Step Eighty-Nine: Father Lessons

Dear Readers,

This Christmas I've been thinking a lot about fathers. I could probably write a whole book on the shortcomings of my biological father. These flaws have been at the forefront of my mind lately. In part I'm finally mourning and expressing anger towards my father. This is good. If this is where you are, please don't hear me saying otherwise! The mourning process is so incredibly necessary. It is natural to mourn when we have been wounded or disappointed. Yet, I found myself letting those same hurts taking over my holiday. I found myself watching, waiting for that familiar old note of disaster to strike. It was as if, in my crusade to "win back" my holidays from my old wounds I was watching this holiday slip through my fingers. That fact hit me tonight as my mentor family and I went off to see Christmas lights. I could write many blogs on my biological father's inadequacy but tonight I want to tell you about my dad and how he is helping me to re-create Christmas.

Having grown up in Colorado with snow and freezing temperatures, having practically lived my winters out in gloves and beanies, this 75º California weather just doesn't seem Christmas-y enough. So in an effort to put myself into "the spirit" I decided to wear my winter beanie anyways. Their two young boys (A and E) decided to wear their hats as well. We had made hot cocoa and we were all loading into the car when my dad walked out. He was wearing one of A's larger beanies. It is this ridiculous (and cute) lime green hat with two frog eyes on top. Without having told any of the family my reasoning, they had all jumped into my hat idea. As I watched my dad climb into the car, I realized that is what dad's are for.

Dad's wait in the car for over an hour so we can see the best Christmas lights in town. They go shopping with you even though they know you could have gone alone. They give you advice about boy's and dating and school. They get you things simply because you want them. They watch girly movies and, yes, they take a ridiculous number of pictures. They're willing to set boundaries to protect you. They are uncompromising in your inclusion in family events, even if it bothers others. Most of all, they take care of you. I have an excellent dad.

Do you know what is even more beautiful than re-creating Christmas? Getting a new look at the heart of God. These are some of the lessons my dad has taught me about the Lord:

• He cares. Whether you're discussing the love story within Zombieland, talking potential future grad school options, or telling Him about your crush, He cares. Deeply. He wants to know the details. When you talk, He gives you this playful smile, encouraging you to continue. He enjoys hearing what you have to say. (I wonder if truly believing this would change our prayer lives?!)
• He is interactive. Whether it's eating a good meal together or pushing hot wheels down a dare devil's loop-de-loop track, He's there, passing the salt or elevating the final launch pad for optimum awesome-ness. He wants to be involved even if it means letting you pick the rom-com as the night's movie choice.
• He enjoys you. This is a new one for me. I never realized before that dad's actually enjoy their time with their kids. That they relish it, delight in it, seek out more of it. It is an incredible lesson. To think the Lord enjoys me the same way my dad enjoys ice cream runs... that the Lord sees me as His companion even in those simple ways... it brings a whole new light.
• His love is unconditional. It does not stop. Not when you wear the least sensible shoes nor when you make devastating mistakes. It does not pause at the scars on your wrists, nor does it linger on your past abuse. It is constant. Persistant. Even when you are shutting down and shutting out. It is a safety net which allows you to dive into the darkest parts of your heart because you know it will walk with you, ready with open arms any time you need them.

I am grateful for my dad. I am thankful for the lessons he is teaching me through fatherhood. Mostly, I love that he is mine. Thanks Dad! :) You know who you are!

Step Eighty-Eight: Awakening

Dear Readers,

Sometimes I feel as if the Lord awakens us to life. Songs we heard a hundred times, sights we'd seen a thousand times, but then He moves and it is as if our eyes and ears are experiencing those once familiar sensations anew. It astounds me. How sweet and tender He is, how beautiful He is making me. :)

"If I Never Knew You" - Mel Gibson + Judy Kuhn

Step Eighty-Seven: A Poem For You

Dear Readers,

A poem for you...

If there were word I could say

to somehow unfold your pain,

whispered lyrics, whose purest notes

piece nights darkest tremors.

Words of beauty, vibrancy, and grace,

words infused with life.

I’d plant them in your heart,

let wild orchids grow,

blooming through your worst memories.

I’d let silken petals

enfold and embrace you.

I’d let their softened hue

ease the sharp blade of sorrow

let their touch comfort and warm you.

If such words existed, if any balm to aching hearts I had

I’d give them all to you,

my sweet friend.

Yet, no such balm I’ve found

and no such words I know.

I can offer only this –

I love you.

I love you

when your fears are many

when you heart despairs.

I love you

when you see but anguish and disgust

when you don’t feel worthy of being touched.

I love you

when you smile and

when you cry

I love you.

I love you

when you’re sure you cannot go on

I will be your courage, strength, and heart.

I love you

for who you are

not for what you’ve done nor what you’ve seen.

And my love is with you,

in the quiet of your heart.

I never leave you.

My love for you is patient,

my love for you is kind,

my love does not boast

nor is it proud.

My love for you is not rude

nor self-seeking.

My love for you cannot be angered,

it knows no wrongs.

My love for you is truth,

I never give up and I never lose faith,

I am always hopeful.

My love for you endures.

My love for you was spoken from that cross.

So in case you haven’t heard me lately,

I love you, dearly,

My beautiful daughter

Step Eighty-Six: Given Strength

Dear Readers,

Every once in a while, I manage to convince myself that if I could say the many thoughts that daily cross my mind, if I could speak to my father the inner monologue that seems to rattle about in my brain, if I could make him see, make him understand... then everything would be okay. Sometimes I even manage to convince myself so well I have my phone in hand and all I have to do is press the call button. Surely, if I gave full vent to my anger, pain, and need... if I told him I loved him and wanted him... surely then it would all be alright. Surely then the 19 years of pain and 12 years of tension would all disappear. I fool myself into thinking that things would be different than they have always been. However, my thumb always pauses on the call button, that small green telephone acting as a reality check. That's when the grief and the anger come pouring back in, like an unpleasant dive into my own private ice bath.

I grieve because no matter how old I get, I know I will always want my father. I grieve because I know, no matter how much he may change, my father and I missed some of the most important memories. I grieve because I do love him, whether this is foolish or not. I grieve because it is the only process I have left to me. I cannot continue in the dysfunction for the sake of a game and I cannot continually wait for him to change the man he is. I can only grieve and come to accept the scar tissue.

When I begin to dial my father's number, I know the pain is rising within me. I find the ache is greater on these days. Great enough to almost want the dysfunction in exchange for his love. And when I resolve not to call him, when the tears come breaking through, I find myself retreating. Pulling myself away, seeking some kind of refuge from the pain and this is where everything changes.

Love takes me in. I curl up beneath my blankets, close my tear filled eyes and find myself on my Father's lap. I bury myself in His chest. His arms surround me, comfort me, hold me. I cannot pretend that it is the same as having a physical, tangible, touchable father. It's not but it is a beautiful refuge. It is the one place of sweet release. And as I let the anger, grief, and pain wash over us, He whispers gently in my ear.

I want you, Leela. You are my beautiful daughter. You are my precious child. I am here, I will protect you because I love you. More than I love anything else, I love you.

It still hurts, I still wake up crying and alone, without a father but it gives me strength. Strength to feel my pain, to face my grief, and to survive on the days I'd most like to give up.

