The Thread.

I can feel it in my hands.

Delicate thread, intricately woven together for me. I hold it loosely. I don't want to snap it. I'm following it. These spider web strands are leading me, pulling me forward.

One hand in front of the other... the routine.

Sometimes, in the darkness, I can't actually see it anymore. But I can feel it. barely. Light and taught between my blind fingers. It becomes so gentle, so insubstantial, that I worry that it doesn't really exist. Can this thin strand really lead me?

I panic.

Oh no. What if I am lost?

But then.

Then the sun rises, and it gleams off the tiny strand and I hear my heartbeat calm. I keep walking.

One hand in front of the other... toward... well, I'm not really sure today.

Today, I'm tired.

It's been a long road. I am marveling that the thread never gives out. It just keeps trailing between my fingers as I walk, walk, walk. Some days I stop walking.

There are days in which I sit with the thread draped over my scraped up knees. Days where I feel lost. Lonely.

But time passes. Today it was with tears. with worry. with hurt.

Then it's prayer time. Sometimes, honestly, it feels hollow. But safe. Always safe.

Then I set aside the emotion, and pick up that thread. I stand up, and keep walking. Keep following. Keep trusting. I grip tight to what I know is true.

I'm waiting patiently for the day when I make it. When the journey is done, and I am called home. For the day when I see Him standing there, grinning wildly at His daughter come home. For the day He takes the thread from my hands, and ushers me into His kingdom. For the day that I tell Him I felt so often like I was going to drop it, break it, or miss where He was leading me. And in the very same breath He will whisper back, "I love you. Welcome home."

I'm excited to look back and see where I've come from.

I'm excited to look back and see what my amazing God has done.

So, for now, I'll keep grasping to the thread... knowing that one day soon, it will lead me home.

Hopeful,
Lyss

I just have to take a deep breath.

Into the chaos, into the week, into the wonder of being a nanny, a friend, a woman, and a daughter of the King.

Sometimes, I just have to take a deep breath.

Deep breath into the work and the calling and the words and the ways to encourage and love and laugh.

Deep breath into the tears and the lonely moments.

Deep breath into standing in the gap alongside friends who have lost their voices, their way.

Deep breath with the boys and the dirt and the incomprehensible ways they find to challenge, to push, to pull, to teach.

Deep breath with the girls and the ruffles and those dramatic moments involving tiaras and gummy bears.

Deep breath with expectations and disappointments.

Deep breath with selfishness and the things I cannot comprehend.

Deep breath with broken bridges.

Deep breath into the deep heart of my Father God who made me and calls me His own. A Father who breathes grace and passion and LIFE into my lungs that rise and fall.

Deep breath.

Deep breath.

Yahweh, I love you.

Overwhelming Love.

I am a nanny. and I LOVE my job. It's slobbery and messy and yet somehow wonderfully beautiful.

I am thinking tonight about the lessons I've learned from my work. I could sit here for hours and tell you all the things I have been so privileged to glean from the children and their parents.

But here's some of the most amazing: I've discovered JUST how much parents can influence their children. Just how important those daily doses of fresh air, healthy food, and good old country music dance off's can be for the kids. I've learned how going with the flow is sometimes the only way to go. I've learned that there really is no such thing as super mom. But there are supremely hardworking, selfless, exhausted women with more love in their hearts than they know what to do with. I've learned that it IS okay to let a child watch Dora or Bubble Guppies for half an hour, so I can do the dishes and fold some laundry. I've learned I'm not the only one who has escaped to the bathroom, locked the door, and counted to fifty just so I could gather my thoughts. I've learned that these little girls are fearless, the boys have an endless supply of energy, and children love wholeheartedly. I've learned that the opportunity to speak truth and life over little hearts is one of the most humbling gifts. I've learned that I could stare at any one of their faces for hours, soaking in the simplistic beauty of their innocent eyes. I've learned that on the average day, they teach me a whole lot more than I could ever teach them.

When I made the decision not to go back to school, one of the things I knew was that I didn't want to spend the next year of my life sitting around and doing nothing. Although nursing isn't where God is calling me, KIDS are where God is calling me. There is a burning in my heart for His children, for the little people that grace the earth. I've wanted to be a mom since kindergarten. I actually wrote "mommy" on the "when I grow up..." worksheet.

I don't have years of training under my belt, a blog with a trillion followers, or a show on national television. I don't even have children to call my own!

I just have a deep rooted dream, a passion for kids, a disney imagination, and overwhelming love.

And so far? It's worked out pretty delightfully.

Love and hugs,
Lyss

Forgiveness, Vulnerability, and Demolition.

They were there. Tall enough that I was forced to stand on my tippy toes to peer over the top. Four walls, built with my own two hands. Built for safety, for protection, for hiding.

But inside the walls that were supposed to be a place of safety and comfort? Loneliness lived there. I could feel the emptiness as it continually invaded my space, just big enough for me. No one else. "It's so much better this way. Just me. No vulnerability." I whispered this to myself as I continued to create a paste to hold the walls together. "Can't make it too big... don't want people to think they can come and stay."

