Baby Steps (Continuing the Journey of Body and Food)

The conversation that took place on my last post in this series on my journey with my body and food inspired me.  It was a conversation that I was reminded of when I came across this image on pinterest this week:

Source: fightingthinspo.tumblr.com via ☮Kristyn on Pinterest

I obviously don't have a daughter right now, and maybe I never will, but this image reminded me of the comments that friends left on my last post, about their own daughters, and helped remind me of the importance of learning to love my body now, in this place of having more questions than answers.

After writing that post, I went back to my therapist and we talked about the four week experiment she'd asked me to undertake.  The experiment where I didn't count points or calories, where I didn't climb on a scale, but instead I tried to be more aware of loving my body, of caring for it.

I shared with her that I was fairly certain that over the course of the four week experiment I'd gained back nearly all of the weight I'd spent the previous twelve weeks trying to lose.  That without some sort of tracking system, I found myself eating everything in sight, and rationalizing it.  I was emotional, and craving chocolate - my body wanted chocolate - I only gave it what it wanted, right?  Not precisely a healthy or rounded way of handling things.  Her observation, after more conversation was this - that I had stopped being horrible to my body, but now I was acting indifferently, not really kindly.  She also noted that I seemed to need to some accountability.

So, we tweaked the experiment, and I'm taking baby steps forward.  I'm working on forming healthier images of beauty.  On actually appreciating my body - noticing the myriad of things it does for me each day.  I'm working on noticing the parts of my body that I genuinely like, and focusing on them.  I'm working on being kind to my body.  I'm working on eating more fruits and vegetables, and listening to what my body wants, but filtering out the voices that like immature children ask for desires rather than needs - for chocolate instead of strawberries or carrots.  And I'm counting calories again.

The counting thing works for me.  This has never been a journey solely about weight.  Yes, I'd like to lose some weight (between 15-25 pounds if I'm honest), but it's not about weight particularly.  I'm recognizing a need to love and respect myself - to really see myself as a whole being.  To not have my body be only a utilitarian accessory that I only notice when it fails.  To see my body as the temple I reflected on when I first began writing this series.

Source: emilymcdowell.posterous.com via Jen on Pinterest

I'm recognizing, too, that how I care for myself has a direct impact on my ongoing struggle with mental illness, depression, anxiety, and self-image.  That how I treat myself is a strong indicator not only my own physical health, but my social and mental health as well.

On the wholly practical note, pinterest and counting have been helpful.  I've found exercise tips and images that spoke truths I needed to hear on pinterest.  And counting, well, counting just gives me a target.  I use a website and iphone app called "Lose It!" and have found it helpful, especially as I've personalized it with the foods I eat most regularly.  As someone who has pretty much always despised exercise (with the possible exceptions of synchronized swimming and yoga), it's motivating to me that I earn extra calories through daily activities like walking and house cleaning.  Counting calories isn't an exact science for me.  I'll probably never weigh and measure everything I eat, and I'll probably never have a perfect week of food consumption, under the limit every day, saying no to everything that someone somewhere might deem unhealthy.  But I'm learning that this caring for my body thing is about moderation.  About those baby steps my counselor and I have talked about as necessary in restoring any relationship.  That the goal is to have more good days than bad days.  That sometimes the glass of wine with friends is a good thing, or the celebrating with a decadent restaurant meal is a way of thanking my body and treating my emotions.  That even if a week has more bad days than good, I get to keep trying again and again.

So, I'm counting, I'm looking for new images of beauty, I'm trying to find ways to be gentle and loving to my body.  I'm eating more strawberries (berries in general, really), and I'm hanging out on pinterest.  And I'm using Lose It! (if you happen to use it, let me know - there's a friend feature that can help add accountability).  Baby steps, folks.  The next one is going to be creating a list of all the different little things that I can do to "feel good" on a given day - body, soul, and spirit.  A sort of handy daily checklist that I can refer to.  Another way of adding a bit of accountability to this process for me.

I'd love to hear how this journey has been going for each of you.  Have you been taking baby steps? Giant steps? Are you the need accountability type?  Are there things that are unfailingly on your own "feel good" lists?  The conversation about this journey has been so helpful for me.  Don't let it stop now!

You Ask, I Answer, Take 4

That's right folks, it's time for another installment of You Ask, I Answer.  Today's question comes from Johanna again.  She asks:

Do you think it is important to be baptized in the Holy Spirit after you have given your life to Christ?

