There's no pretty way to start writing about what's been on my mind lately. I feel SUPER bored with my life. I'm at frustration level, for sure. I feel underutilized- no way am I tapping in to my full potential. At all. And when I begin feeling that way I think terrible, illogical things like "Might as well have another baby. If I'm going to be trapped at home with Em and my body worked to grow a baby that one time, might as well have another one. Right?" Newsflash, Brain, THIS MAKES NO SENSE. You feel trapped and dissatisfied with your life? How about I throw you a baby, at least two years of no sleep, mountains of laundry and poor hygiene? Still sound good, Brain? Sheesh.
My life-bored feeling is just a symptom, though, I think. I think my main problem is that the spiritual being part of me that needs to be connected to and cared for by God, the part that needs to create and think and do things that bring order to chaos, that part of me feels suppressed by the functional being. I can execute tasks perfectly- it may take a long time due to constant interruption from the most adorable tiny person- but I can do them. I can wipe noses and cook dinner and clean house and adventure to the park and read stories and make crafts and play imaginary games and catch up with my husband and tuck my tiny human in for bed and tutor kids and shop for groceries and read my Bible and sometimes even read more things that aren't Facebook. I can do all those things. But what do I want to do? I want to rest. I want to just be me. I want to run and dance and sing and play with Emma without the constant "mommommommommom!" I want to read actual books and write and sit outside and garden and dig my toes in the sand. I want to learn new things like how to salsa dance or play piano or crochet or speak French. I want to drink wine and stay up late talking to Dan and my friends about hopes and dreams and fears. I want to date Dan every night and I never want to say goodbye. I want to eat good food and make new friends and lasting memories. I want to snuggle old friends and lean into being understood. I want to adopt kids- a house full of people who know they are wanted. I want to be snuggled. I want to travel and explore new things. Some of the things I want are more realistic than others, I get that. I think I'm going to start trying some of the more realistic things on a weekly basis. So I can feel sane and be a person instead of a robot. We're not supposed to be robots, you know?
We'll talk more soon!
Love,
Leah
Thursday, November 13, 2014
Tuesday, October 14, 2014
October
October is always cause for reflection. On October 3rd Dan and I celebrated our 9 year date-iversary and on October 5th our hilarious Emma turned 4. HOLY COW. I don't even really feel old enough to have been dating my husband for nine years, to be married, to have a child... to have a child who is 4. I mean, really?!
It sneaks up on you, though- time. It's like a fat house-cat lurking around dark corners and hiding behind fat house-ferns/palms, only catching a glimpse of that elusive animal as it races by with a catnip toy. You're not even fully aware of what's happening and then you try to play the scene over and over again in your mind so you can hold onto it for just a moment. It's pretty enjoyable to watch a fat cat run, after all. Seriously, though, it's important to pause and remember where you've been. If it's painful or traumatic, don't stay for too long, but acknowledge that it happened. Tip your hat to where you've been, rise again, and move forward. I think that if we never take stock of where we've been, we'll find ourselves there again. I hate that. I feel like I find myself in the same forests, lost in the same trees and heavy fog. I can't ever get a handle on who I want to be and where I want to go so I end up wandering. This October, with Dan's help, I'm taking time to say goodbye to the past and making some plans for the future. Who do I want to be? What do I want to have accomplished in God's ultimate plan to save many lives? What can I contribute?
These are serious questions, but they're no 10-year plan. I don't believe in that. Donald Miller in Storyline talks about how God's will for our lives is the same as it was for Joseph when he was thrown in a pit and sold into slavery in Egypt- to save many lives. I want to get in on that, not the pit part but the saving many lives part. In light of that I want to be a woman who loves deeply, who takes time to be kind, compassionate, and true. I want to enjoy my life and the people in it, breathing them in deep no matter my circumstances or the duration of our relationship. I want to be all in. I want to travel, go on adventures with Dan, be reminded of God's love for me by drinking in the natural world. I want to get my hands dirty rescuing slaves, widows, orphans, the poor. I want to be a really good friend, wife, mom. I want to encourage Emma to open her eyes in wonder and belief in God so her life will be filled with light (Matthew 6:22-23 MSG). I want to adopt kids from here and all over the world, just like God adopted us.