May He give you strength, as He is continually giving me, to face the things of this day.

Step Eighty-Five: Hope Offering

Dear Readers,

An excerpt of my thoughts tonight...

In seventh grade, I began volunteering with the youth group to regularly visit an old folks home and paint the nails of the elderly women. I walked away from the three years I spent doing it with laughter, tears, and plenty of stories. Yet there was one lady who shaped my views on age and “growing up” in a tremendous way – Miss Daisy. A southern bell to the core of her, she may have gained a few years but that only served to add some flavor.

My first impression of Miss Daisy was a remarkable one as she cha-cha-ed her way into our room, highly decorated walker or not. If this had not been incredible enough, as she sat down across from me she looked me in the eye and demanded, “What’s the wildest color you have?” Attempting to be mature, I calmly pulled out the popular array of hues in reds and pinks. As I set them before her, I’ll be darned if this sweet 92 year old woman didn’t give me the best stink eye I’ve ever seen. Reaching across me, she pulled from the cart the most obnoxious neon orange, setting it silently before me. As I stared flabbergasted by her request, she started laughing. Unsure of whether I was being mocked or not, I solemnly picked up the color and turned it over in my hand. Was it even legal for someone over the age of 60 to wear nail polish in such bright colors? When she had collected herself, she said, “Close your mouth, child, it’s better than it looks.”

I spent 3 years “painting” Daisy’s nails. Eventually, the youth group stopped going but I remained, often only to visit Daisy. We would sit and talk. She would affectionately call me her “favorite grandchild.” Even as our love grew, her health deteriorated. It did not seem fair, at the time, to love someone so close to death, to love knowing they would soon be gone. At our second to last visit, between great heaving sobs I told her so. In a gentle whisper she murmured, “Hush, child, it’s better than it looks.” I often wonder if Daisy knew these would be the most influential words we would share, I wonder if she understood the hope they gave me. I wonder if, in her wisdom, she knew I would forever carry them with me long after her voice had faded. I wonder if she knew how they would shape the way I view all of life.

It is a beautiful truth that seems to surpass all obstacles, that knows no bounds – things are better than they appear, even in the worst of moments. May you find hope in this.

Step Eighty-Four: Quiet Moments

Dear Readers,

The sweet and comforting aroma of apple cinnamon is filling my apartment as I sit quietly sipping my tea, waiting to switch out batches of muffins. Playing softly in the background is a gentle piano melody. It is as if time has stopped. I know this cannot be as the timer is slowly counting down the minutes until I must move again. So perhaps it is not time at all, but I who have paused.

As this perfect autumn perfume enfolds me, as gentle notes impersonate frolicking golden leaves as they dance their way through an insouciant scale, as the world sleeps – I wait. I'm never really certain what I'm waiting for. I'm just waiting. Waiting with baited breath for the slow end of autumn to pass gently into the icy stillness of winter, for winter's first snowy kiss. Waiting for the steam from my tea to form a perfect spiral. Waiting for all the heart ache to mend. Waiting for tears to subside and laughter to die. Waiting to hear a chorus of angels praising the Almighty. Waiting to hear the gentle rustle of His heavenly robe. Waiting for Him to whisper gently in my ear "I love you". In this perfect stillness, I realize I'm not waiting in these quiet moments – I am waiting for these quiet moments.

It is easy to lose sight in the fast paced world I live in. Easy to lose quiet between the coffee grinder and the evening report. Yet I wonder how much time my soul spends waiting for moments like these when distractions cease and true life begins.

Step Eighty-Three: What makes you beautiful?

Dear Readers,

I'm messed up in relationships. I am. It isn't really an intentional thing... more of a fallen world thing. I'm needy, overly-emotional, overly-sensitive, chronically insecure, in general I'm "too much". Of course, I'll tell you I'm all of this when we become friends. I promise you that I will mess up (because I will), I promise you I'll annoy you (because I will), I promise you I will not be perfect. But I will love you.

For the first time tonight I realized how beautiful this gift is. Being friends with me... it's going to be complicated and confusing. But I love you. This is a fact, a permanent, unchanging fact. I may doubt you love me but I will never ever stop loving you. It's kind of an addiction (a healthy kind). I couldn't stop myself if I wanted to... because the truth is once you've penetrated my heart... I can't get you out of it. I may withdraw, I may ignore, I may even bare my teeth when I've been hurt. (Again – I'm messed up in relationships! ) But my love for you... it isn't going anywhere.

It's amazing how much of ourselves we take for granted. How quick we are to dismiss in ourselves what we love about others. It took hearing from a friend that her love is unchanging before I realized what a precious quality that is. It took admiring it in her before I realized in spite of all my mess I have that quality.

So, what makes you beautiful? How can the Lord show you YOUR beauty today?

Step Eighty-Two: Heavenly Love

Dear Readers,

I hate flying. Not just like a oh-its-uncomfortable-and-super-awkward-because-your-neighbor-is-drooling-on-your-mutual-armrest-so-now-what-do-you-do hate it but like I-am-going-to-keep-my-eyes-squeezed-close-tight-and-hold-onto-my-stuffed-bear-for-the-next-two-hours hate it. Worse yet I have to fly in and out of DENVER. If you haven't flown in out of Denver before you should know that DENVER in airplane lingo is TURBULENCE. This makes flying almost unbearable. Today as I was flying out to Colorado for a sister/friend's wedding wasn't that much different EXCEPT we hit Denver (thus the turbulent moments) as the sun was setting.

After several "oooh" and "ahhhhh"'s from the three year old in front of me, I decided I really did have the courage to peek. I'm pretty glad I did for when I did I received a serenade. A symphony pouring out in heavenly pink and purple hues, surrounded me, blanketing me in a gentle kind of love. As our plane dipped towards the earth and we parted serene clouds, peeking out over navy blue mountain tips. The vibrant colors played out over a perfectly still lake. It was breath-taking, awe-inducing, incredible.

It is impossible, in moments like that, to be afraid. It's impossible to forget the Lord's declaration of love as it decorates the skies! What a beautiful, and needed, reminder of His unconditional affection!

Step Eighty-One: Do You Love Me, Lord?

Dear Readers,

I love hearing that I'm loved. Nothing warms my spirit or lifts my heart more than hearing someone say "I love you". It delights my heart to know that others take pleasure in me and from me. It is an incredible gift, to hear the spoken affirmation of love.

Tonight was one of those moments. Everything inside of me was begging to know "Do you love me? Am I love-able?" And like the fantastic Father that He is, the Lord gave me a few precious moments to be loved by the most incredible woman! How deep the heart of my sister! How great her love is for me! It never ceases to amaze me how much overflow she has! What an example of unconditional love she is! She challenged me to let the Lord love on me each day but I hope that she knows tonight she was that vessel of love.

I find myself in this vulnerable place all the time. I want, more than anything, to know if the Lord loves me. I want so badly for Him to show me what He sees because I just don't see it in myself. And with all the healing I'm doing, I never want to lose this vulnerability. Asking Him "Lord, do you love me?" provides the opportunity for Him to delight in me. It gives Him a chance to bless me through my brothers and sisters in Christ. More importantly, I never want to lose my thirst for His love. May it be my pursuit for life.

