Identity Crisis Stage Right

I love to sing. It’s the one thing I’ve loved my whole life. Honestly, music is the only thing I can remember training for. I didn’t take classes to learn how to cook, clean, or be wife and mother. I had dreams, baby! By the time I was eight years old I knew I wanted to be the next Debby Boone or Amy Grant. I wanted people to feel what I felt when I sang their songs. I wanted to write songs that made people feel what I felt. I wanted to matter and to be known. I still do.

A couple times a month I get to sing with our Sunday morning worship team. It’s a blast to hang out with people who love music, truly enjoy expressing their love of God through music, and at the same time don’t take themselves too seriously. We always have a blast. Well, almost always.

About half-way into the rehearsal the other night I started feeling like I didn’t belong on the team. I was the oldest female singer on the platform standing with a few beautiful young women. Next to them I knew I stood out and not in a good way. We kept singing, listening to each other, trying to blend while my thoughts continued to drag my heart down.

You’re too old for this. You’re too fat for this. Your time is done. Find an ensemble for middle-aged menopausal women and be thankful you can still sing harmony. Quit trying to be something you’re not. Accept it and move on.

It was all I could do not to start bawling while we sang Oceans for what felt like the thousandth time. The words coming out of my mouth did not match what was in my heart. Instead I watched the clock on the back wall while coaching myself to hang in there a few minutes longer. As soon as it was over I put my microphone away, walked to my car and began a tearful drive home, unable to shake my thoughts. Before going to sleep I poured my heart out in a journal. I prayed. I couldn’t make the pain go away.

The thing is, I have studied God-given identity and worth and beauty. I have taught it. I have walked in it. So to find myself smack in the middle of a mid-life who-am-I kind of crisis on a Thursday night had me reeling a bit. This summer my oldest son graduated from high school. My role as a mother is changing. I’m looking at an empty nest in a few years. What will that mean for my marriage? Do I even know how to cook dinner for two people? These are real and serious concerns that keep me awake at night. It’s in this place that I feel the shame of not knowing how to be a woman at this age with these circumstances. I only know how to be what I have been.

I confessed my struggle to a friend via text because she specifically asked how she could be praying for me that day. (I love my creepy Jesus sister-friends more than they’ll ever know.) The pain and nasty thoughts stayed with me all weekend long. Even Sunday morning as I looked out into the sanctuary I wondered if anyone out there knew of a ensemble holding auditions for a middle-aged menopausal chick who sings more like a man every year. If I have mastered anything in my 44 years of living it is that I can do one thing while thinking about something completely different. I should have a signed framed certificate hanging on my wall for that alone! Universities hand out honorary degrees for much less worthy achievements. As soon as the service was over I booked it to the car not wanting to linger and chat with anyone. I was done.

The next day I thought about some things that had happened over the last week or so. First, I had shared with a friend that I want to record a song I wrote many years ago when my kids were little…even if they’re the only ones who ever hear it. I had forgotten all about that dream. I had also been asked to do some creative writing for our fall women’s conference at church that had to do with identity. Of course I helped with that! I knew the creative team was putting it all together.

Wait, what?

Suddenly the timing of my identity crisis seemed a little too coincidental. What if I was being harassed by Satan himself? I got mad. Because if he was doing this to me, he’s probably doing it to other women–especially the creative team working on the women’s conference which made me furious. Because I will become a sword wielding warrior princess on behalf of my sisters! DO! NOT! MESS! WITH! MY! SISTERS! But in order to fight for my sisters I have to fight for myself. I have to remember that I am a daughter of the King and NOBODY messes with His girls and gets away with it. I have to expose the lies of the enemy because that’s what they are. LIES. I get to offer grace to myself when I am drowning in shame. Because shame keeps me crouched in fear and there is zero fear in the perfect love of Jesus. He sees me. He knows me. He loves me as I am just as much as he loves who I am becoming.

Now that the shame and lies are exposed I can see the battle for what it is. The enemy wants to shut me down and shut me up. Guess what? I’m not going to allow him to do it because I have a God-given responsibility to the younger women to HOLD THE LINE and walk in freedom and truth. This generation needs me. I also need older women to impart wisdom into my life because I don’t know how to do this part. I need eyes and ears in my business. Lord have mercy, I need wisdom. It’s too easy to isolate and live a virtual existence. I can’t do it anymore.

