hot pink cherry chip cake.

I walked into the kitchen this morning and found a cherry chip cake covered in hot pink icing and sprinkles. Just for me. Cherry chip cake is my most favorite kind of cake. It tastes nothing like cherries, but instead has a yummy almond/vanilla flavor. 
I ate some. and as I ate some, I tried not to cry. 
Today marks one year. 
365 days ago I took everything out of my childhood room and moved it into a new room. A room with navy blue chevron curtains and hand-sewn pillows. A room smothered in grace and a room welcoming my mess. It was a big mess. 
Let me back up and invite you into a piece of the story that isn't super fun to tell. The piece before the grace-room and victory cries. 
The childhood piece. 
My childhood was hard. It was really hard. 
It was filled with mental illness, lies, abuse, and a whole of pretending. 
I was an expert at pretending. An expert on the stage (as I filled my school days with performing arts) and off. A handful of people knew the truth, a good sum of people denied the truth, and countless people were kept in the dark regarding the truth. 
A year and a half ago, stability went from bad to worse and I knew I needed to get out. I was one test (literally. one test.) away from failing out of nursing school, and the bondage threatening to shackle my soul was almost too much to handle. almost. 
I discreetly began to house hunt. I looked into apartments and room rentals, guest houses and even permanent sleepovers at friend's houses. One by one, doors were closed. Discouragement set in and I attempted to battle it by begging for peace as I realized my lot in life was smaller and more glim than I ever would've imagined. 
Then I got a text message. It said, "We have a room for you and you are welcome to live here." 
I responded in shock, and quickly made plans to meet with them. I wept as Paul and Erin very delicately told me that it was time to learn love. 
And so began the last 365 days. of learning love. 
I had NO idea how to respond to love. I didn't know how to react when a mom wanted to hug me every chance she got, or a father wanted to know when I was going to be home at night. I didn't know that it was normal for a mom to ask about your day and actually listen to the response, and I didn't know it was normal for a father to give good, sound advice. I didn't know how to accept help and I didn't know how to say "I love you" in response to parental figures. I just didn't know. 
I didn't know how to be a daughter. 
So I learned the past year. and I continue to learn today. 
I look back at the last 12 months, and I just smile. So much progress, so much growth. 
I discovered new areas in my life that Jesus wanted to stretch and grow and blossom. I discovered healthy ways of dealing with fear and being out of my comfort zone. I discovered how to appropriately handle conflict and how to communicate more effectively. I discovered that holidays can be fun and it's normal and right to look forward to vacations with family. But most of all, I discovered just how loved I am. 
Of course, I always knew the Father loved me. But to be in an environment where that perfect Father love is embodied, where there is safety, and the Spirit of God- well, it's just unlike anything else I've ever experienced. 
I love my home and my life. I look back, and I can't believe how much life was injected into my soul in one little year. Like the defibrillator was placed on my family-aching heart and got a much needed jolt. I found my heartbeat again. 
A heartbeat that chases after truth, clings to family, and believes in the beauty of orphans coming home. 
I sit here looking at my hot pink slice of cake, and I know. beyond a shadow of a doubt: nothing is wasted. nothing. I love looking at the landscape of my 22 years and knowing that Jesus will use every failure, every success, every crooked path, and every obstacle for His glory. 
He promises to wipe tears from our eyes. 
He will turn our sorrow into rejoicing and weeping into dancing. 
He will comfort us with His rod and staff in the valley of the shadow of death. 
and He will use every bit of it for our good. 
He will waste nothing. 
Hope fuels the soul to impossible places, and that's exactly where hope took me this year. To impossible places. 
Thankful doesn't even begin to describe my heart today. 
I'm thankful for patient parents and belonging. 
I'm thankful for the bedroom down the hall that housed so much healing. 
and I'm thankful for hot pink cherry chip cake. 

pick up the torch.

I have seen my fair share of children. 

I've seen sweet ones and smart ones, wild ones and frustrating ones. I've seen perfectionists, leaders, dreamers, thinkers. I've seen deception and I've seen raw honesty. I've seen peace-carriers and I've seen joy-carriers and I've seen victory-carriers. I've seen kids in tune with the spirit realm, and I've seen kids struggling to understand the existence of God. I've seen kids who can't go two minutes without a hug and kids who would prefer to go a lifetime without a hug. I've seen excellent communicators, creative souls, and kids who would choose to jump in the mud over just about anything. 