I'll be honest with you, and say that my answer is "I don't know."

My faith journey looks something like this:

• Raised in a fairly conservative evangelical culture, as a pastor's kid
• experienced a lot of good and a lot of bad that comes with Christianity as a result of being a pastor's kid
• introduced early to attack Christianity, at the age of 10, when the church dad was pastoring went through a brutal split, and he resigned and planted the church that he still pastors today
• struggled a lot with the feelings of pressure that came with being a pastor's kid
• transitioned into public school for jr. high after being homeschooled, and spent some pretty brutal years dealing with vicious girls in the youth group
• attended a Catholic high school, not sure at this point if I even believe in God, but compelled to defend my protestant beliefs in a myriad of intellectual lunchtime discussions, while really wanting nothing more than to escape faith and it's burdens
• got involved with Young Life in 12th grade - met a great friend in the woman who was my leader and felt seen and cared for for who I was and my own walk with God and not who my dad was and his role in the church for the first time in my life;  still totally wrestling with faith
• just before my 18th birthday, I was baptized.  It wasn't so much that I had answers, as it was that in my own logical evaluation, it would be more of a problem to drop everything I'd believed for 18 years, than it would be to simply subscribe to it.
• in the first years of University I got involved with a small church that was growing, mostly composed of students and twenty somethings and was exploring "Holy Spirit"
• I met people there who had something I'd never seen before.  These people really "knew" Jesus.
• I was struggling with severe depression, and also longing for this relationship that my new friends had with Jesus.  The combination led to some pretty rough years.
• While studying in university, I began to be fascinated by liturgical traditions of the church, studying them as part of my specialization in European church history, particularly in the Reformation and post-reformation periods.
• In my last year of university, sitting in a car, I encountered the Holy Spirit in a powerful, supernatural way, and my depression was healed.
• My life entered new kinds of turmoil and upheaval as my journey with God took some more crazy twists and turns, including a variety of experiences with prayer, dreams and visions, and other interesting encounters with the spiritual realm and it has stayed that way ever since that moment of healing almost six years ago.

So, these days I guess you could categorize me as a liturgy loving, evangelical, charismatic with a soft spot for the mystical and anything to do with prayer.

What, you ask, does that have to do with the baptism of the Holy Spirit?

Well, it's like this - my experiences and personal journey and experiences have shaped my beliefs.  I don't believe that there is something special - some unique baptism of the Spirit, per say.  I believe that the Spirit is present with all of us.  That said, if what you mean by baptism of the Holy Spirit is a particular moment or encounter when the Spirit goes from being the more traditionally evangelical silent member of the trinity, at most recognized as our conscience, to being a living and active part of our relationship and interaction with God, then yes, I do pray that all those who know Jesus will also experience this baptism of the Spirit that He sent to us as counselor, guide and comforter.  However, I don't believe that this looks the same for everyone, or that it happens at a specific time or moment.  For me, it happened the day I was healed, and it was about being in a place where I was desperate enough to surrender.  For friends of mine, it's looked totally different.  But I do pray that everyone will somehow experience, in the way unique to their own hearts and relationships with the Lord, an active relationship with the Spirit.

Thoughts?  I'm not interested in a big theological debate, but I'd love to hear your thoughts (keep them civil please), or to know if this has stirred more questions for you.  Like I keep saying, this feature will be around for as long as the questions come in, and I'm willing to talk about just about any topic you want to bring up here.

Seriously? Seriously?

I had another crazy dream this morning.  Along similar lines to the one that so disturbed me last week, but not quite so disturbing.  Still, something I could have lived without at the moment.

I feel a little like I'm banging my head against walls at work these days.  So I stop banging and try not to care.  To not think about the fact that if I do such and such one way, it's not right, but if I do it the other way, that's not right either.  To not think about double standards and all that crap.  I hate that defeated "it's not worth the fight" feeling.  I mean, I know the value of "pick your battles", but these days it seems like there are so many battles that need to be ignored, because, in the grand scheme of things, if I'm going to take a stand, that's probably not the thing to stake my job on.

I think it makes me more upset that I'm dealing with all of this in a supposedly "christian" company.  I mean, I'm not naive.  I'm a pastor's kid and I've seen it all.  I know that those who claim to follow Christ aren't inherently less sinful and more moral.  But I think we should be trying for that - for a higher standard, beyond reproach.  Not lowballing to see how much we can bend the rules before someone objects.  It's terrible to say, but somehow, that bending of standards to suit one's purposes seems more acceptable, more expected, in a workplace that has a "secular" label.  And, to be honest, some of the secular workplaces I've been employed in have a much higher standard of honesty. 