This October I feel hopeful. I know I'm approaching 30. Every year that passes reminds me that I will not refer to myself as "young" for much longer. But the things that God works out in our lives take time, often many more years than we would like. I know a little about that. But as I examine my false starts and failures to launch, I remember that God is mostly concerned about my character. He's refining me and making me more like him so that I may resemble him, so that people will be drawn to him by the story he tells with my life. Maybe you feel like I often do, like my life is a collection of setbacks. But God has given us some materials and a hell of creative license. Let's make something beautiful with the mess.
Love,
Leah
It sneaks up on you, though- time. It's like a fat house-cat lurking around dark corners and hiding behind fat house-ferns/palms, only catching a glimpse of that elusive animal as it races by with a catnip toy. You're not even fully aware of what's happening and then you try to play the scene over and over again in your mind so you can hold onto it for just a moment. It's pretty enjoyable to watch a fat cat run, after all. Seriously, though, it's important to pause and remember where you've been. If it's painful or traumatic, don't stay for too long, but acknowledge that it happened. Tip your hat to where you've been, rise again, and move forward. I think that if we never take stock of where we've been, we'll find ourselves there again. I hate that. I feel like I find myself in the same forests, lost in the same trees and heavy fog. I can't ever get a handle on who I want to be and where I want to go so I end up wandering. This October, with Dan's help, I'm taking time to say goodbye to the past and making some plans for the future. Who do I want to be? What do I want to have accomplished in God's ultimate plan to save many lives? What can I contribute?
These are serious questions, but they're no 10-year plan. I don't believe in that. Donald Miller in Storyline talks about how God's will for our lives is the same as it was for Joseph when he was thrown in a pit and sold into slavery in Egypt- to save many lives. I want to get in on that, not the pit part but the saving many lives part. In light of that I want to be a woman who loves deeply, who takes time to be kind, compassionate, and true. I want to enjoy my life and the people in it, breathing them in deep no matter my circumstances or the duration of our relationship. I want to be all in. I want to travel, go on adventures with Dan, be reminded of God's love for me by drinking in the natural world. I want to get my hands dirty rescuing slaves, widows, orphans, the poor. I want to be a really good friend, wife, mom. I want to encourage Emma to open her eyes in wonder and belief in God so her life will be filled with light (Matthew 6:22-23 MSG). I want to adopt kids from here and all over the world, just like God adopted us.
This October I feel hopeful. I know I'm approaching 30. Every year that passes reminds me that I will not refer to myself as "young" for much longer. But the things that God works out in our lives take time, often many more years than we would like. I know a little about that. But as I examine my false starts and failures to launch, I remember that God is mostly concerned about my character. He's refining me and making me more like him so that I may resemble him, so that people will be drawn to him by the story he tells with my life. Maybe you feel like I often do, like my life is a collection of setbacks. But God has given us some materials and a hell of creative license. Let's make something beautiful with the mess.
Love,
Leah
I remain confident of this: I will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Wait for the Lord; be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord.
Psalm 27:13-14 NIV
Tuesday, September 30, 2014
Sincerely Insecure
I am always nervous when I sit down to write. I have stupid, one-sided conversations with myself. Will anything that I say matter? Will it be true? Will it be helpful? Will I be clear? Will I be understood? I don't know! So much of the time my mind feels like a jumbled mess of dirty laundry tossed about an already cluttered bedroom. I'm a mess. My life is messy. I feel insecure a lot. It's WAY easier to just play Candy Crush and drink wine until my mind numbs, slows. It's what I was doing two minutes ago. Because I'm scared. I'm scared that if I call myself a writer, dreamer, lover of all things good & right & true then I'll have expectations to meet. And history will show that I am a failure. A complete screw-up. I never really get off the ground. I never really start anything. I never really do anything.
