in My name, there I am with them”

~ Matthew 18:20 (NLV)

Online Church isn’t the same. But its still good. In fact, its better than good – its great. At least we live in a time where this is an option to help us all be connected. It isn’t safe for us to gather so many people together. We need to stop the spread of illness. This Coronavirus is scary and serious.

CDC guidelines, State mandates, and other words my eyes quickly skimmed led me to a sentence I never thought I’d read in an email from my church. Church services in our building are canceling until May 17. We’ll have online service options with a few leaders and a devotional during the week. Facebook, email, and our website will update you. 

I know we’re not the only church dealing with this. You are probably feeling as numb as I am. No, I don’t make it to church every week but the idea of it being gone for two months feels like someone punching me in the stomach. I cried. I cried and I prayed again for help and comfort for us all right now. Then Matthew 18:20 came to mind. 

I love the whole verse, especially now, but today my heart was drawn specifically to the word “where”.

I always viewed this verse to mean as long as people are physically together in some place that place can be a place of worship. It can be Holy. The woods, the beach, the lake, the mountains, my kitchen, your living room, someone’s yard, a table at a pub, or a crowded arena can all be places for God if our intentions are set on Him. The “where” wasn’t limited just to the church building as long as we were all together some place.

This is different though. Our “where” now requires us to not be physically together in any format. So now what? Does the internet count as “a place”?

The most common definition for “where” in the dictionary is “in or to what place or position.” It speaks about a specific location. That’s how I’ve always looked at it and why I felt so unsettled at first. However, if you keep reading there is another definition I think applies to where we all are right now:

where (adverb): the place or situation in which.

The place or situation in which. The situation in which. If that doesn’t apply to how we’re all experiencing life and worship right now, I don’t know what does. If we slide that version into the verse, instead of just leaning on the word “where” so heavily, this verse becomes the cornerstone of this new “social distancing” worship style we need to embrace.

For the situation in which two or three are gathered together in My name, there I am with them

~ Matthew 18:20

No matter where we are, if we are connecting with each other during this situation, He is with us. Our worships will be different than in the past, but the core practice of people who love God learning about him and loving each other are there. The building and proximity to our church family does not make a church. The people and their willingness to find God and each other in creative ways no matter the circumstances does. 

Online church isn’t the same. But its still good. Its our time to look at things a little differently and learn new things about ourselves and those around us. Online church isn’t the same but it will still be good. It will still be church.

Posted in Christian, Depression, God, longreads, Uncategorized

Playdoh & Patience

“And yet, O Lord, you are our Father. We are the clay, and you are the potter. We all are formed by your hand.” 

Isaiah 64:8

I love this verse. It is something both hopeful and reminiscent to me. Something I can relate to easily. I remember the playdoh of my childhood. The smell, the squishy feelings, and the fun tools seemed to give life to unlimited possibilities of what I could create. I would recreate my favorite foods (I make a mean playdoh pepperoni pizza) or the required craft of little girls of the 1980’s: a rainbow. I always tried so hard get the color rows the same width for equal uniform bands in my sculptures. 

Sometimes it worked out, sometimes not. And that is the beauty of playdoh: you can make something beautiful over and over again, fixing the mistakes, and it never stops allowing you to change its shape. 

When I finished something, I’d leave it be for awhile. Enjoying its brightness, proud of my creation, and sometimes use it in some fantastic story play. Eventually, it would be time dismantle my creations – whether it be that I was tired of them, needed to “fix” something, or it was time to clean up for the day. I’d take the pieces apart, trying to keep the colors separated, and squish them into their containers for another day. The creations were no longer there but the PlayDoh was ready for next time. For the possibilities and great ideas I’d bring to it next. 

I didn’t hate the PlayDoh. I didn’t hate my creations. I didn’t pack it up because I thought what I made was terrible and I couldn’t stand to look at it. Quite the contrary. I squished it all down because I saw how I could make it better. Or because the day’s plan called for it to lose its shape into the containers for awhile before I could bring new life to it with my next fantastic plan. 

As I’ve grown, those feelings have come back when I read Isaiah 64. We are more than clay to God. We are His precious creations that He is so fond of. He formed you tenderly with His own hands and loves to look at proudly. You are valued, treasured, loved, wanted, and important. And, like any child or potter with their clay, sometimes even God needs to make changes to His creations for whatever part of life we’re entering into next. 

