Guest Post with Amanda Blevins: But God

God only knows....

The new song by For King and Country "God only Knows," resonates with me and ministers to me so much.

"God only knows what you've been through, / God only knows what they say about you, / God only knows the real you..."

Since my childhood, I have struggled with the feeling and the question of, "Am I good enough?!?!?!" For my friends, for my family, for my coworkers, for my church family, for literally anyone that I come in contact with.... "Am I good enough...good enough for their (people's) love, am I worth their time...their energy...that if they knew the real me or what I have been through, they wouldn't want me...

Before I share my story, a part of my testimony, I want to express that this is in no way to degrade, or embarrass anyone... this is to tell of what the Lord has done for me, where He has brought me out of, what He and He alone has done for me!!! And how you can find joy and peace through ANY circumstance!!

When I was very young, about 1 1/2 yrs. old, my parents divorced. We were raised by my father until he met my step mother (my mom) at the age of 3 1/2 yrs. old. My biological mother had custody of us on the weekends, then there was a period of about 12 years where we didn't get to see or visit her at all. I have always desired a mother/daughter relationship... with my biological mother... no matter what your biological parent(s) does or doesn't do to you, there is ALWAYS a longing to know them, spend time with them, know what they were like as kids, what they are like now "Do I take after them in looks or actions??" Just to know you are wanted by them, loved by them... from the one that birthed you into this life...I am so thankful for my step mother (my momma) who stepped in to fill that role for me...to step into a role to be a mother to 2 girls that desperately needed it.... all I can say is but God...

I spent many years telling myself,"You weren't wanted, you aren't wanted, you have no purpose, you aren't loved!!! You must have been the reason they divorced, or the reason she isn't here." I allowed the thought of UNWORTHINESS to flood in...to be planted and rooted...
My teen years came and those same thoughts followed me and held a grip on my mind and heart. They then turned into, "You are not pretty enough, skinny enough, you are not worthy of love, no one will want to date you or even want to marry you one day!!"

But God.... 

Fast forward to 2003, a young 16 year old girl went to a youth lock in weekend. I knew of the Lord for many years before that, but something was different this time. I remember sitting on the pew, heart pounding, which felt like it was going to explode from my throat and chest, like a pulling I could not shake or get away from or run away from even if I tried...but God...

All I remember is the Pastor giving an altar call to accept Jesus and I raised my hand. AlI I remember is eagerly raising my hand and hurrying to the front. That day was the first day of the rest of my life. That's the day I asked Jesus to be my Lord and Savior!! That's the day I found my worth!!!
Fast forward to many years later, about 16 yrs. later, when I get stressed with life, work, motherhood, being a wife, a sister, a daughter, just being me,...I have allowed those same old thoughts of unworthiness to creep back in and flood my mind... " You are not loved, you are not worthy, you are not worth people's time..." But the difference now is that I know the One who made me, who created me, who brought me through and out of so many trials that have made me into the person I am today. He has taught me that my worth is NOT FOUND in what others think of me, or found in a spouse, or a parent, or a friend. I now know that no matter what I go through, I cannot allow what others have done to me, or what life has dealt me, or any other circumstance to bind me, hold me back, drown me, or sink me. We CANNOT allow bad circumstances in our lives to be a crutch or an excuse to give up.

We ALL have things in our lives...that one moment that could over take us... that have happened to us that we could allow to control our lives and blame our bad decision making on. "Well, you don't know what I have been through, what so and so did to me. I have an excuse to live the way I want, to be drowned in fear, anxiety, and self doubt..." And, you know, I may not have walked though what they have walked through, but I do for a fact know that if you will give those things to God, He can take them and turn them into something beautiful!! I know He has mine time and time again!! I truly believe that we go through things to help others for when they go through those same things. For when they say, "Well, I am going through this or that, you don't understand, I want to give up, I want to give up on God!" you can say, "But, I have been there. I have walked through that, and with God, I came out the other side, VICTORIOUS!!!" You can be empathetic in a way you never were able to before you experienced it yourself!!

I hope this hasn't been too scattered; there are SO many more experiences that I would like to share, but I felt the Lord leading me to share this part of my testimony. The purpose: I want to encourage any and everyone to stop looking for their worth in people, in things, or even who you negatively see yourself as....but to find it in God alone!! You were made for a PURPOSE!! Don't try to be anyone other than YOU! Stop beating yourself up by allowing thoughts in that say you are not loved, you are not wanted, or you are not needed because of things that have happened to you!!! You ARE loved, you ARE wanted, you ARE NEEDED!! You are WORTHY!! Most importantly, don't allow unforgiveness to bind you into not allowing yourself to walk in freedom and into who God made you to be. Don’t blame your past for the reason you can live how you want to! Forgive!!! I forgive my biological mother and pray for her often. I know God restores all things for His good! We all have things we need forgiveness for as well. We have to stop blaming others and just give it all to God and watch Him move in great and mighty ways!!!

Someone is waiting for you to step into your calling, into your destiny, into your purpose, your worth, to help them find theirs!!!!

Forgive, seek God, and walk in it daily!!!

"God only knows what you've been through, / God only knows what they say about you, / God only knows the real you, / BUT there's a kinda love that God only knows!!!"

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Guest Post with Amanda Blevins: But God

Answers to Make You More Aware

Where has April gone? As we wrap up Autism Awareness Month, I'd like to bring some more awareness to some topics that I'm continuously encountering on our journey.

"What is autism?"

Autism is a spectrum. It varies from child to child, adult to adult. It includes deficiencies/complications in social skills, verbal and nonverbal communication, and repetitive behaviors. It could also include medical and mental complications like seizure disorders, anxieties, gastrointestinal disorders, sensitivies, etc.

 As of May 2013, almost to the day of my son's birth, the APA changed the trajectory of the autism diagnosis in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, (DSM). No longer are there diagnoses of "classic autism," Asperger's, and PDD-NOS. You've probably heard those terms before; however, now, everything falls under the umbrella of Autism Spectrum Disorder.

Why the change, though?

