I have mud on my feet
I have dirt on my face
From this side track that's taken
My eyes off of You...
I have scuffed up my shoes
I have holes in my jeans
From this side track that's taken
My eyes off of You
And I fall
Down...
Face
Down
And I fell
Down
But You picked me up
Again...
I have scars on my heart
You have scars on Your hands
And You put me back on
The course that You've set for my life...
I'm not dressed to be seen
In the Presence of Love
But You set me upright
And embrace me with all of Your heart...
And I fall
Down
Face
Down
And I fall
Down
And kneel at the feet of Your
Grace...
Is there anything You
Can't do?
Is there any hurt You
Can't heal?
Is there any distance?
A height,
Or a depth;
Is there any path
That can take me away from
Your Love?
The only thing
You couldn't do
Is to love me
More
Than You already do...
I have mud on my feet
I have dirt on my face
But I got it while
Playing
Outside in the rain
Of Your Love...
And I fall
Down
Face
Down,
And I fall
Down
And You pick me up
Just to dance with me
Just to spin me around
Just to hold me again
In Your arms, once again
There is laughter
And life,
There is grace
And there's peace...
And we fall down...
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Sometimes you're a soldier...sometimes, you're a wanderer.
I’m hesitant to post this. I feel like I’m standing in a doorway, trying to decide whether or not it’s “safe” to go out into the world, or whether I should bite my tongue like a good girl, and keep to myself. Maybe I should try to be holier, put my game face on, and “ponder things in my heart,” I don’t know. I don’t “bite my tongue” well, and though I wish I had the spiritual fortitude to be silent, I don’t…I don’t want to be “safe.” I want to be honest. There is a time and a place to ponder things in your heart, but in this case, I would venture to call that sulking.
This is not a “cry for help.” This is a promise I made to myself. A long time ago, I started to write, and though I’ve the sense to know not to fall in love with my first draft, I’ve always said I never had much appreciation for literary censorship. This is an art, and to censor things is like taking half of the colors away from a painter. You might get the picture, but it’s not going to be what truly reflects their heart. Editing and censoring are not the same thing—you edit, to produce an improved, cohesive final product. You censor, to destroy and turn something into what you think should be right. So I’m going to write this, and I’m going to be honest, because it’s all I can be. I write because God made me to. I write because sometimes, it’s the only way I can get things off of my chest and find the way to face another day.
Every year without her makes me hurt. Every year that passes is one more year that I’m closer to seeing her again. Every year that goes by, I see children deciding what they’d be for Halloween, and I die a little bit inside. It hurts. I’d have a four-year old…what would she dress as? What kind of birthday party would I be throwing? My three-year old niece had a princess party this month…that same day, I had to put a new arrangement on my daughter’s grave. How hard is that, do you think? I know, because I did it. I do everything I can to not dwell on those hurts, because I know full well that God gives healing and hope….He does.
But that’s a church answer.
Sometimes, the church answer does not make it all better.
Most of the time, I have such an appreciation for the incredible grace of God. If it wasn’t for Him, I’d be dead on so many occasions; I know Him—I trust Him. Please don’t preach at me, or worry about my salvation, because it’s sure. Jesus is my Friend, and no one knows my heart like He does. I feel like my Christian friends are sitting there, waiting with baited breath to give me a verse, or say an encouraging word, or do whatever we all want to do, when we see someone hurting. I appreciate that, I really do…I love every single person who has put an arm around me or sent me encouragement. I almost feel bad for saying this, but…
Just shut up and tell me you love me.
I feel like I need to sit here and make an excuse for my bad behavior—after all, shouldn’t I be running to the Word for encouragement? Shouldn’t I be on the phone, asking for prayer? Isn’t that what good little Christians do when the bottom drops out of their day? Does this make me rebellious, in a bad place, or God forbid, a backslider?!?!?!?
No. It makes me human.
I am broken, and even if it’s just for a few days (as opposed to a few weeks, which it normally is), I am constantly reminded that it’s okay to be broken.
It’s okay.
I don’t have to be told a solution—God does not frown on the broken heart. He loves it. He calls me to His side, in His way, in His time, and I can’t help but respond. Whether that’s with tears, with singing, or with all of the above, I can’t help but respond to the grace of God. That doesn’t mean that I run to His arms, and jump up, completely perfect. It means that I run to His arms, and He holds me to His heart…where I find that His heart is even more broken than mine.
He gets it. He gets me.
I am hurting. I feel like I did so well, keeping it together, hearing from Him, learning new things and being so strong, and then suddenly, yesterday, for whatever reason, I lost it. I actually drove home, and after uncharacteristically screaming at a fellow driver, I said out loud, that “I have completely lost my mind.” I tried to pray—I’d managed to make it through helping our patients—I tried to focus on what I know, on Who He is—I tried every method of coping with grief and changing my focus that I could think of—but I. Lost. It.
(Children in the background are singing "Ring Around the Rosy" as I write this...the windows are open because I love fall..."all...fall...down." Hmm.)
I tried to call my mother, who was in the middle of something. She handed the phone to my well-intentioned father, who said all of the wrong things. My sister, God bless her, is out of town and was texting me to hang on—she’s seen me like this before, and knows it can end badly—until she could get to a landline and talk me down from my ledge.
Aren’t I supposed to be a grown-up?
I crashed yesterday, just bottomed out. I feel guilty for my coping mechanism. I thought about calling a friend, but who wants to sit and listen to me cry incoherently for an hour? I felt like such a burden. I almost stopped by GHOP, but couldn’t remember the schedule, and didn’t want to be seen in the mess that I was. I went home, cried on the phone with Billie, and no, I didn’t run to the Word. I didn’t dissolve into prayer. I honestly didn’t want to talk to God last night, but I think that’s okay—He didn’t need me to talk to Him, for Him to know what was going on. I went home, and I crashed into a pile of blankets, which is where I stayed until I got up for work this morning.
I’d hoped joy would come in the morning, but it didn’t. Just me, looking at myself in the mirror, wondering where in the world I would find the strength to go to my office today. Should have been a big girl, called my boss, and told her I needed a Mental Health Day. Instead, I went into work, and I have no idea of what I did today. I spent 20 minutes on the phone with Blue Cross/Blue Shield, and have no clue what we talked about. I cried at my desk. I went in with no makeup on, and I’m pretty sure I forgot deodorant. I left work early, and thank God, my boss understood. I actually called my DENTIST to see if the consult I’d scheduled for my TMJ could be done earlier, just to give me an excuse to leave work early, because I was too chicken to tell my boss the fact that I simply could not handle today. My brain is not functioning, and I don’t know what to do.
