On the wall in our traveling house, I have this little scribbled down note. My Dad wrote it, a few years, I think, before he passed away. It's nothing special or profound, just some things he jotted down during one of his therapy sessions, after his shoulder surgery. I hold on to it, because for one, I love to see his hand-writing. I feel like a person's hand-writing is a little glimpse into their soul. It's like being able to look into their eyes. But, I pinned the note up because it reminds me. That life is brutal and rough at times. We all get battered up, but if we want to get better, we will have to work at it. We'll have to do hard things. If we want to heal, we must rest, yes. But eventually we'll have to stretch things that don't want to stretch. We'll be re[...]

When I was little and before I was adopted, I saw things. And heard things. Things little people were never meant to see or hear. I saw my birth mom prostitute herself with men. She'd bring a different guy home, so many nights, and I really wanted to sleep next to her, so I would curl up down at the end of the bed just so I could be a little bit close. Those things have a way of staying with you. And my birth dad was addicted to pornography, I suppose, so he'd leave the magazines out and I'd look at them so curiously. My birth mom had some crazy sense that those images weren't good for me, so she'd snatch them up. Then fuss at him. Now that I'm all grown up, I think about the irony of that.  Her bringing men home while I slept on a pallet on the floor or at the end of the bed but[...]

The other day, we took the kids to the splash park. And as I was sitting there, enjoying the wild antics of my children, running and romping in the fountains, I heard a stranger say distinctly, "Dad!" It startled me. Because without warning, I was jolted back to a life where I could talk to my own dear Pa again. That simple word, "Dad," flooded my mind with memories, us laughing over silly things. I sat there crying on the splash pad, turning my face away so no one could see. Good thing there was water all around. Maybe nobody noticed the tears. But, in that moment of grieving, when somehow I wanted to just sit and cry, the Holy Spirit whispered so kindly but swiftly, "Little lovey, just thank Me. Thank Me for all those talks with your Daddy." So, I did. "Thank You, God! For givi[...]

I love my church. It's like medicine for my soul. I get bruised up a lot during the week. I go to church to heal. Maybe you wouldn't know I was healing if you looked over at me. Because usually I'm crying. But, crying is the way I heal. It's this great, frustratingly necessary release. It's funny though because it's really hard for us to get to church. At least, it's hard for us to get to church at a reasonable time. Brent and I had a spat about this on the way to church. Which means that we got to church but we arrived there frowning and ready to cuss. We've learned by now just to go there anyways. And we're learning that we don't have to pretend like everything is okay once we get there. But usually just seeing our other struggling-along friends that somehow managed to make it the[...]

Dear Self, Yes, you, my love. You, who just carried a baby for nine months and grunted and groaned a lot and tried to be thankful that there was this new little life growing inside. I want to tell you some things. I know how hard it was for you, there at the end. Because you were sick of those pants with the wide, elastic-y middle, that had to be stretched out over your big ol belly, just so they would stay up. I know how much they itched, but aren't you glad for pants? I know your friends are glad that you had them.   : ) And I know how much you worried along the way, even though you tried to trust Jesus as much as you could. How much you wondered if you would make it to the end and if your baby would make it into the world and if she'd be okay once she got here. I saw[...]

I told Jesus a while back that I wanted to help the world. I want to be like a shepherdess for souls. Someone who could come alongside some hurting, struggling-along people and take their hand and help them get to God's heart, where the healing and love is. I told Him this when I was feeling very loving and sentimental. When I wasn't drowning in the all the mundane duties of life. And then someone came knocking at my door. (Not my real actual door to my house, but at my email door. And someone came knocking at my facebook door. And someone came knocking on the telephone.) They were asking for help. That's when I remembered my prayer, "Send me Your broken, Lord, and I'll take them in! I'll be a safe place. I'll get them to the haven of Your heart." But, when God did send me Hi[...]

I'm gonna say something to us, because it's sort of important. And it doesn't get said often enough, especially in Christian circles. If you're a human being, then at some point, you're most likely gonna need some counseling. Some of you have been fed this notion and you've believed it. (I used to believe it, too.) Goes like this: "You have Jesus. He's enough. You don't need counseling. You don't need meds, ever. Pretty much, you can't possibly need anything because HELLO. You've got JESUS! Now, just be a good enough Christian and it'll all work out." My friends. This just isn't at all good or true. Life is ridiculously hard. Sometimes we get these sore hearts that don't seem to heal. That's why God made people. Lots of people. We need each other. It doesn't mean you're[...]

God has been teaching me something lately. And by lately, I mean over the last several years of my life. He’s been teaching me how to be a safe place for people’s hearts. See, God puts us on the earth at the same time as other people, so that we’ll take care of each other. So, that we’ll have some folks to belong to and so that they’ll belong to us. Each one of us—we can be a safe place for another soul to find refuge. But, for some reason, this being a safe place for others, it’s not our default. I think I know why. In the beginning, and I’m talking way back in the Garden-beginning, our Maker had created this perfect space for communion. A beautiful place that was safe and where the first people could walk and talk with Him and live these wildly open lives. Just think of i[...]

I see you there, crumpling up that sheet of paper, tossing it into the waste basket and wondering if anything good will come out of your life. Or if there will just be this broken record, repeating "failure" and "you don't measure up" and "you don't deserve anything good." I see the way you try. The way you keep getting up and dressing up and showing up and hoping that things don't screw up, again. You get so tired. You're running out of energy and it's had for you to enjoy your life. Do you mind to sit down for just a minute and let me tell you some things? Some true things? Some things that could perhaps restore your soul and give you some hope? Some things that could help you keep going and maybe even set you free? You really can cease your striving. You need soul-rest.[...]