• More accurate diagnosis
• Identification of symptoms that may warrant treatment or support services
• Assessment of severity level 

Many on Autism Avenue have mixed feelings about the newer change that lumps everyone together. In fact, it seems like there's a huge divide between severity levels, and not everyone believes these kiddos should be considered the same diagnostically. The good thing about the DSM is that it is an evolving book that develops just like science and the human mind. We could very well see another change in diagnoses in the near future.

"So what kind of autism does your son have?"

When I first began my journey with autism when Isaac was 2, I remember venting on a message board about my fears and suspicions that something wasn't right. I wanted to hear someone say, "Yep. It sounds like autism to me!" or "Nope, maybe it's..." However, some autism moms on the board ripped my questions to shreds and condemned me for all I had said. I've reached out to some moms since then who are more vocal about their children and some who aren't. However, I can read all the books and blogs, research all day long until I'm cross-eyed, and meet new autism mothers, but that still doesn't mean it's not a lonely place for us. All of our kids are different, and we can't expect the same things out of every single one of them. They all have different strengths and weaknesses, sensitivities and triggers. I truly believe finding the right program and right people are absolutely imperative. 

"So are you 'Light it up blue' or #Redinstead?"

You didn't have to look too far during Autism Awareness Month to see that there is a great argument going on in the autiverse.  On one side, we see people celebrating autism and the neurodiversity movement. These people use the #redinstead hashtag and become increasingly disgruntled if they hear anything about curing autism. Most of these folks celebrate their (or their child's) quirks and different abilities. They don't want to be "cured" because it's who they are. Some people, however, would love to see their babies thriving and cured from the "issues" autism has brought into the equation. Some of us really don't know where to stand. 

Most days, I celebrate my son and the fact that he could back up a zero-turn lawn mower into a barn at age 2.5. He knew every shape, color, number, and letter just after his second birthday. I love how he can memorize just about anything, and I love how quick he is to forgive. His big heart makes me feel like superwoman sometimes. But some days, I would really love for his obsessions to cease. I would like for him to lose his fears of certain things...the way he melts down when he is stressed and overstimulated...the way he struggles to have a conversation with people...even for just a month or so. But this argument is out there. For me, I have to lean on God and depend on his understanding and His plans for us; otherwise, I would never be able to make sense of all of this. I have to believe in my heart that every thing God has allowed us to walk through is for a greater purpose: to glorfiy God.

"I just don't see it. He doesn't look autistic."

I've been told this before, and seriously, I don't know how to take it. Sometimes it makes me feel good. The therapy is working. Maybe all the time at church has helped him be more comfortable in crowds and around loud music. Maybe all the love from family has helped him feel more comfortable in his skin. Maybe school is desensitizing him to all of his anxieties and giving him more confidence. But sometimes, it makes me uncomfortable. What if people think this is all a joke and that he's just a discipline problem? What if people think we are bad parents? What if people give up on him? What if people don't think he deserves his services? 

Looks can be deceiving. There aren't many disabilities out there where everyone has a different opinion on what caused it, whose fault it is, why it's here, and how we're going to "fix" it. It can be so overwhelming and exhausting at times. Some days are good and some days aren't so good. You might see us on one of those days and set your opinions on what you saw. These kids' abilities can't be based on first impressions, though. It's going to take time to get to know who they are and how they learn. I promise that it's worth it. 

"You shouldn't have vaccinated him."

This is a hot topic in the media even more than ever at this point. With all the latest measles outbreaks, it's hard to ignore the articles floating around on social media and the nightly news. If one asks autism parents about this topic, it's usually a pretty touchy subject. I've gone back and forth on it, wondering...just wondering what would've happened had I forgone his vaccinations. I battled with so much guilt for a long time over this because I needed something to blame. Over time, I've talked with those who saw a visible change in their child after vaccines. I've talked with some who said it was the amount at one time that set the child's immune system into overdrive, affecting him neurologically. I've talked with some who claim assortative mating and genes have everything to do with everything. I've talked with some who refuse to comment, those who believe God designed their children like that in the womb, and some who believe autism is nothing compared to death by a disease that should've been eradicated but has unabashedly emerged into our population once again. 

Sometimes, I feel that Isaac is that 1 in 59...almost in a sacrificial way, so to speak. I'd like to think of God and Isaac having a conversation before he came into our lives about Isaac being used in a unique way to bring glory to Him. I like to think of those things sometimes because it does away with the blame and postures my thoughts and fears on the one who keeps the Earth rotating in the universe. Are vaccines a government conspiracy? I don't know. We might not ever know exactly what causes autism, but I believe there is a reason behind it and a place in this world for our kids. 

"Have you tried...?"

Autism is out there for people to comment about all the time, and even though it makes me nervous and edgy, I know that for awareness to take place, people have to know our stories, the good and the bad, and they have to know that we are trying. I know sometimes that it looks like we might not be. Sometimes it looks like we're treading water and that we're going no where. I promise we are, though. Things just look different for us. Sometimes it's one step forward, two steps back. Sometimes it's two steps back and one giant leap forward. You never know what's going to happen developmentally with our kids; it has been this way since birth.

If you suggest something, and we don't try it, we don't mean any harm by it. Most of the time, making suggestions shows us that you care, and we're so thankful you do. We just want you to know, however, that most of us have once existed off the temporary hope from every new therapy, diet miracle, book that we read, and every suggestion only to find that they didn't work. We also can get pretty sensitive when it seems people are looking down on how we parent our special kids. We try so hard. We really do.

Please be patient with us and our kids. Every day is different. 

"What's your story?"

April of last year (when Isaac was almost 5) is when my son actually got diagnosed with ASD, but the journey started around 18 months of age. Isaac wasn't talking or mimicking like he should. It seemed like he was always reaching his milestones after his peers even though they were still technically considered within range. At 18 months, however, we discovered his first repetitive movement. He would walk by things and look at them out of the corner of his eyes. We had no idea what he was doing at first and thought it was so adorable. It never stopped, though. That's when I really started worrying. Things started adding up and making more sense. However, I was still as confused as ever. Definitely a paradox.