I feel very lost right now, but I know that I’m not. When you see me again, I'll probably be fine, and act like none of this was ever written...this is for today. My feelings, and truth, are right now, two very separate things, and I know—I know—that I will pull it together and get my head on straight, shortly. I also know that I have to believe that it’s okay for me to cry right now.
It’s okay, for me to fall apart.
I’m not the one Who’s holding me together.
It’s okay for me to lose it.
It was never mine to begin with.
“Keeping it together” is merely maintaining the illusion that it’s all under my control… (thanks, Paige)...
It’s not.
I am going to burrow under my blankets again tonight, and I will stay there….and it will be fine. Joy really does come in the morning; anyone who guarantees that it’s the “next morning” is foolish.
I feel like I’m having to make excuses for my “bad” behavior, like I have to explain myself, but I don’t.
I’m not making excuses.
My daughter would have turned four years old on Saturday. She’s dead, and I’m here, and that realization simply put, sucks. I’m hurting. I know Jesus holds her in His arms, and most of the time, that’s all I need to know. For today, though, I will cry.
For today, I will lose it.
For today, I will mourn.
But
Joy
Comes
In The
Mourning.
This is not a “cry for help.” This is a promise I made to myself. A long time ago, I started to write, and though I’ve the sense to know not to fall in love with my first draft, I’ve always said I never had much appreciation for literary censorship. This is an art, and to censor things is like taking half of the colors away from a painter. You might get the picture, but it’s not going to be what truly reflects their heart. Editing and censoring are not the same thing—you edit, to produce an improved, cohesive final product. You censor, to destroy and turn something into what you think should be right. So I’m going to write this, and I’m going to be honest, because it’s all I can be. I write because God made me to. I write because sometimes, it’s the only way I can get things off of my chest and find the way to face another day.
Every year without her makes me hurt. Every year that passes is one more year that I’m closer to seeing her again. Every year that goes by, I see children deciding what they’d be for Halloween, and I die a little bit inside. It hurts. I’d have a four-year old…what would she dress as? What kind of birthday party would I be throwing? My three-year old niece had a princess party this month…that same day, I had to put a new arrangement on my daughter’s grave. How hard is that, do you think? I know, because I did it. I do everything I can to not dwell on those hurts, because I know full well that God gives healing and hope….He does.
But that’s a church answer.
Sometimes, the church answer does not make it all better.
Most of the time, I have such an appreciation for the incredible grace of God. If it wasn’t for Him, I’d be dead on so many occasions; I know Him—I trust Him. Please don’t preach at me, or worry about my salvation, because it’s sure. Jesus is my Friend, and no one knows my heart like He does. I feel like my Christian friends are sitting there, waiting with baited breath to give me a verse, or say an encouraging word, or do whatever we all want to do, when we see someone hurting. I appreciate that, I really do…I love every single person who has put an arm around me or sent me encouragement. I almost feel bad for saying this, but…
Just shut up and tell me you love me.
I feel like I need to sit here and make an excuse for my bad behavior—after all, shouldn’t I be running to the Word for encouragement? Shouldn’t I be on the phone, asking for prayer? Isn’t that what good little Christians do when the bottom drops out of their day? Does this make me rebellious, in a bad place, or God forbid, a backslider?!?!?!?
No. It makes me human.
I am broken, and even if it’s just for a few days (as opposed to a few weeks, which it normally is), I am constantly reminded that it’s okay to be broken.
It’s okay.
I don’t have to be told a solution—God does not frown on the broken heart. He loves it. He calls me to His side, in His way, in His time, and I can’t help but respond. Whether that’s with tears, with singing, or with all of the above, I can’t help but respond to the grace of God. That doesn’t mean that I run to His arms, and jump up, completely perfect. It means that I run to His arms, and He holds me to His heart…where I find that His heart is even more broken than mine.
He gets it. He gets me.
I am hurting. I feel like I did so well, keeping it together, hearing from Him, learning new things and being so strong, and then suddenly, yesterday, for whatever reason, I lost it. I actually drove home, and after uncharacteristically screaming at a fellow driver, I said out loud, that “I have completely lost my mind.” I tried to pray—I’d managed to make it through helping our patients—I tried to focus on what I know, on Who He is—I tried every method of coping with grief and changing my focus that I could think of—but I. Lost. It.
(Children in the background are singing "Ring Around the Rosy" as I write this...the windows are open because I love fall..."all...fall...down." Hmm.)
I tried to call my mother, who was in the middle of something. She handed the phone to my well-intentioned father, who said all of the wrong things. My sister, God bless her, is out of town and was texting me to hang on—she’s seen me like this before, and knows it can end badly—until she could get to a landline and talk me down from my ledge.
Aren’t I supposed to be a grown-up?
I crashed yesterday, just bottomed out. I feel guilty for my coping mechanism. I thought about calling a friend, but who wants to sit and listen to me cry incoherently for an hour? I felt like such a burden. I almost stopped by GHOP, but couldn’t remember the schedule, and didn’t want to be seen in the mess that I was. I went home, cried on the phone with Billie, and no, I didn’t run to the Word. I didn’t dissolve into prayer. I honestly didn’t want to talk to God last night, but I think that’s okay—He didn’t need me to talk to Him, for Him to know what was going on. I went home, and I crashed into a pile of blankets, which is where I stayed until I got up for work this morning.
I’d hoped joy would come in the morning, but it didn’t. Just me, looking at myself in the mirror, wondering where in the world I would find the strength to go to my office today. Should have been a big girl, called my boss, and told her I needed a Mental Health Day. Instead, I went into work, and I have no idea of what I did today. I spent 20 minutes on the phone with Blue Cross/Blue Shield, and have no clue what we talked about. I cried at my desk. I went in with no makeup on, and I’m pretty sure I forgot deodorant. I left work early, and thank God, my boss understood. I actually called my DENTIST to see if the consult I’d scheduled for my TMJ could be done earlier, just to give me an excuse to leave work early, because I was too chicken to tell my boss the fact that I simply could not handle today. My brain is not functioning, and I don’t know what to do.
I feel very lost right now, but I know that I’m not. When you see me again, I'll probably be fine, and act like none of this was ever written...this is for today. My feelings, and truth, are right now, two very separate things, and I know—I know—that I will pull it together and get my head on straight, shortly. I also know that I have to believe that it’s okay for me to cry right now.
It’s okay, for me to fall apart.