Friends, you know I love social media more than the family dog. I do. I’m introverted enough that I could easily spend my days relating online and be perfectly content. But it’s a one way relationship. I was made for more and so were you. Who are you allowing to be eyes and ears in your life? Who do you know that’s a little further ahead in life that you would do well to allow them to show you how this thing is done? Pray and ask God to reveal a couple of people to you and then reach out to them. Take them to coffee or lunch or water. Whatever. Just reach out. It’s the first step to getting us out of our own heads and into truth. I’m committed to doing this too. (As I’m writing I’m thinking of the movie, War Room. Have you seen it? I think it’s time to watch that one again.)

Jesus, thank you for overcoming the evil one by your death and resurrection. Thank you for your perfect love that casts out fear and shame and covers us. Thank you for fighting for our hearts. Thank you for friends who fight for us when we’re beaten and bruised from the battle. Thank you for the Holy Spirit who reminds us of our identity and our inheritance in YOU. I pray that these words will shake the reader’s spirit awake and open their eyes to lies they are believing today. Set them free. May these words speak life and truth over their God-given identity in Jesus name. Amen.

Thank you for reading this. I know it was long. Please make sure you put it on a reading log or something for credit.

 

Therapy Sessions

I’ve been spending a lot of time in therapy lately–physical therapy–with my hubby watching his body pushed beyond its physical and mental limits. Some days I wonder how much more he can take. It’s not easy to watch someone you love struggle, even when it’s for their own good.

Two surgeries after dislocating his right shoulder and fracturing the humerus, my man is working hard to regain strength and range of motion in his dominant arm. I can see pain and determination on his face as he tries to do simple tasks like walk his fingers up a wall. Sometimes I sing the itsy bitsy spider song while he does his wall walks. He does not think I’m funny when he’s in pain. Pain pushes him to his limits every single day and I wonder how much more it will take for him to recover.

The therapy process is slow because the injury was severe. I’ll never forget watching the therapist move his arm gently and slowly those first few weeks. Muscle and soft tissue damage in addition to the fracture had restricted him to passive motion only. He wore an immobilizer to strap his arm to his side. Movement was a big no-no because his body needed time to heal.

I listened one afternoon on our drive home from a therapy session as he vented frustrations about how it seemed like nothing productive was happening. The therapist had spent the entire 45 minutes stretching and massaging his arm. It felt like a huge waste of time. How was he ever going to get back to normal when he wasn’t even able to lift his own arm? He was completely dependent on others to bathe, get dressed, tie his shoes, and even cut his own food. He was so over it. He wanted to be independent and back at work. Truth be told, we both wanted those things. I tried to explain that if he did more than his body was ready for too soon that he could re-injure his arm and do more damage than good. I told him that we had to trust that the therapist knows what he’s doing and that in time he would regain some independence. Please, Lord, let the man be able to scrub his own armpit. Amen.

My husband’s body had been broken. Overnight our lives had been turned upside down and we were living in what I call a haze of grace. There was a lot of HGTV, Food Network, and series binging on Amazon Prime. I ordered take out, made ice packs and tried to keep up with laundry. Oh and then there are the medical bills. We survived on the prayers of our family and friends and several pints of Haagen-Dazs ice cream. But it wasn’t enough. I was falling apart. Again. My world had been rocked and I thought I could pretend that it was all just fine.
The trouble was that I didn’t have time to fall apart. This was not a good time for a breakdown. People needed me and I found myself reverting to a lot of old thought patterns because that’s what I do when I’m in crisis mode. I do what I know, even when it doesn’t help. Basically this looked a lot like beating myself over the head with a baseball bat for not being super woman every moment of every day. I wasn’t a good enough wife. I was the fattest person in the room all of the time. I wasn’t a good enough mom. I wasn’t a good enough Christian because if I were good enough probably none of this crap would have happened in the first place. Jesus was counting on me to suck it up and be a good example of mercy for heaven’s sake!!! I found myself wallowing in a pit of shame for not being enough for this crisis.

