grace

While I wish it weren't so, I know that it wouldn't really be grace if it were as easily dispensed as PEZ candy. If it felt good and made me smile and came as naturally as a hearty laugh, it wouldn't be grace. It couldn't be grace— not the genuine, utterly needed and utterly undeserved kind of grace, which is really the only grace there is, because it's the need mixed with the undeserving that makes grace grace.

We call it 'amazing', but it feels anything but amazing in the moment it's given. It feels grueling and painful and impossible. It tastes like swallowed pride and bitter tears. It's as exhausting as going the extra mile and then another and then another. It feels like forgiving 70 times 7, and turning the other cheek, and kissing Judas right back.

It's nothing like a dinner table prayer and everything like a wilderness experience. It's the 40 long days and 40 long nights of saying and wishing and hoping that I can do this, but feeling like I can't. It's the heaviness of one foot in front of the other when there's no end of the road in sight.

It's enduring the heartache of betrayal, the sorrow of loss, the pain of deception, and the humiliation of being made a fool— and still locking eyes and saying 'I'm not going anywhere.'

Grace. It's what sets apart not only Christ, but also Christ followers. Without it, we are but hardened hearts and ungrateful, calloused souls. We are blind eyes and deaf ears and unfeeling hands. We are amnesiacs, quickly forgetful of our own need and undeservedness. Oh, but with it— with it, we are extensions of His likeness, reflections of His character, bearers of His light, glimpses of His face, beats of His heart.

When we extend grace, when we offer it—even through tears— like a beautifully wrapped present held out in our hands, our hearts stoop low, remembering the gift that's been extended to us, over and over and over and over again.

caught off guard

I'm still caught off guard at times.

A memory will rise to the surface, seemingly out of nowhere, bringing with it fears and doubts and insecurities and tears. I question everything, wondering about hidden motives and looking for anything I missed the first the time around. There isn't anger—not really. There is distrust. There is hurt. There is grief. But no anger. At least not toward anyone other than myself. Feelings of foolishness spiral into "How could I be so stupid?"  Inevitably, as the emotional dust settles, I'm left with a deep missing of all the people who were once my whole life who are no longer even a part of it. I hunt for pictures, and sit mesmerized by how grown up my nephew is. By how tall my honorary nieces and nephews of old have become—tall not only with stature but with personality and vivaciousness. Smiles mix in with the sadness, and I take a deep breath...

:::

I'm still caught off guard at times.

I walk through the arched doorways of my home, past the wainscoting in the living room, and all I can do is shake my head. Moving about the beautiful kitchen, shuffling around the mess on my office desk, sitting on the front porch with a cup of coffee... over and over again, it hits me: This is my now-life. This is my new life. And I smile—the kind of smile that erupts from deep down inside, that sacred place for which there are no words. I can't believe I get to live here. That I once again have a place that looks like me and feels like me. That I once again have a home. Because as much as I know that home isn't about a house, I've discovered there's something uniquely incomparable about a four-wall refuge. It's anchoring, and rooting, and settling in all the best ways. And the past 6 months of living life unpacked have been better for my heart than I ever anticipated.

:::

I'm still caught off guard at times.

And I'm learning to give thanks in it all...

Would you share some of your own highs and lows?  What are things that have caught you off guard lately—for better and for worse?

to everything there is a season

The Truth You Know

"Let us live up to what we have already attained." (Philippians 3:16)

What I hear in that verse is this: Act on the truth you know.

I may not feel ready to do the next-right-thing that’s in front of me. I may feel as though I lack the knowledge, skills, or sheer courage to put one foot in front of the other. I may not know the fullness of what to do in any given situation. But I typically know enough to start. I can act on the truth I know. I just usually don’t.

It’s easier to wait for God to lay it all out. Because then I can blame my paralysis on Him, instead of myself.

When I feel overwhelmed by a situation or an aspect of myself I need to work on, the enormity of it all makes me shrug. “I just don’t know where to start.” Because I don’t know how to do it all, I do nothing.

I call it “waiting on God”.

