being held

You know what I miss? Being held.

I'm not the most physically affectionate person. Well, I am with certain people... which I guess makes me selectively affectionate.

But there are moments, days even, when I just wish there was someone to hold me. To tangle up with me on the couch as we watch a movie. To sit near to me so at least some part of us is touching. To hug me long and tight, for no reason at all.

Longing for that makes me feel vulnerable.

Admitting it makes me feel even more vulnerable.

And I don't fully know why.

But, well, there it is.

No spiritual analogy. No lesson from the Lord. No correlating scripture.

Just the missing of my heart.

What's your deepest, most honest, miss?

a day like this

Ever have a day force itself on you like an unwanted telemarketer? Today is one of those days.

It's unavoidable really. Maybe in a few years it will slip by, barely noticed... but even that's not likely. The jarring interruption, how it causes my breath to catch in my throat... that will eventually subside. But I will always remember.

How could I not?

We celebrated his birthday together for 11 years.

This is the second one apart.

And I can't help but be painfully aware today of all I've lost... all I grieve... all I miss. It's everywhere. All around me. All inside me. Constant.

Yet... it isn't as sharp as last year. It doesn't linger like it did. It doesn't ache quite so deeply. And for that I am grateful.

It's only in these mile markers that I even notice my own heart's progress. It's nearly impossible to see as the mountains and valleys of my journey rise and fall day to day.

The process of putting one foot in front of the other looks blurringly the same. Step... step... step...

But today I have a glimpse of a signpost from a year ago. And mixed in with the bittersweetness of the day is a strange sigh of relief. Dare I call it hope? I don't know... Ask me in a few hours...

This much I know is true: There is both a joy and sadness in remembering.

And I'm okay with that.

friendships lost

My heart hurts tonight for friends I've lost. And after spending hours looking at pictures, stalking websites, and wiping my tears, I'm hoping my heart will find solace with some words... When my husband walked away, so did some friends.

Some, I think, simply didn't know what to say, so they chose to say nothing. And they still say nothing.

Some, I think, felt uncomfortable because of their continued friendship with Niel. As if it had to be one or the other.

Some, I think, made assumptions rather than asked questions, So they passed judgments about me, my character, and my heart.

Some... I don't know that I'll ever understand what happened or why. They're just... gone.

And it hurts. Deeply.

Tonight I let myself feel it. I let the tears come for friendships lost... For histories that seem to be washed away by futures that will never be... For not knowing if the missing is mutual... For what was... For what is...

Tonight I talked to God about it---about them---for maybe the first time. And I asked Him to help me trust Him with this, even though---or maybe, because---I don't understand it.

Tonight I'm trying choosing to "rejoice with those who rejoice". They all seem very happy, and I want to simply be happy with and for them.

Tonight my heart is letting go... And saying goodbye to those I never got a chance to.

And I pray I never stop loving. Stop letting people in. Stop trusting. Stop showing my heart.

Because I know love isn't love if there's no risk involved.

love without a red bow

I've gotta be honest... My heart is battle-weary. Fifteen months after my husband left me and our ministry for another woman, I am just plain tired of everything being a fight. Every. Single. Thing. And I simply don't have any fight left in me. I reached my breaking point this morning when yet another nasty email showed up in my inbox, and I had a good-ol-fashioned meltdown.

But in the midst of my tears, I became keenly aware of God's messy love. I was reminded that His love isn't always neatly wrapped with a red bow. In fact, it's usually eyebrow-raising in its packaging. It's often more gritty than glorious. He loves us recklessly, and it shows up in alarming and obscure ways.

Like in drops of blood streaming down a wooden cross.

God's scandalous love is just as present here in my hurting as it will be in my healing. It's in my brokenness as much as my wholeness, in my doubting as well as my faith. I just need to look for it. And expect to be caught off-guard by what it might look like.

A coffee date with a new friend this afternoon showed me a glimpse of God's love in how He’s using my story---even as it’s still being written---to strengthen others. He's making life out of my brokenness, using my ashes to create something beautiful.

And He's not waiting until I'm "better" to start. He's doing it right now, smack in the middle of my big hot mess. Even on a day when I threw my hands in the air and cried, "I'm done!"

My threadbare heart can't miss the irrational love in that.

It's messy and unreasonable... Just the way He likes it.

the other woman

My life has been forever changed by the other woman. She worked with me at our ministry in Africa. She was a close friend whom I’d known and loved for a long time. And when she and my husband chose to step into a relationship with each other, my entire life changed. Forever.

Since then, I’ve been deeply impacted by other other women. But in completely different ways.

Two of my closest friends have lived on the opposite side of my story. They were both someone else’s other woman.

I hadn’t even realized the divine paradox of our friendships until others asked me if it’s ever hard for me. That’s when I began to fully see and appreciate the beautiful uniqueness of what we have.

In all honesty, it isn’t weird for me. It isn’t difficult or hurtful to be friends with these women.

Because when I look at them, I don’t see a scarlet letter. I don’t hold their past against them. Nor do I hold against them their very-different present of restored marriages.

I respect, admire, and trust them.

When I look at them, I see amazing grace personified. They are living, breathing, huggable reflections of God’s relentless heart.

They’ve changed me. Forever.

Through their transparency in both their brokenness and their healing. Through their rich wisdom, borne from the deepest of heartache. Through their tenacity in doing the hard work of rebuilding trust and relationships.

Our lives are mirror images of each other---our histories uniquely similar, yet altogether different. And I am so grateful for them. It is such an incredible gift to be able to journey together with these women.

Without even a single word, they make me live more aware of my own need for grace, and they gently challenge me to extend it recklessly.

Just as it’s been extended to me.