I’m not the one Who’s holding me together.
It’s okay for me to lose it.
It was never mine to begin with.
“Keeping it together” is merely maintaining the illusion that it’s all under my control… (thanks, Paige)...
It’s not.
I am going to burrow under my blankets again tonight, and I will stay there….and it will be fine. Joy really does come in the morning; anyone who guarantees that it’s the “next morning” is foolish.
I feel like I’m having to make excuses for my “bad” behavior, like I have to explain myself, but I don’t.
I’m not making excuses.
My daughter would have turned four years old on Saturday. She’s dead, and I’m here, and that realization simply put, sucks. I’m hurting. I know Jesus holds her in His arms, and most of the time, that’s all I need to know. For today, though, I will cry.
For today, I will lose it.
For today, I will mourn.
But
Joy
Comes
In The
Mourning.
Monday, October 25, 2010
Death By Dry Cleaning
It's been a tough week in the Cooley household (oh, that's so positive!!!! Yay!!!). Rewind--let's start this over:
It's been a CHALLENGING week in the Cooley household (That's better!!!). I love the "rush" you get from going on retreats, but let's face it--when reality jumps back in, there are challenges to putting feet to your faith. I had so much fun on the retreat, and laughed like I hadn't in years. It was the perfect set-up for this month, which (no secret here) can be a hard time of the year for me. Much to my surprise, it's going well--nothing like the plummet I've faced in years previous.
There is, however, a gentle melancholy that I've noticed that kind of drapes around the shoulders. I'll walk by a picture in the living room that I've passed a thousand times, and this time, I will stop short. A deep sense of longing will come over me...a kind of abbreviated panic. Every time, I face a choice: Sit in that place, and linger? Stay busy? Pray it through? Find a glass of wine? Go to sleep? Go to church? Eat some chocolate? Every time, the decision is just as difficult as it was the time before. There is a determination, though, that I have this year that I've never had before, and I'm so thankful for it.
I've been alone a lot this week, and next week will be more of the same. Making conscious, careful decisions of what I do with my time is the challenging part, more than anything else. Eating and shopping have been favorite pastimes, and neither is an option for me anymore (and never should have been, honestly). I haven't been the best at time management this week, in my personal life, so next week I am looking for improvement.
This week, I have been called a "perfectionist" and "uptight." It hurt my feelings. I'm trying to learn that what people say to me, does not define me. The Women's Retreat reminded me that no, I'm not "uptight" when it's not related to insurance/"the job," and that being a perfectionist is just fine and dandy in the workplace, but not so good for dieting. I have to be more forgiving of the mistakes I make, and continue to laugh at myself as much at home, as I did 2 weeks ago in front of that room full of strangers, who became friends.
Point in case:
My dry cleaning almost killed me today. Seriously. I picked up a sweater from the dry cleaners (in their nice little clear-plastic-bag-over-the-hangar thing) and hung it in my back window of my car. With the windows down, I drove home from work. I could see it blowing in my rear-view mirror, so I reached up and tore off the little paper tag that was flapping around. As I made the merge onto 270, that little plastic bag became a harbinger of horror!
While picking up speed and negotiating the curve, the evil plastic bag flung itself up over my driver's seat, twisting about as though it was determined to suffocate me! I tried to roll up the windows, but it didn't work--I frantically tried to steer the car and grab the hangar, but couldn't reach it. It flipped around, I blocked it from my face (it was a white sweater, and I had just put lipstick on! Not to mention that I needed to BREATHE while driving!), and finally, FINALLY got the darn thing torn down. I managed to tear the bag off of the hangar, pull the sweater down, negotiate the merger onto 270, and NOT kill myself.
I did, however, laugh myself into oblivion.
God makes me laugh. He doesn't just LET me laugh--He MAKES me laugh. I find myself in situations so crazy, that it doesn't matter if life has thrown me a few curveballs. I'm going to laugh. Maybe not right away...but whether it's a Death by Dry Cleaning, rapping to MC Hammer, or explaining to a group of teenage girls the difference between "church booty-pop" and "club booty-pop," and which one is NOT appropriate, I. Will. Laugh.
So, that's what I'm doing as I write this. I would have been freaked to be a driver on the road next to me today--"911! There's a crazy lady flailing her arms around and a plastic bag flying around!!! She's swerving, and her music's turned up too loud!!! Sir, send a cop--she's GOT to be drunk!!!!" If you saw me on 270 in rush-hour traffic, I was sober. I promise.
But I did see my life flash before my eyes, and in it, I was wearing a Clean Sweater...and laughing.
It's been a CHALLENGING week in the Cooley household (That's better!!!). I love the "rush" you get from going on retreats, but let's face it--when reality jumps back in, there are challenges to putting feet to your faith. I had so much fun on the retreat, and laughed like I hadn't in years. It was the perfect set-up for this month, which (no secret here) can be a hard time of the year for me. Much to my surprise, it's going well--nothing like the plummet I've faced in years previous.
There is, however, a gentle melancholy that I've noticed that kind of drapes around the shoulders. I'll walk by a picture in the living room that I've passed a thousand times, and this time, I will stop short. A deep sense of longing will come over me...a kind of abbreviated panic. Every time, I face a choice: Sit in that place, and linger? Stay busy? Pray it through? Find a glass of wine? Go to sleep? Go to church? Eat some chocolate? Every time, the decision is just as difficult as it was the time before. There is a determination, though, that I have this year that I've never had before, and I'm so thankful for it.
I've been alone a lot this week, and next week will be more of the same. Making conscious, careful decisions of what I do with my time is the challenging part, more than anything else. Eating and shopping have been favorite pastimes, and neither is an option for me anymore (and never should have been, honestly). I haven't been the best at time management this week, in my personal life, so next week I am looking for improvement.
This week, I have been called a "perfectionist" and "uptight." It hurt my feelings. I'm trying to learn that what people say to me, does not define me. The Women's Retreat reminded me that no, I'm not "uptight" when it's not related to insurance/"the job," and that being a perfectionist is just fine and dandy in the workplace, but not so good for dieting. I have to be more forgiving of the mistakes I make, and continue to laugh at myself as much at home, as I did 2 weeks ago in front of that room full of strangers, who became friends.
Point in case:
My dry cleaning almost killed me today. Seriously. I picked up a sweater from the dry cleaners (in their nice little clear-plastic-bag-over-the-hangar thing) and hung it in my back window of my car. With the windows down, I drove home from work. I could see it blowing in my rear-view mirror, so I reached up and tore off the little paper tag that was flapping around. As I made the merge onto 270, that little plastic bag became a harbinger of horror!
