You Matter! Part 2 of 3

I'm not one to think I have much wisdom when it comes to mothering. Being a divorced mom, I kind of feel like the tree in the forest that falls and isn't sure anyone is around to hear it.

Half of the time, my son is gone, so my mothering is curtailed 50% of the time, so I feel like I only get part time practice at it.

I've remained an amateur and never became pro like all my friends.

Or, so the voices inside my head want me to think.

But, that isn't really true...those voices are convincing me of a lie.

Being divorced and having to watch your child leave every other weekend creates an unhealthy world that you and your children have to learn to navigate.

On one hand, when Cade leaves for 4 days, I could worry and focus solely on him in his absence, but that would create a stalled world inside of me...one that produces high anxiety and wants to become highly controlling. That mindset is riddled with pitfalls, bitterness and self-absorption.

But, if I lean too far the other direction of letting go, and creating an entirely separate life when he is not around, then that road is riddled with too many compartments and separations. I'd start pulling away from him and he'd be more of a visitor than a son.

God didn't intend on divorce for countless reasons, and one being that the effects have tentacles like jellyfish. They seem to be immeasurable and seemingly invisible to many, but sting like hell and leave one afraid of the waters they wade in.

It's a world that requires redemption on a daily basis.

And as I navigate my world of being a single mom to a son, not having a mom of my own to bounce much off of nor a spouse to lean on, I find myself so often, walking and leading blindly in a world I myself am trying to figure out.

And even though I hate being (what I feel like to be) alone in the boat, it's forced my hand to lean further into God than I ever would have before.

It keeps me recognizing daily the gift of grace, the power of redemption, and my desperate need for God.

Though this road I’ve walked from anywhere of 5-15 years now has been a source of heartache and confusion, it's also been what God has used to show Himself to be very real in my life.

Tonight, all you moms, I want you to know that you matter.

You matter mom!

Even on the day you are no longer around, you will matter.

And even if your kids leave 50% of the time, like me, you matter.

When your kids are grown and gone, you will matter.

If you're tired and alone and not sure if you can change one more diaper or wake up at 2 am another time, YOU MATTER.

I know this because my mom died over 5 years ago, and there's not a day I don't reflect on something she did for me.

And even though she did so much, I know the most valuable and significant thing she did for me and my life, was pray.

My mom was a pray-er.

Which, looking at my life, one might say, "Um, Shelly, you aren't exactly the poster child for the 'prayers of a mom are powerful' speech because you didn't make the greatest of choices in your personal life, you're now divorced, still single, constantly confused and your heart is closed and numb."

And, you know, for a long time, I bought into that, wondered about that, yelled at God at how prayers obviously are a big fat waste of time.

But then, I can't deny the fact that the reason I'm sitting here, contemplating God is because my mom prayed.

I know I wrestle with God because my mom told me over and over again that Jesus loves me.

I know that no matter how lonely I am, there's a God my mom clung to in her darkest hours, and I watched Him work through her.

I know that no matter what I face, Jesus will walk me through it, because I watched her talk to Him as He walked with her even in her final hours.

You matter mom, because you are the one who introduces Jesus to your babies, to your daughters and sons, to your teenagers, and to your adult children who become your best friends.

They know Jesus because you interact with Him everyday.

With my parents, faith and God was just life. It wasn’t separate or something we did only on Sundays...it was just life. It intersected every area, it was who they were and are, and there was no separation. Jesus was part of our everyday.

So, tonight, I want to encourage you to make Jesus part of your everyday, and one of the best ways to do that is in prayer.

Pray with your child and for your child. I don’t always know how or what to pray, so I pray Bible verses over Cade or I will pray for what God knows he needs or just that God’s grace would overwhelm him and meet him right where he is.

We pray before baseball games, we pray at bedtime, before meals, when things are hard and when things are beautiful. We pray for others and we pray for ourselves.

And traveling through this road of divorce, Cade and I have had plenty of opportunities to pray. It's brought sweet conversations of God's love, His mercy, and provision that we would have never had without our circumstances, and I thank God that even through trial, He shows Himself incredibly faithful and real.

I've been able to see the fruit of prayer in my son's life. One day, last April, I had had a tough day at school. In fact, it was my mom's birthday. Usually that day is just fine, but for some reason this year, my heart hurt incredibly for her. All day I was moments from tears.

When I got in the car, Cade asked how my day was. I decided not to put on the tough mom act and was just honest. I started to tear up as I told him,  "honestly, I miss my mom today. Today it just hurts my heart that she isn't here."

Cade immediately reached his hand out to mine, bowed his head and began praying for me and over me.

It was one of the sweetest things I could have experienced.

I thanked God in that moment, for that moment, and it showed me that what I do as a mother matters to my son. God's goodness and faithfulness to both of us in that moment was amazing and I'll never forget that day. 

And though, as a divorced mom, Cade leaves me often, and I often feel like I am only a half mom, God has been showing me that’s the gift of prayer. I can lift my son up to the throne of God all the time.

There is no limit to my prayers, to God’s reach and His grace.

The greatest gift my mom gave me was her prayers, and that too will be my greatest gift I give to my child.

I can pray for him.

I can pray God’s grace would collide with his life, that he too will talk to God, walk with Him, wrestle through the hard stuff, and lay his life at the feet of Jesus.