May He remind you of His love for you as well!

Sept Eighty: Simple Faith

Dear Readers,

Lately I've been busy. Not a bad busy, actually a very productive and healing busy. I've been hard at work pruning the weeds in my life with the Lord. A very complicated process that I am so grateful to be walking down. One I will continue to walk. However, last night I got a reminder of simple faith and simple joy. God is complicated, He is bigger than we could imagine. He is working in ways we can't even fathom. But God is also simple. He is beautifully simple. This is a fact I continually forget. Yes God is healer of my emotional turmoil. Yes that is an incredible and powerful thing. But God is also Lord of falling leaves. He is simply beautiful. This simplicity is one of the reason's I fell in love with Him.

Last night He reminded me of His simplicity. He reminded me of the joy it is to delight in Him.

Do you need to remember the simplicity of faith?

Step Seventy-Nine: Vibrant

Dear Readers,

I've mentioned before that I love the word vibrant. That it drips an infusion of beauty and life. It's so much more than a word for me, it's a lifestyle. It is bathed in boldness, full of color, spice, and well awesomeness. It is the "abundant life" that Jesus came to offer. My prayer, as of late, is that my life would be vibrant and, as many of you know, you should be very careful what you pray for, you might just get it.

Over labor day weekend, I had the opportunity to experiment with painting and while I am no expert in the concerns of art it gave me a new appreciation for this word that I love so much. To give you an idea I googled "vibrant paintings" here are a few of my favorites:

Kasey Taylor "Koi Lotus & Lily Pond Scene"

Mia's "Two Virgins"

Derek McCrea's "Japanese Cherry Blossom Flower Painting"

There is something unique to vibrancy that I hadn't really seen or appreciated before. The degree of vibrancy correlates directly to the degree of contrast. To put it another way, you cannot have light without darkness. Imagine if the Koi pond had been painted with a baby blue rather than the navy. It would still be a remarkable painting, illustrating skill and beauty, but it would not be breath-taking. It would not be vibrant.

You may have now gathered the point to which I am writing - if we are to have vibrant lives they cannot be purely light. We need contrast. We need the murky waters. I suspect, if your response is anything like mine, you don't find this the least bit comforting. I would challenge you,however, to re-evaluate your opinion of darkness.

Ecclesiastes 7:13-14 says this "Consider what God has done; who can straighten what he has made crooked? When times are good, be happy; but when times are bad, consider: God has made the one as well as the other." You and I need to reconsider are biases in regards to darkness and pain. So often I think of pain as a means to an end. How many times do we say phrases like this "it's a growing experience" or "it will make you stronger/more beautiful" or "if you can just hold on/endure/stay strong". We cheat ourselves when we say this. We cheat ourselves out of the vibrancy that is our inheritance. Pain is not a means to the end. Pain is a vital part of vibrancy. To simply "endure" pain is to miss out on the vibrancy that is yours now.

So my challenge - no matter whether you are in a season of light or a season of darkness, be vibrant and rejoice!

Step Seventy-Eight: Just Ask Him

Dear Readers,

Don't be afraid to ask the Lord what He thinks of you, chances are He thinks more highly of you than you know.

My Sunrise Serenade

I love you.
My love stretches across the horizon
in hues of pink and purple
every day.
My love unfolds on petal's fringe
and in the morning lark's song.
My love surrounds you
each and every day.
It fills you more fully than the air you breathe.
With every beat of your heart,
my affection grows.
I love you more in this moment
than I have in any moment yet,
though it brings you to your knees,
though tears well in your eyes,
though you feel weak and weary
afraid to go on,
My love is with you.
It has NEVER left you.
It will endure
far longer than these trials you are facing.
It will persist long after
the dust of your bones have blown away.
I love you. You ARE my precious daughter.
You ARE captivating.
You ARE sweet.
You ARE wonderful.
I beg of you, dear child, open your eyes this morning,
watch as the sun kisses horizon’s lip,
watch while I paint you a sunrise serenade,
watch the colors spring to life
as they stretch across the dawn gray sky.
I beg of you, dear child, open your heart to me this day
I am longing to shower you with love
I am longing to have you dance upon my feet.
I beg of you, dear child, let me catch your tears.
You’ve been crying for so long,
let me wipe your tears away,
and return your sweet smile.
I love you. You are mine. I will never lose you.

Step Seventy-Seven: The Beauty of Darkness

Dear Readers,

I decided to get creative on you and write a blog inside a song. The song is entitled "Everything is Beautiful" by Anne Marie Boskovich.

"I would not be here tonight, if I had to choose."

How often I have thought these words,

how often I would have passed my cup,

exchanged it for something sweeter.

How often I would have exchanged darkness for light.

"It's always the bigger things in life, that seem to choose you."

"I'm buried in the questions, I can't find the answers."

Lost in the depths of my past,

searching for reasons that can't be found.

Sifting through the pain of my yesterdays,

"I close my eyes and listen, 'till I remember."

"Everything is beautiful, beautiful."

Beauty pours from my lovers mouth,

with the grace of shifting flames,

His glory dances in this darkness.

"If somewhere love exists, you can wrap your arms around it."

"Can you hear me now?"

I've felt so alone for so long

but I'm finally learning how to celebrate.

how to rejoice in His beautiful darkness.

"Close your eyes and listen until you remember."

"You don't need the answers."

Some answers can't be found,

some reasons don't exist,

but beauty dwells even in this darkness,

"Just close your eyes and remember."

"Everything is beautiful."

From bended knees, praises rise

illuminating darkness so that you may see

"Everything is beautiful here."

There is such beauty in darkness when what you see is open to interpretation.

Step Seventy-Six: A New Metaphor

Dear Readers,

I wrote this blog a few months ago. I felt very much like a pebble amongst a basket full of jewels. I waited patiently and hopefully, eagerly anticipating the moment I felt like a jewel amongst the jewels. A friend told me that this summer was making me into a jewel amongst a basket full of jewels. In this moment, God gave me a new metaphor. I am a pebble but I am a pebble in the hand of God and that is far better than any jewel in a basket.

Jewels are stones. We forget that but they are. Size wise they are actually pebbles themselves. They sparkle a bit more than the average pebble but that's all. There is nothing about a jewel that gives itself value. A jewel gets it's value by being bought. A jewel left unpaid for in a basket is worth as much as any other pebble.

I became a jewel 6 years ago. 6 years ago I looked at a wooden cross hanging in our church and I said yes. I was bought back. I was bought as a very expensive pebble. God gave His only son to buy me back. Though I did not sparkle, though I was not radiant, I became a jewel in that moment. It was finished then. I could not become worth more, I could not be valued higher. I was, at that moment, all I could be.

The beauty of our Savior is that He allows a pure and holy God to pick up defiled pebbles and turn them into jewels.

"He has made everything beautiful in its time." (Ecclesiastes 3:11)

Step Seventy-Five: Praise Him for He is Faithful

Dear Readers,

God is faithful. He is faithful to provide, faithful to protect, faithful to love. I often need reminding of this but He is even faithful to remind.

