Startle reflex, PSA’s and awareness.

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“Jeez, Stacy, you are uptight!”

“Nervous much?”

Laughter ensued from my friends. I was thankful that the movie theater we sat in was dark and they could not see my quickly heated, tomato red cheeks. Even though I knew in THEIR minds, this was “just teasing,” I HATED how my body was “tense and jumpy” when there was a loud bang, scream, crash or any other surprise reason that my body would startle. I HATED IT…the lack of control I felt, how my body seemed so much more reactive than ANYONE else I knew and how in high school, this became such a point of teasing, so much more than I had experienced in middle and elementary school.

I began to feel immense shame and embarrassment about a part of myself that I did not know at all was a normal part of having cerebral palsy. I was hard on myself for not managing the “jumping,” reactivity, hard on myself when friends began to startle me on purpose because I couldn’t just “have fun with it.” It hurt. Beyond that, however, I just didn’t understand my own body mechanics that were so out of my control.

I don’t think I knew how to even talk about that, the embarrassment at people’s comments, how I would hope that movies did not have jump scares, or the tension I felt when music indicated something was coming. I don’t think I asked my parents how to help because I just wanted it to all go away and assumed it was just a “me thing.”

I have said many times over the course of my life, that I just did not SEE others like me. Cerebral palsy affects more than 17,000,000 people world wide, is the most common lifelong disability and no two people with cerebral palsy are alike. (From the Cerebral Palsy Foundation). For these and many other reasons, it is exceedingly difficult to process and understand the unique challenges that each of us with CP face, individually and collectively. Another contributing factor to that complexity is the reality that as kids with cerebral palsy age, services and support are less and it is even harder find connection to others who are similar. My physiatrist (Dr. Rush, Grand River Rehab) told me this week that he normally refers adults with CP out of state for orthopedic work, such as knee or hip replacement because of the innovations being done in places other than here. I don’t say that to throw shade at Michigan, but rather, it is a statement on the lack of resources and connections here, in my home state as an adult.

I have been allowed an incredible journey of awareness, understanding and self acceptance. Therapy, a support system like none other and first and foremost, a path that I can see was nothing less than God’s presence and provision have all provided some chosen, some mandated processing and accepting both my own worth and limitations. As I have aged and social media has emerged and evolved, I have experienced many people who bravely share themselves, challenges and their victories through various accounts and stories. Especially in the last few years, I sense understanding and comradery as my feeds include more and more brave CP warriors.

There is Colbie, whose friends and family regularly celebrates her strength and achievements, defying expectations. There is sweet Peter, who consistently defies the odds, smiles and communicates though he is non-verbal. There is Stephanie, an authentic woman, fitness professional, and advocate. She regularly discusses her needs, her frustrations and even depression related to CP, as well as her tremendous, spirit. Rachel is both fearless in sharing the realities of being an adult with cerebral palsy, unabashedly displaying the challenges and the normalcy she experiences, hourly. Joseph regularly shares his own fitness and life journey and again, the nuances of what it means to engage the world as a healthy person with CP. It was in watching a TiKToK of his, that I again had another a-ha moment: He described, “walking across the room carrying his cup of coffee with CP for the first time without spilling it. I have battled my own “sloppiness,” for years, thinking again, that it was only me, that could not carry my tea without spilling it on my shirt, the floor or both. It was bittersweet to watch Joseph because of the struggle AND the validation.

There are many others…this tribe of warriors, including their families. I would also include my own. Having lived with cerebral palsy for my half century of years, I am so proud. I am proud of us, those who did not ask for this set of circumstances and who show grit, “normalcy” and inclusion. I am amazed by rockstar support systems, and continually improving adaption options. I am thankful that though the world, globally, has a long way to go in regards to valuing ALL life and experience, we’ve also all come SO FAR.

Did you know that an athlete who was born with CP WON (yes, you read that right…) WON American Ninja Warrior this season? (Sorry for anyone that watches…I am just so excited that I added this spoiler in!) https://youtu.be/zb6rgRFI3Jg?si=MSWSsRmjnlE7AdrP

Justin Gallegos became the first ever professional athlete with cerebral palsy to sign with Nike in 2018. https://youtu.be/x4KC0nUmY4Y?si=bkLSvUEAhyfPju2K We have come so very far.

