Archives For Identity

Oh, darling, let’s be adventurers

adventurers railroad tie

I look at these loved yellow walls, the love notes marking where we’ve been, and where we are going. Lists of backpacking adventures below two old, rusted railroad ties my husband wound together and hung on the wall, in the shape of a cross. The work of my friend’s hands above our couch, the painting of the huge, white barn. Perfect blue sky and white cloud fluffs and four six-paned windows that each invite, “come closer, peer inside!”

adventurers yosemite

adventurers angleadventurers CollageYes, I’m going to enter that barn someday, and sleep underneath the rafters tall and smooth and wide. I will stretch myself out long underneath the skylight that will open up the whole rooftop. I will watch the stars dance at night and awake to the birds singing of the coming sunrise.

Oh, yes, I will sing.

Yes, I will fling wide those white-washed planks of heavy door. I will not be held back.  Dare I imagine what He prepares for me? Might it look like this painting. .  . my someday room, in heaven?

adventurers looking up

On the right side of the wall is a frame encasing vintage postcards, adjacent to another cross, this one made from recycled barn wood from Hurricane Katrina. It is the canvas above this frame that holds my heart now.

adventurers cross

The black canvases on each side of the barn hold sacred the places where my family has been. The barn painting holds my love for community and possibility–the future dance of me, someday, with my Savior. And this canvas . . . this one . .  . with the water and the mountain peak, daring, just to be climbed . ..This canvas holds the wooing of a girl who desires more and craves a hand to grab hers while she heads into something new:

Oh darling, let’s be adventurers.

Yes, darling, let’s.

My husband created this canvas, a photo of the first mountain we climbed together. It continues to invite me, his partner, his love, to keep holding his hand, to keep climbing–to keep desiring, more than anything, to walk in the place where the Father stands.

adventurers oh darling

I listen to a podcast of a sermon today that shows me Jonathan scrambling up a cliff, using his arms and his legs, hoping that God would be with him as he dared to fight, with no physical resources except supernatural ones. God would have to provide. He would have to stand here, be Jonathan’s Help, for Jonathan to defeat the Philistine army.

Jonathan and his armor bearer, those two, climb up a cliff, a single sword between them both, to fight their enemy.

Oh, warriors, even though you are scared, even though you don’t know all that awaits you . . Know that it is to your God, where He stands, that you climb.

Oh, warriors, climb up high.

Jonathan moved in faith–his belief in God turned action. . . stepping out, climbing up, because he wanted to give it all for the chance to experience the work of God.

Oh, Father, let us walk into where You stand. Let us behold the might and glory and beauty of You.

We don’t know the full plan for what we are stepping into, my husband and I. We don’t know all that lies ahead, as he steps away from his job, bit by bit, and pours his heart into writing and leading and listening. Together, we let go of “safe.” Together, we let go of “necessary.” Together we move to climb, using ours hands and legs, dependent upon God to provide as we desire to hold onto something new:  The dream of the two of us working alongside one another, gathering His sons and His daughters while He gathers us to Him.

It is just that word, gather, that gets us to step and step again into a greater faith, a greater surrender . . . a not half-way but full-on desire to climb, with Him, to the top of the mountain, even though we don’t know what’s on the other side.

He stands there. So He does. Our Father knows what is on the other side.

Oh, sisters, His girls, it is He who calls each of us up, to that other side.

He has the eyes that will give us vision. He has the words that whisper wisdom. He has the resources that give us strength. He has the dream that makes us see in us what He sees.

His daughters. His sons. Stepping out. Climbing up. With shaking arms and wobbly legs.

So strong now.

Oh darling, let’s be adventurers.

Yes, yes, let’s.

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May 20, 2013 — 7 Comments
In Adventure, Faith, Identity, Marriage
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Waking up–the path to experiencing and creating art

creating art collage
She walks in slowly, bent over her cane, barely swishing the hem of her pale navy blue dress.  This is her last class, the final one before she retires from teaching graduate school all these years. I sit in the hard wooden seat in the cool college auditorium, utterly captivated.

My writing professor, who was her mentee, had been talking about her for months, and finally, after being in her class this last semester, I knew why. Each week I can’t help but lean in, trying to capture her every word, madly scribbling notes to everything she says.

And this is why.

She believed in the creation of beauty. She believed in the experience and the life of the mind. She believed that what we behold in a work of art is determined by the state of our heart. What one receives from an experience with art—whether it is wisdom from literature or a surge of emotion from a painting or a piece of music—is determined by one’s life experience. This means that each time we revisit a piece of art—whether we have experienced it twice or two hundred times–we experience an invitation to something brand new.

Because we are different each time we encounter the work of art, the art is different, too. This is because the art exists and creates meaning only through the experience of the person encountering it.  The art does not have meaning in and of itself.  Its meaning is derived from the viewer’s personal encounter with the work.  And the encounter is shaped by the viewer’s unique life experience and point of view. Just as we are different each day, being shaped into something new, the art itself is also different, created new again, and again.

New beauty always unfolding.

And this makes me think about you, the artist, the person creating the art, too.

Girls, whatever you create, whatever He has made you to do with your life, it is a living and breathing work of art you are taking part in forming. The beauty of art is found both in the creation of the art as well as the encounter by the person experiencing it.

Maybe our art—our partnering with God to do what we are made to do—becomes beautiful when the outcome, the finished product, is surrendered. It is not up to us to critique the art God has given us to do with Him.

We are beautiful by His hands–and people experience our beauty when they encounter the art within us that He has designed for us to do.

As Mother Theresa so beautifully says,

“I’m a little pencil in the hand of a writing God, who is sending a love letter to the world.”

And I wonder what your art looks like—what you are made to create, with Him, and how you are meant to follow Him, step by step, this day.

At My Girls this morning, I shared my excitement over Ephesians 5:14,

“For this reason it says, ‘Awake, sleeper, and arise from the dead, and Christ will shine on you.’”

I wonder how we are each called to wake up, be roused from our sleepiness to create the art that He is hoping other’s will step into and experience, because we are faithful, because we believe there is beauty in us to give, because we believe our own life experience awakes in us a story that can only be communicated through the life we live, the choices we make.

“Awake, sleeper, and arise from the dead and Christ will shine on you.”

