around the interwebs

I have the amazing privilege of writing for Deeper Story once a month. And I'm over there today, sharing some thoughts on suffering and riverbeds... and what the two have in common. If you've ever endured any kind of painful heartache, link over and read it. I'd love to hear your thoughts.

Deeper Story: Shifting Sand >

My friend Jeremy Statton graciously interviewed me for his blog, aptly called Living Better Stories. He asked some poignant questions about shattered dreams, asking God "why?", and choosing joy. Link over to read my responses.

Interview: On Choosing Joy >

Will you do me a favor and share a link to one of your favorite posts that you've written recently? I know, I know... That might feel strange to do. But I asked, so no need to worry about it seeming self-promoting. Honestly, I'd love to read the best thing you've written lately... So go 'head.

Share the link!

i'm that girl who's drowning

I've heard that the biggest challenge with rescuing a drowning victim is how they instinctively fight against their rescuer. The sheer panic and fear is so great that they can't stop themselves from flailing, even at their own detriment. But trying to snap them out of it—to awaken them to their need to simply relax and lean into the arms of their rescuer—is nearly impossible.

I'm that girl who's drowning.

I've been fighting against my new normal, almost without realizing it. Maybe if I just surrender to it, I'll discover that rescue is only breaths away. But maybe if I surrender to it, I'll discover there is no rescue at all... That it simply is what it is, and no amount of fighting or accepting is going to change it.

A counselor told me that all I've been through in the past few years wasn't just traumatic. It was trauma. Leaving me with a sort of PTSD that is very real, and that lingers still. {To be honest, that's still a hard pill for me to swallow.}

One of the greatest challenges of my new normal is memory loss. {I can't believe I just said that phrase out loud. Memory loss. But that's what it is, even if I prefer to hide behind calling it Fuzzy Brain Syndrome.}

I used to be the girl who remembered everything. My ex-husband was notorious for forgetting that he'd seen a movie. Even after I described it in detail, explained where and when we watched it, and showed him the cover... Nope. He couldn't remember. Until about 5 minutes into the movie when he'd bust out an, "Ohhhhh yeah." We laughed about it all the time. And now... that's me. I can't for the life of me remember the moves I've seen.

I can't remember names. Or where people live. Or the names of their spouse or kids. Or details of the last conversation we had.

I can't remember much of anything.

It scares me. It brings tears to my eyes and sometimes even causes me to full-on ugly cry. It makes me hate my brain.

I knew I had blogged once about my Fuzzy Brain Syndrome and my battle with my new normal. So I went back to find it. You know what? I wrote it two-and-a-half years ago. Two-and-a-half years. {Here come the tears again...} That is a long time, people. A long time to not be feeling like myself. A long time of feeling like I'm living with diminished capacity. A long time of wondering if it's just a phase and hoping for old-me to surface again.

Two-and-a-half years later, I'm starting to think this may be reality from here on out. And that really makes me hate my brain.

So I just need to say this:

When I ask you again—for the eleventy-second time—what your husband's name is, how many kids you have, where you live, or how we know each other, please, please know I hate it more than you do. It hurts my heart because I know it comes across like I don't pay attention or don't care... and I promise you that's not true.

I realize now that my only choice is to surrender, even while I doubt that a rescue will ever come. But fighting it is just too exhausting. So I give up. I cease flailing, throw my arms upward, and let the current take me under.

And pray grace finds me there...

photo credit: Duncan Rawlinson

Originally posted on A Deeper Story. Read the comments there >

i am (not) third

Jesus.Others. You.

I was raised—rightly—to put others first. But somewhere along the way, that distorted into putting myself last.

Which isn't good. I know. And it needs to change. But it's a struggle.

Maybe you can relate?

I'm unpacking my thoughts on (not) being third over at the new-and-improved Deeper Story today. Come check out the new digs and join the conversation...

love and respect {now}

I'm sure you've heard of the marriage ministry (and book) called Love and Respect, by Emerson and Sarah Eggerichs. They're amazing, and I believe in their message. But it took me a while to get there. That'll happen when you have their book thrown at you. Literally.

I read it begrudgingly, and in the context of my life at the time I couldn't really even hear the message of the book over the cacophony of pain in my heart.

Fast forward a few years to when I realized my new friend, Joy Eggerichs was that Eggerichs. (As in the daughter of the couple who wrote and run Love and Respect.) Joy pioneered Love and Respect (Now), an incredible online resource and community that helps facilitate conversations about relationships. Her focus is on helping us figure it out NOW instead of someday saying, “I wish I had known then…”

Well, I'm guest posting for Joy today.

Come read about our unexpected friendship, my experience with her parents' book, and the time respect was thrown in my face.

Link over to read my post HERE >

bringing hope to the hard places

I sponsor three children in Ethiopia through Food for the Hungry. I had a vague idea of what child sponsorship meant, but if I'm honest, I really had no clue how it worked. Until I had the amazing opportunity to travel to Ethiopia in July to see it all firsthand.

Food for the Hungry believes in child-focused community transformation. They measure the health of a community by the health of its children—physically, emotionally, spiritually, and psychologically. Then by meeting the children’s needs, they empower and build entire families and communities.

They focus on people, meet needs holistically, do things with excellence, and bring lasting change. And they do it all without fostering dependence. They go in to each region with an end-goal and an exit strategy. They aren’t there to be a crutch or even to provide hand-outs. They are there to build capacity and sustainability in both people and communities.

And this all happens through child sponsorship.

I discovered that my monthly support does more than directly impact the beautiful children I sponsor. Yes, it provides Chaltu, Nathinael, and Aklilu with food, medical care, and education. But as if that isn't enough, it also helps to fund the ongoing development of the communities in which they live.

Food for the Hungry works with parents, pastors, and local leaders to address the needs of the community as a whole, not just the individual sponsored children. They build schools, teach effective farming techniques, construct water and sanitation systems, train teachers, provide supplies, and develop child mentorship programs.

And as a result, children all over the world are having their lives transformed. Just like my three precious Ethiopian kids.

One of Food for the Hungry's slogans is “We go to the hard places”. And they definitely do. They took me to visit some remote villages that face seemingly insurmountable challenges. But Food for the Hungry is there, making a difference and working with the most vulnerable of children who live in inescapable poverty.

Ultimately, the greatest gift they offer is hope. Their very presence and the development work they do communicates worth, value, and significance to those who have felt long forgotten. It opens their eyes and their hearts to the love of God, and gives them hope for the future.

I feel honored and humbled to be able to play even a tiny part in the incredible work Food for the Hungry is doing around the world. Partnering with them inspires me to purposefully seek out ways I can join them in bringing hope to the hard places.

Originally published on ChristianPost.com