I've seen a lot of personalities, a lot of hearts, and a lot of souls. 

But there is one piece of a child's identity that always, always sticks with me. No matter the age, gender, or maturity level. 

Any guesses on what it is??

It's gratitude. thankfulness. appreciation. 

Because here's the deal: 

How long do I really have to figure it out?

How long do I have to figure out how to live a life marked by fullness of joy? 

A life that my husband will delight in. 

A life marked by a woman who knows how to laugh at the days to come. 

A life built so that my children will have memories of a mama who smiles easy, listens long, makes jokes, and sings His praises on good days and in crazy messes, too. 

A life where the Christ in me, Joy Himself, is apparent to the world around me. 

How long do I really have?

I have no idea. 

But I know that all the minutes, they will have enough troubles of their own. I also know that the days I have with these people, in this place... they have enough joy. These days have more than enough Jesus. 

I just have to choose to see. 

Perspective can always, always adopt gratitude. 

And gratitude always parents joy. 

So I work on seeing. 

And sometimes, I get to work on seeing together. 

Like I said, I've seen a lot of kids. and in many cases, I have quite a bit of authority. Not only in their daily activities and schedules, but in their hearts as well. 

So together, we can choose to see gratitude. 

Any still moment we have, we pass the imaginary baton and discuss the gratitude. 

"I am thankful for my dad. For sunshine making the air warmer. For hot soup and good bread." 

"I am thankful for cheese." 

"I am thankful for my teachers and for my house and for the color orange." 

"I am thankful for trees and I'm thankful for the alphabet and I'm thankful for juice." 

"I am thankful for shoes and for sisters and for second chances." 

"I am thankful for my toys."

Everyday, we count blessings. We grow blooms of gratitude, a perspective that helps us see more clearly. 

When we give thanks, we gain joy. All of us. 

Because what will schoolwork really matter if we are bitter souls?

If the house is immaculate, but our attitudes are a mess?

If they can count, but don't know how to count all things as joy?

If we get lists done, but have lost sight of togetherness in Him?

No amount of grammar skill will ever be worthwhile if my kids don't know the language of grace and thanks. What good would it be if they could recite all the major world wars, but they don't know how to see beauty?

Focusing on what is beautiful, good, true... isn't this the truest, most important form of education? Philippians 4:8 tells us so. 

I'm not mother, but I do have the heart of a mother. and I know this: 

Kids that are grateful have better attitudes. 

Kids that are grateful better achieve their personal goals. 

Kids that are grateful have closer relationships. 

Kids that are grateful do better in school. 

Kids that are grateful have greater energy, attentiveness, and enthusiasm. 

Kids that are grateful have greater sensitivity. 

Kids who are grateful just live overall "happier" lives. 

Why?? How can gratitude do all of this? 

It's simple really. 

We were made to live in gratitude to God, giving glory to Him. 

We were made to live in a posture of grateful worship. When we live in praise, we live our purpose. 

We hand children a torch when we hand them the opportunity to be grateful, a dare to hunt for His beauty and goodness. Sparks fall and the world catches and they see light everywhere, God-glory igniting everything. 

Hand them the torch. 

Please. Please hand them the torch. Invite kids to be grateful with you. 

I don't know what that looks like for you. Maybe it's turning off the music on the way to school and beginning the day with a list of things each person is grateful for. Maybe it's keeping a journal, full of things you notice throughout the day that are beautiful, things that you love. Maybe it's writing a card once a week to someone in your work environment, school environment, home environment telling them why you're grateful for them. Maybe it's creating a thankfulness jar- filling up a space with reminders of gratitude to pull from on the crappy days. 

Maybe it needs to start a whole lot simpler than that. Maybe it's learning to say thank you for breakfast, learning to say thank you for ballet lessons, learning to say thank you for gifts and surprises. 

