Day 25-29 of Seasoning: Receiving Gracefully

Here I am again, a week later and trying to catch up on my 31 days blog posting. I have to admit, this has been quite freeing for me. A year ago, I would have stressed about not having the posts pop up each day, on time, at about 8am. I would have begun to think irrational thoughts about being "kicked out" of the 31 days club...well, I admit, I did think that, but it was just a fleeting moment. You don't get kicked out of blogland for not writing a post....

In the interim from the last post, which still is so heavy on my heart, I have been pondering a few things. I know the exact moment that I realized I had a piece of my heart that needed healing...an ordinary day, ordinary mailbox, and a manila envelope with my name on it...stuffed with a surprise.

Now, I'm one of those people who loves getting mail. Not bills, but real mail. The kind with beautiful handwriting of a friend or family member across the front, perhaps a little thick from heartfelt writing or a little something to lift your spirits.

On this day, I was having a dreary moment. I saw the manila folder and didn't even wait to get into the house. I sat in the driver's seat with my little Jonah in the back shouting "Tea! Tea!". I ripped it open right there, and a Bath and Body Works gift card emerged.

It wasn't my birthday. It wasn't National Potato Day. It was an ordinary day, with a gift given just because the friend knew I needed it. This is the moment that I realized we must learn to receive gracefully.

To be honest, the first thing that crossed my mind was that I must go and buy her a gift card and put it in a thank you note. Granted, she will be getting a gift from me but that is for a shower that I was unable to attend. But, I had this deep-rooted instant response that I didn't deserve this, and I must give something back right away.

It was then I realized that I don't know how to receive gracefully. I immediately want to make things equal. I don't want to be viewed as someone who is ungrateful, and I want to be liked. It's the "good girl" syndrome, which I am learning to recognize. A few weeks later, a childhood friend and her little one-year-old cutie drove over an hour, sat in traffic forever, and finally arrived at my house just to be with me. She knew I was having a difficult time, and I needed a friend. She helped me paint a huge piece of furniture, even though painting is something she really doesn't enjoy. It was a low-key day, but to me it was a blessing, and I still had to learn how to receive gracefully.

I'm sure you can relate to the problem of receiving without feeling guilty. I've learned that if people do something for you, it's because they want to, not because they expect something in return.

You will sometimes be the one receiving grace, and sometimes you will be the one giving it. It's ok to be the one that receives it, over and over, for a season. This doesn't make you selfish, and it doesn't make you a horrible person.

To those of you who have been grace-givers in my life, I thank you. I know the day will come when I can show grace to you, but right now, I am learning how to receive without questioning...


If you identify with this, I'd love to know. It's about being real...

As always, we musn't forget the true Grace-Giver, who wants us to receive gracefully...He is what he is, knowing we could never return to Him what he deserves, yet He continues to be faithful...


He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all--how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things? Romans 8:32

Day 23-24 of Seasoning: A Time to Grieve

I had just gotten home from school on Friday and was in a pretty stable mood. Stable is really the only way to describe myself during this season of life; I wasn't brimming with tears or laughing hysterically. I was stable.

Scrolling through my phone, I saw a facebook status that gripped my heart. I couldn't process it, and I finally let my heart realize what had happened. Lindsay, a dear friend who has experienced more in her life as a young woman than most people will experience in a lifetime, had just lost her dad unexpectedly. Lindsay is in her late 20s, and she has an adorable sister who recently got engaged. Her mom is soft-spoken and beautiful, and she smiles with such grace. Lindsay described her dad as a rock, and it was the first description that came to my mind as well. He was so proud of his girls; he loved Jesus and it showed.