He needs to break us down sometimes to build us back up into something better. Any potter will tell you, sometimes you have to bring your creations back down to nothing and start over. To help it be better. To improve your design. To make sure it’s ready for the purpose you have in mind for it. What looks like and feels like destruction is actually the start of something great. 

It’s hard to see it in the moment. When you look around and see your life slowly being torn down. The clay of your being slowly caving in on itself until all that is left is a mound of shapeless you. Without a solid base, strong form, clear design, or obvious purpose. These moments often come with little to no warning, leaving you scrambling to understand why. Wondering what area of you needed the improvement and what you can do to help things along.

I know these feelings all too well. I am there with you. Lying on the potter’s wheel and feeling it slowly spin. Just enough that my form is staying a cohesive lump and not merely falling flat, but not fast enough that I feel any changes or growth.

It’s hard to be in this place. I liked how I was before this. After many years of struggles and insecurities, I was finally reaching a point in life where things were mostly happy, stable, and satisfying. Of course I wished I could drop 20 pounds or win the lotto and work a little less, but if someone had asked me how my life was going the answer would have been: wonderfully. 

Clearly, I was wrong. There were areas in my life and in my soul that needed attention. They needed more work and some reforming, so like a skilled potter, God has taken me back down to the wheel. All of me is still here, in this shapeless lump. He’s starting to rebuild me with some improvements that are hard right now but will be so wonderful when they’re done.

I thought I was comfortable in my skin. Perhaps I was to an extent or more than I used to be, but the last six months have made it clear to me that there was room for improvement. The moment I came face to face with someone that was thinner than me, prettier than me, and living a life I wanted – I fell apart. I stopped eating. I stopped functioning at all. Everything I thought I had gotten past from years of previous hurts from multiple people was still there. I hadn’t moved on from anything, just ignored it and kept going with life. 

That’s the thing about potters and God: no matter how much their creation seems finished they can see the areas that need some work, even if the rest of us can’t. They know how to fix it, how to slowly build it back up, form it, and give it new life. I couldn’t see the flaw buried deep inside myself, but God knew. He knew it was holding me back from being a strong and complete as He wants me to be. 

The hard part is being patient while He does His work. Letting go of control or preconceived ideas of how God should fix us or our situation. I am beyond guilty of feeling that He is taking too long or not doing things right. And by right, of course, I mean how I want them done. I am not sure when I started to think that I knew all the answers and I know how my life should go, but I know I’m not the only one who thinks these things.

You probably do too. This impatience is just one more flaw He’s working on at the pottery wheel with me. Shaping me and holding me in place until I can start to fully let go and trust in his process. He can’t finish making all the improvements to me until I can calm down and let Him make a solid foundation. One only He knows how to make. 

That’s really hard for me. I’m a doer and a fixer and a very impatient person. This is trying all of my patience and then some. I see those who have hurt me living comfortably and seemingly without pain while I struggle to get through the day. 

“Be still before the Lord and wait patiently for Him; do not fret when people succeed in their ways, when they carry out their wicked schemes. Refrain from anger and turn from wrath; do not fret – it leads only to evil.” – Psalm 37:7-8

But of course, God knows what He is doing. He knows the plans for me and how He will make them happen. My job isn’t to tell him how to do this. My job is to give and take with each loving knead He makes in me. To grow, shift, and change as things around me do; all under His watchful eye. 

Posted in Anxiety, books, Christian, Depression, healthy, longreads, Mantras, Meditation, moms, motherhood

Mirror Mantras

Update Feb 10, 2020: a lot of people are asking me about positive thoughts and mirror work. Here’s a piece dear to my heart!

I live with anxiety and depression.

I used to hate thinking or saying that out loud. Its not like its something that I’m proud of, but its part of me. I also live with red hair, lots of freckles, and about 20 extra pounds I wish I could lose. Its all just a part of what makes me, me.

It took me a long time to get to a somewhat comfortable place with that. I think its hard for a lot of people to talk about because its been kept in the dark so long. We’re all just supposed to be “ok” (whatever that means) when lots of us just aren’t. But just because you’re not meeting someone else’s definition of “ok”, it doesn’t mean you’re failing at life. Which is exactly how I have felt in the past.

I would tell myself that people who make more money, take more trips, do more work, or have more things are more valuable to society and successful in the world than me. The same went for anyone taller, thinner, tanner, sportier, or with less wrinkles than me. They had clearly figured out some easy way to have everything while I felt I was barely treading water.

