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

the {not so} good girl.

I asked Jesus into my heart when I was little. Little little.

But I didn't really start walking closely with Jesus until junior high. Junior high camp where I asked Jesus to reign in my life. To take control. To flood my life with His voice and His power. Honestly, I think in my naive twelve year old brain, I expected Him to do a complete overhaul of my entire life.

and He did. Just not in the ways I would have thought. I thought and hoped that everything would be better. easier. prettier. softer. whole.

The overhaul came. it still comes. in many forms.

That fight with a parent. The friend that leaves. The selfishness that rears its ugly head. The emotional tidal wave.

But the worst change? The goody-two-shoes attitude I claimed and carried with me. I adopted a presence of arrogance, and thought my Jesus-loving passion could not be matched.

I thought I'd been doing pretty great keeping my act together as the "good girl" for years, but it was nothing compared to the weight I felt once I started following Jesus. Grace wasn't in my vocabulary. If I was a good girl before Jesus, I had to be the best after Jesus. Because if I wasn't, people would get the wrong idea about my God. and I obviously couldn't let that happen. I knew I was being watched. I had to prove that this wasn't just a phase I'd grow out of... I was really being changed. refined. molded.

It's been almost eight years since that junior high camp. The camp where I first spoke with Jesus in a really intimate way. And it's been eight years of sin. of ugly twists and turns. of some really hard sharpening. My yearning for the appearance of perfection only got stronger as I got older, especially as my circles of influence seemed to widen as a teacher, a writer, a friend. I had to keep it all together, letting nothing slip through the cracks.

You know what? That only works for so long. The cracks start to leak.

The past couple of years have been a fight for truth, a release of the need to be perfect. It's been a process of learning how to be comfortable in who God has made me to be. It's been sharing with others the seemingly gigantic, ugly ways I've messed up. The gigantic, ugly ways I still mess up. It's been telling my story, my testimony, no matter how pathetic and awful and downright unattractive I might look in its light.

At this point in my walk with Jesus, I've been tested and tried through the fires of being authentic and vulnerable... of letting people know of my constant sinning... and falling back into grace every.single.time. It's okay not to be okay. and though I wrestle with this, and will probably struggle with this my whole life, I believe and claim that no one's opinion of me matters except One.

I am just a girl. Flawed. Imperfect. I'm trying my best to love Jesus.

I'm holding on to truth that I chose not to believe for so long.

The truth that no matter what I say. No matter what I do. No matter what happens to me...

Grace is there to catch. Love is there to redeem. Hope is there to remind.

I'm loved.

Deeply. Perfectly. Forever.

That's what's changing me.

You are loved,
Lyss

Dangerous Beauty.

I recently finished reading a really odd, really creative, really hard book.

It's called delirium. 

It's about a society that outlaws love. Emotion is considered a disease. In order to fight the disease, the government initiates a program. At the age of 18, men and women undergo a "cure", which equates to brain surgery. 

When the procedure is complete, adults are left void of emotion. void of all feeling. No hope. No despair. No pain. No love. 

love brings death, they believe. 

In order to avoid pain, they take away the good. 

I closed the book, and just sat on it for a while. 

I tried to imagine never feeling pain. Never feeling sick to my stomach, never feeling hurt, never feeling betrayed. Never feeling shame or disappointment or worry. 

and that sounds really, really good. 

but then I tried to imagine never knowing love. Never swelling with pride when the baby crawls for the first time. Never being overwhelmed with thankfulness for my best friend. Never having passionate discussions about deep truths with my second family. 

... and the outcome was obvious. the hard, painful, scary parts of our stories: they're worth it. 

We need hard stories.

After I read this book, I started to weave through my own testimony. started rummaging through my own moments of darkness, the places and people and moments I'd rather forget. and I started to match and mirror each of those with the redeeming, perfect love of my Father. I waded through the years of Jesus capturing my heart, speaking truth and hope into my heart. The themes of my life shout divine authority and protection. 

Slowly, the story began to take shape. The darkness faded. The tears are replaced with a small smile and a breath of relief. 

I love hearing people's stories. I always have. and every single one has included darkness. despair. pain. But it's never the darkness that stays with them. with me. It's the hope- the beauty that rings so loud in the midst of hurt. 

Here's what I believe: We know light because of darkness. Without the messy and uncomfortable, we don't know deep, true beauty. 

We like to shy away from discomfort. But I believe there's much joy and hope and peace to be had in the discomfort. Some stories aren't meant for teddy bears and rainbows and lollipops. Some stories should leave you unsettled. 

I'm humbled and grateful that I serve a God who turns ashes into beauty. He takes the messy and molds it into exactly what He knows is best. He loves us. 

If you are in a dark season, take heart. There are moments of darkness in the most beautiful stories. 

Still don't believe me?

Take a moment to rest in the perfect redemption story :: the gritty and blood stained cross. the sword piercing His flesh. the ripping of the veil. 

Maybe then you'll see that stories are meant to be dangerous. 

It's what makes them beautiful. 

Love to you, 

Lyss

take off the wig.

I watch her shake her long brown wig from side to side as she approaches the table. She is Belle today. She had just opened her new princess outfit from grammy and, despite the fact that we were going to a crowded restaurant, had insisted upon changing quickly and attending the dinner in plastic heels and a tiara. She skips back to the table after the bathroom run, and her wig has shifted and is looking slightly crazytown.  So I motion her over and help her straighten it out.

