the thankful bee • Page 4 of 6 • Finding hope, joy and humor in our everyday.

Tips for hugging a prickly cactus.

by Melissa Holderby on Apr 25, 2020 category marriage, parenting

It is a gross understatement to say I feel a bit prickly these days. I am about finished with our collective self-isolation experiment. How about you? Oh, I am playing by the rules. As a team player I am committed to doing whatever I can to keep front line workers, our most vulnerable populations and my own family safe. I am rocking this face covering and these disinfectant wipes like a beast. But let’s be real with each other, okay? We are together in close quarters, and frankly I can be a jerk sometimes. So can my husband and kids. We may need some tips for hugging a prickly cactus.

Tips for hugging a prickly cactus? What in the world? Yeah, you read that right. C – A – C – T – U – S. Cactus (plural “cacti” or “cactuses”). A member of the plant family Cactaceae of the order Caryophyllales. CACTUS.

My family of cacti.

There is actually a family of prickly cacti living in our house right now. A family of five bristly, brambly cacti with bothersome thorns. They stay disguised as my husband and children (and myself) most of the time. Until they don’t. And that’s when it gets tricky.

For example, my husband looks like my husband on the outside. But just underneath the surface is a saguro full of pointy spines. And my daughter? She’s a flowering Christmas cactus – usually only home to bloom over winter break from college. Except now she is underneath our roof for the foreseeable future and she is quite nettlesome about that fact. My eldest son? He is a prickly pear cactus – taking over our pantry and our refrigerator like an invasive species.

Hold on. Sweet little Luke (our toddler) can’t possibly be part of this analogy, right? Oh, yes. He is quickly approaching his 2nd birthday at the end of May and he qualifies for this metaphor as well. I am renaming his “terrible twos” as the “thorny twos”.

To continue our story, Luke is an indoor cactus, needing less light and less space than all the others. He is smaller in size, making him the perfect little quarantine houseplant. And I am a member of the Sempervivum group of succulent plants (also commonly known as “hen and chicks”), because I lay awake at night and fret over my brood. Am I doing enough to nurture my children (chicks)? Are my “babies” okay? Physically? And emotionally? What about spiritually? Am I going to still like them and their father when this is all over? No wonder I rarely sleep a solid night through.

Three tips for hugging YOUR prickly cactus.

The problem is that we are all called to love our enemies (and even our own beloved family members can feel like “enemies” sometimes these days). But how in the world are we supposed to do that? Well, God gave us some specific instructions. In other words, He left us some tips for hugging a prickly cactus or two.

Let’s look at the sixth chapter of the book of Luke. “To you who are ready for the truth, I say this: Love your enemies. Let them bring out the best in you, not the worst. When someone gives you a hard time, respond with the energies of prayer for that person.” (Luke 6:27-28, MSG) I see three specific tips in there for hugging a prickly cactus.

#1. Love your cactus.

I know, I know. That one seems too obvious. I mean we LOVE our families even in the moments we don’t exactly LIKE them, right? But let’s use “love” as a verb – an action word. Not just a feeling. Now, how do we LOVE our family members? Well, it is extremely helpful to understand how each one best receives love. (Hint: it is also how each one primarily shows love to other people.)

To help give that some context, I really like Gary Chapman’s “Five Love Languages”. You (and your cacti) can take an online quiz HERE to help you narrow it down. For instance, I know that my eldest son’s primary love language is Quality Time. My daughter’s is Gifts. My husband’s and our toddler’s is both Physical Touch, and mine is Verbal Affirmation.

So here is how I might play this on any given day. I may invite Colin to go get ice cream with me (socially distanced through a drive thru, of course). I may include some small thing from the grocery store that Hannah can have all to herself (e.g., a bag of her favorite candy). Luke may get extra cuddles, and I may even give my husband a long hug or kiss as we pass each other in the kitchen on separate household missions. And if any of them really want to show ME love in my best language, then they may compliment dinner, or tell me specifically what they appreciate about me, or leave me an encouraging note. Voilà. Love for every cactus in the house!

#2. Let your cactus bring out the best in you.

Every interaction we have with any other human being at any given moment in time involves a choice on our parts. We all have to make split-second decisions how we are going to react to other people. As I see it, we all have two main choices that could be summed up as kindness or malice. Grace or condemnation. Peace or chaos.

Oh, I hear you, friends. THAT is easier said than done when the other person is being a turd and doesn’t deserve our kindness/grace/peace. How many times have we held our sharp tongues at work when clients or co-workers are unreasonable bordering on ridiculous? Or we refrain from leaving too caustic a comment on an acquaintance’s social media post who clearly is supporting the “wrong” (aka not OUR) side of an issue? It’s exhausting some days, isn’t it?

I don’t know about YOU, but I frequently don’t choose to show the same level of restraint when reacting to my own family members – the people I love more than anyone else on the planet. I am often tired and overwhelmed these days. So I automatically default to some of my own family’s jerkiness with malice, condemnation or chaos. That certainly is NOT my best.

But, we can choose to do better. Every interaction is a fresh opportunity to get it right. Deep breath. Count to ten. Respond with kindness, grace and peace. (Yes, even if they don’t “deserve” it.) And when we get it wrong? Ask for forgiveness and try again.

#3 Pray for your cactus.

When your cactus gives you a hard time, pray for your cactus. Lord, please protect my annoying husband by keeping me from smothering his smug, snoring face with a pillow in the middle of the night. Amen. No, no. Try something like this (or whatever fits your situation) instead, “Lord, please help me view my husband’s efforts to protect our family as a gift. Grant him restful sleep for renewed strength to do his job from home to help provide for our family. Give him comfort when his own anxiousness causes him to stumble. Amen.”

Easy to do when our feelings have been trampled on? Nope. Priceless in preserving the fabric of our families? Yep.

a BONUS for you

Want to know a little bonus trick I use sometimes? When I am so hurt or angry that I would rather run a marathon (the WORST!) than do anything kind for the person who hurt me, I picture Jesus standing behind the offensive party. Just over their left or right shoulder. I literally focus my eyes on Him when I choose grace over condemnation. I look past my offender and look at Him instead when I choose to show love to my (at that moment) unlovable family member. In other words, hugging my prickly cactus of a husband/son/daughter is often easier when I visualize hugging Jesus at the same time.

Hang in there, friends. Take heart, be encouraged, and hug your prickly cacti. They just might bloom in this harsh landscape.

Featured image by Ulrike Leone from Pixabay

Kayaking upstream against rough rapids.

by Melissa Holderby on Apr 18, 2020 category parenting, special needs

This week’s blog post covers something I never enjoy doing. Kayaking upstream against rough rapids. I rank it right up there with running. Yuck!

