The Beauty of Restoration

I read from the card, wondering what this could all be about and why I was singled out to get the beautiful, blue presents and secretly brimming with excitement like a chubby-cheeked child.




The words were so familiar, taken from a previous blog post, but I felt like I was hearing them for the first time...

"We pray that every time you look at this gift that you realize that you are not only worth fighting for, but worth dying for. Your life has tremendous value and you are dearly loved..."

Could it be that these boxes held what I thought they did? In a moment of Oprah-like "aha"-ness, I knew what was going on.

Restoration.

Beauty in the Wasteland.

A gift from childhood friends that lifted my arms to heaven when I didn't have the strength to even breathe.

The cardboard boxes held pieces of the Nativity story...pieces that I had boxed up a week ago for another house...pieces that felt so heavy in my hands with memories of the first time I received them...pieces that had stood guard in our living room through many seasons of being a family of three...pieces that represented beauty and wholeness and family...

Today, I saw the beauty of restoration. Four friends decided to show me love without wanting anything in return.


I cried, and I wondered how I deserved such a precious token of encouragement...






I hear a voice across the room, speaking to me with such confidence and conviction:

You are worth it. You are a treasure. We want you to know this.

I thought I'd never see these pieces again, yet here I was, holding that which had been at one time lost.

They tell me that now I can add pieces through life's journey...Birthdays, Christmas, "Just Because" days...

And I am struck by the parallels between this beautiful restoration and my own fumbling, ash-filled mess.

Letting go of things, releasing your hold on circumstances that you really have no capability of holding, realizing there's a choice of living or wasting away..all leave you gloriously empty of self and its snares.

In this surrendered state, pieces are restored.

A measure of faith one day.

A breath of grace the next.

A healing of wounds that have oozed for days, weeks, months, maybe years.

It may not happen all at once. You may still smell smoke from the fiery mess. You may still feel singed and burned from the roaring, flickering flames of hurt.

But

You will see beauty.

You will see restoration.

In pieces they will come, and you will treasure it all the more because of how they arrived.


Christy, Elizabeth, Meghan, and Stephanie...I am so thankful and blessed for your friendship. You have shown beauty to me. In satiny-blue wrapping paper and cardboard boxes you gave me hope.

You have been a part of the mortar to build up the foundation of restoration in my heart.


Stephanie, Meghan, myself, and Christy


Stephanie, myself, Elizabeth

Worth Fighting For

My heart is full. I have received so many comments from my last post, and I am encouraged to keep being honest and real. We all have hurts and struggles; what good are they if one can't learn from them or encourage one another? Despite all that is ugly and piercingly painful, my story has purpose. My story has a reason. If one other woman can realize she is beautiful, a treasure, and more than enough, than this blog has served its purpose.

I don't consider myself an expert. I don't view myself as a Biblical scholar. I have no Psychology degree. But I have been and still am living through a life change that one doesn't foresee as a little girl playing dress-up in mom's high heels. You also don't imagine coming home to an empty house, day after day, while standing at the altar in front of 250 of your most treasured friends and family. When you bring your baby home from the hospital, you don't think about him saying "bye-bye, momma", without any hesitation or concern or sadness. He is spending time with his daddy, and this has become his normal. Nonchalantly, he drives the miniature cars over the ottoman, knowing you will be making an appearance sometime in the near future. But now, he doesn't expect you to stay. He is with his daddy, and you have no place in this playworld of his. Oh, he will hug your neck so tight and bless you with kisses when you see him again, but that isn't happening now. And that hurts.

So many women are hurting. I'm not the only one. You may have been told you aren't good enough. You may be trying to fit in with all the other moms, but something just isn't right. Maybe you can't lose that extra 20 lbs, and you feel like a failure. Maybe you are in a job that provides exceedingly well for your family, yet you feel guilty for pursuing a career and secretly want to be that stay-at-home mom. Maybe you are the stay-at-home mom who secretly wishes she could curl her hair and wear a crisp, Ann Taylor suit just for one day. Just one day to be looked at as something other than a cookie-giver or bottom-wiper or nose-picker or laundry-folder. One day of feeling like you are important. Maybe you are the mom who has children that need extra-loving care, and you hate yourself for daring to wish for a day away from it all, just one day. Maybe you are the mom who just got back from the doctor with news that shakes you to your very core, yet you can't fully grieve because a husband is on his way home and the kids have a project due and how in the world are you supposed to bake 5 dozen cookies before tomorrow? Maybe you are the woman who desires to be loved, honored, romanced, yet you are sick of cheap dates and empty promises and "I will call you tomorrow"...and tomorrow never comes. Maybe you are the woman whose children have left long ago, yet you wish for one moment you could be needed again.