Welcome to my pity party. One night I climbed the stairs to my bed after tucking my husband into his recliner, crawled into bed, grabbed my journal and wrote,
“The pain is really bad today. My pain—emotional pain. My brain is so fuzzy I can barely function. There are so many hoops to jump through on any given day. I don’t have the will to jump today. I’m sleepy. I just want to cry and let it all out. The trouble is that I’m not sure I can. I look at my mental list of things that should be done to make it all better and it’s like a wave of depression crashes over me and drags me down–way way down. It’s no wonder people don’t want to continue to live like this day after day. I wish I could just sleep it all off and wake up to everything being better. God, why does this keep happening to me? What can I do to make it never happen again? I wish there was a reset button I could hit on my life. So many mistakes. So many things I wish I could un-do. If only I could make peace with my messy life. But I can’t. I hate it…
I’m feeling terrible—I couldn’t feel worse. Get me on my feet again. You promised, remember? When I told my story, you responded. Train me well in your deep wisdom. Help me understand these things inside and out so I can ponder your miracle wonders. My sad life’s dilapidated, a falling-down barn; build me up again by your word. {Psalm 119:25-28 The Message}

If this was a song I’d play it over and over again. It’s the cry of my heart tonight.
Jesus, help me understand these things inside and out so I can ponder your miracle wonders. Build me up by the power of your Holy Spirit and your living breathing word. Thank you.”

I wish I could tell you that I woke up the next morning and everything made perfect sense. It didn’t. But somehow along the way I began to see that I was broken too. I didn’t have the physical injury that my husband had, but I was just as in need of healing. Overnight our lives had been turned upside down and I needed to give this crisis the respect it deserved in my own life as well as my husband’s body. There wasn’t a single thing I could do to make it better. In fact, all of my trying to be better was just making it worse. I needed to trust the Therapist and let Him do his job. I had to stop trying so hard.

For my recovery I’ve been reading encouraging books written by people who dare to use their pain to help people like me see that my messy imperfect life is covered by more love and grace than I will ever be able to sort through in this lifetime. I’ve started praying more than reading my Bible. I’m allowing Jesus to tend to my broken heart and I stopped beating myself up for not being good enough when he is more than good enough. I sleep more. Sleep is good, like really good. I watch Jimmy Fallon YouTube videos and laugh a lot more. People are alive because of Jimmy Fallon. Finally, I told that mean bossy B in my head to leave and never come back and she did. We are all the better for it.

Some wonderful crazy things happened when I stopped trying so hard to be good enough. Joy returned. It had been a couple of years since I’d had any joy. Anxiety was the front and center drama queen demanding ALL of my attention. The slightest misstep would send me into a full blown meltdown. Something as annoying as being late for an appointment took days to recover from. Perfectionism once again had its hooks deep in my soul. I felt hopeless that I could ever get free. Guess what? Anxiety is not front and center any longer. I’m a total freaking mess AND IT’S OK. I’m not doing a single thing I thought I’d be doing at this moment in life AND IT’S OK. It’s really ok. I have peace again, and man, I have missed it. I stopped clinging to the HaagenDazs life raft and have embraced healthy food again. It’s so much easier to love people when peace and joy are actually welcome in my heart and mind…and I’m not jacked up on caffeine and sugar 24/7.

I wonder what our lives would look like if we truly believed how much God really loves us. What if we simply rested in believing that he is enough and we are loved?

Sometimes we have to stop trying so hard and let the Therapist do his job. It might not feel like much is being accomplished, but when we allow for rest and healing to take place in our brokenness we will be stronger for the people and the plans God has for our lives. The Therapist knows what He’s doing. He really does. After all, my man has started to do planks at his physical therapy sessions. His muscles are shaky and it hurts like heck, but I’m beginning to think anything is possible.

Thank you for praying for us. Your prayers are powerful. Don’t ever forget it. Thanks for stopping by.

Do You Wanna Kill a Snowman?

It snowed. Again. And I’m sorry.

I remember those days like they were yesterday. Stuck inside a two bedroom apartment with two rowdy preschool aged boys, it wasn’t a snow day. It was a hostage crisis and I was the hostage.

“Mom! We wanna go outside! Please, mom! Take us outside!” Their demands were simple: Spend 15 minutes pulling on snow pants, boots, hopefully a matching pair of mittens, and a coat. Go outside for 5 minutes in the actual snow, then come back inside and spend 15 minutes taking it all off again, followed by not too hot cocoa and their favorite cookies. No big deal, right?

Maybe not for a 16 year old who got to sleep in. Not for a woman who hasn’t had a good night’s sleep for 3,247 days.

I remember well. I remember thinking how snow days were supposed to look. How we’d build a snowman and take pictures for the scrapbook. How we would build snow forts and take pictures for the scrapbook. How we would fill spray bottles with water and food coloring to color the snow. Or make snow ice cream. So we could take pictures for the scrapbook.

