Once Upon a Time

Many of us live our lives waiting for the next thing to happen. We're here, in the middle of our life stories, knowing our days are numbered, and we're just waddling through or struggling on until we get to the exciting part of the story - or even the end itself.

We KNOW our Lord is God of the beginning and the end. We hear it every Sunday and every Wednesday and in our devotions. But our Once Upon a Time has grown stale. We need fresh reminders that He is here with us EVERY DAY IN BETWEEN until the final chapter.

In John 10:10, He promises that "I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full." And He gives us that fullness each and every day through the dwelling of the Holy Spirit in us and through us.

As a teacher, I watch my students WAITING for the next thing. When school starts we wait for fall break, then for Thanksgiving break, then for Christmas break, then for Spring break, and then for the end of the school year. We spend so much time WAITING for the next thing I really think we miss out on the FULLNESS of EVERY SINGLE DAY.

Sometimes the waiting is more serious. We're waiting for answers, watiing for someone to treat us with respect, waiting for our prince to arrive, waiting to get pregnant - but still, our lives are focused on what's NEXT instead of what's NOW, because now isn't what we want. We want what's next.

As women, our Once Upon a Time stories don't often feel like the Cinderella fairy tale or the Happily Ever After. Especially at the holidays when according to the Hallmark specials we should be dressed in our holiday best, having holiday celebrations with no hiccups - we feel overworked, underappreciated, and just plan tired. We isolate ourselves because there's no way anyone else's house is this dirty, the laundry this unkempt, and we're sure no one else's kids act like our kids behind closed doors.

We also feel that NO ONE else's story includes fears, anxiety, loneliness, depression, or any of those other common struggles women face. So, we choose not to share them - because WHAT WOULD SHE THINK IF I DID?

So, we put on the happy face, come to church, and answer surface questions about how we are with an answer about the weather.

I'm always thinking about next week when I have a day to REALLY clean the house or REALLY organize my pantry.  Someday my house will be EXACTLY what I want it to be, and THEN I'll feel at peace.  Then will story will be "Happily Ever After."

Someday, that relationship will be what I want it to be, and then my story will be happily ever after.

When I get that dream job or write that book or perform that song or...fill in the blank with your own "When I..." -THEN my story will be "Happily Ever After" and my Once Upon a Time will be worthshile.

A couple years ago, a close friend gave me a book titled One Thousand Gifts.

A housewife and mother just like me asked herself the question, "How do we find joy in the midst of deadlines, debt, drama, and daily duties? What does a life of gratitude look like when days are gritty, long, and sometimes dark? What is God providing HERE AND NOW?"

She began a journey to live her one life well. She left behind the bucket list and focused on every day.  She decided to focus on a transformative spiritual discipline of chronicling gifts, writing her journey of gratitude. Not what she wished for or wanted to achieve, but what she was thankful for TODAY, it changed her perspective even in the mundane.

She realized that even though she had said yes to God, yes to Christianity, she was really living the no. She was only thankful for what she liked, what appealed to her and whata she felt was best for her.

She wrote about her journey of giving God everything - and thanking him for it all - the good and the bad.

Farmers do everything the can to make a crop. They plant the seeds, fertilize the ground, do what they can for that crop to appear. But the reality is, they control SO LITTLE. It's God who decides it all. We are afraid to stop waiting and just allow God to change our story, because maybe we don't KNOW what the different ending holds.

Remember John 10:10 - "I have come that you may have life, and live it to the full."

We spend a lot of time letting go and letting God. But no matter how much control we think we have over the waiting and the Happily Ever After of our stories, God is the one writing our lives.

Two Christmas seasons ago, I was diagnosed with cancer. Before I went into my surgery, a group of friends came to pray with me. My husband asked me what I was thinking and I said, "I don't like that when I go under the anesthesia, I won't be in control." My sweet husband grabbed my face and said, "Carrie, you've never been in control."

Through her journey, Ann Voskamp, the writer of One Thousand Gifts, said that as long as thanks is possible, then joy is possible. She began giving thanks in the borind, the painful, the happy - in all things. It changed her life.

On the night Jesus was betrwyed, he took some bread and GAVE THANKS to God for it.

John 10:10 doesn't say He wants us to live life to the full - except for those days when we feel unappreciated.

OR - except when the bad things happen.

OR - except when we feel lonely and isolated and depressed.

He says he came so that we might have life - TO THE FULL.

During this holiday season, I have a John 10:10 challenge for you. Your Once Upon a Time may not always FEEL like Happily Ever After, but learning how to be thankful - whether empty or full - will give us joy we didn't know we had.  Let's not look to the NEXT happiness, but live our day to day being grateful for the Spirit's presence.