That's what history shows about me. But you know something awesome? Way better than all of that is that history proves my God is faithful. And I may be wandering in desert, around the same damn mountain over and over again but just like the Jews, His favorites, His chosen, God gives me bread for my body and mercy for my soul- new every morning. My friend says that God mixes up a new batch of his grace for me every day. New. Every day. He leads me while I stumble around in the dark. His Word is a lamp to my feet. Not the sun, not a bright, radiant light that I can see the whole span of my life with, but a soft, gentle light to illuminate my feet so I can see just enough to follow His. I would be lying if I said I remember this all the time and practice walking in the low lamplight, listening for God's voice. I would be lying if I said that even when I am doing these things that it is easy. I'm afraid every single time. Here's why: I'm afraid I won't actually hear God. I'm afraid that He's too big and I'm too small, He's too quiet and I'm too loud, He's preoccupied and I am forgotten. But none of that is true (except that I am small & loud). God is faithful. His character is tried and true, the same yesterday, today, and forever.
I guess my hope is that if I'm brave and I tell my stories that you'll be brave enough to tell your stories too. And then we can be friends. You will know me and I will know you. Then we can remind each other of the truth when all we can hear are the lies. We can pray for each other with purpose and commitment, because when you hurt, I hurt. When you have joy, I have joy. Because I have let you in and you have let me in. Vulnerability, authenticity, honesty. All require bravery. All are necessary for relationship. That's what I'm after. Relationship. Restoration. Wholeness. Hope. Love. All the things that God is after, my heart longs for too.
I am sincerely insecure, but I want to be strong and courageous. Another friend told me that fear and faith occupy the same place in our hearts and minds, but they cannot both exist simultaneously. Fear or faith. You pick. I am so sick of fear and insecurities being louder than the truth, louder than my faith. I have faith in God because he never changes and he never falters. He has faith in me, despite me, because I am hidden in Christ. All he sees when he looks at me is his precious, perfect, blameless son. And he doesn't (not can't, just doesn't) see that I look like hell- tattered, bruised, separate, screw-up. He sees Jesus. That's all I want to see too. Jesus. He's my only hope. My plan A. There is no plan B. Only Jesus. Remember him with me. Remember him when all you can see is yourself and you look ugly. I've felt really ugly lately- wretched on the inside. He's better, I swear. He's making me better. He'll always be making me better. I'm getting there. Thanks for going with me.
Love,
Leah
That's what history shows about me. But you know something awesome? Way better than all of that is that history proves my God is faithful. And I may be wandering in desert, around the same damn mountain over and over again but just like the Jews, His favorites, His chosen, God gives me bread for my body and mercy for my soul- new every morning. My friend says that God mixes up a new batch of his grace for me every day. New. Every day. He leads me while I stumble around in the dark. His Word is a lamp to my feet. Not the sun, not a bright, radiant light that I can see the whole span of my life with, but a soft, gentle light to illuminate my feet so I can see just enough to follow His. I would be lying if I said I remember this all the time and practice walking in the low lamplight, listening for God's voice. I would be lying if I said that even when I am doing these things that it is easy. I'm afraid every single time. Here's why: I'm afraid I won't actually hear God. I'm afraid that He's too big and I'm too small, He's too quiet and I'm too loud, He's preoccupied and I am forgotten. But none of that is true (except that I am small & loud). God is faithful. His character is tried and true, the same yesterday, today, and forever.
