Will Return -- Please Wait

I have a flock of thoughts about it, but they really all come down to one thing …

I’m (pretty sure) the Lord is asking me to (momentarily) take a big step back and step away from posting on my blog.

Over the past few months, I’ve been thinking about Paul and his travels.  At one point, Paul was headed in one direction, towards Asia, but God had other plans.

 “…having been kept by the Holy Spirit …” Paul and his colleagues did not enter Asia.  Later, they tried to enter Bythynia, and again, “…but the Spirit of Jesus would not allow them to enter.” (Acts 16:6-10)

We don’t know how Paul knew what to do (or not to do), we just know that he went with how the Lord was leading.  Was it a vision? Was it a Word in the middle of the night? Was it a “gut” feeling? A sensitivity to the Spirit’s calling?  All we know is that Paul knew and he obeyed.

I’m almost positive it wasn’t easy, and I’m sure he had no idea what the Lord had in store for him, right around the corner.

And so it is for us, sometimes – for me, this time.

I get the feeling that God is calling me to something different – at least for a short time.  I don’t understand it, but I can feel it deep down within my soul.

I’m tempted to resist. I love to write. I love to encourage people with His truths.  It’s one of the things I think God has called me to. I'm even a bit sad to step back and let go.

And yet, I’ve learned that I’m better off going with what God says, then trying to wrangle out my own ideas.

So, dear readers, I’m taking a break.

I’m hanging the “will return -- please wait" sign on the door of my blog – for now. 

I plan on returning at some point, when I get the thumbs up, from the Lord. In the meanwhile, I do believe that God is doing something new, I’m just not sure what it is. Perhaps I’ll come back with new ideas, new ways of seeing Him, seeing the world, seeing myself. Or maybe just  more energy. J  Or … who knows what?

Have a blessed summer and thank you for your camaraderie.

Love …

New Places to Grow?

It’s gardening week for me … first weeding, now planting.

I wiggled the pink ivy geranium out of the pot.  The roots held tight to the sides of the plastic, but I eventually freed it. I squeezed the densely compacted roots, loosening them from the previous shape, and placed the plant in a new space.

It was for the good of the plant.

I debated, earlier, as to whether I should just place the geranium – in its original pot – in to my planters near my front door.

It would be easier. No one would ever know.  And, after all, wasn't it growing just fine in the current container?

But I thought again.

Perhaps it was growing “fine” but I knew that if I put it in new soil, in a more spacious container,  full of new nutrients, the roots would likely grow deeper and wider and the plant would thrive better.

What once was a place of growth for the plant, was now constraining it from further growth.

It needed new soil and new space ...

I feel a bit like that ivy geranium.

I’ve been growing (or at least I hope I have) in a certain place. It’s been a good place for me.

However, I feel the Hand of the Gardener taking hold of me and loosening me out of this place. 

I’m hesitant.

I try to hold on to what I know – what is familiar.

I’m even scared.

But, I know He knows that there are other spaces and places for me to grow –  places where my roots can grow deeper and wider and where I need to grow in new ways for Him.

I can’t be sure if this is happening or not, but something feels different.

Could it be that this place that I’ve been growing in is now holding me back from being all He wants me to be?

Am I ready for new soil and a new space?

And, exactly what will that space be?  What new circumstances will He choose for my growth? Will they be challenging? Difficult? What new places of trusting Him may He be planting me in?

I don't know, but I am trying to surrender. It’s not easy now. I know it may not be easy then.

I’m trying to loosen my hold on what I have grown accustomed to and allow the Great Gardener to place me where He wants, and trust Him in the process, for this I know for sure, He knows the plans He has for me. In this promise, I rest.

How about you, dear reader?  Do you know of times when God has transplanted you and you have grown in new ways there?

I've Got to Get to Weeding ...

The gardens in my yard are overgrown.

I look at them through my back window and sigh.

I’ve got so much work to do today – so much weeding.

Oh, sure, some of the good plants are thriving after a Spring splattered with more days of rain than not, but it’s not those healthy, thriving, green plants that I am focused on.

It’s all the things in between, that should not be there – AKA weeds – that my eyes are drawn to. They are towering over and trying to choke out my pretty plants.  They are competitive, persistent and sneaking. They try to vie for a place in my yard.

I’ve got to work on weeding.