While picking up speed and negotiating the curve, the evil plastic bag flung itself up over my driver's seat, twisting about as though it was determined to suffocate me! I tried to roll up the windows, but it didn't work--I frantically tried to steer the car and grab the hangar, but couldn't reach it. It flipped around, I blocked it from my face (it was a white sweater, and I had just put lipstick on! Not to mention that I needed to BREATHE while driving!), and finally, FINALLY got the darn thing torn down. I managed to tear the bag off of the hangar, pull the sweater down, negotiate the merger onto 270, and NOT kill myself.
I did, however, laugh myself into oblivion.
God makes me laugh. He doesn't just LET me laugh--He MAKES me laugh. I find myself in situations so crazy, that it doesn't matter if life has thrown me a few curveballs. I'm going to laugh. Maybe not right away...but whether it's a Death by Dry Cleaning, rapping to MC Hammer, or explaining to a group of teenage girls the difference between "church booty-pop" and "club booty-pop," and which one is NOT appropriate, I. Will. Laugh.
So, that's what I'm doing as I write this. I would have been freaked to be a driver on the road next to me today--"911! There's a crazy lady flailing her arms around and a plastic bag flying around!!! She's swerving, and her music's turned up too loud!!! Sir, send a cop--she's GOT to be drunk!!!!" If you saw me on 270 in rush-hour traffic, I was sober. I promise.
But I did see my life flash before my eyes, and in it, I was wearing a Clean Sweater...and laughing.
Age Aint' Nuthin But A Number, Baby...
Once upon a time, there was a girl who had every dream laid out in her head…By 23, she’d be married. There would be a house and a yard, there might be a picket fence, there would be a husband who loved her…He’d take her away from the chaos of home, and the rules of her parochial education; there would be plenty of money in the bank, they’d be well on their way to those 2.2 children, and they’d have a cat. She’d have her Master’s degree in English, and all would be right in the world. She’d eventually become a celebrated children's author, and she’d teach teenagers the beauty of language and expression, and oh, how God would work through her! She’d save the world, one term paper at a time…
Sure, she trusted God…and oh, yeah, she believed she would follow His will…if it followed THE PLAN…”Yes, Lord, I surrender…if…and…but…however…um…”
Somehow, life has not worked out according to THE PLAN.
33 is fast approaching. Every year on my birthday, for the past 11 years (I think), I have sat down and wrote a poem about where I’m at that year. This year is hitting a nerve, and there’s around 1,000 reasons why. Do I feel like a bit of a failure? Honestly? Yes, I do, even though I know I shouldn’t.
In fact, as I look at this year, I’m in a far better place spiritually, than I’ve ever been. These past 11 months have been blowing me away, and I’m continuously amazed at what God is telling me. I know this is just an attack…maybe if I voice it, and lay it all out there, then I will deal with this on a better level…
33. It’s how old Jesus was when He was crucified, and that realization TOTALLY bums me out. Of course, to counter, it’s also the age at which He was radically glorified, so I could focus on that, but really, there’s more drama in being sad about the age, and we all know how I love drama, so I’ll focus on the negative (oh, I’m laughing at myself, now!:) Seriously, though, it sounds so FINAL. Like, I’m in my mid-30’s. I see celebrities in their mid-30’s, and they look amazing. They’re filthy rich. They have their 2.2 kids, and they have flat stomachs, and I pale in comparison (yes, I know, I’m not supposed to compare myself to anyone, much less celebrisnots that can pay someone to work out for them. But, I’m wallowing in this blog, so leave me alone).
(The more I type, the more I start laughing at myself, so bear with me. I’m pretty sure by the end of this blog I’ll have sorted myself out.)
I find myself feeling really disappointed with life. I’m not where I want to be, physically, educationally, or financially…I know it’s a matter of time, but I’m one impatient force of nature, so I want my credit cards paid off, my butt to be smaller, and my hair to look nice for once, and I WANT IT NOW, so darn it, as hard as I work, why is it all not happening to me? (Insert whine here.) There are people that I see that have had 5 children by this age, and I haven’t. I’m about to be 33, and I feel like a ticking time bomb. Yeah, plenty of women have children after 35. They weren’t diagnosed with a heart condition. This wicked combination of jealousy and disappointment is dangerous, and if I dwell on it too much, especially this time of the year, it will cut me off at the ankles…I’ve been down this road before, and I know where it ends up (Xanax and a bottle of wine. I’m serious. Not good.). I think I’ll try something else….
“Count your many blessings,
Name them one by one.
Count your many blessings,
See what God has done…..”
This whole season is an attack, and I think the little things are tripping me up. Looking around at other people, and comparing myself and my life to them, or to THE PLAN that I always had in my head, is undermining me during a time that I really don’t need or want to be undermined. I want my focus to be on where God is taking me, not on where anyone else is at.
Sure, they have 5 kids. Sure, that chick’s a yoga instructor with a sick body that I will never have. Sure, they just bought a new car and I’m looking at needing new tires. What do I have?
Let me tell you what I have. Let me tell you what I remind myself of every single day (I’m serious. I actually started writing things on my bathroom mirror with a dry-erase marker to remind me to keep my focus). I have an amazing husband who is way cooler than most people will ever know. I have a fantastically psychotic family that will tell you what they really think, rather than put up a front and let you believe a lie. I have a job that I actually enjoy most of the time. I have a church family that listens to me when I cry, laughs when I sing bad karaoke, and teaches me to put feet to my faith. I do not have a picket fence….and I do not have a cat. I have a dog, and a chain link fence that warns people that she will eat their face off. I have a dog that, when she’s not tripping me up during a run, makes me feel welcome every time I step into my little house. I have a home with my husband that is full of pictures of two people who love each other ferociously…I have the memories of a little girl that I will see again someday, and I have the love of a Savior Who promises me—Who bet His life on—an eternity with Him. I have seen 33 years on this planet of love, betrayal, loyalty, pain, poverty, and blessing, and I think that if I died tonight, I could do so knowing that my life was full. I have traveled abroad and in my own country; I have flown and cruised and hopped a train. I have roller skated with a dog, and I have held an alligator that could have easily eaten my arm. I’ve met people who have survived unimaginable odds, and I’ve been one of them. I’ve faced the greatest pain a woman can know, and I have buried my own child…and I have lived to not only tell the story, but to see the story teach someone about the love of God.
