this brokenness inside me might start healing

This past November, I ran away from Oklahoma and returned home to Texas for a weekend. A last-minute trip that occurred because of the aching in my chest, because of the overwhelming tears, and because of an exhausted mind and soul. I had watched my breaking point dance past weeks before, and I could no longer grasp onto the strings holding me to Oklahoma.

I spent a long weekend with my mother. A flight from Oklahoma City to Dallas in the early morning and then from Dallas to Houston, and I was home. Dressed in jeans and an oversized sweatshirt, I felt almost as though I had woken from a long dream in which I had graduated college and married. It felt as though I were still the same, wide-eyed blonde with hopes to graduate and then make something of myself.

But it wasn’t a dream. I had graduated in May 2008, married in September 2008, and purchased a home in January 2009. So many life changes in fewer than 12 months. Maybe it was the short periods of time that caused my unraveling in November.

Returning home pieced me back together. My mother was the glue that held all the pieces in place; she is still the glue.

I’m not the best with intimacy, with making friendships that last a lifetime. I am easily hurt, easily angered, and have a green side that I try to hide myself from. I give up on people, but more so, I give up on myself too easily and decide it is time to move on, that I am too much, that it is no longer worth it.

During my escape to Texas, I began to combat these things. A closet full of trinkets, pictures, and memories, and a request that I go through the belongings and decide what to keep, what to throw, and what to pass on to a stranger. It was not what I had in mind for a last-minute flight to Houston, but my mother is the glue that holds me together. And as the glue, she often knows exactly what I need to make me whole.

I saw my entire life in that closet. Friendships that had lasted for 5 years, some that dwindled after two years. Pictures of boys that had captured my heart. Pictures of what happened after my heart broke. Notes passed in class and letters sent to friends in far-off states. And with it all, the knowledge that none of those relationships are truly intact as of this date.

We grew apart. Life got in the way. We moved to different states. There was a fight. Excuses and nothing but excuses for why relationships ended the way they did. Some relationships were meant to exist for only a season in my life, and I am thankful for all those seasons. Somehow the springs, summers, and falls brought me to my current season. It’s more winter than I would like, but I don’t think the groundhog has seen his shadow; spring is on the horizon.

And so many relationships could have passed into other seasons of my life, so many could be here with me now just waiting for the snow to melt and the flowers to bloom. But they are gone, a memory of the past and a reminder of how easy it is to walk away but how hard it can be to move on.

I’m still learning to release jealousy. I am forgiving myself for pushing others away. I am forgiving others for the things I interpreted as hurtful. I am learning to drown in a sea of grace for myself and for those around me. We’re all nothing but human with our own shortcomings and our own downfalls. No one can fix another, and none should need to.

I’m doing my best to relearn intimacy, to allow my heart to open and to allow the possibility of pain. A broken heart is terrifying, but loneliness is much more so.

Life has so much to offer. Some of it is good, and then there is so much that is not. When I remember the past, it’s hard to see the stumbling blocks. I focus only on overcoming and enjoying. How I want to focus on those things now and not just when I look in the rearview mirror.

So I traveled back to Oklahoma and took with me the lessons of Texas, the bottle of glue mixed especially for me by my mother. I’m still broken, I’m still not quite sure how I fit together, but I am allowing myself to be repainted, sculpted, and created better than before.

I still struggle with intimacy. I still worry over the words I say and if anyone will be nearby the next day. I wonder what will happen if I push you away. But I try to not act in the ways of the past. Instead, I reach deep, and I ask for help. I move forward, and I apologize for the wrongs that have been done.

I ask God to guide me. Then I close my eyes, and I leap. I know my mother will always be there to catch me, always available for a plane ride home if I need to be pieced back together.

(title from "the house that built me" by miranda lambert)

the sounds of peace and safety

Transition: Passage from one form, state, style, or place to another.

Transitions fill a person's life. The transition from childhood to adolescence, adolescence to adulthood. The transition from single to married. The transition from wrecked to saved by grace.

Recently, my life has been one of transitions: into my current job, through a time of suffering, becoming a youth leader, a new job for my husband. 