I guess my hope is that if I'm brave and I tell my stories that you'll be brave enough to tell your stories too. And then we can be friends. You will know me and I will know you. Then we can remind each other of the truth when all we can hear are the lies. We can pray for each other with purpose and commitment, because when you hurt, I hurt. When you have joy, I have joy. Because I have let you in and you have let me in. Vulnerability, authenticity, honesty. All require bravery. All are necessary for relationship. That's what I'm after. Relationship. Restoration. Wholeness. Hope. Love. All the things that God is after, my heart longs for too.
I am sincerely insecure, but I want to be strong and courageous. Another friend told me that fear and faith occupy the same place in our hearts and minds, but they cannot both exist simultaneously. Fear or faith. You pick. I am so sick of fear and insecurities being louder than the truth, louder than my faith. I have faith in God because he never changes and he never falters. He has faith in me, despite me, because I am hidden in Christ. All he sees when he looks at me is his precious, perfect, blameless son. And he doesn't (not can't, just doesn't) see that I look like hell- tattered, bruised, separate, screw-up. He sees Jesus. That's all I want to see too. Jesus. He's my only hope. My plan A. There is no plan B. Only Jesus. Remember him with me. Remember him when all you can see is yourself and you look ugly. I've felt really ugly lately- wretched on the inside. He's better, I swear. He's making me better. He'll always be making me better. I'm getting there. Thanks for going with me.
Love,
Leah
Wednesday, September 24, 2014
Confess
There's something to confessing, lots of things actually. It sheds light on the ugly things in me which hurts a lot. I don't like to be reminded of my shortcomings or confronted with new ones (which, of course, were probably always there but just never had opportunity to present themselves). Those ugly things- thoughts, feelings, actions- when confessed can even hurt people I love. I think that might be the worst part. In a moment of weakness I could fall and not only hurt myself but leave heaps of collateral damage in my wake.
That's the hard something about confession. I promise there's a beautiful something too. I know because Dan taught me.
Last night we were talking about me & my failings. I explained the situation, scattering very sincere apologies throughout. He helped me talk through it- I am not my feelings. Feelings fade, pass, they're liars. We're human. We err. It's ok. He said, "You know I'm not perfect." And that was it. He forgave me. He held me.
Now I'm exposed. He knows who I really am, what I really think. But he didn't do anything terrible and he didn't make me feel ashamed. Because he loves me. He wants to help me. He wants to go places and do things in our life together and these confessions just help him know me better. It prepares us to fight the good fight together. And we will.
Find someone you love & trust, someone who understands you. Confess. It's hard, but it's beautiful. All part of God's redemptive work, making things whole.
I love Dan & I am so grateful he loves me back.
That's the hard something about confession. I promise there's a beautiful something too. I know because Dan taught me.
Last night we were talking about me & my failings. I explained the situation, scattering very sincere apologies throughout. He helped me talk through it- I am not my feelings. Feelings fade, pass, they're liars. We're human. We err. It's ok. He said, "You know I'm not perfect." And that was it. He forgave me. He held me.
Now I'm exposed. He knows who I really am, what I really think. But he didn't do anything terrible and he didn't make me feel ashamed. Because he loves me. He wants to help me. He wants to go places and do things in our life together and these confessions just help him know me better. It prepares us to fight the good fight together. And we will.
Find someone you love & trust, someone who understands you. Confess. It's hard, but it's beautiful. All part of God's redemptive work, making things whole.
I love Dan & I am so grateful he loves me back.
Friday, September 19, 2014
I write.
