As some of you may have known I’ve had the privilege from time to time to contribute articles to various Christian online publications. One publication that is near and dear to my heart is Propel Women. When I lived in California I worked closely with this organization, and I love dearly the amazing crew of people who serve so selflessly day in and day out so women all around the globe can have a real encounter with Jesus.
In case you missed my most recent article from Propel Women, click here to read about my battle with letting go, and how ultimately I lost…but that it was the best thing that ever happened to me.
It’s been a busy season to say the least.
It’s not uncommon that Friday arrives and I can’t even remember how I got there. It’s like when you’re so deep in thought while you’re driving that you get a case of auto-pilot amnesia or something (totally just made that up), and can’t even remember how you got to your destination.
I’m sure all of us have experienced busy seasons, or just busy lives, and like me, you discover how difficult it is to be present in the moment because of being distracted by the thing you need to do next. I’ve always been the type of person that wants to “do it all”. I want to think that I have some special superpower where I can effectively do a million tasks and also have a thriving social life.
The thing is, it’s not the busyness necessarily that’s the problem, but it’s an overestimation of what I’m really designed and called to do because something else is in the way. Read More
Has God ever talked back to you?
You were right in the middle of asking him to do something in your life, and He seems to cop an attitude, and cut you off mid-sentence?
Well, for some reason, I feel like this happens to me more often than it probably should. And every time it does I’m left scratching my head and determined to understand what God could mean by his interruption.
At one time or another I’m sure we’ve all referenced God as our “mountain mover”. As Christians it’s a normal phrase in our world. We hear it in our songs, our Sunday messages, and conversations with friends. So, per usual, I was praying one morning for God to move this particular mountain in my life, but was shocked when I received a radically different response than I expected.
The moment the words, “Lord, please move this mountain in my life”, rolled off my mind and into my prayer, I heard God shoot back with, “No, you move it.”
Umm, ahh, excuse me?
To which God said again, “You move it”.
In that moment I couldn’t imagine WHAT He could possibly mean. This “mountain” that I was referencing has been more of a thorn in my side. You know, the annoying companion you really want to get rid of but have no idea how? Read More
At this same time last year I was in a quandary of sorts.
I had been living in California for the last year and a half, and was two months shy of finishing my Counseling degree. For a year leading up to this point I had this mysterious but strong impression that something major was going to change in my circumstances that spring. But I had no clue what that would mean or what that change would look like.
I guess we could say that God was building my confidence in his sovereignty without letting me in on any of the details–which I’ve found to be his M.O. (insert side eyes here).
Now, for someone like me, when God gives an inkling of something exciting regarding the future without also providing the details, it’s like a parent who tells their child there’s hidden candy that’s been stashed away somewhere for them in their house, but they have no clue where–so in other words, absolute torture. Read More
It was a really cold Saturday afternoon in Chicago two weeks before Christmas, and I was doing what basically every other person in the city was doing–going Christmas shopping, of course.
On this particular December day it was so cold that literally every time you stepped out of your warm car or house you just wanted to swear. So, here I was getting out of my car, (insert curse word here)…I know, it’s terrible, but I blame it completely on the weather, I wasn’t built for the mid-west.
In a few short weeks I will rejoin the ranks of America’s workforce. I’ve spent the better part of the last two and a half years serving as a missionary with my husband in the postage stamp sized country of Malawi, in Southern Africa.
This fall we took a quick little jaunt over to the Philippines, only to come up to a “do not enter” sign from God, which found us unexpectedly back “home” in the US.
I’ve officially lived in three continents in one calendar year, and I’d be lying if I said my head isn’t still spinning.
But here I am–one in a sea of the masses. No glamorous adventure. (Third-world missions are NOT glamorous, by the way, like, at all.) No obvious purpose. No sense of being a part of something bigger than myself. Just a regular girl, living in a basement apartment, staring at a dying Christmas tree wondering what the heck I’m doing here.
Moving to a big city has recently led me to contemplate social boundaries and their effects on connection.
There are moments I wish they were more clearly established: like on the train, when I’m sitting between a man whose hands and face are covered in cheesy Pringles as he licks the powder out of the tube (gag!) and a woman who is coughing up a lung and spitting it into a napkin (seriously, help!). But most times, I find myself wishing we would push through them to acknowledge one another in our human experience and create space for meaningful connection.
I wish we had the audacity to “interrupt” each other more often.