"And I will ask the Father, and He will give you another Counselor to be with you forever - the Spirit of Truth. The world cannot accept him, because it neither sees Him nor knows Him. But you know Him, for He lives in you and will be in you. I will not leave you as orphans; I will come to you. " John 14:16-18

Today I am thankful that God allowed a summer of anxiety so I could minister to another woman who was dealing with anxiety.

Tonight, I am thankful that SAME anxiety drove me to a deeper and more intimate time with Him.

Tonight, I am thankful my father was in my wedding pictures just before he died.

I am thankful for the mess in my bedroom that reminds me God doesn't love me because of how clean I am.

Ann said, "Life changing gratitude does not fasten to a life unless nailed through with one very specific nail at a time." So let's begin tonight. And I challenge you to take the John 10:10 challenge and change your patterns. Begin a life of gratitude. Pound out the ugly nails - the nails of offense, jealousy, hurt feelings, anger with a nail that is even SHARPER. A nail of gratitude, a John 10:10 life to the full.

So I challenge you to take the JOY DARE. A year of writing 1000 gifts you are grateful for. Go to Ann Voskamp's website and print the year long JOY DARE. I believe God wants to change your life through your heart of gratitude.

www.aholyexperience.com

First Worshippers

There is something about anticipation.  There is something about the waiting, the guessing, the planning.  Sometimes what we remember most about a memory is what led up to that moment. As a child I remember counting down to Christmas. As a teenager I remember the car ride into Chicago to see my first musical. As a young woman I anticipated my engagement, my wedding. Seven years ago I waited anxiously for my baby girl to be born. There is a preparation that happens in the anticipation that is like no other.

I needed that nine months to prepare my heart to be a first time mother. Part of me (well, all of me) just wanted that baby to be BORN! I remember walking laps around Wal-Mart just willing her to come early. I was aching for the moment I could see her precious face the first time. It was that sweet preparation, imagining and hoping that made the final moment so much sweeter.

As worshippers, we need to be anticipating. Sunday morning before church is our pre-game time. The anticipation and prayer time is what leads to the movement of the Spirit because our hearts are ready. We have already cleared the muck out of our brains and hearts by concentrating on Him.

So how do we anticipate? On Sunday morning in our house, the only music played is worship.  It is a common thread and our daughter knows nothing more is allowed before church. Not because what she might listen to or watch would be inappropriate, but because we are preparing our hearts. This often starts the night before in our choices. I know life is crazy, so my heart needs to be prepared. In the car, we often quote scripture or talk about how God is working. It doesn’t need to be over planned, but it is important to quiet our hearts before God and focus on Him.

When we anticipate something, it is because we are overflowing with excitement for the outcome. It often breaks my heart that everything else besides church and our Father make us more excited. We anticipate vacations and holidays, new purchases, sporting events, but it is difficult to hunger for a movement of God that will change lives.

The responsibility of a First Worshipper, or anyone leading the congregation in worship, or frankly, anyone worshipping at all, is not only to anticipate and prepare his or her heart, but to live in the overflow, leading others in that worship. This should be evident by an outpouring of worship. Now, I’m not asking anyone to be someone he or she is not, but there is a First Worshipper responsibility to lead in ways the congregation is not required. Our choices give freedom to others. Whether it is merely a smile or a raise of the hand, we should always be conscious of the message we are portraying.

Is our God really the eternal Savior who has saved us from forever being lost? And if He is, isn’t that something to ring out to the heavens? However you normally respond to an exciting event should be the first reaction you have in this situation. It is the first response you give as a First Worshipper.

Our faces tell a story. Our eyes shine truth. Our mouths sing out our songs. But the words we sing are not always the evident testimonies of our lives. Maybe we really do mean the words, but how is the congregation supposed to know? How are they supposed to identify with us as worshippers and WANT WHAT WE HAVE? That is really the key. God has given us the gift of being a First Worshipper. Those are the people that step foot in His church as leaders in praise. That gift is precious, because through our praise, others will connect with our stories and long to tell their own.

This cannot be done with heads buried in music or fiddling with paper. This cannot be done with faces drawn of emotion and a lack of smiles on faces. This cannot be done with resistant bodies and stiff arms.

Our bodies, heads, smiles, eyes, tell the stories our voices cannot. Not all of our congregation will ever hear your deliverance from substance or your miracle of healing, but they will watch your face when you sing and they will know what a mighty God you serve.

We are His First Worshippers. And we owe Him the praise and honor that is worthy of a God who has made it possible for us to worship at all.

 

 

 

A boy like him.

He spoke today.

An entire semester of unconditional prompting...
seeing through his silly remarks and self-conscious statements.

I saw change in him today. During our class discussion, he offered something:

On his own.

His handwriting is messy and haphazard.
He doesn't like school and everything about it.