Sisters, together, let’s awake, let’s create art–each uniquely ours. Let’s see how He wants us to shine.

What is He awakening in you, sister? How are you made to create? 

Linking up with Jen and the Soli Deo Gloria gals.

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May 13, 2013 — 10 Comments
In Adventure, Identity
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(Re)Defining what it means to mother

mothering rose

I asked Him this, simply, “Father, what does it mean to mother?”

This, His girls, is what He said:

What it means to mother

Happy Mother’s Day, my sisters.

And if you would like to receive more encouragement, God’s heart for you, click here to subscribe to Loop: what you need to know.

So grateful for you,
Jennifersignaturescript

May 11, 2013 — 3 Comments
In Identity, Love, Parenting
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Where I lay myself down

WhenI lay myself down

The sun is hot on my skin but I can’t help but stay. My toes trace the outline of patio brick laid in not-so-straight lines. Soft, green moss and bits of sand harbor in crevices where the bricks stack like family. I sit on one of two short cement steps outside my bedroom doors, the writing studio where I seldom write, an invitation to come in, sit down, believe.

I sit outside, looking in, an impostor looking for confidence to return.

When I lay myself down typewriter

It is quiet there in the studio, with no phone and no music–just light streaming through skylight and the coolness of quiet, wood floor. My desk sits across from my husband’s, old reclaimed planks pressed together, back to back. Steel pipes stretch low across, a rest for feet when a writer is perched in one of the tall black rotating desk chairs from the 60’s, a pair we found in my father-in-law’s garage and that the kids love to roll in smooth glides across the floor.

Above are lines of light bulbs decorating the ceiling like clear glass jewels. My husband flips the switch to keep them on even when the light streams in bright through the smudged window panes. It is a haven designed for inspiration, creation, imagination, beauty and all possibility. When he comes home early, so he can write, he leans in over the desk, stacks of books on all sides, expectant and excited. Oh, when the words come. There is the awakening of self in the partnership we are made to live out and breathe.

This is writing made flesh, when we see a word drawn out, a sequence, a formation of meaning just discovered, an offering back to the Creator, a heart outstretched, “Here, here I am. All just for you. All just for you.”

When I lay myself down lights

I stand to open the door, three barefoot steps and I’m at my desk, the surface smooth and soft, the wood marked with holes and scars. I see beauty. I see sacred. The two by fours a bit slanted where together, they meet. I am learning to see the beauty of scars, the music of sounds, the hope in a face turned toward light, amidst the tripping we do in shadow.

So I will lean in and expect nothing but what is true–that there is a voice that will not be quieted, a song that will rise and will resound.

When I lay myself down desk

On a walk today I ask Him why it is that I struggle to believe these two things are mine to claim:

~ voice

~ transparency

And He reminds me of the almond tree and the light that falls through branches, even in the darkest of night. How white flowers open wide and petals drift down and green leaves unfurl again and again.

When I lay myself down

There was a tree on which a King was nailed and here–here–is a place where I will lay myself down.

Palms flat against this desk, wood pressed against the soft flesh of my cheek. There is a King who laid it down and I will pick it up.

I will wield the sword He gave me: a voice that speaks His whisper, a heart that knows and rejects the other path, of shame.

On a walk with God, what would you tell Him you struggle to claim as your own? What gift do you have trouble receiving? How can I pray for you?

Sharing this in community at #TellHisStory.

May 7, 2013 — 11 Comments
In Identity, Voice
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Brave

bravebluetextIscriptclose my eyes and see myself galloping on a steed through mountains, my hair blowing back, a weapon fastened to my side. I am fearless, His brave one, in battle alongside my king. I will rush through desert, climb mountains, run though I am thirsty and there is no map. He is my steadfast, my warrior King–Brother-Father who goes before and leads me to the high place where the enemy awaits. I am here, with Him, a warrior-girl fighting the fight I was made for.

I am His strong one, His ascender, the girl who knows who she is and does not shirk from doing the hard thing. She steels her head against the opposition, her strength the very weakness the enemy tries to use against her.

No, she is not strong–so she is. No, she is not mighty, so she is. No she is not fierce, so she is. She raises her head, her eyes sharp and jaw set.

She knows what brave looks like. She enters in, already home.

Come on, girls . . . Now it’s your turn to write for five-minutes on the prompt: Brave. Go on, be fearless. I know that’s the truth of who you are.

Here’s to riding with our King,

Jennifersignaturescript

May 2, 2013 — 46 Comments
In Adventure, Five-Minute Friday, Identity
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Gather (an inRL story, kind of)

inRL postcardsIscriptsit on the floor of my striped rug, the one with my favorite colors and see us gathered in His hands. I share with women who sit on the couch where my kids plop down and I pile up my unfolded laundry each week. I lean my back against cool plaster wall and hear the familiar story–completely personal and perfectly unique and totally all of ours all at once.

We gather, our heart’s cry to be loved.

We gather, the voice of our own broken heart.

We gather, desperate to be pursued and loved, yet also called to love and to be the pursuer.

Oh, girl, I know. I know.

inRL pillow

I invite people He brings into my home for the incourage (in)RL conference, on Saturday. I am excited to meet women I’ve never met. They register their names on the meetup site to tell me they are coming. In addition to four dear friends–some of whom I get to see face-to-face too seldom–one of the three brave strangers comes. And there is something amazing about opening up your home–your heart–and saying come on in. I don’t know you yet–but He does–and I trust Him, so I will welcome you and love you, too.

And, oh, girls, how He gathers, doesn’t He? We aren’t strangers here. Not at all.

inRL mantle

I write this post with my throat aching like it does when the tears come. I pray before I write that He gives me words–that I speak His heart . . .always, His heart. And I am learning now, in the emails I receive from sisters who receive Loop but who may never comment on this here blog . . . there are women whom He loves who just–oh, Father–simply, need to know they are loved.

But letting ourselves be known and loved is just not so easy, sometimes, is it?

Oh, girl. I type these words for you. We can’t all come into each other’s living rooms when we want to. We can’t all see each other face to face . . . until that one day, girl. Until that one day–that will, indeed, come–and we can.

But until then, there is loneliness, and there is fear. There is isolation and sadness of heart. There is frustration and self-condemnation and suffering and hiding.