All of that makes me sad, and then it makes me angry, and then it makes me feel helpless and powerless.  Especially on the days when the double standards are out in force and I've stepped away from several battles before 9:00 ever rolls around.

So, I remind myself that I am doing my job.  And that I do it well.  That I'm only responsible for my own choices and actions and honesty, not that of others.  And that I don't get to judge.  Even when it seems easy and I really want to.

And then I kind of let out a big sigh.  Because those reminders stink too.  Even when they're coming from me to me, and not being hurled at me by someone else.

I set my facebook status this morning to one of my favorite quotes from Grey's Anatomy, "Seriously? Seriously?"

Because that's how I'm feeling about life these days.

I have a better day, and then I have a crazy dream.

I talk myself into being okay with work for another day, and something happens to set me off.

The give and take of life makes me crazy sometimes.

And all I'm left with is, "Seriously? Seriously?" as I trudge forward down whatever path God is leading and think about those scriptures that talk about "the narrow way" and how they weren't kidding when they said this journeying with God is hard and steep and dangerous.

22 Years (and 1 Year)

When we were kids, once a year, we celebrated what our parents referred to as our "special birthday".  Essentially, they kept track of the day that we committed our lives to Christ, and honored that day once a year, reminding us of that moment.

It was 22 years ago today for me.  I was four.  To be honest, I think what I remember most is kneeling on the ugly, dark brown shag carpet that marked our living room in those days, next to the scratchy couch I'd been sitting on only moments before.  I know my mom was near me.  I've been told that there was a change in personality, that I'd wake joyfully in the coming days.

But I was four, and a lot of life has come between that moment and now.

A lot of questions.  A lot of recommitments.

And yet, every year April 20th arrives, and I can't help but think, "It's been such and such a number of years since I met Jesus."