But in his journals he would tell me about his mom's death,
the cruelty of kids,
in short bursts of sentence-like structure.

These moments, these tiny triumphs are the joys
of teaching
in the midst of
assessments paperwork evaluations standards interruptions
there are boys like him.

It wasn't much - only a few quietly mumbled sentences.

But he offered himself.

And that's a pretty big deal for him.

I know, because I'm his teacher.

It made me think of Jesus - how comparatively to His glory,
our offerings are a few quietly mumbled sentences.
We're messy and haphazard.
Nothing much.

But He sees us as His kids,
and He hears our prayers about our pain.

Each breath we give to Him are
tiny triumphs,
and He knows us, because He's our teacher.

If He's half as excited about me as I am about those few
uneducated words I heard from that boy today
it gives me just a taste of the way He looks at me and loves me
despite, even though and because.

And that's a pretty big deal
for me.

Soaking

I am home from school today - a holiday. My husband is working and my daughter is at school. I kept this day sacred because it was needed: sacred time with my Savior.

Only women understand this phenomenon. Since I have been home on this sacred day, I have blown the leaves out of my yard, front and back, and I've "thrown in" a couple loads of laundry. It takes everything in me to sit on my porch and well, just sit.

My soul longs for the sanctuary of the Lord. Day and night I long for Him. My heart seeks Him all the time, and because I need Him so much, I pray without ceasing.

But I feel guilty.

I feel guilty sitting.

What has this society done to women that makes us feel like we are worth nothing if something isn't accomplished? Maybe this is a Carrie thing - I tend to always be "doing," but I don't think I'm alone in this.

A wise friend shared with me that if the ONLY thing she does during the day is seek His face then she has fulfilled her purpose.

Now, of course, I'm not advocating for laziness or doing nothing (any husbands reading my blog right now are beginning to worry). But I AM advocating that we need to SOAK. As I sit on my bed writing this blog post I can see two baskets of laundry that need taken care of. My daughter's room certainly needs some organization. I have waited for weeks to paint my kitchen table. And now my dog is barking in the back yard.

Everything screams for our attention. Why is it the voice that saves our lives gets ignored the most? All of these things - laundry, table, room, - they will waste away. They aren't eternal. I cannot do anything else well in my life if I am not living in the overflow of the soaking of my soul.

We have time for everything we choose. We make time for coffee with friends, watching that favorite TV show, sleeping, going to that concert or shopping for groceries. But what I hear most lately is how busy we are (myself included).

This is dangerous.

We aren't getting the deep, intimate, soaking we need. There is NOTHING good in us, only God, so if He is the only good, how can we get what we need in a quick two minute devotional read?

We can't.

So I asked the Holy Spirit to push my guilt aside and I sat in the majestic cathedral of my back yard. I read His word and soaked in His presence. I intentionally looked for Him - how He was working and what He was saying.

I just sat still.

And it was very difficult for this extrovert "doer" to do.

But my soul was refreshed and my heart is full.

And funny how all those other things seem to fall into place when I allow the Lord to create the good in me instead of trying to do it all myself.

Press in to Him, all you broken. He will make you new.

her story

she was never
good enough.

she was reaching for something she could never achieve.
the best was only a step in the direction of perfection -
and though it was impossible
even as a little girl

she tried.
                       BUT

she was never
good enough.


jesus only loves the good enough, right?
performance
perfection
performance
perfection

but when a stick got stuck in the bicycle wheel
and the performanceperfection track

*hiccupped*

she felt like a failure.

she didn't just
feel
that way.

she
WAS
that way.

she knew God was holding the
big stick
and on the
big stick
was the word
PERFECT
and if she didn't achieve
PERFECT
she would feel the end of the
big stick.

plaster on the happy and go back to
performance
perfection
performance
perfection
performance
perfection.

because no one REALLY asked
when you plaster on the happy

no one REALLY cared
and didn't REALLY mean

"how are you?"

because people ALL
plaster on the happy
because they are deceived
and think
their own lives
are the only ones with the
plaster.

her life is better.
her life is better.
NO one feels the plaster cracking
we patch it up and keep it there.

her life is better
her life is better

then a friend who was jesus with skin on said

"you know He loves you when you do
NOTHING,
right?"

and her plaster started to soften.

"you know He loves you WITH all your
not good enough-ness,
right?"

her plaster began to melt.

"you know He wants you to come
AS YOU ARE,
right?"

her plaster fell off in pieces.
and the pieces made a

MESS.

but they belonged to
jesus.

and the journey belongs to
jesus.

so get out your hammer.
it's time to break some plaster.

For the honest...

The price is high.

No one
wants to
admit
to being
broken.