I’ll do it today.  The kids will help me.  We’ll all probably grunt and grown about it, but we’ll feel pleased – accomplished – when we are done.  Well, at least I will.

As I sat down this morning, facing (literally, at my desk) in the opposite direction of the weeds, so I would not get distracted by the work I had to do, I opened God’s Word for time with Him.

And as I read His truths, I’m convicted of my worry.

My worries – they are just like my weeds.

They come in and try to choke out the good things.

They take up space, grow faster than I would like, and often tower over the other things that are trying to grow. 

They get in the way of me seeing the truth, remembering the promises, resting in the comfort of the One who loves me.

I don’t know where the always come from, but they sure do spring up -- little weeds, big weeds, ugly weeds.

Ugh.

Jesus talks about the worries of this world getting in and choking out the Word (Matthew 13) – the Word of truth, the Word of hope, the Word of comfort.  I can see how it happens, and it’s not what I desire.

Weeds --  and worries -- they get in the way, but they do not have to stay.

Looks like today, I have some work ahead of me. I’m working on weeding out weeds and weeding out worries.  Good thing I have the Gardener. With His help, I’m getting down on my knees and rooting them out. 

How about you?

A Time for Good-byes ...

It’s not that I can’t wait for summer. I love summer and I love summer with my family.

It’s just that there is something about this time of year that produces in me a surge of sentimentality.

I’m all choked up.

Tears are close to the surface, occasionally breaking through and slowing rolling down on to the pillow of my heart.

Today is the last day of school for my little ones. Shortly, I will head over to sit back and relax and watch the “Learning Celebration,” where each child will be given a “Christ-like characteristic” that their teacher has witnessed in them this year.

It’s a beautiful time to sit back and relax and enjoy – but,  invariably, my heart will also sit back and be heavy.

I think it’s the “good-byes.”

It’s the change.

It’s the moving from the familiar into the unknown of the future.

Before I know it, my mind is flooded with vignettes from my past of “good-byes.”  Good-bye’s to dreams. Good-bye’s to friends. Good-bye’s to love ones. Good-bye’s to …

I can’t quite put my finger on it, but maybe these “good-byes” are milestones marking time.

Perhaps, they mark time of what – was, was not, is and is yet to be.

It’s confusing, like so many things in life – a swirl of excitement and sorrow. 

“There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven:

A time to be born and a time to die,

A time to plant and a time to uproot,

A time to kill and a time to heal,

A time to tear down and a time to build,

A time to weep and a time to laugh,

A time to mourn and time to dance,

A time to scatter stones and time to gather them,

A time to embrace and a time to refrain,

A time to search and a time to give up,

A time to keep and a time to throw away,

A time to tear and a time to mend,

A time to be silent and time to speak,

A time to love and time to hate,

A time for war and time for peace.”

Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

Dear Lord,

Thank you for your faithfulness.  Please help those of us who may be standing on the precipice of change, having to say good-bye to things we have, people we love, dreams we’ve pursued, to give thanks and rest in Your love for us. Help us to remember that You are in control of all things and that You are good. 

Amen

Growing Up Girl -- in the 70's

This weekend I sat back and watched my girls – ages 15, 10 and 7 – BE girls.

Unique in every way, they only seem to have the fact that they are sisters, in common.

As I watched them BE, I thought about me, too. I thought back to when I was a girl, at each of their ages, and I did alittle bit of remembering ...

Remembering what it was like growing up girl.

So, today I present to you – 10 things about growing up girl (for me) in the 1970’s. 

1.        Like many little girls, I loved pink. When I was in fourth grade, I had a pink room, with a pink gingham bedspread and a pink beaded chandelier that hung over my bed. I was nuts about pink.

2.       I always wanted a horse. I never had a horse – but I had a very large dog. His name was Mister.  Mister and I would snuggle in and I would reach Richie Rich comic books to him. He was a captive audience. I loved that.

3.       When I was in seventh grade, I tried out for our community theater performance. I – much to my overwhelming surprise – was casted for the role of Snow White.  It was my first and last acting opportunity. Perhaps it was my fair skin and dark hair. I don’t know, but it was a lot of fun.

4.       I grew up in a family that liked to fish. Seemed like I was often the luckiest family member at catching fish. Problem was, I didn’t like to fish.  So, I would throw my line in to the lake with no bait.  When my father discovered that I did so, he was not happy. Someone had to catch the fish, I guess?

