abide.

2012 recap (questions stolen from a facebook thread I saw this morning):

1. What was the single best thing that happened this past year?
This is an almost impossible question to answer. God has done SO much this year. But I was (and AM!) so so grateful to be accepted into nursing school. I will never ever forget that moment. Shaking hands, heart about ready to beat outside my chest, ripping open that letter. Reading the words. Accepted. Laughter. Tears. Sweet celebration. Unity. Family. I get chills just thinking about it again.

2. What was the single most challenging thing that happened?
Hands down my biggest challenge this year has been learning how to face opposition. Opposition that seemed so unfair and unjust. Opposition that didn't make sense. It's been a year of learning that God promises that I will face trials, but He remains the same. I can trust Him. It's been a year of asking God for deeper grace and humility, but also a year of learning to stand firm and confidently in who He has created me to be.

3. What was an unexpected joy this past year?
I could write a whole blog post about this alone, and if you want to hear the full story I am more than happy to tell it. But in short, there was some seriously beautiful restoration that happened this year. It was unexpected. and it was really joyous. God has taken my dear friend Emma and I on a seriously radical journey, and it is with great *unexpected* joy that I call her my dear friend. Such beautiful lessons we've learned. Both together, and apart.

4. What was an unexpected obstacle this year?
I totaled my car in March. THAT was unexpected. and scary. and a lesson in "don't turn around and talk to someone in the backseat no matter how bad they want you to look at them."

5. Pick three words to describe 2012.
I really love these kinds of questions. like, a lot. My three words: battle, rooted, hope

6. What were the best books you read this year?
The last half of my year was spent with my nose in textbooks. But the first half of the year I read some incredible books. On the list of winners this year, in no particular order: The Hunger Games series by Suzanne Collins, Unbroken by Laura Hillenbrand, Heroes and Monsters by Josh Riebock, One Thousand Gifts by Ann Voskamp, ZVI by Elwood McQuaid, Choosing Gratitude by Nancy Leigh DeMoss, The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern, and Safe Haven by Nicholas Sparks.

7. What were the best movies you've seen this year?
Les Miserables. Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close. Pitch Perfect.

8. If you had to thank one person for their role in your life this year, who would you thank and why?
I loathe this question. I really do. Therefore, I will not be following the rules. There are SEVERAL people I'd like to thank. But before I do, I'd like to thank all of you. Every blog reader, every facebook friend, every stranger who has smiled at me in Trader Joe's. Every single one of you is so valuable. and I treasure your role. Now, for those of you who just need a few extra sentences :) Again, in no particular order:

Soph: Oh, sweet girl. You have taught me so much about patience, discipleship, and consistency. Jesus has used you to show me what it means to "rejoice with those who rejoice, and mourn with those who mourn." You have celebrated with me, been excited with me, and laughed with me. and you have cried with me, prayed with me, and sat in trenches with me. You are such a treasure.

Mrs. Read: Preparing for your wedding was one of the most beautiful seasons Jesus has let me be a part of in all of my 20 years. This year was wild!! A whirlwind six months, followed by the most breathtaking day. and now you and Alex are cultivating such a welcoming, safe, Spirit-filled home. I'm so grateful for this year of friendship with you. It was crazy and stressful and beautiful and so so life-giving. Love you.

Emma: oh my goodness gracious. look at this year!! That's really all I have to say. Thanks for being a best friend, an encourager, and a voice of reason and hope. I adore you!

Julie: I don't know if you're surprised to see your name here or not, but seriously: I am SO grateful for your voice in my life. You have done nothing but support me and challenge me to settle for nothing less than God's best. I loved getting to know you a bit better this year, and am so humbled and thankful for the time you have taken out to pour into me.

Sister: This year has taught me SO much about perseverance and living from a place of victory. It was a year of fulfilled dreams and fierce battle. Thank you for being a part of that and choosing to walk life with me. You are loved.

Emily: You called out the leader in me this year. You oh so faithfully chose time and time again to remind me who I am and remind me what I am capable of. Thank you. So much.

Rebecca: This year God loved showing me that He can change everything in the blink of an eye. Long gone are the awkward little high schoolers who only knew how to talk about math and our siblings. and in their place are two women seeking after Jesus and a nursing degree and truth. together. what a legacy.