That would mean
transparency
reality
vulnerability

the heart beating
in an open chest
raw to
                        everyone.

It's messy being
real.

It's not pretty
or perfect
or put together
or "sitting in the pew and watching" worthy.

Admitting brokenness
means admitting
what we all know
AND NEVER SAY:

                  "I am a sinner."

Just like the thief
and the prostitute
and the drunk
and the addict
and the prisoner
and the gossip
and the lukewarm
and the liar
and the cheater
and the...{fill in awful sin here}.

WE ARE ALL THE SAME.

The level of sin deems
NO ONE
more worthy of His
grace.

Broken is what binds us
together.

Broken is what the cross
bled.

Broken is the honest true reckless dependence on no one but
the one who broke Himself to give us someone on which to depend.

Broken is the wayward tired lost prodigal's answer to too much
trying and heaving and prying and achieving.

Broken is admitting wrongdoing and sinning and horrible humanness
that leaves no one exempt from etermal damnation.

Broken is the promise of a journey that extends beyond the grave to a home
we can worship the one who washes the feet of the

broken.

I am broken.

And it is beautiful.

Remi

She spent her life chasing her father's love.

If she was good
(maybe he wouldn't put me in
      scalding water when I wet the bed).

If she was better
(maybe he wouldn't kick me
      OVER and OVER and OVER
           in the stomach with his boots).

If she was worthy of his love
(he wouldn't bust my lip or
            throw my brother through a wall or
                        hold my baby brother over
                               a burning stove).

If only her mother
            her brother
           
If only she

            could learn.

Her name is Nigerian for
        "God brought  goodwill to her father when she was born."

When she found out
what her name meant
she realized
(God is disappointed in me because
          I am not doing what He put me
                  on this earth to do:  bring goodwill to my
                           father).

She kept trying
tryingtryingtryingtryingtryingtrying
to make him happy.

She was running a crazy
crazycrazycrazycrazycrazycrazycrazy
race.

She isolated.
She allowed him to rule her.
She attempted safe.
(By myself I am safe from all other people in the world
               like my dad who would hurt me).

Then
God
brought
her
Jesus
with
skin
on.

This woman had something she wanted.
(I saw a light in her I didn't posses).

She
found
more
people
like
Jesus.

For the first time in her life
     (I was embraced by people who didn't expect anything
                 in return).

For the first time in her life
     (I was given love freely, I didn't have to work at all).

For the first time in her life
     (I began to allow love to affect me
                                             change me
                                             stretch who I
                 THOUGHT I WAS).

She didn't deserve it.
No one does.
God reached the deepest part of her
brokenness and said,
"This is my love for you.
I give it to you.
Freely embrace me as I embrace you."

She left her father's grip
and crawled in the hands of her Father.

Her name:
Zainabu OluRemi Adetula.

God will use her to bring goodwill
to the nations.

Emily

She was never
taught
how to pray.

Or if she was
she didn't
pay attention in
catechism.

She wasn't sure
how
to                 put               the                words
together.

She didn't even
really know
what prayer
was or did
or how it was said.

But when
her baby girls
struggled
for life

"She has a 20% chance of survival."

                  She had to dig deep.
                  She dug for the words and the wisdom.
                  But prayer is just a conversation.
                  A conversation she had with the Giver of all things.

Prayer was
WHAT SHE NEEDED.
Prayer was
POWER SHE NEEDED.

It strengthened her family.
It strengthened her soul.
It gave her gratitude.

The story continues
but she has hope,
faith in the little things
and the mysterious beauty
in our broken world.

Antonio

He watched
as his father
fell
several
stories
to save his family
from the fire.

He watched
him
crawl
to the firefighters.

He watched
his father
nurse
those injuries and
suffer.

He watched
as his father
his mother
his brothers
lost
themselves
in
the world.

                       So he lost himself in basketball.
                       So he hid and sheltered himself in the game.

He watched
a grown man
pull his daughter's arm.

"Never let a black boy open the door for you."

Only he didn't say
black boy.

He watched
a world that
judged by
the color of skin.

                       So he lost himself in basketball.
                       So he hid in the comfort of the stereotype.
                       So he gripped the flattery of the fame.
                      
He watched
the expectation
of his skin color
and hid in that
expectation.

For all his watching he did more hiding.

But he could not hide from
Him.

He had been watching him
ALL ALONG.

The Savior knew
                         why he lost himself in basketball.
The Savior understood
                         why he hid in the comfort of the stereotype.
The Savior cried
                         as he was judged by what he couldn't change.


It was undeserved - this love
this knowing, understanding, crying
    from the Savior.

But it is always undeserved - this love
this knowing, understanding, crying
    from the Savior.

That is why its beauty is such a gift to the
broken
undeserving
fallen
judged
hurting
lost.