5.       When I was in third grade, I was on a float in the Apple Valley Parade in Winchester, VA.  Yes, that’s me with the cute red checked shirt and the overalls on the right.  I thought I was pretty special waiving to the little kids and throwing candy. I love a parade to this day (although I never had the privilege of riding a float again).

6.       I loved concession stands.  Give me a dollar and I was happy to make multiple trips back and forth.  Sweet-tarts, Junior Mints, and Necco’s, were amongst my top favorites.  Hard for me to pass a concession stand today without making a purchase.

7.       I loved to run and until middle school, I was the fastest kid in my class.  The boys passed me up after that, but until then – it was awfully fun to beat them.  Did I say I was a bit competitive at times – in a healthy way, of course …

8.       I thought astronaut food was cool.  Dehydrated ice cream and tubes of “nutritious” food to sustain on a long journey.  It fueled my desire to be an astronaut – like most kids in the 70’s, I’m sure. When I discovered I get motion sickness, it pretty much put a kabosh on that dream.

9.   I once read a book, (I think the title was “Sunshine,” although I’m not sure) about a young mother who died of cancer. I curled up in my pink fuzzy rocking chair and cried, page after page.  It still makes me tear up, when I think about it.

10.    I was determined to become a professional football player for the Minnesota Vikings.  I played football with the boys and was a great receiver.  Now, being a Packer Fan, I don’t know what I was thinking. J  I should have been a Green Bay Packer.

Growing up girl, there were good days (years) and hard ones.  Watching my girls and remembering myself as one, reminds me of how God makes each one of us unique.

How about you?  What did you like about growing up girl? 

I love hearing people's stories. If you would like to share some memories of your "growing up girl" send me an e-mail at andreak54me@gmail.com with your favorites, and some pictures, too.

Noise Pollution!

I woke up to the screech of a high pitched siren sound piercing through my bedroom window. It was not varied, like that of a tornado siren that intensifies and quiets as it rotates round and round, but rather, constant and persistent.

It made my shoulders tighten and my eyes squint.

It did not go away -- has not gone away.

I would liken it to fingernails scratching down a chalk board.

Anyone else reeling from the mere thought of it?

The kids woke up, noticing the same sound and wondered what it was.

The dog even laid in his kennel whimpering. 

Noise pollution. I don't know what the source is, but that’s what I am calling it.  I looked it up in the dictionary.

noise pollution

n.

Environmental noise that is annoying, distracting, or physically harmful.

And I thought to myself -- barely over the noise that was driving me crazy -- life is full of noise pollution

and I don’t want to add to it.

I don’t want to add to the noise of sarcasm.

I don’t want to add to the noise of unbelief.

I don’t want to add to the noise of criticism.

I don’t want to add to the noise of lies.

I don’t want to add to the noise of complaining.

I don’t want to add to the noise of gossip.

I don’t want to add to the noise of busyness.

I don’t want to add to the noise of negative self talk.

You must admit –there’s a lot of noise out there – environmental noise, emotional noise, exasperating noise.

There are noises that both come out of our mouths and echo around in our hearts and minds – noises that are annoying, distracting and perhaps most often -- harmful.

They creep in, even when we try not to listen to them and agitate the soul.

I’m convicted. I may not be able to do anything about the high-pitched noise that is in the air today, but I can do something about the noise I make.

I don’t want to add to the noise and pollute the air and hearts around me.

I want to add to the peace. 

I want the sounds that I make to be edifying, encouraging and filled with hope.

Oh, Jesus, I need your grace to not add to the noise, but to bring peace.

Rummage Sale Update

My friend sat down on an old chair, clutching a pair of used, white Canadian ice skates in her arms.

“I’ve always wanted my own skates!  Do you think these could actually fit me?”

She leaned over, and slipped her foot in to one of the skates and then the other.  True to the Cinderella fairy tale, they fit perfectly.

Tears ran down her face.  Tears ran down our faces. 

“Oh, my!” she inhaled with joy, “They fit! They actually fit!  This is a dream come true, since I was a little girl!”

It was so beautiful!  She was so beautiful!

Truth be told, not every sale at the rummage sale to help fund raise for our mission trip to work at the orphanage in Zambia was quite that exciting or touching. However,  it was definitely one of the many blessings that we – the members of the Zambia team and our happy helpers – received over the past few days.

The Lord and His amazing provision knocked the wind out of me!

AND … Whew!