Meanwhile, He’s waiting on me.

Why should I expect God to show me the whole plan when I’m not being obedient to the small thing He’s already shown me? Why should I expect Him to keep speaking when I haven’t acted on what He’s already said?

As small and inconsequential as it may be, I need to do the bit I know to do. Take that first step. And trust that His light will shine at the exact moment I need to know what to do next.

Two verses earlier in that Philippians passage is the more familiar encouragement and challenge to "press on": "I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus."  (Philippians 3:14)

But it finally clicked for me that, as I read on, the following verses continue the thought. It’s as though the next part tells me how to press on: By living up to what I’ve already attained.

So the challenge stands for me and you today:

Press on. By acting on the truth you know.

Servants in Evening Attire

Our culture has a skewed perception of what it is to be a hero. Images of caped crusaders, sports icons, and action movie stars come to mind. We picture big names in bright lights, known around the globe for their accomplishments.

What we don’t picture is a surrendered heart dreaming big dreams for the betterment of others. Or the faithful and obedient stepping of one foot in front of the other in the face of great adversity, far away from the limelight. Or the blood, sweat, and tears shed by persevering souls to advance a cause that will outlive them, even though no one knows their names.

But those are the truest heroes, and the ones most deserving of honor.

When they set out to celebrate those unsung missional heroes at Epoch 2013, the response was staggering. People around the world paused to shine a light on those who seek faithfulness over recognition. They received nearly 600 nominations from 33 countries, 32 states, and 6 continents! Clearly, we are eager for a different kind of hero.

Over 400 people gathered last Monday night at the historic Fox Theater in Atlanta, Georgia for the red carpet, black-tie event. The evening was truly one of celebration and inspiration as six social innovators were awarded grants totaling $50,000. In tuxedos and gowns, we recognized those working to solve some of the most complex challenges around the world, such as poverty, the need for clean water, HIV/AIDS, and sex trafficking.

It was a night to joyfully and extravagantly honor not the achievements of man, but what God is doing through our collective lives. Organizations, businesses, churches, and individuals rallied together to recognize the often-unnoticed champions who daily lay down their lives to fight injustice and bring hope to hard places.

Together, we declared to those laboring in the trenches, “You’re not alone.” We showed them they’re seen, valued, and embraced. Their work matters and we will no longer let it go unacknowledged.

Nations are being transformed by that roomful of sacrificial servants in evening attire, and it is an honor to stand with them in their open-handed and open-hearted work.

Doing Good Well

I don't get dressed up very often, but I'll be pulling out a dress and heels in a couple weeks for an event in Atlanta. And I think you should join me. Epoch 2013 is honoring unsung missional heroes—those who cross the world (or even just the street) to restore broken places and broken lives through creative, God-honoring initiatives.  

They are giving away awards totaling $50,000 at their one-of-a-kind Gala, a night to celebrate those who are bringing innovative solutions to the challenges of poverty and suffering in the world. That is a worthy reason to don some heels!

One of the incredible nonprofits I work with, Hope Africa Collective, is a finalist for an Epoch Award.

I strongly believe in Hope Africa's strategy and vision, and am so excited for others to learn more about them through Epoch. And, of course, a cash award would go a long way to advance their amazing work in South Africa! My good friend and one of Hope Africa's Founders, Jeremy Hilliard, is flying in from Africa for the event. I haven't seen him since my trip to Cape Town last spring, so I'm really excited to see him again!

One of my greatest passions is to help nonprofits do strategic, effective, honest, and excellent work.

I never want to be a part of something that's just about "doing good". I always want to "do good" well. I believe that good work done well is honoring of God and those we serve, laced with integrity, and continually bearing fruit. That's one of the reasons I'm looking forward to Epoch—I'm excited to learn more about people and organizations doing exactly that.

If you live in or near Atlanta, join me for a night of celebrating Kingdom heroes who are doing good work well.

Add in the engaging group of presenters, speakers, and musicians, and the evening is guaranteed to be a blast! (Do you remember my crazy photo booth pictures from Epoch 2011?! You know you want in on that fun!)