So I continued to build. Brick by brick, the walls were formed. With each brick came hope of safety from the hurt and the pain, wishing with all my might that it would keep out the monsters and dragons. And they did. Those four walls were good at it. They kept those creatures out. But the thing about walls? No matter who I might have intended to keep out, they kept everyone else out too. Everything that existed in the realm outside these walls, was kept out.

I would stand on my tip-toes and watch as the people I loved walked by. Most days, they'd stop. They'd stop and see my fingers tightly curled over the ledge in an effort to hang on. Sometimes, I'd get brave. We'd chat. Maybe even have a meaningful conversation now and then! But always with the walls there, looming between us. You see, it was so easy for me. I could always just crouch down if it all became too overwhelming, hide from the voices of truth that I so desperately needed to hear.

But with each passing day, the absence of visitors inside my confining space became an echoing reminder of my isolation. I started to forget who built the walls. I started to wonder why no one was visiting me. I attempted to blame the lack of community on the community itself. I started to stand and watch for someone, anyone... then slowly lower myself back down and mutter, "Whatever. I don't need any of you, anyway."

Years later, not so long ago, I found myself peering over the walls at the exact thing I had feared the most: those monsters and dragons. I saw the walls I built. Walls that I had built with incredible care, with the intention of protection. Instead, it reeked of isolation and selfishness. As I peered at the dragons and monsters that I'd been so fearful to face, so afraid of the vulnerability and exposed pain... I began to realize what I'd created: a prison. I built a house for safety, yet it had fed fear and inhibited what I really needed. Reconciliation. Redemption. Relationship. Forgiveness.

I imagined what it would be like if the walls were destroyed. To stand next to the monsters and the dragons with nothing but the wind between us. "I can't", I thought. "I can't destroy these walls, but Jesus, oh Jesus, I don't want to live like this anymore. Please take them down. I'm so scared, but I know you can heal and mend and create." The walls I had around me were walls that I had made. They were of human origin and therefore completely fallible. The only true protection comes from Christ, and the best way for Him to be my protection was for me to have nothing between us... to have the walls come down so He could be my first and my only defense.

So I stood in the center of the walls I had created, and watched as brick by brick, the walls came down. At first, it was Jesus. Jesus taking brick, reminding me with each one that my safety and security comes from a life hidden in HIM. Then, it was Jesus equipping the people I loved to come help with demolition. A humbling time.

I prayed with each brick that my amazing God would equip my heart with courage. Courage to stand tall, and not crouch down. Prayed that I would breathe deeply and savor the fresh air as it began to replace the stagnant air I had become to accustomed to within those walls. Prayed that I would choose gratitude in the air between us, rather than attempt to reconstruct the walls. Prayed that Jesus would take my fear captive and replace it with His fullness of joy.

So I inhaled deeply, eyes closed, and ask that God prepare me for what was to come. The last of the bricks came down, and the scent of clean air hit my nose.

I opened my eyes.

And began to face those monsters and dragons: insecurity, doubt, hurt, rejection.

In the most beautiful, open space I was able to face and fight, grow and heal.

Sometimes, I still feel like building again.

But then I remember what God has done in the open air.

... and I realize that I now know the freedom that comes when the Lord is my protection, my fortress, my strength.

There's no going back.

Today I'm thankful for forgiveness, vulnerability, and demolition.

Love to you, friends.

~Lyss

At all times.

"A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for adversity." I think about Proverbs 17:17. A lot. Specifically. A friend loves at all times.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again... I have amazing women in my life. They have showed me what this looks like. Taught me what SAFE feels like and how encouragement makes my heart feel something like a balloon: filled with so much helium I could float straight up to the moon. I could laugh until 5 am with these women and still feel as though I was squinting at the wonder of that pink sunset sky- so full, so beautiful, so... heard. Toes have poked through the sand, meals have been shared, and stories have been swapped. Sisters. Family. Different seasons, different callings, different gifts, but one Father God. We are daughters and children of the King.

I will wade through shallow waters, and step into the deep with these girls when need be.

I love the nights of sinking deep into the sofa and whispering those loud dreams. Together.

Friends. They love at all times.

I'm thankful.

Bring on the Color!

I realized today that 98.7834% of my posts on this blog are picture-less. I also realized that 98.23784% paint a very serious, always-thinking-logically Alyssa. Which, don't get me wrong. I LOVE the time that I spend meditating on the Word of God each day. I love the time I spend journaling and soaking in the goodness of His love and freedom without distraction.

However. I also have fun. I LOVE to have fun. Some of my favorite memories are random girl's nights and attempted Pinterest recipe fails. I love to sing loudly (and equally as awful) and plot master plans to mess with little sister's mind. I love having dance parties in the kitchen and making hilarious videos that no one else really thinks are funny. I love my friend time.

A lot.

I was thinking today about WHY I love this friend time so much. Why my heart is so full after time spent with each and every one of them.