I don't write for you- not at first. I write for me. Because I need to, I have to. I'm realizing that now- just now, actually. I keep telling myself I'm not a creative person. I don't have anything to offer as far as creative things go. I keep saying that all I need to do is find my thing, my fit. And that thing is unique and fun and sacred and hard and gives back. See, so it can't be writing because I just told you I don't write for you. I write for me. Because it connects me, the creation, back to my Creator. I was made to make beautiful things, to bring order to the chaos, to offer wholeness in the face of all that is broken. It's hard for me to see how writing can do any of those things. Writing. My writing, my stories, my words. It seems so selfish. Yet as I put these words on paper, it feels like things coming together, it feels like tasting a hint of that wholeness I am desperately after- it's there, just barely on the edges of my tongue. It's exciting. It's scary. I'm accepting God's invitation to co-create with Him. If I don't I may very well stay the same. I may not change. I may not do brave things. But I want to. I will be brave. Something in me is burning- low, warm, and small, but it is radiant! I will not smother my creativity with my own fear and doubt. I've done enough of that. Hang out with me for the journey? So, that's scary for me too. I'm asking you to hold me accountable, to encourage me wherever my writing adventure leads. If I'm honest with myself, I have no idea where this will go. But I am brave, my God is big and faithful, and my heart yearns for adventure. I know I was made for more. I'm going.
I write.
I write.
Friday, March 28, 2014
Love letter to my smaller self
Hello, little love.
You awoke this morning to fragrant orange blossoms and chartreuse spring. And all at once you were climbing your favorite tree in the backyard at Cross Creek Lane. You were running through the yard with sisters & neighbors, riding bikes, playing dress up. You were up late playing kickball & tee- ball with Daddy and everything was green & good & you felt whole. And then you turned 11. Your baby sister was almost 3 and something happened at the church you were at & your family didn't go back there again. And you started at a new church- one with loud music & dancing & yelling preachers & people falling down and you felt lost, alone. That summer you started middle school & the gifted program and there was a lot of (perceived) pressure from your mom to do well. And the tension at home was building. It was all too much for you. But you didn't know. And you thought your family was normal & fine. You didn't know a mother should snuggle & nurture, shower I-love-yous & I'm-proud-of-yous, want you. You didn't know. And so you placed impossible expectations on yourself- straight As, be good at everything you do, be smart, be fun, be popular. It was too much.
And then Mrs. Dana called your mom after your meltdown over getting a B on your math project. Mrs. Dana was concerned just like Mr. Morgenstein was six years later in high school. They were concerned about you. They saw that it was too much for you. But Mommy said you would be fine. You were just like that. High-strung. And for all the years from 7th-10th grade when you would throw up the entire first week of school because you didn't know what it would be like, if you would have friends, if anyone would care. But you had friends at church who cared- Bethany, Tiffany, David, Ryan, Josh, Gloria, Dan, Season. So you leaned into them & you couldn't spend enough time there, with them, with a God you were trying to pursue but you didn't know how. You thought you had to do all the right things at all the right times or you wouldn't be good enough to be loved by Him. But His love, surprisingly, had been pursuing you all along.
Your Father wrapped you up in the arms of your Gramma when you would pretend you were mermaids swimming in her pool under the summer sun. He smiled at you when your Gramma would wide-grin & hand you a Dove ice cream bar for "energy" while you two sang along to Roy Orbison's "Pretty Woman" on the back porch. He reached out and held you in the arms of a father who couldn't wait to get home from work to play with you, who would read you books for school when you were too tired, who would stay up to type high school papers you had procrastinated to write. He pursued you still that Christmas when you were 17 and you & Dan went to the Overland Missions conference and you heard and understood His grace & freedom & hope for the first time, all at once. What a glorious day that was! He was there later when you married Dan & life wasn't happy or easy like you'd expected & you were pregnant with your daughter but you weren't excited & your mom had an affair & your husband was distant at best & everything in your life was upside-down. But do you remember how you felt after Emma was born? Whole. And that may have been the hormones talking, but I think it was God. Still doing His good work to complete you. He made sure to rescue your husband from fear & insecurity. He healed Dan, made him strong- such an honorable leader for your family. What an incredible redemption story it is. And your Father is at the center of it all. Teaching you both about His character, His unforced rhythms of grace.
