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Recent Posts . . .
To Honor the Self
I thought I had been upended, that all that was familiar was gone. I thought I would be left with mere glimpses of her—the self that guided me through identity, who taught me who I am, what I believed, what it takes to survive. But she hasn’t left. She is still here, a stubborn wraith who believes she knows what is best. I don’t know how to love her. Oh, how she has hurt me.
I am turned inward, my new self and my old engaging in a battle tireless and unending. The old rising up to bully the new: Who are you? How can you be relied upon to get us through? You don’t look at all strong. What, even is your name?
I am mute. (The old self does this to me every time.) And the new self, young and tender and vulnerable, has already forgotten she is beautiful, she is strong, she is perfectly, so perfectly, brand new.
So, here, with words, I try to find her. (I must do what I know.) And I vow to love her, as she deserves. Only because He loves her. Only because He loves.
Turning Bad Memories Upside-Down
We can be awfully hard on ourselves sometimes. We may not even realize our struggle to accept God's grace.
We can look on back at that girl of our past and feel so sad for her. Or angry. Is that me? Did that really happen? Did I really make that choice? Listening for God's words in our hearts can sometimes feel just so hard.
It can be overwhelming to experience, even in little tastes, just how much God loves us. We hear about Him never leaving us, how He walks with us during the most difficult experiences of our lives (Psalm 147:3, Psalm 34:18, Psalm 23). He has been with us in our mess. And He loves us more than we can understand.
Yet, when we see ourselves as more broken than loved, more of a mess-up than a daughter of beauty whom He adores, we can struggle to believe we are going to be okay.
But we need to let Him help us to try.
rescue from self-contempt
Her eyes are big, gentle and kind. Her music is beautiful, her fingers upon keys, her body dancing, her voice singing out. In her words, her glory--I glimpse the more that is here. But she tells me she doesn't see it. Her beauty. Her value.She is displaced, feeling separate from the exquisiteness of her own soul even while she creates beauty, and is loved, so loved, here.
worship and the value of the fight
The words come in a rush, but I mean them: “Declare it over yourself. Speak truth over your own heart.”I know this isn’t easy. But it is, oh, so important.
what happens when you claim her: daughter
Her room smells of sweetness. Fruit soap, from her shower. Citrus-sugar, from the pink candle, unlit, on her dresser. She is a tangled lump, a mound of cotton comforter and sheets.The room is dark. I crack the shutters open. And still, just the beginning of sunlight, shy and rosy, peeks slow. I open the shutters wider. I invite light further in.
Invention: the new book for men that will change everything
Justin Camp is a guy I want you to meet. Okay, I am totally biased. This is the guy I married. And I like him. . . a lot. But, I promise, even if we weren't married, and we didn't work together, and we didn't love cheering one another on . . . I would still want to profile him here. And it's because his new book can be the gift you absolutely need.
Look up, my darling, look up.
When I hear Him, this space I’m in, at this plain wooden table, this window with the cobwebs at the corner of the metal screen, this soft rumble of washing machine, this smell of wet dog near my feet, I study the room, looking for clues for what is different.
All is different? No, all is the same.