And this is what I realized: Sometimes you have to see the world in black and white before you can value it in color. For so long, I craved friends in my life that would tell me Jesus truth and lay out their hearts. Friends who would speak truth to my life in a stark yes and no to help me understand why a promise is rainbow colored.

Sometimes, we just need to view our lives through the lens of a sweet, honest friend, and hear a voice repeat back blessings and verses we've heard dozens of times... but have forgotten to remember.

Friendship is one of the most beautiful things in my world. It's like the silhouette of the moon against the black night sky that promises a glimmer of light, beauty, and absence sometimes too.

I love time spent with my dear friends. I cherish it. I eat with them. Sing with them. Pray with them. Watch with them. See with them. Listen with them. Worship with them. Learn with them. Grow with them. Cry with them. Walk with them. Hurt with them. LIVE with them.

Vividly.

I'm so thankful for each role played in my life. Why? Because sometimes it's only when someone else picks up a crayon in a bright shade of yellow, orange, or pink with a perspective that I missed so that the image begins to come to life. to take shape. Color begins to develop in the dark. Hope is never, ever lost. Every once in a while, God uses a friend to bring us to the processing room, allowing us to capture His beautiful truths and promises to us once again.

There are frames in my room that hold pictures of my beautiful friends and I.

But living life with them? Such blessings cannot be framed.

For it's a process. of learning. of laughter. of joy. of forgiveness.

It's living art. and together, we find ways to leap outside the frame.

Thankful for the friends that bring color to my world.

Tell your friends you love them today!

~Alyssa/Lyssa/Lyss... whichever you prefer :)

Hear the Music.

I lead a busy life. I'm not in school, so granted my "busy" looks completely different than the average nineteen year old student. But it's "busy", nonetheless.

This last week I have forced myself to simply be SLOW. Getting a nasty stomach flu aided in that, but seriously: it's been great to just sit and rest. To just "be". To think. To pray. Really pray. For family. For friends. For the children. To meditate on God's promises to me. To humbly ask for help.

To be quiet. To listen.

See, sometimes, when I'm writing, I get stuck. My thoughts and creative juices reach a halt. So, I get up from my little nook... and I go attempt to fix it. I'll go outside, breathe deeply, and attempt to remove my mind completely from the words. I'll wash dishes. I'll turn on some of my favorite tunes real loud. I'll bake. I'll go to the mirror and see what I can do with my hair.

Most of the time, that works. But sometimes, I just have to wait. An hour, a day, a week. I have to wait to go back to the words. Why?

Because words can get stale. Words and music hold special, beautiful places in my heart. In many ways, music are my words. And words are my music. and if you lose the music, you just need to stop.

But always, there's a melody burning in my heart just waiting to be shared. The beauty in music and words has been engraved and woven through my soul... so the music will never be lost all together.

Yet still- sometimes you just need to step away. Stop trying to write.

Maybe you're trying to write a literal book, facebook status, or letter to a friend.

Or maybe you're trying to write a new beginning, a mended relationship, or freedom from anxiety.

For me, I'm either taking meticulous notes of my life and putting it into words... or life is coming at me real hard, and I'm internalizing it.

My life gets so jam-packed with voices that my processor gets slow. Scenes, ideas, relationships, even, can muffle the way we hear, the way we see, the way we listen. So sometimes, writing it out... working it out... is such a great way to hear better, to see better, to listen better. But every once in a while, more often that we care to admit, voicing it actually drowns out the beautiful, anointed music we need to be listening for.

Words can dull the way we live if we're always speaking just to speak. Writing just to write. Living in complete abandonment before God, completely open and submitted to His will, listening for His voice... that's how the music enters in. That's how it takes up a permanent residence in my soul. In my heart. When my daily cry became "more of You, and less of me, Jesus."

LIVING for the right things. That's where the music comes from. That's where the words come from.

But when we stop writing for a while, it doesn't mean we aren't writers. It just means we're listening to the music, realizing the captivating beauty in a whole new way.

Writing is a huge release for me. So is speaking. and I'm talking about REAL conversation. I used to say that I didn't know what I thought until I was able to write it out. Or talk it out. And usually? That's very much true. I am a verbal processor, through and through.

But the truth is, I've verbalized a lot of ugly things that weren't true in a measly effort to process. to understand. to be heard.

I'm learning a lesson more and more all the time. It's that silence? Sometimes it's the best things for our hearts. for our souls.

And what is ultimately good for our souls... is what's good for our lives. for our writing. It all works together.

There are treasure chests and uncovered beauty in every nook and cranny of our lives- tears of thankfulness rolling down an expectant momma's cheek, the paintbrush catching the ray of light as red pours over the canvas, the smell of glue and marshmallows when you walk into the house down the street- and a good writer takes note of this.

It's the little things, the sweet details, that create. Create the pianissimos, the breaks, the strings, the cymbals, the dynamic overture, the beat.

Do what it takes to hear the music.

Sit. Be. Listen.

... and then write.

Love to you,
Alyssa :)