I’m still trying to catch my breath.

Why?

·         35 families donated items to the sale.

·         Multiple people came by and helped price and organize before the sale.

·         Friends helped out during the sale, dragging more items out as they came in, and helping customers

·         Profits exceeded $2,100! 

·         People showed interest in our trip and we were able to share about the orphanage!

My garage – still – feels like the widows jar that never emptied.  It remains full (due to an early closure because of rain), therefore  … we’ve decided a BLOW OUT SALE is in order. We’ll drag the “stuff” out one more time this Thursday and try to finish off with a BIG BANG, before donating it to a local thrift store.

Deep breath in and deep breath out. That’s what we are doing. 

Stunned by God and humbled by His personal care, through people – people willing to donate, people willing to help and people willing to buy.

God is amazing. God’s people are amazing.

We find ourselves (almost) speechless.

Thanks for journeying along with us and supporting us through your encouragement and prayers. 

We are grateful to the Lord for you.

Rummage Sale Mahem

That’s what I'm calling it.

I’m up and over my eyebrows with rummage. Rummage here. Rummage there.  Rummage, rummage everywhere.  We can hardly walk through the garage and we have more items stored outside in a covered trailer. Yikes!

My intentions were – are – good.  In an attempt to help raise funds for our team to travel to Zambia, Africa this summer, on a mission trip to help at the Villages of Hope orphanage, (click here to read more about the trip) I thought it was a good idea to host a rummage sale.

Really (I’m partly trying to convince myself, when I say this), I still do think it is a good idea, it’s just that – well, let’s say – organizing a rummage sale is not really in line with my gifting, and perhaps, not even in my skill set.

Overall, I am an organizer, but sorting and displaying the equivalent of a small store’s load of merchandise, is not my thing.  It stresses me out.

However, I’m leaning in to the process and along with the help of other team members and friends, we are making progress.

People have been so generous in giving us items to help us out.  From tables to tea cups and stereos to snowsuits, we have clothes, toys, books, pots and pans, pillows, furniture and much, much more.  You get the picture.  Basically, your common rummage sale fair AND some interesting items to keep it, well – interesting. 

There is one piece that has brought some added delight in to the process -- a bizarre little pink, ceramic weaner dog. 

We’ve yet to figure out its purpose, but I’m getting a kick out of it. I think it's cute, in a silly, whimsical way.

I’m thinking toothpick holder?

Someone else suggest it was a planter?

One other friend suggested that perhaps it would make a cute business card holder? I like that.

A Q-tip holder?

I’m open for ideas! 

Maybe I’ll even sneak it out of the sale and keep it as a reminder … a reminder that, even when we aren’t good at something, it’s still good to do it for the Lord.  I’m counting on the fact that He knows my motivation and will bless our team with some additional income, and teach me a little something in the process -- like maybe, patience?

Feel free to pray for us J -- and come and shop if you’re in the area. You just never know what  practical (or bizarre) treasure you may find. J

It's Just One of Those Days ...

It was a spelling word on my 4^th grader’s list last week.

It’s the word of the day for me.

Immeasurably

Let me be open and honest with you, I am immeasurably overwhelmed today.

My head is spinning, my mind is whirling, and even my legs feel like they’re twitching. I feel like this little sand crab (whose deep in the whole in the picture), digging and digging, throwing out sand frantically on to the shore, trying to get done what I need to get done.

I don't think I drank too much coffee, although do have some coursing through my veins.

Rather -- It’s just one of those days. 

I dropped the kids at school and rushed home to finish a writing project that I am working on, fine tune the study I am teaching on Wednesday morning and then off to wash dishes for hot lunch, followed by a 1:00 PM meeting, picking up the kids, dinner, another meeting at 6:00 PM … yada, yada. I won’t bore you with the details. I’m sure you have your own crazy day.

The problem is, It’s not just the things “to-do” that are overwhelming me, it’s the things “to-think-about”  that are bombarding my brain. Simply said – UGH.

And then I remembered what a friend told me lately, “God’s resources are immeasurable, Andrea.”

And so I went to the Lord with my immeasurable overwhelmedness (not a word, I know, but it seems to fit the feeling).

I called out to the Lord in the car – out loud.  Something about saying it and hearing it reverberate around the car that makes it seem more “real” to me. I don’t know.  It’s silly, I suppose, but it works for me.