Or maybe you already know a life of gratitude. Maybe you already live from a place of acknowledgement, and are looking for the beauty. I am proud of you. and I am grateful for you. Keep going. Even on the days it's hard, I'm sure you can testify to it's worthiness. 

I've seen a lot of kids. 

But the grateful ones?

The grateful ones are never far from my mind. 

Hey, parents? THANK YOU. Your grateful child makes my heart beam with pride. 

My watch is ticking quiet today. 

I don't know how long I have to live full of His joy. 

But I do have right now. 

And if perspective adopts gratitude and gratitude parents joy, I will pick up the torch and run fierce and long and hard to be that kind of student, friend, daughter, sister, spouse, parent. 

The one who chooses gratitude.

yes.

2014 changed my life. 
2014 took everything I knew, everything I thought I wanted, everything I had dreamed, everything I had cried over, everything I longed for. 2014 took it. and 2014 flipped it upside down, viciously shook it, then somehow set it upright again. 
2014 changed my life. 
2014 was the year I moved out. Not just moved out, but moved IN. Moved into stability, moved into grace, and moved into peace. Moved into a home marked by Holy Spirit love and Jesus contentment. 
2014 was the year I stepped down from a five year commitment serving in the kid's wing at church. 
2014 was the year my dear friend Emma got married. 
2014 was the year I said "absolutely yes" when a handsome boy named Brett asked me to be his girlfriend. (remember this blog post? it makes me laugh). 
2014 was the year my biological parents told me they were getting a divorce. 
2014 was the year I realized that being a big sister is even better than being a princess. 
2014 was the year my best friend Rebecca got engaged. 
2014 was the year God made it clear I would go into psychiatric nursing, coming alongside those who are forgotten and stigmatized. 
2014 was the year I claimed belonging. 
2014 was the year that truth was exposed and darkness was brought into the light. 
2014 was the year I met Cindy and the year I met Michelle, two women who fiercely loved me and championed my heart. 
2014 was the year I was bombarded with tragic stories, death, and emotionally impossible situations.
2014 was the first time that holidays were met with excitement and there were too many people to count present at the dinner table. 
2014 was the year I began an extremely hard, extremely valuable healing process that drew me straight to the heart of Jesus, asking Him to mend the broken pieces of my soul. 
2014 was the year my bosses bought me a Disneyland ticket for Christmas and I almost cried. 
2014 was the year I went to bed at 10 o'clock on New Year's Eve.  ... Oh wait {just kidding} I do that every year. 
2014 was wild. 
and 2014 changed my life. 
I look ahead at 2015, and I wait with great anticipation to see how God will move and shake. 
2015 is going to change my life. 
It's going to be the year of "YES." 
I woke up this morning fully immersed in the Holy Spirit's desire for me this year. 
It's a yes year. 
I'm kind of known for "no." 
No, you can't. No, that's not a good idea. No, put that away. No, I'm not going. No, let's not. No, not now. 
And those are solely the ones directed to others. No one can know of the ones I speak only to myself, about myself, for myself. 
No, you can't be that. No, you can't do that. No good, no chance, no hope. 
Or how about the ones I try to veil, the ones I shamefully stomp at God? 
No, I don't want this! No, I'm not doing that! No, don't change this! No, leave that alone! No, don't ask this of me!
What we speak to others is what we speak to ourselves. And what we speak to ourselves is what we then speak to God. 
I have wrecked two whole decades with that two letter "no" that falls so easily from the end of my tongue, steady drip like a faulty tap. With two letters of the heavy iron, I've crushed. I've crushed hope, dreams, desires. 
True, it's the mantra of national campaigns. "just say no" is a part of every high school routine.  True, it's what is suggested we learn to say in an effort to simplify our lives in the face of constant demands on time. "Learn to say no", they say.  True, it's necessary and vital that we choose "no" in regard to sin and in regard to darkness and in regard to evil. 
But I woke up this morning, thinking back on 2014, and I know this is the year. 
I am done with "no." 
This is the year of yes. 
Yes, as in: 
"Yes, Father, for this was your good pleasure." Luke 10:21 "Yes, Lord, you know that I love you." John 21:16 "For no matter how many promises God has made, they are 'yes' in Christ." 2 Corinthians 1:20
This is the year of yes. 
Yes, let this moment be just as You intend it.  Yes, Your will be done. Not mine.  Yes, you have my whole heart. For my whole life. 
This is the year of yes. 
Yes, He made me and designed me. Perfectly! Yes, I can try!  Yes, be creative!  Yes, laugh! Yes, give it a whirl! Yes, it's really okay! Don't be afraid!
This is the year of yes. 
It's the year that I will kneel down and peer into eager faces and say, "Yes, you can!" and "Yes, that's a brilliant idea!" and "Yes, you can make that dream a reality!" 
Yes, honor. Yes, love. Yes, submit. 
Every command of "thou shalt not" ultimately is a simultaneous "yes" to Christ. 
So I choose yes. 
For every no, I will find the yes. and I will be glad in it. 
I slip out of bed and into a fresh new year. 
Into the year of yes. 