Oh, Father, get us out of hiding. Show us where You are.

inRL flowers

But, girl–you, here, behind the screen–I write to you. I write to you because I know what it is like to feel alone and what it is like to hide. I know what it is like to want to be someone completely different than I am. I know what it is like to strive and yearn and do almost anything–anything–to be loved.

I wish you could have come on over to my home on Saturday. I wish you could have walked up my bumpy driveway, with the faded chalk art and up the three steps to the porch of my little gray house. I wish I could have opened up the door and seen your face and welcomed you in with the biggest hug, His arms wrapped around us both.

I wish I could have prayed with you and offered you a vanilla bean cupcake with frosting piled high. I wish I could have heard you tell your story and share with you mine. I wish I could have told you how community can scare me because I don’t know what it will require. I wish I could have told you I am so thankful you are here, in all your broken wholeness. I wish we could share together the details of why we are so desperate for Him and thankful for the way He heals. Oh, girl, yes, He heals.

inRL cupcakes

I wish I could have heard what you love to do for fun, what makes your heart beat fast, and what fears come in the night. I wish I could have seen your smile, the sparkle in your eyes when you share what you love most, and the movement of your hands. I wish I could have heard the sound of your voice and been blessed by just being with you. Oh, girl, you would bless me.

You bless.

inRL vase

But for now, I lay on the floor in the dark, my hands on these keys in the front room where I would have first let you in. And you are here now. For real. Because He does amazing things and knows how to gather, for real, even if it is just behind a screen right now.

Maybe, this moment, we hold as a gift . . .because more is just around the corner for us, friend.

He is enough.

inRL beauty

And someday, friend, I will get to see you. And we will hold hands and sing loud and there will be no distance, no separation, no disunity.

We will be one. In real Life.

I can hardly wait.

What is the hardest thing or most beautiful thing about community, for you? I would so love to hear your heart. We can also connect over at You Are My Girls community, on Facebook. . . and you can see the photo of the six of us, on Saturday! :)

Love,

Jennifersignaturescript

April 29, 2013 — 19 Comments
In Community, Desire, Intimacy, {in}courage
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Let’s begin again

“Perhaps the definition of ‘beginning’ will need to be rewritten.

I always begin again in you, child”~ excerpt from Loop, “Fresh Beginning” 

Begin

You are our beginning.

Show us, Father. Let your Holy Spirit fill us. Show us where You were before we could even see You. Take the lies we’ve believed about ourselves. Show us your face in the midst of sin, your hope when we felt like we were breaking.

Father, oh, how we need to begin.

I see You, behind my dad, the brown paneled room surrounding me like a prison. And You tear the walls down. You fill the space, watching me believe lies that You never intended for me to believe. You did not design me to be a girl-now-woman who believes she doesn’t have a thing to say. I see your eyes fill with sorrow when I chose to believe the whisper that I am not good enough.

Create in me a new beginning.

Begin 2

I bow my tired head, my friend’s hands laying gently on my shoulder. She closes her eyes–heart searching Your face. Father, she says she sees me under the almond tree those twenty plus years ago. She asks me what I’m doing.

I had never told her the story.

Why am I under the tree, on the ground, in the dark? Why do I feel so alone? Why does the darkness press so close I feel I can hardly breathe?

I see the end of me.

And You show me my beginning.

My sister’s prayers release me from my hell–my belief that You must despise me as I despise myself. But You don’t bear the face of a Father disappointed. You are filled with sorrow. You are filled with compassion. You do not shun me for the sin I can never go back and fix.

Perhaps this is the case for all beginnings:

For the first time, our eyes are opened and we clearly see?

Begin 3

My heart is breaking and being put together all at once–underneath the almond tree. When I never saw You nor believed You could ever be there, with me, I see You sitting next to me, hands clasping your knees, your back pressing against the dark trunk.

I am Jacob, seeing You for the first time. I realize your presence now–when, before, I was blind to only regret, sorrow, and sin.

The almond tree–once the symbol of my death–now marks the sacred place of my beginning. In the dark, when I wasn’t looking for You,

You came

and rescued

and turned death inside out

and upside down.

You know we can’t rewrite our stories ourselves.

Even though we try.

You know we can’t begin again, start afresh, wipe the past clean and stand tall knowing we have something good to give.

But You can.

You know we don’t deserve another chance–although we try desperately to try to fool ourselves into believing that if maybe we do enough good things we can earn it.

But You give us the second chance–and the third, and the fourth, despite us. You do this because of who You are . . .

Because You are love and You don’t even want to help it.

Begin 5

You are the beginning.

You ask if we may join You in going back to the places where You have always been but where we have never recognized Your existence before.

You want to show us the rewritten story.

You don’t want to keep it a secret.

There is so much more You want to reveal.

You begin.

(We don’t need to begin.)

You begin.

We don’t need to try to prove our worth or fix the past.

You begin.

We see our true selves in the light of your face, your love for us giving us strength to rise and dismiss lies–throwing our past into the darkness where it belongs.

Because there is a new past that You have for us–all beautiful, in the midst of our brokenness.

All glorious, because of You, despite our wounds and mistakes.

Begin 4

pinksqiggle

We are at the beginning right now, girls.

Not the end.

And you know what’s the best part?

We get to stay here, with Him, together.

After all, it is where we belong.

On Tuesdays, I share my thoughts from Loop: what you need to know. Did you read it? I would so love to hear how His words met you.

Click the image below to learn more about Loop and subscribe. 

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April 8, 2013 — Leave a comment
In Identity, Loop, Words in Me
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When a look back shows you where you’re going

Iscript‘ve been blogging here for two years now, and I’ve never been more excited about what is in store for all of us, at You Are My Girls. For the longest time the tag line for the the blog has been “a place to remember who you are.” And now I’ve changed it, and I love what it inspires in me every time I think about it: You are My girls: what we need to remember.

Let me give you some background . .  and a walk down memory lane–using my old blog headers and tag line, as inspiration.

The title of the blog, You are My girls, was inspired by the name whispered to me when I asked God what He called my four girlfriends and me, when we gathered together, to listen to Him. We were meeting together regularly, a few years ago, during the summer. For two-three hours every week, the five of us collected our kids (14, in total), so they could play in the backyard together. (We had to hire a sitter so they wouldn’t all kill each other.) We spent the time discussing a book and sharing our hearts with one another.