Lord, I desire to love you and to serve you. I want to live for you, but I’m feeling very overwhelmed and in need of many things.

I need more grace, Lord.

I need more time, Lord. Could you multiply my time, please?

I need more patience.

I need more peace.

I need more wisdom.

I need more strength.

And on and on I went, calling out the One Who knows all that is going on and is willing and able to give me just what I need. He is the One “who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us.” (Ephesians 3:20).

I’m not sure how the Lord is going to meet all my needs today, but I trust that He will, in His timing and in His way.

 I suppose for a start, He gave me time to write this and to remember Who He is. I’m encouraged.  I hope, in some way, it has encouraged you, too.

Mother's Day Musings

It seems to happen every year around Mother’s Day.

I am bombarded by emotions that I can never totally sort out.  Even sharing them makes me feel vulnerable and exposed and I fear, “What if I am the only one who feels this way?”

You see, I struggle with a combination of gratefulness and grief and guilt – and other yet-to-be determined thoughts and feelings when it comes to Mother’s Day.

I am truly grateful. I thank the Lord for my children.  They are a gift. I don’t want to minimize my joy in having them – I’m crazy in love with them.

I’m thankful for my mother.

I’m thankful for the women in my life who have mothered me in special ways.

However, my heart also tightens with sorrow.

Every year I grieve for those who want children and do not have them.

I grieve for those who struggle with infertility.

I grieve for those who miscarried. I have known this pain.

I grieve for those who have lost a child to death.

I grieve for the mother’s around the world who do not have food or clothing or housing for their children.

I grieve for those who lost a child to abortion, and now look back and deal with guilt and shame.

I grieve for those who have been hurt by their own mothers, either through abuse or neglect.  I grieve that, in turn, they often do not feel loved or valued.

I grieve for those who entered motherhood with hopes and dreams for their child, and who are walking a different path than they expected with a child with special needs, a child who rebels, or a child who is hurting. I know this sorrow, too.

I’m not sure what to always do with all this conglomeration of joys and sorrows, other than be open and honest with the Lord, letting them permeate the Heart of Heaven and asking Him to care for those who need His strength and love. I know He is the One who knows all and will bring comfort and joy, and so I am praying.

That’s where my heart is today, dear reader.  If there is something I can pray for you, specifically, please let me know.  I would count it a privilege to do so.

In to a Beautiful Space

I’ve been in some very beautiful places.

Ireland.

The Rocky Mountains.

On the beach with waves tickling my feet.

A kayak on an early morning on a lake.

A comfy chair in front of a fire place, surrounded by my family.

My backyard on a warm summer day.

Hospital rooms on the days my children were born.

But nearly nothing compares to the places that I would not really describe as beautiful at first, but after time, have become my most lovely of spaces.

They are not necessarily places that I have stood on – but rather places and times that I have stood in.

Places and times of sorrow and grief, when I thought my heart would melt, not being strong enough to hold itself together.  Places and times when an echo inside of me bounced back in forth in the cavern of my loneliness. Places and times of grave uncertainty when the bottom was not in view and the sky was occluded with darkness. Places and times of fear when my stomach churned upon itself and my head throbbed rhythmically, repeatedly in sync with my heart beat. Times and places of facing the impossible, in the face.

But oddly enough, it is in these places that outwardly – inwardly – were not destination places that I chose, that the Lord brought me in to a beautiful space.

A space of grace.

A space of trust.

A space of peace.

A space filled with Him.

A place and space that I would not have – could not have – known other than by walking down the corridor of those other times and places.

May I pray?

Dear Lord:

“… But You brought us to a place of abundance” (Psalm 66:12). Thank you for your tender care, for loving us so much as to teach us what we need to know and make us in to who we are, through all of life’s circumstances.  Help us to see that even during times of trial and heartache, you are with us.  Help us to believe that these are indeed places of abundance -- spaces filled with You.

Amen

Your Story Matters

Your story matters.

It’s true.

But sometimes we don’t believe it, do we?

We think that it is too dull or too traumatic or too disturbing or too ________.  You fill in the blank.

We fear embarrassment or, worse yet, rejection. We fear that others will think we are ugly and turn away. Or we think that our story is not important or as powerful as someone else’s story.  Or someone has told us – not with their words, perhaps – but with their actions, that our story doesn’t matter.

Lies. Lies. Lies.

May I say it again?

Your story matters.

