Games

Yesterday for Day #2 of 40 Bags in 40 Days, I organized two common room shelves  that were stuffed with papers and board games. Now it's so cleannnnn! 

I've always enjoyed board games. There aren't very many things I love more than having friends over for dinner and a game night. 

When I was little, my grandmother had these two ornate end tables stuffed full of games. She had some serious classics - Yahtzee, Teeterflips, Skunk....I would crack them open and take in the comforting scent of the aged paper and wooden pieces. Of course, I had no idea how to play the actual games, but I would send the chess pieces on elaborate adventures and arrange the cards into hearts and flowers. 

I'm such a daydreaming nerd. I would be entertained for hours. 

My mother resented my playing with the games, because whenever I played, I tended to wander. Pieces drifted away and with little supervision, the decades-old amusements would be parsed out to come to live under the bed, inside of my Barbie dream house or maybe accidentally in the trash.

Today, the strong majority of our board games come from thrift stores. Why? Because I let Sam and Charlotte wander. If Dizzy Dizzy the Dinosaur chooses to hang out with the hippos that are hungry hungry for the Hi Ho Cherry-Os, then that is fine. They all turn up again anyhow on vacuuming days, and how I envy those two kids when they enter that magical, free world of play.

Life is a game. A lot of times it feels like pieces are missing. I get so close to the finish line of a particular struggle and then suddenly get kicked back to Start again. 

I live my life like the game Perfection. All of the pieces need to fit right now....or else everything will burst out into a noisy mess I won't be able to clean up again. There's a timer and I need to keep a frantic pace. 

This belief: False. 

We unearthed some paint by number cards the other day. I want my life to replicate that instead. Slow, steady, taking each color with His guidance and following the path HE has laid out with the goal of coloring me beautiful. 

We also found a scrabble game, very obviously from the ornate end tables of my grandmother. I have no idea how it found its way two hours north and into my living room. 

Of course, there were missing pieces. 

Enough though to work with and make beautiful things. Not necessarily the outcome I want.....but maybe it's better that way. 

 

I Am Not Crafty

I am not a crafter. I've lied to myself for years that I am. I have cooked/baked many of my Pinterest pins and have been pretty successsul. But I've also done many of my pinned crafts and have come in just under the number of offenses worthy of a spot on one of those mock/fail websites. 

So for day 1 of 40 Bags in 40 Days, I purged my "craft closet," aka Frank's hallway nemesis. He hated the craft closet! I don't really understand why anyone wouldn't appreciate a fortress of gift wrap, glitter tubes and rolls of tulle around the bath towels and spare toilet paper, but to each their own, I suppose. 

Since today is Thursday, I had my mini me apprenticing in the organization effort and she was over the moon. Charlotte is all about the crafting right now, and at 3-and-a-half, she is better than me in a lot of areas. So when she saw me tossing silk flowers, rubber stamps and bubble wrap out into the hallway floor, she whooped with glee. 

"Mama! We can do CRAFTS!" 

No. No we can't. The point of this purge is to un-craft the craft closet. How could I get her to understand that after an illustrious career of mediocre handmade gift giving, I was now about to bask in my retirement? 

We did end up stamping some papers and she made some felt flower vases for the faux daisies and poppies, but then it was all about the bubble wrap and I was free to finish. 

Goodbye to:

Fabric paint 

Seasonal nic nacs I obsess over at Hobby Lobby and then never use.

Gold vellum. (No clue). 

Yarn. (Do I knit? No. Have I ever knit? No.) 

Air drying modeling clay. (Sam and I thought one summer afternoon that we could sculpt....) 

Zebra print ribbon (Admittedly, this one hurt a little.) 

Scrapbook paper (I tend to never forget any memory or experience EVER, so let's just save some trees...) 

Stickers (Because everyone's long since potty trained wahoo!) 

Glitter (I kept the pink glitter. So sue me.) 

Jewelry cord (Because I decided to be a craft fair jeweler??? Sometimes I go to Hobby Lobby BEFORE picking up my meds refill down the street....) 

Our old vacuum (bonus points?) 

Charlotte immersed herself in doodad heaven while I cleaned, and we sold the vacuum and a whole lot of the craft supplies. 

Made $30 and the closet is CLEAN! 

I filled that empty shelf with clean towels, which can now be accessed without the risk of being murdered by Spider-Man gift wrap or a glue gun. 

What?! Spare hangers?! It was like winning the lottery!!!

