i've won.

The hard pavement feels like a punch with every step. The hill's steepness taunts me and tries to steal my breath. But what really tempts me to quit are the accusations that follow me: "You're going so slow. You're not getting anywhere. This must be your worst effort ever." 
I cried the whole run (the whole run), letting that doubt and discouragement sneak into so many areas of my heart.
I cried until I finished. And I noticed something. I finished the "terrible" run only to discover that my time had gotten faster. Huh. 
I started looking more closely at the pieces of my life where negative thoughts tried to trip me up and I found that the same principle applied. In the moments when I want to give up, when I feel weak and exhausted, when I think I can't do it... I'm often getting stronger. 
We're not tired because we're failing. We're tired because we're fighting. 
We're not weary because we're weak. We're weary because we're winning a fierce battle. 
We're not struggling because we're quitters. We're struggling because we're refusing to give up. 
So I'm slowly learning to respond differently. When fear or doubt or insecurity rears it's head, I try to tell myself something like, "This must mean I'm running this race harder and faster than ever before." 
Even if it doesn't feel like it in this moment, in this conversation, in this decision. I am running. I am running hard and fast. and I am doing well. 
Let's not allow ourselves to be convinced we should give up because we think we're not doing well enough. Instead let's recognize the strain and pain for what they are: signs of growth. Resistance usually means we are breaking through what has held us back and choosing to push forward with all our might for what God has for us. 
I've come to love and hate the phenomenon that somewhere in the place between what is comfortable and what feels like it may kill us is where we become all that we were created to be. 
I finished my run. My time was better. 
I'm not taking that victory, or any of the others, lightly. I fought for every teeth-gritting second of it. I'm covered in sweat, smell terrible, and probably looked about as graceful as a crazed monkey by my last step. But I didn't quit. And I didn't die. In this world, that's the best we can do some days. 
The crowd of accusers, of doubters, and discouragers? We can silence them. We can speak out. 
I face the path behind me. The path where I ran, the path of my childhood, the path of my education, the path of disappointment and shame. 
I face that path and declare to all the lies that tried to stop me, tried to stand in my way, "I'm stronger than I seem." 
Then I turn on my heels and walk away. 
I've won for today.         
XOXO                             

already crazy about you.

Dear baby girl, 
I used to shun anything and everything silk or feminine because I never wanted a man to notice me. Because men did things we didn't want them to, and took things that weren't theirs to take. 
I wore bulky sweaters and baggy pants and walked around hoping a lot of yardage might make their souls invisible. I avoided mirrors like an allergy that might make it hard to breath. 
One time, I followed a recipe in Seventeen magazine for DIY mousse. And then I went around with this sticky mess of hair that had sugar shaking out of it like a serious medical emergency case of dandruff. 
And those years in junior high when everyone started highlighting their hair and investing in their own personal curling iron, asking for makeup for Christmas?
I twisted bandanas of every possible color and shade into my messy bun and called it a good day if I got mascara on the eyelashes. Numbers on tags seems like undeniable proof of ugliness and standing in a room full of primped girls could make the self-loathing gnaw right into my blushing insides. 
Bikinis can taunt mean and clothes can mock loud and I've stood in front of mirrors and looked right into those eyes and whispered it loud: loser. 
Being a woman every day can be a minefield. 
But maybe, if you see your momma comfortable in her own skin, if you see her take care of her body, it will spare you just a bit from this phenomenon. 
Because baby, every woman should breathe peace in her own exquisite skin. 
I pray for you that you will see how you sparkle. That no glossy, media-induced, photo-shopped lies can steal away your God-given joy in being fully you. 
Your soul was made to perfectly fit your skin. 
I will tell you at the sink and at the mirror and at the door that your Father made you fearfully and wonderfully and uniquely. I will tell you that you are the perfect-sized you for a God-sized plan. 
I'll say it in the dressing room and to the shaming thoughts you share behind closed doors. And we'll say it to every woman who hides. That you, that I, that we, that they are daughters. His Daughters. And we fit into any swimsuit, dress suit, shimmering suit. Because we are suited up in armor of Christ, so media arrows or childhood arrows or other-people's-comments arrows cannot harm us. 
There will be days that pierce you. Days that hurt. But if you turn toward His grace, the bullets and barbaric of this world stand no chance. You'll only be more lovely, as His grace turns you around and carries you beyond the ugliness of the earth. I promise you this. 
I will love you deeply, little one. And I will see your face as pure Jesus- masterpiece. Because it's the truth. 
I'll tell you how beautiful you are. Maybe even a dozen times a day. I'll say it when you're little, when you're bigger, and even when you say "I do." Because even if you have a man saying it, sometimes you just need a momma to speak into your scraped and bleeding places. 
You are so beautiful. So soul beautiful. 
It may not be easy to be a woman in this world. But it's always perfect to be a woman in His hand. 
I will hold you and affirm you in the firm grip of Jesus and whisper to you what the Father has already said about you. 
You are a treasure. Love is being lavished on you and you aren't ever rejected but instead loved everlastingly and over you, {over you}, Jesus sings this song. And it's one breathtakingly magical song. 
Your someday mom is already crazy about you, little one.  