We were more vulnerable and real with one another than we had been the previous five years we had been friends. I think we were tired of hiding and pretending we needed to have it all together to be accepted and loved.

Our meeting was the beginning of the group, My Girls. My Girls prompted the creation of this blog.

orangesquiggle

I had been leading My Girls, in my home, for a year already, before I started to write here. And I wanted the blog to represent a space where, on-line, His girls could gather, like some do, in real life, in the front room of my house.  I live in an old house, with picture rail, and I love being able to hang pictures in cool frames upon these old lathe and plaster walls.

My very first header ever–the one my husband lovingly made me for Mother’s Day, in 2011–represents this metaphorical gathering place. I asked him to create something with my favorite colors–with a background that looked like cheerful wallpaper, but in a design that I would pick out for a throw pillow in my front room.

I asked him to write “You are My girls” on an image of a mirror. I hoped the blog would be a place where readers would be encouraged to recognize and live out the truth of what God sees in them.

Our true identities are what God calls out within each of us–not what we can ever, physically, see.

YAMGWallImage1300

Finally, the photo of the almond orchard is symbolic for me. It is the picture closest to my heart–representing my beginning, the place where God is. It reminds me of two things–what I am capable of without Him, and the beauty that He creates, despite me making the darkest decision of my life.

Here are snapshots of the headers since then. I won’t go into as much detail describing them. I think they might tell a story, all by themselves. . .

PageLines- headerYAMG1300.png

PageLines- YAMGprettyheader2.png

cropped-cropped-headeryamgdecember9401.png

And now, we have this:

cropped-yamgheaderscriptblue960.png

And it just makes me smile. What do you think?

I am experimenting with having a bit more of a schedule here, for a change. Here is what is on my heart for this space:

Gatherpinkon Mondays:  a focus on community, with My Girls and women being together, in real life, the inspiration.

ListenmauveTuesdays: writing inspired by Monday’s Loop. This will be a day where we gather in truth, sharing our hearts about what penetrated our heart, after we heard God’s words. (I am hoping there might be a link-up here soon.)

SoakWednesdays: when I share a way we might practice hearing–and being with–God.

ShareThursdays: when I don’t hold back and share what is on my heart. (Want to hold my hand and be vulnerable with me?)

InspireFridays: when I share experiences, books, resources (and eventually, interviews with His girls) that have inspired me towards deepening my relationship with God.

What are you most excited about? What else would you like to see here?

Love to you this weekend, His girls.

So grateful to be here, with you,

Jennifersignaturescript

 

 

April 5, 2013 — 2 Comments
In Community, Identity, Loop
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Amazing and beautiful you

In the darkest hours, in the still night-turning-dawn, the One who loves you, who designed your beautiful frame, stirs with joy contemplating you.

When you lay down your head, thoughts cycling through the regrets, joys, and challenges that make your chest tight, He covers you, tucking you in. Rest, child: I’ve got you. Let your weary body rest on Me.
amazing and beautiful

Girls, please click on over to More to Be for the rest of this post. There is a prayer over there, for you.

Love,

March 8, 2013 — 2 Comments
In Identity, Voice
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Lies we aren’t supposed to know we believe

Lies

We share Holley Gerth’s article in My Girls yesterday–her words on how one’s signature struggles can reveal one’s signature strengths. It is beautiful how the women who come to My Girls–and you amazing women who gather here–are willing to share their struggles with one another.

We don’t want to hide.

There are things about ourselves that we may have not yet shared in community–because we choose safety over vulnerability, because we are not sure if we have found a safe place among sisters to share our hearts. What does community need to look like for it to be a place where our deepest fears are lifted up, into the light, where they can clearly be seen?

We are not meant to hide our hearts from one another. But we do. And it may not be for the reason you think.

There is one thing I am learning for sure: the enemy, my friends, tries to cover up our deepest wounds and hide from us the agreements we’ve made with him. He doesn’t want us to know what lies he’s whispered to us and convinced us to believe about ourselves.

I am not enough.

I am too much.

I don’t have a voice.

I am not a good mom.

I am too needy.

I don’t love well.

I’m ugly.

I need to have the answers.

I have to be the one in control. . .

We feel the reality of these agreements. We live them. They wound us and the people whom we love. But, crazy as it sounds, the enemy makes it difficult for us to discern the agreements we’ve made. We’ve become so used to believing the lies that we can’t imagine that they are actually separate from who we really are.

If we don’t ask Jesus to come and reveal to us the agreements we’ve made that distort our true identity, in Christ, we suffer. And those around us suffer. We are made to live unencumbered, clothed in joy and righteousness. We let Jesus cast off the false things, the burdens, we bear, so that we can more fully live in Him. Breaking agreements ushers forth the life of freedom we were designed to experience when we were first created by our Father.

I love David’s words that remind me how God comes for us and invites us into life with Him:

You have saved me from death.
You have kept me from tripping and falling.
Now I can live with you
in the light that leads to life (Psalm 56:13).

We either continue to live out the agreements Satan has encouraged us to make with him, or we ask Jesus to reveal the agreements to us so that we can break them. The decision is up to us. Because these agreements we’ve made with the enemy feel so familiar, such a part of us–and because the last thing Satan wants is for us to recognize we have made agreements with him at all–it can take lots of time, sometimes, to even discern they exist.

But with Jesus’ help, and with a willing heart, we can.

In the next post I’ll tell you about how I struggled to share with my friends, at My Girls, what my signature struggle is. I felt burdened by my not being able to see it. And it was all because of an agreement I had made–a lie I was believing about myself that I had never realized before. I will share with you how my husband met me in the kitchen later, that night and, through his prayer for me, I saw what the agreement was. And I came absolutely undone.

Do you know what agreements you may have unwittingly made? What is your experience with seeing them for what they truly are? Do you struggle with sharing your heart in community? How can I pray for you?

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March 5, 2013 — 15 Comments
In Community, Faith, Identity, Joy , ,
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When writing is wielding a sword

Writing

There are days we lose sight of the path, lose focus, get distracted by the lesser things that take us away from the adventure of our hearts with God. It is a struggle most days, to write here, on these spaces He’s given, isn’t it?