I prefer to save running for bear attacks or a zombie apocalypse. The only Marathons I need are gas stations, and I don’t ever want to run for office. Likewise, I avoid running a fever (especially these days). Ironically, I have been known to run my mouth, but that can still be done sitting down. I even went so far as to blog about a toxic form of running related to Bernie Sanders and COVID-19 prior to our global shutdown.

Truth be told, I did participate in a community 5K once. I thought it would set a good example for my kids, and they participated, too. I wogged across the finish line, chugged a bottle of water and promptly puked in the bushes. Never heard of “wogging”? It’s a lazy combination of walking and jogging (“w-” + “-ogging”). Still NOT running. STILL got the same medal as every actual runner.

All that being said, I do have lots of experience with the other strenuous physical activity I mentioned. I am a world-class champion at kayaking upstream against rough rapids. My guess is that YOU are, too, and you don’t even realize it.

our current river adventure

First of all, I need to explain some background information so you know what I mean by “kayaking upstream against rough rapids”. Our youngest son – Luke – was diagnosed with something called “hypotonia” (essentially floppy muscles) as an infant in 2018, and then more specifically cerebral palsy as a toddler in July 2019. He had his first seizure activity a couple of months later in October 2019.

As you may already know, I don’t necessarily believe in coincidences. Luke being THE EXACT CHILD adoptively placed with our family after a very long wait punctuated with heartbreak is no exception. For example, all of his medical issues are already very familiar to me professionally because of my career as a pediatric physical therapist. I actually developed a half-day workshop in 2016 for other therapists related to managing the very thing.

Even more personally, our daughter (now in college) was diagnosed with significant delays involving her speech at a very young age. Allan and I walked that long road with her, and had front row seats to witness her victories. She is thriving, and there is no reason that Luke won’t as well.

solid kayaks and strong paddles

It would seem our family is perfectly suited to help Luke move forward. So, where is the conflict, you ask? I can most easily explain it using a picture from a family kayaking adventure.

The kayak and paddle represent our resources available to navigate the river (aka life’s adventure). In the case of Luke’s diagnoses, my kayak sits pretty well in the water considering my professional and personal experiences to date. Clearly my photo reflects a time BEFORE Luke’s medical issues. The water is calm. I’m grinning. And I don’t have my usual tight grip on the paddle.

Are we all still together? Great! Let’s churn the waters a bit.

smooth waters become rough rapids

What happens to the river bed when we add an unexpected challenge like our Luke’s medical diagnoses (or remotely schooling our children while still attempting to work from home, prolonged social distancing, cancelled event plans, empty grocery shelves, etc)? Now our relatively smooth waters have become more bumpy. Then let’s add in the threat of an emergency like our Luke’s seizures (or too few ventilators, a sudden job loss, loved one in ICU, etc). Now we are shooting some pretty rough rapids! Oh, and sometimes we even need to paddle UPSTREAM in the midst of it all because we left behind important things like our Luke’s developmental milestones, and we need to go back and get them. Feel like you’ve also left something important behind as you are swept down the COVID-19 River, too? I bet you do.

So now we are all kayaking upstream against rough rapids. Thankfully, our family has been blessed with several resources specific to our cerebral palsy journey. For example, Allan’s job provides amazing health insurance (and he still has his job). Luke has a skilled medical team (and his four therapists are doing their best to accommodate Luke’s needs remotely during this crazy shutdown – we appreciate them even more now than we did before!). We also have a supportive network of friends and family willing to help (currently via Zoom and Google Hangouts). Sweetest of all, we have received hugs (virtual), prayers, encouraging words, and hot coconut almond mochas – nonfat, no-whip (delivered with a masked face and a gloved hand).

limited endurance

As you can see, our kayak and paddle are solid. However, the journey can still be draining. No one on the planet has limitless endurance. We have sat with Luke in countless waiting rooms. I have spent hours filling out medical grant applications to help cover the costs of Luke’s therapies and equipment not paid by our insurance. A needlessly complicated billing system at our local children’s hospital does not help either. I have a clinical doctorate degree in an allied health field and almost thirty years of experience in the medical business, and I still often can’t make heads or tails of those monthly statements! Some days I feel tired and spent, and other days I feel pressed and crushed.

I especially don’t like watching Luke struggle even though I know personally and preach professionally that growth comes from challenge. It stings sometimes to see much younger kids soar past Luke with far less physical effort. I hate that my son so obviously wants to walk and talk, but his little body doesn’t yet cooperate. On those days, I also feel sad and a little defeated.

we are all paddling

What river are YOU paddling today? Are your waters calm or rough? Are you currently enjoying a leisurely float downstream in your own bubble of isolation, or are you fiercely battling very real rapids? Do you see people on the river bank (social media)? Make sure you focus your attention on the ones cheering for you, and NOT the ones unintentionally throwing rocks your direction. In other words, just because someone posted it, doesn’t mean you have to consume it.

Not currently coping with Pinterest-perfect spring craft projects your friend suggested to entertain your littles? Or Instagram-worthy photos of that DIY project your friend just posted that make your own yard / deck / home interior feel even shabbier? Then give yourself permission to ignore those for now. I currently consider myself #winning if I am showered, dressed in something other than pajamas, and no one is the house is arguing. Score!

And for goodness sake, if someone offers to paddle your kayak for you for a while, LET THEM. For example, accept their help picking up your groceries. Let them cut your grass this time. Be specific in how they can pray for you if they offer. Use their gift of time and talent to catch your breath and rest your weary muscles. And then get back in there and keep paddling upstream. We CAN do this. See you at the finish line!

Featured image by Paul Brennan from Pixabay.

Crushing and pressing bring new wine.

by Melissa Holderby on Apr 11, 2020 category faith, overcoming hardship

Our house shrinks a little more every single day of corona-quarantine. Right now, as I type these words, the walls and the ceiling feel as though they are closing in on me. Crushing. Pressing. Like so many others, our family is wading through the unfamiliar and uncomfortable new rhythm of working from home, schooling from home and socially distancing ourselves. Similarly, other facets of our lives are crushed and pressed in almost unbearable ways right now, too. Our resources. I can’t even look at our retirement account statements, let alone count our rolls of toilet paper. Our patience and stamina. Perhaps even our spirits. But what if all the crushing and the pressing bring new wine? In other words, what if the stress and turmoil ultimately yields something valuable in us?

Ever heard the song “New Wine” by Hillsong (words and music by Brooke Ligertwood)? Well, it’s been a favorite of mine ever since I first heard it. Little did I know, however, what kind of new meaning the lyrics would have in light of our current global situation.