I kept enough craft stuff to keep Charlotte entertained this summer while not holding onto enough to re-delude myself into believing my first name is really Martha. 

I also reflected upon my life and my journey a bit, as I've committed to make these 40 days of decrapifying a growth process. (As deep as one can go after using the term "decrapify", that is.) 

God showed me how long I've spent trying to create myself into something I'm not. People tend to have two very distinct views of me: 

- cheerful, strong, leader savvy 

- dramatic, negative, damaging

I'm not sure which one IS the real me - I suppose they both are, depending upon the situation. But one thing is for certain - I spend a lot of time worrying about who I am, how I look to others and creating a shadow of myself that everyone will love and accept. 

How much have I missed out on experiencing the true, unabandoned fullness of Christ's love (as well as sharing that with others) by obsessing over what I can make myself appear as? 

I suck at crafting. And I'm finding that the more I fall into the secure embrace of Jesus, the more I suck at holding onto the power to create what I think my life should be or how my heart should feel. 

Happy clean closet day to you and yours. 

To Ashes

Ash Wednesday is still a relatively new concept to me, but it is one I love. 

My former churches did not observe Ash Wednesday, and as a child going to catholic mass on occasion I remember receiving the ashes but never really knew the meaning.

Last year on Palm Sunday, we were invited to lay down palms on the altar and those palms were then burned into the ashes we received last night at the Ash Wednesday service. I vividly remember laying down my palm branch, knowing all that was weighing heavy on my heart at the time. 

Ash Wednesday is all about repentance and moving forward in Lent pursuing sacrifice and a betterment of one's self. 

I think above all else in my life right now, I desire to be better. A better mother, a better wife, a better ministry leader, a better lover of Jesus. 

I'm thankful for all the things that were laid down on Palm Sunday and have not been picked up again - but oh, the things I've snatched back out of God's healing hands! I hate my sin. I hate my weakness. I hate my selfish nature. 

I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do, I do not do, but what I hate I do. Romans 7:15

Preach it, Paul. Seriously, gosh. 

I thought a lot about what to give up for Lent this year, and really didn't come up with much that wouldn't have some sort of earthly desire. I wanted to give up eating out, but only because I want to be a size 4 again this summer. I considered giving up electronics, but Frank wouldn't be too thrilled that that would mean also giving up a paycheck when all my clients notice my disappearing act online. I suppose I could give up smoking, alcohol or heroin....but since I never started those......

So this Lent I am adding instead of taking away. I am sending an encouragement to someone every day, because when I feel I'm lacking encouragement, the best remedy is to add some into the heart of someone else. 

I'm also doing the 40 Day Decrapify challenge (http://www.whitehouseblackshutters.com/40-bags-in-40-days-2014/), and away with the clutter will hopefully go a lot of things I'm hanging on to. This will involve a lot of adding faith and trust in God. I will be saying goodbye to letters from old friends, gifts from people who have caused hurt I've hung onto, books and other items from high school and college - the ultimate breeding grounds for both wonderful and horrible memories, etc. 

I've spent an entire year working on processing many things, and yet there is so much left in the pile. But I'm ready. 

I am eager to see the remainder of my fear, doubt and resistance turn to ashes. To pick up the beauty of being confident, loving and peaceful. To declutter my heart of the unhealthy comforts I've come to rely upon and replace them with patience, hope, joy and a strength that is found in Christ alone. 

From ashes I came, to ashes I will return. I hope to see many bad habits and poisonous thoughts burn down while I'm here in the middle. 

Agreeable Clay.

But who are you, a human being, to talk back to God? “Shall what is formed say to the one who formed it, ‘Why did you make me like this?’ ” (Romans 9:20 NIV)

I wish that I didn't struggle with mental illness. 

Relapse days are hard. Especially when people are compassionate and tell you it's okay - it's just a disease like cancer or diabetes......but then again, I've never heard of anyone telling a diabetic to "just try" to give up certain aspects of their illness for Lent. 

People try. They really do. And I have to remember that they are not the Potter. 

I don't like to say that I'm sick. But I also know I am, because there is absolutely no other explanation for the way my brain twists and distorts things. For the terrifying mental aspects combined

with the physical side effects. It's just a mess, and it always has been. 

I ended up sleeping with Charlotte last night, as she was fussing all night with fever. I took her in as she slept - her blonde curls, little fingers, growing legs splayed out beneath her Strawberry Shortcake nightgown. She's three years old and she's beautiful. In one more year she'll be the she I was when I started noticing the darkness. The fear from

events that would soon take place, combined with a brain that would prove broken. 

