Dreading Goodbye.

Goodbyes are the worst.

My brother-in-law is deployed for a year overseas.  He left behind his wife and a beautiful little baby girl who is quickly finding her independence (and lots of spunk to go with it).  Paul will be home for a two-week visit at the end of this month. Elizabeth (his wife) has been eagerly anticipating his arrival, but at the same time dreading his departure. Again.

I want to tell them....

Don't panic.  Panic kills the moment.  Slow down and savor.

Don't overcommit.  Don't schedule so many things that you are so busy running that you don't have to time to simply enjoy each other. Running breeds stress and suffocates any chance of intimate connection. Slow times for quiet family dinners, just the three of you. Slow time for a walk in the park, or an afternoon at the playground, just the three of you.

Don't anticipate the leaving. Don't be sad about the leaving before it even arrives. Enjoy each day to the fullest without the dread about what goodbye will bring. Savor each joyful moment together without allowing the goodbye to attach itself as an unwelcomed guest.

Say goodbye with a long, heartfelt hug.  A good hug can travel miles and months.

And before you part ways, pray together.  Hold hands, and pray. I know no other recipe for making the miles bearable than the promise that the God who goes with them and stays with us will be the bridge connecting us no matter how far the distance.

Love you Paul, Eliz & Aubrey.  I pray that your time together is full of life, laughter, and love and that your goodbye is saturated with the anticipation of seeing each other again.

Finding Beauty: a new do

I feel pretty today.  I think my hair trauma story from yesterday has much to do with the fact that I like to change my hair.  Long and then short.  Then I want it to be long again.  Brown. Blonde. Brown with blonde. Brown again. 

Last night, with the assistance of one of my lovely nieces, I went back to the color that God gave me ... minus the gray. 

And I feel pretty. It feels good to feel pretty.

Here's a peek at the new do

I grew up feeling guilty about wanting to feel pretty.  Being led to believe that feeling pretty was prideful which was sinful. 

But I don't think that's true.

Beauty in maturity...
I Thessalonians 4:4: God hasn't invited us into a disorderly, unkempt life but into something holy and beautiful-as beautiful on the inside as the outside.

Beauty in childbearing...
Luke 1:26: Upon entering, Gabriel greeted her: Good morning! You're beautiful with God's beauty, Beautiful inside and out! God be with you.


Beauty in marriage...
Proverbs 5:15: Lovely as an angel, beautiful as a rose-don't ever quit taking delight in her body. Never take her love for granted!

Beauty in creation...
Genesis 2:9: God made all kinds of trees grow from the ground, trees beautiful to look at and good to eat. The Tree-of-Life was in the middle of the garden

Beauty in the female form...
I Corinthians 11:10: Man was created first, as a beautiful shining reflection of God-that is true. But the head on a woman's body clearly outshines in beauty the head of her "head," her husband.

Feeling pretty is a start to believing in my own beauty, inside & out.

Do something to make yourself feel pretty today! 

Finding Beauty

I lay next to my beautiful brunette beauty, in the quiet of her bedroom where all I can hear is the hum of the fan and the gentle whispers that escape from London's sweet lips while she drifts off to sleep. I snuggle close and gently wipe away the whisps of hair that have fallen into her eyes.  She is a beauty.  Silky brown hair, big brown eyes with lashes that go on forever. Her lips are a sweet, girly shade of pink and they form perfect little puckers while she sleeps.

My mind wanders to all the ways I want her to feel beautiful. And I remember all the ways I did not when I was a young girl.

How is it that false or foolish things that people speak over us when we’re ten years old can hold more weight than the truth that people who love us speak throughout our entire lives? Why do I accept as cold, hard, truth the sentences that slipped careless from a stranger all those years ago and never pause to examine if they contain any truth, just swallow them hook, line and sinker?

I have ugly hair and don't measure up.

An assessment I have owned as mine since I was a child and only because a stranger, a random meeting in a mall, let her words slip carelessly from her mouth and into the soul of a blossoming little girl.

I remember how my cheeks burned. I wanted to run away but I stood paralyzed while she ran her fingers through my hair and said "this looks like hell". I remember for years afterward the feelings of inferiority and insecurity that accompanied me through middle school and high school and life. I just wanted to be pretty. Not in a notice-me kind of way.  More like a don't-notice me kind of way. I was the ugly duckling, sticking out from the crowd, receiving exclusion from peers and pity from adults.

These thoughts smack me in the head as I’m lying next to my brunette beauty. I flip them over in my head – ugly, unworthy, unaccepted. I remind myself that those statements are not a reflection on me as a person – they don’t describe my passions, my accomplishments, my faith, my qualities as a friend or mother or wife.