VERSE 1:
In the crushing
In the pressing
You are making new wine
In the soil I now surrender
You are breaking new ground

PRE-CHORUS:
So I yield to You and to Your careful hand
When I trust You I don’t need to understand

CHORUS:
Make me Your vessel
Make me an offering
Make me whatever You want me to be
I came here with nothing
But all You have given me
Jesus bring new wine out of me

Crushing vs pressing

Before researching this blog post, I assumed crushing and pressing were synonymous with one another. Not so! In the wine making process, crushing the grapes means breaking their skins and releasing the “free run” juices so that fermentation can begin. The sugary pulp of juice and skins created by crushing isn’t enough, though. Nope. Despite all that mechanical crushing, there is still quite a bit of juice remaining in the grapes. This is where pressing comes in.

Pressing involves adding physical pressure to the grape pulp to release every last drop of juice out of the remaining solid parts. The used up skins are thereby discarded, and the pressed juice can be used alongside the free run juice to create a unique blend. Crushing and pressing bring new wine.

It takes experience, finesse and care.

I found it interesting during my nerdy research, too, that the experience of the wine maker is key to the pressing process. Pressing is a delicate step that requires finesse and care. For example, apply too much pressure, and the grape seeds may rupture, introducing harsh tannins and unpleasant plant tastes to the wine. Conversely, apply too little pressure, and you leave behind valuable juice.

Truth be told, I never give my malbec or prosecco this much thought when I pour a glass for another virtual happy hour or game night with my socially distanced friends and family. I uncork the wine. I pour the wine, and I enjoy the wine. No finesse required on my part. I trust the process that got the grapes into the bottle.

Jesus knew wine.

Jesus certainly was familiar with wine. His first public miracle involved turning plain water into some most excellent wine at a wedding reception (John 2: 1-11). He used wine as a powerful symbol during his final Passover meal, instructing His followers (then and now) to remember Him and the new covenant His sacrificially spilled blood afforded all of us (Matthew 26: 27-28). He was offered sour wine while dying on the cross (Matthew 27:48; Luke 23:36; John 19: 28-29).

Jesus also used wine references in his parables and teachings. He used the imagery of new wine and old wineskins in Mark 2:22. Similarly, he likened the kingdom of heaven to “a landowner who went out early in the morning to hire workers for his vineyard” in Matthew 20:1. He even refers to God as the “vinedresser” in John 15:1. And just in case you don’t already know (I didn’t), the term vinedresser means someone who cultivates and prunes grape vines to yield the best harvest. It is a labor-intensive, year-round commitment. In biblical times, and still on smaller vineyards today, the vinedresser was typically also the actual vinter (wine maker).

So, Jesus essentially called God a wine maker, huh? Interesting analogy. Now here’s a compelling question. What if we trusted our own figurative crushing and pressing the same way we trust the literal wine making process when we pour our favorite red, white or rose?

Take another listen

Let’s take another collective look (and listen) at our song with our new understanding of wine making.

Did you hear it this time? Really hear it? “So I yield to You and to Your careful hand. When I trust You I don’t need to understand.” In the crushing and the pressing, Jesus is making new wine. He is breaking new ground. He can take our grief/fear/anger, and transform us into something new. No doubt, we will all be different when this chapter passes. Let Jesus make you something better – whatever He wants you to be.

Crushing and pressing bring new wine. So, trust the process. Trust the experienced Vinedresser. Stay strong, friends, and be encouraged.

Featured image by Free-Photos from Pixabay.

Four lessons from heartbreak for all of us.

by Melissa Holderby on Apr 4, 2020 category faith, overcoming hardship

Two months ago, human beings in most parts of the world could never have fathomed our collective condition today. International closure of schools and colleges. Cruise ships offered to the government as floating hospitals. Chronically empty grocery shelves. No restaurants, movie theaters, hair salons, or toilet paper. Craziness! But lessons can be learned from heartbreak – lessons we can all lean into in our collective crisis.

I originally wrote a version of these words back in November 2017 after a very painful heartbreak in my own personal life. My spirit was crushed, and I felt too defeated to cry another tear. You see, I had dutifully prepared and waited four long years for something that turned to sand and fell between my fingers on a technicality. At the time all I could see was my own grief. Eventually I would be able to see the positive things that rose out of my heartbreak. However, I just didn’t have the hindsight at the time.

Maybe you are in a similar hard place right now, too. Maybe you are feeling a bit in denial about the scope of what is happening or how long our social shutdown will last? Perhaps you feel angry at the situation (or at God)? Experiencing sadness over what (and whom) we’ve lost? Well, I’m here to tell you that you are in good company, friends. And to assure you that there is beauty to eventually come out of these ashes. Here are four lessons I learned out of my own past heartbreak that we can lean into today.

Lesson #1: Vulnerability is not weakness.

Vulnerability is not the same as weakness. It actually takes great inner strength for many of us to accept help from other people. In other words, receiving generosity from other people definitely softens our sharp edges – especially around our own humility and trusting others.

Before four years of effort exploded in my face in 2017, I took pride in my self-sufficiency. I was a self-proclaimed “control enthusiast“. My philosophy had always been this: Definitely love other people, and maybe even trust them. But do NOT rely on them. Stand on your own two feet and take care of yourself. The person I trusted most in the world to get a job done was… well… me.

Well, guess what? I was spectacularly wrong. (And I say, if you are going to be wrong, be spectacularly wrong.) Four years of my own grinding effort blew up in my face like a bottle rocket on the Fourth of July. I was forced against my will into a position of relying on other people – not only for emotional support, but for material support as well. Quite unexpectedly, my painful position yielded one of the priceless lessons I learned from my heartbreak.

My pride was decimated. But you know what? God showed me that leaning on other people is how He designed the world. We are built to live in community and to rely on others. Even more importantly, I learned to rely on God above all else. He is my first and best strand.

Lesson #2: Live our true identity.

When my grief threatened to swallow me whole, I was tempted to believe untruths about myself. I labeled myself with names like “failure” and “fool”. That’s when God taught me a better path in my darkness, and I learned to walk out my true identity. (I’d been giving it lip service for years, but I learned to actually walk what I talked.) God wants that for ALL of us. In other words, He wants us to know WHO we are and to live confidently like we believe it.

In case we have forgotten in all the world’s present madness, let me first remind us who we are NOT. We are NOT today’s COVID-19 statistics. We are NOT “infected persons”, “panic buyers” or “essential-” versus “non-essential personnel”. In other words, our circumstances don’t define us. Our Father does. And He has some amazing things to say about WHO we truly are.