It was his gift.

And now he gives it back -
to many just like him
                              who lose themselves
                              who hide
                              who are judged
                              who cry

Because those who are undeserving
tell BEST the story of the gift
of grace.

Amy

Once
there was a girl
who thanked God
for her eyes

             He provided surgery for her to see.

Once
there was a girl
who lived many places

             He helped her understand and adapt to change.

Once
there was a girl
who asked God
WHY?
Why my father?

             He restored, healed, renewed her in the midst of darkness and gave her hope.

This girl was
      seeking death and God provided a way out.

This girl needed
       someone to show her unconditional love
       and God gave her a friend.

This girl experienced
        danger with a man
        and God spared her the pain.

This girl desires
         lifetime love
         and God has His timing planned.

All of the ways this girl experienced God -
she was being prepared
to show another girl
or another
as He leads her beyond her wildest dreams
and prepares her home
so they can live
in a loving place where she can show how

                He restores, heals, renews in the midst of darkness and gives hope.

All she experienced
and continues to live and grow
she will pass
to the next generation
to those who need to hear
that

Now
there is a girl
whose broken beauty
will change
another girl's
Once upon a time.

Jeanne

When her daddy
left
she was devastated.

She was
too young
and pregnant
and married
at 17.

Co-dependent
and
learning to cope
it
didn't
work.

She was
too young
and married
again
at 19.

Speed
and
drinking
taught
her how to
fight.

Co-dependent
and
searching for love
it didn't
work.

Again.
and again.
and again.

As an adult
she reconciled
with her
daddy and
begain to
understand
unconditional
Fatherly
love.

But
men and
boats and
meth and
pain
continued.

It
just
didn't
work.

Because she was leaning on the wrong person.
Her dependency on others wouldn't solve
anything.

Her dependency on finding love wouldn't solve
anything.

When she found the Savior -
she found the love that was
everything.

And the Savior pointed her to
the man who loved Him
before her.

Which is the ONLY
way it works.

By
pointing
to
the
Savior.

And now
TOGETHER
they are loving
by pointing to
Him
and not depending on
each other.

When she found her
Daddy
she found
herself.

Affirmation

"God doesn't waste a hurt."

The missionary
spoke of
Haiti.

The poor,
the destitute,
the homeless,
the lonely,
the fatherless.

The missionary
spoke of
them.

Living in
tents,
displaced from
the earthquake,
homes the size
of large
American
televisions.

The missionary
spoke from
them.

Their message:

The same God who brings
HEALING and
BEAUTY to the
broken of
Haiti

wants to bring
HEALING and
BEAUTY to the
broken of
America.

He is the same God.

There is no measure for
broken.

One
broken is not more
important
painful
than another.

Broken is broken.

And God wants to bring
HEALING and
BEAUTY
to the broken.

"God doesn't waste a hurt."

Dana

God called her to love babies.

But not just

    ANY

babies.

The unwanted babies.

         The unwanted children.

The babies who have been

beaten

    shaken

         and neglected.

 The children who have 

 eaten from trash cans

    and shrink from touch.

These unwanted

have     crawling hair

  and rough skin.

No one wants to touch them

or

   hug them

or

   cuddle them.

Theses children answer by   shrinking hiding running

                        scratching with fingernails

because

they

don't

comprehend understand know grasp

love.

Who would love the unwanted?

She was fearful, too.

But she answered when

God

called - with not just one baby.

THREE

        children...

Her heart skipped

    a beat.

But she said

YES. 

These children were

worthy

of love.

All children are

worthy

of love.

And it's hard.

Not to love

but to help them accept 

love

because

they  don't  know  how.

But she knows a wonderful

truth

about love.

God loves the

unwanted.

We are ALL unwanted.

We are ALL in need of Him.

He wants us.

He loves us.

And His love uses

her willingness

To mend precious

broken

babies children adults 

They are all beautiful.

Please visit Dana's blog:   http://momof3darlings.wordpress.com/

Kylla

She is a raging river.

Wild.

The river brings
passion fervor bravery.
She saves thousands
seeks justice for
those who have not.

Those who are taken
Who have no advantage.
The helpless.
The young.
The women.
The trafficked.

She understands
and has experienced
being torn
no advantage
being taken
feeling helpless.

Passion pushes her
as she rages on
but this river lends itself to
rebellion
and
walking
away
from
the river's Creator.

She creates her
own
path.

So He
being
Him
watches her
crash bump bruise battle
with
Tearing pain
Fierce wind
Swirling current

and wants to
ride with her
if she would
only

only

only

allow Him.

He wants to direct
(siphon)
the river
And point out the
Beauty
as she reels out of control.

He wants to hold her in the
Frantic frailty of life.