Get $25 off your ticket purchase with the code GRITANDGLORY. Buy your ticket here >

 Will I see you there?!

about YOU

My 100 things post inspired a few friends to write lists of their own. So now it's your turn!

Post a list of things about yourself that many of us might not already know. You don't have to make it a full 100—you could do 50 things, or 25, or however many you want.

Then come back and link up so we can all get to know you better! 

Tag, you're it.

:: :: ::

100 things

1. I lost my Long Island accent in Africa,
2. but time with my family—even just over the phone—brings it right back.
3. So does talking about things I'm passionate about.
4. And driving in traffic.

5. I blame my Sicilian roots for my loud talking and laughing,
6. and, of course, for my inability to speak without using my hands.

7. The word moist makes me shudder
8. almost as much as ointment. 
9. And bars of soap just plain creep me out.

10. I maintain a healthy fear of treadmills
11. because of laughing-till-crying at countless YouTube videos of people completely wiping out on them. (Search it. You'll thank me later.)

12. I haven't yet mastered the art of neatly applying nail polish or mascara. Both end up looking like a crime scene.
13. And I'm the messiest teeth-brusher on the planet. Seriously.
14. So I brush my teeth in the shower. It's just better for everyone that way.

15. I don't really like water—either drinking it or being in it—
16. but I absolutely love an ocean view
17. and my perfect vacation includes a swim-up bar.

18. I love not camping,
19. hate wet grass,
20. and generally have a "like to look, not touch" stance on all things outdoors.
21. Although I've hiked Pike's Peak,
22. whitewater-rafted the Zambezi River,
23. lived in a tent in the African bush for months at a time,
24. and eaten Mopani (grub) worms.

25. I don't like bacon (I hope we can still be friends)
26. or chocolate—
27. except for dark chocolate with a glass of red wine (mmmm....) and the occasional M&Ms or Reese's—
28. but I can eat my weight in cheese
29. and goldfish (the crackers, not the actual fish).

30. I prefer to eat things from the inside out, not the outside in.
31. So I cut things like burgers and sandwiches in half
32. and rip apart cookies, so I can start on the inside.
33. Yes. I fully own the fact that I'm weird.

34. I am a walking musical,
35. even though I can't sing. At all. I'm not even kidding.
36. But I love spontaneously interjecting off-key songs, usually remixed with whatever words come to mind.

37. I don't like talking on the phone
38. and would choose text over talk any day.
39. I have to constantly fight the urge to judge people who write in text-speak. (BTW, c u 2nite! LOL!)

40. I've got a severe case of wanderlust.
41. I've spent time in 29 countries,
42. and I really want to add a 30th to that list. Soon.
43. And I'd love to spend more time in Italy. How about a month? In a villa. In Tuscany. Yes please.

44. As much as I enjoy traveling, I equally love coming home.
45. I can be quite the homebody when I let myself.
46. I think that sometimes doing nothing is far better than doing everything,
47. and my favorite friends are those who comfortably enjoy doing both.

48. The tests say I'm an introvert,
49. but I beg to differ.
50. The mere thought of eating alone at a restaurant, watching a movie solo, or going on vacation by myself makes me want to cry.
51. 99% of my joy of experiencing something is having someone to experience it with.
52. Otherwise, who would laugh with me? (Laughing's my favorite.)
53. So I've decided I'm a self-diagnosed extroverted introvert.

54. I wish I had a poker face,
55. but in a lot of ways, I'm glad I wear my heart on my sleeve.
56. I'm working on growing thicker skin though.

57. I never thought I would get a tattoo.
58. Now I have three,
59. and I don't think I'm done yet.

60. I'm ordained.

61. I buy hats more often than I wear them,
62. but I really want to be a hat girl. Someday.

63. I frequently have to ask a friend if what I'm wearing "makes me look like a missionary". 
64. Quite a few articles of clothing have been vetoed, but I can't always bring myself to get rid of them.
65. My wardrobe needs an extreme makeover.