We are children of light – servants, stewards and soldiers. Witnesses and kingdom workers. In other words, we are warrior daughters and sons of the King. So, let’s stand tall in those identities and face our collective enemy with confidence.

Lesson #3: Prayer is an effective weapon.

Warriors need weapons, and prayer is a powerful one in battle. Most of us shy away from praying out loud (or at all), let alone with another person. We may feel awkward and perhaps a little judged. Heck, I can count on ZERO fingers the number of times I prayed out loud (excluding memorized blessings before dinner). Now I am far more comfortable with it. My grief in 2017 drove me to my knees where I learned more lessons from my heartbreak. There is something intimately powerful in us talking to our Creator.

Many of us don’t make a regular rhythm of prayer because we think we don’t know how. Spoiler alert: You actually DO know how. Talking to God does not demand props, fancy words or any other special mumbo-jumbo. God doesn’t pay more attention if you hold your hands a certain way, or bow your head or close your eyes. The King of Creation just wants you to bring the conversation to Him. Even more amazing, did you know He made provision for when you are so exhausted and overwhelmed that you have no more human words? Anyone out there currently exhausted and overwhelmed? His Spirit knows your heart and is willing to pray on your behalf. Yes, please!

God promises to listen to His children regardless of how we choose to communicate with Him. So, warriors, wield that weapon of prayer. For example, talk to God out loud or in silence. Speak with Him while you take an outdoor walk (at a responsible 6ft social distance, of course) or run on your treadmill. Are you moved by music? Then, sing your prayer if you prefer. Do you like to write? Then, journal your prayer in writing. Or maybe you are like I was in 2017 – too crushed and defeated at the moment to even have words. Then just sit quietly, and tell Him you are going to have a good cry at His feet. Just go to to Him, because He IS listening.

Lesson #4: Trouble is inevitable for everybody.

Part of my heartbreak stemmed from my (then) linear, transactional line of thinking. Maybe you can relate? Here is the equation: Hard Work = Success. Laziness = Failure. In other words, if I put in the effort, then I will get the desired result. Simple, really.

That’s partly why I felt so cheated. I had painstakingly dotted every “i” and crossed every “t”, yet I still missed out. Another way of saying it? I had played by the rules, and yet “lost”. Or so it felt at the time.

So, God patiently showed me that I was viewing Him the same way. I had done what He had asked of me, yet He didn’t deliver what I thought He should. Sort of like a heavenly vending machine. In my immature human mind, I saw my “defeat” as a betrayal and an abandonment. As it turned out, the “NO” that almost broke me in 2017 kept the path open for a bigger and brighter “YES” one year later. And I am forever grateful that God sees the whole big picture when I only see my own little sliver.

So, friends, we do not need to fully understand everything in life. Similarly, we don’t have to know or like every outcome to obey and trust our Creator. A heartbreaking “NO” today may become an even better “YES” in the future. And what Our Father doesn’t make right in this lifetime, He promises to make right in Eternity. Jesus said we should ALL expect trials on this earth, and that this life would be messy. It is not a transaction. No one is immune. But through Him, we can still be unshakable, assured and deeply at peace.

Let’s review.

Lesson #1: Reach out to others and allow them into our struggles. Next, Lesson #2: Remember who (and Whose) we are. Then, Lesson #3: Prayer is a powerful weapon. Use it. And lastly, Lesson #4: Expect trouble in this life, but take heart. Our Father has already won the war.

So, there we have it. Four lessons I learned out of heartbreak in 2017 that hold up in our 2020 situation. God knows exactly where we are, even in our darkness. He chooses us, even in our anger toward Him. He comes closest to us in our grief. And He fiercely loves us. No matter what. Our messes will eventually become our messages. And our tests will eventually become our testimonies. We may be separated, but we are never alone.

Adapted from original 11/16/2017 Facebook post. Image by Sasin Tipchai from Pixabay

Covered in mud at my own wedding banquet.

by Melissa Holderby on Mar 28, 2020 category faith

In my defense, I had no idea it was MY wedding banquet. I was in the middle of a camping retreat with 200 other women that weekend. No toilets. No showers. I had peed and pooped in the woods. And that is no joke. For sure I needed some refreshing soap and shampoo. Regardless, there I sat – covered in mud at my own wedding banquet.

How was that even possible, you may be wondering? Well, there was a “feast” on the retreat agenda for dinner that evening. So, I showed up with my muddy clothes and unwashed face expecting a lukewarm hot dog and a bag of chips. Let’s be clear. I would have been extremely grateful for that, too, after sleeping on the hard ground and surviving on a granola bar so far that day. I was tired and sore.

more than a hot dog

The feast caught me completely off guard when I arrived for dinner. The giant white tent was gorgeous with long banquet tables, twinkling lights and crisp fabric table cloths and napkins. Much to my delighted amazement, there were hand-rolled beeswax candles, fragrant cedar planks and lovely calligraphy place cards with every individual woman’s name. Greenery and flowers from the forest adorned every table. A glass jar of homemade honey butter graced every spot. There were bottomless bottles of wine and endless platters of real food – whole roasted chickens, potatoes, vegetables, loaves of fresh bread, individual cakes with fruit compote. Even better, our meal was served to us family style so we could pass to our neighbors and take as much as we wanted. EVERYONE had a personal place at the feast.

dirty inside and out

What happened in my heart shocked me even more than this luxurious banquet in the middle of the woods. I was just hoping for a tepid hot dog, remember?

First, the unexpected beauty of it all surprised me. Wow! The obvious love and dedication that went into planning and executing such a feast!

And then suddenly I felt out of place. “I don’t belong here”, I thought. The table was clearly set for a guest of honor, a bride. I was filthy. I sat covered in literal mud at my own wedding banquet.

Then I felt even more self-conscious of the dirt I perceived within me. I was not worthy of this extravagance. You see, I have made some mistakes in my life. Some of those mistakes cost just me, and some of those mistakes cost other people. Similarly, I have also withheld full forgiveness from folks who have hurt me. My eyes started to spill over, and I thought, “I am not worthy to sit at Your table, Lord. Other women may deserve to be Your guest here, but not me.”

I know you and I love you anyway.

God answered me in the most loving and tender way. “Oh, my daughter. Hear Me on this. You are worthy because My Son has made you worthy. He set your place at My table over 2,000 years ago. I love you beyond measure. Nothing surprises Me, including the darkened corners of your heart that you try to mask in shadow. Your debt has been paid in full. You are Mine, and I am yours. This feast is just a peek at eternity with Me.”

