Headband Horror

I had a few awkward years when I was growing up (understatement? yes). Being genetically skinny can be both a blessing and a curse (which is probably true of every and any body type there is). And, of course, I had the wonderful blessings of things like bad haircuts and acne to compound the problem of my awkwardness. Sometimes I tried to pretend that I didn't care about those things. . . I remember wearing skintight leggings to school one day when I was a sophomore, refusing to acknowledge that my legs looks like toothpicks sticking out of a tootsie roll.

Then there was the day that I decided to wear a headband with my bangs pulled back. That might not seem like such a crazy idea to you, but if you understood the issue with my forehead you would have gasped in horror at the mere suggestion. . .

I guess in some ways I was lucky, because the issue with my forehead could have been a lot worse. It could have been all over my face. You see, I had a pretty bad acne problem underneath the bangs that I so desperately wanted to grow out (you can imagine the dilemma there, because the bangs covered the acne - which was good - but they also were most likely the cause of the acne - which was bad. . . oh, the stress). Anyway, it was nice having bangs to cover it up because most of my friends never noticed it was there.

If you really want a better picture of my complete ridiculousness send me a message and I'll tell you the nickname I gave the upper portion of my face. . . oh, words cannot describe. . .

Anyway, you can imagine the shock of my friends and classmates when I walked into school that fateful day with a big black headband holding back the curtains that so delicately concealed my imperfections. I think the worst moment of the day was definitely at lunch when a friend called out halfway across the lawn outside the cafeteria, "Erin! I didn't know you had freckles!!! . . . oh. . . sorry."

OUCH!

Ok, so why am I telling you such awful and embarrassing things about myself?

Because I think its important for you to know that I experienced those things. And I survived. In fact, I am grateful for experiences like those because they taught me a lot about what really matters in this life.

Maybe you're the kind of girl who never gets embarrassed. Things always seems to work out just right, and everyone seems to think you're pretty much perfect in every way. You never say things you wish you hadn't, wear things you now realize looked ridiculous, or look at yourself in the mirror and wish you had a giant magical eraser.

Oh, wait. No, that isn't possible. There is not one girl on the face of this planet that actually believes she has it all together. But you realize that we often think that about each other, don't we? If only I was like "____," then I wouldn't feel like this.

But the truth of the matter is we all face awkwardness of one kind or another. I can promise you that there is is not one girl on this earth who goes to sleep at night smugly thanking God that He finally created the perfect human. But Satan does a really good job of convincing us that this isn't true. He twists reality and successfully convinces us that we are alone in our awkwardness.

And let me ask you a question. What happens to our ability to love others when we see ourselves as imperfect, broken pots and them as perfect, flawless creatures?

Our love evaporates.

I cannot tell you how many girls I distanced myself from when I was younger because I saw them as something I could never be. I was angry that they had the privilege of waltzing through life without suffering from the annoyances of imperfections. Oh, but I was so wrong!

Those girls were hurting, too. And even if they didn't deserve my love, I was called to love them anyway. . . and show them the very grace and mercy they often refused to extend to me.

In Philippians 2 it says:

Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit, but in humility consider others better than yourselves. Each of you should look not only to your own interests, but also to the interests of others.

That verse is a pretty huge call for us to live out the love we've received in very real ways. But we have to be careful about how we read and understand verses like that one. When Paul (the guy who wrote those words) tells us to consider others better than ourselves that doesn't mean that we place them on a pedestal. The bible also tells us that "all men (and all girls) have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God (Romans 3:23)".

Jesus shows us what true love looks like. It doesn't ignore imperfections and deny sinfulness. . . It says to those in our midst, "I know you aren't perfect and that you don't deserve my love. But I'm going to love you anyway."

I think one of the first steps towards being able to show this kind of love to others is to recognize that we aren't so different from each other after all. You are a beautiful child of God, loved beyond measure. And so is the girl sitting across from you at youth group that you can't bring yourself to love because she is everything you wish you were. . . or she has everything you wish you had. . . or she acts like nothing in life bothers her when your life seems to fall apart daily. . .

Remind yourself in those difficult moments that she needs Jesus just as desperately as you do.

Remember who you are and Whose you are, and refuse to be selective when you distribute His love to those around you. . . no matter how much or how little they look like they need it. . .

Facing the M&Ms

Alright girlies, are you ready for me to get real? Its time to take a walk on the wild side and tell you some stories from my tweener years. I don't know why I do things like this; you will probably never look at me the same. . . but hopefully the end result will be worth the ridiculous revelations!