9. In what ways did you grow spiritually this year?
Again, a whole blog post could be dedicated to this alone. I'm not even sure how to capture this question with words. I've learned some hard lessons. I've been on the front lines of battle. I've made mistakes. I've deeply loved. As I think back on this year, my soul is overwhelmed by the vast goodness of God's Sovereignty in every season. Every last detail has been accounted for. This year, I learned that I am strong. I learned that Jesus faithfully equips me to drudge through judgement and misunderstanding and disgust to speak the truth and hope of God all over the people He has placed in my life. The child-like faith in me still believes in miracles, the impossible, and the amazing equipping of boldness and humility that God grants His kids. He chose me to be His daughter. To be a part of the family of God. Forever. There is no love truer and deeper than that. I have the chance to bottle up just a little sliver of that hope, of that love... with my words. I'm a writer. I embraced that gift this year. 

10. What was the most enjoyable part of your work this year?
My favorite part of my job, always, has been this: I get to step into homes and become a part of the family. I've had friends wonder why I'm so picky about which jobs I take and which jobs I don't. That's the clincher. Right there. Family. I will love your kids, invest in your kids, pray with your kids. Nannying is SO much more than a business arrangement. It's a heart job. and I give it everything I've got. So, this year, and every year, I'm thankful for my families. 

11. What was the single biggest time waster in your life this past year?
Instagram :)

12. What was the best way you used your time this past year?
Obviously, time with Jesus is the most precious part of my every single day. But I think the best way I can use my time is simply loving the people God has given me. It's been such a beautiful year investing and pouring out. I get so excited for coffee dates or couch dates :) and there's been LOTS of them this year. Hearing people's stories, sharing mine, growing together, learning together: that's a really good use of my time. 

13. Pick a word for 2013. 
I've done this for three years now. In 2010, my word was jubilee. In 2011, my word was cling. This year it was disciple. This last week, as I've sat in the presence of Jesus and asked Him what He might have for me this year, I've consistently heard the same thing. over. and over. and over again. The first time it hit me I was driving. last Wednesday. talking with a friend on the phone, actually. and {abide} hit me square in the chest and wouldn't let go. and it's been there ever since. pushing, nudging, pursuing. I'm not sure what this is going to look like yet. But I'm hopeful. and listening. 

Here we go. It's gonna be wild. 

Love to you. 
~Alyssa

Paper Hearts and Sandy Hook.

In a fallen world, we trip and break our hearts.

Sweet little man comes to me with his cut directly out of paper.

When you're five, you can do this. You can take a pair of scissors, grab a piece of paper, and cut your heart neatly out of a white, square, 8 1/2 by 11 sheet of computer paper.

This is what he brings me. A white paper heart.

He has tape in his hands.

"Will you do it, missy lou? I can't make it work." He holds out a roll of mangled scotch tape.

I am helping his brother with a spelling lesson. Decoding the letters of this world.

"What are you trying to do, sweetie?" I try to read him. He wants the heart taped in half? Taped to the wall? Taped to his folder?

"I just want the heart taped to me. Just right here." He points his finger at his chest.

His brother's erasing the paper too hard, wearing a big round whole right through the homework. "How do you spell receive? Is it the 'i' first or the 'e'?"

"E", I murmur quickly, trying to tear of a bit of tape.

"Just tape it right here," he says. He's pointing just above his own beating heart.

"And why are we doing this exactly?" I'm on my knees in front of him, half smiling, looking up into his baby blues, my thumb smoothing along the tape line of this exposed heart.

I ask the question, but my heart knows the answer. Wasn't it just this morning that we sat over toast and tears, talking about the horrid tragedy in Connecticut? Wasn't it just this morning that we talked about how we need to give love to others and embrace every moment?

I think this visual mnemonic is bold and brilliant, a walking sign of hope.

I'm usually the one to cup his face in my hands, but here he has me knelt down in front of him, so he takes full advantage of this moment. He cups my face in his hands, and he bends over slightly so his nose is touching mine. I can feel his breath.

"Because Lyssa..." he pats my head oh so gently. "... so we always know His love's around us everywhere."

He wants to wear a heart right across him so he never forgets.

He holds my face in his hands and I can feel it. I feel how we are held. Perfectly held. Forever.

Will he cut out a heart for me, too?

Will he lend me his sign? This simple declaration that has so elegantly painted the love of Jesus. The love of Jesus so magnificently gentle and wild. The love of my God who births stars into being in my darkness. The love of my Father who shapes His thoughts and pursuit of me into letters that I can read. The love of my Savior who redeemed my fallen life with nails driven right through His hands.