I will never forget sitting with Patrick, Lindsay, and Jeremy at Ayden's memorial one dusky evening not long ago. Their family was there as well, and I considered it such an honor to be included. This was such a time of healing for me, as we were expecting a little boy as well, and our friends had just said good-bye until heaven to their little boy. Lindsay's dad gave us big bear hugs as we loaded up into the car. I could see tears in his eyes. He thanked us for being friends to Lindsay and Jeremy. I tell you, I am a pathetic friend sometimes. I feel like during those seasons of grief, we could have and should have done so much more. He was thankful anyway. I remember getting the call about sweet Ayden; I was at work, just a few hundred feet from where Lindsay's parents and sister were gathered. I went right away to see if Lindsay was still there, and I found them gathered in a quiet room. I apologized for barging in, but he made me feel welcome. He immediately hugged me, and we all cried together. I could sense he was trying to take pain from me, as an almost new mom, even though he had just lost his precious grandchild.

That's just the kind of man he was. He thought about others first. These are just a few examples, but I know Lindsay and her family could share large volumes of priceless stories.

I find myself going down the path of wondering. Why, God? Why more hurt? Why more grieving? I know he is rejoicing with Jesus; he is home, and he is showering little Ayden with so many kisses. I know that although the earthy life has come to a close, real life is just beginning. But I also know there are really rough hours, days, months ahead. We don't grieve for him. He is with Jesus, and he has been told "well done, good and faithful servant". He blessed my life.

Please pray for the Joneses especially tomorrow as they celebrate his life. Continue to pray for them as they walk through the days ahead. This is a season of grieving, but we don't grieve without hope. I know that. You know that, but it doesn't make it any easier or the hurt any less.

And the Father knows that, too. I am always comforted by the account of Lazarus in the Bible. Jesus wept. Two little words yet so much meaning. He is not a stranger to our suffering or our situations.

In life, there are times to grieve. It's ok to say you are upset, you don't understand, and you just want to cry in the corner. In fact, I think it's healthy to grieve and grieve completely. There are no awards for who can be the strongest in a situation. Lean into Jesus during those times that the hurt is so deep it feels raw. And lean into Him during the times of rejoicing as well.

I am thankful for godly examples in my life, and Mr. Tyson was one of those. I know his example will continue to shine through his wife, daughters and grandchildren.

May you continue to see the windows of Grace in every situation of your life.

And Remember...

“I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die; and whoever lives by believing in me will never die. Do you believe this?” John 11:25-26

Days 16-22 of Seasoning: Being

I had a friend comment on my wall "I keep checking your blog for Day 16". At that moment, I realized that I have not been faithful with my 31 days. I know it's not a big deal, and I know that we aren't getting an award for it...but still...

I laughed inside, because an ENTIRE week had passed with me thinking it had only been 2 days since I last posted. That, my friends, is the sign of needing to just BE STILL.

On my run a few evenings ago, I broke out of my 'good girl' shell. I actually finished my run ON THE GOLF COURSE. Can I just tell you how nervous I was? I realize for some this may seem like nothing, but I've been told by the golf course rule books, neighborhood watch team, realtor, and countless others that the golf course is not supposed to be walked on during operation hours. That deep feeling inside of me that always wants to "do good", "be right", "not have anyone every upset at me", had to be squashed. I stepped out of my comfort zone and cooled down on the windy path of the course.

If you had seen me from one of the houses, you would have noticed a girl sweating profusely, red in the face, occasionally stealing glances over her shoulder. Really, I know this is probably an issue that needs counseling, but we have neighborhood watch retirees that are constantly watching to make sure we don't break a rule. As I grew closer to my home and saw the little pond, I felt so free. I felt like I had time to just Be.

The pond water was calm, with intermittent ripples from the wind. I was reminded of Psalm 23: He leads me beside quiet waters...He restores my soul...

I needed to be led beside quiet waters. I needed to be forced to be still. Restored. Renewed.

I needed to just BE. Not do, not talk, not keep myself busy to avoid thinking about current life situations.

Just BE.

Take time to BE this weekend.