So, I took another look around. And this time my eyes saw differently. I saw women laughing, feasting and pouring wine for one another. Women of different ages and different skin colors. Women of varying sizes and shapes. We all had a place at our Father’s extravagant table. We were all brides that day. Brides sitting covered in mud at our own wedding banquet. Treasured. Forgiven. Beautiful.

your place at the banquet table

There is a place set at this abundant feast for YOU as well. You have a standing invitation, and you can come “as you are” – tired, sore, broken, literally muddy, figuratively dirty, and all. Jesus already paid your bill, so you owe nothing for the extravagance. You just need to show up, take your seat, and receive it. Drink in the spiritual joy of it. There is always room at His table for you. No matter what.

Interested but not sure where to start? Well, when I accepted the invitation, I said something similar to this:

“God, I need You in my life. I have tried doing things my own way and have messed up. I cannot have my best life without You. I want to turn away from my sin and turn to You instead. Jesus, I want You to be in my life as my hope and my savior. Please fill me with Your Spirit. Thank You for loving me. Amen.”

Those aren’t magical words that suddenly make our problems go away, nor some kind of empty ritual to mindlessly recite to get on God’s “good side”. (Hint: He already likes you.) Neither are they something I offer to you lightly. That prayer is just one example of words you might choose to say to God to get you (re)started in a personal relationship with Him. He’s not concerned about your word choice, grammar or ease of speaking. He just wants you at His table. He loves you – muddy mess and all.

Need more? Want next steps? Confidentially contact us HERE. We’d love to pray with you.

Featured image by rawpixel from Pixabay.

Comfort food for thought in unsure times.

by Melissa Holderby on Mar 21, 2020 category overcoming hardship

I don’t know about you, but I have definitely ramped up my coping strategies during this global coronavirus pandemic. Apparently my subconscious has been trying to recreate the comfort and security of my childhood. For example, I had ooey-gooey grilled cheese and creamy tomato soup for dinner tonight. As accompaniment, I played Sesame Street music on Spotify in the background (for our toddler, of course, *ahem*). And I lit a Walt Disney World-themed candle nearby. If I could have also crawled up onto my grandmother’s violet-scented lap, my heart would have been three years old again. Sadly, I can’t make all of you tomato soup and grilled cheese, but I can offer you some comfort food for thought in unsure times.

If I think way, way back to my untroubled childhood, I remember a few television shows that defined the world for me. A world where I was spared the harsh realities of things like pandemics and quarantines. Let’s look at them and see what comfort food for thought they may have to offer us NOW in the middle of our global crisis.

#1. Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood (1968-2001).

“When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, ‘Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.’ To this day, especially in times of ‘disaster’, I remember my mother’s words, and I am always comforted by realizing that there are still so many helpers – so many caring people in this world.” ~ Mister Rogers

There are still so many helpers – so many caring people in the world. In other words, everyone is not an “only out for themselves”, toilet paper hoarding jackass. This is key for us to remember. Empty barrels superficially steal our time and attention, but they are the (albeit loud) minority. Have hope that there is basic goodness alive in humankind as a whole.

#2. Sesame Street (1969 – present)/ The Muppet Show (1976-1981).

“I’ve always tried to present a positive view of the world in my work. It’s so much easier to be negative and cynical and predict doom for the world than it is to try and figure out how to make things better. We have an obligation to do the latter.” ~ Jim Henson

It is our obligation to try and figure out how to make things better. And humankind is at its finest when we band together for a common cause against a common enemy. We may not be on the front lines of developing a vaccine, but we certainly can make our corner of the world a little better, right?

For instance, are we venturing out to the grocery store madness later today? We could purchase extra non-perishables for a local food pantry, or we could offer to pick something up for a neighbor. Maybe we could show support for a locally-owned shop or restaurant (buy a gift card for later if you are temporarily avoiding all public contact beyond just social distancing). Know someone working in healthcare or education? Or even worse right now – the grocery industry? Send them an encouraging text or a message.

There are lots of practical ways we can make things a little better. In other words, an outward focus beats wallowing in our isolated inward focus any day. We could even share some comfort food for thought of our own in these unsure times. Above all, let’s remember to have some extra patience and grace for those around us.

#3. The Wonderful World of Disney (1969-1979)

“All the adversity I’ve had in my life, all my troubles and obstacles, have strengthened me… You may not realize it when it happens, but a kick in the teeth may be the best thing in the world for you.” ~ Walt Disney

Let’s be for real. Coronavirus is more than a kick in the teeth. It is a kick in the teeth, a swift uppercut to the chin, a cross punch square in the face, and a reverse round house to the proverbial nuts. All at the same time. Ouch.

I’m excited to see the end of this story.

But once this fight is over and the dust begins to settle, you know what? I am actually excited to see what humankind does with itself as a result. Will we be less apt to overload our schedules in favor of more time connecting with friends and family? Maybe constant extra-curriculars for kids (and adults) are draining on a family. Will we have new creative ways of doing our jobs instead of mindlessly running the same rat race day in and day out? Like professionally hitting the reset button! Will we be more respectful of how our own health choices impact our community as a whole? Cover your cough, wash your hands, and stay home if you are sick. Please, and thank you.

I like to think we will rise out of this stronger, wiser and more cohesive. Time will tell, I suppose. Until then, we’ve got some comfort food for thought in these unsure times. First, look for the helpers. Secondly, try and figure out how to make things better. Thirdly, believe that our struggles will make us stronger.

P.S. I’ve got canned tomato soup in my pantry and plenty of streaming episodes of Sesame Street if you want to stop by and watch from the window. Just bring your own roll of toilet paper, okay?

Friday the 13th gets labeled unfairly – and so do YOU!

by Melissa Holderby on Mar 13, 2020 category Uncategorized

We usually publish new content for you in the early morning hours on Sundays; however, we HAD to release this week’s post a few days early, because Friday the 13th gets labeled unfairly. Western culture has defined today’s date on the calendar with words like “unlucky” for centuries. In fact, the History Channel on A&E did two very interesting pieces on this very thing. ONE discusses the history behind superstitions involving the number thirteen in general. And the OTHER is specific to the day Friday the 13th.

Even more important than numbers and dates, YOU get labeled unfairly, too. But we have a choice in the matter. Let’s flip the script, shall we?

we all get labeled with something

I think I’m sensitive to Friday the 13th because the world has unfairly stuck labels on ME, too. Maybe you can relate? Most of mine echo from way back in elementary or high school, and they linger in my head even if no longer in my heart. Some of those labels were benign enough on the surface. “Teacher’s pet” or “goody-goody two shoes”, for example. Others were more openly hurtful like “dog”. And just to educate our younger readers, “dog” at that time was not complimentary like “dawg” is now. It described an exceptionally ugly girl, as in “she’s a real dog”.