Huge and white, wearing God's heart right there on his striped shirt. He smooths it out. and it tears. right down the center. He looks down at the now broken heart.

I don't know what to say.

Is it his heart or His that's broken today? Maybe it's both.

In the face of deep waters and split-open hearts, God hovers close. The broken-hearted He binds up, swaddles near.

Will he understand this?

"It's okay, I guess. Even when a heart's broken"... his finger runs along it's raw edge..."Jesus still has his love all around me everywhere. and maybe the love gets in easier cuz it's tore?"

Yep. I'd say he has abundant understanding, sweet little love.

All day, he walks the house. Broken heart of love taped to his chest. All day, he reminds me that God is good. God is love. All day he sings "I can sing of your love forever," his song a broken-hearted hallelujah rising on wings of hope, trust, and incredible faith.

Sandy Hook elementary school, we love you. Connecticut, we love you.

God is just. God is love.

Love,
Lyss

Completely and Unapologetically.

I find it so ironic and lovely and challenging and beautiful that God has filled my life to the brim with very logical, rational thinkers. I love them to death. 

It's not going to come as a surprise to most of you reading this that I am the total opposite. I am incredibly whimsical, passionate, and at times irrational. I'm dramatic and driven and headstrong. 

When people take a glance at my life, they sometimes label me with an addiction. an obsession. something that I need to get under control. something that I need to tone down. There are negative words thrown around. Sometimes they joke, but the joking feels real. You're just a little too into that. You're just a little too invested. You're just care a little too much. And I actually take pause and wonder if I am. 

It has happened time and time again. These pauses of wondering. 

I don't necessarily want to be like you, until you remind me just how much I'm not like you, and then I begin to wonder if there's something missing in just being me. 

You sure do spend a lot of time writing. That's all you talk about. 

Maybe you like reading just a little too much. 

Maybe you're too sensitive to be a nurse. 

I get embarrassed. Almost like they've pinpointed something abnormal or unacceptable. There is something there to poke, something that looks different than how they might do it, and so they poke. They poke out of curiosity or out of jealousy or out of boredom. Sometimes they poke in passing and don't give it a second thought. But I always, always give it a second thought. And sometimes third and fourth thoughts, too. The poking? It gets to me. Enough pokes and bruises start to form. We begin to act a bit differently, turning in a slightly different direction to protect that tender spot from more jabs. But now we're just slightly confused in who we are meant to be and what to make of the new direction we're headed. It doesn't feel natural or peaceful. It just carries the illusion of being more safe. 

I am so intrigued by the men and women who don't adjust when the poking continues. I am impressed and in awe of those who continue to stand their ground. Those who don't seem to wonder, "Am I wrong and they are right? Is something a little off in me?" I recently watched a movie about a man like this. It's about Bill Cunningham, a fashion photographer for the New York Times. You can watch it instantly on Netflix, for those of you that are interested. He shared some of the pokes that he had received in his eighty-three years of life. I wonder when his skin got thick enough to endure them? I wonder when he became so comfortable in his own thick skin and was determined to do it his way? I don't want to wait until I'm eighty to have the humble audaciousness to say: Even if you think it's faulty, I have been called to it. It's the only way for me. You may not understand it. You may not agree. Some things may get lost in translation from my heart to yours, but I don't need to cater myself to be someone who feels and thinks just like you do. Jesus made me. and with Him, I'm enough.

I am learning that this deep passion in me... this empathy in my soul... this love for people? It's a gift. A gift and not a misfortune. And the writer in me? That's from Jesus, too. It's my art. It's my heart and thoughts and love written in blood and tears, in deep sighs and laughter. Words make sense of metal mess and are my refiner's fire to push them into the wielder's realm of beautiful gold. How can I apologize for this? Why have I wanted to? Oh, how much joy wells up in my heart amongst the pages of books, amongst the little and big splashes of beauty, amongst the sensitivity and passion, amongst the inner-writer eyes that have come to translate life into something approachable, swallow-able, perhaps even rich and full. and who apologizes for a full life? Even if it's a bit odd, a bit quirky? 

It's such a great pleasure to collect, capture, document, express, and create. It bleeds into every facet of my life... not as something to be managed or tamed, but as something which casts a soft glow of beauty, of meaning, and of love. 

