Wednesday, March 4, 2015

Where Do I Go From Here

This is it.

This place at If Meadows Speak has been my home, the place where I wrote terribly from my heart and chronicled my faith journey while balancing truth-telling and vulnerability within boundaries that kept my soul intact. Some days I lost the battle. This has been where I began and where I struggled to begin, again.

I'm still trying to find a way to collect my favorite blogs into one place since I'll no longer be using the Blogger-feed. That is one of the best things that I'll miss besides the things I learned about myself while here.

I've grown so much in this community, the commenters who encouraged me and the readers who contributed to the conversations. Thank you. A thousand thank you's.

In transition, I found the subject for which I never tire of writing as I scrubbed my list of posts to "take" with me. That'd be thanks to you, those who stood by me here, walked beside me, and generally became my people.

Armed with what I learned in this process, I decided to hone in on that subject I never tire of. I decided to pin that thing to the wall and stare it down. So of course, I gave it a new home and invited you to join me. Come see what you taught me about myself. I also wrote it in a small eBook, that is yours for free.

Here's to good times and seeing you on the other side.


 Ps. If you have any suggestions for blog-feed readers for me, please leave them in the comments or message me. I'd love to continue my collection of your words in one main location (besides Facebook or email).

Saturday, December 6, 2014

In Which I Say GoodBye and Permanently Stop Writing Here

The wind is blowing hard in these parts. Leaves are rustling around in noisy piles. December has come and I've been writing, quietly. Hidden away, in nooks and crannies, I've gotten into the habit of holing up. And I think it's time for change, just as sure as the months keep coming, like today.

Monday happened upon me in a flurry of activity and yet, slow it went. Enough time passed to be productive, for once. Gray skies pushed out the 70's and ushered in the cold, again. The fifteen-ish extra pounds that I've gained since I stopped working out a couple years ago, keeps hanging 'round too. I've grown accustomed to them even as I make promises to chase them away.

But it is Advent. And this is the month of birthing and re-birthing, of remembering the labor pains, the gestation of becoming alive in ways never experienced before. I've contemplated change this year, prayed over a word that could be the one for 2015, and questioned my commitment to all of this writing stuff.

Truth is, I process through writing and this is how God has counseled me on so much of life. So I dug and kept at it even as insecurities railed against me.  Because I firmly know and believe--words change us. And the Word is still changing us and for that, I went on.

When I was young, the focus of faith or religion was on salvation, on saying a particular prayer to get "it". If you got that, then you had everything. But nobody told me there was more. So much more. It was not until I was in my mid-20's, making a comeback after living a prodigal's life, that I discovered it. And it was not in church. Instead, I found more between the lines of black and white, than all the sermons I'd heard, rolled into one. Between the red words and the dark ones, was a Holy Spirit shooting rapid-fire truths like a two-edged sword, cutting to the marrow of what that "more" entailed.

There is more which leads to a rich and spiritual relationship available to any one who seeks it. But also, it is a supernatural God invading our lives in the right now. Not just in the there-after's, but in the present-day-this-very-moment, now's. It also happens to be what I continue to talk about, over and again. For I've also been convinced of the necessity of how we need Narnia eyes to see. Not to glorify the unseen, but to know how marvelously mysterious and magical God is, in contrast to our own temporal, finite thinking.

As Advent and the New Year approach, I plan to be absent here. I don't plan to return. But I'm going somewhere, in 2015. During that time, I'll be in the interior life to allow God to excavate what He is doing in me. Whatever that means to my soul and flesh. But I'd love for you to walk with me, along the quiet corners, as I discover how that effects my faith, or what God is doing in the midst of the struggles, or how it will be impacting my sanity and security, or how it challenges me and you to do the scary God stuff we're called to do.

Since I am a community-orientated person, I want us to stay together. I have crazy ideas, scary messages, and I need a safe community to share these things. So, you could help me process and find the footing I need. I plan to do that through a community of email subscribers because it is more intimate that way. I'm not sure where it all leads, but I'd be ever so grateful to have you there beside me as I figure it out.



P.s. In this intimate community, here are some of the ways you could hold my hand and I'll hold yours: allow me to share some of the behind the scenes of what I'm doing at Outside the City Gate where there's an invitation: To Collaborate With You.  Or you can be with me regarding a Church of Any Color, which by the way, won't leave my mind, soul, or heart. Plus fear has been teaching me about pressing in, of facing it in the eye, and how we could work on overcoming it, in spite of terrorizing roadblocks. Then there's a small ebook which scares the fire out of me that I've been writing, wringing my hands over, and plan to give away for free (if I don't lose my nerve). Hence, talking about fear, and us being there for each other. To which, there are some strong things to say about the ol' fear thing. Because Kingdom come, there is power on earth as it is in heaven, right? Maybe you know a thing or two about that and together we will walk this out?