For me, it was always about creating memories for a life I wanted to live, but didn’t actually have the time or energy to live.

My boys are teenagers now. Nobody asked if they can go outside to build a snowman. Today my help was not needed to pull on snow pants and gloves. Yes! Instead, they had to suit up to shovel the driveway and sidewalks. We’ve come a long way. And you know what? I don’t regret not having “better” pictures for our scrapbook. I regret not embracing the time for what it truly was: Loud, crazy, chaotic, exhausting, messy, crusty, unstructured, and truly the longest days of my life. But they were mine and it’s not too late to own them.

It’s not too late.

Today I choose to embrace the life we are living, and as I do, grace warms us like the sun.

God’s Faithfulness in the Hard Places

**Hello! Last summer I had the privilege of  sharing this post as a 5 minute talk in a speaker evaluation group at the She Speaks conference. Today I thought that maybe since it’s like the 432nd day of winter where I live that someone out there could use a little encouragement. I’m saying a prayer for you today. Hang in there. He’s faithful.**

A couple of years ago my husband and I took our two teenage sons to Disney World where we met up with my brother and his family from California.

Like most people, we needed to escape the crazy routine at home. Things like putting our house up for sale, laundry, chores, homework, jobs, bills, dogs, sports. As hard as I tried to put on a brave face every day, I was exhausted and didn’t know how to keep up with my own life. I was sinking.

While we were on vacation, my brother and his wife took us to a wine tasting event at Epcot during their Food and Wine Festival. I’ll be honest, I was pretty intimidated. I didn’t know anything about wine other than whether it tasted good or not.

We sampled a Spanish wine called Las Rocas which means ‘The Rocks’. Since we couldn’t go to Spain, the vineyard rep showed us pictures of where the grapes are grown. What we saw looked more like an Arizona desert than a Spanish vineyard. Then she began to describe the extreme climate…hot summers and very cold winters. She showed us close-up pictures of the soil…pictures that looked like they had been taken on Mars of vines surrounded by slate and red dirt. 

the-rocks-vineyard

I thought to myself, NOTHING SHOULD GROW IN THOSE CONDITIONS.

Based on these conditions, the wine should have tasted like some sandy concoction my boys would have made a few years ago. But it didn’t. It was actually very good.

How in the world can rocks, hot summers and cold winters produce fruit that can be made into a beautiful, rich tasting wine that people all over the world enjoy?

Psalm 89:8 says

O Lord God Almighty, who is like you? You are mighty, O Lord, and your faithfulness surrounds you.

The vineyard rep explained to us that it’s the rocky, nutrient-poor soil that is the key to the grapes that grow there. She said that as the vines struggle to survive in these extreme conditions, they concentrate their energy into fewer berry clusters, to produce grapes with rich flavor.

She explained how the rocks are porous…retaining rainwater and heat so that they deliver just enough water to the vines during the hot summers, and then protect them with just enough heat from the harsh winters.

The rocks give this wine its signature flavor found nowhere else in the world.

About the time I thought my brain would shut down from a science lesson, the Holy Spirit whispered:

I know you don’t see how anything good can come from the conditions you find yourself in right now.

You see rocks everywhere.

You feel alone and exposed.

You long for deeper things than you dare to admit.

You don’t know how you’re going to make it.

But I can grow something rich and beautiful in you because of these conditions.

You need Me more than ever.

Your roots are growing deeper because the deeper soil is full of the nutrients you need to thrive.

You can’t produce anything good without Me. Trust Me to make something beautiful out of this.

His faithfulness surrounds Him.

If God can be faithful to some grapes in a Spanish desert, surely He will be faithful to you and me.

He’s not asking us to trust our track record. He’s asking us to trust His. He has a long history of being faithful to His people even though we don’t have a long history of being faithful to Him.

My circumstances haven’t changed much. My house is still for sale. I’m exhausted. My family needs way more from me than I have to give. I’m still in a hard place, but it’s in this hard place that I am learning to thrive because of a faithful God who has what I need every single day. He gives me His Word. He puts people in my life to pray for me and encourage me and then He asks me to trust Him even when I don’t feel like it because His faithfulness surrounds Him!

The One who turns water into wine is faithful. Even now He is making something rich and beautiful out of your hard places. You may not be able to see or taste it yet, but you can trust Him because His faithfulness surrounds you.