Day 15 of Seasoning: Mending

We are almost halfway through the 31 days challenge! I hope you have enjoyed this as much as I have. This has been a frightening task for me; I'm a planner, and none of these 31 days have been planned. Rather, I walk through each day, looking for the Grace Window. Sometimes it is the first thing I see in the morning, but often it is while I'm fighting sleep that I recognize the moments of Grace. I don't want to forget, so they are written here. I have no idea what tomorrow's Grace moment will be, but we are on this journey together. Thank you for coming with me, dear friends!


My mom and dad are teachers. I'm a TK "Teacher's Kid". As a TK, you experience life a little differently than other kids may. Your school days start early, because your mom teaches at the school you attend, and you play on her chalkboard until the bell rings. You also have no hope of misbehaving; your teachers will probably be having a staff meeting with your momma that very afternoon. Your grades might as well be public knowledge and posted on the internet, because your parents do this for a living and know that you are capable of more than you think you are...and there is probably a staff meeting that day...

The best part of being a TK was the summer. We weren't rich, but I thought we were. My dad worked an extra job in the summer to pay for the anticipated beach trip. My mom worked at a preschool program when we were old enough to help and gave us the money she made. Despite these extra jobs, we had family time galore. Daily pool trips with a packed lunch, yardwork early Saturday mornings, Sunday church services complete with a homemade lunch and some sort of fun dessert. The one thing that I never understood until now was the annual Summer Project, created and executed by my Martha Stewart Mother. Somehow, martha momma's projects always involved paint.

Always.

Kitchen cabinets (which are a post all their own), dressers, rooms, kitchens...All desperately crying out for sanding, primer, paint, and a change. We helped, but I didn't get it. I didn't understand why she had this urge to completely change something that seemed ok to me. I get it now, though. I've taken on the unspoken blessing of the Martha mantle. I'm Martha Anna, and it is deeper than paint. It is more than creating beauty. It is not about keeping up with the latest trend. It is about Mending.


Mending...All of those items that needed paint or changing would have continued to serve their purpose whether we touched them or not. But, my martha momma knew they hadn't reached their full potential. They needed sanding, priming, and sweaty summer days to shape into what my mom knew they could be. She saw beauty in the projects, and this made her happy.

It wasn't about turning the objects or rooms into something they weren't...it was about mending the cracks and crannies, brushing creamy white paint over tired wood, and breathing new life into something that had given up.

Mending...I sit here now, years later in my own home, and I realize that at least every month I think about painting something. I have a piece of furniture in my den that is screaming for a different color. It needs some mending. When I look at it, it is sad to me. It holds memories of past that are good, but it also shows me times of sadness. It may need to be mended, for I can't just forget the times of sadness, but I can breathe new life into it so it is beautiful. The times make it what it is.

Mending...my sister and I have mended over the past few years, but the past few months have been overwhelmingly healing. The Project Master of our lives has sanded the rough edges, repaired some rotting boards, and given us beautiful shades of love. We have been mended.


What needs mending in your life? Perhaps the urge to update, sand, and beautify things around our home is an outward sign of an inward need.

Enjoy your weekend, and paint away!!

Day 14 of Seasoning: Time to Follow

"C'mon, Momma. C'mon", he says with excitement edging his baby voice. His little hand is cupped out, while his dirty boy fingers motion toward himself. He is beckoning to me, and I have no idea who taught him this. He tiptoes ahead a few steps, then turns his wispy head around to check my progress. I'm unable to move, caught in an overwhelming realization that my child is leading me.

How do we decide that certain actions are better than others? We aspire to lead, and we tend to snub noses at those who are in a season of following.

Today, as my 3 foot tall little man led me into the living room, I realized it was ok to be led. As women, we take on burdens from our family, friends, people in the grocery store, and maybe even from last night's 20/20 episode. We like to fix. We like to mend broken pieces with our hot glue gun. We are crafty like that. We want to lead others the way we think is best, but they have their own mind. They may not follow, and that crushes us.