What worldly labels do YOU carry around with you? Perhaps yours is “perfect PTA mom” or “life of the party”. Maybe someone labeled you an “Enneagram 3” or a Myers-Briggs “IFSP”. Your label might be “drop out” or “hot mess”. Maybe it’s “hack”, “snowflake”, “hater”, “nutjob”, or “boomer”. Someone may have labeled you a “victim”. Or you’ve been branded an “addict” or “ex-con”, and you harshly play that over and over in your mind. Regardless of what worldly label we’ve received, each one makes a statement about us, doesn’t it?

unlucky or cursed?

Did you know it is possible to flip the script on whatever labels you wear? My dad taught me this – every Friday the 13th. I could have succumbed to the superstition that the day (and therefore I) was “unlucky” or “cursed” somehow. For example, my first name starts with the 13th letter of the alphabet. So does my dad’s. And my mom’s. The house address of my childhood home starts with “13”.

To take it even further, I turned thirteen years old on a Friday the 13th. Similarly, my dad turned thirteen years old on a Friday the 13th. My daughter missed the pattern by one day. Her birthday is actually April 12th, but if she had waited just one more day to be born on April 13th, guess what? Yep. Her thirteenth birthday would have fallen on a Friday the 13th. Dang independent kid with her own independent ideas.

my dad flipped the script

Friday the 13th gets labeled unfairly, so my dad flipped the script every opportunity. He always made a big deal out of it as a GOOD day. My dad made Friday the 13th a positive occasion to celebrate! For example, when I was little, that may have looked like extra dessert after dinner. It may have manifested as a later bed time to squeeze in more rounds of my favorite card game. At a bare minimum there was verbal acknowledgement of the specialness of the day and of each other.

Now that I am all grown up with kids of my own, my dad and I at least make a point to call each other every Friday the 13th. In fact, it has evolved into our own special game to see who can call who first. Sometimes we even act fancy and go out to lunch. I’m smart enough to know that some day my dad won’t be around to “celebrate” with me on these days, and I don’t take the opportunity for granted now.

my Father flipped the script, too

Much like my earthly dad, our heavenly Father flips the script, too. The world tries to stick us with labels like “condemned” or “lost”. “Broken”. “Discarded”. “Worthless”. “Unwanted” and “unlovable”. But you know what? God comes along and crosses that all out (intentional word choice). Author, John Rinehard, sums it up very nicely in “What God Thinks About You“:

“You are no longer darkness, but light in my Son. Walk as children of light (Ephesians 5:8). You are the light of the world, a city set on a hill (Matthew 5:14). I have called you (2 Peter 1:3). I have chosen you (Revelation 17:14). You are now a saint, a servant, a steward, and a soldier (Romans 1:7; Acts 26:16; 1 Peter 4:10; 2 Timothy 2:3). You are a witness and a worker (Acts 1:8; Ephesians 2:10). Through Jesus you are victorious (1 Corinthians 15:57), and you have a glorious future (Romans 8:18). You are a citizen of heaven (Philippians 3:20). You are an ambassador for my Son (2 Corinthians 5:20).”

live like you believe it

Bottom line? Friday the 13th gets labeled unfairly by our culture – and so do WE. But we can flip the script when we stop wearing the world’s labels and start identifying ourselves with God’s terms. So, stand tall, children of light. Be confident today, citizens of heaven. Live like you believe it, warrior daughters and sons of the King. You are forgiven, chosen and worthy. Above all, you are so very loved.

Adapted from original 9/13/2019 Facebook post. Image by Claire GIRAL from Pixabay.

Room for one more at the table.

by Melissa Holderby on Mar 8, 2020 category Our adoption journey

When God said we had “room for one more” at the table, I laughed and ignored Him. Then He took us on an unexpected adventure that changed our family forever. And most people thought we were crazy.

Truthfully, we understood most people being skeptical. Folks were justifiably perplexed about our motives to pursue adoption. After all, we had healthy and happy teenage kids with an empty nest in sight. And that certainly begged the question – Why start all over (at our ages)? Fair enough.

Oh, I get that not many people are called to actual adoption. The point of this post is NOT to convince you to become an adoptive or foster parent. (Although that would be awesome!) Rather, the actual point is to offer some encouragement and practical steps you can tuck away for the moments when you need to keep moving forward on your own rocky path. Or perhaps you haven’t even taken the first scary step on your own adventure because you are too nervous to get out of your secure and familiar seat. So, here is a boost, friend. Be encouraged.

why in the world?!?

Allan and I had talked about adoption before we were even married. We knew we both wanted to have children, no matter how God chose to send them to us. When our daughter and then son were born, we frankly never considered adoption again. We often talked about having a third biological child, but the circumstances were never “right”. We had one girl and one boy, and were content to just be content. As our kids continued to get older, we assumed our family was finished growing. Then 2013 happened.

Shortly after the start of 2013, I kept getting a very specific nudge in my heart – “You have room for one more“. The same phrase over and over. “You have room for one more.” But one more WHAT exactly? One more vacation? Yes, please! Or does this mean one more professional degree. Not sure about that one. I already feel stretched pretty thin at work. One more volunteer role at church, perhaps? Hmmmm.

So I prayed on it and waited. And then the phrase started to come into more focus. “You have room for one more AT YOUR TABLE. One more CHILD. You are not finished parenting.” Whoa! Hold it right there, Lord. Pull back hard on those reins. That is NOT in the game plan. And not unlike Sarah in the Old Testament, I literally laughed out loud at the prospect. Seriously, what a ludicrous idea. “Room for one more” at the table. Bah!

I told God there was no way at my age and in my situation that I was EVER going to have another child. No way! We were content to be content, remember? Allan and I had actually started dreaming a little about what our empty-nest retirement may look like, not about committing another 18+ years to having kids in the house. But that persistent voice… “You have room for one more (at the table)”.

I kept my secret

Long story short, I ignored that nagging little voice and kept stone silent on the matter. I never said anything to my husband or my mother or my best friend. Not one peep. It was a certifiably insane proposition. Thanks, God, but no thanks. I am perfectly fine with my own plan. Thank you anyway.

Summer 2013 came and was nearly over. I had gotten fairly good at (politely) telling the Creator/King of the universe that I was not interested in His idea. My family was enjoying a last summer day at a local amusement park, and our teen-age kids were enjoying a whirly-twirly ride. One that makes me puke in my “older” age, so I sat that one out. Allan and I were parked on a nearby bench, supervising and sharing an over-priced iced lemonade. Relaxed. Content to be content. Or so I thought.