Even as a little child, I tried. I really did. But I was not the Potter. 

Today is going to be a rough one. I was awake all night, I have two kids with pneumonia and a really, really messy house. Really, now is not the time for relapse and I don't think anything is going to get better by giving into old sins just for a moment of relief, or fighting doing what I truly need to do to feel better and, quite possibly, to stay alive. 

But I will try. I really will. I am not the Potter. 

Who am I to complain to such a brilliant artisan who ignited the sun and painted 

the beautiful red Valentine's roses beside me? 

What right do I have to argue with the master who composes bird symphonies and snow-capped February mountainscapes? 

He knit me together in my mother's womb, and the toxic, broken, hideous mind I received was not an accident. I am not so exceptional that God would single me out by forgetting to mold me exactly as He intended. 

So, forward I march. I don't know what lies ahead of me, but I most certainly do know what's behind and currently chasing me. 

I don't like some of the experiences I've had, and I don't like the way my illness can be unrelenting. All day yesterday, as I disassociated and desperately craved crawling out of the skin that is so intensely uncomfortable and ill-fitting, I reminded myself that the Potter doesn't make mistakes. 

The relapse and failure of yesterday does not have to determine today. He loves me so tremendously, He chose to give me another chance. I've awakened on the front lines again, so I suppose He considers me to be a strong and able soldier. 

This is hard. I'm in a painful space. But nothing compares to the humbling, flabbergasting realization that the Potter loves me fiercely. I am still His clay, and He won't  allow me to dry out or crack beyond repair. I am not fully molded yet, and I have not been forgotten. 

I hate struggling with this illness. But I will not talk back to the One who forms things far more beautiful and able to overcome any darkness or pain I feel or see. 

50 Shades of Perspective

I work with girls and women on a daily basis within my ministry. Some of them will undoubtedly go to see 50 Shades of Grey this weekend, but I will not. And I am asking you to please consider skipping this film as well.

There's been plenty of articles written by far more eloquent writers than I regarding how this movie glorifies sexual violence, so I won't get into the gritty details about it. 

But...there are going to be people who, like all movies, begin to think life should imitate art. And I suppose that's what I'm worried about. 

To be quite blunt, I'm not into the whole BDSM scene (total shocker, I know). And if there are married couples who are, then hey, more power to you! If that's something you mutually enjoy in your relationship, then I'm happy for you and promise to look away from any whip marks I accidentally see during the upcoming bikini season. 

But here's the deal with 50 Shades of Grey - there is non-consensual sex in it, plain and simple. The lead actor in the film has even been quoted as saying he felt he needed to shower before returning to his wife and newborn baby, as well as feeling bad about having to pretend to do things to his female costar that he wouldn't want to do to a woman in "real" life. 

If the actors, who are getting paid millions of dollars for this gig, are leaving the set feeling dirty/guilty, is there any fair way to assume that this movie is about a loving, consensual relationship? 

Nope. 

I haven't personally read 50 Shades of Grey. I had a friend rave to me about it last year, telling me how it was so incredible and, as a freshly divorced mother of three, she was quite pleased by its "mommy porn" reputation that apparently delivered. 

Talk about needing a shower after. I thought we were just meeting up for tacos. 

I won't read 50 Shades of Grey, nor will I see the movie because these are the things I know to be true about it, and I respectfully ask you keep these truths in mind if you are considering seeing it. 

They may not be your truths, but statistics prove that at least some most certainly are for someone in your life that you love, whether you're aware of it or not. 

1. Sexual Violence Never Fully Leaves You

In a non-consensual context, a sexually violent experience will never fully fade from memory. It gets better over time, but it always feels somewhat like learning to live with a handicap more than total healing. Triggers will always need to be dodged. A trigger is not necessarily having another violent experience - it's more often things like overhearing an off-the-cuff rape joke, smelling a certain smell, having a well-meaning person touch your arm/face/leg a certain way.....or perhaps seeing a movie that has more violence than you were prepared for. 

Many sexual abuse survivors will see this film out of pressure from their friends who want to go. And it's going to haunt them for a good while to hear Anastasia say no and witness Christian not listen. 

2. There Will Be Much Experimentation

There are going to be young people who dabble in violent sex after seeing this film that aren't ready. They will think it's glamorous and then suddenly will find themselves in a situation that feels too far, that will then be shared in the halls of their high school the next day, on Facebook, etc. There will be dares, followed by some messy breakups and serious taunting. 