At two when the language still wasn't there, we signed him up with Early Intervention,and I'm so thankful we did. I can't stress enough the importance of getting help early on. There is no shame in this. So many parents get worked up over getting their children extra help, but would we shun getting a math tutor for a teenager struggling in math? Absolutely not. It's the same premise. Having that system in place during the long diagnosis season kept us focused on seeing small improvements even when we didn't know what was going on. This kept my heart and mind focused on hope, and these people became more than valuable to us; they became vital--part and parcel of our village.

It has been a roller coaster of therapies and evaluations since. After waiting months and months for an appointment, the first institution we went to told us Isaac didn't have autism and gave us some other diagnoses. They said he would need occupational therapy and physical therapy along with speech obviously...that he had a global developmental delay and a language disorder. I knew some of this sounded right and some of it didn't. I knew I needed more opinions to get all of this straight, and I'm glad I did.

It took two more years to figure out the truth, but by this time, my heart had settled into reality and I knew. At the beginning, though, I was a mess. That time in 2015 when I Googled "Toddler looking at things out of the corner of his eye" and every result came back with "Autism" in the headline, I lost control of myself for about two weeks. I didn't eat. I didn't sleep. I knew in my heart that at that point, we were forever on a different journey, even if it was just a Google search. Can you believe during this time was when we decided on having another child? I knew that letting the Enemy get to me wasn't going to help make this a reality. God knew, though. God knew the whole time. But I'll save more about Caroline for later.

Getting an appointment can take around a year at some organizations, but Mitchell's Place opened us up a spot that would only take a couple months, and the day Heath and I were set to talk with the psychologist (miraculously on April 2, 2018, Autism Awareness Day,) I knew what the result would be. I knew the timing wasn't a coincidence. In my planner, the month of April's theme was Count It All Joy, and the week of his evaluation's memory verse was James 1:2-4. Definitely not a conincidence.

God was definitely watching over us during that time, and he was there when he was born. He is with us today, and he will be with us tomorrow. 

Are you seeing God working through your situations? I would love to hear your stories.

Thank you, God, for your little signs. If we're not watching for them, we might not see them. Please help us always open our my eyes to notice you, Lord.

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Answers to Make You More Aware

The Music of Missed Milestones

Last night, after we read an Easter book that ended with Jesus sitting at the right hand of God, Caroline asked, "Where is God?" 

Wow. I didn't know what to say or where to begin. How do you break something down so huge and abstract to a little girl of two? But my heart beamed. She had asked me about God, and I was going to say something. 

"He's in heaven...in the sky." 

I probably could've come up with something better, but that's all I managed to say.

"Why?" she replied.

"Well, he's watching over us. He lives in your heart, too."

She didn't ask anything else, so I left it at that. 

But as I left her room, sadness filled my heart. Isaac has never really asked questions about God. One thing about being on the autism spectrum is the struggle to understand abstract concepts like faith. I've often battled with this, wondering if my son will be saved from sin, if he will understand and grasp needing a savior, wondering if God will understand if he doesn't. This is tough stuff.

One of the first things I remember about our journey was seeing a little girl praying around her table one night on Facebook. She was Isaac's age. She had her chubby hands clasped together and her head bowed. She whispered some words while the family cheered and clapped. They were two. My heart began to fill with sadness and jealousy. I kept wondering, "Why can't I ever get Isaac to imitate us? Why doesn't he even want to try? What am I doing wrong? How did I mess this up?"

Thankfully, he's just beginning to understand prayer. For a long time, he struggled with this. If we were praying at church and sometimes at home, it scared him. I don't think he could grasp why all of us were bowing our heads and getting quiet while one person seemingly talked to himself. 

Still, though, things are different for us, and even though it's hard to talk about it, I feel like it's my responsibility to communicate our struggles sometimes, to give our song a melody. 

Some of our songs have slow, steady rhythms that weave into our hearts and minds, staying with us forever. 

These are the bittersweet ones...beautiful because they remind us of where we've been and echo our homesick-for-heaven hearts. They give us hope. They give us promise. 

They crescendo and build with hope only to plummet back into the minor notes to remind us that this is not our home.

These are found in my family's songbook. Sometimes I have trouble turning the page and instead linger on the music of missed milestones. 

Often I find that my voice is rusty, I'm using the wrong songbook, reading the wrong lyrics. 

This can't be right. 

I feel the melodic joy building in one minute, and the next I'm plunging head first into the minor notes all brimming with rough edges and chaos. They sting. They hurt. 

Sometimes I watch my little boy at church and say, "God, what was in your mind when you created this little boy?

Before he was ever in our hearts, I prayed for him. I bargained with God. "Make him different, God," I said. "Make him special. Make him stand out. I promise to give him back to you." 

I imagined a preacher, singer, song writer, or artist. I visualized him possibly in front of the pulpit, singing, teaching, and passing on his legacy and testimony. I envisioned a little one singing in the choir and inviting his friends from school to church. I imagined sweet prayers with chubby hands smashed together.

But life isn't what we always have in mind.

Key change.

Instead, I watch him fidget, lie down, squirm, make noises, and exist uncomfortably in his own skin at times, and I wonder. 

Will this ever make a difference for him? Will he ever understand?

The enemy says that Isaac won't ever understand God or anything on that abstract of a level...that nothing that emotional will ever permeate his realm of thinking...that his sounds, squirms, and over-stimulated mind will always take precedence over the Word...that his literal mind will never grasp the wonder of salvation and community...that he will always be held prisoner by his own mind.

And with this, my voice falls flat. Sometimes I lose it all together.

This is when I'm reminded of Paul, the great martyr and teacher that he was. He often communicated with people and churches from a great distance. He poured out his life and love into his letters, and he depended on these epistles to share the message of God's sovereignty and to give his readers a hope of righteous identity in Christ. Alone in his cell, Paul had to truly believe in something he had absolutely no control over. He had to love those in which he could not communicate or monitor. He  had to love and forgive those he was angry with. He even had to forgive himself. I imagine he felt stuck at times, vulnerable, and powerless. I imagine he felt lost and confused, probably how Abraham felt when God led him to the mountain with Isaac in tow.