My mom also taught me the significance of community and how to be a great friend.

I’m an introvert by nature. I have never been “the more the merrier” kind of girl. I’m a "small group of really good friends" kind of girl.

But my mom, she was a friend to countless. Her light shined and her smile brought joy to every room she entered. She never met a stranger and she became friends with all she encountered.

She was a good listener and spent time with people. She was willing to give hours to people. Time never seemed to be something she hoarded for herself. She gave it away, and at her funeral, when over 600 people gathered, I saw the impact of the time, the love, and the friendship she shared wherever she went.

And after my divorce, I knew there were many things I needed to change, and one was my approach to people and friendships. I had been living on the coattails of my parents’ community for my entire life. Because of who they were, I inherited a rich community full of people who loved me and who loved the Lord.

But, I couldn’t rely on that anymore. I needed to become my own. I had a son, and the gift they had given me, was the same gift I wanted to give to him. Their community had carried us through 2 bouts of cancer, years of sickness and moves and doctor visits and all things life brings your way. 

Their community had been the hands feet of Christ in my life and shown me Him in a very real way, and my parents had cultivated that because of who they were, and it was my turn to be that for Cade.

Community had sustained us when I was 9 when my mom got sick, to when at 31 we buried her, and I became single again.

Their prayers had covered me, their friendship had encouraged me, and their support had comforted me.

So, I became intentional about community. I changed churches. I had become anonymous in a such a large church, and I knew that anonymity isn’t healthy in too many areas of life, so I needed a new spot where people knew me, knew my son, and a place we became part of the fold.

I sought out friends...I mean really great, close friends that one can share details and worries, challenges and joys with.

I knew that my mom was surrounded by friends because she was a great one herself.

God laid a group of women on my heart and prompted me to invite them over.

So I did.

I invited them over, to my wee little house, and you know what...they all came. Each one. Not a single one left before midnight, and we all looked at each other amazed at how we felt like God had brought us together.

That was 2 years ago, and we still meet...only at my wee little house, around my table, and they are the ones who ask me when our next get together will be.

Those ladies have become my trusted friends...the ones I can text any time of day, when I'm crying, worried, had a rotten conversation, scared, feeling snarky, or have just seen a really cute man while roaming the museum in Chicago.

They encourage me, are an example to me, they pray for me, for Cade, and most importantly, we laugh. My therapy bills became non existent once I engaged and became honest and transparent with some godly women.

That’s God’s grace prompting the heart to step out; to believe that He’s with you, that He’s going to be faithful in your life.

Find a community, build a community, be a community.

~

I'll post the 3rd part Wednesday.

Praying this week is one fantastic week for all of you. May we love well and know that who we are and what we do matter!

In Him,

Shelly

My September-May Romance and Post 1 of 3 on how You Matter!

Many of you might remember my post from May about "getting dumped"and how the end of the year feels like you're breaking up with a love.

And, honestly, it is just like that. All year, a teacher has poured out a love that comes from a secret compartment that can only be created by God because somehow that well of love travels deep. Your patience seems at times to be unending, your ability to laugh and smile at the countless pictures drawn arrives daily, and, somehow, by God's amazing grace you know that for this moment in time, you've become this special family.

But, then May eventually comes again and it's time to move on. The students are ready to move on, to experience a new place, a new challenge, and a new chapter in their life, and unfortunately, you can't go with them.

You're not supposed to go with them.

A teacher is one stop, for a brief amount of time, and even though for those 9 months, you are a huge part of their life, they will move on, and you have to let them go.

For a girl who struggles understanding love (and believing in "love"), I certainly see the irony gift of having to love day in and day out.

Breaking up with men has never been my forte, so God teaches me how to "break up" every May through the process of seeing how "breaking up" is sometimes just a necessity in life and that life carries on and another love will walk through the door...just give it time...just give it a summer.  ;)

So, here I am, 3 weeks in and I find myself holding on for dear life from the cliff of falling, once again...in love.

Each year teaching I think, there's no way I could love a group as much as this years'.

Then, next years' comes, and well, I find myself in the same predicament...having too much fun than one should have each day.

This year, I was determined, set on, heels dug in, saying, "this year I shall separate myself a bit from all of this. I will be strictly teachery and no more of this nonsense of becoming family."

Well, week one went really well on that front. I was holding out. I was very "professional" and not letting my guard down. These people needed training and I was the one to do it because I wasn't flinching.

Then week 2 hit, and well, they just started getting cuter and cuter. I was still resisting with all I had but their smiles, their "I love 5th grade!"'s, and their incessant listening and following of directions really started beating me down...but I made it. I made it out with a bit of back bone left.

That weekend I drank milk by the gallons, praying for vast amounts of calcium, and didn't touch any sugar hoping my back bone would be bolstered and no extra sweetness would pour out from me.

But now, week 3 has concluded, and well, I have to say, they won.

It's really a very UNFAIR battle.

I blame it on their unique ability to draw very coaxing pictures that say these messages that no self-respecting people pleaser could resist.

These sweet girls draw beautiful pictures with unicorns, rainbows, and pegasus's, and though unusual looking and labeled incorrectly, they say things like "You are the best teacher ever!" or "This is already the greatest year of my life!" and that's like dangling candy in front of a 6 year old...I'm lured in and the flattery breaks any remaining walls down.