33 years have I on this planet, and if I want to sit around and whine that life’s not what I planned on it being, then I’m wasting time that I do not have. THE PLAN is really not so important to me, for the most part, as I’m learning to trust His plan overall. These times when I lose my focus, it always works to remind myself that His plans are always for good—God. Is. Good!!!! I caught myself the other day, when the pastor said “God is good!” responding in my head, “Sometimes.” Where the heck did that come from!!!?!?!?!? What do I BELIEVE? No, not “what have I been told to say when someone says ‘God is good’?” What do I BELIEVE? I BELIEVE God is good! All the time—not just when things go according to THE PLAN! I KNOW God is good! I KNOW this, because even in the midst of despair, even in the midst of seeing the floor drop out from under my faith, I saw His hand work! I see it even now, even when I’m attacked over this stupid “33” thing!
One of the doctors in the practice said something beautiful to me today when I mentioned that I’m kinda dreading this birthday. He said that “if you spend your whole life waiting to be happy, then you spend your whole life waiting.” That’s so deep. I mean, REALLY. Give that one a few seconds to sink in. Who wants to spend their whole life “waiting” for something that may or may not happen? What does it take, to “be happy” on this crazy earth, any how? Are we, as Christians, ever supposed to “be happy” in the first place? Aren’t we always gonna feel a little out of place, a little homesick, if we’re doing things right? There’s joy…there’s peace. I think “happiness” is a human emotion, whereas joy and peace are spiritual states. Am I happy that the clock is ticking, and that yet another year has gone by? Not particularly, when I look at the bills, the dress size, the empty nursery, and my bachelor’s degree (I really, REALLY want to go back to school). However, when I look at what the last year has held, how could I not celebrate it with joy? It’s been a great year!!! I’m hoping it’s followed by another great year! If time stopped, how many awesome things would go unfulfilled?!?
So, Cassidy, here’s to you. You are about to turn 33, and it will be a great year. You will see the hand of God move mountains this year, in ways you never expected. Life will change, but it will be in such a way that you’ll know it’s supposed to, and that it will be okay. 33 will bring you new challenges, new hopes, new dreams, and new visions, and you’ll learn greater ways to rely on God…You’ll see Him do unexpected things. Don’t try to figure out what He’s up to…just take the steps one by one, and watch the dance that He leads you on, come together. Don’t wait to be happy…find your “happy,” each second of the day. As you know, it will be “all right” in the end, so celebrate it all.
That’s my speech to myself. 33 is just a number. It’s another page to turn, and I have a lot more to go. Getting tripped up over something as silly as a birthday (that won’t even be here for a few more weeks) is nonsense, and I know better. I also know it belies other issues, and sorting it out, blog-style, has helped me get a handle on what’s REALLY going on here. His plan does not go along with THE PLAN, aka, MY PLAN. No, there’s no Master’s in English with a white picket fence and my 2.2 kids with their cat (at this point). What I DO have…what God has given me…is so much better. It’s where He wants me, right now, in this time, and that’s where I truly do want to be. That’s my heart’s desire—to be where He wants me. Everything else is just…well, everything else.
I’m going to stop dreading this birthday. I’m going to celebrate it, darn it. God has lots in store for me, and I’m going to live it all out. ‘Cause I can. ‘Cause He said so….and He. Is. Good.
Sure, she trusted God…and oh, yeah, she believed she would follow His will…if it followed THE PLAN…”Yes, Lord, I surrender…if…and…but…however…um…”
Somehow, life has not worked out according to THE PLAN.
33 is fast approaching. Every year on my birthday, for the past 11 years (I think), I have sat down and wrote a poem about where I’m at that year. This year is hitting a nerve, and there’s around 1,000 reasons why. Do I feel like a bit of a failure? Honestly? Yes, I do, even though I know I shouldn’t.
In fact, as I look at this year, I’m in a far better place spiritually, than I’ve ever been. These past 11 months have been blowing me away, and I’m continuously amazed at what God is telling me. I know this is just an attack…maybe if I voice it, and lay it all out there, then I will deal with this on a better level…
33. It’s how old Jesus was when He was crucified, and that realization TOTALLY bums me out. Of course, to counter, it’s also the age at which He was radically glorified, so I could focus on that, but really, there’s more drama in being sad about the age, and we all know how I love drama, so I’ll focus on the negative (oh, I’m laughing at myself, now!:) Seriously, though, it sounds so FINAL. Like, I’m in my mid-30’s. I see celebrities in their mid-30’s, and they look amazing. They’re filthy rich. They have their 2.2 kids, and they have flat stomachs, and I pale in comparison (yes, I know, I’m not supposed to compare myself to anyone, much less celebrisnots that can pay someone to work out for them. But, I’m wallowing in this blog, so leave me alone).
(The more I type, the more I start laughing at myself, so bear with me. I’m pretty sure by the end of this blog I’ll have sorted myself out.)
I find myself feeling really disappointed with life. I’m not where I want to be, physically, educationally, or financially…I know it’s a matter of time, but I’m one impatient force of nature, so I want my credit cards paid off, my butt to be smaller, and my hair to look nice for once, and I WANT IT NOW, so darn it, as hard as I work, why is it all not happening to me? (Insert whine here.) There are people that I see that have had 5 children by this age, and I haven’t. I’m about to be 33, and I feel like a ticking time bomb. Yeah, plenty of women have children after 35. They weren’t diagnosed with a heart condition. This wicked combination of jealousy and disappointment is dangerous, and if I dwell on it too much, especially this time of the year, it will cut me off at the ankles…I’ve been down this road before, and I know where it ends up (Xanax and a bottle of wine. I’m serious. Not good.). I think I’ll try something else….
“Count your many blessings,
Name them one by one.
Count your many blessings,
See what God has done…..”
This whole season is an attack, and I think the little things are tripping me up. Looking around at other people, and comparing myself and my life to them, or to THE PLAN that I always had in my head, is undermining me during a time that I really don’t need or want to be undermined. I want my focus to be on where God is taking me, not on where anyone else is at.
Sure, they have 5 kids. Sure, that chick’s a yoga instructor with a sick body that I will never have. Sure, they just bought a new car and I’m looking at needing new tires. What do I have?