But, y'all, the song isn't over. It wasn't then; it isn't now.

"Fulfilled by love," that's what Paul teaches us about in Galatians regarding the old law and Jesus' sacrifice.  He says, "The only thing that counts is faith expressing itself through love." Gal. 5:6

When I walk into the sanctuary and see my church family keeping my little boy so my exhausted heart can hear the Word, I am fulfilled. When his grandparents take my little boy to spend the night at his favorite places, I feel fulfilled. When Isaac's teachers and paras send me messages of encouragement or pictures of him enjoying himself at school, I feel fulfilled. When friends tell me they saw Isaac or interacted with him, knowing it will warm my heart, I feel fulfilled. When my son learns something knew and wants to show me, I feel fulfilled. 

My stubborn heart that lingers on rules and formalities does not fulfill me. My plans don't. My expectations. My broken dreams. The developmental checklists. 

Love. What fulfillment.

God is our composer. He’s the Great Musician. He knows the lyrics to our song, because He penned every word. 

So what is God? A big question with a simple answer.

God is Love, and because of the example of his sacrifice, I too can relinquish any mental or emotional bondage I have over my life and my circumstances. I am free to love and forgive, and I am free to sing about it. 

This is why I sing; maybe you'll want to sing along, too.

"For the Spirit God gave us does not make us timid, but gives us power, love and self-discipline. So do not be ashamed of the testimony about our Lord or of me his prisoner. Rather, join with me in suffering for the gospel, by the power of God. He has saved us and called us to a holy life—not because of anything we have done but because of his own purpose and grace." 2 Tim 1:7-9

I've Been Singing 'Bout my Lord for so many years 
I've Sung when I've been happy 
Even Sung When I've had Tears 
I've even had Folks ask me 
If It's All Been Just A Show 
But the Reason That I'm Singing 
I Want the World to Know 
Chorus 
I Sing Because There is an Empty Grave 
I Sing Because There is the Power to Save 
I Sing Because His Grace is Real to Me 
I Sing Because I Know I'm Not Alone 
I Sing Because Someday I'm Going Home 
Where I Shall Sing Through All Eternity 
Verse 2 
I've Sung to Those Walking Through the Fiery Trial 
I've Watched Their Saddened Faces Turn Into Happy Smiles 
I've Bowed my Head and Whispered 
Lord, Please do the Same For Me 
And I'm Glad That I Can Tell You 
He's Always Given Victory

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The Music of Missed Milestones

Guest Post with CeJe Thompson Hearn: A Decade of God's Grace

A decade, ten years, that is how long my family has been on the Autism journey. I like to believe that I am not old. However, in the Autism world, I am ancient. Zachary was first labeled “Autistic” at three years old. Shockingly, this diagnosis was actually somewhat okay with us. I had been called “nuts” by so many pediatricians there was almost some redemption in a label. I remember when he got the diagnosis, walking out of Children’s Hospital with my Mom. I put Zach in his car seat and then I walked to the front of our car and just looked over the edge of the parking deck. It was a beautiful day and I remember breathing deeply and holding my breath for a moment, letting it out, and looking at Mom and with full determination saying, “I wanted answers. We have answers. Now we know what to do.” Looking back, that breath and statement of assurance was probably one of the most hilarious moments of my life. I had no idea the path we were about to walk down, what my child would require from us and what would be required of him. However, even then I was aware that the diagnosis of Autism changed everything about how I saw my own child.

Autism is a more common diagnosis now. I do not say that to belittle the diagnosis. I say that to applaud all that has been done in the form of research. Just last year, the Alabama Legislature passed historic insurance reform led by the late Jim Patterson who Zach was privileged to meet during the discussion phase of that bill and before that during Leni’s Law. (Yes my 13 year old is cool enough to hang in Montgomery haha) Yet, at the time of Zach’s diagnosis, Autism was rare. We didn’t know about Autism and despite what I’d said, we had no clue “what to do”, we just knew we weren’t going down without a fight. We quickly discovered that all of the therapies we needed were going to require us to win the lottery or rob a bank. Zach needed speech therapy, physical therapy, occupational therapy, play therapy and he could also possibly benefit from music therapy and equine therapy. $$$. We were encouraged to get a DAN (Defeat Autism Now) Doctor, which was only located in Georgia, and didn’t take our insurance, so we did it. Zach went through another round of terrible testing that designed for him a special diet of foods only Hollywood millionaires could afford to maintain. Yet, we did it all. You see, we were before Autism was prevalent in schools and churches and even public. My family was on a hamster wheel willing to run as long as it took, and ready to spend every dime we had to “fix” our child. Writing that sentence and remembering all we put him through breaks my heart.

I wasted Zach’s childhood in many ways. For six years I spent so much time wanting society’s picture perfect child, that I missed God’s perfect picture. I wanted to hear, “I love you”. I wanted my child to read me his first book. I wanted to fuss about going to baseball practices and say “no” to a spend the night party. I wanted Zach to be invited to a party - he never has without his sister. I wanted to hold a real report card without an IEP evaluation. I wanted us all to sleep and eat and go places like normal families. So, I focused on these things and “fixing” them. I also prayed God would change Zach to be like other “normal” kids. I am again ashamed, but I’m being honest. I missed the beauty of my life with my son because of an inability to seek God’s will for his life instead of my own. Like I could know better than my child’s creator?!

Then one day we realized Autism was not our only issue. Zach also had a very life-threatening illness. That’s when I woke up. I was broken and thrown into a place where I was forced to recognize what was really important, Zach, just the human-being Zach. He was my God-given gift; just as he was; God didn’t want me to make him into something else. If God had needed someone different he would have made someone different. I was to treasure what I had been given, an absolutely gorgeous child. He didn’t say, “I love you,” but instead I learned that if I say it, and watch he will squint his little eyes and touch my face to tell me back. He will still cuddle in my lap at 13. We do therapies at school and in summer, but we have quit torturing this child with every new idea that comes along. Zach didn’t need to be fixed, we did. God knew that, and Zach was given to help us. When I finally realized this fact, I remember thinking so clearly, “I want to meet my child.” He was also sick and I didn’t want to lose him and never know him. So I became Mommy, not therapist. I watched “Cars” and “Milo and Otis” 10,000 times. I learned to flip flash cards, Zach’s favorite stem. Then, eventually, I would be brought cards, the same cards, daily. We had our first game. I had become a Mom and I had let my child become a boy instead of a medical project.