On top of that, you add to it the boys who are always glad to see you in the mornings and always yell, "I'll see you tomorrow Ms. V!" as they run out the door to carpool, and well, this teacher. is. sunk.

I can't handle it.

I'm in love, once again, and even though I know this is a September to May romance, I don't care...because I'm determined to make it the best September to May of their lives, and in turn, it becomes one of mine.

I love my job, and since I can't be a professional sleeper inner, I'm so grateful I get to wake up and spend my days with 54 "cute as buttons" 5th graders.

~

Last post I shared how I'd been asked to speak at a local church at their Mentoring Moms, and so I did.

We shall use the word "speak" loosely, since reading and bumbling would be way more accurate, but I shared with them about how God has shown me how much we, as moms, matter.

I had several people ask me about how it went, so I thought I would share with you what I shared with those young moms.

I'll divide it into 2-3 posts so that my posts (that are already excruciatingly long) aren't even longer.

And, I would like to add, if you are a dad, then just insert dad where it says mom, because dads do this as well. Mine did, and I was incredibly blessed to have a pair of parents who walked out so much for me, and because they did, I have been incredibly blessed to be their child.

You Matter!

I’m not a speaker. I’m a school teacher, and if all of you were 10 years old, then I’d be good to go…but you aren’t, so please give me grace where you will see I am desperate for it.

When I was asked to share with you all tonight, I prayed before I said yes, and I have prayed an enormous amount since I said yes. I don’t know where you each are at or what each of you need to hear, but I know God does. I know that God has something for you and so as I prayed and began to write down what I felt was being placed on my heart.

I’m sincerely hoping that by the end of tonight, you will know that YOU MATTER. You matter as a person and a woman, but you especially matter as mom.

I lost my mom 5 years ago but because of who she was, her legacy has outlasted her life. What she did mattered tremendously in my life, which in turn affects my child’s life.

I whittled it down to 3 main things she modeled and lived out that have changed the course of my life:

She prayed

She lived her faith in the darkest of days

She chose community  

About 10 years ago my mom kept asking me to come to Mentoring Moms. I’d been hearing about it for a while by then because she and Gay had been doing it for a bit already. 

I always enjoyed the stories she would share...nothing confidential of course, but just her delight in the evenings and the girls.

I’m still friends with some of those ladies who encountered her years ago when this ministry began at Oak Hills.

In fact, just before I left to come here, a friend of mine told me she remembered my mom telling her story about 10 years ago.

“She talked about having cancer when she was a young mom and about how God had healed her and the grace and goodness of that dark time, but then she got really serious, pointing her finger at all of us and saying, but God would have been GOOD even if I hadn’t been healed...God is good in all of it.’ I still remember that Shelly.”

Those are sweet memories for me because my mom loved those nights. She loved helping and encouraging young moms.

I eventually started attending Mentoring Moms about 9 years ago. It took her begging and me dragging my feet before I went, but I went.

I’m not a big fan of crowds or people I don’t know. I’m an introvert in more ways than I care to admit. I get nervous and I’m a terrible small talker, so I never know what to say or where to sit or what to do exactly.

But I went, under the wing of my mom and quickly met some others and made sweet connections. I always enjoyed my time and went regularly for several years.

But, for me, it was different. I sat, in my hidden world, of a broken heart, in a broken marriage, listening to the advice of so many that just didn’t resonate with me and my life and my marriage.

No matter how many times you told me that I should make sure I had lipstick on when my husband came home, I knew that wouldn’t make an ounce of difference.

When it would be time for prayer requests in our small groups, I never knew what to say. In my numb world, I would have none...and I knew I couldn’t crack that deep down, hidden world of mine because I was too afraid what would spill out if I did.

And really, I figured what was the point anyways.

None of this was going away. No one would understand or believe me. 

So, I sat, listened, sometimes feeling even more alone, and I pushed it all deeper within.

I’d show up, see these beautiful moms, in their size 6 clothes, with their super cute diaper bags and I’d imagine how perfect their lives were and how much I thought I had missed. I’d sit there beating myself up for the choices I had made, for the lines I had blurred, for the compromises I had been willing to give into.

And there I sat, in a room with upwards of 80 other moms feeling desperately alone.

And I would leave, and go back to my house, begging God that the hope I’d see every once in a while would be real and someday stop being continuously snuffed out.

So often there was a disconnect between what I would hear people say, or encourage with, or stories they would tell. I just didn’t get the words. My heart didn’t understand them and I felt like I was in a pit so deep that those lights or hope and life weren’t for my eyes to even see the glimmer of.

After my mom was diagnosed with cancer, I’d still attend, though reluctantly, quietly and I would be very standoffish. I’d attend because those people cared about my mom and by my association, they cared about me.

It became a lifeline for me even though I didn’t really know that at the time.

See, where God’s people are, He’s there too.

If in my cold and lonely house I couldn’t seem to find Him, I could go into His community and at least be reminded that He was real, that others saw Him, felt Him, and were praying to Him for my mom, for my family, and for me.

I took great comfort in that.