Let me tell you what I have. Let me tell you what I remind myself of every single day (I’m serious. I actually started writing things on my bathroom mirror with a dry-erase marker to remind me to keep my focus). I have an amazing husband who is way cooler than most people will ever know. I have a fantastically psychotic family that will tell you what they really think, rather than put up a front and let you believe a lie. I have a job that I actually enjoy most of the time. I have a church family that listens to me when I cry, laughs when I sing bad karaoke, and teaches me to put feet to my faith. I do not have a picket fence….and I do not have a cat. I have a dog, and a chain link fence that warns people that she will eat their face off. I have a dog that, when she’s not tripping me up during a run, makes me feel welcome every time I step into my little house. I have a home with my husband that is full of pictures of two people who love each other ferociously…I have the memories of a little girl that I will see again someday, and I have the love of a Savior Who promises me—Who bet His life on—an eternity with Him. I have seen 33 years on this planet of love, betrayal, loyalty, pain, poverty, and blessing, and I think that if I died tonight, I could do so knowing that my life was full. I have traveled abroad and in my own country; I have flown and cruised and hopped a train. I have roller skated with a dog, and I have held an alligator that could have easily eaten my arm. I’ve met people who have survived unimaginable odds, and I’ve been one of them. I’ve faced the greatest pain a woman can know, and I have buried my own child…and I have lived to not only tell the story, but to see the story teach someone about the love of God.
33 years have I on this planet, and if I want to sit around and whine that life’s not what I planned on it being, then I’m wasting time that I do not have. THE PLAN is really not so important to me, for the most part, as I’m learning to trust His plan overall. These times when I lose my focus, it always works to remind myself that His plans are always for good—God. Is. Good!!!! I caught myself the other day, when the pastor said “God is good!” responding in my head, “Sometimes.” Where the heck did that come from!!!?!?!?!? What do I BELIEVE? No, not “what have I been told to say when someone says ‘God is good’?” What do I BELIEVE? I BELIEVE God is good! All the time—not just when things go according to THE PLAN! I KNOW God is good! I KNOW this, because even in the midst of despair, even in the midst of seeing the floor drop out from under my faith, I saw His hand work! I see it even now, even when I’m attacked over this stupid “33” thing!
One of the doctors in the practice said something beautiful to me today when I mentioned that I’m kinda dreading this birthday. He said that “if you spend your whole life waiting to be happy, then you spend your whole life waiting.” That’s so deep. I mean, REALLY. Give that one a few seconds to sink in. Who wants to spend their whole life “waiting” for something that may or may not happen? What does it take, to “be happy” on this crazy earth, any how? Are we, as Christians, ever supposed to “be happy” in the first place? Aren’t we always gonna feel a little out of place, a little homesick, if we’re doing things right? There’s joy…there’s peace. I think “happiness” is a human emotion, whereas joy and peace are spiritual states. Am I happy that the clock is ticking, and that yet another year has gone by? Not particularly, when I look at the bills, the dress size, the empty nursery, and my bachelor’s degree (I really, REALLY want to go back to school). However, when I look at what the last year has held, how could I not celebrate it with joy? It’s been a great year!!! I’m hoping it’s followed by another great year! If time stopped, how many awesome things would go unfulfilled?!?
So, Cassidy, here’s to you. You are about to turn 33, and it will be a great year. You will see the hand of God move mountains this year, in ways you never expected. Life will change, but it will be in such a way that you’ll know it’s supposed to, and that it will be okay. 33 will bring you new challenges, new hopes, new dreams, and new visions, and you’ll learn greater ways to rely on God…You’ll see Him do unexpected things. Don’t try to figure out what He’s up to…just take the steps one by one, and watch the dance that He leads you on, come together. Don’t wait to be happy…find your “happy,” each second of the day. As you know, it will be “all right” in the end, so celebrate it all.
That’s my speech to myself. 33 is just a number. It’s another page to turn, and I have a lot more to go. Getting tripped up over something as silly as a birthday (that won’t even be here for a few more weeks) is nonsense, and I know better. I also know it belies other issues, and sorting it out, blog-style, has helped me get a handle on what’s REALLY going on here. His plan does not go along with THE PLAN, aka, MY PLAN. No, there’s no Master’s in English with a white picket fence and my 2.2 kids with their cat (at this point). What I DO have…what God has given me…is so much better. It’s where He wants me, right now, in this time, and that’s where I truly do want to be. That’s my heart’s desire—to be where He wants me. Everything else is just…well, everything else.
I’m going to stop dreading this birthday. I’m going to celebrate it, darn it. God has lots in store for me, and I’m going to live it all out. ‘Cause I can. ‘Cause He said so….and He. Is. Good.
Friday, October 1, 2010
The Women's Retreat Blog...Deliverance via Karaoke
I'm a really good actress. No, I mean, REALLY. Because, if someone were to describe me, one of the very first things they would generally say, is that I'm "outgoing." This weekend, someone used the term "boisterous," and I believe "bubbly" was used once or twice.
It's all lies, people, I tell you.
I'm a closet introvert (don't laugh!). I actually like my peace and quiet, and have hermit-like tendencies during the week. I like to come home to my quiet house, dance in my living room, and go on outings alone. When I know I'm about to be in a large group of strangers, I fight nauseating nerves...if I have a solo, I'm struggling not to vomit at a microphone. I like being on a worship team as a backup singer because (wait for it), I'm a BACKUP SINGER. I'm pretty sure no one would ever guess this, and the few times I've admitted it, people have laughed at me in disbelief. I tell you, it's true.
Inside of me, there's a person sitting in the corner with a blanket over her head, praying that someone asks her to dance, yet who is too afraid to do so, once they've held out their hand to her.
I am a chicken.
Many times in my life, I've been in public situations, and have literally felt like my insides were falling out. The only way, it seems, to calm the nerves, is to suck it up, and stick my neck out. I feel like I have to either speak up, stand up, stand out, reach out, or do SOMETHING, because otherwise, the anticipation is going to kill me. I have to silence the nerves and go introduce myself--not for the sake of reaching out to a stranger, but for the totally selfish purpose of quieting the inner monologue that is telling me things are just not right. So, I speak out...I speak up. I share opinions, and believe me, there's plenty of times where I've wished I would have listened to my inner hermit and kept quiet!!! Am I even making any sense here?
You get the point: My "outgoing" personality is all a lie, and I'm secretly a wallflower.
The "problem" is that God didn't make me to be a wallflower, and He constantly puts me in situations where I simply cannot BE a wallflower--I have to come out of my shell. I have no idea why He does this, but hey, I'm just along for the ride, right?!?
