Remarkable and Matchless.

Each one of us is a remarkable, matchless miracle of God's grace. 

I don't always live from that truth. More often I behave as though Jesus puts up with me because He made me and now He's stuck with me. 

Intellectually, I know this is a lie. It's false. It's wrong. But sometimes, my heart gets in the way of what my head knows to be true. Somewhere deep (or maybe not so deep) inside my heart, lies nag and gnaw and strain. They threaten and battle with the security, the love, the power that I know to be true. I find it creeping into my prayers, my thoughts. I find it creeping into how I love. 

It's such a process. This untangling of lies that has taken up residence in my heart, my friendships, my relationship with my Creator. The One who fully knows me. 

I passionately, deeply love my God. and I have an overwhelming love for people. 

... but I struggle. I still struggle. 

God knows me. He has always known me. 

He formed me.

Every single piece of who I am and how I am is intimately known. 

Every single piece of who you are and how you are is intimately known. 

I wonder why He chose me. All the time. I don't understand it. I don't get it. 

I don't know the answer to why. But I remember the choosing, the choice He made. He knows all of who I was. He knows all of who I am, and all of who I am yet to be. As I remember these things, the lies get untangled a bit more. and my heart beats a bit more freely. 

Today, I am praying for my heart. and my people's hearts as well. That our hearts would beat wild and free, full of the extraordinary knowledge that we have been chosen by the One who knew us before, knows us now, and will know us when. 

Rest, friends. Rest, Alyssa. You are not just chosen. We are not just chosen. 

We are loved. Deeply. Intimately. Fully. 

Exactly as we are. 

Remarkable. Matchless. 

Hugs, 

Lyss

Because I was her.

I've been wanting to write about this for a while, but didn't quite know how to express my thoughts.
But today, I'm going to try.

Several Sundays ago, I went to evening church just like usual. I sat in the same general area I always sit, friends by my side. I was worshipping. Halfway through, there is a girl by my side. Maybe fifteen or sixteen. Her shoulder pressing into mine, not singing, eyes closed.

Later she explained quickly before going to her seat that she needed to feel God and thought if she could just stand close to me, she might be able to feel Him.

It was one of those moments where I couldn't carefully plan out what I was going to say or do. I had never experienced anything like this before. I'd never seen it happen. I'd never heard of it happening. It wasn't even on my scope of possibility. But there she was. There I was. Two girls who simply, desperately need Jesus.

I am hyper aware of my own need for Jesus. and it is because of this reason, that I simply wrapped my arm around her and continued to sing.

It was a wrinkle in time. Two songs played, and before I knew it, she was back in the vast crowd of people and I didn't see her again.

I didn't quite understand it at first. Couldn't quite comprehend what had happened. and why it had happened. But now I think I know why.

I was so sweetly reminded of that ravenous (I love that word) longing I once had to press against someone, anyone, who deeply knew Jesus.

I was her.

Looking at other people's faith and begging to have that. wondering how I could get it. I wanted depth. I needed closeness. I was jealous of the unswerving conviction.

I thought that maybe if one of those people with that amazing faith would just let me close enough, they'd let me in on their secret. I'd learn the routine. I'd mimic the obedience. I'd just follow them until I got it right. If I could just have that, then I'd feel close to Jesus. I'd understand His Word. I would pray really powerful prayers.

It would all finally make sense.

But this is what I've come to know: there is a big difference between closeness with people who love Jesus and closeness with Jesus Himself.

I absolutely love people. and I learn from people every single day.
"He who walks with the wise, grows wise." Proverbs 13:20.

But if I am yearning after closeness with Jesus, I won't find that by following anyone but Jesus Himself.

There have been countless whispers from the deepest corners of my heart, "Jesus, show me. Show me how to live life with You. Show me how to follow You. Show me how to be close to You, press into You, be more like You. Jesus, just show me. Show me today. Right now. Please, Jesus. Show me."

Countless whispers. and surely there will be a thousand more. Because following Jesus will never fit neatly into a formula.

Yes, He is found in churches. No doubt. But He's not just in church.

Jesus lives and breathes through every part of my day, every day. He's in my favorite song that comes on the radio and He's in the wild laughter among friends. He's in the bedtime snuggles, the morning hikes, and the afternoon nap.

I find Jesus when I quietly whisper my immense gratitude and choose to see the blessing woven though each step, each memory, each season.

So, to the sweet girl who came and stood next to me, here's what I want you to know:

If you seek Him, you will find Him.

He promises us that.

He loves you,
Lyss

Love.

I've done some seriously stupid things.

I've been misunderstood. 

I've felt the weight of unresolved conflict. 

I've felt the searing pain of heartache. 

I've wrestled and wondered and worried. 

I'm willing to bet that you've experienced all of these, too. and many more like them.

But today, and every day really, I'm so grateful for the people that have walked with me and surrounded me with encouragement, truth, and love. The presence of Love is powerful.