3. You Will Be Showing It Doesn't Matter

Weekly, trafficking survivors come to the studio and we teach them therapeutic dance & drama. The first thing that always strikes me is how young they are. These aren't girls who have experienced loving, mutual sexual experiences. On a tamer scale, we have kids and teens almost daily that come to the studio that have survived various forms of abuse. 

They don't need to hear about 

people they love going to see a movie that glamorizes some of their past hurts and fears. They just don't. 

4. Sex is Fun - So Let's Keep It That Way

I'm married, and have two midgets that follow me around calling me "mommy," so it's clearly no secret to the world that I have sex. In fact, I am a fan of it. I have a husband who is incredibly considerate of my needs and preferences, and I hope he would say the same about me. 

Sex in marriage is good, important, essential, enjoyable - and in the case of those with small children - sometimes rather daring. It should be memorable, meaningful and something that doesn't make you feel yucky in the morning.

I'm very thankful that when it comes to intimacy, this is my life. 

However, you never know someone's past, or in other cases what perhaps is their current situation. 

Being tied up and gagged isn't fun when you say no. 

Giving someone power over you out of fear or curiousity doesn't always feel good either at the time or in the morning. 

Making it clear you don't want to do something, and yet having to do it anyway is not ideal. 

Rape is physically painful. Emotionally shocking. Spiritually deadening. Not a single moment of it feels good. 

5. Life Goes On 

If there's one thing I've learned about sexual violence, it's that life goes on. Survivors will find themselves frozen in time while everyone else around them seems okay, but really if they were to be honest with themselves, they too move on, albeit more slowly. They learn to work around the pain and the "ick" of what happened. 

And so, on behalf of those in your life that are "working around" their own life-altering experiences on a daily basis, I ask you to please consider working around the temptation to support this movie and go do something else instead. 

Want somewhere to give the money you would've given to the movie theater this weekend? 

WEAVE does amazing work:

Weaveinc.org/get-help

Oh and I know a way cool non-profit that provides creative healing, too.

Royalstage.org

I hope that all you committed spouses out there have fun, romantic, dreamy, steamy Valentines Days. But as far as this movie goes, I hope you find it within you to just simply turn away. 

Laters, baby. 

Confessions of a Mean Girl

The rain outside is pouring down in an incredible way as I write this post. It feels almost symbolic in a way as I asked God today to just wash the junk out of my heart and allow me to start fresh on this stormy Sunday. 

As always, my Father is full of surprises. 

I used to never, ever cry in church. Then I leveled up at some point and transformed into a regularly sobbing basketcase. 100% of the time the tears came because I was hurt about something. Something wasn't fair. Something had wounded me. I couldn't feel or hear God, blah dee blah blah. 

Today I cried for a different reason that I did not expect. 

Gossip seems to be a frequent topic in life lately - and really, when is it not an issue in a girl's life? I've always been gossiped about. True things, false things, shaming things - I could lay out a map of my life thus far with road markers as to where along the path girls have said cutting and destructive things about me.

 Any female could do this. I don't get a medal or anything for surviving something as commonplace as breathing. 

Girls are incredibly mean to each other. 

Frank has regularly expressed his fascination with just how horrible girls can be with each other. We are often so busy judging, comparing, and talking that we've hardly taken the time to notice guys don't act like vultures. 

Like, at all. 

I've always rather prided myself in the fact I don't gossip. And in fact, I fully planned to come to God this morning asking him to heal a wound that was recently inflicted upon me through gossip. 

Then God set me straight. 

I'm a chronic user of the phrase, "it's not gossip if I'd say it to the person's face. And I would." 

Somehow I've taken pride in this bold, confrontational spirit of mine. Just because I can (wrongly) claim it isn't gossip because I would gladly deliver the opinion face-to-face, is that really any better? 

Better are the wounds of a friend than the kisses of the enemy....but really, does there need to be injury at all? 

The tears started majorly flowing today when I set out to pray for a way to feel better because of someone else's unfair actions, and instead I was taken by the realization that there are very likely (um, make that definitely) people within the city limits somewhere who are seeking out healing from mine. 

Gossip isn't always whispering in corners  to your closest confidante. 

Sometimes it's complaining to a spiritual leader, authority figure, etc. under the guise of "concern," but really it's just straight up complaining. 