I went on a women's retreat this past weekend, and I was petrified. Here I was, about to embark on this weekend with a bunch of women I barely knew (special thanks to Hannah Preston for being my roomie and my security blanket), and I was convinced that the weekend was going to be all about homemaking, how to be a Godlier wife, why I wasn't a Godlier wife, forced methods of bonding and communication, how to knit a blanket, why I should quit my job, and why I should eliminate half of my vocabulary. I just knew the speaker would be an older woman with a perfect life, and 2.5 kids, a long-standing marriage, and a cat. I was quite sure I'd learn a thing or two, but that my inner sarcastic punk would win out, and that I'd learn more hiking the trails on my own, than I would in a meeting hall. (Oh, that inner sarcastic punk! She has such issues!). I had also been informed that karaoke would be happening at some point, and that I was "expected" to participate.
Sidebar--did I mention that when I got to the retreat center Friday night, I realized I'd forgotten half of my clothes, and all of my shoes? All I had with me were my work shoes, and my Vibram Five Finger hiking shoes. I also had a pair of workout capris, a stained T-shirt, and 2 outfits that were not designed to be worn with toe-shoes. Not only was I nervous facing the weekend; I was now badly dressed with highly noticable silly shoes that clashed with EVERYTHING. I felt like a wreck. These are people that normally only see me on a Sunday morning, looking somewhat collected and coordinated! I looked awful! All weekend! And now I had to step on stage--in front of everyone?!?
Mind you, the organizer of the retreat is a woman I HIGHLY respect and love. I also know not to cross her--if she asks you to do something, you'd probably better do it, because you'll find yourself doing it one way or another. But karaoke? Would I get to rehearse? What would I sing? Would I look stupid? All of these women are going to think I'm retarded! No one will think I can sing--I stink!!! (Note--I'd only done karaoke one other time in my life, on a cruse, with my mom, where I only knew 4 people, and we were all related. That's a safe audience!). Every time the subject would come up, I'd get nauseous. I was terrified.
The retreat started on Friday night, and all day Saturday, I prayed that I'd hear something from the Lord. I'd gone on a nature hike, sat and talked with a few girls, took a nap, and though I got a few things, nothing was really blowing my mind. And since the dreaded karaoke was fast approaching, I was starting to wonder if this whole weekend was a wash? Why was I here? I've lost my stinkin' mind. God--I need something.
The organizer said something on Saturday night about expecting something fabulous from Cassidy Cooley and then something else about karaoke in the same sentence, and I literally had to go outside for air. (Just a note--with all honesty, she'd brought it up before, and I never gave her the slightest inclination that the mere thought of karaoke made my stomach film inside-out. She had no idea. Had she known, she would have never intentionally made me feel that uncomfortable, as she's an awesome lady. I was too shy to say anything, and figured I'd muddle through and cry later, LOL!) Upon returning, my "Mother Hen" (LOL--small group leader) said our team would be performing, and that we'd have to do something that I would most likely carry.
That. Did. It.
I honestly threw back my head, and laughed. It was the last straw--God had something to say to me this weekend, all right. He'd been trying to get through to me, and it took the prospect of public humiliation to do it. Why am I so afraid to look silly? Why am I so afraid to be different, or to stick out? Why am I so afraid to go up front, to speak out, to stand up? Why am I so afraid of _____? Fill-in-the-blank, because it seems over the last few years, I've really struggled with a lot of irrational fears that I should be trusting Him with. From the silly shoes, to the karaoke, I felt God say to me "You never look silly to Me. You only look beautiful. Never be afraid of looking stupid when you're doing what I've called you to do." All of my silly fears--from looking dumb, to singing badly, to dancing like I have Tourette's, to sticking my foot in my mouth...to holding back in worship, to not saying things when He tells me to say them, to not grabbing a person and hugging them when He lays it on my heart...to not giving a word when He gives it to me, to not living out the gifts He's planted in me, to not ever feeling good enough, to being afraid to wear the mantle He's placed on me...to trusting Him with life and death, and everything in between...what am I afraid of?
He has plans to prosper us...plans to give us a hope and a future, plans He says in Jeremiah 29:11. Our God--my God--is awfully fond of me, He says.
I dropped my gloves, threw down my pride, and wound up having the craziest, best time that I've had in years. These women, these hilarious women of God, can throw a party, and they were gracious enough to invite me along. We karaoked, danced, spun, jumped, and ate...we celebrated and fellowshiped, and I tell you, God broke something in me, and He used karaoke to do it. I guess if that's what it takes, that's what it takes!!!! He has a unique approach with me, I suppose. I feel like I made a lot of new friends, saw a whole new side to people I thought I knew, and gained an entirely new respect and love for these women. They truly blessed me with their shared silliness!!!! (And yes, there's video. I kinda can't wait to see it, because I know it's blackmail-worthy. But I bet it's HILARIOUS!)
I came back from that retreat a little bit different. God dropped a lot of information on me, and gave me a few promises along the way--which are things I will ponder in my heart, and not on my blog, LOL! I feel like in the process of shedding some serious inhibitions, that some walls were knocked down that were holding me back. I have a new thankfulness in my heart, and a new joy, a deeper joy (I'm usually a pretty joyful person, I think, but some sarcasm and bitterness were starting to creep in). I feel like there's a crazy new freedom (someone used the phrase "crazy chickens" this weekend, and I love it!) flying inside of me, and I'm so ready for it to hit...I'm ready to free-fall, and just trust that it will be okay. I may look stupid more often than not, but it's fine. It's temporary, and He's not. He's eternal.
Over the last few weeks, I've had some lessons on thankfulness...on picking my battles...on not stepping into "obligatory" vortexes of emotion...and now, on freedom, joy, boldness, and trust. I don't know what He's doing, but He's releasing some things, and it's time for me to move forward in a whole new way...
It's time to crank up the karaoke.
It's all lies, people, I tell you.
I'm a closet introvert (don't laugh!). I actually like my peace and quiet, and have hermit-like tendencies during the week. I like to come home to my quiet house, dance in my living room, and go on outings alone. When I know I'm about to be in a large group of strangers, I fight nauseating nerves...if I have a solo, I'm struggling not to vomit at a microphone. I like being on a worship team as a backup singer because (wait for it), I'm a BACKUP SINGER. I'm pretty sure no one would ever guess this, and the few times I've admitted it, people have laughed at me in disbelief. I tell you, it's true.
Inside of me, there's a person sitting in the corner with a blanket over her head, praying that someone asks her to dance, yet who is too afraid to do so, once they've held out their hand to her.
I am a chicken.