And that's ok. Perhaps it's time to take a deep breath, put aside that stick that the tour guides use with the flag on the end, and just be you. Stop trying to fix everything and lead everyone into the Promised Land. There will be seasons when it is time for you to forge a trail, but this may be your season to rest and actually follow what God wants you to do, not what you want everyone else to do.

I admit, I'm a fixer. I'm a planner. By this time in my life, I was sure I would have at least another baby on the way, debt paid off, husband in his dream job , 20+ lbs lost, and a bucketful of more things that would probably make you think I'm very shallow. But, I'm being real.

None of those things above have gone according to my plan. I've got to let go of that hot glue gun that tries to piece everything together. I've got to surrender the blueprints. This is one area that I shouldn't be leading, but following.

My little Jonah is oblivious to the life lesson he has taught. He reminded me to be me. Anna. An imperfect girl in an imperfect world with imperfect people...but our Father is perfect. He's the true tour guide. He's the only one that should be holding that stick with the flag on the end.

Day 13 of Seasoning: Piglet and Pooh

“Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind. "Pooh?" he whispered.
"Yes, Piglet?"
"Nothing," said Piglet, taking Pooh's hand. "I just wanted to be sure of you.”
― A.A. Milne, Winnie-the-Pooh


Did you grow up watching Winnie the Pooh? I sure did, but I didn't realize these characters were so witty or full of knowledge as a little girl. The gift of friendship was woven through the stories, and the importance of just being instead of doing was emphasized.

How often do we get so caught up in our rigid schedules of doing, that we forget how to just breathe? How many days have passed since you talked with your childhood partner-in-crime? How many years?

I am guilty of losing contact with dear friends...I tend to wait for someone to pursue me than to put my self aside and pursue them. And yes, there are those friends that you may not talk to for ages, then reunite and pick right back up like you just had a slumber party the night before. Those friendships should be treasured and kept sacred; they are your sidekicks who will jump in at a moment's notice...

The past few months I have been a very needy friend. I'm surprised that my girls still call, write, visit, and love on me. I can be so unlovable, especially during this season of my life.

I've broken down at a concert and felt a little hand slip around my shoulder and hold on for dear life. I've had a birthday complete with paper party hats, designer cake, and young women who left their families for a weekend to be mine. I've had girls who have stopped everything they are doing to drop to their knees and cry out to the Father on my behalf. I've been Piglet, blindly groping through these weeks, grasping for my friends' hands. They find me and hold on tight.

I only hope that I am a Pooh to someone. Some seasons you may be a Tigger, bouncing around like a bumbling idiot, happy as can be. Your neighbor may be Eeyore, waiting for a sinkhole to form in your frontyard and bury the carefully carved fall pumpkins. You may be the wise owl, offering sage advice and resting in the comfort of your hard-earned knowledge.

Whatever or wherever you are, accept those gifts of friendship. In turn, be the friend you long to have. Although I'm a Piglet now, one of those girls will someday need my Pooh-self to don a cheery red shirt and gather some honey.

And I will do it, because I know how priceless it is to be loved by a friend.

Call your friend today. Tell them you love them.

After all, “You can't stay in your corner of the Forest waiting for others to come to you. You have to go to them sometimes.”
― A.A. Milne, Winnie-the-Pooh


For more tear-jearking qoutes, go here

Day 12 of Seasoning: Tears

Record my lament; list my tears on your scroll--are they not in your record? Psalms 56:8


When was the last time you cried? If you can't remember, maybe it's time for a really good cryin' session. If you can remember, maybe you need to read my previous post about laughter. Either way, tears are needed, and they are healing.

When I was 14, I had the opportunity to travel to Israel. I still think back to this as a precious adventure where time stood still. To walk the same streets that Jesus walked...to sail across the Sea of Galilee...to stand in the middle of the desert, whisper-still yet so loud with meaning...this was where I truly recognized I was a daughter of the King, and I mattered.