This has been my breath of life and constant hope lately: God is faithful. Though I am afraid, though I am hurting, though it is dark all around me, God is faithful. He is faithful to use my fear, He is faithful to heal my hurt, and He is faithful to shine in even the darkest nights.

This doesn't make things easier, but it gives it purpose. It is liquid courage and keeps me going when all else fails.

So I praise Him. I praise Him in fear, I praise Him in hurt, and I praise Him in the middle of the night when nightmares pursue and terror triumphs. Praise Him for He is faithful.

Step Seventy-Four: The Traveling Companion

Dear Readers,

Years and years ago I asked a friend to recommend a good book. I can't remember if it was a good book in general or a good book for a bible study but she recommended Hinds Feet on High Places. Now, when I first read the book I absolutely hated it. I seem to do this with a lot of good-for-your-soul-makes-ya-think books. I hate them at first and then God uses them and upon returning to them I fall in love with them. Hinds Feet on High Places tells the story of how Much Afraid comes to join the Good Shepard in the High Places. Thinking back on it, I don't honestly know why I hated it because I realize now - THAT IS MY STORY! Now, of course, I've re-read the book a hundred times and read it to myself (and to friends) to find comfort.

In the book, Much Afraid is joined by Suffering and Sorrow to be her traveling companions. The powerful, loving Shepard plants a thorn in Much Afraid's heart (a seed of love to come) and then sends her into the desert with Suffering and Sorrow. Now I don't know about most of you but I objected, strongly. What kind of love is that?! You can excuse it as making her stronger (which they do), you can justify it as being a necessary act of discipline (which it was), you can even explain it away by saying God's ways are above ours (which it is). Even with all those, I still can't say I understand that to be the action of a loving God. A loving God does not wound His daughter and send her into the desert miserable and lonely.

And then I came to the only conclusion I could - God is a God of suffering and sorrow. Now before you fear He smites me while I write, let me say that I have a deep love for the Lord. I believe that He is a good and loving father who works for the good of those who love Him. Praises could flow from my mouth to fill the ocean and still would not be praise enough to declare the greatness of God! In fact, I truly believe that God being a God of suffering doesn't take away from Him but adds to His greatness! A loving Father doesn't allow His daughter to wonder the desert wounded with strangers. He goes with us. I believe the greatest gift of Jesus's sacrifice is that God may become the very embodiment of suffering and sorrow. He who is whiter than white, purer and pure, He whose very presence cleanses becomes one of the stickiest, messiest, and darkest parts of humanity. He who sits on Holy Throne is able to dwell within the mire of the Earth and that, my friends, is grace.

I've encountered grace many of times but I have never grasped the depth of grace (and never really will). This summer I got to glimpse the depths of His grace in MY life. In the process of spring cleaning my soul, God has brought back up some memories. Memories of things I've done and things I've been wronged by. Memories that have shaken me to my core, made me question everything I am. Burdened by these memories, I asked God to reveal himself. He did. He stepped into my darkest moment, the worst of my bad memories, and He touched me.

Imagine you at your absolute worst. Those moments when you feel absolutely disgusting. When you look at yourself and what you've done and you feel like throwing up. Imagine the moment that makes you feel the most ashamed, the most defiled. That moment you probably haven't ever told anyone else about (if you can help it). Imagine yourself there and then picture the Holy of holies touching you. Imagine His hands holding your head, His pure and holy lips kissing your forehead, you whose soul is naught but tar. This is what I felt. In a moment when I felt so absolutely disgusting I was POSITIVE that no one could ever even look at me again... in a moment when watching my own memory made me feel like crawling out of my own flesh to escape myself... God is holding me.

A good God does not touch the violated. A good God does not bridge the chasm between the blameless and the faulty. In fact, by his very nature, a good God cannot be anything but good. Thankfully, God is no where near as fond of that adjective as humans are. God is God. He is the "I am." He is not limited to good. He, in the nature of being, may travel with us through all things. He may be Suffering and Sorrow for us.

And so, I believe, God walks with us. It isn't about His being a good God. That was never His intention. I do not believe God ever aimed for winning the number one God award, I don't even know that He minds when we're angry with Him. I think His goal from day one has been simply to be with us. In moments of great joy and in moments of great sorrow. He is a God who pursues. He is our constant traveling companion, even in the desert when we feel the most deserted.

Step Seventy-Three: The Power of Words

Dear Readers,

I was talking to fellow wordsmith today about, what else, words. We were talking about the word "vibrant" and how much life and excitement we felt around this one simple word. How much meaning and depth a single word can have. This, of course, prompted me to think about words as a whole.

I've mentioned before that I believe words have the power to speak life or speak death. I think it's important to note that the power of words is a cornerstone of my blog. By writing and sharing my words I get to experience two very powerful and unique things.

The words I write, which are generally prayers, become building blocks in my life. When the words I write are uplifting and praise bringing, I find myself living that out. When the words I write or negative, I find myself struggling (note here that negative is not synonymous for hard, hard stuff can be just as uplifting as praise blogs like this). When I write out my thoughts and hopes on wanting to be bolder, wanting to be more valiant, I get to see them actualize in my life.

I also get to share myself, my story, and my Lord with you through my words. It is a privilege and an honor that you take precious moments of time to consider my words. I thank you for that.

So in the honor of words I decided to list off some of my favorite words. I, sometimes, get fixated on words. I find that they usually represent some theme in my life and I find myself using them or thinking about them constantly.

Vibrant - this has been my latest word. It is just so full of life! It rolls off my tongue and feels like an array of color bursting forth. It is dripping in beauty. It is strong, moving, powerful.

Tarnished - this also has been rolling around my head a lot recently. It isn't as straight-forward as "vibrant". There isn't even a concrete description of this one, however, my wordsmith friend described my feelings towards it very well. Sometimes, when silver interacts with different agents in it's environment the silver will tarnish. To an untrained eye, this would make the silver appear useless. However, under a master smithy the silver can be returned to it's original and beautiful state. It just needs some TLC.

Dwell - I love the idea of a dwelling place. I often think of the Narnian ruins and how easy it would be to spend all day there marveling at the sights. See a dwelling place is far more than a home, it is a place of peace and restoration. A place that you can never get enough of, a place that you never want to leave. That the spirit dwells inside of me is actually a great compliment. It isn't just that God won't leave me, it's that He doesn't want to leave me!

Captivating - I admit, the book Captivating by John and Stasi Elderidge had a huge influence with this word. Captivating is poised in feminine power, it is overflowing with beauty. It is beauty that invites and entices you, beauty that intrigues you. It is the kind of beauty you can't stop taking in. You drink it in, hoping to gather enough details to remember everything about this exact moment, to freeze it in your memory to have forever. It is a basis for love.

Devastated - this ones harder to admit. It speaks of destruction and defilement, or great sorrow and lost. It is life at it's most painful.

Redeemed - redemption. To be bought back. There is life in this word. I speak it and I can feel it's power coursing through my tongue. There is only one redeemer and the price He paid for us was greater than we could imagine. Yet His love for us far exceeded the weight of that cost. Redemption... it's an oasis, a miracle spring, in miles of desert.

Protect - to protect and be protected... it's sacrificial. A protector gives everything of themselves. The protected are cherished, delighted in beyond all comparison. They are worthy of sacrifice.