My mom loved Mentoring Moms. She loved being a mom. There wasn’t much of anything else that she loved more than being a mom, and she was good at it. She wasn’t perfect, even slightly annoying at times, but she was really good at it.

And when it was her turn to be a grandmother, I watched that delight her to no end. The energy and patience and joy she infused into her grandmothering was remarkable. To this day, I can picture her with my son Cade and there’s few other moments that I can witness a love that was as strong and evident as my mom’s for him.

She only had 5 years with him, but she gave enough love that might possibly last his lifetime.

Five years later he still makes remarks about her and still calls her his snuggle partner. She was willing to snuggle and squeeze and physically wrap you up in the love her heart felt for you. Sometimes she’d squeeze so hard, it hurt.

My mom died when I was 31 and Cade was 5. But, because of how she lived, I believe she guides me and advises me and loves me each and everyday.

Years ago, she told me a story about when she was 7. She lived a very hard and lonely childhood and one day, in her room she realized that Jesus could be her friend. That she could talk to Him and that He would listen to her. She told me, “From that day on, Jesus was my friend. I’ve talked to Him ever since.”

And I would catch her talking to Him. I’d walk in on her and she’d be having a conversation and I soon realized she was talking to God.

God was her constant companion.

And when she got sick and I watched that play out during my 20’s, witnessing the long nights of pain and the never ending chemo treatments and the lonely days in the hospital beds, I would wonder how on earth she made it through those times, and I came to know it was because Jesus was her still her constant companion.

Jesus had entered her room at 7 and never left her heart or her side.

He’d walk with her throughout her entire life and she’d walk with Him. 

I'll post part 2 on Monday.

Have a wonderful weekend, knowing that YOU MATTER!!

In Him,
Shelly

The prayers of a mom, pleading with God to have His grace collide with her child, matter.

I've been asked to speak at something called Mentoring Moms this coming week. Which, yes, we can all laugh about that right now.

I'm not one to think I have much wisdom when it comes to mothering. Being a divorced mom, I kind of feel like the tree in the forest that falls and isn't sure anyone is around to hear it.

Half of the time, my son is gone, so my mothering is curtailed 50% of the time, so I feel like I only get part time practice at it.

I've remained an amateur and never became pro like all my friends.

Or, so the voices inside my head want me to think.

But, that isn't really true...those voices are convincing me of a lie.

Being divorced and having to watch your child leave every other weekend creates an unhealthy world that you and your children have to learn to navigate.

On one hand, when Cade leaves for 4 days, I could worry and focus solely on him in his absence, but that would create a stalled world inside of me...one that produces high anxiety and wants to become highly controlling. That mindset is riddled with pitfalls, bitterness and self-absorption.

But, if I lean too far the other direction of letting go, and creating an entirely separate life when he is not around, then that road is riddled with too many compartments and separations. I'd start pulling away from him and he'd be more of a visitor than a son.

God didn't intend on divorce for countless reasons, and one being that the affects and effects have tentacles like jellyfish. They seem to be immeasurable and seemingly invisible to many, but sting like hell and leave one afraid of the waters they wade in.

It's a world that requires redemption on a daily basis.

And as I navigate my world of being a single mom to a son, not having a mom of my own to bounce much off of nor a spouse to lean on, I find myself so often, walking and leading blindly in a world I myself am trying to figure out.

And even though I hate being (what I feel like to be) alone in the boat, it's forced my hand to lean further into God than I ever would have before.

It keeps me recognizing daily the gift of grace, the power of redemption, and my desperate need for God.

See, I'm an independent spirit who likes to know what she's doing. I don't like to be vulnerable...never have. My default defense mechanism is to shore up my walls in order that I don't leave myself in need of someone. Because if I'm in need, and they aren't there, or they leave, or they die, then I've set myself up for being broken, for being a sitting duck.

In my eyes, in my reality, the worst feeling I can have is a broken heart, so if I pad it, if I numb it, if I don't open it fully, then when the bomb drops, I don't feel the pain...or so I kid myself into believing.

Honestly, I often wonder if this will ever change. I'm 36, and even though it's gotten better through the years, this is still a problem for me.

To a certain extent I think God wired me a bit like this; meaning, my sensitivity and sympathy reflexes lend me to a point that carrying burdens is something I do. I see collateral damage and possibility for hurt everywhere, which makes me careful, observant, and thoughtful, but there are some serious shortcomings along with those traits.

One major shortcoming is that I get very caught up with doing things right the first time in order to avoid as many consequences as possible.

But, somehow, this plan of attack on life, has lent me to making some really bad decisions. I've come to realize that particular take on life can become very formulaic in order to attempt to avoid heartbreak. I get so concerned and afraid of the consequences, I don't allow for simple mistakes, for stepping back, for trying things out, for some human error, so I miss the beauty of living in the ocean of grace as one travels through some basic experiences in life.

Living out of fear leaves all that God intended for abundant living out of the equation.

I do believe this was exasperated when I was 9, when I found out that my mom was most likely going to die from cancer.

The one person I loved more than life, the one person I knew I couldn't live without was going to die.

My need to protect my heart went from a level 5 to level one million.

And even though I can look back on that and trace so many pits I've stumbled into because my heart has fought being broken since that day, it's also the moment I can trace back to seeing how much moms matter.

The day I found out my mom may not remain with me, shifted all that was within me.