I am now thankful for Autism. We were told all of the bad things about Autism; no sleep, no social life, marital problems and money problems are guaranteed; yep they are all there... Nonetheless, nobody tells the good stuff. We have had a lot to laugh at. Our marriage has been made stronger. Our daughter has learned empathy and kindness that is extraordinary for a child her age. We have been humbled as we are forced to realize “perfection” isn’t always possible, “normal” is relative and sometimes you must ask for help. We have also seen that many people are very good. Lastly, and most importantly, we have learned God is faithful. Psalm 86:15 says, But you, O Lord, are a God merciful and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness. He has seen us through every step of this crazy journey and given us the world’s most perfect tour guide to carry us along the way. We have truly experienced a decade of God’s grace in action.

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Guest Post with CeJe Thompson Hearn: A Decade of God's Grace

This Is Thirty-Two

This week after reading an online article, I read the author's biography and marveled at her photo in admiration.

I hope I age like that. She looks great! I hope my writing grows in maturity so mine can somewhat resemble hers one day. She’s incredible!

After a quick Google search, I sat blinking at the screen.

1986.

This woman was my age. 

This has been happening more often now. I see more and more amazing women at the height of their careers, heading up motherhood ministries, writing books, reaching people through their testimonies, owning their seasons of motherhood with grace. They give me so much inspiration until I realize these women are my age or younger. 

That's when it hits. 

I feel so behind. So messy. So unprepared for the life ahead of me. Everyone else seems so poised for this thing called adulthood...even those younger than I am. 

Sometimes I feel like a baby foal, clumsily grappling around trying to find my way, trying to finally become who I'm supposed to be, finally growing into my full height.

A couple of weeks ago when my son had surgery to remove his tonsils and adenoids, I was a wreck. He also had tubes placed inside his ears. I felt like a child watching my son cry as he woke up, powerless and temporarily out of his senses.

I was powerless and out of my senses.

Even though I could feel the prayers of my family, friends, church, and community, the following days were some of the darkest times in my life. It was hard before, and now the world had turned upside down. 

At one point during his recovery, he was waking up six times a night. Administering pain medicine every three hours to a little boy who doesn't want to swallow was hard. Trying to explain to him why his throat hurts so badly was hard. Going on little to no sleep for two weeks was hard. Telling an already picky kid he can't have his favorite foods was hard.

And at one time I thought it was going to get the best of me.

I am too old for this. I should know what to do. Why am I still so lost at 32 years of age?

I scrolled past the mom blogs. I didn't open the emails. I didn't have the time or energy to read any of the books stacked on my bedside table. 

For two weeks I sulked.

It hurts to be on the other side. It felt like my light had been turned off from within. I was officially tired of being strong. I was tired of everyone else having it together. I was tired of feeling so clueless, so fragile. 

Ladies, two-thousand and nineteen tells us that we're supposed to know who we really are...like REALLY know. 

My thirties were "supposed" to be my glory years, going to practices, volunteering at school, making adorable little peanut-butter-jelly sandwiches in assorted shapes. I had a certain idea of what being a good mother looked like, and I basically never benchmark now that I think about it. In fact, I probably don’t even qualify at my best. Almost six years in, and my life is basically a 180 of what I expected.

For the past two years, the pressure of this world keeps me aware of my limitations and how they consistently stifle my confidence, my creativity, my faith. It doesn't take a self-help book to tell me to set goals, achieve my dreams, "make it happen"...to ultimately put myself first. Goodness. I was born that way. I was wired that way. I'm human. It's natural to want "self" to be happy.

But God's grace gives me the strength to listen closely to distinguish between what I'm meant to do and what I think I'm meant to do...what the world says I should do and what God says I should do...who I am and who God says I am.

But I can't hear him if I'm listening to myself. 

I can't find him if I'm constantly feeding into the lie that I deserve more, that my life is so flawed that I deserve to be dissatisfied and discontented. 

No matter what I happen upon in this life, no matter how guilty I feel, no matter how behind I feel, God is still God, and he designed me to live my life and my life only. He created me to share my story, not someone else’s. He made my plans so that I could glorify him through it all. He has arranged my life so that I can find myself through him at age 32, 15, or 95. 

"But I say, walk by the Spirit, and you will not gratify the desires of the flesh. For the desires of the flesh are against the Spirit, and the desires of the Spirit are against the flesh, for these are opposed to each other, to keep you from doing the things you want to do." Galatians 5:24

Walking through the Spirit doesn't always mean we will be comfortable or completely "self-actualized." Being a child of God won't always mean I get what I want. It might mean that I don't ever materialize in this world the way I imagined. Sometimes it's going to feel like a sacrifice, but what better way to feel more connected to Jesus than when we are humbly and willingly discipling those He has entrusted in our care...when we are disconnected from this earth and pulled away into a peculiar place to wait for him to call us home? With joy?!

Well, the weeks finally turned to days, and the days turned to hours. Isaac eventually healed up, and he was back to himself, finally breathing regularly and sleeping peacefully. I eventually got a good night's sleep. He eventually ate his favorite chips. I eventually got to read again.

We survived.

Honestly, aside from Isaac's surgery, there have been many times since becoming a mother that I haven't felt shiny. And there will be more.

But this doesn't mean we can't glow. When all is dark, that's when our lights shine the brightest. 

True, I'm about to have another birthday; my hair is still graying at a rapid rate; I'm still disorganized; I still start things I’m not sure I can even accomplish; I still fumble around in the darkness of reality wondering where I fit inside this plan of God's; I still tumble into my valleys wondering who I am; and I'll probably always feel inadequately equipped to carry out my role in whatever season I'm in.