While on this trip, I remember the tour guide talking about tear bottles. Apparently, in ancient times, bottles were used to collect mourner's tears, because they were precious. After reviewing different translations of this verse, I saw it also mentioned as collecting tears in a wineskin, which holds precious liquids. The NIV translation is above, referencing our tears recorded on a scroll.

Because I'm not a Bible scholar, I will leave it at this: I have no idea what the original translation was or should be, but I do know that our tears are precious to our Father. Whether he gathers or records, it doesn't matter. What matters is he sees each salty path of sorrow or even joy. You aren't alone. You are so very treasured that even your tears have a home.

So, go watch Terms of Endearment, Steel Magnolias, or Beaches...

And if you're a guy, watch A River Runs Through It, or maybe a rerun of your favorite football team losing.

Day 11 of Seasoning: A Time to Laugh

I don't know about you, but I sure could use a good belly-achin' laugh. The kind where you can't breathe and your face turns cherry-red like a juicy tomato.

Do you remember the last laugh like that? Sadly, I can't remember one that momentous recently, but I do want so share a cute incident that made me chuckle for days.

As I mentioned in previous posts, I went on a Women's Retreat with my mom and childhood church. On Sunday, we were sharing in Communion together, and we were to pick a name out of one of the baskets to pray for the rest of the year. What gets confusing though, is that the offertory basket was also in the same general vicinity of the name basket.

Do you get where I'm going with this?

Women were filing up to the front, some brimming with emotion, some serenely waiting for the bread and the wine, yet all was peaceful and reflective.

That was, until my Mom and I made it to the front.

I cut out of the line quickly to grab my person's name out of the basket, and my mom followed close behind. Blindly reaching into a basket, she pulls out a piece of paper and almost tucks it in her pants...Until she realizes it is a 5 dollar bill.

I really think I heard a snort from someone laughing...Several women saw it, and the corners of mouths lifted towards heaven as they tried not to let loud giggles escape. You would really have to personally know my mom (and my family for that matter) to really get the full affect. We're the kind of family that knocks over displays at blockbuster without meaning to...or runs into glass windows and leaves a mark...or nearly puncture an innocent bystander at the beach with our fly-away umbrella...

If you were wondering, she put the money back. We laughed about it at least five different times the rest of the day, and I was struck at how something so simple could make you laugh so hard.

Have you had any wheezy, laughy moments lately? Please do share, because it's a time to laugh and enjoy life's moments!

Day 10 of Seasoning: A Time to Remember

We've all heard the story. Dying so we may live. A cross, a hill, a man.

Do we really know the story? Do we remember it each minute of each day, over and over again?

Most likely not...

Until we need it. And then we say thank you, half-distracted as we plod on in our mess. For to us, our pain is too great, our sin too ugly, and our hearts are still too entertwined to the world to truly remember the story.

Think of a time you were hurting. Crying scalding tears, or not crying at all because no tears are a left.

Now, think of all that, cast on the man on the cross.

Not only that, but every other shard of mess in this world.

Did He feel every broken marriage on the cross?
Did He hear the cries of parents who lost their chilren?
Did He see the arrows of harsh words as they pierced those we love?

The answer is yes. Over and Over and Over again....

No matter how deep your hurt, He has felt deeper. He understands, so remember.

Surely he took up our pain,and bore our suffering...
Isaiah 53:4

Day of Seasoning 7,8, and 9: A Time to Rest

O Lord, you have searched me and you know me. You know when I sit and when I rise;
you perceive my thoughts from afar. You discern my going out and my lying down; you are familiar with all my ways. Before a word is on my tongue you know it completely, O Lord. You hem me in—behind and before; you have laid your hand upon me. Such knowledge is too wonderful for me, too lofty for me to attain.
Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence? If I go up to the heavens, you are there;if I make my bed in the depths, you are there. If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me,your right hand will hold me fast.
Psalm 139:1-10

My son and I took a drive to Greenville, NC this weekend. This is where the past 11 years of my life have taken place. It was hard. The tears started flowing as we passed the simple signs taken for granted in the past yet now seem so sweet.