And even though that's been a catalyst for some struggle in my life, it's also been what God has used to show Himself to be very real in my life.

So, moms, if you ever questioned your worth or whether or not you matter, let me assure you, you do.

You matter mom.

If you are a mom reading this, know, without question, You. MATTER.

And even if you die, you matter.

And even if your kids are gone 50% of the time, you matter.

If your kids are grown and gone, you matter.

If you're tired and alone and not sure if you can change one more diaper or wake up at 2 am another time, YOU MATTER.

My mom died over 5 years ago, and there's not a day I don't reflect on something she did for me.

And even though she did so much, I know the most valuable and significant thing she did for me and my life, was pray.

My mom was a pray-er.

Which, looking at my life, one might say, "Um, Shelly, you aren't exactly the poster child for the 'prayers of a mom are powerful' speech because you didn't make the greatest of choices in your personal life, you're now divorced, still single, constantly confused and your heart is closed and numb."

And, you know, for a long time (up until yesterday ;) ), I bought into that, wondered about that, yelled at God at how prayers obviously are a big fat waste of time.

But then, I can't deny the fact that I'm sitting here, in a Starbucks, on a Friday night, crying because I know, deep down that the reason I'm sitting here, contemplating God is because my mom prayed.

I know I wrestle with God because my mom told me over and over again that Jesus loves me.

I know that no matter how lonely I am, there's a God my mom clung to in her darkest hours, and I watched Him work through her.

I know that no matter what I face, Jesus will walk me through it, because I watched her talk to Him as He walked with her in her final hours.

You matter mom, because you are the one who introduces Jesus to your babies, to your daughters and sons, to your teenagers, and to your adult children who become your best friends.

They know Jesus because you interact with Him everyday.

They sit in their showers, crying their eyes out to God, begging Him to intervene in their marriage, because they watched you turn to Him for help, for guidance, and for mercy.

They know community matters and being a good friend is the greatest of callings and blessings, because they sat in an auditorium surrounded by 600 others celebrating your life after you were gone.

And even though my son is away from me more often than I wish, and though, if I let my heart break over that, it would break into a thousand pieces, I know my prayers are with him and impact him each and everyday, because for 36 years, my mom's prayers have impacted me.

Though vulnerability seems to be something I fight, I sit, weeping in a public place because the prayers of one mom have caused this mom to not be able to run from a God that pursues her and a Jesus that loves her, and no matter how much she fights it, there's something greater than her not allowing her to run from it.

I don't know what all I will say at Mentoring Moms, but this I do know...

the prayers of a mom, pleading with God to have His grace collide with her child, matter. 

They matter even if she's gone.

My prayer is that even though I don't always understand how prayer works, I wouldn't ever believe that it doesn't.

May I be a mom who prays...because my son will face struggles, and all my heart wants for him is to walk with, to rely on, to wrestle with, and to trust in the God that will get Him through them.

In Him,
Shelly

PS - I really want my sign off to be "Kicking butt and taking names"...so one of these days... :)

The empty world of chasing extraordinary: what I wish I had known at 17.

For about 36 years now, I've been having an identity crisis. That seems crazy to me, but it's true.

I mean I've known, deep down, that I've wrestled with my identity, but I really hadn't concluded that to be my main stumbling block. Or, it would be better to say that I've been running and hiding from facing that very fact.

I've had a few meetings with some ladies about a future project, and those meetings have caused me to really evaluate some serious, deep down issues.

The others thought the meet ups were God ordained in order for a possible venture to take place...but I just showed up because I like the gals and I like to talk about life and God and struggles.

I've come to believe those meetings were ordained because God used them to unlock a piece of my heart.

I've been chasing something for a long time. a very long time.

I never knew quite what it was. Never.

I'd have glimpses, but I didn't want to face what those glimpses were, and honestly, I still didn't know what to do with what I would see in those glimpses.

But after our meetings and me having to seriously articulate where I am and where my heart seems to be right now, it got me digging further than I ever had.

See, for years I've been able to articulate and recognize that I kept thinking I was extraordinary, or better said, I wanted to be extraordinary. I can remember this clearly starting in middle school.

I had this feeling that I could do whatever I set my mind to, that if I worked hard enough, I could figure something out. I thought I would go off, and show the world that I was more than it told me I was.

I would be extraordinary...even though the world told me I was ordinary and my life kept landing in the very ordinary realm, I would show the world I was more than what was being said about me, or really, what I thought about me.

It seems odd that I would have such deep rooted insecurities, because I grew up in a VERY loving home. That's probably one of the reasons (besides my arrogance and insecurity) why I thought I could be extraordinary and had such an independent spirit was because my parents told me that. They loved on me, believed in me, encouraged me, and spurred me on in immeasurable ways.

But, somehow, someway, insecurity haunted me, pursued me. The voices of the world plagued me. The voices inside my head controlled me.

I struggled with my weight, and in the world around me, weight seemed to trump all else, and I let that become a toxic lie inside my own head. I took that on, and I let it rule.

I was this confident, independent, determined soul in non-relational ways, but with people, I was paralyzed by insecurities.

I was rarely, if ever vulnerable with my closest of friends. I didn't know how to be.

I guarded my heart.