I went to a small (very small) private school all the way through 8th grade. When it became time to venture off to our enormous public high school I decided to get involved in a group (can't remember for the life of me what it was called. . . Peer something?) that would connect me to other students who were coming from smaller schools into this high school of a few thousand.

It was a good choice, because I was quickly connected to some girls who became good friends over the years of high school. There was an unfortunate event, though, that has soured the memories of that group for me. You see, we had this retreat a few weeks into the school year at a camp nearby. I was rooming with one of my new friends, and as we laid in our bunks trying to fall asleep I blabbered on and on about the beautiful boy that I was totally in love with.

Oh sheesh, this is already embarrassing. Ok, so anyway. I was going on and on about this boy and all of a sudden I felt something strange on my face. It was like little pieces of the ceiling were falling down and smacking me. I stopped talking and listened for a moment. . . and then my eyes focused through the dark to see a vent right above my head. I heard laughter, and then (if you can even believe it) the voice of the beautiful boy calling out in mockery. The little "pieces of ceiling" smacking me were actually M&Ms that they were throwing through the vent, right at my face.

Have you ever been so embarrassed you literally thought you were going to die? I'm not sure how I slept that night, or how I survived the rest of the weekend for that matter. It was seriously traumatic.

But you want to know something awesome? I'm giggling right now. I think its really kind of hilarious that that happened. I don't even remember that boy's name (let alone the name of the group I was in), and this painfully humiliating experience is now nothing but a memory.

A story to tell.

A few months ago I was at a church service where Andy Stanley (a big preacher guy) gave a message about the stories of our lives. He talked about the fact that everything - everything - we go through, no matter how tragic or embarrassing or awful, will eventually become no more than a story we tell.

Have you ever been in a situation similar to mine? So embarrassed you were beside yourself? Or have you ever been so hurt by a guy, or a friend that you felt like you had nothing good in your life at all? Or have you ever been so frustrated with the consequences of a choice that you made that the guilt threatens to consume you?

Tell you what, girls. I can almost guarantee that we've all experienced each one of those feelings. As a friend who is a few miles (just a few, right?) further down the road, I can promise you that those feelings, and the stories behind them - don't have to define your future. You can choose to let those negative stories consume you, or you can cling to the truth that God's word speaks. . . You can refuse to be defined by the hurtful actions of others, or even your own poor choices.

So next time you are in a situation that threatens to unravel you, make this your mantra:

One day, this will be nothing more than a story I tell.

And then open your bible and remind yourself of who you are in Christ. Remember that nothing you can ever experience here on earth is confusing or unknown to your Savior. He walked through it all, and He promises to walk through it again - holding your hand and lifting you up.

You might be in the middle of something right now that makes my "beautiful boy/M&M" story seem like nothing. . . and the truth of the matter is that you might never look back at this particular bump in your road and giggle. . . But you have all the power in the world through Christ to turn this story, this difficult bump, into one that sets you on a better course; one that defines you as a child of God and a faithful daughter.

Don't let the world write your story for you, my friends. Let Jesus walk you through the story He wrote for you before time began. . .

Oh yes, you shaped me first inside, then out;
you formed me in my mother's womb.
I thank you, High God—you're breathtaking!
Body and soul, I am marvelously made!
I worship in adoration—what a creation!
You know me inside and out,
you know every bone in my body;
You know exactly how I was made, bit by bit,
how I was sculpted from nothing into something.
Like an open book, you watched me grow from conception to birth;
all the stages of my life were spread out before you,
The days of my life all prepared
before I'd even lived one day.

Psalm 139:13-16, the message

A Brand New Day

I finally figured it out. I am completely convinced, and in this new sense of understanding I am finding an immense amount of joy and peace. I finally get what is going on. You see, ever since we moved this summer I have been struggling to write anything on this blog. You've probably noticed.

And I keep making these other excuses; saying its the new morning routine, or the adjustment period from moving and starting life all over. Those things might have a small part - a very small part - in creating this inability (and honestly total lack of motivation) to write. But there is something much bigger going on here, and now that I understand, I think its time to make a change.

Are you ready for it?

Here it goes. . . The last 2 years have been a whirlwind in my faith. I have been growing and learning and stretching like no other time in my life. I have come face to face with my Savior, and in moments of total surrender and abandon I have finally begun to learn what it truly means to walk with Him. To walk for Him. To walk like Him.