**I think it’s incredibly helpful for others to hear stories of God’s faithfulness to His people. If you would like to share something like that, please leave a comment. Thanks for stopping by!

I’m Not a Good Mom

I’m not a good mom.

I’m not a bad mom, but I’m never good enough when I compare myself to really good moms. Like the ones who are constantly gushing about their children on Facebook or Twitter. I sometimes wonder if I would have slit my wrists if those things had been around when my boys were little. None of my Facebook friends’ statuses ever say “Losing my mind. Thinking about hiring a baby sitter and never coming back.” Oh, I’m guessing a few of them have thought it, but that’s not what they broadcast to the virtual world (for good reason).

You see, this mom has never measured up to what a good mom is supposed to be.

I’ve never been one of those moms who misses her children terribly while they’re at school. I love school. We home school now…and I don’t love it. Every year I hope that this will be the year that I fall in love with educating my children so I can be like the really good moms. So far, no. Maybe next year.

And what kind of mom doesn’t miss her kids when she’s gone for a weekend, or feel like breast feeding was the closest thing to heaven ever experienced? When I see young moms packing around their babies in those sling things, I cringe. That would have driven me crazy…er. Thank God it was OK to plop them in the stroller. While I’m at it, thank God for the five point harness and THANK GOD for baby food from a jar because I was too lazy to make my own!

What’s wrong with me?

This is the question I’ve been asking God for years.

His answer? “Nothing. Let’s talk about what’s right with you.”

I’ve been prompted to make a list that looks something like this:

*I love my sons fiercely. Nobody messes with them without meeting the Mama Bear. Just ask them.

*I pray like crazy for my kids. I know God has BIG plans for their lives and I want them to LOVE HIM more than anything in this world.

*If…no, when the devil messes with my kids, he messes with me. I fight back. My God is a warrior God. I am his daughter, therefore I am a warrior princess and I battle accordingly. Spiritual warfare is real and my children know it.

*I am head over heels in love with my sons’ daddy and they don’t have to wonder whether true love exists or not.

*Nobody plans and executes a better birthday party than me. Nobody.

*I think my sons are hilarious. They make me laugh daily…which helps when they make me want to cry. Mothering is HARD.

*My cooking isn’t half bad. Nobody’s going hungry.

For now, that’s what I’ve got. It’s not perfect, but maybe it’s good enough. Maybe good enough is good enough.

This Sunday is Mother’s Day. My husband and my sons will go out of their way to honor me and make me feel special. They’ll take me to lunch and give me cards that will make me cry. I’ll read the messages of what a great mom they think I am and I’ll feel the familiar sick feeling in my stomach that believes differently.

Or I can choose to humble myself and receive the grace that God so generously offers. I can resist the negative messages that tell me I’ll never be good enough, ask forgiveness for believing the lies that I could be good without God to begin with, and drop to my knees in surrender to the Only One who will make anything good come from this mother. (James 4:7-10)

Maybe you’re reading this and can relate to not feeling like a good mom. I want to challenge you today, right where you’re at to begin to ask God to show you what you’re doing right. Grab a piece of paper, your smart phone, whatever…and make a list. He wants to speak truth and life over you today. Then take your list and thank Him for giving you the grace to allow Him to fill in your mothering gaps. He is more than able to do that and a whole lot more. The greatest thing we will ever do for our children is to trust God.

Let me say that again.

The greatest thing we will ever do for our children is to trust God.

It would be an honor to pray for you today.

Gracious God, I thank You for the mother who is reading this post today. I thank You that YOU are more than enough for everything she lacks. Strengthen her. Speak tenderly to her. Give her space. Grant her the rest that her body and mind so desperately need. May this Mother’s Day be different because she chose to humble herself and allow You to raise her up. Increase her faith so that she may trust You more than she has ever dared before. In the beautiful name of Jesus…Amen.

Feel free to leave a comment. If you share something you don’t want me to publish, just say so. I will always respect your privacy.

Happy Mother’s Day.

Holding on to the Promises part 1

When I got married I thought traditional vows were so over-used and held no real meaning anymore so I wanted something a little more original.  After doing some digging, I found some that were beautiful…they said things like, “I promise to love you as an act of my will…and will respect you as the leader of our home, I promise to never belittle you.” My groom promised to lead family devotions. Seriously.  We had no idea what we were getting ourselves into and man have they been hard to live up to! I remember Matthew’s dad telling him, “You sure promised her a lot.” Yes he did.