However, these seasons of being uncomfortable with our earthly identities are packed with purpose. They remind me that I’m not made for this world...that the perfection I long for can’t be found here but another place where God gives the light. (Rev. 22:5)

Maybe those weeks of no sleep and frustration were meant for me to increase my prayer life. Maybe my moments of powerlessness were meant to humble me. Maybe all my guilt keeps my heart softened and my hands folded in prayer. Maybe my dreams keep my heart childlike and hopeful. Maybe God simply wants me to get through all this to be a light for someone else.

And we can be a light even when we don't feel very shiny. 

We can thankfully rest in these truths: No matter how I might interpret the Word, the Gospel will not change. When I fail him, He will be right where I left him. If he chooses to heal us on earth or in eternity, he saves his children. No matter how much better another woman is at cooking, decorating, or styling her hair, no matter how many she has in her following or in her good graces, I am enough. I am who I am supposed to be and where I'm supposed to be. 

I am created for God to chisel away at the parts of me that I need to shed, revealing only what can be used to glorify him: the parts that reflect His light.

Nothing more, Nothing Less.

"The night is far gone; the day is at hand. So then let us cast off the works of darkness and put on the armor of light. Let us walk properly as in the daytime [...] put on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make no provision for the flesh, to gratify its desires." Romans 13:12-14

The same God that allows us to find our soulmates is the same God who will usher us through a painful diagnosis with no cure. The same God that gives us our children is the same God who takes us through the death of a child. The same God who forgives my sin is the same God who forgives yours.

Through joy and pain, the best and the worst moments, God is there.

I can't ignore the things that have broken me, the parts I had rather leave in the darkness, the parts I had rather not remember, the unspoken things that make me question my worth, my path, His will. I can't hold them against God because they're just as important in fueling the lamp of my heart.

I pray my light always burns brighter because I'm hiding behind his will.

"The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? the Lord is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?" Psalms 27:1

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This Is Thirty-Two

Guest Post with Andrea Glenn: Try Growing Flowers Without Dirt

I was asked to write this post two years ago. I currently have three different versions of this story saved on my desktop. Each deeply meaningful, reflective, and inspirational, yet none of these have I been able to share.  To each story I will read and reflect, but there are conflicts within me, holding me back.

My self-talk sounds a little bit like this:

 "These aren’t good enough."

"I need to proof read one more time."

"No, that version is too dark. Too deep. These people really don’t deserve to be exposed to what’s in my head."

Then there is the one that hurts the most. The only one I should listen to. The one that says, "That is not your story."

My story is this: I suffer with depression. This September was the ten year anniversary of my first date with depression. For those of you who do not understand depression and how one cannot just "get out of it," let me explain. Depression is a bad boyfriend. He makes you feel unique. He is warm and comforting. He understands you like no one else and with him you feel at home. By the time you can look up and see that he isn’t good for you, your life has become so intertwined with him that the fight to leave is more exhausting and intimidating than the ability to deal with it and keep going. You know you are strong, you can handle it. So you stay.

I don’t choose to be depressed. Nothing historically life changing has happened to make it acceptable to be depressed. I haven’t lost a child. I haven’t lost a parent. I haven’t experienced a traumatic event. There is no medical reason to be depressed, I just am. I try daily to view inside myself to see if I can pinpoint the cause. I think for me, my depression stems from being a creative...from knowing that I feel and see the world differently. With that, there is also a burden: The burden of knowing I should share the way I see the world, yet feeling so vulnerable when I do.

So, in being true to myself, and at risk of feeling judged, I would like to share a story.

One fall I was given a box of buttercup bulbs. Flowers are something I love. I can always judge the level of darkness I have by my willingness to go outside and dig in the dirt. I love dirt. I love the smell, and I love planting flowers. I love that something beautiful can grow from something ugly, dirty, and unwanted like dirt. When I cannot motivate myself to plant something, I know the darkness is bad. Buttercups have always been a symbol for me, too. I would begin to look for them at the end of winter as they signified a new beginning and an end to the cold, to the deadness of winter, to the darkness. To the end of a depression of sorts, and so I knew them well.    And so yes, because of my current state,The box of bulbs lived on the back porch, unattended for two weeks… maybe more. I’m not sure. The box was there long enough that the cat decided to turn it in to a bed, and the bulbs were sprouting from his body heat. Finally, out of respect of the sweet soul who gifted me with them, I stepped out of my home, and I reluctantly started planting.

I set across our yard carefully selecting the different areas where I wanted the buttercups to make an appearance. Around the mailbox, the flower beds, the rusty old pump house.  I took the time to select a spot, dig a hole, and plant each bulb. The task took several hours. For a while, I was beginning to think the box was bottomless. I planted the last of the bulbs around the chicken coop, then made my way back inside. I was ready to melt back into my darkness like the bulbs, tucked away under the earth, in their own little cold, dark world...To be forgotten.

The following spring was a hard one. I was still in a depression at that time, but I was working my way out. I knew I would be getting busy with work soon. The sun would start shining again, and that would be better. Things were looking up, but that particular spring things were a little harder than usual. I went to the mailbox one day, and I saw that the bulbs I had reluctantly planted in the fall were starting to break ground.

I felt joy.

My message here is this. Depression is like dirt. We don’t want anyone to walk into our home and see it. We are embarrassed by it. We try our best to sweep it up and throw it out the door, only for it to make its appearance again tomorrow. However, dirt has a purpose. It has a place. From dirt can grow the most beautiful things that can cultivate joy and hope.

I am tired of trying to sweep up the depression. There is far too much inside me that can bring joy and beauty to the world. Today I choose to tell my story and allow those bulbs that have been dormant inside of me to grow.

My hope is this: I hope that if you are reading this today and you are coming from a place that is blessed with a little more darkness than others, I hope that you can learn to cultivate it. Water it. Let the light in. Go outside. Dance, sing, be free and love yourself. Create your art, sing songs, take the time to nurture your soul while you are in that darkness. 

Spring will come, I promise. 

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Guest Post with Andrea Glenn: Try Growing Flowers Without Dirt

The Ride of Your Life

You know the thrill of going down a roller coaster?