stretch.

All day long, I pray that I would be a womb for Jesus. 
On my way to school this morning, I whispered it to the Father. 
Come dwell in me, Jesus. Come dwell in me. 
When I walk in the door from the hospital or errands, to laughter and music and toys strewn everywhere... I remember. 
And I pray it earnestly, as I greet and pick up and prepare and study. The words come breathless like a woman made heavy, "A womb, Jesus. A womb. Just make me a dwelling place for You." 
When I come home irritated and frustrated by disorganization, when I get another teary phone call of confusion and try to help sort through the muck, when yet.another.person gets diagnosed with cancer, when stories are filled with drugs and anger and unfair outcomes. That's when my prayer seems to miscarry. 
I don't even remember that I've forgotten until afterward. 
When I take the time to just breathe. and remember that Hope came. and remember the figure of Mary all those years ago, swollen with the Savior, lumbering ever close to delivery. 
Doing advent activity with the kids today, baby girl counts the holes of the wreath.
"All these nights of waiting..." She methodically counts the remaining carved cups. "... we have... 1, 2, 3, 4 (and so on) more nights and Mary will be in Bethlehem!" 
She clenches her hand in giddy glee and it's not about waiting for the gifts, but waiting for the Child. 
She turns and says to me knowingly, her head slightly tilted, her nod and smile so certain, "I know it didn't take her 24 nights to really go to Bethlehem. It's just the way we count the waiting." 
She reaches for the wooden figure of Mary, and I remember. 
I see the swelling silhouette of Mary there on the back of the donkey and the starkness of it strikes me, what it really means to be a womb. 
Mary's distended. Her skin pulled taut. Her belly swells round and her abdomen bulges and she is drawn to the outer rim of herself. 
Mary, in every sense of the word, is stretched. 
To be a dwelling place of God, a womb for Jesus, means to be extended, taken to the outer edges... stretched. 
To be a womb means there will be stretch marks. 
This season of Advent may hurt. It may hurt a whole, whole lot. You may feel weary. I may feel weary. These days may not be easy. This may be God growing me, growing you. 
I reach out and touch Mary full with child and I hurt a bit in the knowing: A Christmas, one that God indwells, may very well experience pain and heartache. 
Kids will cry and siblings will bicker and relationships with grow taut. Divorce will still take place, cancer will still be brutally treated, fear and anxiety will still rear their ugly heads. There will be days where nothing seems to go right and the season feels like it's dissolving into one sloppy, muddy, impossible puddle. 
This Christmas, I'll be stretched thin. I will feel myself asked to love to the furthest edges of myself, asked to extend grace to the outermost reaches... because how else can I grow full and large and round with Christ?
To be a womb, I must feel my inner walls, my boundaries, stretch. 
and stretching the shape of a soul hurts. 
Little one waits long before she blows out the candles on this peaceful night of advent waiting. 
I linger with her in the flickering light. 
and I pray. 
I pray for those carrying Jesus this Christmas. 
For those who will extend themselves, those who will see God take them to utmost extremity of selflessness. 
For those who will yearn for Home and those who will dry tears. 
For those who will be heavy with the weight of routine or chaos. 
I pray for the stretching. when we're in the midst and feel utterly discouraged and helpless. when we're tired and overwhelmed and searching. I pray that we will give way and let God enlarge us. 
I pray for the willingness to return a phone call and try again, to let go of the stiff sides of the heart that God can rejuvenate. I pray for the grace to wash another crusty dish and fold another load of the laundry, for God can stretch even in the most mundane. I pray for the relinquishing of this season to the Father, knowing that nothing is wasted and this stretching piece of the story will be used for good.  
I pray for the soul stretch marks. 
She leans over the figurine of Mary and blows out the candles. 
We sit a moment longer, her and I. 
Expecting Jesus in all this dark... 

dear women.