Our stories are complicated, often confusing.  Bits and pieces of our lives are woven together, impacting one another, at times not really making sense, and yet, all forming the whole of who we are, and who God is using.

The evil one wants you to think your story is not important.  He doesn’t want you to share your story – for even though it may be difficult and painful, when you ask God into it and allow Him to use it – it brings the Lord glory – and the evil ones hates that. Really hates that.

Dear friend, I just want you to know that your story matters – because YOU MATTER.

Your story is important. I do not know how or when the Lord may use it, but I believe when we you bring it to Him, He will begin to show you the truth in it and He will use it. He may be asking you to tell it -- or maybe not now. He may be using it to work deep inside of you, as He prepares you for something in the future. He may choose to have it in a book, spoken from a platform, or flashed across the movie screen. Or it may never be shared outwardly, but rather fuel your passion to help others – perhaps others who need someone one who understands.

That’s all for today.  Just a note from someone who cares about you, relayed from a God who cares even more.  You are loved and made for a purpose and your story is part of His plan to bring change and hope and healing to a broken world.

He uses brokenness – brokenness that we have caused within ourselves and brokenness that has occurred to us – to make a difference. 

How He does it? I’ll never know. But I believe it is true, and I know He loves you.

Your story matters. It's true.

Sometimes ... I'm a Wiggle Worm, Too

My youngest daughter crawled up into the nest of my bed.

“Momma? Will you snuggle me?”

How could I resist?

I laid down next to her, and as I did so, the incessant movement began. 

She couldn’t – wouldn’t – stay still. First a leg poking me here and an elbow there, then a flip and flop, she wiggled and wiggled, alternating with groans and sighs.

“Now, just settle in, dear, and rest. Try not to wiggle. It’s hard for you to calm down if you are moving all the time.”

“But I can’t help it!” she whined, frustrated.

I reassured her, while rubbing her back and holding her hand.

She finally fell asleep, in my arms. 

I laid there for awhile, thinking to myself that I'm not that different from my daughter -- just in a bit of a different way.

Sometimes, I am prone to wiggling -- striving. I desire rest. I ask for His tender care, but I am constantly moving in my mind and heart. I can’t settle. I get tired, maybe even over-tired, just like my daughter. I weary of the world. The troubles of the day burden me, and I am restless.

Instead of laying back in to the arms of the Lord and giving up my cares, I flip and flop, discontent and anxious -- more than I would like to admit. I can be a regular wiggle worm.

But this is what Jesus offers us -- rest.

“Come to me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” (Matthew 11:28)

 I am trying to bring my heart to Him, instead of wrestling it out on my own.

I am trying not to fight His care for me, but allow Him to love me.

I am trying to remember His Word and His promises for me.

What about you?

Can you hear His voice, dear friend?  Stop wiggling.  Stop striving. Stop resisting His love.  Lay back your head, dear friend, and rest your weary and burdened heart, knowing that you are loved.

Held

My cell phone pinged the other day, with a text message and a picture from a friend.

Morgan:  Making this now … look familiar?

Me: Ur making that????  Is it the lady we think looks like shame?

Morgan: Yes … with her Kinsman Redeemer holding her and lifting her out of her shame J

Me:  That is so beautiful!   Oh, if only I would believe it lately …

Morgan: Me too girl …. Love u!

Six months ago, I travelled to Nashville and spoke at a Women’s Retreat at her church. I shared with the ladies a statue.  The little lady in the statue has quite a story – both of how my friend and I found her (click here) and the story of how the Lord has used her (click here).

Now Morgan was creating her own rendition of the statue.

She knew that I would love it – and I do!

I’m looking forward to seeing the finished product, but even now, there is something about her and the One who holds her, that moves me.  She looks raw and simple. He is so close and His love is so pure.

Morgan and I continued to text for a bit more about a name; she is still “unnamed” for now.  I think Morgan should name her. She made created her. 

But her last text struck me ...

Morgan wrote.  “U already knew her when I met her – but I guess we all did in a way.”

Dear friend, do you know shame?  Shame says, “I am a mistake” rather than “I made a mistake.”  Shame draws your head down, making you feel unloved, devalued, unwanted.

I think Morgan is right. Perhaps, we all do in a way. 

Consider yourself held today, and every day, but the One who redeems you – the One Who is the lifter of your head. His arms are wrapped around you and He holds you close.

Thank you, sweet Morgan, for reminding me.