Hebrews 11 says

Now FAITH is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see…Hebrews 11

Couples have no idea what the future holds and yet they make promises. GREAT BIG FAT PROMISES in front of a church full of people and document the whole thing with pictures. We have no idea.

A few months ago the Holy Spirit began to whisper “Just hold on” in my spirit. “Just hold on to what?” is what I kept asking. I’ll admit, I’ve been assuming something bad is going to happen. Perhaps it’s the Eeyore in me who’s lost her tail one too many times that has a hard time believing that something wonderful could be on the horizon.

At the time I was feeling discouraged because the plans I thought God and I had made together were not exactly working out like I planned. I know I’ve heard the Lord very specifically about certain things and I was tired of waiting for the grand finale.  I mean, good grief…I was about to turn 40 and I really thought we’d have some things settled by then. Then I began to experience some health issues I thought were long gone.  Again. I also know some people who have been living lives of great faith and I felt frustrated for them because they weren’t seeing a breakthrough in their circumstances either.

When your issue or a loved one’s issue doesn’t wrap itself up nice and neat with a bow on top in a reasonable amount of time…what do you do? What have you done?

Today I want you to think back to when your faith was new…or revived. Do you remember? Do you remember how you were willing to follow Him anywhere and do whatever he asked you to do?  How about that time he healed something you never thought could be healed? Remember how he restored that relationship you thought couldn’t be salvaged? Or provided for your needs beyond any reasonable explanation? Do you remember?

It’s impossible to please God apart from faith. And why? Because anyone who wants to approach God must believe both that he exists and that he cares enough to respond to those who seek him.  Hebrews 11:6 The Message

Do you believe that he cares enough about you to JUST HOLD ON?

Heavenly Father, I don’t know what kind of situation my friend is in today, but I do know without any doubts whatsoever that you want them to trust you and HOLD ON. You know the future. We don’t. We have a past that constantly berates us with our mistakes. We have an enemy who lies to us and tells us that You won’t hold on to us and that we have to make everything happen on our own. Forgive us for believing the lies. We receive precious grace and mercy today to do what is beyond normal for us. Thank You for loving us beyond what we’ve dared to imagine. Open our eyes to the Truth today. In Jesus’ name.

 

 

Grace Surrounds Me

One of the reasons I didn’t blog yesterday was because I had zero time to do so. The other reason is that anything I could have written would have screamed:

“NEEDS MORE MEDICATION!!!!”

Yep. It’s one of those weeks.

I may have mentioned before that we are in the process of getting our house ready to sell. Now that I’ve been working on this for a few weeks, I honestly believe that giving birth might be  easier and way less painful. Seriously.

It wouldn’t be that big of a deal if we lived very sterile lives. We don’t. We have lived in this house for more than eight years. Our habits and patterns are well worn. It’s nearly impossible to imagine our home any different. And that’s what’s had me so worked up over the past few days. Our realtor made arrangements for a professional ‘home stager’ to come over this morning. I spent a lot of energy trying to anticipate what this person would want to see and clearing away what she would not. After a while I realized I was consumed by needing to please someone I’d never even met. Hello, my name is Nichole and I am a recovering people pleaser.

The past couple of days I’ve been having anxiety BIG TIME. When my husband asked me if I knew what the source of the anxiety was, I wanted to taze him. Instead, I began to list off the obvious. He tried to remind me that God was in control and that it was all going to be OK. I didn’t feel like anyone was in control and it was not going to be OK ever again. Aren’t you glad I didn’t blog?

My most honest prayers happen in the shower. This morning while I was pouring out my heart to the Lord, he reminded me that He is in control and that I needed to get a grip. I decided to start praying for the family who is going to buy our house. Somewhere out there (beneath the pale moonlight) is a family who has been searching for the right home and they need me to get a grip so I can get on with His plan. As I began to confess my crazy and pray for people I will most likely never meet, the anxiety melted away. I will most likely need to continue to do this until we are relocated.

I’m not alone in this great big plan. Last night my guys all chipped in to help move stuff and vacuum, clean bathrooms. It’s not all up to me even though it feels like it is. I’m not alone. I’m thankful that when I take a minute to shift my focus from ‘me’ being right in the center of everything it becomes clear that I’m not alone. Grace surrounds me.

I’d love to hear from you today. Have you ever sold a house? Did you need a therapist? People need to know. Just sayin’…

 

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