Now, little love, here you are. At your in-laws' for the second time in five years. Feeling like that 11 year-old little girl who has to do everything right so people will love her, want her. Afraid to share the real her because she's just misunderstood so often. And people keep taking shots at the real you. And it hurts. But don't give up. Because your Father loves you. And you don't have to do anything right to get in on that. He already did everything. All you need to do is curl up next to Him & be snuggled. He made you perfectly, exactly, just the way He meant to. He's making you even better each day. You are His treasure. Lean into Him. Chin up. Remember what Bob said. Your story sounds like a page-turner. Let's start writing. We'll be ok.
Love,
my bigger self
You awoke this morning to fragrant orange blossoms and chartreuse spring. And all at once you were climbing your favorite tree in the backyard at Cross Creek Lane. You were running through the yard with sisters & neighbors, riding bikes, playing dress up. You were up late playing kickball & tee- ball with Daddy and everything was green & good & you felt whole. And then you turned 11. Your baby sister was almost 3 and something happened at the church you were at & your family didn't go back there again. And you started at a new church- one with loud music & dancing & yelling preachers & people falling down and you felt lost, alone. That summer you started middle school & the gifted program and there was a lot of (perceived) pressure from your mom to do well. And the tension at home was building. It was all too much for you. But you didn't know. And you thought your family was normal & fine. You didn't know a mother should snuggle & nurture, shower I-love-yous & I'm-proud-of-yous, want you. You didn't know. And so you placed impossible expectations on yourself- straight As, be good at everything you do, be smart, be fun, be popular. It was too much.
And then Mrs. Dana called your mom after your meltdown over getting a B on your math project. Mrs. Dana was concerned just like Mr. Morgenstein was six years later in high school. They were concerned about you. They saw that it was too much for you. But Mommy said you would be fine. You were just like that. High-strung. And for all the years from 7th-10th grade when you would throw up the entire first week of school because you didn't know what it would be like, if you would have friends, if anyone would care. But you had friends at church who cared- Bethany, Tiffany, David, Ryan, Josh, Gloria, Dan, Season. So you leaned into them & you couldn't spend enough time there, with them, with a God you were trying to pursue but you didn't know how. You thought you had to do all the right things at all the right times or you wouldn't be good enough to be loved by Him. But His love, surprisingly, had been pursuing you all along.
Your Father wrapped you up in the arms of your Gramma when you would pretend you were mermaids swimming in her pool under the summer sun. He smiled at you when your Gramma would wide-grin & hand you a Dove ice cream bar for "energy" while you two sang along to Roy Orbison's "Pretty Woman" on the back porch. He reached out and held you in the arms of a father who couldn't wait to get home from work to play with you, who would read you books for school when you were too tired, who would stay up to type high school papers you had procrastinated to write. He pursued you still that Christmas when you were 17 and you & Dan went to the Overland Missions conference and you heard and understood His grace & freedom & hope for the first time, all at once. What a glorious day that was! He was there later when you married Dan & life wasn't happy or easy like you'd expected & you were pregnant with your daughter but you weren't excited & your mom had an affair & your husband was distant at best & everything in your life was upside-down. But do you remember how you felt after Emma was born? Whole. And that may have been the hormones talking, but I think it was God. Still doing His good work to complete you. He made sure to rescue your husband from fear & insecurity. He healed Dan, made him strong- such an honorable leader for your family. What an incredible redemption story it is. And your Father is at the center of it all. Teaching you both about His character, His unforced rhythms of grace.
Now, little love, here you are. At your in-laws' for the second time in five years. Feeling like that 11 year-old little girl who has to do everything right so people will love her, want her. Afraid to share the real her because she's just misunderstood so often. And people keep taking shots at the real you. And it hurts. But don't give up. Because your Father loves you. And you don't have to do anything right to get in on that. He already did everything. All you need to do is curl up next to Him & be snuggled. He made you perfectly, exactly, just the way He meant to. He's making you even better each day. You are His treasure. Lean into Him. Chin up. Remember what Bob said. Your story sounds like a page-turner. Let's start writing. We'll be ok.
Love,
my bigger self
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