Because in spite of all the years of questions.  The mental illness.  The depression and anxiety.  The bitterness.  The resentments and desire to wander.  The years of really challenging, faith-shaking moments.  In spite of all those things, Jesus just never left.  I didn't always see or sense him as I journeyed, but looking back I see him clearly.  And he just never left.  Even in the moments I wanted Him too, begged Him too.  He just never left.  22 years ago today I invited Him to spend my life with me, and yes, I was four, and couldn't grasp the full ramifications of that invitation, couldn't know the many things to come, but He began to walk so closely with me, and He's never left.  And 22 years of that is sort of worth remembering, I think.

~~~

One year ago today I'd just returned from a trip east to spend a few days with a very dear friend.  I'd been in very dark places for the year or so preceding that trip, and she knew it, and told me to come anyway.  I don't think I'll ever forget the conversations and moments we shared that weekend. 

I returned with a renewed committment to somehow find life again.  To ruthlessly, viciously choose life and joy instead of their alternatives.  I returned with her words, quoting Deuteronomy and God, ringing in my ears, "I have set before you death and life, blessings and curses, now choose life..."

One year ago today I ate three meals for the first time in years.  I started the process of combatting what was essentially an eating disorder that I'd developed as I walked through some dark and intense stresses emotionally, relationally and professionally.  My world had fallen apart and I'd stopped eating because I felt ill all the time.  I'd lost nearly 25 pounds after months of nausea from the stress, and I rarely ate more than 1 meal and a few snacks a day.  And during that season, I'd often felt, too, the call to fast.  From chocolate for weeks at a time.  From all food for a day or two here and there.  Between fasting and nausea, food wasn't exactly a high priority.

Tonight, at supper, I'll celebrated 365 days of eating three times a day.  Of taking vitamins and supplements that I believe have drastically helped balance out my body and begin restoring the reserves that the preceding years of intense stress had so depleted.

This has been a year's journey with Jesus too.  Of praying without the physical reminders of fasting that I'd sometimes come to rely on.  Of trusting him to heal and restore my exhausted and depleted body.  Of hoping and believing for the redemption of the many, many broken things that surrounded me.  Of conciously choosing, in different ways, life and joy.  Of counting progress day by day.  Marking meals with stickers in a little calendar in my purse.  Celebrating when I hit 10 days and 30 days and 90 days.

When I was out East a year ago, my friend gave me a calendar full of quotations from female saints.  I chuckled as I returned home and opened it.  I remember distinctly reading the quote that appears for yesterday, partly because of it's deep relevance to my journey at the time, and partly because it was the words of St. Clare of Assisi, a favorite saint of mine, one whose medal I wear most days on a little silver chain around my neck as a reminder of some deep moments with God.  I smiled again as I glanced at the calendar this morning.  I haven't yet turned today, but the quote seems somehow appropriate to round out this celebration of 22 years and 1 year, somehow appropriate as I look forward at the coming year, and desire to continue to choose life and joy.  Clare writes, "Melancholy is the poison of devotion.  When one is in tribulation, it is necessary to be more happy and more joyful because one is nearer to God."

Discontent

I feel an incredible discontent welling within me today.

And I've fought it, and wrestled with it, wondering if it should be allowed to be.

I don't know who coined the phrase "holy discontent", but it's the closest I can come to describing the deeply unsettled way this day has left me.  Not because there are huge things that have happened, but simply because I feel a shift.  Maybe it's larger than me, I'm not sure.

I'm asking God to reveal what he is teaching.

And for the patience to wait in a space of discomfort for that revelation.

What if I said it out loud?

What if I said it out loud? That's the question that's been echoing in my head for the last few days.

What if I said out loud that I am absolutely, madly in love with this God who will not let me go, and that, despite that, I am also terribly, burningly angry with that same God?

What if I admitted that I just don't know how to reconcile this lover who has so doggedly pursued me in the last two years with the God who has stood by while my life has fallen into chaos and despair?

What if I said that I understand the hope and desperation that Job was feeling when he cried out, "I know my redeemer lives and in the end he will stand upon the earth, and though my flesh be destroyed, I will see him with my own eyes. I myself, and not another." And then what if I said that I find myself saying "the hope of those moments is not enough when there is a Jesus who spoke of life abundant on earth."

What if I said that I am nearly equally convinced and unconvinced that there will be an end to all of this, that I will pull through this space that has been so tormented, and that I will find hope and joy and a beautiful, full, rich life?

What if I said that as much as it makes me cringe, and feels like a regimented legalism, I think I'm being asked to simply check some things off a list every day? To re-establish some habits that have died in the midst of this space.

What if I said that I don't understand how Jesus can promise a life abundant, and then stand by while the enemy torments those who have offered their lives to Jesus?

What would happen if I said all those things out loud, say in a public spot, like, oh, a blog?

Would the world cave in or come suddenly to a halt?

Would I be shamed for being less than whole?

What happens if I say it out loud?

Encouraging

I know it's only 9:30 am, but I am having a difficult day. That could be because of some stuff I carried into the night with me last night - ultimately meaning I probably only slept for two or three of the six or so hours I lay there with my lights out. I say probably because much of that night was spent in the inbetween place of waking and dreaming - flashes of images, people, ideas.