I was literally telling myself every day that I was the problem. I wasn’t good enough. I was my own worst critic and enemy. Some days I still am. The nagging, negative words in my head became how I saw myself, no matter how many people tried to tell me otherwise.

This was a major argument I had with my therapist. She would tell me, “just change how you talk to yourself. say nice things.” Uh, yeah, if it was that easy I wouldn’t have been paying her out the nose to try and help me get there. We debated this for weeks, with me leaving her office in tears and frustrated at times. I could not “just do it”. So I decided to really start looking for HOW I could try to do it.

Then, something I had rolled my eyes at (and that you may be rolling your eyes at right now) fell into my lap in all my searching: mantras.

When I first thought of mantras, all I thought of were hippies and bald monks reciting uplifting words while meditating in the woods somewhere (no disrespect to hippies, bald monks, or woods intended). Or, someone staring at themselves in the mirror saying it over and over to get pumped up for the day. It felt too weird and forced for me. Fake even. I mean, I’m pretty good at telling when someone is lying to my face – especially when its me. Faking it to “trick myself” into believing the words wouldn’t cut it.

So instead of saying them in the mirror, I took a dry erase marker and wrote my mantra across the bathroom mirror. I didn’t have to say it or recite. I just had to see while I was brushing my teeth, doing my hair, applying make up, taking a shower, or just using the bathroom. And instead of telling myself how great I already was, I decided to talk to myself like I would to a friend. Build me up slowly and support me. On the mirror.

Are your eyes rolling yet?

I started with a very simple one to start: “You’re doing your best and that’s enough.” I knew I couldn’t fix all of this overnight, but trying was at least a good start. And at that moment, about all I could do. That was up on the mirror for a few weeks. Until I got comfortable with seeing words up there. Then, they started to sink in. I felt calmer and a little kinder to myself – even though I still had a long way to go.

Over the last 12 months I’ve rotated through quite a few “pep talk mantras”. I change them when I feel I need to, to suit where I am in life, and they range from quotes to thoughts to Bible verses or notes from other books I’ve read. There are no rules.Here are a few examples I’ve used or love that you can try:

  • You are enough.

  • Its ok to not be ok.

  • Keep going.

  • Live in the Upside Down (a reference to the piece by Lysa TerKeurst in her book Its Not Supposed to be This Way)

  • You are loved

  • You are clothed in strength and dignity (a twist on Proverbs 31:25)

  • All good things take time

  • “Its been my experience that you can nearly always enjoy things if you make up your mind firmly that you will” (Anne Shirley, Anne of Green Gables)

Have you ever tried a mantra? Got one to share? I’m working on a running list and would love YOUR input. Need a mantra? For a specific place? Share that too. Together, we can all build back up.

Posted in Christian, God, moms, motherhood

She Proclaims – 2019 Year in Review

I have seen this post floating around for awhile on various social media outlets and was really intrigued by it. So often, we spend this time of the year looking back on what we did wrong and making plans for resolutions to make ourselves better in the next year. That’s all fine and dandy, don’t get me wrong, but why the heck aren’t we celebrating all we did right this year? All the times we slayed and nailed it? Those times deserve their time in the spotlight too! 

I’m sharing mine here, because I am proud. I’ve come a long way in a year and I’m excited to see where I go in 2020. I want to hear your achievements and wins for this year! SHOUT OUT TO YOU FOR ALL YOU DID! 

I started a blog and website. That’s pretty big for me. Not only that, but I have been moderately consistent with updating and posting! I even have a solid Instagram you need to check out if you aren’t already! Normally, I have great ideas but they peter out pretty quickly and I move on, this just reminds me that I’m on the right path. I’m doing my heart’s work and it feels amazing! 

I helped two people very close to me through some very scary, hard times. I made a difference and I can see how much I really do matter to people. 

I became a paid author. Read that sentence at least three more times. I am an author. Dream come true right there. More to come too! 

I learned how to do hand lettering. No more being envious of others, I can do it whenever I want. 

I loved my family and friends. I forgave people who hurt me. I unpacked old wounds and I am helping to heal properly. I laughed a lot, cried some, stayed true to myself, and saw a snow owl. 

I “met” all of you. Some are closer than others now, but I’m so grateful for each of you.  

It was a good year. Tell me yours!