Wounded - this one is, perhaps, self explanatory. However, to be wounded implies far more than being hurt. It is deeper, stronger.

Inscribed - I probably just love this word because it's another way of saying writing, but I also love the ideas behind inscription. Carving something into something. Putting time and intention into your words... it gives them weight and purpose. An inscription can never be erased, like a scar it will always be there.

Delight - I love this word. It's practically composed of innocence and fun. You can hear a child's laugh even as the word is spoken. Glee, celebration, over whelming joy. I love that we can delight in our Lord. We can celebrate Him. Find joy in Him. Be childlike in Him. But I also love that HE delights in us. That He celebrates us and dances over us. That He rejoices in us as His children!

So there you have it. 10 of my favorite words. What are some of your favorite words and how are they impacting your life? Remember words have power – written, spoken or thought.

Step Seventy-Two: When Everything Comes Undone

Dear Readers,

Every once in a while, everything seems to come undone. Like all the events in your life have randomly collided in this exact moment of time to create an explosion. When you're standing in the middle of it, it burns. You're heart feels overwhelmed, you're wondering how you could ever make it out. The pain is excruciating.

There is an unseen beauty in that pain. When everything comes undone, we see the raw power of God. We watch as He orchestrates each flame. And we also find ourselves in a place of absolute dependence. A place of desperation.

I can honestly say that I hate this place. It is contrary to my entire nature. It means being incapable of depending on myself. It means being forced to rely on some one else. I can also honestly say that there is no place I love more than being entirely dependent on God. It is, after all, in the furnace that God's hands wrap themselves around our entire being. It is nestled here in the palms of the Lord Almighty I remember everything I am, everything I am created to be.

I have a friend whom I love dearly. A friend who is struggling and for whom I would give the entire world. A friend who I have sacrificed much for. I prayers have interceded on His behalf many times. I have lifted him up, asking for blessings and peace. That my friend may come to know the Lord intimately and depend on the Lord ultimately. I have ached for my friend, shed many tears on his behalf, found myself weeping and broken. I have begged the Lord to spare him such pain.

This prayer has to change. If my friend is ever going to come to know the Lord, my friend must hurt. His life must collide and he must find himself driven to his knees. He must become desperate. I desperately wanted to protect him from his pain but the truth is, he is in pain. The only hope for his pain, the only balm to soothe aching hearts is the Lord's love.

This is my prayer for him:

That he may fall apart. That he would allow his pain to burden his heart. That he would become so broken he finds his knees kneeling upon the rug of the weeping before the awesome redeemer. I pray that he gets desperate so that he may find himself in the palms of one who loves him far more than I ever could. I pray that everything comes undone so that when he looks back he realizes this was his beginning.

Step Seventy-One: Ben & Jerry's

Dear Readers,

I am a big supporter of healthy eating. I think eating well is a huge part of a healthy and happy life but every once in a while I just need some ice cream. And not the $2-should-have-made-this-at-home stuff you can get. I'm talking rich, creamy, quality ice cream. I'm talking just barely skimming the surface off before delighting in a spoonful of delicious. I'm talking give me a spoon and Ben & Jerry's Vanilla Heath Bar ice cream and the world can keep spinning, everything's okay.

I believe that food can be a spiritual experience. Most of the time, I go about my day, shovel food into my mouth, and hardly pause to notice but every once in a while I take a bite of something extraordinary and my life is put on pause while I chew. I find it increasingly alarming how quickly I and the rest of society seem to wolf down food. How is it that collectively we get so caught up in doing things that we forget to do one of the five most basic things: taste? That's the way my life has been lately. Too busy to taste.

This summer has been busy with personal growth. I've decided to affectionately call the process God and I are on spring cleaning. We're going through my heart and dusting cob webs, sweeping floors and tightening screws. It's been good. Painful at points. Terrifying at others. But good. It's also been exhausting and today my feet were dragging. I'm an even bigger advocate of emotional health than I am of healthy eating and today my reserves were empty. I dreaded journaling. I didn't want to face my heart. And I definitely wasn't up for a candid conversation with God about it. I wasn't depressed. Actually, I'm quite pleased with the work God and I are doing on my heart. I'm just tired. Feeling somewhat guilty, I told God "not today" and what did He do?

He handed me a spoon and some ice cream. In His own hilarious and kind way He told me to chillax. So I sat, chillaxing and enjoying life's very simple pleasure of tasting. As I savored each bite, I remembered all the things I love about God. I don't exactly enjoy when God does the big spring cleaning things, I am grateful for them, but I don't enjoy them. But I do love it when God does the small things. I love that the small things are just as much a part of His character as the big. Here are a few of the small things that came to mind:

- God has a quirky sense of humor that ranges from full on sarcasm (need I remind you of the original talking donkey, he wasn't voiced by Eddie Murphey in Shrek) to the gentle teasing He showed me tonight when I think I have Him all figured out

- He provides small details such as night lights and ice cream and it is He's kissing my forehead

- He paints beauty and joy onto the pages of our life so seamlessly that all we have to do is savor a bite of our favorite food or sniff the hints of lilac playing on a breeze

- God has a beautiful laugh that embeds itself into the fabric of our life, a constant reminder of the joy that is already ours

- God laughs often and always has a joke up His sleeve

- God loves to make me laugh, it's actually one of His favorite pastimes

- God is gentle, even when disciplining us His love never abandons, never forsakes

- God is the inventor of days off, He knows what it means to kick it on the beach

- God is mine. Not in the possessive I own and control Him way. He is mine in His heart. He belongs entirely and completely to me. He is devoted to me. He offers Himself completely to me, without reserve or hesitation. He is everything I need at any given moment. A sympathetic ear, a soft and comforting lion to hug, a strong knight, a tender lover. He is all I could ask for.

- In the same moment that God is mine, He is also yours. He is able to offer Himself as fully to me as He offers Himself to you. He is no less diminished by love, but grows with it.

I hope this list got you thinking, it isn't nearly long enough to cover every aspect of God but it is a strong start. Maybe you're tired too. Maybe you're thinking "not today, God" too. If so, I'd urge you to take a moment. Maybe it is with Ben & Jerry too. Or maybe it's taking a hot bath. Or perhaps it's sitting in the grass with the sun shining down. Just take a moment and remember. There is a reason you fell in love with God, remember and celebrate that. I am inviting you to take my list and expand on it or start from scratch. And if you aren't sure you do love God, I'd invite you to check each of my reasons with your own heart. I promise you that He is all yours and all these things are true about Him. He is a personal God and this is an invitation to get personal. At the end of it all, at least you have an excuse to enjoy some ice cream. = )

Step Seventy: Seeking Identity

Dear Readers,

The more time I spend getting to know myself, the more I realize how very far from truth I derive my identity. It's hard to admit but lately I've been chewing on an idea. I don't have trust issues with God. I just don't have faith. Oh to be sure I've crossed the instance of faith, that moment when a person decides for themselves that God is real. I do believe in God. I fail, over and over and over again, to believe in God's character. I fail to have faith beyond the initial moment. In fact, believing that God is real is a simple matter. I struggle to believe that He cares, that He is good, that He is involved, that He loves me. I struggle to have faith that He is who He says He is. That the great I am is really the great I am. But why? Why do I have such insecurities with God? Let's face if God has never failed me. He has never disappointed. In fact, He not only has never failed, He always exceeds my expectations.