freedom.

2015. What a wild year. 

It was the year I almost quit school. I was in over my head, run down, and exhausted. 

It was the year I didn't quit school. I kept on. 

It was the year my favorite Rebecca got married. 

It was the year I graduated from Simpson University with a Bachelor's of Science in Nursing. 

It was the year my family and friends planned a surprise trip to New York City full of broadway shows and taxi rides and incredible food. 

It was the year we stayed up until midnight on Mother's day painting the bathroom gold. 

It was the year I took NCLEX; it was the year I found out on my birthday that I had passed. 

It was the year I moved out of the home that taught me what a healthy marriage looked like, what unconditional love looked like, and what boundaries looked like. 

It was the year I moved into my little house on the hill, with its gorgeous hardwood floors and grey walls. 

It was the year one of my most favorite moms planned a birthday tea party for me and one of my dearest friends. 

It was the year I dated a boy named Christian. Before we went our separate ways, he taught me about gentleness and sensitivity and healthy conflict resolution. 

It was the year I met Darsy Claire for the first time, my sweet friend's first baby. 

It was the year my five-year friend Caitlin found out she was pregnant with a baby boy. 

It was the year I found myself in Disneyland a handful of times, each time just as magical. 

It was the year we saw Amy Schumer live. 

It was the year I travelled to Hawaii with my second family. We ziplined. We ate fruit. Lots of fruit. We saw Waimea Canyon. We ate the best fish. We sat by the pool. 

It was the year I met Anna and Victoria. Oh man, these girls. I just love them. I've learned so much from them about communication, about trust, about perseverance, about letting go. 

It was the year I started planning a Disneyworld trip for 2016!

It was the year I pulled my boss's son out of school for the day, and we went to the snow. 

It was the year I became a full time personal assistant. and it was the year I realized this was the best decision I've ever made. 

It was the year I watched countless children grow another year older, a sensation I both mourn and celebrate. 

It was the year I started spending time with Doug and Michelle every week, two people who were pivotal in championing my heart and my dreams. 

It was the year I became a little less independent, saying yes to help when necessary. 

It was the year Erin held me as I cried, and I heard her heartbeat, a moment permanently seared into my brain. 

It was the year I experienced Jesus in a new way; the year I believed Him. 

2015 changed my life. Just like 2014 did. Just like 2016 will. 

Every year, I pick a word. For the month of December, I ask Jesus what He has for me in the upcoming months.

In 2010, my word was jubilee. I learned to celebrate milestones and embrace victories. 

In 2011, my word was cling. I learned to hold tightly to truth, to hope, and to His promises. 

In 2012, my word was disciple. I learned to teach, to proclaim, to learn. 

In 2013, my word was abide. I learned what it meant to rest with Jesus. 