This raging river
must be
bridged
by a Savior.

She
Must
Surrender.

And when she
surrenders
she sees the joy
in the pain
the calm
after the storm

Surrender brings
New dreams
New joys
New focus
New life

Godly justice
for the have nots.
His purpose
not her plan.

Her river soul
is glassy smooth
and full of
Him.

There is a
gentle promise
in both
calm and dangerous
waters
when
She surrenders.

He guides her journey.

Jessica

She wasn't mad at God.
She lost three babies.
She saw them die.
But she wasn't mad.

She felt
            DECEIVED.

She built a giant wall and only let God
get this                           close.

Inside the wall was
insulation.
A faux protection from anything
bad
He might allow.

She had a baby.
A boy.
She held him sotightshecouldhardlytakea

Breath.

The boy didn't belong to her.
She knew he belonged to
God.
But her heart
GRIPPED HIM TIGHTLY
so she wouldn't lose him.

Then more pain.
Unexpected
ripping
pain.

A relationship she depended on...
fell through her fingers
like
air.

But she was challenged to forgive.
FOR ALL OF IT?
FORGIVE?
Pry open her clenched fist?
The grip she held so
tightly?
                              FORGIVE?
Reconcile her past?
Her babies?
Her family?
Her marriage?
Her relationships?
                              FORGIVE?

But when she did decide
to give Him back her
life  heart  marriage  kids 
and
more
pain.

She invited Him in
not to change what happened
but to change her response
to grace
to love
to trust.

When her miracle was born she
KNEW
the Holy Spirit
had
saved
her
miracle
baby.

He was closer than ever.
He always had been
waiting
waiting
waiting
for her.

She felt Him.
Not because her miracle situation was
perfect
or easy
or happy.

But because she invited Him.

She lifted her hands from her miracle
her palms out
holding her miracle up to Him
offering each breath.

He loves her more than she does.

Her clenched fist didn't control.
It kept Him out.
Her insulated wall didn't protect.
It kept Him from wiping her tears,
comforting her pain.

It isn't okay.
But it's His.
And it's better to be His
than okay.

She knows that now.
He will make something of her
terrible
beautiful
life.



Jessica also knows (in her words):

•life is a miraculous gift, whether it is shortly after conception, 11 1/2 hours, 36 hours, 8 years of wild boyness or 10 weeks of struggling fragility... I will love deeply
•there is much I cannot control. What I can is how I respond. Respond with love and graciousness. 
•always be open to what God is doing. If he is trying to teach me, I wanna be ready to learn, if he wants to use me, I wanna be available. What he leads me through will not be for nothing. I'm gonna let him make something of my terrible beautiful life

Diana

Good enough.
That's what she always
always
always
longed to be.

But things become
ugly
and
unmanageable
when we center on

ME ME ME ME ME.

Her failed attempts at
GOOD ENOUGH =
Plenty.

Striving to achieve
Begging for love
Dying to forget
Unable to fit

She turned to
any and all
that would dull
the forever nagging:

You
Aren't
Good
Enough.

She was taught to be
silent
about her rips/holes/tears
of the heart.

"We don't speak of
SUCH
things here."

We don't speak of
unwanted babies
grabbing the needle
inhaling the powder
swallowing the poison.

We don't speak of
reaching for acceptance
ignoring the danger
seeking love in horrid places
forgetting our self worth.

We don't speak.
We mask.
So she masked to
forget forget forget.

Then she found them.
Well, they found her.
The SPEAKERS.

The unmasked
few who were/are becoming
Many.

The Many who speak because
they know their sins aren't
MASKED but
WASHED
by a Savior.

To
speak
is to bring Him
Glory.

To bring Him
Glory
brings
beauty forth
from the
shattered shards of their
broken lives.

They invited her in.
She began to
SPEAK.

They invited her to lead.
She continued to
SPEAK.

She fell on her face.
And instead of hiding she
SPOKE.

Because speaking
and being spoken to
about what she masked
created the bridge
of

"I've been there."

Each misstep
she spoke.

And He
received ultimate
Glory.

There is only
shame in
silence.

And so she speaks.

And so should you.



Diana's Prayer:

For you were once darkness, but now you are light in the Lord. Live as children of light (for the fruit of the light consists in all goodness, righteousness and truth) and find out what pleases the Lord. Have nothing to do with the fruitless deeds of darkness, but rather expose them. Ephesians 5: 8-11

Gina

Hate.
The feeling that comes when
EVERYTHING
       she worked for
       she believed in
       she trusted in
       she planned around
                                                         IS GONE.

There is no
rhyme
no
reason.

It doesn't make sense.

Humanly - she can't see the reason for it.
Humanly - she can't the good that can come from it.
Humanly - all she feels is hate.