Why then have these two statements come along for the ride all these years? Why do they still sting like the day that I stood in that mall corridor? How in the world do they carry that much weight? I’m astonished to discover how a stranger (who, if memory serves me correctly, wore entirely too much makeup) has basically been back-seat-driving my definition of beautiful for years. Me with the unruly hair and the evolving ten-year-old figure could not have been beautiful. I knew this from the tone of her voice and the look on her face, a mix of pity and disgust. And these words grew and grew until they had strong arms and long legs that strangled my mind, suffocated my confidence, and squeezed the life out of a blossoming little girl...fifteen year old...twenty-one year old...thirty four year old woman.

I watch London's long eyelashes flutter on that porcelain white skin that smells so sweet and feels warm to my lips as I kiss her goodnight. Lying next to my baby girl who is still unmarred by the opinions of others I am afraid.  I fear that the careless words of another will define beauty with lies.

The more I think about my beautiful girls and the beauty I want them to grow into, the more I realize I will need to own my own first. I will need to weed out the lies that have snuck, sometimes unnoticed, into my self image so that I am ready to do battle against any that come against them.

I must be beautiful in thought before I am beautiful anywhere else.
I will be a passionate beauty hunter – quick to recognize it in myself and translate it for my girls. Beauty in attitude, beauty in excitement, beauty in laughter, beauty in tears, beauty in acceptance of differences, beauty in good friends, beauty in service, beauty in grace, beauty in forgiveness.

And yes, beauty in Ava's thick, wavy, blonde hair, London's silky, shiny, brown hair and Heidi's sunkissed, golden blonde curls.

I will root out the lies and plant fresh seeds of beauty – for them. And for me. 

Do you want to join me? I started out this blog with a search for joy - and I found it. I am going to continue my quest, and hunt for beauty. I’m going to record all the beauty I find in myself over the next month. It feels strange. It's uncomfortable shining the spotlight in our own direction. But for those of us raising daughters, for those of us doing battle with word wounds, for those of us who want to grow into the beauty that God has long since spoken over us – let’s go on a beauty hunt together. 

Write down beauty everywhere you find it in yourself - laundry folded in love, beds made, dinners cooked, a good hair day, freshly painted toes, a new outfit that makes us look like a hot mama, red high heels, the family legacy of freckles, dimples, and porcelain skin. Even the tired eyes from being up all night with sick kids.

Leave a comment, a link to your blog, send me a picture (and I'll post)... Let's behold the beauty He created. 

I thank you, High God-you're breathtaking! Body and soul, I am marvelously made! I worship in adoration-what a creation!. Psalm 139:14.

The Best Church Marketing

Read an update on Facebook where a pastor was frustrated ...

His post went something like this:  Schedule a fellowship and everyone, including a guest, shows up.  Schedule prayer meeting and only a few are present.

I typed a few responses to his thread.  And deleted each one.  I didn't want my response to be misunderstood.

I get what he was saying.  But at the same time I wanted to point out the golden opportunity he had been given.

"Fellowship" can't be scheduled.  A pot luck dinner can be scheduled.  But fellowship (relationship, community) should be a constant in a healthy church.  If you're not relating to people, you're not reaching people. 

I am talking about the word fellowship.  (A noun): a community of interest; a feeling; companionship

The church should revolve around relationship.  Our's with Him.  And our's with each other.

Prayer is a part of MY relationship with Him.  My most precious, intimate, life-changing prayers were spoken in solitude.  Just me and Him.  Maybe God wanted to speak intimately to the select few that showed up that night?  Just a thought.

I remember the day we got the news that something was wrong with the little one who had yet to make her appearance.  Our sweet baby girl had a "spot on her heart".  Instant panic, dread.  Every parent's worst fear.  And this was our first child.  The one we weren't supposed to have.  Our little miracle needs a miracle.

We shared with a select few and and their prayers were immediate and bold and drenched with genuine concern. Instantly Holy Spirit peace hovered. A divine hush filled the air. In that moment, we knew God was with us, right there, in that little room. We knew this because we KNOW Him. Their hands were on me, and skin to skin, I remember that peace.  It was tangible and thick and it whispered that everything was going to be ok.  And it was.

They were there for me when I needed them the most.  In that moment, the church promoted itself.  Not in a planned prayer meeting, but in relationship.

By word of mouth, by hands in the mud, by telling the dirty part of our stories, THAT is how the true church should be known. Through grace and truth.

The way we act out Sunday Church, that culture can run deep – the suits, the talk, the fancy fonts, the trendy music; all of us do it in one way or another.

But isn’t it always and only the presence of God that we're all looking for? A real relationship, the voice to hear and the uncondemning eyes?

The reason so many people showed up to just hang out?  No expectation.  No pressure.  They seek relationship.  Meet them where they are.  Allow them the space to grow.  Encourage them.  Love them.  You might be surprised at the results.