But we write because He gives us a message we can’t keep to ourselves. We write because we see Him better, more clearly, when we do it. We write because it is an act of obedience and an act of surrendering—even when there doesn’t seem to be a scrap of time to find between the job and the dishes and the kids and the schoolwork.

We write because forming words to His truth in our heart makes us think beyond the small space in front of us. We see deeper, our hearts expanded wide–open to imagine all the possibilities He has for these words of ours.

We write for an outcome we seldom—and may never—fully see.

And that’s hard.

But that’s okay.

Please join me over at Allume.com today for the rest of this post. I can’t wait to hear your thoughts over there!

Also, make sure you check out Thursday’s post to enter the Love Song Giveaway!

February 14, 2013 — Leave a comment
In Adventure, Faith, Identity ,
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To Bare Truth

Bare

I am willing, here, to say the hard thing–the truth, even if it is uncomfortable.  Truth, despite the way it feels like one big bold, crazy, disordered mess, is actually the clearest, most necessary and beautiful thing.

I hate silence.

I am good at being polite, at trying to encourage, lift up the head of a friend, ask a friend to go deeper and reveal the fear underneath the words behind which she hides. But something mourns a death inside this heart of mine when we begin to hide for fear of being seen and not loved.

Let the words out, girls.

Let that song of yours cry out in the way you are made to sing. You have notes within you that can only be formed through your heart poured out, your mind rescued and redeemed, your body upheld, your spirit united with Him.

Sing it in the way you were made to sing.

Bold and bare and beautiful and mighty and strong. You do it, girl, and we lean in, fascinated and struck by miracle.

There He is. In you. All along.
Five Minute Friday

February 7, 2013 — 36 Comments
In Identity, Voice ,
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Desire, voice, and God-sized Dream

Step Collage2

From the cool floor where I sit, back pressed against the antique bedpost, knees bent, legs folded, I feel sunlight warm the paned bedroom doors. Potted princess flowers lean against the frame of the garage-turned-writing studio across the patio. The flowers herald the beginning of me, when I first turned the ears of my heart towards Truth.

But here, on my bedroom floor, tucked in the corner between windows and the faded rocking chair on which I nursed each of my babes, I bend low with my journal open wide–quiet, expectant, looking for God.

With an open heart I wait, longing for Him to speak.

It was when I awakened to His love for me that I first began to hear Him. He spoke my name first, and then His heart for His girls–the group He asks me to watch Him shepherd. I recognize His presence in me, and all around me–in the trees and in the wave of grass in breeze, in the fullness of a room as the Spirit covers us, floods the space so it swells. I hear it in the sound of my boys’ laughter and my daughter’s giggles and twirls.

He can be a God of stillness and movement, or silence and words. No matter what or how He chooses to communicate, He is speaking. He helps me understand the language that comes from crazy, all-in love.

He has never not spoken when I’ve expected Him to speak. And this has nothing to do with me and everything about Him and His love for us. His love, girls, cannot be contained.

And my sitting, waiting, listening, with journal in hand and Bible opened, is a beginning step to the journey of saying ‘yes’ to my God-sized dream. It has been one of my very first steps towards the writing of this book.

God knew the dream before I did. I simply let my heart heed Him: I listened for His voice; I wrote it down; I talked to Him; I listened some more. The listening led to My Girls, and then to counseling, and then to healing around my past. The healing led to a greater desire for Him, and to my increased ownership of my identity in Him.

Any God-sized dream begins with desire–and mine was to hear God’s voice. In the journey to hear Him I found my own voice–and that discovery has given me the story to tell.

What desire has God placed on your heart to pursue? What first step have you taken towards your God-sized dream?

Catch up on my other God-sized-dream posts here. And find other posts from Holley Gerth’s Dream team this week, here.

January 28, 2013 — 13 Comments
In Adventure, Identity, Story , , ,
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You mother even when no one sees

canstockphoto4130414

I ask God what it means to be a mother, and I remember me on that faded blue rocker from Pottery Barn, the one my friend bought us and how I wore out the fabric with my rocking. I sat underneath the nursery window with white trim and looked out, wondering if I was going to do this right, if I had what it takes, if this was the beginning of me or the end.

I read that book on identity that I passed on to a friend. It was a book authored by someone I can’t even remember now. But I remember the photo on the cover, and the face of the young mom and how stricken she looked. The first chapter I read while my first was still in my womb, the words about having a successful career outside the home and being present to the baby, too.

And I felt like a failure, a bit, when I knew, in my heart, that I wasn’t going to be able to do it all.

From the very beginning, when I met Justin, I told him that I was going to school to be a teacher and that when we started a family I expected to work part time, not fully quit to stay home with the kids.  I wanted to be a good mom and a great teacher, too.

I remember the months, after our first baby was born–all my wondering and stressing about how I was going to do both things well, without being overwhelmed and crazy. I had never considered staying home full time.

I fear I would be swallowed up.

I would push a stroller and hold tiny hands. I would splash in puddles and notice the bend of a leaf. I would wipe bottoms and read stories and feed hungry tummies. I would cuddle swaddled beauty and layer lotion on tender skin.

I didn’t know that I would be stretched and I would struggle to surrender my pride. I didn’t know that, in my weakness and floundering to mother my young babes, I would also discover God.

When we have yet to recognize God’s voice, and when we believe that our worth is equated with performance, validation by the world feels like a good thing to achieve. 

And I decide to lay it down again, right now–any desire in me for validation beyond what God sees in me.

After all, what He sees in me, and in you, is pretty darn amazing.

Whether we have a job outside the home or not, this world will absolutely swallow us up if we believe that joy comes from performance.

Sisters, mothers, listen close. The words He speaks to my heart when I write are always for you, too:

“You have what it takes to follow me, yes? You have what it takes to listen and believe and lay down what isn’t yours to pick up? I see you in that rocking chair, even now. And I also see you in the chair with breakfast dishes next to you, and the way you grab hold of your daughter’s cheeks and gaze into her eyes and the way your boys’ smile.

There is a lot up ahead that you can’t see, and you must know that I am the one you lean on to trust. The ground is not unstable when I prepare the path. The rocks I see ahead.