Yes, it makes me vulnerable. Yes, it leaves me feeling a bit exposed. Yes, it leaves me in prime poking territory, cast under classifications I might abhor. Yes, it may leave me to be the butt of jokes or the target for questioning glances. But what is my alternative if this is who God is calling me to be? There is no alternative. It's just sinking deeper into His perfect love and plan for me. Even after I ponder the pokes, I'm learning to circle back around. This is who I have been created to be. 

I finished watching the film, and I just sat for a second. 

And I came to a conclusion. 

Oh, sweet friends. We can give ourselves completely and unapologetically to the calling that has been laid out before us. 

We are so divinely loved and protected. 

No one else on the whole planet can be you. 

Are you organized and punctual? Are you brainy and gentle? Are you a charming dreamer or a sophisticated philosopher? Are you easy-going and flexible? Are you creative and eclectic? Are you gregarious and hospitable? Are you adventurous and daring? Are you hilariously funny? Are you amazing on the court or a talented musician? Are you logical? Are you whimsical?

Or maybe you carry pieces of all of these. Maybe you have been given other gifts entirely. 

Wonderful! Whatever gifts and talents and traits and joys and loves you carry: They're wonderful. 

Just be YOU. 

YOU are beautiful. and needed. and loved. 

Hugs, 

Lyss

It's a symptom.

I'm thinking about joy tonight.

I must've seen four or five random bumper stickers, doodles, or instagram pictures today that have said "choose joy" or something really similar.

I'm about to step outside this catch phrase that we hear so often.

Because in thinking about joy, I'm thinking that the times I've been the most joyful... it hasn't been because I've made a choice.

It has been against my will.

People say that love is a choice. I'm confident that's true. I suppose joy can be a choice in the same way. I choose joy over self-pity. I choose happiness over sullenness. I choose delight over disdain. I choose gratitude over complaining.

Yes. Sometimes joy is a choice.

But for me, joy has more often been a symptom.

This is the kind of joy that makes the stranger in Target smile a big smile and comment on my (I-didn't-know-it-was-that-loud) singing of Christmas songs. It's the kind of joy that makes me truly care about how the barista's afternoon is going. This sweet joy oozes and bubbles over. It's real. It's genuine.

It's part of me.

It's the joy that remains when I have a difficult day with the kids, when I've been mistreated, when I don't agree.

Joy is a symptom of the heart.

It's like when a baby laughs and her whole face carries the joke- as if she doesn't know what else to do with her smile. It HAS TO erupt through her face because her heart is laughing.

That kind of joy doesn't come easily. and I don't think it's always as simple as a choice.

I think it comes with hard work spent devoting a heart in submission to Jesus. It comes with the discipline of waking up each morning and handing over a selfish life to a Father who desires selflessness. Joy is a symptom. It's a symptom of an overflowing heart that walks in deep intimacy with the Creator.

I am carrying joy so deeply tonight. I love this. The taste of the smile on my lips. My heart leaps.

Oh, Jesus, thank You.

Joy comes from a heart that is directed toward Heaven and not earth.

A heart that seeks out His rich beauty for us each day.

Joy can be a choice.

But I sure do love the joy that's a symptom of a heart that's full of Jesus.

What do you think? Do you agree?

Love to you,
Alyssa

all Papa wants is a Barbie.

We were celebrating Christmas. The little girls and I were. Two years ago.

Sweet little loves waded through the torn paper and ribbons, and grandma whispered her thoughts in my ear.  

"Did we get her the right thing?" as she glanced over at the Barbie fashion boutique set the four year old had unwrapped. 

I kind of cringe when I look at Barbies. Tanned plastic bodies and long blonde hair with dream houses and a pink car. I just avoid them at all costs when it comes to getting gifts for little girls, for fear of a warped sense of self. 

However, by 2010, Barbies had been showing up all over in my world. Birthdays, Christmases, even just for a special treat on a Target trip. 

Precious little Erin always seemed to have one tucked under her arm wherever she went. 

There were Barbies in the car. Barbies in the backyard playhouse. Barbies under my bed and Barbies in the shower. 

"Of course you did. Look." I point her toward Erin who had already enlisted her grandpa to free hair stylist Barbie from her plastic bonds. Sweet little girl was carrying Barbie with her cardboard shears and shiny apron around the living room proudly showing her off to the rest of her toys. 

I didn't need to explain further for grandma to see. Erin loved her little dolls. The Barbie was the perfect gift. 