Arlington Boulevard

Greenville Boulevard

Memorial Boulevard

Evans Street

Winterfield Drive....

It was here, my old neighborhood, that the tears turned to raw hurt. As we turned the corner past the stop sign, I see the neighbor's house who first welcomed us to our new home. Not only that, but they became dear friends and encouraged us through each season of our life. Their two little boys (now they have a sweet girly girl!!) also had names from the Bible, so we lovingly deemed our corner of the world as an Old Testament playground.

I see the house beside mine that has triplet boys and a superwoman for a mom. We've shared glasses of wine and our hearts. I can relate to her through my season now, and she knows this and stands with me.

I glance at my house as we drive past. I can't look long, for the memories are practically parading in the driveway, dancing on the porch, and peeking through the windows. Jonah's first home. It is almost too much.

As I come to the next corner, I think of another neighbor who is known as the crafty partner-in-crime. We met at this corner in the whispers of dawn, frigid air freezing our lungs, wondering what in the world possessed us to walk the neighborhood at this hour. We used to run, but we turned this into prayer walks and sharing that only a woman could undertand.

I finally reach the house of my old roomate, and by this time, I'm barely able to see the driveway. It was an ugly crying, with snot everywhere. And it was quiet, because little one was in the backseat, unaware that his mom was swimming through tears down memory's river.

My dear friend from college days so long ago, grabs everything from my hands except my child and helps me in the house. Seeing a familiar face caused more tears, yet this was not painful.

This was home, although it wasn't my home. It was the beginning of rest that I so desperately needed.

We live by schedules and try to be everything to everyone, yet fail miserably. We put up a face that says all is well, while inside we are crumbling.

Sometimes, you have to face what you don't want to in order to heal.

I had to acknowledge that geographically, my front door no longer led to dear friends...that my home was filled with someone else's children and memories...that the corners of friendship were now long highway paths.

As I drove back to Greensboro, our new home, I realized there was no place too far away for God. I know this, and we've heard it a million times. But, when you live it, you finally really get it.

He is here, right where I am. I can't escape Him, nor do I want to. I won't lie, sometimes I have attempted to run away, but He is around every corner and in every sunrise.

Knowing this, I can rest. I can BE. Be right where I am, and know this is ok.

Even though the home down that east highway holds memories, the most important thing is still with me. And that is His presence.

Take time to Rest this weekend!

Day 6 of Seasoning: A Time to Let Go

Down the long, flat highway, I watch fields of cotton stand at attention, saluting my journey. We pass more fields, and my mom begins her test...

"Anna, what crop do you think that is? This is your heritage..."

I have no idea. I don't even pretend to know. But, I listen, because it's important to her. Maybe this is the way she is coping with her not-quite 18-year-old moving into an un-airconditioned dorm, four hours from home. And almost at the end of the earth....or so it felt.

Up seven flights of stairs, my world is unloaded into half a closet, small desk, and 5 drawers. Flip flops are tucked by the door, waiting for the germy showers. A shower basket filled with bargain shampoo and a loofah is on top of the dresser, about to be consecrated in the group bathroom.

I'm feeling quite sure of myself as my parents surround me; yet, that evening I can barely eat the chicken tacos at Chilis.

What in the WORLD was I THINKING??? Four hours away from the only home I know, to a college where I know absolutely NO ONE. I determined right there that it was just do it or die trying. It was about survival.

I still remember saying good-bye. Both parents had sunglasses on, as if it would hide the bittersweet tears that were falling. Where were my sunglasses when I needed them?

They pulled away in the forest green minivan, waving, crying, and probably praying. I waved back, refusing to crumple into a disheveled snotty heap, took a deep breath, and marched off to the neighboring dorm to try and make friends.

My heart was aching. My mom cried all the way home.

They let go.

I let go.

We let go....in order to survive.