Honest moment: 
Do you want to know what really (and I mean really) grinds my gears? 
Watching women battle women. FOR ABSOLUTELY NO VALID REASON.
We've all experienced it, probably over and over. We've gotten good at it, us women. It's become sneaky and abrasive and uglier and uglier. 
The publicizing of sacrifices to impress others, using oneself as the standard for others' performance, professing love but acting in cruelty, delighting in debate rather than dialogue, loving to impose opinions on others as absolute truth, wounding with words and wounding with passive action.
The whole thing makes me cringe, and I am just over it. On all levels. 
I expressed my frustration yesterday to several mommas, and the discussions that ensued were some of my favorites. Conversations of vulnerability, of eternal riches and rewards, of grace. 
And I have some thoughts about it all. 
See, here's the thing: I'm surrounded by a plethora of people day in and day out with all kinds of issues. Some of them physical, some of them emotional, some of them spiritual, some of them on a level I can't even begin to understand. 
and I'm sick and tired of so many women falling victim to the "women war." 
I'm sick and tired of hearing that women feel rejected because of the size of their pants, the size of their house, the size of their family, the size of their callings, the size of their work. 
I see it, hear it, feel it... all.the.time.
Women that are brushed off because they can't or don't or won't fit into someone else's box. 
Women who can't make their faith fit neatly and nicely into their heads and into bullet points on Sunday mornings, but let their Jesus-life roll over into their exposed closets and messy stories. 
Women who feel like they have to fit into an "appropriate" category: mommy blogger, size small, housewife, career woman, mother, retiree. 
I hear all of this, and my heart hurts. We were created in the image of God, and we are so much more than the tasks we perform every day, the number on our jeans, and the size of the mortgage check sent out every month. 
I look around at women, scarred and banged up and brave and still standing, and I have a burning and pressing desire to see them sing their song a little louder. Because they sing it well. 
We have this incredible opportunity to sing out an uncontainable song showcasing the sisterhood of women, saying NO to insecurity and NO to comparisons and NO to neat little boxes. Our lives have the opportunity to break the mundane refrain and see the world reverberate with a truth that rolls like thunder. 
Our God is the God of Hagar. He is the One who sees. 
Our God is the God who told countless stories about women, stories that were messy and large and full of color. Stories about the woman who is trampled to get a glimpse of His face, about the woman in her house seeking and finding the Kingdom of God, of the prostitute being fiercely protected and assured. 
Our God is the God who fights for us, fights for the woman who won't walk away from the unjust judge, who will not walk away from the call, the plea, the women who never give up- and He says she is honored and His, the woman who continues, who gives, who believes in grace. 
Our God is the God who loves and wants our best, no matter the sacrifice. Just like the woman, the widow, who walked into the temple, and gave the very smallest of coins. and it was enough. 
Our God. He praises the woman who did what she could. The woman who gave everything she had in the small and the sacrificed, and He said it was everything and He deems it large. 
This is who we are. It's who are meant to be. 
We are women who want the things that God wants. More than we are afraid of it. 
We are the women who know and respond when the love of Jesus motivates, pressing into the Holy Spirit and releasing all fear. 
We are the women who know real joy is not found in having the best of everything, but rather in trusting that God's making the best of everything. 
We are the women who make our lives about the cause of Christ, not the applause of man. 
We are the women who live to shout out truth, not to impress our FB/insta/twitter friends. 
We are women whose hearts beat not to make our presence known, but to make Christ's presence tangible. 
We are the women who know it's not all about us. but it IS all about Jesus. 
We are the women who can have dirty hair and messy floors, the women who can have perfect hair and vacuum lines, the women who are a size two and the women who are a size twenty-two, the women who work full-time at home or full time at the office, the women who are soft-spoken and women who are, well, not. 
We can break this mold of cruelty and battle among women. 
We can claim belonging, and let that belonging spill over into shocking, radiant love. 
We are women, and it's time to stop acting like girls. 
Girls rival. Women revive.  Girls empale. Women empower.  Girls compare. Women champion. 
We were made to peace makers and freedom shakers. 
So you can take your glossy little Vogue covers and go ahead and use them for window washing because our standard of beauty far exceeds what is painted as perfection. Our standard of beauty is raw, real, and genuine, and has absolutely nothing to do with the pant size or hair color. 
So, today, I am asking. Asking that as women, we begin to stand and sing an anthem with breaking free abandon. An anthem that binds us together instead of pins us against one another. 
A simple anthem, one that starts in the hidden corners of each brain and in the deep places of each heart. 
Jesus takes all of me. 
Maybe when we get to that place in our own lives, we will begin to pour it back out on others. 
Believing with great hope today that I will see this in my day. An army of mighty warriors coming together with one purpose, and one heart. 