Yesterday, I was scrolling a bit while drinking my tea. The Cerebral Palsy Foundation regularly posts fantastic content that is informative for both those with and those without CP. But as I scrolled, my eyes fell on a graphic they’d posted just a few hours earlier that was another big moment for me. (See below).

It stunned me for a minute because though I have learned over time about my own startle reflex, that same one I took a lot of grief for in middle, high school and even currently sometimes, this was new to me. I know how to deflect it or give a quick comeback to whomever is teasing. But still, STILL…after all this time that I’ve lived with CP, I hadn’t thought about others’ startle reflex. Granted, I still don’t see “ALOT of OTHERS” with CP around me, but still…it hadn’t occurred to me. We ALL startle easily and have not control over it.

I felt newly informed as I scrolled, but more importantly, I felt so cared for, along with the other warriors around me. I felt advocated for as this graphic was informing US on a global scale, “be aware of people around you with CP AND, know that the STARTLE is a normal thing.” Absolutely, the most wonderful blessing!

There are many times that my “normal with CP” requires much thought and planning to do seemingly “normal” things that the average person without CP may not have to think twice about. One of the pools in our conference does not have railings to get up to the bleachers. It is impossible for me to make that climb solo without the rail. Other times, the parking lot, even handicapped spots are miles away from an entrance and even further from our actual destination at events. It is tiring sometimes to explain my particular challenges or needs and sometimes easier just to suck it up and manage a situation at a significant cost to my comfort or needs because honestly, I could be explaining things all. day. long. This got me thinking about how others might experience this as well….

My friend Aria told me recently how “people don’t always know how someone with kidney disease has to monitor their water intake.” In her words, “I couldn’t even freely drink water when I was I was thirsty during dialysis. Too much could really hurt or even potentially kill me. I couldn’t take showers without much physical and emotional exhaustion because I had to be so careful with my catheter. If I got it wet and water got in my bloodstream, it could have also been dangerous for me.” It is in her brave sharing that I value my ability to drink water, not take mundane things for granted, like showering. (Yes, I did share this story with a few teens I know who don’t always value of, ahem…TAKING a shower.)

I wonder…is there anything you would share about a particular battle that most people wouldn’t be aware of? I am so grateful for awareness and though there are difficulties with how we treat each other in the world sometimes, there is also so much that is good, possible and beautiful.

The graphic felt so holy to me and here is why: everyone you or I encounter is fighting some kind of battle. That is not a cliché,’ but instead, an absolute truth. The more we can become aware of each of each other, the more we value how God has created us each individually, the gifts and the challenges this side of heaven. I think we all want to be seen, represented and seek connection with people who get us. Look at this video. If this doesn’t prove how meaningful it is to see and experience someone we can relate to in our own joys and challenges, I am not sure what does. https://fb.watch/nxg7wgDlNn/?mibextid=v7YzmG

Yesterday was World CP day, October 6. I celebrate each and every warrior who lives with CP. If I had the ability, I would make a DAY to honor each and every struggle around the world. I am in awe of each, and every one of us, challenging, battling and victorious related to whatever our struggles are. And on this and every other day, may awareness, celebration and love lead the way to acceptance, value and seeing one another as God himself does: made in HIS magnificent image.

Both/And

Psalm 139

xoxo

Saturated…(part 1)

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Though we had been planning for well over a year, our recent vacation to Washington DC snuck up on us because, well, September is September. Maybe it’s just me, but September seems to be right up there with May and December, the two busiest months of the year, at least in our house: purchasing school supplies, attending open houses, shopping for clothes, ordering athletic gear, learning new schedules, rediscovering school year routines and so much more. The summer wrapped up and fall began at freight-train speed.

3 weeks later, we blinked and realized our long-awaited and once rescheduled vacation to Washington DC was upon on us in a few short days! We all packed in a rush between informing school the kids would be gone, taking senior pictures, swim practices, meets and inevitable high school drama. In what felt like a discombobulated hurricane, we pulled out of our driveway at dawn, some of us with already nervous traveling stomachs, others a bit buzzed with an awaiting adventure and another nearly sleeping before we uttered traveling prayers and left our own street. We were armed with Whoppers, combos, Hydro flasks full of water, iced tea and kombucha; DVD’s for the ride, Air pods fully charged and audiobooks downloaded and ready.