66. I've never been able to do a cartwheel,
67. or whistle,
68. or make my bed every day.
69. I can, however, sock-skate across wood floors like it's an Olympic sport.

70. Autumn is my absolute most favorite time of year.

71. This white girl can't dance, but still loves to. Isn't that what kitchens were made for?
72. I've been known to one-person Conga-line through the house
73. and bust out in my own version of a Touchdown dance for no reason at all.

74. I love the first 20 seconds in a hot car after I've been in air conditioning. It feels like a full-body hug.

75. I always lean my airplane seat back ever so slightly as soon as I sit in it—
76. that extra quarter-inch of room makes me feel like a rebel.
77. Sometimes I have to force myself to break the rules, even a little bit.

78. I don't enjoy reading as much as I used to,
79. But given the right circumstances, I still love a book worth losing myself in.

80. I firmly believe that food tastes better when someone else cooks it.
81. And if my budget (and waistline) would allow, I'd eat out almost every day.
82. I can be a bit of a food snob,
83. but I also love ramen noodles, Kraft Mac & Cheese, and baseball game hot dogs.
84. I do a happy food dance when I like what I'm eating—which is pretty often.
85. Sharing an amazing meal with my family is one of my all-time favorite things to do. Ever.

86. I think the saying "Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels" is a lie.
87. In other news, I've been trying to lose 10 pounds for over a decade.

88. I am ridiculously sentimental.
89. Songs, smells, and places always carry memories,
90. and pretty much everything I own holds some sort of significance.
91. (Which is why my vetoed clothes just get relocated to the back of my closet.)

92. I live perpetually tired,
93. but struggle to fall asleep most nights.
94. Mornings and I don't get along very well.

95. I dreamed I'd live in Africa forever.
96. Though cut short, my 13 years there were a lifetime. This I know.

97. I never ever ever imagined I'd live in Nashville,
98. although there was my pre-teen Amy Grant-loving stage when I desperately wanted to.
99. But I find myself loving this little big town.
100. And I'm only half-joking when I say that living in Africa prepared me to live in the South.

Tell me something about you that I probably don't already know.

You can also link up your own "Things About Me" post here >

depth of vision

My depth of vision has changed. 

Years ago, living in Africa, the future seemed clearly in focus. I was a farsighted dreamer, easily imagining how things would continue to take shape because of how much I loved the portrait of my life. I didn't try to plan out the details or neurotically control the unfolding pages of my future, but it was there, ever clear in the back of my mind. Even without all the details, it was simply... there. A future I anticipated.

Now, I find myself much more nearsighted. 

The horizon is out of focus, and I can't see which way the road bends. Everything looks blurry, as though the future is blanketed in fog. It's all just too fuzzy and uncertain and precarious. I can't imagine any longer what I'd even want the end of the story to be. I no longer picture where I'm headed and how I'll get there or who I might go there with.

It used to feel like hopelessness. Like a big piece of me that had given up still hadn't sprung back to life.

But I'm learning to accept it as a good thing, or at the very least, as simply what is. Not as something bad, or wrong, or to be fixed. It's just a part of my new normal that I need to stop fighting against and simply embrace.

The One who holds my past, holds my future as well. So it doesn't really matter whether or not I can see it.

My depth of vision has changed.

But His hasn't.

morning mantra

 What will you do today to focus on your One Word 365? 

if i could

If I could find big enough words, I would tell you how grateful I am for the big-hearted, generous, and faithful loved ones who’ve walked with me, supported me, and strengthened me since I left African soil.

If I could find deep enough words, I would describe for you how unbelievably amazing it feels to be this settled after so many years of transitional limbo—and how good for my heart it has been.

If I could find strong enough words, I would explain my newfound understanding and awareness of grace.

If I could find clear enough words, I would recount for you my daily journey of learning to acknowledge and own that I am enough, and I have enough, because of the enoughness of Christ in me.

If I could find impactful enough words, I would articulate for you the ways I’m embracing a lack of plans, and my discovery that it really is okay.