A friend gave me the book entitled So Long, Insecurity by Beth Moore and as I have been reading it I've come to one somewhat embarrassing conclusion. I project my insecurities onto the Lord. The doubts I have with God mirror my many fears of short comings within myself. I doubt God's willingness to provide for me because I, at my core, do not believe myself worthy of being cared for. Do you see what I mean? It isn't so much that I doubt God's ability to provide. Even I, with my less than a mustard seed faith, am not silly enough to genuinely believe that the Creator of life is incapable of providing. The truth is, God has made His power known. He has stood between me and death and refused to be moved. I have tasted a small bit of His power, He can do anything. The question that resides deep within me, the question that nips at my heart, is am I worth providing for? Would He use that power for me?

Truth says He would. History shows that He has. Yet still I doubt. Actually, doubt would be a generous term. I book it to the nearest exit and fling everything I can into the path between God and I. I'm being brutally honest here, hoping that someone will throw me a line and say "yeah I do that too." Why do I do that? I drive myself crazy sometimes. Even at the same moment I'm haphazardly flipping chairs behind me, I'm thinking "okay crazy lady what the heck are you doing?"

As God and I were dialoguing about my crazy actions I came to yet another somewhat embarrassing conclusion. I do it because I draw my identity from things of this world. I have to confess that this stings my pride. I have been a Christian for several years. I can't even tell you how many times I've heard amazing speakers talk about the importance of Identity. To be honest, even I have talked on the topic. I convinced myself that because I didn't "look" like the world, because I don't drink and I don't party that I must not draw my identity from the world. Because I wasn't aching to be popular or dying to be famous my faith must be fine. See those were the common examples. The obvious examples. I wasn't them so I must be okay. Not so. I am just as guilty of deriving my identity from the world. I didn't seek the opinions of my peers, I didn't long for fame. I searched for my identity in my family. I looked desperately for love, for acceptance from a world where there was none to be had. It's no wonder I have such crappy self-esteem. It's like putting dead batteries into a remote and getting frustrated when it doesn't work.

So I did what any rightly humbled servant would do, I prayed. I asked God what could I do to change that. I tend to like doing things. I am a fixer. I want to do something to make it right. Hand me a self-help book and give me some emotional exercises, I will make it right. And God says "sit with me a while." I'm thinking alright let's make a game plan, let's systematically attack this belief. And God says "sit with me." I didn't even last a minute before my brain started whirring, I actually wondered if you could find a section in Barnes and Noble about finding your identity. And... pause.

In case you can't see it, that's God with a challenge and that's me high tailing it out of there. Except instead of flipping chairs and tossing tables, I'm throwing research and knowledge to mask it. I'm subconsciously thinking "if this doesn't fix it, at least I can say I tried." I do this because I'm unwilling to accept that the only way to truly and completely draw my identity from God is to sit with Him. To sit with Him, to put all of myself on the line and ask the one question that I am simultaneously dying to hear the answer to (and I do mean dying. Without knowing it, my soul is withering away) and I am beyond terrified to ask. I am so insecure within myself that I am terrified to ask Him, the one who created me, if He genuinely sees worth in me. I was unwilling to have faith in His character. But no longer. There is too much within me questioning my own significance to be unfaithful any longer.

So, I return to Him. I sit with all of me, all my faults, all my fears. I sit in His magnificence and light. I sit and we talk. It's hard to stay when most of me wants to run. It's hard to wait when all of me wants to know. But the longer I sit in His light the more I find myself reflecting Him.

Step Sixty-Nine: A Princess Worth Waiting For

Dear Readers,

There is a line at the end of Tangled that I haven't been able to get out of my head. Rapunzel has finally returned home and the story has arrived at it's happy ending. Eugene (Flynn) is narrating the story. He says "At last Rapunzel was home and she finally had a real family. She was a princess worth waiting for, beloved by all, she lead her kingdom with all the grace and wisdom as her parents did before her." There is something in this statement that touches my heart in a way that no "and they lived happily ever after" ever could.

I have a somewhat silly girly confession to make. I desperately want to be a princess. A princess worth waiting for. It's not that I want a kingdom to rule or a prince to marry. In fact those things couldn't matter less. Even the whole castle, family, happy ending thing – though it sounds nice – are just small benefits. No, I want to be a princess because princesses are inherently valuable people. Even the line "she was a princess worth waiting for" implies that she was a princess oozing significance and value. You don't wait for someone you perceive to be of zero worth. You wait for someone of precious value, someone irreplaceable. You wait for for the character who, without, the story would be over.

In Tangled, you don't wait for the second guard on the left. You wait for Rapunzel. Without the guard, another guard will step into place, the story will go on and no one would even realize he was gone (I'm not saying this is right, I'm a fan of noticing the invisible but that's another blog). But who could replace Rapunzel. No one. She is a princess. A one-of-a-kind-story-changing princess.

Without Rapunzel - the King and Queen have no offspring, Gotham continues singing to a flower and hiding it selfishly away, the kingdom has nothing and no one to mourn or celebrate, Flynn stays Flynn a robber and conn until he is hung, Maximus will never be anything more than a horse, and Pascual loses a best friend. Without Rapunzel - the thugs in the snuggly duckling will never remember their dreams, so hooky will never be a concert pianist and goiter will never find love. Without Rapunzel everyone's life in the story, from Hayfever Guard (he wouldn't have been guarding a crown if there was no princess for the crown) to Flynn/Eugene, is going to be radically different. She is of that much worth.

That's the heart of my girly confession. I want to know, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that I am of worth. That my life has changed the lives of those around me. I want to be of worth, of consequence. That is my heart's cry. I want to know that who I am, just as I am, is completely irreplaceable. When I die and go before the Lord, my prayer would be that He says I am "a princess worth waiting for."

The sad truth is, I, like many other young women, don't believe I am. I try so hard to prove my value, prove my worth. Graduate high school - then you'll be of value. Ace college - then you'll be of value. Become a social worker - then you'll be of value. Change the entire social care system - then you'll be of value. Run your own orphanage - then you'll be of value. I continually chase after this idea of worth in actions. And then, when I'm running around in circles chasing an ever escalating false idea of worth, God throws an idea like this in my path. He forces me to stop chasing my own tail by creating a longing in my heart. He asks me to come and sit before Him and ask Him what He sees.

It is basking in His light that he reminds me that Rapunzel just was a princess. She wasn't of worth because her hair could glow. She was significant simply because she was herself. Then He whispers "you are my princess. You are of worth. You are of consequence. You are irreplaceable. You are all that and more because you are you."

So here is a challenge for young women – the next time you pass by the mirror, look at yourself. Remind yourself that you are a princess. You are even a princess worth waiting for because you are you. And then take a moment to celebrate being you. Take a moment to enjoy who you are. Let's build a habit of building up.

Step Sixty-Eight: The Beauty of Anonymity

Dear Readers,

One of the benefits of being a California girl is that I get to spend some of my summer at the beach. Soft warm sand, endless blue ocean, and a bright sky open to possibility. If you haven't ever stood at the edge of the ocean, your toes dipping into the chilly water, realizing how truly small you are, then you need to. There is a certain beauty in feeling small.