I didn't want to feel rejection or stupid or the ever so awful, "you think you could date him?"

So, I kept it in.

And the first person who made me feel beautiful, I latched onto, and even though my insides were sending up red flags, I ignored them.

My insecurities were too powerful.

They superseded common sense, truth, stability, all the love and worth my parents had poured into me, as well as accepting or understanding grace.

How can one be that insecure?

I do not know.

But I was. And I have continued to be.

My insecurities landed me in a land of mess that caused even bigger messes.

And, I truly believe, that for the last 15 years, I have been on a long journey trying to solve this huge hole in my heart.

I've been having an identity crisis.

For 10 of those years, I was in a relationship that both stripped me to the core as well as piled baggage on top of baggage.

For those 10 years, I both lost my identity and became as insecure as one can be, as well as begin the process of truly finding myself and having the roots of my soul start to grow in the firmest foundation of all.

And, 5 years ago, God unlocked a prison I had chosen and set me free from a wilderness that I had wandered into, wandered through, but met Jesus in.

He walked me out, but just because you leave, doesn't mean that wilderness leaves you.

Rejection I had so feared was now added, bitterness and pain, heartache that I had become numb to, confusion, and the loss of the one person who'd hugged me from the time I was born buried me beneath a rubble I had to start sifting through.

God had released me, but my new road didn't give me an identity either...in fact it added new layers to what was in my head.

divorced
single mother
not young but not old
not a size 4 or 6
lonely without a mom, a close sibling, a spouse
constantly searching
rarely content
unsettled

lost.

And as all of this played in my head, my search continued, my insecurities pressed in.

This summer, God began unlocking a new gate...well, He's been unlocking it, but it's taken me a long time to see passed the rubble to notice it was open and just waiting for me to walk through it.

A few dreams died this summer, but some new ones sprang up, and in that mix, a few things began to click.

I kept asking myself why I thought I wanted to be extraordinary, why I seem to have to chase extraordinary when life really seems to be about the ordinary.

Life is a day to day, walking out.

My half marathons had taught me that.

The medal moment comes at the end, and it lasts a few minutes, but the race is 3 hours, and that's where the medal is actually earned.

The settling in at mile 4, knowing there's a long ways to go.
The push at mile 8 to get to double digits.
And then at mile 11 to keep fighting for 2 more miles.
To not quit, to keep going in the mundane, the heat, with the same voices in your head, and the legs that are getting tired.

That's when the medal is earned. In those 3 hours...the ones where it is just you and God and the pavement.

The finish line at mile 13 is just a pause. It's the pat on the back, the cheap medal around your neck, and the here's your banana and bagel.

Extraordinary moments, the ones I keep defining as extraordinary, are the pauses, they are the pats on the back, the glimpse of a temporary finish line.

They really aren't what's extraordinary. Extraordinary is created in the time spent in the ordinary.

I kept envisioning this dramatic story of here's your medal and crown and I deem you worthy, and from here on out all of mankind will think you so...and now you can begin life.

I thought life began at the extraordinary moment, at mile 13, so I've spent my life and my imagination on trying to create that moment.

But that's a farce, a manipulation, a right not given.

The medal isn't earned by the one showing up at mile 13, it's earned by the one who started at mile one, and not even really then. It's earned by the one who chose to get up on an ordinary day and hit the pavement, alone, just them, their thoughts, and God.

Big mountain top moments are just temporary finish lines, because the race to get to the mountain top is in the constant, the day to day, the ordinary moments when there isn't a crowd, there aren't people telling you whether or not they feel you are worthy: the extraordinary happens when it's you, the pavement, and God.

The medal isn't earned at a conference or on a wedding day or in the writing of a book.

The medal is earned in the journey, the extraordinary, the REAL extraordinary is found in what this world would call ordinary. It's in the daily walking out, the daily loving and showing up...on mile one and every one after that.

Mary wasn't speaking and writing and marrying and creating this unbelievable story to make her life extraordinary...

She was living, humbly, ordinarily, and The Extraordinary met her there. She loved the Lord, and that was her story. That was enough for her and that was enough for Him.

Ruth's life and what she knew and loved and came from fell, died, and she was left alone.

But she knew God, she knew Truth was worth following.

So she did, and The Extraordinary collided with the one willing to walk a hard road, an ordinary road, and The Extraordinary spoke in that and through that.

I've chased what I thought was extraordinary for a long time, hoping that it would give me an identity, hoping that the story I chased would give me a story.

But all it has done is remind me that I'm ordinary, that I'm excruciatingly insecure, and that I'm pursuing something hoping it would give me an identity instead of me just having one.

I was chasing a farce.

I was left with the indelible "round hole and square peg" metaphor once again.

I was trying to be the "Proverbs 31" woman when in reality, I'm Psalm 31.

I'm not the ideal or the extraordinary. I'm the ordinary: I'm broken, troubled, afflicted, and lost...

I'm in need of Jesus.

For 36 years, I think I've invited Jesus in to fix me, to orchestrate events, in order for me to be extraordinary.

For the first time, I believe I'm coming to a place that I finally say, I'm ordinary, and I just want The Extraordinary to live in me...not to make me anymore than I am, but just to be in me, with me, save me, and change me...not into something extraordinary, but into the me that has a heart full of Jesus.

