When the problem isn’t the problem.

Many times I feel like my life oozes the theme of waiting, and not by my choosing. If you know me, you’re immediate thought is most likely, “Well of course, here’s a single girl just waiting for the man of her dreams. Poor thing.” Friends, can I tell you it is so much more? In fact, that is the least of my waiting worries. Recently, the Lord reminded me that waiting isn’t something to be loathed, but something to recognize as entrusted and something to be stewarded well. He has entrusted me with waiting; waiting on Him to answer prayers, waiting on Him to change my circumstances, waiting on Him to show up in places that seem dark and hopeless. I seem to be waiting a lot.

So I decided I was going to write a post about waiting (Y’all are alllllll welcome). I immediately puffed up with pride, my back straightened, and I sat a little taller in my chair. “Well how fitting, I am quite the expert on waiting, of course I should write about it. I wait like a BOSS!”

But the Lord immediately struck me with a very large, proverbial lightning bolt of humility.

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Come Back, Weary Wanderer

I recently had the opportunity to write a post for Biblical Woman about our constant temptation to wander from the Lord, especially in the face of weariness. I am so thankful for this opportunity and how the Lord has used this post. I think it’s something we can all relate to on some level. I love how God had me write it a few weeks ago but the truth is even more relevant and needed for me today. If you haven’t read it, here’s an excerpt and a link to read the rest. Enjoy!

Over the past few weeks, I’ve been in multiple conversations with weary and wounded friends who have called it quits. Whether past or present, they’ve reached the point where their life’s circumstances have proven too broken and painful, their walk with Jesus too difficult and illusive to endure, their sin too enticing, and their faith rattled to its core. One looked me in the eye, in the midst of choices that I fear will wreak havoc on her sweet heart in years to come, and said, “I just don’t care anymore.” The other told of a season just a few short years ago, “I just didn’t care.” With great humility and compassion, what is that? Are we so exhausted, so toiled in our walk with Jesus and fight against sin that a breaking point has become inevitable? If this is true, are we really living our lives in a surrender to Christ that produces freedom and rest, a yoke that is light rather than burdensome? Or is evil so rampant and life so trying that, in our human capacity, we can no longer withstand? Can even trusting and depending on Jesus be too much, too difficult? Or are we in denial and really not depending on Jesus at all?

And yet, I find myself toeing the line of a similar defeat. Truly God’s grace has triumphed, and by no doing of my own. To be honest, I looked into the eyes of both these friends and I couldn’t help but think, this could be me… in a heartbeat. And while I entertain that possibility, knowing my heart has been just as much in turmoil, I wonder why it’s not. Trust me when I say it can’t be reasoned that I’m doing things right, not even close. But why would God keep me close, spare me from that breaking point thus far, yet let others run from His grace, from abundant life and freedom found only in Him? Why do I feel like Satan is winning? God help us!

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Characteristics of a Heavenly Father… A post for my Dad. 

There are times, excruciatingly painful times, when God is loud. His voice is booming over my circumstances, and His prodding hand is far from ignorable. While always gracious, He is clear, unwavering and all but demanding of my swift obedience.

There are other times, equally as painful, that God whispers and nudges. The pain comes as we strain to hear His voice and as we walk less than assured, tempted by thoughts of fear and doubt.

And then there’s the silence. Times when there is nothing, when we are left in an empty expanse, at least that is our perception. For me, being left alone with my thoughts is flat out dangerous, for all parties involved.

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God’s Embracing Love for His Messy Children.

A few weeks ago, I babysat for three lovely little ladies. Daughters of some dear friends of mine, they pretty much have my heart, especially the youngest. (They aren’t mine, I can have a favorite. Don’t judge me.)

The weekend began on Friday night with a trip to Chick-fil-a. Can I just say, the wisdom that Chick-fil-a is indeed a gift from God to mothers is not lost on me. Lesson gleaned. Can I also say, the two year old knew how to ask for Chick-fil-a sauce. No comment.

After a crazy night at Chick-fil-a, we woke up on Saturday, ate cinnamon rolls and spent the day watching Frozen and playing mindful, strategic games of Guess Who and Uno. In a nail biting and epically competitive game of Uno, the eldest uttered a confident accusation against the middle. She, apparently, was cheating. (Gasp!)

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Love & Kentucky Basketball.

I am about to make an argument for the comparable nature of love and Kentucky basketball. Forgive this endeavor.

No seriously, from the get go, forgive me for attempting to draw a no doubt flawed comparison between something that is infinitely powerful, unquestionably divine in nature, and often times incomprehensible, let alone explainable, (um Kentucky fans, I am referring to love) and a sport that involves putting a ball in a net. Believe me, I say that with profound respect, but in comparison, it is trivial and temporal.

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A Bag, A Plaque and A Dream

This morning I packed a bag. I packed a bag and said, “Alright Lord, today I’m ready to go if you want me to go. Just say the word.” I packed a bag in hope and belief that He would give me the green light. True story.

Mid-day, as I pray desperately for God to whisper or nudge (or yell, I’m fine with that), I have a sneaking suspicion that I’ll probably end my day grabbing a big glass of water (that I’ll never actually drink), sitting it next to my bed, laying my head on the same feathered navy blue pillow, in the same little apartment, and wondering what I’ll do tomorrow. And I’ll probably be hungry because I gave up sweets. Dumb.

But I don’t think I really knew prayer before now.

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