The truth is I get so caught up in myself. In my thoughts, my feelings, my problems. It is easy to lose myself in the details of my life. When I stand at the edge of the ocean, when I know that the waves crashing in around me have traveled the planet, when I let myself be small, I get the opportunity to worship the Lord in a unique way. I get to worship him from a place of anonymity. This isn't to say that we become forgotten or unknown to the Lord but rather to ourselves. We cease to lose ourselves in the fabric of our own lives but in the grand tapestry of creation. It is only at the top of a mountain, or standing at the edge of the sea that I see some glimmer of the "big picture."

Standing at ocean's edge, it's so much easier to keep perspective. To celebrate the beauty in being small, in not bearing the weight of the world or even the ocean. It is from this small shore-stuck perspective I get to see God. Not just Father God but God. A powerful, awe-inspiring God. A big God. A God capable of seeing me with my toes just barely caressing wet sand without losing sight of the coral reef flourishing below. A God capable of fitting into the deepest and darkest places of my heart and a God big enough to fill the darkest crevices of the ocean floor.

This is my challenge to you: let yourself feel small today. Not insignificant. If we mean more than sparrows, we also must mean more than starfish. Just feel small. Put yourself on your mental beach, take in the vastness of life and celebrate. Celebrate a big God. Be awe-inspired. Make your way out of the fabric of your life and join in with this tapestry of creation.

Step Sixty-Seven: Take A Minute

Dear Readers,

I will be spending a lot of time this summer with a three year old boy. Like most boys, he has an occasional temper tantrum. Not having truly worked with three year olds in 2+ years, my patience has significantly decreased. It may seem silly, but I forgot the reasoning capabilities of a 3 year old. So we have spent the last few days acclimating to the other's communication style. In this acclimation, I stumbled across this wonderful phrase. At a certain point in this boy's temper tantrum, he ceases to hear what is actually being said because he is "really upset." That is when I told him to take a minute to calm down. He stopped whining and calmed himself down, this opened the door to more communication (still limited, after all he is a three year old, but more). Sometimes we had to take several minutes, sometimes just knowing he was heard was enough. As I thought about this phrase this afternoon, I wonder if I take a minute for myself.

As an adult with reasoning capabilities relatively greater than that of an average three year old, I often find myself skipping the transition phase and jumping into fix it mode. I admit it, I am a fix-it kind of girl. The sink is broken, give me google, a screwdriver, and a little time. This fix-it mode comes in handy with sinks but it doesn't work with deep wounds.

I need to take a minute and process. I need to give it the validity and grief it deserves. The reality is there isn't always a fix. When I turn to my earthly father and feel the heart broken disappointment, my immediate response is to fill that hole. Find someone or something to make it feel better. I bounce around incapable of understanding what God is saying to me because I am "really upset". I have to admit that in reflection, my emotional self acts far more like a three year old than a nine-teen year old. I wonder if God is asking me to take a minute. To calm myself down. To stop blindly stumbling along, upset and hurting, and instead process.

I'm not under the illusion that taking a minute will make the wound better. Sometimes there is still plenty to be upset about, sometimes the tantrums don't end there. However, my prayer in life is that as I grow and mature I am constantly seeking to be able to communicate more with God. I'm not always going to like his answer, but maybe, after taking a minute, my dialogue with God would open even the slightest bit.

So the challenge is are you taking a minute? Should you be?

Step Sixty-Six: Polishing the Pebble

Dear Readers,

Recently I have come up with a metaphor to describe how I feel, how I have felt most of my life. I feel like a pebble in a basket full of jewels. I look around me and I can see my peers, my mentors, my friends, my elders all sparkling with a certain radiance. I can see so much of who they reflect in them. I am surrounded by people who shine, who embody this idea of radiance. I can see them, see their value, see their substance. There is truly no taking for granted the amazing people around me, the people who bring me to my knees in awe of creation. The problem is, I'm not one of them. Not in my eyes.

Sigh. I've crawled back into my corner. I feel like a four year old again. I can feel my arms locked around my legs, feel my bony knees protrude into my chest, feel the tears swell in my eyes. I am here quite often. I don't say this to gain your sympathy but out of frustration. I don't get it. Why am I afraid of everything? Why do I spend so much time crying? Why do I hurt so bad? The only answer I can come up with is this: I am un-building.

Many people have been blessed to have had families that have established healthy foundations. They have had parent's who encourage and bless. They grow up with the knowledge that all is well, they are taken care of, and the world is a relatively safe place. (They aren't perfect, I don't believe in perfect earthly parents, but they're pretty darn good). I and several of my readers did not. In fact, our foundation was built on the knowledge that nothing and no one is safe, you are on your own. If you haven't experienced this, if you don't know what it is like, I cannot explain it to you. I cannot even touch on how radical the impact is. Again, I do not say this to earn pity, but to explain. I don't have a strong foundation. In fact, I am digging into the core of me and destroying what was. I'm serious. I am having to strip myself down to nothing. In many ways, this stripping process hurts more than the original lies did. I'm not erasing memories (though I wish I could) I am building on scar tissue. I am afraid of everything because of the multitude of lies I grew up believing. I hurt so bad and cry so much because I am in the process of becoming nothing. The good thing about becoming nothing is that I get to choose who this someone is. I get to lay down my foundation.

Life hurts right now. Perhaps I ought to be more discreet in saying this. But it does. It hurts. Not just a temporary way. Not just a I-had-a-bad-week kind of way. In a constant gouging aching way. In a this-is-gonna-hurt-for-a-while kind of way. Why? Because I am being polished. I see a pebble amongst the jewels because I have had the dirt and gravel of the world encased around me. Slowly, chip by chip, rag by rag, I am being polished up. I am being returned. I can't see it. I can't even recognize it most of the time, but it is happening. We are chipping away the dirt to reveal the diamond underneath.

And so I rejoice. I abhor the pain. I loathe the feeling of being in this corner again. But I rejoice because the ashes are falling around me. The story of what was is burning and from these ashes beauty will rise. I rejoice. I rejoice and I wait for the pebble to become a jewel.

Step Sixty-Five: Forgiving Isn't Easy

Dear Readers,

I both love and hate my psychology classes because they challenge me. They force me to grow and stretch and sometimes it hurts! Recently we've been talking about relational wounds. It also just so happens that God is talking to me about my wounds. To make a long story short: in this last month I have come face to face with a few of my very deep, very ugly wounds. I don't like facing my wounds. It requires I own up to a few things, a few scary things.

It requires I own up to the fact that something is not right. I don't know if you have ever dealt with your body or life breaking down, if you have ever realized in sheer terror, that something is wrong and you have absolutely no control over it. The realization that something is wrong with your heart and soul, with the very core of you, is horrifying.

It also requires that I face the wound-er. This is hard no matter what... but when the wound-er is still very present in your life it is even scarier, especially when the wound-er is not repentant in the slightest. In this instance it feels like I am saying "go ahead, hurt me again." What I have to remind myself of is the fact that forgiving is not forgetting. It is freeing them from captivity, it is relinquishing the hurt they caused to be healed by God, but it is not inviting them to do it again. In no way is saying "I forgive you" similar to "do it again." Actually, they are polar opposites.