Love heals. It restores. It lifts my spirit and encourages my soul. It gives me feet when I can't stand, and perspective when I'm certain that I've gone crazy.

Love.

I'm grateful this morning for that powerful gift of love when I least deserve it. When I've done something foolish or ugly or impulsive and I can't seem to shake it out of my system, and Love comes anyway. It's like a rainstorm of grace washing all the muck of shame clean off of me.

It's gloriously freeing.

I have this deep desire for people to know they are loved. I know I cannot possibly love without blemish, but I really want to love well.

It's not mushy. It's not wimpy. It's not easy.

Love is challenging. It's gracious. It's brave. 


... and it's what I'm called to.


You are loved,
Lyss

"By this all men will know you are My disciples, if you have love for one another." John 13:35.

radical grace.

I wish I could adequately put into words what the past few weeks have been like for me. They have been some of the most beautiful, refreshing weeks of my life. I'm not kidding.

Story after story, circumstance after circumstance, conversation after conversation... they just abound in God's faithfulness. His love. His grace.

Grace.

I've been thinking SO much about this word lately. Trying to figure out what this looks like. Grace for others, but also grace for myself.

And do you want to know the truth?

I don't practice what I preach.

Sure, I most certainly read the blog posts. I skim the articles. I pour over Scripture. I take in the words of truth and I breathe them deeply.

They speak of this thing, this radical grace. Grace for the murderer. Grace for the rapist, the corrupt world leader, the adulterer.

Who am I, if not a girl so completely covered in grace myself? Who am I, if not clean only (and I mean ONLY) because of Jesus?

I believe in Grace.

I've seen it.

I've felt it.

I've experienced it.

I've given it.

The abundant outpouring of undeserved worth. undeserved merit.

I speak words in voice and print of love- true, unconditional, perfect love- and how fast its power.

I deeply believe in love. and in grace.

But do you want to know the truth?

When I think about the fact that my birth father abandoned me and I once again feel the intensity of him choosing his own happiness over all else, all I want to do is make an imaginary phone call, after 20 years of silence, and lay into him about his selfishness. I don't usually do it. But sometimes I do.

When the story is told again- the story weaved with lies and accusations and tied together with familiar names, including my own- all I want to do is protect and defend and and run hither and yon protecting that name. I typically stay quiet, seething only to myself. But sometimes I don't.

When I sit across the coffee table from a friend and hear about the way men have treated her, how she's been hurt, how she's been used, all I really want to do is find those boys, slap them in the face a time or two, and make sure to send my dad right behind me with his own set of muscles. I don't actually do either, but I sure do want to.

When I hear that person encouraging spiritual bondage and calling it Jesus' way, taking God's very nature and heart in vain- my eyes turn red and every cell in my body seems to revolt. All I want to do is shout an alternate message from every rooftop through the voice of my own anger and hurt, shouting unheard truth into bleeding ears. I don't always. But I usually do.

I wonder sometimes. I wonder about the family of ones who were murdered. I wonder about the innocent victims of those rapists. I wonder about the children of the corrupt world leaders, and the wife who found another woman in her marriage bed. I wonder about them.

What does grace look like in their lives?

What about the ones who deal with the pain and scars of those acts every single day?

How do they view our declarations of radical grace toward the ones who tore apart their lives, when we can't even give the grumpy sales clerk or the awful driver a break?

How much undeserved grace to they give? How much do I give?

Where is that frayed line between personal boundaries and God's supernatural ability to love through flawed, imperfect people?

I don't think I'll ever know the answer to this while I'm still here on earth. But I would love to sit down and talk to Jesus about this in Heaven one day.

What does grace look like, God?

I can't tell you what it looks like, friends.

But I believe in it.

I believe in Grace.

I believe in radical Grace.

Love and grace to you,
Lyss

A Spoonful of Sugar

I will never tire of watching the children delight in Mary Poppins. 

Call me crazy, but I LOVE the movie and I LOVE her. I mean, seriously. She is the best nanny in the world. 

I finally, finally, finally got the four year old to sit down and watch it with me a couple of weeks ago. and he's officially obsessed. He will now watch it whenever I let him turn on the television. Sometimes, he just wants me to fast forward so he can watch all of the music and dancing scenes. He loves it. I love it. 

Today, as I watched little man laugh and move to Mary's catchy songs, I couldn't help but think about what she was teaching the children. I watched Mary, moving dramatically around the nursery, snapping and singing about the "fun" to be found in cleaning. I can hear Julie Andrew's voice now, happily lilting along. "Just a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down... ". It's in this scene that she lovingly teaches Michael and Jane that it takes just a little bit of sweetness in life to make the hard stuff a bit easier. 

I have watched this classic film over and over again. But today, I'll admit, I was slightly skeptical. 

I've had my own medicine to swallow this week. Medicine that I know is for my good, but it doesn't mean I like taking it. There are times when I feel like Jesus hands me the meds and says, "Here. Take this." and bam. I'm suddenly choking on it. 

I found myself asking today: "God, where's my spoonful of sugar? Can't you just make this easier?" 

