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

addicts and thanks.

I've been addicted.

I've been addicted to structure, perfectionism, and stress.

I had somehow smeared my life into one really ugly blur. 

A dear momma friend of mine challenged me to do something: When I felt it in my veins, the stress racing through my blood, the speed of perfectionism circulating angrily... I was to audibly give thanks. Give thanks right out loud. That was it. It wasn't complicated. and it wasn't easy.

The stress intervention? Just a straight up dose of gratitude.

We did it together. For two weeks. Last summer.

I'd sling the baby up on my hip and holler hard for the kids to hurry. Oh, how the clock can tick like thunder in my ears and suddenly I feel my voice become like lightning, striking little souls.

When the stress strikes and I'm heavily under the influence of perfectionism, then is the time for the injection of thankfulness. I'd breathe deeply and say it out loud:

"Thank You for crazy beautiful kids. Thank You for ridiculous lincoln logs. Thank You for mismatched socks. And thank You that we get to be here. breathing. together. right now."

And suddenly my breathing would slow and my heart would be full.

Giving thanks is profoundly life giving.

But an hour later, there I was again. On my hamster wheel. Popping the perfectionism like a pill. It makes us all hurt. Why in the world do I do this?

But once again, I spit out that pill and pop a different one. I refuse to be a perfectionism addict.

Give me grace for gratitude, Jesus.

... and each time it gets a little bit easier. A little bit easier to interrupt that stress with thanks.

For fourteen days, we sent the stress packing and asked gratitude to make it's home.

Multiply the thanks, decrease the stress.

It wasn't complicated. It isn't complicated.

It wasn't easy. It isn't easy.

But it's really beautiful. Giving thanks, in so many ways, gave me my life back.

My thoughts today, on this beautiful fall holiday, surrounded by family and beautiful friends, are rather simple:

If gratitude is an antidote for anxiety...

If giving thanks is the cure for stress...

why do we confine thanksgiving to one day a year when giving thanks has the ability to revolutionize our whole entire lives?

I watch how she reads. I watch how his little eyes flutter as he succumbs to sleep. I watch how the light falls. I watch how the windshield wipers ebb and flow. I watch.

I do this. I record the gifts that He gives. I gather up these moments like manna from heaven.

It's a feast every single day, my sweet friends.

We are given a Thanksgiving feast everyday.

Joy is a product of gratitude. and gratitude is a product of a perspective.

We can change our lives. We just have to change the way we see.

Choosing to be aware of blessing, seeing beauty in the mundane, documenting the abundance of gifts- this is what changes what we are looking for. This is what changes our perspective.

Thanksgiving isn't just today.

Giving thanks is the lens through which Jesus intends for us to capture joy all year round.

Best friend's hands gloriously go up in surrendered worship. She is beaming.

The stress is untangling.

This moment is a gift. I watch. I remember it. I write it down.

"The sound of community dancing with one heart..."

and I feel the stress begin to evaporate. the perfectionism finds no place in my soul.

Why miss our lives?

Why miss all the ways He loves?

I want to be here. awake to His crazy Grace.

We're all addicted to busy. We're addicted to schedules and time and accomplishment.

But I am choosing to chase after God's best for me.

Seeking Him. Praising Him. Trusting Him.

Thanking Him.

And there it is, at the beginning of the gift-giving season. The most beautiful picture.

His beloved children.

Sitting at His feet counting the happy grace of all His endless gifts.

Because Thanksgiving is so so much more than a holiday.

It's the way to wake up to fully living the life God has for you.

Wherever you are tonight, rest sweetly in the perfection of His lavish, extraordinary love for you. Count blessings, collect His gifts, count it all as joy.

Love to you, family and friends.

I'm so grateful for each of you, today and every day.

~Lyss

"Enter by saying: 'Thank you.' Make yourselves at home, talking praise. Thank him. Worship him. For God is sheer beauty, all-generous in love, loyal always and ever." Psalm 100:4-5, the Message

Go ahead. Knock.

Music off, computer off, phone left on silent and put away.

I've been dabbling with the silence lately.

I don't usually sit in quiet. hardly ever.

But lately, I've just needed to listen. I need to soak up the fullness of His presence and hear His voice.

But the truth about the quiet is that it has opened me up so wide. It has turned on dulled senses. It has faced me toward some of the most raw and lonely places.

It is a constant struggle for me not to reach for my phone, always at my side. With my mouth I say I want to walk with God, but so often my actions shout that I crave a culturally acceptable numbness that keeps me from pain.

So many of us know truth with our ears. We know truth in song. We know truth in sweet conversations with friends. But it feels rare to experience truth in the seething corners of our hearts or in the hurtful, skewed moments we keep close and buried. We start to feel the quiet working on us... and we reach for the phone, scroll through instagram or twitter or facebook.

So I pursue the intimate presence of my Jesus. my heart beats in a steady rhythm. my world becomes quiet.