In 2014, my word was contentment. I learned to lean into the wild love of God, to lean humbly and confidently into it's bigness. 

In 2015, my word was yes. I learned that every no is simultaneously a YES to something, to someone. and I found that yes last year. I chose my "yes" well. 

This year? I struggled with this year. What do You have for me, Father? What do I declare over 2016?

It wasn't until late one night this week that it was crystal clear: 

Freedom. 

/ˈfrēdəm/

noun. 

- the state of not being imprisoned or enslaved.

You guys, that definition makes me cry the ugly cry. I am not imprisoned. I am not enslaved. 

I have often pictured God’s will for my life like a thin, definitive line. A tightrope I must walk carefully and with the utmost caution. One wrong step and I'll surely fall. And when I do, I'll mess up my future forever.

But this year, I'm going to experience freedom. I'm going to live in freedom like I never have before. Because when we come to know Jesus, our life is not a tightrope but a wide, open space of grace. We have so much room to breathe, to grow, to learn. He knows we are human. He knows we will take detours, face obstacles, and make mistakes. If He were committed to using only those of us who never stray, then no human would ever be part of His plan.

The fear of not getting it just right can paralyze me. I stand with my toes on that imaginary tightrope, perfectly still, and I miss out on so much of what could be. I miss the invitation from the One calling me to His side.

I'm done missing out. I'm saying YES to the wild journey. 

I was made to move in grace, to act in freedom- not to be held in place by fear. I am guided by love and by a Father who can redirect me as many times as needed. I only need to be willing to follow His voice. He will do the rest. Life is meant to be a glorious adventure, not merely a test of survival. 

So what does this look like? What does freedom practically look like this year? In 2016? For the rest of my life?

To be honest, I'm not entirely sure. But I have a few ideas.

Laughing out loud. 

Investing in healthy relationships. 

Spontaneous dance parties. 

Sitting outside, book in hand. 

A nap.

Asking for help. 

Road trips. 

Making mistakes, and beginning again. 

Grace spread out like a picnic and God handing me a paper plate.

I had a friend tell me once: "Lyss, freedom given isn't complete. It’s only when you receive it, enjoy it, give thanks for it that becomes fully ours."

I receive you, freedom. I'm going to enjoy you. I'm so thankful that Jesus gave me you. 

I was not made to walk a tightrope.

I was made to dance.

And it’s not about getting the steps right.

Instead it’s all about being close to my Partner.

Here we go, 2016. Freedom awaits.

brave.