It can be those "I'm just venting" moments that end up making the listener feel trapped into hearing your unsolicited opinion. 

It's hitting out at someone but veiling it with the "I would say it to their face" disclaimer, even though you know that just because you would, it doesn't mean you should say it. Not to their face, behind their back or beside them standing on your head, propped up by your supposed good intentions. 

I have been gossiped about. I've been torn down. And I am not an innocent. I myself am wretched in the way I treat other girls. I run a ministry where I work hard to provide a safe, non-judgmental 

environment, and then I'm throwing stones all over my own glass house. 

I go to church with amazing, intelligent, capable, beautiful women. I am friends with strong, worthy ladies. I minister alongside and to girls who need to be reminded that in God's eyes they are princesses, not peasants. 

Realizing this does not take away the sting of others' actions. It doesn't stop people from gossiping about me. It won't change the course of female humanity. We're probably always going to be pretty mean and horrible. 

But I was definitely surprised today when I set out to pray and God told me loud and clear to Shut. My. Mouth. 

He's done with the whole tough girl "I don't care" act. It hurts when people don't like me, but it hurts God more when I don't like others or when I decide to "not gossip" about them in order to prove I'm strong. 

He's done with the deal I have with the devil to never, ever trust. I have wonderful, honest, consistent people in my life and I've all but called them flat out miserable liars because of the actions of people they've never even met. 

He's done with my complaining. I have SO. MUCH. 

He didn't give me the ability to walk so I could just wade  around in past hurts and behaviors. 

He didn't give me the ability to speak so I could emotionally shank other girls. 

He didn't give me my sight so I could only compare myself to others. 

He didn't give me my hearing so I could listen to the tearing down of others in my presence. 

He didn't give me a home so I could be cozy and comfortable while "venting" on the phone in the same room with my very aware little children. 

Do I gossip? No. I don't. Not usually by technical standards. 

But really, is a word necessary to define actions that won't ever make a dent in a world that needs to be transformed? 

I've been wrong. I've been closed off. I've been callous. I've been hurting. 

But from now on Id better only be crying in church because God has made my heart such a squishy, glittery mess of compassion and encouragement.

 

The Battle of Sunday Morning

Every Sunday morning is the same. We awaken ahead of the sun - children giggling and belly flopping onto our bed, serving as our alarm clock. 

Even though we are up and out of bed at least 4 hours before it starts, we are almost always exactly three minutes late to church. And honestly, it's frequently not a total accident. 

Somewhere along the way, I got pegged as an extrovert, and I suppose in a lot of ways I am. But at church I've always felt the wallflower. Like Spider-Man back into Peter Parker....I live parts of my life swooping and swinging confidently, and then as soon as my feet hit the concrete of the church parking lot, all the superhero self-esteem drains out of me. 

I love our church beyond words. We have a pastor who values honesty and people having room to grow. We have a congregation that loves in the best ways and there are very few people at this point that I wouldn't trust with our kids, cars or my heart. 

And yet, every Sunday morning I have to fight hard to "be okay." Sunday morning is when I need to work the hardest. It's at this point in the week that Fear and Negativity do their own swooping and swinging all over my mind, convincing me I'm not worthy of sitting inside of that church. That no one really likes me very much, which is why so and so didn't say hello to me and why I always have to make an effort with (insert name here)  in order to keep the friendship going. Why I "mom shame" even though I know my child just did the exact same thing yesterday, or why I'm compelled to post how I'm "SO HAPPY" on Facebook so no one in the congregation thinks, "wow, is she still struggling with that?" 

When you live in middle class America, this is what dancing with the devil is like. It seems like sometimes I go way, way, way out of my way to be my own worst enemy. 

I don't feel like I have the energy today to fight the church fear. We had a show Friday and last night, and they always exhaust me. My face hurt from smiling. I hugged a hundred people. I was friendly and encouraging to an exiting teenage leader who barely said goodbye and definitely went out of her way to let me know she's hurting and she won't be extending any take-backs. I was gracious with a woman who was sweet as sugar to me all weekend but has a healthy dose of disdain bubbling just under the surface. Countless people told me how remarkable our ministry is, how wonderful we are, how we serve as a blessing....all wonderful, encouraging things to hear....but still, exhausting. 

So, Satan gets in my head. He makes Sunday morning, when I head to MY safe place after running myself ragged managing a safe place for others, a time where the nicest truest congregation becomes perceived as a firing squad.

They aren't. Not even so much as a threatening water gun among them. 