The idea for the trip was from my parents, with my parents. Our kids ages made for the perfect time to soak up all kinds of American History in our country’s capital. I hadn’t been there since I was little and the rest of my crew? Never. I could feel my parents excitement as we caravanned through Michigan, then Ohio, stopping at a familiar antique mall because my mom has had a lifelong love of antiquing, which is both her hobby and business.

As I wandered with my oldest daughter, I felt like I was coming home – many antiques that had been in my childhood home, many more that whispered from my heritage. My grandparents, my mom and her sister all curated multiple business ventures and expertise about antiques. They each honed the ability to see great value in what someone else may have deemed, “used junk.”

I am a bit ashamed to admit it, I don’t always understand the love and skill my mom has in this area. I definitely do not enjoy the hunt involved with antiquing as mom does. But as we wandered this time, I found myself a bit awestruck by the history, the memories and joy in so many “vintage” items throughout the huge space. The kids found sweet treasures, a tiny windmill, various Mickey Mouse items, a Marvel character my daughter “HAD TO buy for brother,” a tiny Wade White House once included in boxes of Red Rose Tea. I felt like I was discovering something different while wandering this antique mall, finding comfort in the smells, beauty in so many colors of china and the sight of an old suitcase just like the one my Grandma carried when she came to visit.

As it turns out, that feeling on this first stop on our journey would be recurring many times over during our weeks vacation, not necessarily with antiques but rather the slow, deliberate pace, the saturation of small, bright and beautiful details that so often get overlooked and the pure joy of just being. While I intended to write about our travels while on vacation, I was so busy being present that I never found the right moments.

A day or two after we got home, I was listening to a daily Bible reading app when I heard the host say, “We know God is everywhere, but he can certainly turn up the saturation when he wants to.” -Tara Leigh Coble, The Bible Recap.

YES!! Like many of the ideas I write about, I listened to that quote over and over, turning it over in my mind like my trusty Rubik’s cube. When I thought about the word, “saturated,” I immediately thought about my kid’s wet towels on the pool deck or how my youngest likes to run through the rain, fully clothed. I thought about color, how my friends John and Jeannine load the color onto screens when creating t-shirts. But I felt like there must be a bigger definition, especially when I think about this quote.

“Saturation is the process or state that occurs when a place or thing is filled completely with people or things, so that no more can be added.” Oxford English Dictionary

YES. Every moment of our vacation was saturated – filling us in ways that no more could be added. So much laughter, learning, poignant experiences, history, God-breathed interactions. Let me try to explain….a bit at a time.

Other than a few rest stops, we made our way through the rest of Ohio and into Pennsylvania. Our next stop was in downtown Pittsburg. My family members were honoring my long-held dream of seeing the Mr. Rogers memorial statue that sits next to the Allegheny River at a former Manchester Bridge pier near Heinz Field. But as my hubby drove through increasingly busy traffic like a professional driver on a closed course, we found ourselves in the middle of traffic and happy people all around us. We were swiftly, smack in what seemed to be, the biggest baseball game of the year: The Pirates v The Yankees at PNC park.

The game started in 15 minutes as our phones directed us closer to the 10’10” statue. There was not a parking space to be found, ANYWHERE. Still, my sweet hubby circled, searching for just one spot to park.

“Mama, there it is! Mr. Rogers!” My daughter certainly knew how to get my attention.

As we drove past, I caught the shortest glimpse of the back of Mr. Rogers head. And still, no option in which to park. After trying for a long half hour, my husband squeezed my hand, “We’ll come back tomorrow morning, babe.” I nodded, touched by the effort and slightly concerned I wouldn’t get to see it the next day either, as we made our way back out of town.

Our hotel for the night was about 30 minutes away and we were all hungry. A late night pizza party, a long late talk for my son and I, late in the night as my hubby snored. We had been awestruck by the sheer magnitude of the baseball and football stadiums, the beauty of the city- so many things we would not forget already on this first day of travel.

The next morning found us heading back to Pittsburg like we were now ALL professional drivers, on a closed course.

As we suddenly rounded the corner, there sat my friend Fred, the sun shining on the larger than life statue.

“Dad, it’s closed!” My son said from the back while we drove past again. The park next to the statue was filled with people and again, parking seemed sparse. My heart skipped as I heard his comment, craned my neck in order to see the statue, look for parking and not rush to anticipating disappointment.