I forced myself out of bed, feeling exhausted, and ill. My muscles tense, my head aching, my stomach rebelling yet again against my very existence. Tears are burning behind my eyes. Tears of frustration and exhaustion and confusion and fear. I sent a quick note to a friend I'd been talking with last night - to tell her that I'd slept poorly, that I was hoping for the grace and strength to make it through the day.

I headed out into the cold morning. It's that time of year when it's beginning to be dark when I leave home in the morning, and it's dark once again by the time I return in the evening. Jason Upton's "Trusting the Angels" album playing on my ipod, and I'm clinging to the song "Not Alone" - desperately needing to hear it's truth.

Got to work and found a response from the friend I'd sent the note to. Tears in my eyes again. I needed to hear the words she said this morning. They eased the aching loneliness of my heart just a little. I wrote back thanking her, and telling her that I'd just been thinking that I could use a hug, but was certain that if someone actually gave me one I'd shatter into a million pieces.

Made tea and Caught up on my blog reading. Faye has a new post up. A beautifully written piece. Her writing reminds me of Anne Lamott sometimes - rambling and deep. She mentioned me briefly - a moment we had together on the weekend. And it encouraged my heart again.

Thanks, Jesus, for friends who love me. Thanks for words spoken and prayed over the lives of others. Thanks for going with me. Thanks for passion tea, and that Wednesday (however miserable) means there are only a few days left before the weekend.

Alive?

Have you ever heard Tony Campolo tell his story about being "fully alive?" He starts by talking about how he used to teach introductory sociology, and he'd ask the class every year, "how long have you been alive?" and they'd answer in the way you'd expect for freshman university students. "24 years." "22 years." and so on. Then Dr. Campolo would ask again, "No, how long have you really been alive?" and he'd tell a story of a moment when he felt fully and completely alive. As the students would catch on, someone would always be forced to admit, "Well, Dr. Campolo, by that definition, I've only probably really been alive for a few minutes."

I've had moments this week where I felt really alive. And I'm hungry for more.

I was sharing some long time fears with a dear friend last weekend. Fears at the way the Lord has hijacked my life in recent months. Fears of becoming "weird" if I continue to walk into the things He seems to have placed in front of me. At some point she stopped me from talking and began to pray, and spoke a simple sentence that I've come back to all week, "You've been ruined for the ordinary." All week those words have haunted me, wrecked me.

There's something so appealing in being ordinary at times. In fitting, in not living on the fringes. And yet, Jesus seems to be able to be found on the fringes. I've encountered Him there in places I've never expected.

It's hard to live a life that has been "ruined for the ordinary" - to never quite fit, to feel like a stranger in your own roles.

My prayer today is that I will be alive - not one foot in death, and one in life, but fully alive. To live in that space of being ruined, and be okay with it.

Up and Down Day

When I finally settled in to pray yesterday, it was a very good thing. For an hour and a half or so I paced my home, and had a conversation with Jesus. We talked about a lot of things - about dreams, about promises he's made, about the things I've been struggling with lately, about the many fronts on which I've been encountering opposition in the last several weeks. I walked away at rest - peaceful in the things He spoke to me.

It's a lot easier to rest in those things when you're not at that moment in the midst of the opposition. That's the lesson I began to learn today. Work was horrendous. By noon I was feeling equally exhausted to the way I had felt going into the weekend. I left for a few minutes to collect myself, and came back to discover an email from a very dear friend inviting me to dinner with her tonight since she was coming into the city. I think that email got me through the rest of the day - the promise of relief and enjoyment with a friend.

Time with Kari was relieving. We talked and she managed to encourage me, maybe without even trying. I went into the rest of my evening with restored peace and energy.

Funny how that goes, and how perspective can be so quickly gained and lost.

I'm working to learn to rest and live in the promises of protection that God has spoken to me both personally and through dear friends. This morning as I woke, the Lord gave me a picture of myself being clothed in a cloak, having it wrapped around my body, and then a hood pulled up over my head. The comparison that came to mind is the invisibility cloak from the Harry Potter stories. An ability to walk unseen in enemy territory. I think Kirk said something about that to me on the weekend. I went to work with that assurance, but quickly lost sight of it in the face of the opposition and tensions that have become commonplace there in the last few weeks.

So tomorrow, I'll try again. Again to rest in the promises of the armour of God, in the promise spoken to me from Genesis that He will be my shield and my reward, in the words of Psalm 91. I'll wrap the cloak of His protection around me and walk unseen in enemy territory - and this time I'll work to remember that though I can see and hear the enemy, I cannot be harmed, my peace cannot be snatched from me, the lies cannot affect me.

A Grown-up sort of day...

This has thus far been a bitter-sweet sort of day.

One of those days that underscores the "oh crap I'm an adult" feeling that comes upon me from time to time.

There have been some special moments. Feeling comfortable enough in my own person to refuse a request at church this morning that I do something I didn't want to do today, and knew that I wasn't the right person to do. Hanging with my parents over lunch. Receiving a compliment from my dad. Going shopping with my mom and buying my first television and dvd player for my new house - that one made me feel very adult like!