And in the midst of that crazy growth there were a lot of rough places challenging my new convictions and denying my heart's understanding. I was in a place where I felt finally freed, and I wanted desperately for others around me to see and taste what I was learning. But it was difficult, and I felt like a lone disciple standing on top of a hill crying out for someone - anyone - to listen, and understand. There were friends standing beside me crying out with the same voice; the same passion. Together we formed an incredible bond because we were experiencing the same friction from rubbing up against these rough places with the convictions filling our hearts.

It was wild.

And when I started this blog my original intentions to encourage young girls in my life were quickly abandoned. This place became an unloading dock for my passionate cries to those in my midst and the rough places I faced. This was where I came to voice what I felt Jesus was calling me to do. This was a place where I could confront the beliefs and actions of good-hearted people who had forgotten what it really looked like to follow Jesus.

This blog was my bullhorn, and the life of Christ was my battle cry.

But this funny thing happened when we picked up our little family and drove 4 and 1/2 hours away. I laid down my bullhorn, and my battle cry became a quiet conviction. You see, I'm not in a rough spot anymore. I don't feel like that lone disciple crying out on the hilltop. I am standing among a band of brothers whose voices are rising in unison, calling out to those in our midst together.

As a huge wave of peace has washed over me, I have lost the urgency in communicating the message that Jesus laid so heavily on my heart over the recent years and months and weeks.

I am so grateful to be in a place of like mindedness. But this, in many ways, has proven to empty my fingers of passionate words to type.

So where do I go from here? As I laid in bed last night processing this whole revelation, I thought maybe it was time to simply lay the Hill for Girls to rest. It was a fabulous experience; one that I will be forever grateful for. . . But I am tired of sitting at the computer trying to force something meaningful and passionate to appear on the screen. I can't force the Spirit to inspire me whenever I feel like I should post a blog.

But then I was praying this morning. Praying for 2 girls who have entered my life in the last few months that I love dearly already. . . girls who I worry about. I was praying and begging God to fill their hearts with a sincere desire to follow Jesus. And in that quiet moment with my Father I suddenly realized what I was supposed to do.

I'm picking up my bullhorn again. And the life of Christ is still my battle cry.

But it isn't about me anymore. It isn't about the rough places (or rough hearts) that are inspiring and challenging me to cry out. Its about the girls that God has placed right in front of me. It is time to start all over again; to remember why I started this blog in the first place.

So you'll probably notice a change in tone as I write in the coming days and weeks. I'm not promising that I'll write with any great frequency, just that when I do it will be out of a longing for these young treasures in my life to know and love Jesus. . . to understand what it actually means to live for Him. . . and to hopefully come to believe that the life He offers is worth sacrificing everything else.

Thank you to all of you who have read faithfully over the last year and a half, allowing me to put words to the emotions, struggles, joys, and lessons that have filled my life. I pray that God will continue to be at work in all of us, and that when we enter new seasons of life and lose the luster for the battle we've been fighting, that we would not lay down our bullhorn in surrender - but that we would open our hearts to the battle God has given us today.

One thing we know for sure; until the day Jesus returns this battle is not done.

I AM that crazy mom

Here I am! Alive and kicking and wading through each day as best I can. I have not lost contact with the world, though one might fairly assume that to be the case if you go by the frequency of my blog posts. The truth is that I have started a completely new season of my life and the adjustment time is taking a little longer than I had anticipated. I am now a mom of school aged children, and four mornings a week I have to have us all out the door and in the car by 8am. Amazingly, we've succeeded each morning we've tried so far. And in a lot of ways, I am absolutely loving the structure and routine that school provides.

The unfortunate reality is that I am no longer able to sit at the computer for an hour before the kids arise to articulate the depth of my thoughts on everything in life. I'm going to have to find another time to write.

And the truth of the matter is that I don't have much to say. It isn't that life is going wrong, or that I am disconnect from my Maker and Savior, or that I am struggling with any particular area of life. Quite the contrary, I am feeling incredibly blessed and encouraged in my faith; I am seeing God's hand move in amazing ways every day to provide for our needs and sustain us. This has been a fabulous season so far. . .

But for some reason, I'm having a hard time articulating any one particular thought. I have started to write at least 3 different posts, but none of them have ever seen completion. Today, however, I feel pretty strongly that I need to share what God is teaching me now. To do that, though, I need to share a thought I had the other day while shopping:

Matt and I had traveled down to Illinois to spend the weekend with his parents and my mother-in-law was watching the kids so that I could run some errands. I was in a store all on my own when I heard the unfortunate sound of a screaming child. I actually thought to myself, "Oh, Lord, thank you so much for giving me children who don't ever scream in stores or throw fits in public. It must be so difficult for women whose kids misbehave."