Forgiving someone requires one very important thing: living within the realization that you have worth in His eyes. Saying "do it again" is living in the belief that you have no worth. In order to have the confidence to say "I forgive you" we have to live within the confidence of who God has created us to be. We have to recognize that we have been hurt, we have been wronged and we have to relinquish ourselves from that hurt. In this confidence we grow a new ability, an ability to say one life defining word: "no." When we are operating out of the knowledge that our life has meaning and purpose it enables us to set boundaries. We get to say "I mean more than this and you cannot treat me this way."

But forgiving isn't easy and thats okay. This might seem silly, but being a perfectionist, I get frustrated when I haven't forgiven someone. I get frustrated going through the process. I would prefer the process of forgiving was a one and done kind of thing. But perhaps this is what Jesus means when he says we're to forgive 70 times 7. It isn't that we're supposed to continually throw ourselves under the bus, it isn't that we are supposed to get hurt repeatedly. Perhaps what Jesus meant was that it is a process. It is a daily process of relinquishing. A process we will have to do 70 times 7 over again. It isn't easy. It isn't one and done. And that's okay. Instead of continually berating myself for how I feel like I've accomplished, I ought to celebrate the work I have done. As a hatching butterfly, I often get frustrated with the idea that I am not breaking my cocoon fast enough and I forget to rejoice in the metamorphosis that God is taking me through.

Step Sixty-Four: Why don't we talk to them?

Dear Readers,

Last night, I was listening to one of my peers talk about her experiences in Cambodia. Some of you may well know this, but Cambodia is one of the top countries involved in sex trafficking, especially children sex trafficking. In fact, in one small village Soltek, the entire economy is rooted in sex trafficking. As my peer was talking about these precious little girls, I was moved. These were real pictures or real children, children who came back beaten, raped, and hurting. Or to quote my friend "these aren't pictures of little girls like those being trafficked, these are the little girls being trafficked." She went on to explain that trafficking exists because of the demand for it and how this demand is fueled primarily by foreign men, primarily rich white men.This got me thinking. Then she mentioned how at night, they would be at a restaurant and at the next table was a white man and all she could think was "I know why you are here, I know what you're doing at night." She then said she didn't know what to do with that. That is when this wretched thought entered into my mind: why don't we talk to them? I hate this thought. It requires that I publicly say that we need to love pedophiles.... yet, truth is truth. We are called to the cause of orphans. We are called to love those sweet children who have been violated in ways that are not okay. But they are easy to love. Anyone can feel the child's plight and everyone should. But for as many sexually abused children get rescued out of that world, for as many as we "save" from that life, there is another parent eager to sell their bodies, another customer ready to buy, another child in need of saving. The sad reality is that we cannot just address the children in sex trafficking. We need to start addressing the violators, to start addressing the parents who are selling their children.

It would be so easy to urge you all to donate money, to take missions trips, to open your hearts and your arms to those sweet girls. Yet, within my own heart, there is a tightening when I mention opening your hearts and arms to those men. My stomach churns at the thought. How can I ask this of you? How can I ask this of myself? Yet, here I am. We need to love these men. In no way am I suggesting we justify their actions. No number of excuses will justify these men's choices to violate those sweet smiling faces. That will never be okay. But consider this: the majority of those pedophiles were sexually abused. Once upon a time, they were those sweet smiling faces. When did their smiles morph from being a child's broken innocence into a monster's leer? When they ceased to be small? When they grew up? When they first acted out their wounds on someone else? The answer is never. They are human. Yes, a broken and flawed human, but also a needy and terrified human. A human doing what they were taught. If we want to stop sex trafficking, we have to stop the demand. Paul reminds us that it is easy to love our friends and hard to love our enemies but here is the harsh reality of our call today: it is easy to love those children and it is hard to love those pedophiles but we are called to love both.

I'm not sure what to do with this thought. I'm not. Should I fly to Cambodia, hang out in the brothels, walk the streets of Soltek at night? I don't know. But my question to you, my question for my friend, and most importantly my question for myself is if I meet that man, if I am at the table beside his, why don't I talk to him?

Step Sixty-Three: He is Simple

Dear Readers,

I like to make God complicated. I do. He is never just who He says He is. It isn't that I think He is lying... it is that I don't trust Him (yeah, I know it is the same thing). But God is God. His being may be extraordinarily complex, but He is simple. When He says "I love you" He means "I love you." He is constant and unchanging. He does not change his mind, He does not have regrets. He just is. I like this about Him...

The youtube video that acted as background music and partial inspiration. I just thought it was super powerful...

Step Sixty-Two: Our Father

Dear Readers,

"God is patient, God is kind. He does not envy, He does not boast, He is not proud. He is not rude, He is not self-seeking, He is not easily angered, He keeps NO record of wrongs. God does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. He always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. God NEVER fails. 1 Corinthians 13:4-8"

My friend left this as part of a note on my computer months ago. I love the note and often re-read it, celebrating in her love and in her encouragement. I have seen, heard and read this scripture on several occasions. I recently re-read my friend's note and for the first time the last two sentences captured my attention.

The truth is, I have a really hard time seeing God as my father. Actually, I have a hard time accepting that God's actions are fatherly. You see, they aren't to me. I don't associate protection, trust, hope, or perseverance with a father. And yet, God is asking me to.

We keep arguing (a rather futile thing to do, to do on my part, given the fact that He is God of the UNIVERSE) about this idea. I am absolutely terrified to accept Him as my Father. I have never known a father who protects. Never. Only a father I needed protection from. Yet, for all my arguing, He speaks softly, sweetly, calmly. He never rebukes me for my doubt or my fear, even for my fear of Him. He speaks to me like a child hiding in a corner, petrified of their own shadow. He whispers softly "It's okay sweet heart. I'm here. It's okay sweet heart." I want so badly to throw my arms around Him, to sob on His shoulder, to disappear in His strong arms... but I can't. I can't do it. I can't let my guard down. I can't quiet my fears.

I can't quiet my fears because I don't believe. Oh yes, I believe in God. I believe in Jesus as my Lord and my Savior. I even believe my God is good. But within this new context of intimacy... I scarcely know what to believe. I want to believe my Father is good, that He is trustworthy, that He will protect my very scared heart, but all reason and logic rebel against the thought. I can't believe that He is good. Not yet, anyways. So I sit in my corner, sobbing and terrified. And He crouches in front of me, shielding me from seeing anything but Him. He whispers softly "It's okay sweet heart. I'm here. It's okay sweet heart."

I know this post really isn't all that bold. It's actually pretty pathetic but this blog post, while about me, isn't about me. Sometimes, we can't be bold. Sometimes, we can't unfold ourselves from our hiding place long enough to experience all the wonders of the world. Sometimes we are creatures of fear. To those who are curled in the corner, I just want to encourage you. God the Father is... there. And He isn't leaving. He is crouching before you, His hand extended, whispering that everything is going to be okay. Our courage fails, our belief grows wane, and our fear swamps us but He never fails. He never walks away. He is good. He is trustworthy. He is protecting us. He is... love.