That’s when I casually noticed an cute baby nearby in a stroller and pointed her out to Allan – something I did frequently because Allan and I both adore kids. Allan looked at the baby, looked at me and very calmly said, “There’s something I need to say to you. Just hear me out.” Uh, oh. “I feel strongly that God is telling me that we have room for one more” (at the table).

Wait…. WHAT?!?!?! Clearly I couldn’t continue to ignore what I’d been sensing in my heart for many months. And clearly we had some serious things to discuss for our family’s future. Our family’s roller coaster of an adoption journey officially started a few months later.

We waited over four years

Fast forward. We waited over four years without even a possible adoption match. In other words, no contact of any serious interest. We had a few “casual” situations mentioned through friends of friends, but never anything that progressed beyond a text message or two.

The weight on my shoulders was sometimes so heavy I could hardly breathe. We gambled half of our retirement savings on a whispered promise. “You have room for one more” (at the table). We turned our family upside down to pursue adoption despite all logical reasons to just stay content being content. And on top of all that, my heart was on fire with genuine longing to mother a third child. I already loved a little soul I hadn’t even met yet. Sometimes THAT feeling took my breath away, too.

Motivation to keep going

At the low points when we considered “giving up”, I tried a few strategies to calm my soul and regain clarity. For example, some days I sat in the nursery rocking chair and prayed or read my Bible. Most days I left the nursery door shut and told myself that a miracle was being constructed in there. And at my absolute darkest moments, I felt foolish and forgotten. Angry at God for enticing me onto this journey and angry at myself for allowing my heart to be vulnerable. Perhaps you’ve felt that way at some low point in your life, too? I see you, friend.

In those darkest moments, I often thought about another, lesser known woman in the Old Testament. Remember Noah? Yeah, the guy with the ark and the flood. Well, maybe Noah’s wife felt the same way. I can imagine her shaking her clenched fist at God in her doubt and frustration, “We built the ark you specified, now where is the *&%$# rain?!?!?” That always brought a little half smile onto my face.

If He said it, you can trust it.

So, there is our answer as to “WHY”. We definitely got down some days. In fact, some days in particular I was dangerously down. Watch for blog posts coming later this Spring about dealing with rejection, identity and other storms. Being obedient to God’s call for our life does not guarantee freedom from hardship or heartbreak. But we also believe Him to be a good, good Father. One who calls us out of the safety of our boat and onto the rough waters for reasons we often cannot fathom in the middle of the upheaval. We held fast to the promise that He would never abandon us when we follow Him into the unknown.

Here are some of the Bible verses I clung to like life preservers when the going got rough.

“God is walking ahead of you. He’s right there with you. He won’t let you down; he won’t leave you. Don’t be intimidated. Don’t worry.” – Deuteronomy 31:8 (MSG)

“Strength! Courage! Don’t be timid; don’t get discouraged. God, your God, is with you every step you take.” – Joshua 1:9 (MSG)

And perhaps my favorite of all, Matthew 10: 29-31. “For only a penny you can buy two sparrows, yet not one sparrow falls to the ground without your Father’s consent.As for you, even the hairs of your head have all been counted. So do not be afraid; you are worth much more than many sparrows!” (GNT) Actually, sparrows became an unexpected recurring theme for us – quite literally!

Do you hear that whisper? Listen!

What do you sense planted in YOUR heart? What great possibility would you act upon if fear and human expectation didn’t limit you? Go on that mission trip? Maybe start your own business? Leave that unhealthy relationship behind? Extend forgiveness to the person who hasn’t earned it?

If God has whispered that thing to you, first pray on it. Secondly, seek wise counsel. Then make your move accordingly. God is with you for the long haul. He loves you, and He has good plans for you. Plans to give you hope and a future. (Jeremiah 29:11) He gave you life to be experienced richly, abundantly and to the full (John 10:10).

Don’t stay on autopilot, content to just be content. There is more for you. Get out of your comfortable seat. Go!

Adapted from original 7/10/2016 Facebook post. Featured image by Katja S. Verhoeven from Pixabay.

I gave up Bernie Sanders and the coronavirus for Lent.

by Melissa Holderby on Mar 1, 2020 category Uncategorized

I gave up Bernie Sanders and the coronavirus for Lent. I also gave up Donald Trump, the stock market, Nancy Pelosi, and pretty much all of Hollywood. Oh, let’s not stop there! Good-bye, internet trolls. Adios, bulldozer personalities. And a big, fat adieu to every other clanging distraction. Buh-bye.

Yes, I realize that is an exaggeration, but hear me out. You see, I recently received a wake up call in my personal life, and it renewed my belief that we have a serious problem. A stealthy, invasive problem. Perhaps you have noticed this problem, too? We have endless input clamoring for our attention. Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Buy me! Vote for me! Beware of me! PAY ATTENTION TO ME!

Yikes! It’s enough to keep us frantically running in circles, isn’t it?

But what is the cost of all this urgent craziness? What are we losing?

stop chasing after empty barrels

There is a proverb of Greek origin that loosely translates to “empty barrels and insignificant people always make the most noise”. In other words, the loudest voice in the room is quite often NOT the most valuable. Likewise, the angriest voice is rarely the wisest, and the most demanding rarely has the most depth. Fortunately, we have a choice, friends. We can take back control .

For example, we could limit our intake of the news and advertising by turning off our screens one day a week. (I promise the chaos will still be there when you return.)

What else? Well, we could take a favorite kiddo out for ice-cream without cell phones attached. GASP! Trust me. I’ve done it, and it was glorious! Or meet a friend for coffee and make a point to genuinely encourage her (or him) with honest words. Extra cream, hold the complaining, please. No negativity for one hour about our spouses, kids, or our busy, busy, busy schedules. So busy! Ask about the condition of her (or his) heart instead, and then carefully listen. What a gift!

Or we could spend time in a soul-renewing activity that gives us joy. For me, that would be gardening or hiking or creating something with my hands. You pick whatever speaks to YOU. And to be clear, “vegging out” escapism in front of a screen is not soul-renewing. Mind numbing, maybe, but not healing to your world-weary soul.

make room for quiet

Above all, there is an even richer option. And that would involve just being still – quieting the room and your mind. You know why? Because those still, unhurried moments are when you are most receptive to hearing a whisper. In fact, it is a solid rhythm to get into and one that I have more consistently scheduled into my week.