As a little girl, I remember going to my friend Marie's house for a sleepover and I got sick. Her momma crushed up child's pain reliever on a teaspoon, then completely covered it in honey. It made the most awful, disgusting powder seem tolerable. Yummy, even. Back then I didn't mind medicine that much. at least not when I got to have it that way. 

So, today, I found myself searching high and low. Surely there is something to make this all go down easier. Isn't there anything to help the bitter after-taste? Where can I find the spoonful of goodness to help me take my medicine? 

As the kids went down for naps, I grabbed a Bible and went outside on the porch. 

... and I found everything I needed to ease the icky taste in my mouth. 

I can meditate on these things: 

Jesus will never leave me or forsake me. Joshua 1:5 tells me so. 

Jesus died on the cross suffering every pain and every tragedy in my place. Isaiah 53:4-6 tells me so. 

Jesus understands my circumstances. Hebrews 4:14-16 tells me so. 

... and it doesn't stop there. I can keep resting and leaning into more beautiful promises from His Word. 

The promise that He will give strength and grace when I need it. Psalm 18:1-3. 

The promise that above all others, He is in control. Psalm 147:4-5. 

The promise that He loves me wildly and deeply. Zephaniah 3:17. 

Oh, how I need to remember these refreshing truths in every season of my life! But how sweet they are to rest in during trial or hardship. His sweetness breaks through any and all bitterness. 

His name is like honey on my lips. Taste and see that He is good. 

When I am frustrated over circumstances beyond my control... Jesus, You are good. 

If illness and tragedy crosses my path... Jesus, You are good. 

In the middle of conflict... Jesus, You are good. 

When I am absolutely, undeniably afraid... Jesus, You are good. 

In the midst of big transitions and sudden loss... Jesus, You are good. 

If it's time to make a hard decision... Jesus, You are good. 

Jesus, You are good. All of my life. In every season. 

He is always enough. 

"I will sing to the Lord as long as I live; I will sing praise to my God while I have my being. May my meditation be sweet to Him; I will be glad in the Lord." Psalm 104:33-34. 

Hugs, 

Lyss

Hey there, 20's.

Here's just a glimpse of what the teenage years held:

two graduations. 

traveling: canada, disneyland, ohio, minnesota, new york, LA, boston, virgin islands, seattle, portland, mexico. 

three moves. 

speeches. 

dutch bros. 

permit, then license. 

adulthood. 

illness. 

betrayal. 

college. whoa. college. 

a mission's trip. 

four cars. 

three car accidents. 

road trips. 

4 plays, five musicals.

writing. 

youth group. 

teaching. 

nannying: 11 kids full time, countless part time. 

best friends. 

loss. 

report cards. 

four pairs of glasses.
singing.

wedding planning (not for me. obviously. haha.)

reading. lots and lots of reading. 

lake days. 

dreams.
laughter. 

family.

a boyfriend. 

Emma. 

discipleship.  

Gilmore Girls. 

music. endless music. 

letters. 

hurt. 

healing. 

Beauty. 

Hope. 

Gratitude. 

It's been a wild ride, teen years. 

Hey there, 20's. Nice to meet you. It's going to be the best decade yet. 

Ready or not, here I come. 

Love, 

Lyss

I get it.

After spending almost an hour searching Netflix for a movie to watch tonight, I realized something: 

Sometimes, I get tired of silver-screen love stories.

I roll my eyes. I cringe. I smirk. 

Because in real life? It doesn't always work out. and I'm tired of watching movies where it always does. 

Don't get me wrong: I have spent many many hours huddled up with friends laughing during those hilariously wonderful romantic comedies, grinning ear to ear. 

But I'm just tired of them right now. 

It's not a feeling of hopelessness. It's not a lack of trust in Jesus. It's just frustration. 

... and I can't find a movie I want to watch for the life of me. 

I'm at a place where it just feels impossible- not hopeless, not doubtful, just not logical. Where is this man going to come from? Will it be worth the sacrifices? What am I doing wrong? What am I doing right? How in the world is this going to work out?

In a movie, this is right where the plot would twist and a handsome knight comes riding in. In real life, this is where I go clean up puppy pee, throw in a load of laundry, and keep on going... but nothing changes. 

I have always tried to be transparent and honest in my writing. So even today, when these words feel immature, embarrassing, and fairly lame, I'm gonna go with it. 

I have some pretty amazing younger girls in my life right now that I get to love and speak into. and one of the things I've heard myself repeating over and over again is the importance of feeling the emotion in your heart- don't ignore it, don't blow it out of proportion, but feel it. 

So I won't wallow in this frustration. I won't wallow in the fear. 

But I will feel it. I'll name it. I'll recognize it and remember that this is a season with a purpose. 

So, if you feel that today, I get it. 

There is hope for you. and for me. 

This won't last forever. 

We're not forgotten. 

1 Peter 5:7, "Cast all your anxiety on Him, because He cares for you." 

Amen. 

You are loved, 

Lyss