P.s.s. And also, am I excited for this girl right here who is stepping out of the boat in many, many ways and is offering a place for unique gift ideas. And do you know, she is a speaker too? Yep. She is getting her brave on. I'm over there, helping her kick of her #reclaimingbeauty series where I talk about my farm and share some photos from it.

P.s.s.s I hate goodbye's. They are so awkward. How about, "see ya later" and take this conversation to email, shall we? Otherwise I feel a need to say, "And I would like to humbly thank, Blogger, for this wonderful opportunity and to those who've been here for me in the hard places of my faith journey....." Gah. Let's just not break up. I'm not good with either, goodbyes or breakups. See? This p.s.s.s. drags on, like a bad record. So I just need. to. stop.

P.s.s.s.s. Because of P.s.s.s., one last thing:

Sunday, November 16, 2014

Let's Get Something Straight About Condemnation, Shall We

As if making up for the years of loss, or the years of disdain, the years of running away from myself, of trying to be this or that or the other, I am here. Stepping into who God created me to be.

In this week of reflecting and being intentional with a new, local writing community, our gratitude in sharing life (and words) with each other has been at the forefront. Behold, the blessings when sharing our selves with others.  And I've been feeling this deeply.

There are brave souls, both far and wide. Yet how often? How often do we play safe? We hold back for fear, or pride, or cynicism, or insecurity, or the whatever. We withhold not only the blessing from others, but from our selves as well.

In research for something I've been quietly writing (and who knows what that even means), I came across a website on spiritual warfare. So I read. And I read. And I kept clicking to the next article and the next, because there was such truth there for me. 

But it was a particular article on condemnation which struck me in the core. It was something God had already revealed to me, years earlier. The article was brief, however it did get me to thinking about it all over again.

Even though we know, intellectually, that the enemy stands as our most vehement accuser, we do not really know it. For if it was as easy as that, then what kind of enemy would that be? These are schemes, sly and sneaky, so that deception trickles out in little drops so as not to disturb the waters of our conscience (or soul) as to notice it.

Of course, there are two sides of a coin, conviction and condemnation. The one leads to sorrowful repentance, setting us free. The other towards self-hate, or worse, "false" humility as we equate not liking ourselves as humility. Or that our self-depreciating thoughts are those too.

The source of condemnation comes subtle or not so subtle, even unrecognizable at times, as the enemy deceives even that part of the lie too. So we think the ones condemning us are: our spouse, or those in the latest dust-up from church, or the church itself, or from our (forgiven) past, or from friends (or the ones we used to have). But then there are many times that we don't give others the chance to condemn, because we jump ahead of the (imaginary) line and turn ourselves in before anyone else has a chance.

Oh how the enemy loves it. It can stick with us in our day-to-day, considering our worth is measured only by what we do for others. Not much else.

That's what makes this kind of false humility dangerous, because we believe a lie. A slippery slope, sinister and demonic, that leads us straight to the pit of condemnation. One that is hell-bent on punishing ourselves, or "jinxing" our self, or committing self-sabotage, or self-defeatism, or playing those negative tapes in our minds. Lots of self and thinking bad about it.

See what a rabbit hole I've fallen into?

God created us to be who He made us to be. In His image, we bear the marks of Christ for those called according to His name. In fact, we are rubies, the ones written on His hands, worth as much as the precious Son we've made Lord  of our lives, because His Spirit has now made a Home. We are the temple, holy of Holies, living inside.

So let me stop here and look at the true. Because true humility thinks on God's purposes. True humility does not get wrapped up and bent around the axle of, self. It goes about the Father's business. This humility rests in Christ and gets on with it.

True humility is brave. It counts the cost and considers all else a loss. It looks into the face of Jesus, leans a head on His chest, and listens for His heartbeat. It walks away from the old man and embraces the new Life it has been given.

And then true humility walks it out among others with a Love emblazoned by a holy fire. Because true humility thinks of things above.

So we take our ash and sackcloth, and we step between the torn curtain. For we come, as He did, bringing Heaven on earth, through these vessels ready to be full of His glory.