Maybe we all need to realize that one hurt isn't more important than another. As this Christmas season draws closer, I become more aware of Christ's love but at the same time the rawness is more tangible and real. I'm forced to face the reality of being single, separated, solitary. But you, my dear sisters, have your own hurts as well. Mine are no more important, more dramatic, or more devastating than anyone else's.

You are a treasure. You are worth it. You are not alone, nor are you a failure. Your children may not tell you now, but you are the saving grace in their little world. Your husband may not whisper encouragement to you this evening, but your grace and selfless love is not unnoticed. Your family may be caught up in personal escapades, but their world would shatter if you were not in it.

You are loved. You are a child of God, and you matter.

Your season may be painful, but there is a dawn of hope.

You aren't alone.

You are worth fighting for, and Someone has already fought for you.

A lesson on Things

Tis the season...

for family
laughter
remembering
loving
white sparkly lights
peppermint mocha
secret surprises
and countless more...

It is most importantly the season of humility. A corner of this world received Love's Greatest Gift, in the unloveliest of places. Matted hay crunched underfoot, as a young, weary woman made her way into the barest of birthing rooms. Her beloved anxiously watched, waited, and wondered. Nothing could he do, as the miracle of life unfolded. Just as had happened years long before and would continue for years long after, a joyous new life tore through the pain of another, from one world to the next. The young father's eyes glisten; his heart beats in time with the son.

The little family of three huddle close together. Splintered wood beams overhead spill starlight on swaddling clothes, cocooning Love's greatest gift. The young mother kisses the baby's forehead, tenderly blessing the boy with all a mother's hopes and dreams. The father silently watches this miracle, secretly plotting adventures climbing trees, skipping rocks, and proud walks through town.

This season. A season that marks our need for Grace and God's response. A season that is cause for rejoicing, yet brings such bittersweet moments, too.

During this Christmas time, do you find yourself forgetting the humility? Do you find yourself searching for Things?

the perfect tights to match the sweater dress for Christmas Eve...
the newest cell phone accessory...
the prettiest shade of blue ribbon to match the burlap on your tree...

None horrible, but all things...


I have a Thing that has caused me to lose sight of the humility. My Thing was a nativity scene, which is somewhat ironic. A beautiful rendition, simple and elegant, of Love's Greatest Gift. Rusted stars backdropped the blue-green stable, and the faceless figurines looked crafted with love. It was a Willow Tree ensemble, and I loved it.




It no longer is in my Christmas decor; it now lives in another home, but it is being enjoyed all the same. This season of life finds me in a place I never thought I would be. I never dreamed I would be strategizing how to divide time with my child over Christmas break. I never thought I'd have an empty pillow next to me at night, and I never thought I'd miss ice cold feet tickling my sweaty ones. I thought this only happened to "other people", never someone like me. I always thought the rocking chair beside mine when I'm old and gray would hold the man that I promised myself to 6 years ago. I never thought I'd be splitting up the contents of my home, trying to fairly decide what dishes go where and which printer should stay and what to do with all these mongrams and where to put my bridal portrait and sobbing over ornaments that say "Our First Christmas" and wondering why I wasn't worth fighting for.

But, when I think of all this, I am missing the moment of humility. I'm focusing on things.

The space that held the Willow Tree nativity set was empty for about 3 hours. I couldn't stand it. It felt like my heart...all bare and raw and in need of a reason to feel important. So, like any good crafter would do, I ripped apart another book.



My nativity scene is painfully humble. The paper is frayed in some parts...The stable is leaning ever so slightly forward and may fall if it gets bumped. For crying out loud, it is held up by toilet paper rolls wrapped in book pages.




It is still just a thing. It doesn't begin to compare to the set I had before that held so many memories. Yet, I look at it and remember the reason for Love's Greatest Gift. For all of us, just as frayed as the book pages, need to be swaddled in grace. We need to know we were and are worth fighting for.

Tis the season of humble holiness.

Merry Christmas, dear ones.