The life I give you isn’t complicated. I see you. I know you. I desire you. I like you. I hold your cheeks between My hands, too. I gaze into your eyes and I hold you close. I give you what you need to mother for I have taught you how to do it. I teach you even now.”

Did you hear that, girls?

I am linking up this post with Emily, at Imperfect Prose, as she focuses on the topic of mothering. What comes to your mind what you hear that word: mother? 

 

January 23, 2013 — 23 Comments
In Identity, Voice , ,
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When you struggle to believe God likes you

God likes you

God likes me?

I sit across the room from my friend, listening to the musician Misty Edwards sing hope through the speaker. My friend and I are both startled when we hear God’s words for us, through her song:

“I knew what I was getting into when I called you. I knew what I was getting into, and I still said your name.  . . And I am not shocked by your brokenness. . . I knew what I was getting into, and I still like you.”

He likes me. He likes me. It is that word “like” that makes my heart beat fast. Why am I so surprised by this reminder—that God likes the very girl He made? Do you ever wonder about this, too?

It is somehow easier for me to believe that God loves me than it is for me to accept His liking me and wanting to be with me.  And you know why I struggle here? It’s because I have trouble surrendering to the truth that my being liked is not about whether or not I deserve it. Despite all my sin, despite all my brokenness, His liking me pushes up against my wanting to earn His liking me myself. And as for earning God’s affection? I can’t.

He loves me and He likes me because I am whom He has created and He sees the end of me—all of me, in my fullness, with Him.

Years ago, in college, I came home from class to find a watercolor painting pushed under my dorm room door. On a single sheet of eight and a half by eleven white were painted waves of green and blue and these words brushed on carefully, by my friend’s loving hand: “But now, this is what the Lord says—he who created you, O Jennifer, he who formed you, O Jennifer: ‘Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name, you are mine’” (Isaiah 43:1). I could hardly believe what I was reading.

The girl grasping hold of this paper was desperate to believe she was seen, aching to believe that she was enough, that she was delighted in and adored and redeemed. I could hardly imagine God loving me, so beautifully, so personally, just like I was. This was the beginning of my heart being open to God reaching out to me, His girl, His daughter. There were layers of wounds and pain He wanted to reveal and heal in me.

Knowing—believing–that we are pursued and loved, despite our sin, is the place where the pursuit of our hearts begins.

I have heard the Father’s words of love whisper directly to my heart, the message almost too good to believe:

“You are not made to live without Me, child. You are not made to live life on your own, trying to be strong.  You are not more likable based on your efforts. I like you because I have made you. I like what I am made. And I love you because that is who I am.”

He has made me. He has made you. No matter what we do or what we have done, this Father of ours pursues us with a love that does not change.  Paul writes the church at Ephesus

“We are saved by grace through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is a gift of God, not a result of works, so that no one can boast” (Ephesians 2:8-9).

I hear Paul’s words and something in me both aches to believe it and rebels against it, too—even though I know what He says is true.  My being saved by Christ’s sacrifice reveals God’s ultimate love for me, and there is nothing I can do to make Him love me more or less.

Yet it can be difficult to believe that God likes us when we continue to feel that there is something we can do to try to earn His affection, or to somehow measure up.

What is your biggest challenge in believing God likes you as well as loves you? How can I pray?

January 23, 2013 — 12 Comments
In Identity, Voice
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When I speak aloud my God-sized dream

You know how that heart of yours aches for something to grasp a hold of? How it yearns for discovery of identity, claiming of passion, awakening to adventure? You spend a lot of your life trying to figure out who you are. You look for people–community, family, friends–to live life with. You gradually, on a time-table all your own, grow in courage and willingness to heed those whispers in your heart from that God of yours who loves you, who adores you, who waits for you with joy and excitement, who calls you His own.

You have within you a dream placed on your heart by God–a dream perfectly sized and created just for you to step into. It is the beginning of you, the start of you seeing God more fully, the opportunity for you to experience God more completely. He has designed your heart, your passion, your talents, your strengths, your mind, for pursuing a dream that He wants to more fully awaken in you.

Don’t you want to know what it is?

Is it possible you already know?

There is a pretty amazing dreamer, believer, writer, encourager, heart-pursuer named Holley Gerth that you have probably heard about. She’s a life coach, author, and entrepreneur—and she has invited me to join her in gathering up His girls in stepping courageously into the ownership of and pursuit of their God-sized dreams.

You know how it is tough to live this life He gives us well, all by ourselves? Well, Holley, with kindness and wisdom, has a newly published ebook that coaches us in taking practical steps towards pursuing our God-sized dream.

Don’t you just love how we don’t have to do any of this dream-pursuing and figuring out all on our own?

We’re in this together girl. Truly. And I know how a bit uncomfortable it can feel to stretch out a bit and say ‘yes’ to something new. I am actually a bit tentative about writing down what my God-sized dream is and sharing it with you here. So, instead . . . well, I videotaped myself talking to you all about it. . .

‘Cause you matter to me. . . And you, His girl, are the inspiration for the dream God is unfolding.

Subscribers, please click here to come on over to see the video and hear what I have to say.

Okay, girls, now you know. . .

So, come on now, don’t hold back . . . What is on your heart to share? What is your God-sized dream? {If you don’t feel like making a video and sending it to me to tell me all about it . . .  your precious words in the comments will do just fine. ;) } I am so grateful for you.

One of God’s girls and dreamers,

January 8, 2013 — 46 Comments
In Community, Identity ,
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Opportunity

I can’t even count the days since I’ve last written a post here. It hasn’t been that long, over a week, I think, but it feels like so much longer. Perhaps it is because in these stretched out days of vacation, with fun and kids and noise and chaos and goodness and things feeling all turned upside-down, I have to trust that I am right where I am supposed to be. As a girl who struggles to believe she has words to find and scratch out–all the while feeling discombobulated when she doesn’t sit down and write–it is also good for me to remember I am not what I do. I do only what I am–from the strength that is in me, that He has given me, in the moments He offers. What I do with Him is the truest thing about me. And whether that means I am writing or vacuuming pine needles from the rug or getting injured from crazy toboggan rides and snowman building adventures in the snow . . . I am most myself when I am with Him, listening, trusting, believing He is in me–and together, we have something to do.