My fear is because I am broken. I know this. I can still hear my former pastor shouting at me. I can still see the words of the emailed gossip. I can still feel the grip of their hands on my wrists and recall the smell of grass and soil up against my face in the summertime. I feel sick when I remember the taste of "potions" my father made me drink as a child. There's just a lot - a lot that's happened, a lot of work left to be done to stop being affected by what happened....and thankfully. a testimony of victory to be given. 

It gets a little bit better everyday. Everything feels a bit further away and I think about it less. But gosh, this healing business is no joke. I am not the proud owner of any sort of instant miracle. And on Sunday mornings, the hurt really flares up again. Because the enemy knows that's where I grow. That's where I'm loved. That's where I recall strongly who wins this fight in the end - against all odds, I'm now regularly seeing, hearing. Tasting and feeling the goodness of my Savior. 

The mental army against me knows what they can't steal, so they make sure to clear out everything else comforting on Sunday mornings. 

So, if you see me today and I'm not giddy and extroverted, please don't ask someone else if I don't like you. I promise that I do. 

I'm just tired today. Like you, like everyone, I'm fighting a ferocious battle, and I am thrown into the front lines every Sunday morning. 

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction so that we will be able to comfort those who are in any affliction with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God. (2 Corinthians 1:3-4)

Amen. Sunday, hit me with your best shot. 

Love is a Choice

If anyone asks me how I'm doing, I'm going to respond by saying "happy and blessed."

Okay, that's total cheeseballs....I won't actually do that....BUT I am going to be in that mindset. 

One of the weird things about me (and im sure there are many) is I still tend to operate off a foundation of hurt when the going gets tough. My life has been incredibly easy in the grand scheme of things, but I still need to recognize that partially because of the past, I have a very bad habit of needing to be in control of situations. 

In some ways, this is a positive. It makes me a natural born leader. It makes me really pretty fearless when push comes to shove. I am a quick thinker. 

Sadly, it also means I am given a lot of opportunities to lead, I am often afraid of the outcome from fearless choices, and I often act before I pray. 

I  am going to really work on letting go of my white-knuckle grip on.....everything. And try to live in the freedom of knowing that one thing I AM in control of is the ability to love. I can always make the choice to love. 

I read this passage the other day in my Bible and it really spoke to me: 

When a light wind began blowing from the south, the sailors thought they could make it. So they pulled up anchor and sailed close to the shore of Crete. 

How many times have I sensed a subtle concern, and yet chose to push forward on my own? To choose what I want and what the world has to offer over God's wisdom and standards? 

But the weather changed abruptly, and a wind of typhoon strength burst across the island and blew us out to sea. The sailors couldn't turn the ship into the wind, so they gave up and let it run before the gale.

I need to give up. Give up control. Give up pride. Give up everything except letting God guide. I need to let HIM run ME before the gale. And when I get wind blown and drenched in situations I don't particularly enjoy, I need to STILL let Him steer the boat. 

The next day, as gale-force winds continued to batter the ship, the crew began throwing the cargo overboard. The following day they even took some of the ship’s gear and threw it overboard. 

Some things in life will continue to batter me. My own personal struggles are a healing journey, not a quick overnight fix. People will come along who criticize me, lie about me, gossip about me, walk away from me......this does not give me an excuse to throw common sense overboard. To toss God's promises and His provided victories into the sea while hanging on to what I think is right. Because you know, I'm often wrong. 

The terrible storm raged for many days, blotting out the sun and the stars, until at last all hope was gone. (Acts 27:13-15, 18-20)

Some of my storms have raged for many days. It's often felt as if the sun and stars have been blotted out, as I struggle to see God's sovereignty over my own pain. 

And now honestly, all hope IS gone: 

Hope in myself apart from Christ. 

Hope in plans succeeding out of nothing but stubborn will. 

Hope in thinking I have all the answers.

Hope that healing and growth will happen on MY predetermined timeline. 

Hope in anything other than the incredible, powerfully strong force of God's forgiveness, love and goodness. 

I am ready and excited for God to be in control. I'm thankful He never stops loving me, and that when I love others, I'm always making the right choice. Beyond all else, if I let go of control and choose to love God and accept His love, by default I am going to start loving others more and more.

God's love is already a vast as an ocean without our help, and yet He chooses to use us still to deepen it all the more. What a wonderful thing it is to know that we don't need any special skill, talent or calling to follow the most important command.

To just shut up and love. 

Sail on.