For instance, for me that looks like being alone in a quiet place with no preset agenda and simply receiving whatever God has for me. I may listen to soothing music or flip open my Bible, but most often I just sit with my eyes closed and concentrate on a deep breathing pattern. Sometimes in those moments He whispers encouragement. Sometimes He quietly brings to mind a solution to a problem. And sometimes He lovingly challenges me to turn away from a path that is not my best. Most often we just enjoy each other’s company in the quiet. (What good Father doesn’t enjoy the uninterrupted company of His children?) Without fail, He always breathes renewed peace over me. Time well spent in any regard.

I’ll take fruit instead of empty barrels, please

So, in a sense, I gave up Bernie Sanders and the coronavirus for Lent. That is to say, I traded in inflammatory news reports and angry social media posts for structured quiet time. I stopped running in frantic circles because of empty barrels in favor of a renewed rhythm of abiding with my Father. Why? Because “He brings gifts into our lives, much the same way that fruit appears in an orchard—things like affection for others, exuberance about life, serenity. We develop a willingness to stick with things, a sense of compassion in the heart, and a conviction that a basic holiness permeates things and people. We find ourselves involved in loyal commitments, not needing to force our way in life, able to marshal and direct our energies wisely.” – Galatians 5:22-23 (the Message)

Yep. I’d like more fruit, please. Oh, and clanging distractions demanding our time and attention? You can just get rid of the empty barrels on your way out. We don’t need them.

Featured image by Selling of my photos with StockAgencies is not permitted from Pixabay.

Always keep a nice tight grip on the reins.

by Melissa Holderby on Feb 23, 2020 category parenting, special needs

Ever been on horse back? I’ve been fortunate enough to sit in the saddle several times in my life. My preferred horse will always be the one with a gentle, cooperative nature. The one who nonchalantly allows me to lead our journey and doesn’t mind me keeping a nice, tight grip on the reins. No free-spirited steeds for me, thank you. If I am sitting on top of a thousand pound animal, I’d like to know that he is willing to let me “drive”.

I actually had a frightening experience during riding lessons as a kid. My horse unexpectedly laid down in the dirt and tried to roll over with me on his back. My foot was caught in the stirrup and I couldn’t break free. Needless to say, I was terrified. My instructor wisely made me “get back in the saddle”, but that afternoon I vowed to never lose control of a riding situation again. Oh, not because I vowed to become a more skilled rider. But because I promised myself I would only ride easy-going horses in the future.

life is an unpredictable, half-ton animal

So, the reins in this story are figurative and the horse is really a metaphor for life. Life is an unpredictable half-ton animal, and we are strapped on top for the duration of the ride. What if my life tries to roll over and I am somehow trapped in the “stirrup”? What if I can’t control the situation and I get crushed underneath? Sounds dangerous. No, thank you! I’ll just keep a nice tight hold of these “life reins” here, and then I can enjoy the ride. No surprises. No harm. Even if I can’t see what’s coming up ahead, I have confidence in my ability to manage as long as I have a nice, tight grip on the reins.

But, today’s story didn’t take place in a horse barn. It took place in a medical waiting room.

controlling the Clydesdales

Our son, Luke (two months old at the time), had started weekly outpatient physical therapy appointments at the local children’s hospital. The diagnosis at that time was nothing super alarming. We caught it right away and intervened early so a smallish problem (think miniature pony) did not become a biggish problem (think Budweiser Clydesdale) down the road.

Anyway, I was 100% confident that Luke would overcome the obstacle. After all, I had a nice, tight grip on the “reins”. We had Luke with the right specialists, and I was skillfully following through at home between appointments. At the time, I was trying to figure out how much to be Luke’s attentive home therapist and how much to just be his snugly mom. To be completely honest, I am still trying to figure that out. One thing for certain, my husband nicknamed me the “Tummy Time Tyrant” with good reason.

pulling so hard on the reins is exhausting

Only problem? I was exhausted. Worn out. I was single-handedly orchestrating appointments with multiple therapists, applying for medical grants and staying on top of Luke’s needs at home. Add to that the drain of working full-time in a super stressful work environment, parenting two other “kids” with high school and college stressors, and trying to keep the house relatively clean. And let’s be honest – my standards for what passes as “clean” has shifted over the years. Somewhere in there, I just completely gave up on being an A+ wife. (A “C” is passing, right?!?!) And crap, when was the last time I actually cooked a meal that included fresh vegetables? Ugh – I cannot keep up!

a gentle reminder

While prayerfully lamenting about my mental fatigue that morning in the therapy waiting room, God gently reminded me that I had snatched the reins back from him. That He never intended for us to do life “single-handedly”. He lovingly reminded me of several times in my past when I had no choice but to rely on Him and the other people He placed in my path. Melissa, I always come through with the right resources for your best possible outcome, whatever that may be. How many times have I brought hope and healing out of your lowest moments (aka your piles of horse poop)?

Our adoption journey to Luke would be a classic example. Allan and I completely surrendered the reins to God in May of 2018 after unsuccessfully trying to control the outcome of that rocky path for over four years. We had to let go of the reins even further less than one week later when Luke was born (surprise!), and we dropped everything to go meet him with no advanced warning. There were no specific plans and no guarantees. We truly had little to no control atop this wild half-ton stallion running at break-neck speed into the unknown.

desperate times call for an expert

In that most desperate and seemingly impossible set of circumstances, we gave over complete control to Him. Truly, our only choice in those chaotic days was to surrender control completely and let God take the reins out of our weary grip. My prayers went something like this… “Please just show us the next step we need to take, one at a time. We want whatever You want. We trust You with the outcome, whatever that may turn out to be.”

I don’t know exactly when I decided to snatch back my nice, tight grip on the reins after we returned home with beautiful, little Luke in our arms. I don’t actually recall it happening. However, at some point I started my exhausting attempt to control every outcome again. If I had to guess, I’d say the reins crept back into my hands gradually, without me even noticing. Sneaky! It shocks me how easily I am tempted back into old habits and away from all the lessons I have learned.

I see you, fellow control enthusiasts

So, fellow control enthusiasts, let’s do this thing together. Right now. Ready?

Deep breath…

Exhale…

Now gently drop the reins.

That’s right. Just lay those sneaky suckers down and breathe.

You see, we all need gentle reminding now and then. In other words, reminders that God loves us enough to handle us with care when we trust Him with our fragile selves. But what if we get off course because of unexpected rocky terrain, loose footing or our own human miscalculations? No worries. He promises us Light to get us back onto the path. But what if we travel through thorny, painful places? And we inevitably WILL, right? He promises to be there with us in those moments, too. We just need to loosen our tight grip and embrace the unpredictable ride. We are never alone. He promises.

Image by Miriam Müller from Pixabay.