We were acquaintances. 
I knew they owned a successful coffee company.  I knew they had two incredible little boys.  And I knew they were stunning people, in both body and soul. 
That's it. I knew nothing of their lifestyle. I knew nothing about what makes them tick, what gets them up in the morning. I knew nothing of their extravagant giving to the community and to their people. 
Then she posted on social media that they were looking for a part-time personal assistant. I sent her an email that very day, attempting to explain my admiration for them even though I knew them so little. I explained my position in nursing school, explained why I felt I could learn to be a great PA, and explained that I'd love to run with them. 
I interviewed with them a week later.  I interviewed with three of their best girls a few days after that. 
And 365 days ago, I was offered a job that would change my whole life. 
I'm sitting in my little house on the hill, the room lit only by the Christmas tree. I'm working on several projects, soaking up every second of this surprise life. I find myself on a constant journey of searching for bravery and I've realized over the last year that when I look for courage, I tend to find it wherever I go. 
I have friends that live in India. They've been there for several years now, and I look at their lives in wonder and amazement. They learned a new language. They encounter foreign diseases and ailments. They deal with extreme temperatures. They are thousands of miles away from family. They're doing brave, hard things- things I'm not sure I would be able to do. And they do it, not because it's glamorous or glorifying, but because they're in the place where Jesus wants them to be, doing the work that Jesus has called them to do. 
I think that's true for all of us. 
I think we're at our bravest when we're in the place where Jesus wants us to be, doing the work that Jesus has called us to do. 
Perhaps that's not India. Maybe, for you, it's mothering. I'm not a mother, but I know that motherhood is one of the bravest things in the world. Maybe it's stepping into an office everyday or putting a gun into a holster and praying it stays there. Maybe it's taking blood pressures. Maybe it's banking. Maybe it's running a business. Maybe it's pulling shots or making someone's day at the drive-through window. 
And maybe your bravery isn't any of these things, but it's waiting. Waiting never feels brave, does it? Courage generally seems like we should be doing something, or going somewhere. It feels like it should be big and bold and book-worthy. But when we're in the place where Jesus wants us to be, doing the work Jesus has called us to do... that's when we're doing the brave thing. Waiting for the test result, waiting for the open door, waiting for clarity. That's brave. 
Perhaps your brave is trudging through school- with people telling you to determine your future, to choose your life. And maybe it's overwhelming and stressful. But if you're where Jesus wants you to be, you're in the midst of your courage. And if you've decided not to go to school? You're no less valuable or intelligent. In fact, you're very brave. 
Perhaps your brave is choosing to step out of an unhealthy relationship. 
Perhaps your brave is saying NO when it would be so much easier to say yes. 
Conversely, perhaps your brave is saying YES when it would be so much easier to say no. 
I'd hate for us to get caught up in the lie that our lives must appear spectacular in order to be considered brave. 
Some of the bravest things I did this year weren't spectacular at all. My brave was choosing to ask for help when I pridefully wanted to prove I could do it all on my own. My brave was curling up in my bosses arms and listening to her consistent heartbeat when I was ill. My brave was choosing "personal assistant" over "nurse". My brave was celebrating successes and mourning losses and creating healthy boundaries. 
We are courageous because Jesus breathes bravery into the core of our fearful bones, and when we take a terrifying step toward the place we believe Jesus wants us to be, we're living testaments of an audacious God. 
I think Jesus has so much more planned for us than a seemingly spectacular life. 
Celebrating today. Because one year ago my life took a drastic turn. 
and I learned what it meant to be brave. 

with singing.

There are so many things I'm not good at. 
And apparently I have an inner monologue determined to record each and every one of them. 
There's a voice in my head that tells me I'm not enough. Some days it's quiet and some days it's super shouty. 
It's the strangest thing to discover the back of your brain muttering mean things to yourself. 
The whisper is so soft, so ordinary, so normal that I rarely stop to investigate. I just let the words run through my veins until they seem like a normal part of my DNA. 
You'll never measure up. 
You're too much. 
You're hard. 
You'll never achieve anything worthwhile. 
Your words won't match up to hers. 
You can't do that. 
You're just not good at this. 
I heard that voice in the car today, as the clouds moved in and it began to drizzle. I was driving toward home. Alone. Maybe that's why I listened without just letting it wash over me. Maybe that's why I tuned in to the nefarious whispering I'd been letting slide up until now. 
I listened and I almost couldn't believe what I heard. I was surprised a bit, actually. Kind of amazed that I was still capable, after all these years, of such petty meanness to my own self. Because the thing about that voice is that it's a nit picker. It delights in destroying the DNA of a day, of a dream, of a thought. 
But when I tuned in it sounded more and more like static. Fuzzy, harsh, wiry, unforgiving. But small. I have a friend who calls it devil static- the noise that tries to drown out the truth God is speaking into our lives and through our lives. The noise that crackles and cackles and tries to poke fun at who we are becoming; tries to derail us in the name of embarrassment, of shame, of fear. 
I told that voice off today. 
Talked back to myself in an empty car. 
Because I remembered that a Father God who surely loved His son with all the gut-fire with which I will love my own children one day handed Him over to pay my ransom; to rescue me from a brutal kidnapping, He sent His only Son unarmed into the drop spot. 
We all know what happened when He arrived. 
I called that voice out. And in doing so I could almost hear it deflate. I addressed that voice with my whole attention, my God-inheritance, my royal claim. and I could hear the static fizzling. 
I am not nothing. 
You are not nothing. 
We are daughters and sons. Purchased at a price. Beloved. 
And there is a much greater voice. A voice with all the rich, resonant tones of truth so filled with love for us. A voice so unlike that devil static. A voice that will "no longer rebuke you, but will rejoice over you with singing" (Zephaniah 3:17). 
With singing. 
Not hissing or criticizing or comparing or mocking. 
With singing. 
I'm sitting on my grey tweed chair in the corner of the living room and just letting that beauty sink in. 
And a new song plays in the back of my head.