... and I start to ask Jesus what He felt when He was here on earth. Fully human, fully God. God with breakable bones. Then I imagine the desperate, internal communion Jesus faithfully kept with His Father. and I know I want it, too.

Because of who Jesus was, is, and always will be, I am able to embrace the lonely. No need to hide from it. I am choosing instead to ask Jesus into it with me.

It's then when I find myself truly not alone.

Even in our most unified moments as humans, we can feel alone. Even with your most favorite friends, in huge crowds. Even with a husband at your side, and a full quiver of kids. Every single one of us can find ourselves deep in the crevices of loneliness. We find ourselves feeling exposed. unfixed. Because there is no people fix, no earthly father, no covering that will captivate our souls like the covering that Jesus gives.

You know what I'm realizing in the lonely?

I'm realizing a Love that recklessly pursues me. I'm realizing the beauty to be found in sitting with my ever-present Jesus and inviting Him into every nook and cranny of my soul. I'm realizing that it's from the solitude found in His presence that I am then able to reach out to community and practice the healing of togetherness in Him.

Too often in loneliness, I look for a quick fix. I want it fixed now. I don't want to be lonely anymore. So out comes the phone, the computer, the tv.

But I think sometimes the answer is something entirely different.

What if we allowed the quiet? What if we faced the lonely? What if we entered into the secret place and asked Jesus to sit in the loneliness with us for a bit?

I think maybe that lonely place might be exactly where the door is. The door we are invited to freely knock on. The one which Jesus promises to open.

So go ahead.

Knock.

Love to you,
Alyssa

because the world needs more love letters.

I have something to share with you today.

and I am so so excited.

I really just wish you could see my face as I write this. There joy and delight and passion dancing in my eyes. I can't seem to type fast enough.

This isn't going to be long and drawn out. I could spend hours and hours sharing my heart with you. My heart for people. My love of words. The power in words. The magic in words. and if you want to, let's grab coffee sometime. I love coffee dates. and I love heart-sharing.

But today, I'd really like you to watch this video.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=n56JDif4hnw

Please. Take five minutes and watch it.

Then visit the website if you wish. http://www.moreloveletters.com/

Letters.

They're simple.

They're powerful.

They're beautiful.

My sister and I started writing letters to each other a few months ago. Sometimes they are pages and pages long, while other times they're simply a sentence. I save every single one. The post-it note scribbles, the journaled declarations of whispered dreams, and the folded paper thank you's. I save them. Because they're so valuable. I love watching the progression. Letters that started out filtered and scared, filled with fear and apprehension... are now raw and messy and perfectly beautiful. We grow closer and closer with each letter scrawled, sealed, and sent.

I have personally seen the fruit of letters. I've written about it before. I've spoken about it before.

But you know what I'm so excited about?? I'm excited to write to strangers. I'm excited to write to my friends. REALLY write to them. Not just send a text or write on their facebook wall. I'm excited to pull out pen and paper. I'm excited to send my cousin a letter just telling her absolutely beautiful she is and how thankful I am for her.

But first, I'd like to tell YOU something.

I'm sitting in the library waiting for my next class. and I'm thinking about wherever you are right now.

Whether you're in the carpool line waiting to pick up your babies, or you're in an office cubicle counting down the minutes until you can head home. Whether you're sixteen or you're sixty. Whether you are right around the corner, or halfway across the world.

I'm thinking about how absolutely magnificent you are.

I wish I could just cup your beautiful face in my hands and say this to you:

You have been so perfectly created. You fill a role that no one else can fill.

You are changing the world just by being YOU.

Glorious, messy, Jesus-filled YOU. 

The one who makes mistakes and keeps on trying. 

The one who is learning about her gifts. learning about grace. learning about dreams. 

The one loving, laughing, soaking up His call on your life. 

The one crying out. 

The one waiting. 

The one who is being molded to be more like Him every single day. 

Yep. YOU. 

World-changer. 

Maybe diaper-changer, too. 

Maybe paper-in-the-printer changer, too. 

You're the only one we've got. 

Wherever you are, whatever you're doing, whoever you're with... you are needed. 

The only world you can change is the one you're in. right here, right now. 

So carry on, my incredible friends. 

You're making a difference. 

You are valuable. 

You are precious. More than priceless is your worth. 

You are loved.

Now it's your turn. Go grab some pen and paper. Write. Send. Love.

Hugs,
Lyss

“It is a surreal feeling, to compose a letter to an individual that you have no ties to but at the same time you want the whole wide world for them. I wished them a bright day. A day full of laughter. I told them they were unique & special & really quite smashing. Really, we are not told enough, in a genuine noncommercial manner, how brilliant we are. How intriguing and wonderful we are. How much we should be commended for waking up today and deciding to take on the task of being human. It is not an easy task. It is not always fun. But it is wildly worth it. Better that we write all these things down.”