You’re incredibly terrified, gripping the sides, white knuckles and all. You can’t even seem to breathe.

You’re dizzy, and everything is a blur. It’s so loud you can’t hear a thing. You just know you’re about to be sick.

Your hair is in your face and your stomach is in your throat.

"What am I going to do?" you ask.

You feel completely out of control. 

Wherever this things takes me, that’s where I’m going.

You just have to believe you’ll get there in one piece.

And for a split second, you’re wishing you hadn’t gotten on. Everybody else makes it look so fun, so easy. 

On this ride, one minute you want to laugh, and one minute you want to cry. You're not so sure how you should feel. 

Your emotions are all over the place. 

You feel rattled, exhausted, jarred from screaming...inwardly, outwardly...it all starts to mesh together.

Each second lasts an hour.

But then you let go and let God. You turn a corner, peel open your eyes, and raise up your hands.

You follow the course until you finally come to a stop. You get off and look back at your seat and say, "Did I really just do that?" You look at the person who rode beside you. "Did we really just do that?"

And you laugh...you catch your breath. You check all your limbs and realize you’re alive.

You had truly lived. You had let go, reinquished control, and had the time of your life.

Then you come to the conclusion that sometimes being vulnerable is okay. Sometimes losing control and screaming at the top of your lungs is okay. Sometimes losing your senses is okay. Sometimes getting out of your cushy comfort zone is okay. Sometimes asking someone to ride with you and hold your hand is okay.

Sometimes you just to have faith and trust that you’re going to make it to the other side. 

And before you know it, you realize life is one big paradox. You feel brave in your vulnerability and strong in your weakness. 

Before you know it, you're not so scared anymore. 

Before you know it, you want to ride again.

That’s what being your mama is like, little boy.

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The Ride of Your Life

This Is My Story, This Is My Song

Sometimes if Heath and I ever want to chuckle, we start reminiscing on our days when we first got married...how we made it through the week on $50 worth of groceries and how our furniture and everything we owned were hand-me-downs. We chuckled about the walks we would take after supper because we had nothing but time. And oh did we think we were big when we got our first 30+ inch flat screen! Everything was simple. That newlywed stage is so precious. You can pretty much survive on air and water.

We had nothing, but we had it all.

Had I known that I would look back one day and miss those simple days, I would've cherished them so much more. I remember being pretty consumed with the future and all the things I wanted out of life that I rarely stopped to realize I was making memories. Because I was always focused on the next big thing or event, I rarely took the time to soak up that time of our lives, and now, I miss it. That first year and a half in our little house is a blur. Who was that girl? I don't even remember her anymore.



Another home, two kids, and a dream come true later, I find myself in survival mode quite often. I find myself longing for that newness...plans...craving that season of life I used to have in my grasp but couldn't even enjoy because I couldn't foresee the rapidity of time. I miss it so much that I've found it has made me somewhat bitter in my soul. Whereas I used to live in a state of perpetual excitement and spontaneity, now I find myself living in a state of exhaustion and anxiety wondering if I'll ever have another day to truly rest. Wondering if the kids are going to be okay. Wondering how Isaac will do when he goes to school next year. Wondering who's going to come to the house when it's in the middle of Hurricane Isaac and Caroline. Wondering why the thought of going to the grocery store is just about as mentally exhausting as actually going. Wondering why I am so boring now. Wondering why I find myself complaining more than praising.

I call it Mom Tired.

A lot about life is learning to appreciate what we have, and sometimes, it's just plain ole hard.



But what we have now is something beautiful. It's unique. It's precious. It's our story. It's our song. What we have now we will never have again. Sure, it's hard. It's really hard! And mamas, that woman down the road has her own version of "hard." Sure, I've been victim of eyeballing other ladies' levels of "hard," but what we don't see is that ALL women are battling with the enemy in their own ways. We never know when someone is looking at our lives questioning our level of "hard." We're human, and the enemy is going to remind us of this until we allow God's grace to show him up.



It's not our job to figure this out. God already has.

We only have this one life to live, and God is the only source of pure joy that can replenish our empty hearts when our selfish instincts tell us we need something fulfilling from the world. Somehow, the more we think we need, and the more we eventually get, the more we have to worry about and the more unsatisfied we are. The more we think we need to make us happy, the less we are relying on God to fill that void that the enemy bores into our minds. And he will bore away until he gets in.

Matthew 6: 20-21 says, "But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal: For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also." 

My prayer for us moms today is that we become more aware of where our treasure is and of the memories that are being made in our daily lives right under our noses. Most of us are tired, frazzled, and mentally drained. We try to do it all, and we try to do it well. But there's more with the Lord. My hope for us is that we can learn to be more present and to see the bigger story that God has already imagined for us. He's still working on us!

"Quiet down, cobwebs. Dust, go to sleep. I'm rocking my baby and babies don't keep."

- Ruth Hulbert Hamilton

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This Is My Story, This Is My Song

When You Want to Give Up

It has been a year today since my dad had his stroke. Dad isn't 100% like we thought he would be last year....like we prayed so hard for him to become, and it hurts to say that. For those of you who have gotten to experience strokes first hand, you know how it changes a person. Some miraculously see no change, but for others, you lose a part of who you are, who you used to be, and you lose a part of your future. It can be a really disheartening change to your life.

The vision I get of my dad is a dad who lifted me up by the elbows when I was little girl, a dad who would swing me around and let me pile up on his lap, a dad who would get in the floor and wrestle with us after supper, a dad who worked with his hands, swam in the pool, and drove a truck for years. No, things weren't always easy, but I like to think on the good. I will never forget this dad; however, the devil tries to make me forget.

Five days after I had Caroline, I got a text message early that morning. I obviously wasn't sleeping much, so I remember looking at the phone for a second trying to figure out what indeed was going on. I was standing beside the bed, and I just remember my heart sinking. My dad was in a helicopter being rushed to UAB. I don't know what happened next. I don't even remember telling Heath. I just remember praying and thinking everything was going to be alright. Even as I saw my dad in the hospital bed later that evening, slurred speech, incapable of using his left side, my heart was still absent of fear. I did not doubt for a second that Dad would survive it, that he would be okay. I couldn't; I didn't have the strength. I refused to think the worst.