For eleven years I lived in that college town. I grew to love the flatlands and waving cotton. The roar of the crowd from the football stadium echoed in my heart. I was proud of my school, and I made this my home. I met my husband at this college, had my baby at the hospital, and experienced joy and tragedy in this town.

I had to let go. We were given the opportunity to move closer to family, with job opportunities that were encouraging and confirmed our decision. I also had gotten accepted into a doctorate program in this new town, so we let go of the life we knew to embrace a foreign life.

My world changed right before we moved, but God didn't.

I'm still letting go. I'm relinquishing my control on other people that I can't change. I'm slowly loosening my white-tipped knuckles from my own self and reaching my hands towards heaven.

I'm letting go of anger, hurt, pride, future dreams, past wounds, and current hellish situations.

It's not just about survival. It's about walking in Grace and dancing in Freedom.

It's about living the liveliest life.

What are you grasping with your desperate heart?

Loosen your grip.

Let it Go...and do MORE than just survive.

Day 5 of Seasoning: A Time to Hold

The creaking of the white slipcovered rocking chair lulls my little two-year-old blessing to sleep. My eyes flutter closed between the back and forth motion, and for a moment, I feel like we are one heart.

His wispy blond-brown hair tickles my neck, but I dare not move. His breathing slows to an even pace, its own metronome for slumber. Suddenly, he raises his head and cups my face with his hands.

"Momma...Momma, Wock? Momma...Momma, Night Night?" his eyes lock with mine, and I gasp inside as I realize it is a little boy staring back at me.

I gently guide his head back to my shoulder, hoping he doesn't tire of this nightly ritual too soon. It's a time to hold. A time to treasure. For the first time all day, he is still, and he is mine.

I sing a blessing over him from Numbers 6. The ancient words that were imparted from the Father to Moses, from generation to generation, now echo from my heart to my son.

The Lord bless you and keep you; the Lord make his face shine upon you and be gracious to you; the Lord turn his face toward you and give you peace.

The chair creaks. My son sleeps, and I am fighting to stay awake.
I'm fighting to remember this Time to Hold. For one day, he will fly into bed like Superman, refusing to let me tuck him in. He will sit miles away in a college dorm, awake at 3am because he is his mother's son...always working the best under pressure. He will hold the hand of someone he loves, and he will ask her to be his wife. He will hold a child of his own, and the creaking of slipcovered chairs will quiet the little blessing.

I'm holding tight to let go.

I'm treasuring moments of slobber as he drifts into sleep.

Just as I hold my child each night, God wants to hold you.

What's the difference? He isn't holding just to eventually let go. He's in that rocking chair the whole night, speaking sweet words of love over you as you rest with Him. His eyes don't flutter closed from exhaustion. He doesn't mentally cross off his to-do list or impatiently wait for you to fall asleep.

Crawl into his lap. Speak his name.


"Daddy..."

Day 4 of Seasoning: The Extraordinary

This past weekend was spent in the presence of real-life heroes. My mom invited me to the Women's Retreat through my childhood church, of which my parents still attend. My family grew up in this church, and many of those women at the retreat have changed my dirty diapers, taught me voice lessons, showed me how to use a bunsen burner in Chemistry class, took me on class trips to the mountains, prayed with me and over me, arranged the center pieces for my wedding, attended my baby shower, loved me through good times, and cried with me during rough times.

They are true heroes. As I child, I couldn't imagine being their age. I couldn't imagine being a real-live grown-up, content to drink coffee, wake early, and talk late into the night about your children or childhood memories.

But...

I've become one of those real-live grown-ups. I woke up super early Saturday morning to run before breakfast. The air was still and crisp, and I couldn't believe I had actually crossed over into the world of the responsible adult. My next order of business was coffee. Several cups. That sealed the deal.

Most importantly, and the real reason for this post, is that these women love me as I am. They know my past of pea-filled diapers and midterm grades. They remember my prideful moments as a teenager, but it is overlooked.