I wouldn’t have written here tonight if it weren’t for this community that gathers up across the globe to listen, together, to the messages He sends to our hearts when we lean in and trust His heart in us. . . For, truly, girls, when we let Him in and trust He is for us, our hearts know these are more than just words on a page. . . It is beginning. It is invitation. It is gathering. It is awakening. It is identity.

And here it is the prompt that I will write on for just five minutes: opportunity

Five Minute Friday

GO

I believe that I am and true and beautiful and glorious when it is just the two of us, together. and I get all doubtful and confused about what I am supposed to do when I start comparing myself to others and believing I just don’t have what it takes. I worry about not being obedient to You, that You have given me something amazing and awesome . . ’cause that’s how You are . . And I get distracted sometimes by the looking for the awesome. Yes, the awesome might be the writing beyond the blog that scares me–and that is what You have for me now, I think–or it might be my bending low to tie, once again, the forever-coming-untied laces of my daughter’s hot pink and turquoise shoes.

Oh, Father, we are here with you, Your girls, listening, believing, wanting more of You, wanting to be free of sorry and self-doubt and pain and anxiety that all come from wondering if these lives of ours are bringing you glory, offering you beauty, radiating Your face as You look into our eyes and smile.

And I will stop writing my words now. . and listen to Yours. I always like them better. You in me is always better than me alone.

Oh, girl, you make me smile. Again, and again, and again. Come closer now, dear one, the light plays music upon your face so that I can see the dancing of hope upon this mind and heart that I’ve created. You are mine-My adored, My beauty, and you can dance bravely and beautifully and confidently when your face is turned to Me, just to Me. Together, we will do these things. Together, not alone, and then, beginning will come.

STOP

Thankful, so thankful for you gathering up here, with me, friends. What opportunity are you being invited into, with God, this day?

In His love,

January 3, 2013 — 22 Comments
In Faith, Identity, Voice, Words in Me
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Girlfriend, let’s get real

 

My friend leans forward in her chair, looks at our sister, reminding her–and each of us gathered up around her– that the men in our husbands’ group call it ” posing” when they try to pretend like everything is okay, when it’s not. Yes, we nod, pretending can be so tiring. And she shares that she and her husband know so many men, their friends, that refuse to do that anymore. They just can’t.

What do we women call “posing”?

These men have found real life in the sharing with trusted friends that  yes, they struggle with lust, yes, they messed up and looked at pornography, yes, they are afraid to slow down at work because then they would have to come home to their family and it is so hard when the guide book on parenting and marriage isn’t always spelled out so clearly and life gets messy.

We fall, and when we hide it from one another, no one feels better. Shame just digs in a little deeper.  Darkness, in the hiding, gets a little darker.

And my friend looks into the eyes of our sister who has just poured out truth: who she is can never be adequately measured by what she does–and affirms that she is powerful, here. Our sister knows who she is and will not be swayed to prove that her value is in her reputation as an artist, a writer, a model, a parent, a wife, a friend.

She is loved. And she knows it.

Which means she can be brave.

She is loved. And she knows it.

Which means she can yell out to her God and know that He loves to listen.

She is loved, and she knows it.

Which means she can open the door that she’d rather stay shut because God is with her, and He equips her to do anything–anything–He desires for her to do.

She is loved, and she knows it.

Which means she can run to God and not hide and not strive and instead look full into His face and be emboldened by His smile, His adoration, His strength in her to feel weak and loved and beautiful and imperfect and delighted in.

She is loved, and she knows it.

Which means she is whole. She doesn’t have a thing to prove to herself, to her friends, to her kids, to her husband, to that heart of hers that was fashioned with His own hands.

In a group of His girls, where she is safe, she can tell the truth.

And she is glorious.

I sit there, baffled in her beauty, and ask His Spirit to help me take her in.

“My cherished girls, how my delight is on you! How I cup your face in my hands and pour my breath into you to help you run this race with strides of skill and grace and fluidity. You wait and you call on my name and I am faithful. I am present. I am with you. I am here to be adored and to serve. Oh, how my Son served and look how you follow Him–how you recognize my voice as He did too. Yes, you are my daughters and I reach for you and call you my own. I do not forsake you nor leave you, and I have plans for you that stir those hearts of yours to willingness to follow, with reckless abandon and joyful singing and hope and sorrow squelched. I adore you, my girls. Let us go out together, this day, into the unfolding. Watch the unfolding begin.”

His girls, friends, I pray for us as we lay low in humbleness, accepting the truth that we are so delighted in that our Father sent His son to die on our behalf–and that we rise high, holding His hand, letting ourselves be folded into His love, and the truth that we are beautifully made. And we don’t have to be anything more. Who He made us to be is more than enough.

My friend shared this quote by George MacDonald on Facebook last night, and I want to share it with you here.

“I would rather be what God chose to make me than the most glorious creature that I could think of; for to have been thought about, born in God’s thought, and then made by God, is the dearest, grandest, and most precious thing in all thinking.”

Can you take this in? Do you believe it?

Bless you, sweet friends.

 

 

Do you want to connect in the in-between blog times, on Facebook, over at You Are My Girls Community? You can find us here! {Hope to see you soon!}

Sharing in community with Jennifer and Emily.

November 28, 2012 — 5 Comments
In Identity, Voice , , , ,
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What our hearts say this day before Thanksgiving

There is the moment between waking and sleeping, the stirring within us of something new, something coming to surface. Vulnerable–small, still–we can push it back down, or we can let it arise within us. We can wake up or stay asleep.

I sit in a darkened kitchen, fingers searching these keys for words to reach this heart of mine. For I sit with you, knees bent to chest, head heavy–but clinging to Jesus’ words as He stands in the temple and gives all words He speaks credit where they are due. He knows where He comes from, because He knows His Father. And He speaks here to people in the temple as they deny each word He says:

“My Father, whom you claim as your God, is the one who glorifies me. Though you do not know him, I know him. If I said I did not, I would be a liar like you, but I do know him and obey his word” (John 8: 55, NIV).

He knew who He was, and He said He would be lying if He lived in any way that pointed to the opposite of that identity.

How we live shows what we believe. Our actions reveal our heart.