because i'm not the dutch bros nurse.

Hands down, the question I get asked most often is some version of: "Are you glad you turned down a nursing position?" followed closely by, "What is it exactly that you DO?"
My answer to the first question is always a wholehearted YES.  And my answer to the second question is usually cut off by some sort of assumption. 
"oh, that's right. You're the secretary."  "oh, that's right. You're the nanny."  "oh, that's right. You're a barista."
Or my personal favorite: "Oh, that's right. You're the Dutch Bros. nurse!" 
So, here's a few answers to set the record straight. 
I love my job. I've never loved a job more than I love this job. 
I work for Dutch Bros., a drive-thru coffee company chain headquartered in Grants Pass, Oregon with franchise locations across the western United States. More specifically, I work directly for and directly with two of those franchisees. 
I'm not a secretary, though some days it feels like it. I answer phone calls, send emails, and keep things organized. 
I'm not a nanny. While I love my bosses boys, I'm not their nanny. Chelsea is. And she's fabulous. 
I'm not a barista. I don't work in any of our seven stands, though you might see me in and out of them on occasion for various reasons. However, we DO have the best baristas around and I would be proud to work alongside them. 
I'm not the Dutch Bros. nurse. HA! Although I did have a conversation with one of the assistant managers last night about icing her knee after running a half marathon. Does that count?! 
Now that we've gotten through what I'm NOT, here's what I AM. 
I'm a personal assistant for the best entrepreneurs I know. I get to partner with them and champion their dreams and their visions and their goals, and do practical things along the way to see that their business thrives. 
And now comes the most obvious question. WHY? Why did I choose this? Why did I turn down an incredible job offer? Why am I "not using" a degree I worked so hard for?
I think the easiest way for me to describe it is to take a look at Abraham's life. 
The man chosen by God to become a father of a nation, a man of blessing, of promise. The man that made some serious mistakes in his time. 
Like the time he told his wife to pretend she was his sister so the Egyptians wouldn't kill him. And Pharaoh went and made her his wife. Then Abraham did the same thing with her again later on! Interestingly enough, the fruit doesn't fall far from the tree. Abraham's son Isaac did the exact same thing with his wife, Rebekah. 
And then there was the time when he listened to his wife and took her made, Hagar, into his bed so she would conceive a child for him and Sarah. That didn't turn out so well. 
BUT. Abraham was faithful. Even if he was fully human and prone to take matters into his own hands. He loved his Father, and he eventually stopped questioning the promises of God and just obeyed wholeheartedly, trusting Him completely. 
And then in Genesis 25:8, we see that Abraham "breathed his last and died in a ripe old age, an old man and satisfied with life." 
He died satisfied. 
Abraham messed up in some pretty major ways. But he died satisfied with his life. 
He was chosen, just as you and I are chosen, for this time in this culture. We are chosen. And when we follow the God who has chosen us, trusting in the calling we may not even know we have over our lives, we will live satisfied. Because what I've learned from Abraham is that maybe being satisfied with our lives isn't so much about the past mistakes or the messes we've made, but the willingness to follow a faithful God with wholehearted devotion. 
Maybe living satisfied is about trusting the One who holds all my days. 
Maybe living satisfied is about getting up when I fall down, changing direction if need be, and keeping on, gaze set on Jesus. 
Maybe living satisfied is about making wide-awake choices, knowing that God lets my decisions stand. My choosing matters. 
Maybe living satisfied is about believing that God has a purpose for all my days, planned before the world began, for such a time as this. And my job is to trust Him. To keep moving forward, knowing that nothing is wasted and everything is for His glory and my good. 
That's why I chose this job. Because I belong here. Because He gave me peace here. 
This is how I'm going to live. With full surrender to Christ, arms high and heart abandoned. Because I want to live a faithful, satisfied life. I want to look back over my life one day, and before I breathe my last breath, feel the peace of satisfaction over my life. I lived well. I followed Jesus. I was faithful. 
If you're trying to decide whether or not to step over the edge of "responsibility" and choose into something that's scary, that's risky, thats wild... but there's peace there? I'm your biggest cheerleader. 
Your degree, your credential, the letters behind your name? They don't have to define you. 
Praying this week for a little more resolve in all of us to be who we were created to be. Unapologetically. Fully. Relentlessly. 