puke buckets and destiny.

I have a momma's heart. 

I'm writing from the playroom oversized chair. The boys are vomiting in turn, sitting up sad in bed and crib. Big brother is silent and brave, almost like he knows the drill. He finishes and lies back down, and I wipe his lips with a wet cloth. 

"Nanny, will you bring me a bucket?" 

"Yes, baby, I will." 

Little brother is more distraught. This bug is vicious and mean, which explains why his feelings are so hurt by it all. 

"I want to make me feel better." 

"I want to make you feel better too, love." 

"Nanny, will you watch over me?" 

"Yes, buddy. I will." 

They (whoever "they" is) say that motherhood is sacred- that every day acts of diaper changing and feedings and laundry loads are somehow holy, anointed and appointed by Jesus. and I say I believe it. But then I hold his four year old little body up while he succumbs to the wicked virus and I feel his muscles wrench beneath my touch. and I feel it. 

I feel it in my hands all the way to my heart that this will forever and always be the most "right" thing I could ever hope to do. I just can't imagine my heart beating stronger. 

It's strange to say, but this whole kid world? It fills me up. It always has. Folding towels and cleaning the lint trap again feels somehow like scraping out all that's clogging my soul. I don't expect these feelings of melodrama to last, and I'm not blind to the HARD of being a parent. But I'm soaking in these moments of belonging. I belong in this world, with puke buckets and sticky hands. 

I'm in nursing school. Almost done with nursing school, actually. and I love it. I really truly love it. I love problem-solving, and I love decision-making, and I love the pace and the conversation. 

But tonight, I'm remembering my first calling. My truest one. I feel God's favor on this destiny that he's set deep down in my bones. There are times, even now, when it wipes me out flat. But more often than not, it fills me up. to my core. Not physically- kids are alllll kinds of exhausting- but in an important, intangible way I'm not sure I could describe. 

I was made to be a mother. A fierce and powerful mother. 

And I'm not waiting to step into that identity. Because it matters now. 

I was made to stand alongside and raise them up tall, to hold them up when they're sad or scared or sick as a dog. 

So I will do that. Even now. For a few hours with the babies on weeknights and weekends, and for every moment in between with those beating hearts that crave belonging and hope. 

... They're asleep now, two sweet boys. 

and my heart is full. 

my momma's heart is full. 

he wins.

God wins. 
It's simple, really. 
We complicate it. 
We wonder. We fear. Then we try to simplify again. 
But really? That's it. 
God wins. 
He told is in red letter words, in prophets of old. and He tells us all the time in the untouchable hope we carry deep within our souls. 
God wins. 
God wins in each small battle. 
And He wins in the insurmountable odds. In the ugly. In the beginning of time, and the end of it too. 
In the unknown territory? God wins. 
Wondering how the story will end? God wins. 
Wondering how your story will end? God wins. 
You know Him?? Yeah. God won you. 
So when I seem to be in the worst of situations and I'm struggling for air, I will choose to see that every piece of my life is filtered and funneled through the perfect hands of Jesus. and I claim victory. 
Because He wins. 
So I win, too.