I'm tired of me trying to be extraordinary, because I suck at it, and all it has ever done is land me in a world of emptiness, in a world I didn't belong in, in a world devoid of me.

This summer proved to me that I have a heart for loving children and I come alive doing that. Giving my time to helping them have an experience with God brings me life, and that praying for my friends and being a mom that's present is pretty darn gratifying.

And that road, one I had said was too ordinary and boring, is actually a pretty great one for me.

I can take off my wonderwoman costume because the only person I was fooling was myself.

I was the one in need of saving.

How great is Your goodness, which You have stored up for those who fear You, which You have wrought for those who take refuge in You...You hide them in the secret place of Your presence...Psalm 31

Nearly 5 years ago, in a dark room, weeping, I prayed begging God to right the pendulum, to clear the toxins, to transform my heart, for me to become who He had planned for me to be before I hijacked my own story.

In August 2013, on the phone, weeping to a friend, longing for the voice and love of my mom,
my soul cried out once again,
my heart breathed in,
and this time, enough rubble had cleared to where I could hear the voice I'd been longing to hear:
you, Shelly, are a child of the Light, destined for salvation, walking together with Him,
and Faithful is He who calls you.

The truly extraordinary is when He whispers into your soul, and you finally listen.

And somehow, walking through that gate, took me into a garden my eyes had never seen before.

In Him,

Shelly
Being ordinary, walking with The Extraordinary

Nevertheless - One of the greatest words in all of Scripture

I've been trying a new Starbucks that just opened. When I'm headed into the big city for "supplies" it's a good one to stop at: convenient, clean, new.

But, I will say, the baristas still need a few more weeks to get in the groove. Their ability to fill a cup to the brim is leaving much to be desired. I wouldn't care, except for the fact that when one drops $4.49 for a drink, I want my stinkin' cup full. A girl next to me just got a venti iced tea and there is a good 1.5-2 inches left at the top. What?!?!

Yes, that deserves exclamation marks and mayhem upon my blog. Most of my retirement is going towards drinking coffee at Starbucks, so I want to make sure I'm getting my money's worth as I head toward being homeless at age 65.

I finally finished 6 weeks of "teaching commitments" this summer. Between teaching and Boston, I've spent 6 weeks working. I've loved every second of the actual classes and kiddos, but I of course swung the pendulum a bit too far as to how I'm spending all my time this summer.

Between conferences, teaching, and getting ready to go back to school work, I'm basically getting 2.5 weeks of summer off.

Those of you who know me, would not be surprised by this...this lack of balance and a happy medium. Last year I didn't do a thing and spiraled into unhealthy-crazy-idle-boredom world, so I vowed to DO stuff this summer, so I swung the pendulum clear to the other side and will have hardly stopped to have the chance to get bored.

Even though I am a bit tired, rebellious, and drained, I am in a much better place personally at the end of this summer than I was last summer.

Routine, commitments, accountability, and work is what this girl needs. A few 3-4 days break here and there is definitely needed, but large chunks of time with nothing to really get me up and going proves to be time that I don't get up and don't get going.

So, I'm thankful. I'm thankful that I wished to work this summer, to stay busy and productive, and mentally healthy, and God provided the opportunity and the means for all of that to happen.

I haven't gotten to spend as much time with friends and long lost friends I usually catch up with during the summer, which I'm sad about, but the few coffees and dates I've had, have been such a blessing and included some really deep conversations, probing questions, and moments I've seen God moving in my life and prodding me to move in certain directions.

If I had to sum up the years 2012 - 2013, I would say it's been a time of rebellion, disappointment, and realizing I love God mainly for the reason He is the master of the universe and can make things happen in my life.

That's a tough season and realization to wade through.

I spent three years that I felt was ordained by God to be a season of healing and transformation, to be a time that set me up to start anew with the chance to begin my story again. I wanted the chance at my dream of being in love and being married, having the house where I have people over for Sunday Night Church (Jen Hatmaker style), where my son plays basketball outside with all his friends, and I might even have another child or two.

I felt His prodding to keep me on the path of healing for those 3 years, to not look left, to not look right, but keep pressing on, and at the end, I had come to believe my dream would await.

For those 3 years, I would periodically ask myself "what are you going to do when "that" doesn't happen at the end? What are you going to say about God? Are you still going to believe these 3 years were from Him, for Him, for you?"

And as much as I said I would be ok with whatever happened, that I would keep believing God, that He isn't my genie, and what He has for my life is what He has for my life...deep down, my picture of my dream remained, how my story was going to play out was like a filmstrip inside my head.

Year 3 came and went. While those 3 years were amazing, and I don't question a thing about how much God worked in my life and how His faithfulness and goodness saturated me, my son, and all that I was walking through, year 4 didn't have my story playing out in it.

And for the next 1.5 years, I've lived in that place...of what happens when what you thought would happen, didn't and doesn't.

It's made me question how much I make up inside my head...which I know is LOTS, but sometimes there are moments when one talks to God, you feel He is right next to you...holding your hand, bringing things to mind, and even talking back.

I asked myself what I would do if what I thought would happen after I "put in my time" for the 3 years didn't happen, and the reality was/is I got hurt, I questioned, I lived in disappointment, felt rejected and left, I've wondered, I rebelled, and I became cynical and bitter all over again.