If I could find weighty enough words, I would convey to you the matchless, anchoring, and freeing sense of home I’m discovering once again.

If I could... I would.

But I can’t...

slow to speak

I'm thinking about our words. Thinking about things we say and who we say them to, and why we say them at all. In this age of social media, everyone has a megaphone for their opinions and their short, sharable soapboxes. There is so much that is good about the ability for every voice to be heard in this online space. But just because we can say something doesn't mean we should. And just because we think something, feel something, or have an opinion about something, doesn't mean it needs to be shared publicly.

Some things are best kept to conversations with friends and family, where space and touch and hearts and dialogue and history are mutually and lovingly shared.

Some things are best kept between a few trusted loyals.

Some things are best kept to ourselves.

And we just need to pause long enough to decide which of those is the case before the words fall out of our mouths or fall through our screens when we hit 'send'.

Today, I am more intentionally looking for that pause button.

{And, no, the irony isn't lost on me that I'm saying this in a blog post.}

blessed assurance

I moved to Africa with a couple of very-full suitcases, $200 in my pocket, and a heart-cocktail of faith, naivety, passion, and foolishness.

I was only 19.

I didn't know much, but I knew that I loved Africa and her beautiful people. I didn't set out on any grand mission or with any huge goals. I just wanted to meet needs where I could, and see what God would do with my meager fish-and-loaves life. I was hopeful that He could write a magnificent story for me and with me.

In the chasing of my dream, I found love. I got married, and together we pioneered a nonprofit that trained leaders and taught AIDS prevention in the poorest region of South Africa. God did astounding things. Constantly.

I watched Him open blind eyes, show up with eleventh hour provision, stop wildfires from destroying our mission base, and radically transform lives. After a decade of ministry, our team had grown to over 60 staff members, primarily African nationals. We trained over 100 pastors a year and taught 4000 public school students each week about living lives of purpose.

God was writing a story I never could have imagined.

He truly multiplied our fish and loaves to nourish the masses. He created something out of our nothing. He made life out of our brokenness.

Then everything crumbled to pieces when my husband finally confessed what I already knew to be true: He had been unfaithful. For a year and a half. With a friend of mine.

The pieces shattered even further when he announced he was done—with me and ministry. No matter how tightly I tried to cling to it all, I couldn't hold any of it together. Not my marriage or my ministry or even my life... Everything seemed to unravel out from under me.

After 13 years of ministry in Africa, I was forced to close down our operations. I permanently relocated back to the States, walking away from my home, my work, my community, my vision, my history.

I fought both my story and the Story-teller. This isn't how it's supposed to be!

It felt as though the narrative had come to a screeching halt. But He kept writing...

I've been divorced for a few years now. It still feels strange to say, and even stranger to truly accept at a heart level. Losing someone by their choice evokes a grief deeper than death. There is sadness and anger and mourning and relief and remorse. Sometimes all in the very same breath.

And underneath it all is the hole left in my everyday by the loss of someone I've lived one-third of my life with. The missing is deep. It's a missing of what was. A missing of who was. A missing of what could've been.

A missing of the story I was once living...

It's as though I lost not only my future, but also my past.

In so many ways, I lost my own history. I don't have a single person left in my life who walked that African road with me from start to finish. No one who was with me for all the memories, all the provision and lack, all the joys and heartaches. No one to corroborate what happened, to fill in the blanks where my memory fails, to simply remember with me.

There is a unique loneliness in that.

And even as I type these words with no clear end in mind, I hear Him whisper: I was there. Sigh... To be honest, it is so hard to feel content and satisfied in that. But I know it's true. He was there with me. In Him I still have history.

His. Story.

My history is more His story than mine anyway.

Even if no one else knows the details, and my fuzzy brain loses track of it all, and I never get to speak it out loud ever again, my history is still there. Still making up the fabric of my present and holding up the foundation of my future.

My story is more than the sum of my experiences. It is more than what I have seen and done and endured. It is more than what has happened to me.