Many times in my life, I've been in public situations, and have literally felt like my insides were falling out. The only way, it seems, to calm the nerves, is to suck it up, and stick my neck out. I feel like I have to either speak up, stand up, stand out, reach out, or do SOMETHING, because otherwise, the anticipation is going to kill me. I have to silence the nerves and go introduce myself--not for the sake of reaching out to a stranger, but for the totally selfish purpose of quieting the inner monologue that is telling me things are just not right. So, I speak out...I speak up. I share opinions, and believe me, there's plenty of times where I've wished I would have listened to my inner hermit and kept quiet!!! Am I even making any sense here?
You get the point: My "outgoing" personality is all a lie, and I'm secretly a wallflower.
The "problem" is that God didn't make me to be a wallflower, and He constantly puts me in situations where I simply cannot BE a wallflower--I have to come out of my shell. I have no idea why He does this, but hey, I'm just along for the ride, right?!?
I went on a women's retreat this past weekend, and I was petrified. Here I was, about to embark on this weekend with a bunch of women I barely knew (special thanks to Hannah Preston for being my roomie and my security blanket), and I was convinced that the weekend was going to be all about homemaking, how to be a Godlier wife, why I wasn't a Godlier wife, forced methods of bonding and communication, how to knit a blanket, why I should quit my job, and why I should eliminate half of my vocabulary. I just knew the speaker would be an older woman with a perfect life, and 2.5 kids, a long-standing marriage, and a cat. I was quite sure I'd learn a thing or two, but that my inner sarcastic punk would win out, and that I'd learn more hiking the trails on my own, than I would in a meeting hall. (Oh, that inner sarcastic punk! She has such issues!). I had also been informed that karaoke would be happening at some point, and that I was "expected" to participate.
Sidebar--did I mention that when I got to the retreat center Friday night, I realized I'd forgotten half of my clothes, and all of my shoes? All I had with me were my work shoes, and my Vibram Five Finger hiking shoes. I also had a pair of workout capris, a stained T-shirt, and 2 outfits that were not designed to be worn with toe-shoes. Not only was I nervous facing the weekend; I was now badly dressed with highly noticable silly shoes that clashed with EVERYTHING. I felt like a wreck. These are people that normally only see me on a Sunday morning, looking somewhat collected and coordinated! I looked awful! All weekend! And now I had to step on stage--in front of everyone?!?
Mind you, the organizer of the retreat is a woman I HIGHLY respect and love. I also know not to cross her--if she asks you to do something, you'd probably better do it, because you'll find yourself doing it one way or another. But karaoke? Would I get to rehearse? What would I sing? Would I look stupid? All of these women are going to think I'm retarded! No one will think I can sing--I stink!!! (Note--I'd only done karaoke one other time in my life, on a cruse, with my mom, where I only knew 4 people, and we were all related. That's a safe audience!). Every time the subject would come up, I'd get nauseous. I was terrified.
The retreat started on Friday night, and all day Saturday, I prayed that I'd hear something from the Lord. I'd gone on a nature hike, sat and talked with a few girls, took a nap, and though I got a few things, nothing was really blowing my mind. And since the dreaded karaoke was fast approaching, I was starting to wonder if this whole weekend was a wash? Why was I here? I've lost my stinkin' mind. God--I need something.
The organizer said something on Saturday night about expecting something fabulous from Cassidy Cooley and then something else about karaoke in the same sentence, and I literally had to go outside for air. (Just a note--with all honesty, she'd brought it up before, and I never gave her the slightest inclination that the mere thought of karaoke made my stomach film inside-out. She had no idea. Had she known, she would have never intentionally made me feel that uncomfortable, as she's an awesome lady. I was too shy to say anything, and figured I'd muddle through and cry later, LOL!) Upon returning, my "Mother Hen" (LOL--small group leader) said our team would be performing, and that we'd have to do something that I would most likely carry.
That. Did. It.
I honestly threw back my head, and laughed. It was the last straw--God had something to say to me this weekend, all right. He'd been trying to get through to me, and it took the prospect of public humiliation to do it. Why am I so afraid to look silly? Why am I so afraid to be different, or to stick out? Why am I so afraid to go up front, to speak out, to stand up? Why am I so afraid of _____? Fill-in-the-blank, because it seems over the last few years, I've really struggled with a lot of irrational fears that I should be trusting Him with. From the silly shoes, to the karaoke, I felt God say to me "You never look silly to Me. You only look beautiful. Never be afraid of looking stupid when you're doing what I've called you to do." All of my silly fears--from looking dumb, to singing badly, to dancing like I have Tourette's, to sticking my foot in my mouth...to holding back in worship, to not saying things when He tells me to say them, to not grabbing a person and hugging them when He lays it on my heart...to not giving a word when He gives it to me, to not living out the gifts He's planted in me, to not ever feeling good enough, to being afraid to wear the mantle He's placed on me...to trusting Him with life and death, and everything in between...what am I afraid of?
He has plans to prosper us...plans to give us a hope and a future, plans He says in Jeremiah 29:11. Our God--my God--is awfully fond of me, He says.
I dropped my gloves, threw down my pride, and wound up having the craziest, best time that I've had in years. These women, these hilarious women of God, can throw a party, and they were gracious enough to invite me along. We karaoked, danced, spun, jumped, and ate...we celebrated and fellowshiped, and I tell you, God broke something in me, and He used karaoke to do it. I guess if that's what it takes, that's what it takes!!!! He has a unique approach with me, I suppose. I feel like I made a lot of new friends, saw a whole new side to people I thought I knew, and gained an entirely new respect and love for these women. They truly blessed me with their shared silliness!!!! (And yes, there's video. I kinda can't wait to see it, because I know it's blackmail-worthy. But I bet it's HILARIOUS!)
I came back from that retreat a little bit different. God dropped a lot of information on me, and gave me a few promises along the way--which are things I will ponder in my heart, and not on my blog, LOL! I feel like in the process of shedding some serious inhibitions, that some walls were knocked down that were holding me back. I have a new thankfulness in my heart, and a new joy, a deeper joy (I'm usually a pretty joyful person, I think, but some sarcasm and bitterness were starting to creep in). I feel like there's a crazy new freedom (someone used the phrase "crazy chickens" this weekend, and I love it!) flying inside of me, and I'm so ready for it to hit...I'm ready to free-fall, and just trust that it will be okay. I may look stupid more often than not, but it's fine. It's temporary, and He's not. He's eternal.
Over the last few weeks, I've had some lessons on thankfulness...on picking my battles...on not stepping into "obligatory" vortexes of emotion...and now, on freedom, joy, boldness, and trust. I don't know what He's doing, but He's releasing some things, and it's time for me to move forward in a whole new way...
It's time to crank up the karaoke.
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