So she
                          YELLS and
                          CRIES  and
                          RAGES and
                          THROWS...

and falls to her knees.
Presses her forehead to the floor in
DESPAIR.

Then repreats the entire process.
AGAINANDAGAINANDAGAINANDAGAIN.
This lasts hours and days and months...
the weeping, the wordless moans.

BUT

You never left.
You took all the
                           YELLS and
                           CRIES and
                           RAGES and
                           THROWS...

all the feelings words thoughts

and
collected
every
one

so nothing was left to poison her.

Until all that was left -
were
two.

But mostly
YOU.

All
YOU.

Love.
The feeling that comes when she realizes
                          You are everything you've been
                          You always WILL BE
Everything
                           You've worked in
                           believed in her
                           entrusted to her
                           planned around her

Through YOU,
she will
keep growing
living
breathing

You have a plan.
You will never leave.
You will never forsake.

There is beauty.
When You've gathered all the poison
out of the broken.

Just because you love her.
You love her.
You love her.
You love her.

Shahla

Hers was a
terrifying childhood.

There were monsters lurking
in corners
in garages
in neighborhoods
at her front door.

NO CHILD
SHOULD EVER
EXPERIENCE
THIS.

And she didn't tell.

She wrapped her secrets tightly
in the darkest corners of her heart
and bore the pain by herself.

She kept hoping
for stability
acceptance
love
a daddy

She hoped.

Maybe marriage?
Maybe babies?
Maybe this would fix it?
The dark corners of pain?

Then she made the worst choice.

Betrayal.

NO ONE
SHOULD EVER
CHOOSE
THIS.

And it didn't alleviate her pain.
It gave her
GUILT.

And the stripping
continued
as she was
overwhelmed
with
broken relationships
and broken people
and broken children
and

she was broken.
And she was trying to take care
of all the broken around her.

NO ONE
SHOULD HAVE
TO EXPERIENCE
THIS PAIN.

She was so alone.

Then she found them.
People who existed all along.
More broken people.

But they SPOKE
of their brokenness.
They SHARED
their brokenness.

They didn't HIDE
their brokenness
behind a mask
or in the darkest corners.

And her brokennness counted.
She wasn't alone.
The healing began.

These people knew the Man who was
BROKEN
so their brokenness could be healed.

They pointed to the broken and bleeding man
and they held her to
SPEAKING
her brokenness.

They embraced her
Just where she was.
They embraced her with the
ARMS
of a Savior.

Her healing began.
Her marriage
Her children
Her relationships

And Jesus crawled into the darkest corner of her heart.
He reminded her
He showed her
That He had never left her.
He was always there.
Even when the monsters hurt her.

And He would always be there.
Her beloved.
Her Savior.
Her Daddy.

The Lover of her Soul.

Her everything.



Shahla's prayer:

“The Lord did not set his affection on you and choose you because you were more numerous than other peoples, for you were the fewest of all peoples.  But it was because the Lord loved you and kept the oath he swore to your ancestors that he brought you out with a mighty hand and redeemed you from the land of slavery...  Know therefore that the Lord your God is God; he is the faithful God, keeping his covenant of love to a thousand generations of those who love him and keep his commandments.” Deuteronomy 7:7—9

Rebecca

She married her high school sweetheart.
Billy Graham helped her find the Savior.

They
            followed
                              Jesus
and left home.

He preached the word.
She taught the word.
She sang the word.
They followed Jesus miles from home.

And she read the books of the faithful.
She read their stories and learned of their
righteousness.
She was awestruck by their faith, trust,
even in brokenness.
Even in the darkest hour.
She saw the righteous suffer.
There was pain and difficulty and disease.
But they gave Him praise.

And then it was their turn.
Her foundation shook.


She told God she didn't like this story.
This wasn't her book.
There was too much pain.
She watched her sweetheart suffer.
It wasn't fair.
This story seemed wrong.
It didn't make sense.

WHY WASN'T THE STORY DIFFERENT?
They gave up their lives!
They moved miles away!
They sacrificed their hearts!

They had followed Jesus.
And all was being stripped away.
Her earthly comforter...
Gone.

Then Jesus pulled her close.
Through miracles
man could never orchestrate
He whispered to her softly

"I'm writing your story. It's mine."

And she knew.
She laid her sweetheart in the ground.
She gave him back to Jesus.
She let Him write her story.

And her story
was read by
many others
who needed
to see

that all books are written
to the
GLORY
of the author.

We may not understand
why
but we understand
WHO.


Rebecca's prayer:

….looking unto Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith who for the joy that was set before Him endured the cross….Heb. 12.2

Hannah

He threw me the softball.
He held me tight.
He threw me in the air.

He left me alone.

The earth gives us Fathers.
Mine was all I could fit in my heart.