When school started up again in January, I picked up the girls. I stopped in Erin's preschool classroom, and bent down to pick up her leftover construction paper poinsettia, her perfectly imperfect snowflake cutout, and various other Christmas crafts that had collected in her cubby. 

In the mix was a tiny little box addressed to Jesus. Decorated in colored paper and smothered in tape, a bright red bow adorned the top. On the back, in the perfect handwriting of her most wonderful teacher, it read "I would give baby Jesus a Barbie and my snuggle. Erin, 2010."

Snuggle is the blanket she has slept with since she was born. 

Her favorite things. 

Her most treasured things. 

The things she can't live without. 

She offered them to Jesus. 

Her best things. 

Not her sister's toys. Not her leftovers that she's outgrown. Not something she didn't care about. 

In her preschool world, she came and presented Him with the best things she could possibly offer. 

I came home, showed it to momma, and we both cried. and every Christmas, that precious mom sends me a picture of that amazing little box that she pulls out as a reminder. I opened that text message today overwhelmed once again by the beautiful picture her daughter painted. 

Do I give Him my best? My most favorite. The things I tuck under my arm. The things always by my side. Do I give Jesus the most treasured things I own, the things that belong to Him anyway?

All Papa wants is a Barbie. At least from sweet little Erin. 

From me? From me, He wants the finest I have, the first I earn, the sweetest and most precious things in my heart. He wants my first hour, my best concentration, my most prized talents and gifts. 

He wants it all. 

He deserves it all. 

Am I willing to give it to Him?

Hugs, 

Lyss

Thanks, Mark.

Happy December, my dear friends.

I woke up this morning so excited to write in this space over the next 25 days.

It is with great joy that I sit down at my little desk, turn on the lamp, and settle in with my Bible and cup of tea. There's classical christmas music playing in the background, and the page is blank.

Oh, how I love this time of year.

I decided this morning to read the Christmas story in Mark. I couldn't recall ever reading from this gospel for Jesus' birth story, so I thought I'd give it a whirl.

Well.

Mark likes to cut to the chase, it appears.

No Mary and Joseph. No manger. No little baby Jesus. No shepherds, wise men, frankincense or myrrh. No bright star. No Gabriel. No heavenly hosts.

No silent night.

No holy night.

I was slightly disappointed at first.

If Mark was the sole gospel in which Jesus' entrance into our world was mentioned, I think Christmas would look drastically different.

Would there be gifts? Would there be parades and bows and trees?

Would Linus be there to deliver the most stellar line in the Charlie Brown Christmas special?

Would there be bright shining lights?

I don't know.

But my vivid imagination pictures a wild looking man similar to John the Baptist dressed in leather, preparing the way for Jesus by preaching a message. A message we don't usually hear at Christmas.

A message that's rough around the edges and a little hard to swallow alongside my mashed potatoes and cherry pie.

Repentance.

That one word sums up the beginnings of the Jesus story according to Mark.

“And so John came, baptizing in the desert region and preaching a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. The whole Judean countryside and all the people of Jerusalem went out to him. Confessing their sins…” (Mark 1: 4-5). 

This is about the place in the message where I start to hope that some people I know are really paying attention. We all do this at times. I know you know what I'm talking about. I climb up on that mental high horse and think, "Thank You Lord for this message that all these people need to hear- because You know how they act. You know how selfish they are. Whew. And you just know how much they need a full out repentance revival!"

It is right at that moment that Jesus whispers to me. 

It's a message to you, daughter. You need this message, Alyssa. I am calling you to repent. This is the way you need to prepare for Christmas in your heart this year.

“I will send a messenger ahead of you, who will prepare the way- a voice of one calling in the desert, ‘Prepare the way for the Lord, make straight paths for him’ ” (Mark 1:2-3).

This girl. 

I can be such a mess. 

But I hear the messenger calling for repentance. 

So, I make the Christmas story not the same old story, but a message meant for my heart. 

... and I whisper once again, "oh, I love you, Jesus. Forgive me. Heal me. Restore me. Those little places I excuse. Those same old things that trip me up. The pride that keeps me thinking it's someone else's fault. The busyness that makes me forget to stop and consider my ways, my thoughts, my actions. You, Messiah, are the best match for my mess."

I doubt this will ever be the most popular version of the Christmas story, but for me this year, it's perfect. 

Love to you, 

Lyss