I, too, am more than the sum of my chapters. I am more than my past or my present or my future. I am more than my history, forgotten or remembered.

I am His.

No matter what.

And that is my story.

Tell me your story »

struck

 

I'm struck by how different my life looks these days. Sometimes, it stops me dead in my tracks and I just have to shake my head... Five years ago if you'd painted this picture of where I'd be, I'd have said you were crazy. Single? Nashville? Freelancing? No way...

And yet, here I am.

:::

Some days, the disparity leaves me heartsore — because in getting here, I was forced to lose so much.

Other days, the contrast leaves me grateful — because in getting here, I've undoubtedly gained so much.

:::

The Lord gives and the Lord takes away. Blessed be the Name of the Lord. 

bring the rain

The list of roles I played in my former life that I no longer play in this after life is staggering. Wife. Founder. Leader. Missionary. Pastor. Ministry Director. Daughter-in-law. Aunt.

And though not the largest, nor the least, of the losses I faced through my divorce, I no longer fit among certain groups of people. Like pastors' wives, or ministry leaders, or ex-pats, or even just people who only spend time with other married couples. I lost a lot of relationships. And a lot of opportunities.

It feels at times like my history has been erased.

So when my friends at A Life Overseas asked me to share with their online community, I was blown away. Shocked, actually. Though I no longer direct a nonprofit overseas, their invitation told me they still value my voice and experience in that arena. And I can't even begin to tell you what that did for my heart.

All that to say, I'm really humbled and grateful to be sharing over there today. Come join us...

Bring the Rain »»

the vulnerability of joy

Vulnerability is far bigger than owning my weaknesses. 

I've discovered that vulnerability also includes owning my joy.

On a deep level, joy taps into my very worthiness. I question whether I even deserve it. I can think of so many who are worse off, and it feels unfair that anything should go my way at all. Who am I to have good things happen? Who am I to be happy? Especially when so many I care about are currently going through their own challenging and dark times.

The contrast of joy against others' pain makes my heart ache. And I instinctively dim the brightness of my joy because fully feeling, acknowledging, and expressing it seems wrong. Immodest. Arrogant, even.

The battering ram of the past 4 years left my heart tattered and torn. Grif and heartache consumed everything for so long that, without even realizing it, I became afraid of joy. In its place grew a deep, underlying foreboding... a proverbial holding of my breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

So when good things happen, of any variety, I find myself dismissing them. It's too good to be true. This won't last long. I shouldn't be happy. I don't deserve good things. 

Somewhere along the line, I unknowingly convinced myself that being happy in this "new life" means I'm glad my "old life" fell apart. That enjoying Nashville is somehow an acknowledgement of gratitude that I'm no longer in Africa. Saying it out loud, I know it's ridiculous and untrue. My own journey of the past few years has taught me rather vividly that joy and grief usually reside together. I can be completely joyful and grateful for today, while still grieving over yesterday. One doesn't nullify the other.

And yet, still, even when joy comes, I don't embrace it. Knowing just how fleeting it can be, I send it on its merry way and close my eyes, cringing, for whatever might come next.

This is no way to live...

So I am intentionally forcing myself to lean into the vulnerability of joy. To look it straight in the eye, pull it close, and hug it tight. To allow myself to feel it and own it. To smile, to lift my eyes, to give thanks.

I don't know what tomorrow will bring, or if there's another shoe waiting to drop, or how long anything in this life will actually last. But I do know that the God who gives and takes away wants me to be fully present in the moments He's woven into my story.

It's not up to me to control what happens. But it's up to me to choose to live wholeheartedly—honestly accepting and embracing all that comes my way.

And so today I'm leaning in, embracing the risk, and owning my joy.

[photo credit]

one word journey: enough!

A friend asked me about my One Word recently: Enough. I explained the significance it holds for me: my journey to know and believe more deeply that I am enough. After his initial response about how that resonated with him, he teased that he'd thought I was going to say it meant "I've had enough!" We laughed about how that meaning certainly works as well, especially after the past few years of my life. Enough!

And I've been thinking about that ever since.