And praise.


(Ps. I'm not saying we do not ever think about our self. My aim is to contrast the lies versus the Truth. The Truth about who we are in Christ.)


~my best-friend-of-a-hubby who surprises me with joyful things

~a God who has been bursting my heart with His fullness that I want to share and give it away to anyone who'll have some

~a group of brave friends, near and far, who make life fun and much more interesting, and especially grateful to be witness to all of it

~fun soccer days wrapped in thick blankets with excited tournament players, all bubbling with glee and emotion along with the parents

~a group of kids who worked as a team and then tackle-hugged their coach into a pile of arms and legs

~a red-hot fire that keeps me warm and cozy, as slight chances of snow, tease us with promise

~hope of having a full house for the holidays, in a reunion of epic porportions....a girl can dream, can't she?

Tuesday, November 11, 2014

Catawampus Days of Homeschooling

It's a campfire kind of night. Love the early Fall nights. #1000gifts #gratitude

There is a symphony of trees shaking their leaves today and they are making it known -- change is coming. The whipping winds rip the colored leaves from their perch in a loud display. From inside the house, the trees dance and the bushes wave with fierceness as they sway back and forth. Now dotted with the debris of Fall, our backyard is covered in it.

Today feels hopeful. Yet, it was just two days ago I wanted to quit. As homeschoolers (as any teacher, public or private school, would know), there are hard-wanta-quit, days. There are glorious days too. And all types of days between glorious and hard. But yesterday, was one of the hard ones. And it was the usual suspect getting us catawampus.

As I pushed the tears back, holding them at bay behind a quivering dam, I was thinking, "How can I write of gratitude with days like this?"

It was not lost on me that within a local writer's group, we are supposed to be reflecting and writing about the goodness right in front of us. And funny thing is, it was my suggestion from the days of joining Ann Voskamp, way back when. The irony of such things makes me suspect spiritual warfare or perhaps my own need for intentional gratitude becoming obviously plain. Yet, when days cut you to the wick, you are doing good to just breathe and not let the tears overcome you. All the more reason to suspect and fight the battle. But there are days we give in, for a little while and for me, yesterday was one of those.

But I know. I know gratitude. And how this is the very, exact thing in which we need. In which, I need. There was a time when I did the list of thanks, even though I'm not a list person. There was a time when I purposefully looked for the beauty of it. There was a time I stopped navel-gazing at my situation long enough to look up with intention to see with a thankful heart.

When my husband and I gave up our dream home to live on an old, dilapidated farm, to take care of my ailing Grandmother, we were high on God. But we quickly plummeted to the to dark valley of what that care and ultimate sacrifice would look like in our day-to-day survival. We understood the Israelites who pined for the choice foods of their slavery, as we did the same for our dream house as we mourned it's loss. That first Christmas we celebrated without so much a decoration, but we played the Christian radio (which also played Christmas music) like it was a lifeline. Music imparted a small glimmer of hope for the long journey ahead of us. So we grabbed hold of it.

That was almost six years ago.

I stopped looking for gratitude and just lived. But I have a need to remember, again. This month, right now.


Something's gotta give and so I will start. Because Jesus said we will have catawampus days, but to go ahead and smile, laugh a little or whole lot, and remember--He overcame the world, catawampus and all.  


A local group of us are joining together and more are coming (as they get brave with their new blogs). Join --DaughterRising, Jennifer and Jenny's.


~~marshmallows, campfires, and belly laughs that draw kids out of the house to check on the commotion of adults.

~~late night shenanigans of parents pulling pranks on the kids

~~family within walking distance after years, decades even, of moving town to town, or in other countries, separate and far away

~~sunsets that take your breathe away, and people crazy enough to jump in the car with you and run out to meet it

~~friends who travel to places like Sudan with a burning in their heart and come back to tell of the stories of hope

~~brave writers willing to take chances on life and dreams and words

~~a hubby who is always willing to listen, despite the avalanche of words

~~two boys who are growing up to be men, before my very eyes

~~a daughter and granddaughter, dearly loved, and carried in my heart

Thursday, October 30, 2014

On Why It's Ok To Not Instagram Every Moment (post Allume)

In awe of Greenville, SC. Not ready to leave yet. #soby's @abreitmann #allume #Divine

It's this crazy world we live in, longing for our place. And there are days we gather around one another and we hope they will like us, that we won't disappoint. So we stand awkwardly in our boots or cute clothes, and we scan groups of small huddles and wonder, is there room?