Transition is difficult, and the aforementioned transitions have all been difficult for me. I've questioned them all multiple times. I've wondered if I am where God would truly want me to be. I've regretted every recent choice. I've over-thought it all. And I come back to the same point: God has a plan, no matter my choices, and His plan will occur no matter what I do to thwart it.

He has brought me to these transitions. I have sought His wisdom through these transitions, and while He does not always speak clearly in the way I would like, while He is often silent, I do believe I have followed His steps.

For so long, I felt distant from Him. And I do still struggle with distance, mainly because I often keep myself distant from Him, I can feel Him coming near. I can feel Him in these transitions, through the pain and through the joy.

I am spending more time with Him. I am doing my best to lean into Him and trust only in Him. I am doing my best to stand still and silent during this time so that He can have his way. That's what I want: for Him to have His way with me and with my life.

And in this time of transition, in this time of suffering, in this time of struggle, in this time of uncertainty, I want Him to strip away the parts of me that are not of Him so that I can be overflowing with Him and His love. I want Him to be what shines through me. Because it is not about me; it is about Him and His plan and His purpose and His overwhelming, perfect LOVE.

(title from "i will run" by misty edwards)

perfect only in her imperfections

Valentine's Day came and went. This year we opted to order food from On the Border, eat at home, and watch Couple's Retreat. For years, I imagined Valentine's Day as one-half of a couple to be a romantic, albeit over-the-top endeavor. I dreamt of gorgeous bouquets, fancy dinners, new clothes, and diamond or pearl jewelry presents. And to be honest, a nice, relaxing night at home is much more appealing.

This year was only our third Valentine's Day together. Our first was a mere two months after we first began dating, and our second was a mere 5 months after we married (and 1 day after our belated honeymoon to Costa Rica). The first Valentine's Day we saw Definitely Maybe, and the second Valentine's Day we saw He's Just Not That Into You.

Our lives are, in many ways, like Valentine's Day in that we are quite predictable. On Monday nights, we watch Big Bang Theory, One Tree Hill, 24, and sometimes Life Unexpected (if Big Bang Theory is not new). On Tuesday nights, we attend a C-Group through Frontline Church. On Wednesday nights, we catch up on shows saved to the DVR and sometimes watch Life Unexpected (if Big Bang Theory was new). Thursday nights bring Grey's Anatomy. Friday nights we often go out. (When I say "we", it is often just I who watches the more girly television shows; he puts up with them.) Saturday and Sunday are relaxing, uneventful, and filled with cleaning and laundry. Every other weekend, I am alone during the day while my husband works. Our dogs entertain themselves outside on the weekends and come inside only to sleep and recharge.

I never thought I wanted a predictable life. I assumed I would be on the go, hardly home, and working long hours. I used to be like that, as a social worker and also as a college student, and a life of unpredictability and long hours is exhausting. I'd much rather be at home, talking about what to make for dinner and yelling at the dogs, than running around and living off of diet coke.

Lately, I've been thinking about all the twists and turns life has taken me on. Nothing about my life is the way I planned or expected for it to be. While I am a planner at heart, I'm thankful for all the changes and thankful that life didn't turn out the way I intended; God knew much, much better than I.

If things had gone as planned, I would be living in New York City (or somewhere equally ambitious) and spending every night out. I would work as an editor or have a novel on the best seller's list. I would be forever single, going out with someone different whenever given the chance. I would shop as much as I could. I would be doing several other things that now no longer appeal to me.

How do these changes occur? How does life suddenly become nothing like we expected? And how do we accept those changes?

It's take me months (and to be honest I am still working on it) to accept the changes in my life. My marriage was easier to accept because I married my best friend, a man who is opposite from me in every way imaginable but also compliments me in every way imaginable. My changing jobs was easy to accept as well. The good things have been easy to accept; it's been the difficult and not so good things I struggle with.

But it is also the difficult and not so good things that have (and will continue to) defined me as a person as well as defined my faith. It's in times of difficulty that we walk in faith, that we say several prayers and step out onto a branch and sometimes into nothing, trusting that we will be held up and not fall. Sometimes we do fall, and then it is time to pick ourselves up, treat our wounds, and continue on.