Though the two meanings seem very different, I realized they are more related to each other than I would have first guessed. I will only set healthy boundaries for myself when I truly believe I am worthy of safeguarding. I won't declare "Enough!" to those situations and individuals that deplete me and attempt to diminish my worthiness until I think I'm worth more than how I'm being treated.

Learning to embrace my own enoughness gives me the strength, courage, and voice to say Enough! when I need to.

I have to believe I am enough in order to say "Enough!"

There's a vulnerability in setting boundaries. Deep fears rise to the surface as my inner dialogue kicks into high gear:

You are going to disappoint someone with this decision. Don't let other people down. Be a good friend. Make others happy. Do what's best for others. If you turn this down, you might not be included again. You'll always be left out. You have to make this work. You should be able to tackle all this and then some. You're being selfish by choosing what's best for yourself.

Embracing my enoughness means engaging with that vulnerability—leaning into it rather than away from it. It means making the difficult decisions and setting the hard boundaries, in spite of the risk, in face of the fears. It's believing that ultimately I'm worth it—no matter what.

So, surprisingly to me, part of my One Word 365 journey towards owning that I am enough, is learning to recognize, embrace, and own the boundaries I need to set and enforce in my life. Even while I still fail at this often, only realizing after the fact that a situation was an opportunity for me to set a boundary — a need to say yes or no to something for myself — at least I'm seeing it, even if it's in hindsight. That is already a step in the right direction.

I'm choosing to celebrate every sign of progress. Here's to each little step forward on this journey, friends!

... ... ...

I'd imagine I'm not the only one who's been surprised by where my One Word has taken me this year. Has your word taken on a shape you hadn't even anticipated or expected?

We are almost halfway through the year, so let's check in with one another. How is your One Word journey going? How has your word surprised you and taken shape in your life?  Write a mile-marker post on your blog and come back to link up. 

Originally posted on SheLovesMagazine. Read the comments there >

{i have} enough

all that matters

Some days are harder than others on this whole "I am enough" journey.

Some days it seems as though everyone is shouting at me with their words, their actions, and everything in between, that once again I don't measure up. I'm not enough.

Some days the demons grow louder, my heart grows quieter, and I feel myself shrinking inside. Cringing away from others, from hope, from myself. It's hard to believe — really, truly believe — that I'm enough when everything seems to tell me otherwise. And I crumble at my core—sometimes slowly, as if my foundation is being chipped away, and other times all at once, like a tsunami washed it out from under me.

And then I lay my head on my pillow at the end of another exhausting day, close my teary eyes, and ask Him for the grace to try again tomorrow. I mutter those three challenging words over and over and over:

I am enough. I am enough. I am enough.

Then I open my eyes, with the sun and my alarm, and at once, I have to fight the scarcity that immediately rushes in close — telling me I'm already starting the day without enough sleep, without enough time to do what needs to be done, without enough friends or family or purpose or plans. Already not enough before my feet hit the floor.

And I have to once again close my eyes and ask Him for His more-than-enough grace to carry me. Fill me. Uphold me. Remind me. Center me.

I am enough because I AM is enough.

And, whether I like it or not, whether I believe it or not, whether I feel it or not, that is all that matters.

sometimes

Sometimes prayer is simply the steadfastness of going about my day, doing what needs to be done—even—especially—that which I'd rather not do, or that which I feel unable, inadequate to do.

Sometimes prayer is simply one foot in front of the other. Sometimes arms raised in worshipful surrender actually looks like putting tired, aching "hands to the plough," not looking back.

My greatest, truest, most honest prayers aren't the interjectory conversations with God throughout the day. They are merely the faithful stewarding of what He's given me to do— who He's given me to love— today.

My intimacy with Him is measured not by the length or frequency or eloquence of my verbalized prayers, but in my active trust in the small moments of my everyday— in the quiet prayers of a life sought to be lived well.

Sometimes prayer is simply breathing in, breathing out, and doing—with moment by moment grace, integrity, and love —what's right in front of me.

[photo credit]