But our feet burn under an ache from shifting our weight side to side, so we move. We stumble toward tables and seats and faces. And we know to push past the silly voices in our head. Because we are here with intention.

Then we pass her or him, acknowledge one another, until we are communing over sweet tea and between keynotes. Our sore muscles relax into the chair. And when it's done there are plans for pj's and sacred communion in the hidden away places. Because God is doing a work and we didn't know until now. So we listen, we share, and we climb into the guts of another someone's story. And we are not thinking of iphones, or Instagram, or capturing this sacredness. We are just cherishing these things in our heart, much like Mary, Jesus' mother, did.

But when it's gone, we want markers. Oh how we want a way to memorialize something from it. Yet, we were too invested to take a chance of losing ground, so we stayed. in. the. moment, instead.

It's a week later and the once shiny polish is now chipped into scraggly patches on my fingernails. A wrinkled pile of suitcases with tags from Comfort Inns, or American Airlines, or such travels, now carry limp clothes home.

This is the aftermath. When we are left with words from God moments stirring the stuffing inside, we come now and turn for rest into the valley of everyday living. With these people we call home, because they make any of this possible.

But God goes too, carried like a Himalayan buried in us. And we walk under the shadows of His peaks.


I’m sitting at the airport in Atlanta, four days post Allume. Cross-legged on the floor is a man in a suit talking about clients and CEO’s on his phone, as I type. So much has happened since I first landed at the Hyatt hotel. Many chapters of my life are being written in my heart from folded hours of hallways, private rooms, quiet couches tucked into corners, and Gilmore Girls.
Many a time, I found myself circling the elevators on the ground floor trying to process. Allume lived up to it’s name but it was beyond the keynotes or the seminars or the speakers, even though those were good in their own right (and a few are still sticking with me, now).
There are things I can not write about yet, years of things culminating into one week that have slayed me. But it was the prayers and the spontaneous preaching coming at me sideways, from unexpected angles or people, which lit my soul with gratitude for the mighty Spirit abiding within us. And it was a creamy white pitcher that prophesied a blessing and a hope on a counter which declared His goodness to me.

So much "grace and gratitude" tonight. #housewarmingGift #inMyDaughtersKitchen #miracle #allume #giftUponGift
After newly arriving at Allume, before we'd reached the miry depths, before the waxing between weary joy and somber awareness, I had a strong urge to share the worth of our spirits. The deep-down, laid-bare, beyond the insecurity of finding our place at a table, God sees the worth under the layers of worldly cares or outfits. He lives the inside out. As much as we want this place among someone's, we want God more.
I am always hungry. Like a starving child pleading to be feed. But it's for the soul. It is for the nourishing, building, and strengthening inside. And we know God longs to speak in His timing. There are droplets of dew only touching the surface or floods ripping through the fibers of our being.
It was the latter which came for me this week.

I left Greenville, breathless by an all-consuming God. And I drove my rental car, not to Texas, but further away into the hills of South Carolina. I worried not (as my past habit would have it) if my face had the proper amount of mascara or if the right shade of brown covered my brow. I was ready to be seen, in the raw. To not let my "put-together" life sacrifice love.
I drove further east, far and away from my Atlanta departure because sometimes you have to go backwards before you can go forwards.
That's when the roads began writing my story through the tree-lined curves of Carolina pines and hardwoods. Fall colors burst beside me as I whizzed past. I saw the dark-skinned people walking the streets with their grocery sacks. A past as personal as the heart that beats inside me, has been lived here and I once saw only pain here. But, as God would have it, I saw light. Everywhere.

Around me came through filters of grace, hope, and redemption. So obviously, I sent myself text messages (because I'm weird like that) about what I saw. I made markers. But they were hidden away, tucked safely in my heart and on my texts.

And it is ok. It's ok to not post every moment. Because there are times to labor, of caring for the body and caring for life. And that means carrying the moments (or people) in the wombs of our souls until we're ready to give birth.

I'm bit swollen with it all. Yet there was no captured, or Twitter-ed, or Facebook-ed trail per se', but God continues to call deep to deep. And some days, weeks, maybe years, we are letting the deep slay us. I will possibly feel the contractions, one day. And when I do, the groaning's will be birthed into words in this small corner, as a way to illume the trail that began there. Until then, my soul is full and I'm grasping at the overflow, frantically looking for cups to capture it.


(If you missed Allume, then you are warmly welcomed to join us over here and catch up.)