I have somehow crossed over an imaginary bridge into womenhood. These ladies who raised me are my heroes. They have lavished me with hugs and silent whispers of "I'm praying, dear Anna". No questions asked. No judgment passed. No empty advice.

Instead, they point me to the Father. They remind me of Grace. They love me as a friend.


This is extraordinary.

Our God is extraordinary, and He wants you to see the Extraordinary Moments.

Don't be so focused on the Season you are in that you are consumed with the ordinary.

What are your extraordinary moments?

Day 3 of Seasoning

I still remember my first time behind a wheel of a car, legally...

I am 15, perched behind a steering wheel of an out-of-date white state car, with a rough-looking character known as the Driver's Ed teacher.

"Slowly, Anna", he says. "Keep your eyes straight ahead. Don't look down at the lines. You will swerve all over the place. Then, you will get stopped by the cops".

I have never forgotten the feel of that steering wheel beneath my baby hands. I still remember pulling out in traffic outside the school, disbelieving this was truly happening. I remember being told to drive from one side of the street to the other, changing over three lanes.

That was terrifying.

But I heard his voice again. "Keep your eyes straight ahead. Don't look down...."

Set your gaze forward. Towards the horizon. Look towards the destination.

This view is different. You still see trees, dips, and potholes, but you also see the horizon.

You see a moving forward.

You see beauty you may have missed.

The Grace moments beside you, The healing rain above you...

Where are you headed?

Day 2 of Seasoning

We've all been hurt, wounded, beaten until we thought we could bleed no more. Then, another punch.

Friends
Family
Husbands
Wives
Children
Employers


They've hurt you. You are broken.

And...

You've been the one hurting others, too. That's the truth we often forget. We are not perfect. Our human nature leads us through moments of utter chaos, and we follow it.

But what if you've done "everything right?" What if this time, really, truly, honestly, you have taken all you can and now need to forgive.

This is a Season. A season of forgiveness. It never goes away. It may hide in the shadows during your time of thanksgiving...

But you will fail someone.
Someone will fail you.

And you will be faced with a choice.

To forgive or not to forgive, that is the question.

How do we forgive? How do we show grace?

The answer is with action.

You forget what was behind (Phil 3:13)
You press into the Father
You rejoice in the Lord (Phil 4:4)
In everyhing, you present your request to God (Phil 4:6)

AND..

the Peace of God, which transcends ALL understanding, will guard your heart and your mind IN Christ Jesus.
Phil 4:7

Do you see the Grace Window?

Day 1 of Seasoning

This was written on October 23, 2003 during one of my quiet times. I was a junior in college, finishing nursing school. I pray you see my heart and most importantly, God's heart of Grace for His children.

When the Road ahead has several bends,
Hope seems to lurk in the corners...
And the horizon allows the sun to kiss the night away.
But, as each bend straightens,
In the natural course of the Journey
The corners lessen and Hope makes a statement.

Hope deferred makes the heart sick
But a longing fufilled is a tree of life.
I see groves of heavy-laden tress,
Thick with the foilage of God's Graceful Mecy..
The towering trunks with its ever-widening rings of wood
Are a testimony of fulfilled corners of Hope
And with my fleshly nature, I have seen a missing tree...

It's not a swaying, young tree
Nor is it a sapling with future prospects
No, there is not even a pile of dirt over a seed

My worst fear is that I will become blind
Blind to the trees that form the natural cathedral
And long for saplings that have not yet grown...

To compare my cathedral to another's is to realize my Likeness to Eve..

The raw pain of discovering my Joy is lost
Only reflects on the nature I exalted above the Planter of my Trees

O, God, renew my child-like passions..

to climb in your Grace.
to sing in your Love.
To bask in your shades of refuge.

Guard my heart from false hopes...
In cardboard boxed-trees and empty roots...
Your hope does not disappoint...

For you,
Are my Longing
Fulfilled.