No, I'm not kidding - I actually thought that.

I am not going to get into the whole story of the events that followed culminating in my child shrieking through Marshall's and me throwing his shoes in the trash, but only remind you of that little saying pride comes before the fall, and let you know that I was swiftly kicked off my arrogant horse and reminded that neither my children nor me are perfect. As I carried my screaming child out of the store yesterday I suddenly had a revelation:

I am that crazy mom.

You see, sometimes its easy for me to get so comfortable in my little life that I forget that I am just as much a part of this fallen world as everyone else. I am just as desperately in need of God's wisdom, grace, and patience to get me through each day as my neighbor.

This morning I was praising God for His forgiveness and the truth that His mercy is new every morning. I am a sinner, not a saint. I will stumble and fall, but God's hand will lovingly pick me up, dust me off, and set me on my way again.

Hopefully I've learned a little lesson along the way here. Next time I pray that I'll handle the meltdown with more wisdom and discernment than I did yesterday. . . But in the in between time - from now until another fit comes - I hope that I'll remember to acknowledge in humility that none of us are defined by our meltdowns (or apparent lack of meltdowns) anyway; we are defined by our relationship to and dependence on the Creator and Sustainer of our souls.

I may be that crazy mom - but on a much more significant and eternal level,

I am that child of God.

Thank you, Jesus. . .

Glory to God

I know this will come as a bit of a shock, but sometimes I really love watching football. There are a couple of teams that I root for (I'll keep which ones to myself right now, thank you), but to be honest, I don't like watching football because of the actual game. I like watching football because of the stories. There are so many athletes who have pushed past tragedy, sickness, and devastation to become unbelievable players in their game. I think there is something so special about these individuals who have defied the odds and courageously stepped out onto that field. Yesterday I was quietly crying watching the story of one such player and his brother.

Their story is one that is difficult to hear. I didn't want it to be true. Elliott Mealer plays for the Wolverines. 3 years ago, though, the Mealer family was involved in an accident on Christmas Eve. The boys' father and Elliott's girlfriend were instantly killed. Elliott damaged his shoulder trying to roll the car over, and his brother, Brock, was paralyzed from the waist down. The doctors gave Brock grim news soon after. He had a 1% chance of walking again. Never mind the likelihood that their hearts would ever heal. . .

Horrifying. Absolutely heartbreaking. But these brothers were out on the football field yesterday - together. And Brock walked. Brock walked on the field with his brother. He was wearing a shirt (in Wolverine colors, of course) that had a huge figure on his chest: 1%. That was the number given to Brock by the doctors. He had defeated all of the odds. He had fought a seemingly impossible battle and won.

But the part that filled my heart beyond emotional capacity was what it said right above the 1% on his shirt. Glory to God.

A sportscaster sat down with Brock later during the game to talk with him about his experience. The reporter asked him where he found the strength to have such a positive attitude in the midst of such a tragedy. This young man smiled and shared that it had been his faith - the work of God his Father - that got him through it. There is nothing but the strength that God offers that can so miraculously heal legs, and arms, and hearts. . .

It was a powerful reminder to me. No matter what percentage we've been given for success in this world, God is bigger, and stronger, and wiser. Glory to God.




Glory to God.

Unbelievable

I have something important to tell you. You might want to sit down. Some crazy things (ok - one majorly crazy thing) have been happening these last couple of weeks, and I have been completely convinced (ok, well, I was convinced before) about a couple major truths. Here we go, ready?

God is real. And God is intimately involved in the details of our lives.

Remember that last post about being homesick and feeling an ache and a longing for the friendships and the home I left behind up north? Well, God did something wild on our 4 hour drive up there that completely changed my perspective and deepened my faith in His ability to do anything.

You see, we own this beautiful little home on Alma Lake in the Northwoods. We spent 2 years completely redoing the main level, and I was convinced that some happy couple would walk in, fall in love, and offer us our asking price within 2 weeks of listing it on the market! Oddly enough, that hasn't happened. In fact, it has been on the market for 3 months now and has only had one showing. No joke. ONE SHOWING! What is the deal with that?

So Matt and I were beginning to worry about how we were going to handle the finances and take care of this property and still be settled into life down here. As I blogged about a few weeks ago, I was terrified that seeing our house empty would make me sad; that I would long to fill it up again with laughter and yummy smells and tiny feet running around. . .

