In a conversation with a friend earlier this week, they expressed the frustration about their lack of ability to know God in this season of their life. As we were talking, an image flashed through my mind of the differences in how I was taught to see God and how I have come to know him. This is the result of that flash. “It is the journey of a lifetime. And it’s like you’re just coming to a place where you can push back the curtains to see the sun rising as the new day dawns. But it’s okay if you’re still resting for a bit before you get up to do that. In the stillness, God is there. In the silence, you can know him. He is big enough to be all there and strong enough to not need to prove it. What comes to mind is laying in a hotel room after sunrise. You know how dark it can be, except for the rays of light that break through the cracks? The church says look at the light and you’ll see God. Which isn’t exactly wrong, maybe, but it’s a controlled perspective of God. ...
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Here’s a glimpse of my week. It started out feeling as fragile as the bubbles that floated into the sky on the first morning of school. But the more I leaned into the work of continuing my healing journey (in therapy at the building that doesn’t terrify me anymore), lived out the calling to preach the gospel wherever possible (sometimes with words, like in the classroom where this print hung), and shared the process that’s empowered me to find the balance between leaning in and living out… the more I sink into bed exhausted and yet full of hope for what is coming. Today was similar. Hard conversations. Heavy things to do. Holding lightly the people I come in contact with who are sensitive to engagement. Life has been said to be a balancing act, but I contend that if it’s an act, it’s not in balance. Show up for yourself. Find your footing. Stand in your centered place. Only from there can you actually offer hope. It may be messy, but it’s so worth it. I love you, friends.
Seven years ago today, I had worked through the night to get as much office work done as possible before Ean made his entrance, and I took this picture of my computer monitor sometime in the middle of the night. Labor was keeping me awake anyway, so I decided to be productive. Sean had put this sticker on my computer sometime in the months before we got to this point, and it stood out to me that night. Pregnancy hormones were a beast, and the reminder was an important one many times over. This week, it was timely to see it pop up again. I don't have that computer anymore, we don't live in that state anymore, I don't go to that hospital anymore, the baby that I was terrified wouldn't survive that night turned 7 today. In the midst of all the chaos, I hold onto the truth that it will be okay... and today, I am thankful to live in the reality that it is also already okay even when it isn't. Happy Wednesday, friends. Hold onto hope. I love you!
I was at Shawnee Nazarene Academy yesterday morning to do a professional development presentation for the teachers on emotional regulation. It was tough to prepare for in this period of chaos, and my anxiety wouldn't let me do anything more than handwritten notes. Added to that, the fact that going into church spaces makes my blood run cold right now made the morning rough. I was panicky on the way and couldn't stop crying. By the time I got there, I had calmed down enough to go in, but I was unsure how it would go. Flashback to last fall. We had just started at SNA before my trip to Africa. Stepping into the quiet of the sanctuary at Shawnee Church of the Nazarene, God met me in that space. I wrote a post about it at the time and shared pictures at https://www.threepurplehearts.com/.../i-stepped-into... This morning, I was seeking to steady myself before I joined the group, so I went back into that sanctuary. I've been in and out and through there since then for programs ...