The past several months have been ones of falling and picking ourselves up. We have struggled financially, but God has always been sovereign and provided for us. We are still struggling financially but trusting God to bring us through. We have waited and prayed for a new full-time job for my husband. We continue to wait and pray for a new full-time job for my husband. Currently, we are praying for one particular job, and we will know, by the end of the week, if our prayers have been answered or if there is more praying to be done.

Prayer is tricky because God will always answer; the answers just are not the ones we want. So often, if the answer is not the wanted one, it is assumed God did not follow through. I've thought that way. I struggle not to feel that way now. But I know He answers every prayer, every single one; often we just don't listen to His answers. I am guilty of that as well.

Through these struggles, I've learned how to walk in faith. I am still learning, but I am getting closer to understanding the process. For that, I am thankful.

So much of my life is like Valentine's Day. Simple is always better. My previous beliefs no longer apply, and the reality is so much better than the fantasy.

Thank God for His plans winning out over mine.

(title from "beautiful disaster" by jon mclaughlin)

and all i want to do is live my life honestly

I graduated from the University of Oklahoma in 2008 with a Bachelor of Arts in Journalism and Mass Communication. My specialization was in Professional Writing. According to the university's website, a spot on the New York Times Best Sellers list or an Academy Award for Best Screenplay could be in the future of a Professional Writing student. The Professional Writing program in the Gaylord College of Journalism and Mass Communication prepares students for a variety of employment options. Along with careers as novelists and screenwriters, they may also work as publications specialists, assuming responsibility for various publications of a company or organization; as editors, reading and recommending manuscripts for a publishing house; or as columnists, writing critiques, reviews and columns.

I have always dreamed of a spot on the New York Times Best Sellers list. I still dream of a spot on the list. I will likely always dream of a spot on the list. But the truth is that I have been afraid to even attempt to make the dream come true. At least, I have been too afraid to truly attempt to make the dream come true.

I have purchased several books on writing the next best seller. I have also purchased books on how to get published. I've even read most of those books. But I have not had the discipline sit down daily and write the novel that might actually make it onto the list.

Fear has kept me from pursuing my dream. It is a fear of failure and of rejection. It is a fear that my professors tried to take away from us. My professors told us to expect rejection and to wait for rejection and then to use that rejection as fuel to our fire. But I have never been good with rejection, and so after college (and after I had to write for a grade and for my degree), I allowed the fear to win.

But fear is a lie. Fear is a lie because fear tells us we are not good enough. Fear tells us that someone else is better. Fear tells us that we will fail. Fear tells us that it's not even worth trying. Fear tells us that it is better to just blend in rather than stand out. And none of those things are true.

My husband and I attend Frontline Church in Oklahoma City, OK. It is a church whose mission is to Love God, Love People, and Push Back Darkness. It is a church that preaches the truth, a church that reaches out to others, and a church that does not let fear win. It is a church that loves the arts and prays for passion. It is a church that believes everyone has talents and gifts.

And it is a church that tells people to use their talents and their gifts. Every time they speak of talents and gifts, writing is listed as a talent, and every time, I feel God calling to me and asking me to push away the fear and write. Every time, I want to listen, but most of the time, I remind myself there are better writers than I and that I am busy with work and my family.

Last Sunday, our lead pastor did not speak. Instead, he asked someone else to speak. The message was powerful, honest, and inspiring. In it, the speaker said that we should always try and trust God to help us. He said that just because someone else has done something (and done it well) does not mean we should not do it as well. He used the gospel of Luke as an example as Luke was written after other gospels had been written.

Needless to say, I was convicted. I felt as though I were wasting my talents and gifts. And I hated how powerful the fear was, hated how I felt as though I were not good enough to even attempt writing. 

I'm not over the fear, yet. I'm still fighting it. And I didn't start writing again until this afternoon, until after returning from watching Dear John with a close friend of mine. It was Dear John that made me want to write, made me want to tell a compelling story of love, family, redemption, life, and everything else. 

And so I am. I am back to working on my novel, and this time, I am going to finish it.

Maybe I'll even end up on the New York Time's Best Sellers List.

(title from "days like this" by kim taylor)