This day will likely be filled with lists of things to do, preparation for celebrating a day of thanks. And I stop here to pray that my thanks is lived out by a girl who knows who she is, believes what she’s made of, and who walks these words Jesus told the people in the temple who believed Him:

“If you hold to my teaching, you are really my disciples. Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free” (John 8: 32, NIV).

His teaching, His truth, frees us to awake–to live like we are not alone in this life. On this day, in these moments stretched out with Him, we have a choice: claim our identity as His girl, or not. Will we live like we are free?

And while I shudder to take in what Jesus says to those that don’t believe in Him, who choose against freedom and obeying His word, I must ponder if He is talking, indeed, to me.  He tells people sitting in the temple who do not believe Him and who want to kill Him:

“If God were your Father, you would love me, for I have come here from God. I have not come on my own; God sent me. Why is my language not clear to you? Because you are unable to hear what I say. You belong to your father, the devil, and you want to carry out your father’s desires. He was a murderer from the beginning, not holding to the truth, for there is no truth in him” (John 8: 43-44, NIV).

Girls, I claim that God is my Father when I love and am not selfish; when I do not judge and focus on my own needs but point to Jesus’ life and obedient surrender of self for the sake of God; when I rise and believe He is enough for me and that He gives me what I need to follow Him, anywhere He invites me to go. I claim His truth in me even when I fall, and try to follow Him, with my whole heart, again.

And today, the day before Thanksgiving, I do this only when I am awake to Him–in all the things He gives me to do: in the planning and the baking and the serving and the listening; in the cleaning and the errand-going and the decorating and the waiting. In all things today I can bring Him honor and point to Him, His truth in me. My words, my actions all point to my belief about my father.

While it is possible to live a lie, we live out some “truth”–false or not, as each thing we do reveals what and whom we believe.

This day, what truth do I choose to claim?

Girls, we can awake. He is enough for us, this day.

Praying you have a beautiful Thanksgiving, friends. I love when I hear from you in the comments (found by clicking “comments” right under the title of this article, at the top).  Your voice in this discussion means so much to me.

Love to you,

 

 

Gratefully linking up in community with Jennifer and Duane.

November 21, 2012 — 12 Comments
In Faith, Identity, Joy ,
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31 Days to Awaken: What is my name?

Day 10

It all comes down to remembering who I am.  In the dark, in the light, there is a promise:  I am Your girl.  I am Your beloved, Your daughter, Your cherished one.  You came for me.

Do you know this?  Do you remember this?  Do you keep this close to your heart?  How do you check yourself when you fall away from that truth of who you are?  How does He bring you back to Him?

Three years ago now, when I longed to hear His voice in me, when I pursued Him for the first time with my desperate heart, He gave me a new name.

“For Zion’s sake I will  not keep silent, and for Jerusalem’s sake I will not keep quiet.  Until her righteousness goes forth like brightness, and her salvation like a torch that is burning.  The nations will see your righteousness, and all kings your glory; and you will be called by a new name which the mouth of the Lord will designate. You will also be a crown of beauty in the hand of the Lord.  And a royal diadem in the hand of your God.  It will no longer be said to you, “Forsaken,” nor to your land will it any longer be said, “Desolate”; but you will be called, “My delight is in her.“  And your land, “Married”; for the Lord delights in you, and to Him your land will be married.  For as a young man marries a virgin, so your sons will marry you; and as the bridegroom rejoices over the bride, so your God will rejoice over you” (Isaiah 62:1-5).

He will rejoice over you. You will be called by a name “which the mouth of the Lord will designate.”  He sees you now, He speaks to you now.  When He sits beside you now, what does He call you?  As He lives inside you now, to what name do you respond?

I wanted a new name.  I needed to know — I need to know constantly — what He calls me, how He sees me.  For me to be healed from my past, drop the old me, the old life, accept that He has taken all my sin which I believed defined me,  I needed Him to show me that that is not how He sees me.  I needed to know that despite all that I’ve done, despite all that I do, He sees me in my fullness, in my beauty, in His Light, where for darkness there is no room.

“For of His fullness we have all received, and grace upon grace” (John 1:16).

When my Father looks on me, He sees where I am going, He looks on me with the fullness that is in me, what I am becoming as I choose Him.  His heart for me is more than I can comprehend, and that is where I want to stay.

“For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor any other created thing, will be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Romans 8:39).

Nothing separates me from Him.  He delights in me.  He wants to be with me.  I cannot begin this day without Him, without asking Him to cleanse me again, remind me again, who I am.

When I know who I am, I reject what is false about me, I am more easily able to discern His truth and walk with His heart.  Unless I believe His heart for me, I cannot live, cannot respond to anyone, do anything, in love. So, Father, remind me again, what is my name?  What do You call me?  I adore You, Lord, my Savior.  You have redeemed me.  I am new.

“Therefore if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creature; the old things passed away, behold, new things have come” (2 Corinthians 5:17).

Friends, go to Him with expectation!   He longs to share with You what He sees when He looks at you, His daughter, His redeemed.  He has claimed you as His own, His precious one, His delight.  Be filled up with His love for you!  His voice is tender.  It is within you, and His voice  is all around.  Listen carefully; expect that He will come.  He is so excited for You to come and ask Him to tell you for the first time, or for the millionth, how much He loves you.  He is doing it now.

Father, open our hearts, so we can hear You speak Your love into us.  Tell us our name.  We are listening.  We believe You are in us, that You love us, that we are new, in You.  Show us Your truth again. Let that be how we respond to this day:  in truth, from the recognition of what is True about us.  Let us reject anything that is not of You, any lie that threatens to separate us from You.  You have conquered all.  You have died so that we might live.  You come again.  There is only Light in You.  Only Life.  Let us step into that Light with You, rejecting anything that is false.  Give us a new identity, Father.  Let more of You enter in so we walk towards the fullness that You already see.

Yes, that is who we are.  We are Yours.

Ask Him now, girls.  Stay, there, with Him, in expectation. . .

Father, what is my name?

Is there a post in the series, so far, that you missed?  You can find all the posts listed here.

And click here to subscribe to make sure you don’t miss a thing! :)

Linking with these beautiful communities:  Jennifer & Emily

October 9, 2012 — 7 Comments
In Identity
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