There have been some slightly more painful moments. Knowing that I can't accept an offer of a place to live that I desperately want to accept because it doesn't fit well with the way I've structured my finances - it would cost too much, and I'd have to buy a car. I was praying earlier this week about the traveling I feel God has placed on my heart to do in the very near future, and as I was asking Him yet again how I was going to be able to afford it, feeling him increase a growing conviction on my heart that perhaps I didn't really need a car right now, and that, if I chose to forgo buying the car, I could use the significant chunk of savings I've put away for the car to do the traveling instead. Hurting, though to turn down the offer that was made to me. Trying to figure out how to be involved in an upcoming opportunity two nights a week without a car. Knowing though, that the traveling is from God and that it needs to be a priority. Grieving with a friend over some painful news she shared with me at a party last night.

A bit bittersweet today. And that's okay... the joys and sorrows co-mingled. "For the joy set before him, he endured the cross..." is the passage that comes to mind.

And with that, I'm off to make tea, light candles, and curl up to either read or watch a movie or both. I need to create some breathing space once again. There are some things I'm walking through right now which will probably never surface on this blog for public consumption, but which are drawing a great deal of energy and attention and care.

It's chilly in my basement home today, so I'm going to make tea and light candles, and breathe.

Remembering to Breathe

My facebook status today reads, "Lisa is remembering to breathe."

That's how I feel. This has been an incredibly intense week, full of people, and deep, emotional, mental and spiritual things. I am exhausted.

This morning a daily reflection email that I receive from the Moravian church contained the following verse:

God alone is my rock and my salvation, my fortress; I shall not be shaken. Psalm 62:6

I've been looking at that off and on all day, and feeling encouraged.

I'm reminding myself to slow down, to seek perspective, to not become lost in the things that seem overwhelming right now - in the swirl of my own thoughts.

I'm reminding myself to breathe. To breathe in life, and breathe out death. To breathe in peace and breathe out confusion and uncertainty. To breate in love and acceptance and breathe out hatred and rejection.

It's helping.

Of Whimsical Depth

I’m taking a new route home for my commute tonight. I think it will take 20-30 minutes longer than my normal route. Those of you who know me well are howling just at the moment. “She complains about the normal length of her commute, and now she’s making it longer?” Yes. I’m making it longer. Not permanently, just occasionally. I’m going to take a bus instead of the walk and two trains I’ve been previously taking.

Why, you ask? Well, because I find myself in desperate need of space to simply sit and read, simply sit and think, to simply be, without dozens of things staring me in the face and muttering under their breath about how I should really be doing that laundry, or washing those dishes, or reading something constructive. And I’ve always found the bus a brilliant place to create space. You pop your headphones in (whether you turn them on is up to you!) and avoid making too much eye contact with those nearby, and people pretty much leave you alone. You can people watch, eavesdrop, read, stare out a window and think, write in a journal, or simply be.

I feel like many things in my life have been swirling around me at breakneck speeds, and it’s affecting my mental clarity. So tonight, I’m going to take an hour and a half or thereabouts on the bus and simply sit. I’m going to slow down all those other things clamoring to be done because I can’t do them from the seat of the bus anyway, and I’m going to read a novel, and I’m going to breathe, and I’m going to reflect on the things that have been swirling at the edges of my consciousness that I wrote about this morning. I’m going to watch people, and let my mind wander in a restful sort of way. (See, when I put it like that, you all want to spend an hour and a half on the bus too, don’t you?)

When I get home, I’m going to make myself dinner – either soup, or nachos – depends on what my stomach thinks – I’ll ask it when we’re getting close to home. The conversation will go something like this. I’ll say “What would you like for dinner tonight?” And my stomach, which has been debating the two options all day today will say either, “I’d really like some more of that soup you made last night, with the green beans and carrots in it, and maybe you could add some peas tonight.” Or it will say, “You know, I think a plate of nachos sounds great – with maybe some green onion and red and yellow peppers if there are still some in the fridge.” And then my very talkative stomach will probably suggest (I’m guessing here, but it’s a guess based in experience) that I might like to round the meal out with either an oatmeal raisin cookie, baked by my grandma, and stored in my freezer, or with something containing copious amounts of chocolate (of which I have a few different options stashed away.)

After dinner, I have plans that include lighting some candles, folding laundry while watching some tv on dvd, possibly hanging some art in my bedroom (finally!), calling a good friend in another city for a catching up and praying together sort of chat, and paging through either some scrapbooking magazines or a cookbook that I got at the library, to find ideas for future evenings.

Have I mentioned that I find great beauty, joy and peace in the most mundane and whimsical things of life? In the errands, the quiet evenings at home, the little moments of accomplishment, the conversations with my stomach, the extended commute designed to create space to breathe?

From My Journal...

I was reading some journal entries from the last couple months as I was curled up in bed late last night. I came across a passage that struck me as continuing to express great truths about where I find myself on this journey right now. So, without further ado, here's a peek into the private pages of my "paper journal"...

I remain continually overwhelmed by the complex and beautiful simplicity of the bargain Jesus offers - my messed up life for something so much fulfilling. My brokenness for His healing. This beautiful knowingness of being loved, accepted, gathered into the arms of someone who will not let anything separate me from Him.

I never believed it was possible to actually experience the love of Christ. To move from a theoretical head knowledge to a deep heart knowledge, and yet, I meet that love on a daily basis, and it convinces me that I have value - a beauty that is my own to offer to the world, and that, in itself, is a miracle.