His prison cell was my reason.

My reason to hate, to blame, to run, to dive into the arms of others.
My reason to dance with dangerous desires.
My answer for addiction.
My excuse for everything.

It was his fault I was broken.

Everything I did
I did because.
Because.
Because he left.

And the hole in my heart was raw.
Nerve endings and blood and vessels and pain.

Until Abba.
My only heart-filling is from Abba.
I cannot run from Him.

He doesn't leave.

I can try to ignore, to blame, to seek.
But He knows me.
I fall on my face before Him.
I find Him in my prayer closet and cry out.

This broken mess of me belongs to Him.


And the beauty that remains is only He that remains in me.

Paula

As a girl she was taught
(as many are)
her worth and acceptance
were found in the layers and lace she wore on Sundays.

It wasn't okay to be real.

Her brother's heart was lost in substance -
Her parents lost in his problems.

She was alone.

Demands, dominance, control, criticism
Kept her in a corner.
She found herself by fixing them.

She TRIED
                 and TRIED
                                    and TRIED
And lost herself, too.

She searched for the safety.
The fake safety of losing herself in others.
The fake safety of becoming their shadow,
                                               their mirror,
                                               their puppet.
But it was only that: FAKE

She was broken by them.
She was broken intimately and physically,
She was broken, taken, and ripped open.

She swirled in a windstorm of repetition...
                      Choosing men
                      Choosing drink
                      Choosing the darkness
                      NOT choosing the hurt, the hit, the harm.
                      NOT choosing the loss, the loneliness, the lifelessness.
Until the bottom fell out and she couldn't bury herself anymore.

There was no one to fake.


Instead of escaping to the safety of the fake, the empty, the desolate,
she RAN.

She ran to the One who took her broken and wrappped it in His arms.
His gentle hands cupped her face and showed her the need she had for
Him.
She could pour herself out to Him.
And He could finally fill her.

No appearance.
No dominance.
No control.
No criticism.

Only trust in Him. The One.
The truest Lover.
Desires for darkness:

ERASED.

Hunger for His goodness flowing.

Gifts given -

Restoration
True Love
The path of forgiveness
The grace of the Cross bearer

The beauty of her brokenness - ALL GUILT GONE.



Paula's Prayer:

Psalm 32:1-5. The New Living Translation

Oh, what joy for those whose rebellion is forgiven, whose sin is put out of sight!

Yes, what joy for those whose record the Lord has cleared of sin, whose lives are lived in complete honesty!

Lauren

She covered her ears.
They were screaming.
                  Still screaming.
                       She begged them to stop.
Where was love?

She covered her face.
They were laughing.
Those girls were endlessly
                    Laughing.
                           She silently pleaded that they stop.
Where was a friend?


She uncovered her heart.
She hoped he would cradle it.
He would take care of it.
             And him.            Or him.           Or maybe him.
But they tore pieces and took them.
                            She pretended not to notice.
Where was her beloved?


She buried herself.
In the party.
In the ziplock bag.
In the pain pills.
She was desperately
                       silently - screaming.
Where was her help?


The little girl found a great God.
He followed her through the laughter.
He held her after each betrayal.
He dug her from her grave.

And then, when her eyes lifte, she saw Him.
She gave Him her broken beauty -
And He held it as His treasured prize.


She is His beloved,
              and He is hers.



Lauren's prayer:

PSALMS 25: 4-7

“Show me you ways, O LORD, teach me your paths; guide me in your truth and teach me, for you are God my Savior, and my hope is in you all day long.  Remember, O LORD, your great mercy and love, for they are from of old.  Remember me NOT in my rebellious ways; according to your love remember me, for you are GOOD, O LORD.”

Purpose

I am broken.

We are all broken.

I am going to heart-share the stories of the broken –

the paths the broken have taken to beauty.

Their stories do not belong to me.

They belong to the Savior.

Sharing our brokenness gives testimony to His greatness.

His refinement.

His knowledge of all things working together for good.

His wild ability to soothe us in the firestorm.

I am thankful for these stories.

For the sweet sisters who tore their hearts and gave them to me.

Our prayer is the beauty shines through the broken to grant Him glory.

We give You the glory, Father of our stories.

From the broken to the Only Beauty.

The only One who remains steadfast in the seeming silence.

The Jesus of hope

The Spirit of truth

The God of eternity.

We give our stories to You.

Amen.

Truth

Being broken is beautiful.
Broken keeps me on my knees.
The refining fire sears through brokenness and makes me new.
The beauty of broken is total dependence on the Creator.

A broken people have broken stories.
Broken binds us together - common is found in the broken.
Broken need not be hidden...
...because when we are open and broken the Spirit flows free.

It is a broken beauty.