I spent weeks not walking through the church door or opening His word, I prayed little except on certain quiet times I needed to rant and beg, I shared my anger with Him, and I grieved.

I grieved because during all of that time being mad at God, I knew what was happening. I knew where I stood. I knew I only "loved" God because He had the power to fulfill the filmstrip occurring in my head.

And realizing that, hurts.

These last 4 months I've spent slowly coming out of that fog...slowly...like sticky mud and oil you can't shake or wash off.

The moment I would make strides, I'd find myself still stuck.

I'd open my Bible reluctantly, I made sure I was in the pew being spoon fed once more, and I opened up to listening to and following that still, quiet voice inside my head.

Just come. Just sit. Just read. Just spend time with Me.

I resisted for so long because I hated to face the fact that more often than not (than ever) I do things to only get something in return.

Facing this was secretly killing me. It hurt my heart, my pride, my soul that after all these years, all this time with God and His goodness, I was still in this place.

As much as He had changed me, transformed my heart and life, as much as His faithfulness and goodness have saturated every moment of my time even when I hardly acknowledged Him, THIS was still where I stood with my love for Him: “I will follow and love You Lord only if you do this for me.”

And if I could only love God in this way or with these conditions, the One who saved me, who unconditionally loves me, who has gone to hell and back for me, who has walked and carried me out of my own hell, then how much more would I fail to love others here on earth.

How incapable of genuine love was I.

And that's where I've been.

Over these last couple of weeks, I've been spending time in John 21. In verse 23 it says, "therefore this saying went out among the brethren that the disciple would not die; yet Jesus did not say to him that he would not die, but only, 'If I want him to remain until I come, what is that to you?"

Jesus spoke and the people projected, expanded, added to the story, assumed, and tried to figure out how it would play out.

I believe God and I had a conversation 4.5 years ago. I believe we've had lots through the years. I also believe the ones that are true are the ones that He's continued to prod, encourage, and compel me to keep walking in and through.

But I'm just like the "brethren" in that I can project, assume, add to, and try to resolve how the story will play out.

And that's where the rub is for me and for God. I'm a resolver. My anxious tendencies, my insecurities, my sensitivities leave me in a spot that despises the in between, the journey, the hallways.

I want resolutions. I want ends. I want “and this is how the story goes.”

But that's not how God works.

That's not how faith works.

That's not how trust works.

Faith and trust and God are in the middles, in the journeys, in the walking out, in the "It's not all laid out for you to see".

He's told us the very end of the story, but the in between is a journey of walking with Him, behind Him, trusting that He has great plans for us...His plan is not the filmstrip playing in my head that I control and direct the characters in.

It's not one I manipulate or resolve.

It's one that I show up for; I come, I spend time with Him, and He guides, He prods, He orchestrates, directs and controls for His glory and purposes.

There is lots out there these days about stories and our lives being them and us writing them, and so much of that I have been encouraged and challenged by.

But, at the end of the day, I firmly believe that I can't control or write my story. I tried it once, and that life was one manipulated, disingenuous, inauthentic, shallow and unhealthy...both in what I did, and what I chose.

I believe all I can be is a good character; one willing to go, to walk, to trust.

Abraham had no idea what was before him, but he was the right character for God to use. So was Joseph, Ruth, Esther, Moses, and Mary.

All the stories we read about are not God recreating the filmstrips inside these people’s heads. The Bible is full of stories of how God used and moved people through the unimaginable story He had planned.

God didn’t go with their plans and dreams...He took them even further. He took them to His.

He took their trusting and courageous hearts and willingness to lay themselves at His feet and brought them to places that couldn't have been conceived. He wrote stories so magical and miraculous that they continue to change lives today...to lead people to the cross, to His goodness and sacrifice and love.

Today, 1.5 years into sifting through the garbage of control and manipulation and having the need to have my life resolved, I find myself praying, begging, pleading God to help me set my script down and be willing to follow His.

I don't want to have to write my story, I don't want to manipulate and control and live inauthentically.

I want to love so deeply I can't fathom the well it comes from.

I want to laugh so hard it hurts and shakes crevices inside my soul I didn't know I had.

I want to live life in a way that only God could orchestrate.

And that kind of life takes courage, takes trust, takes living in the unknown, in a journey of faith in God.

It can’t be manufactured or planned. It takes a character willing to show up ready to be directed and guided to places that aren't even known to us.

As I finished reading Psalm 31 today, the last 3 verses are the balm and redemption to my broken and unfaithful heart...

"As for me, I said in my alarm, 'I am cut off from before Your eyes'; NEVERTHELESS You heard the voice of my supplication when I cried to You..."

Nevertheless...one of the greatest words God uses in all of scripture.

It's water to a desperately dry and thirsty soul, to a hurting heart, to the one who is disappointed and ashamed of her reaction to God, for her lack of love for Him.

And Psalm 31 continues with "Be strong and let your heart take courage all you who hope in the Lord."

Be strong and take courage.

Be strong and take courage.

Be strong and take courage...because God works through the "Nevertheless-es".

He is a God who planned for Nevertheless...and that is where the stubborn and hard heart crumbles into a million weeping and grateful pieces.

In Him,

Shelly