fear and peace and yes.

Four days ago, I sat in a meeting that changed the course of my life forever. 
I almost didn't go. and then my boss said, "It's really important to me that you be there."
So I went. Mostly for my boss. 
I walked away and stepped into the most exhausting, terrifying, rewarding, revealing couple of days. 
I had a massive decision to make, and I didn't even know where to begin. 
I have spent countless hours in tears, countless hours in worship, and countless hours in processing. 
and after pouring over three open doors, three ridiculously good decisions, and three places where my heart seems to fit perfectly, I have come to a decision and am preparing to walk through a door. 
Chris and Erin, for as long as you need me it would be my privilege and honor to run with you as you continue to pursue with excellence all that is in your hearts. 
See, here's the thing. 
I am not brave. 
I like safety. I like control. I like comfort. 
But I said YES to Jesus at the beginning of this year, and I meant it. I didn't know where it would take me, but I knew that I couldn't live another day for myself, in my safe "be careful" world. I didn't know that saying YES would bring me to this crossroads, a journey of wild obedience and endless possibility. 
But it has. 
There has never been a wild thing about me. Not my hair, not my clothes, not my lifestyle. I mean, I go to bed at 9pm. I have always lived a calculated, well-planned, safe life. 
But now, I'm tucking a God-sized yes under my belt. 
I am terrified. and yet I am at peace. 
I don't need more courage to live out my faith. I don't need more bravery. 
I just need peace to look fear in the face and discover that His love is the cure for what scares me. 
Whether it's losing my life for the sake of the gospel or dying to my wayward flesh, I am choosing to let fear strengthen me. Fear is a present weakness; but it is also a catalyst to keep saying yes. 
I turned down a job offer today. and accepted another one in the same breath. 
You must know, I'm scared to death. But I have peace in my fear. 
"Give up yourself, and you will find your real self. Lose your life and you will save it. Submit to death; death of your ambitions and wishes and death of your whole body. Submit with every fiber of your being, and you will find eternal life." - C.S. Lewis
Fear isn't just uncertainty wrapped up in the unknown. When we peel back the laters, we discover a lack of trust and a loss of control. That's the root of fear. 
Our yes to God should scare us. 
Not to keep us immobile, but to keep us dependent on the One who asks us to say it in the first place. 
Fear keeps us moving towards the Father. 
The times I have been most afraid in my life- exposing lies I believed throughout my childhood, stepping into a patient's room for the first time, saying no to security and yes to a God-sized dream- these are the moments when I have felt most alive. 
We think playing it safe and living within our comfort zone is the way to feel alive. But when we get dirt under our nails and follow Jesus into risky places, this is where we realize that our comfort was actually slowly killing our joy. 
Yes, there is fear in obedience. But peace will keep me on the journey. 
And the joy that follows our yes to God? It's wild. 
I don't know what scares you today, what keeps you up at night, clinging to comfort. But can I encourage you to be brave today?? 
Make that phone call. Ask or receive forgiveness. Send that email. 
Do something that scares you just a little. Go a little deeper. 
Be brave today.