My mom and dad were away at rehab for almost two months, and I was incredibly selfish. I needed their help. I needed them to be there for me with the new baby, and it frustrated me that I couldn't be there for them in their time of need. I just kept believing that Dad was going to walk out of that building whole just like he had always been. I didn't want to think about the possibility of him not being the same, but as the months kept following each other, and I kept seeing that this stroke wasn't leaving my dad, I got scared. It started bothering me. I started letting it get to me. I started questioning God. I started losing my focus.

The devil tries to make me think that God isn't God sometimes, and that He still isn't the God of miracles. He reminds me that it has been a year and that Dad has only held Caroline with both arms just a few times in her life. He reminds me of the little things you wouldn't normally think about like washing your hands or playing peek-a-boo. He reminds me of a lot of things that I don't want to think about. He wants us to blame ourselves for the bad things that happen to us. He also wants us to blame God.

None of this surprises God. Did God cause it? No. Did He allow it? Yes. Will I ever understand why? No. Well, maybe. Even though the stroke didn't happen to me, it did. It happened to me. It changed my life, and it changed my mom's life, my family's life. It changed how my dad perceives the world, and it created a new level of strength that we all have to cling to each day. It fulfilled any loopholes or gaps in our faith. It closed up any loose ends we might have had in regards to what we take for granted. I view his stroke in a good and bad way because although I hate his stroke for changing him, it did make my mom and dad better. I've never been more proud of my dad than I am today. I know he tries to stay strong for us, and I know he has his weak moments, but I'm so proud of how he has been clinging to the Lord, choosing joy, and relying on a miracle of healing even now...a year later. Ten years ago, I couldn't say that. And mom, who has lost her dad, her sister, and has gone on countless journeys with me and my brother, has become one of the strongest women I know.

Because of Sin We Have Grace

I talked with my Sunday school kids recently about how we as humans constantly chase a state of control, bliss, and perfection. We wholeheartedly think it's achievable. We naively think it's possible. We base our whole lives with the expectation that we are going to be happy, and that everything is going to go smoothly, but when something goes wrong, we search and search for a way to get back to that state of bliss. Most of the time, we're searching in all the wrong places. We think we deserve it. We think that since we're Christians or that we're good people, good things should naturally come to us, but the Bible says in Ecclesiastes 7:20 and Romans 3:23 that no one goes without sin, and since the fall of man and sin's introduction into this world, the perils of life are going to attack us. But there's hope in this.

Because of the creation of sin (or sin's aftermath: death, disease, destruction, pain, and suffering), God's glory can be seen. From the fall of man we have sin, pain, and heartache, but because it exists, God's majesty is made manifest. I read a beautiful, anonymous quote the other day:

"Sin doesn't slam the door on God's blessings; it opens the gate for his grace."

How true is this? When we're floating through life thinking it's all about us, how wrong we are!

Let me introduce you to a man from the Bible. He was born in a barn and clothed in rags. He was persecuted for helping people. He had temptations and emotions. He was a real human being who never got the fame and fortune he deserved while He lived. He was beaten and murdered in a slow, painful way. His killers tried to take away his dignity. They mocked him and made fun of him.

Sound familiar?

Was Jesus' life easy? Was He a king who lounged on cushions all day, ate the best food, wore cloth of gold, or wore a crown of jewels? Did he make millions or publish twenty books? Did he have three degrees? Did he live in a castle?

Why then must we think our lives should ever be any better than Jesus's? Why must we be surprised when we go through hardships, tests, temptations, or spiritual persecution? Why do we think we can't be tested if Jesus himself was tempted by the devil himself? Why do we think we can go without needing God if Jesus himself had to pray?

Contemplating on the life of Jesus has brought me a lot of strength lately, and I hope you can find strength through him today, too.

I know there are a lot of you battling with something today, or maybe you're simply waiting on a miracle from God like I am with my dad. I don't know if it's because my son's name being Isaac that I love the story of Abraham so much, but if you ever need an illustration on faith, Abraham is your man. Most of you know the story. In Genesis 22 God commands Abraham to slay his son as a sacrifice in the land of Moriah. I'm assuming this was a long journey because it says on the third day that he found the place in which he was to use as the place for sacrifice.

"And they came to the place which God had told him of; and Abraham built an altar there, and laid the wood in order, and bound Isaac his son, and laid him on the altar upon the wood. And Abraham stretched forth his hand, and took the knife to slay his son. And the angel of the Lord called unto him out of heaven, and said, Abraham, Abraham: and he said, Here am I. And he said, Lay not thine hand upon the lad, neither do thou any thing unto him: for now I know that thou fearest God, seeing thou hast not withheld thy son, thine only son from me. And Abraham lifted up his eyes, and looked, and behold behind him a ram caught in a thicket by his horns: and Abraham went and took the ram, and offered him up for a burnt offering in the stead of his son. (Genesis 22:9-13)

Can you imagine contemplating on this for three days after God had previously told you that you would have a son (at his old age), and that he would be the father of many nations? Can you imagine his confusion, his fear? Can you imagine having to go through something like this with your child? Would we have trusted God like Abraham did?

I believe that this story is for all of us today, all of us struggling with life and the way it has played its devilish hand in our families. I believe that this story illustrates that NOTHING IS TOO BIG for God to take care of. We shouldn't be surprised when we go through a difficult situation, but we should never doubt what God can do with it.

Dad is different, sure. But I'm proud of who he is and how he has handled this situation. I'm proud of how he has used his circumstances to glorify the Lord. I know it is hard for him, but I'm proud of how he sees his blessings more vividly now. We all need a dose of this.

Ladies, I hope and pray that you will work alongside me this week by waiting, praying, expecting, and trusting for our rams in the thicket. I love this verse: "There hath no temptation taken you but such as is common to man: but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able; but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it." 1 Corinthians 10:13 

God knows what we're going through today. I'm praying for a miracle for my Dad, and I hope you will begin to pray with me for your miracle that you're hoping and praying for, too 

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When You Want to Give Up