"Alyssa, are you SURE all my blonde hair is hiding?!"

I nod yes.

"And it doesn't look all funny?"

I nod no.

I smile real big because of the way her words sound with two front teeth missing. I love watching her little tongue trying to find it's place because it isn't used to the big old space being there. It's the best.

"Then I'm going to dance." We were tucked back in the corner with plenty of room to spare, so she did her little jig without hesitation. I watch her eyes catch a glimpse of a table of boys, probably around ten. For the next two minutes, her eyes are on them the.whole.time. Six years old, and already trying to impress the boys :)

I nudge her to come back and sit next to me. I start the usual rant. The "it-isn't-important-to-impress-boys-right-now" talk... and encourage her to enjoy talking with the family and keep eating.

"But, Alyssa, I look so different. I just want them to see."

I make a small humming noise, my waiting noise. My thoughts went something like "God, please drop some perfect wisdom into my mouth before I go and scar her life forever." I finish chewing and swallowing, feeling unequipped.

"Yes, love. You do look different. You look like Belle! But you're YOU. and I think you is even more beautiful."

She isn't listening. She's trying to slurp the spaghetti without getting it on her new dress. It's moderately successful until the meatball falls, which leads to a ten minute conversation about how I advised her not to put on the dress in the first place because there was the possibility of it getting dirty.

ahem.

I mean, seriously. We know what's going to happen here. The wig will get tangled, the dress will be stained, and then there's the attempt to impress middle school boys who don't even know she exists.

How ridiculous.

I mean, I would never do that.

Of course not.

"I really just want to dance a little farther away, Jesus."

Then you may, my Daughter. But my desire is for you to stay near me.

"But I look more beautiful this way, Father."

Oh, I disagree. I love you just the way I created you. It's exquisite to me. Every bit of it. 

I see what the world wants, and I move toward it. I disguise my hair. I disguise my heart, my intention, my desire... and anything that reveals truth or vulnerability.

How many years did I hide in my bedroom, or under the table, trying to morph myself into beauty. Trying to sneak away into the place where I felt worthy. felt like I mattered somehow. Only to find myself with a broken heart and a stained dress.

Daughter, you put that on yourself. Those things are not of me. 

I chose you. Before the beginning of time.

I see the pieces you have so carefully hidden.

She hops in my lap and asks me to help her take off her wig, so she can shake out "the tickles" it's giving her.

I chuckle. Because I know and understand exactly what she's feeling.

I know what it's like to feel bound by something I've created. that's not really me. that's not really God.

But I also know what it's like to be unbound. Free. Walking in who God is calling me to be.

And my prayer tonight is that she will come to know the difference.

That you will come to know the difference.

The wig comes off. She smiles that crooked little smile. No teeth. Just her.

Beautiful.

Just the way she was made to be.

Love,

Lyss

He wins.

I feel like there's about fifty seven and a half different subjects that I would love to write about right now.

Love. Prophecy. Change. Logic. Prayer. Trust.

The list could go on and on. But today I'm not really worried about sentence structure or eloquence.

Friends, I'm going to level with you.

It's been a long few years. There have been situations that seemed nothing less than dire, where I felt like there was seemingly no way out. I've begged for mercy. I've cried. I've been desperate and searching.

Sometimes, I just find myself looking back and marveling at all that God has brought me through. I gasp at the long road, and breathe a sigh of relief.

I have the choice to look at my life and feel engulfed. I have the option to feel nestled snuggly between a rock and a hard place with no wiggle room. There are seasons that seem to form around my soul and engulf me.

But then I hear the voice of God:

"I will fight for you; you just need to be still." Exodus 14:14.

Be still. Be quiet.

I don't know about you, but I'm not often quiet when I struggle.

When the storm clouds rage, it's so natural to fight back. to kick, and fuss, and try to fix it. change it. turn it around.

I am a "fixer" by nature. I love solving a problem.

But sometimes I can't solve it. I can't fix it. I can't change it.

And this frustrates me.

But there is something that's beginning to change.

Me.

It's me.

There are times when I feel so much like a little child. A child being held firm and secure during a full blown tantrum. But I'm beginning to rest. After a while, the fight gets exhausting. It's time to just rest. Rest in the arms of my perfect, loving Father. There's no energy left to fight, kick, or fuss.

I'm learning to rest fully in His sufficiency. His perfection.

“In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans.” Romans 8:26

When my Jesus tells me to be still, He means it. It's for my own good.

When I am still, the Spirit is interceding for me. He is approaching the throne of God on my behalf. It's in the act of complete surrender that peace then invades my soul. Peace about the place. Peace about the situation. Peace about the relationships. Peace about the season.

There are hard seasons. There are hard situations. There are hard people.

But being engulfed forces me to discover the deeply rooted promises of God.

I can choose to be swallowed up by fear. by anxiety. by anger. by doubt. by insecurity.

Or I can choose to believe that God is at work. Even here.

Left to myself, I will always lose the battle.

So, instead, I rest in His promises to me.

... and the battle is won in the name of the Lord.

“Those who know your name will trust in you, for you, Lord, have never forsaken those who seek you.”  Psalm 9:10

Love to you,
Lyss