We were set to drive up north on Sunday afternoon. My job was to clean up the house and then Matt would mow the lawn before we headed back home to Oconomowoc on Tuesday. That morning at Oakwood Church a young family we had met at a bible study (the only bible study we have attended since moving here and joining this church of 800) commented that another couple in the study had just accepted a job offer in a town called Minocqua. If you are unfamiliar with northern Wisconsin, Minocqua is about 20 minutes from our home in St Germain. I laughed at the unlikely circumstances and joked about knowing a great home that they could purchase.

It wasn't until several hours later (in the car driving up north, in fact) when I told Matt about the crazy "coincidence" that he asked with wide, hopeful eyes, "Do you think they might want to rent our house?"

Duh. Hadn't thought of that. Amazingly, we happened to have another mutual friend's phone number with us in the car. I called that friend and mentioned our idea. She shrieked and said they were definitely looking for a place and in fact they had just posted on facebook how they were having a difficult time finding anything.

She gave us their phone number and by the time we were an hour away we had a meeting set up with the husband of this young couple to see the house the next morning (oh, I should note here that he was in St Germain, staying in a cabin about half a mile from our house).

Suddenly, my fears about seeing our house were washed away. I was so excited imagining this sweet couple living there and making it their own home. In one short, 4 hour car trip God provided for our needs (and their needs) - financially and emotionally. He showed up and worked out this crazy scenario. Who would have thought that a couple from our new church would move up north and live in our old house??!?!

And if you aren't convinced that God is in the middle of all of this, you should probably know that 1 year ago (before we had ever heard of Oakwood church) our street name was changed. Oddly enough, it was changed to Oakwood Court. Just sayin'. . .

I believe God is real. And I believe that God is intimately involved in the details of my life.

Homesick

I have been asked several times over the last few weeks how I'm doing with the transition and if we're settled into life down here. My response is always an overwhelming yes, affirming that we are so blessed to have our little home and are loving ministry at our new church. Both of those statements are completely true. It feels so wonderful to know with such certainty that we have followed God's call on our lives, and I can so clearly see the fruit that is already coming from that decision. I am also enjoying the change of pace in my own life, as I have limited my involvement at church to supporting Matt and have made a larger priority of taking care of my two little ones. And if I'm really being honest, here, I have also found an inappropriately large amount of joy from just knowing I can go to Target whenever I want. =)

But over the past few days I have also realized that in my enjoyment of some of life's changes over the last 6 weeks, I have totally ignored the enormous, gaping hole that now exists in my heart. I think I actually convinced myself for a while that it didn't exist.

I know what revealed the hole to me so clearly. . . Matt has a workshop up north next week and I suddenly have the opportunity to spend 24 hours visiting friends and checking up on our house. At first I was just so excited for an opportunity to visit some of the people that I spent a lot of time with during our 4 years there, but as I've thought more about it I am completely and totally terrified.

Terrified because I am finally facing the reality of what I left behind almost 2 months ago. A house that we labored over and loved; students who touched our lives as much as we touched theirs; friends who brought joy, laughter, support, encouragement and more life-change than I could have ever dreamed to experience.

I knew, and still know, that leaving was the right choice. But in the midst of affirming the rightness of that choice, I have shielded my heart from thinking about the hurts of the reality that came with it. My heart is aching for the friends that walked with me through the first few years with my kids and the culmination of my 10-year-long wait to get baptized.

And yet, I am so excited and overjoyed at the prospect of what the coming years have for us here. While I have yet to develop deep, strong bonds with anyone here yet, I know that it will come. God has always been faithful to provide dear friendships that have sustained me and encouraged me.

No matter how much it might hurt to move on and leave behind such amazing and significant people, God has orchestrated both their entrance and their exit from my daily life. In His great plans He has something for us all here and now. . .

And of course, it always helps to remember that neither place is actually my home. We are wanderers and vagabonds on this earth, moving from one temporary dwelling to another until our Mighty God eventually calls us home. When I think about how much I long for my friends up north, I am reminded of how that should pale in comparison to how much I long for my Savior. . .

For instance, we know that when these bodies of ours are taken down like tents and folded away, they will be replaced by resurrection bodies in heaven—God-made, not handmade— and we'll never have to relocate our "tents" again. Sometimes we can hardly wait to move—and so we cry out in frustration. Compared to what's coming, living conditions around here seem like a stopover in an unfurnished shack, and we're tired of it! We've been given a glimpse of the real thing, our true home, our resurrection bodies! The Spirit of God whets our appetite by giving us a taste of what's ahead. He puts a little of heaven in our hearts so that we'll never settle for less. 1 Corinthians 5:1-5 (the message)