Parking space finally secured, we made a short walk to the statue I have waited so long to see. As we walked up, Mr. Rogers voice, calm and reassuring, was saying “It’s you I like.” The sound system was state of the art, as it broadcast 29 different Mr. Rogers sayings and songs, outdoors. If I didn’t know better, I would’ve guessed I was in the very room with dear Fred. LITERALLY. I listened, then glanced toward the statue. The gates behind Fred’s back read CLOSED, there was scaffolding sitting between the statue and the gate and black and yellow caution tape blocking any path to the statue itself.

I stood there, listening to Mr. Rogers familiar voice and feeling crestfallen as the statue sat just out of my view. My family was quiet, disappointed for me.

“Come on, babe.” My husband took my hand, lifted the tape and smiled at me. My youngest daughter, a sweet, sensitive rule-follower, was instantly concerned. “Daddy, don’t get in trouble! I can’t watch!” She covered her eyes while we walked around the corner to the statue.

There overlooking the river in an amazing tribute, sat a huge, heartwarming memorial to one who still teaches so many how important they are.

Saturated, indeed. The care of my love, kids and parents to make sure I could see it in person, their understanding of it’s importance to me and their sweet treasured words about “how you are just like him, Mama.” The overlook at the river, the fountain, these photos and the sound of Fred’s voice was icing on the cake. I couldn’t not feel the very presence of Jesus in those moments, how he tried so hard to love a world like Jesus did, the natural beauty all around, the sheer creative talent of Robert Berks and the gifts of Cordelia May and her Foundation.

The other side…the “and” with this experience?

I think some have a really difficult time with experiencing beauty and the ways God turns up the saturation.

I gave a beautiful classmate of my kids a compliment after church this morning and it seemed she wanted to crawl in a hole. As Julia Roberts said in Pretty Woman, “The Bad Things Are Easier To Believe. You Ever Noticed That?” In the world this side of heaven, I believe it is much more common to hear, say and experience the harder side of humanity than the good. It can be bullying someone who is kind and good, because maybe the “bully” had never experienced that kind of good and therefore, needs to bring the good down to their level.

Or perhaps, good, for who hasn’t experienced it, is not understood, comprehendible or not attainable so why should anyone else get to either?

Perhaps in those situations, “the saturation” of God’s beauty, goodness and grace is just TOO much to take in and apply to our own humanity.

I think this was also true for Mr. Rogers. When viewing the documentary, there was a section on people’s doubt, or flat out mockery of his kind and beautiful purpose. From SNL skits featuring Eddie Murphy, rumors about “tattoos under his sweaters” and far-fetched stories about “Fred being a Navy Seal.” The hardest for me about were about his motives with children, those who would taint the goodness of his calling into something perverse.

Needless to say, there will always be those who have greater difficulty with “good,’ than with mean, unkind or even cruel.

As I stood looking at the statue, I noticed something dark brown in the corner of Fred’s mouth. My husband is 6’4, therefore higher than my own 5’3″ frame.

“Someone put a cigar in his mouth,” my hubby said, as he continued to squint upwards at Fred’s distinguishable face. Sure enough, there it was, though it was now broken off and could be seen as a “cavity” in the corner of the statues teeth. I was sad, but not surprised that someone had wanted to impact the good of the statue. Not that cigar smoking is bad, mind you. It is just…. for a tv icon, one who promoted, physical, emotional and spiritual health, the inserted cigar felt like, (no pun intended) making Mr. Roger’s goodness, the literal butt of the joke.

All in all, people will always be people, people have been wounded for thousands of years and God is the best redeemer. God does indeed saturate, but always allows us to CHOOSE if we want to come to him and revel in ALL of his colorful, holy goodness.

I am so thankful for our trip, for perspective, for legacy and truth, history and God’s very presence in the world. This adventure was just the beginning of feeling God everywhere, and being in awe how HE saturates.

I pray he turns up the saturation, revealing more of who HE is, no matter where you are in the world. I pray you see and hear him in ALL things and that the beautiful examples of God’s own heart are many, saturated in fantastic, vivid colors.

Both/And

Ezekiel 38:23

xoxo

A quick, post-vacation note…

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Hey there! It’s been a minute, hasn’t it? I had intentions to post while on vacation with my family last week, but we were so busy seeing and being together that I just decided to let it wait until we got home. But, I have so many things to tell you about, so many ideas just waiting to be explored in the coming weeks.

Please stay-tuned. New T-shirt ideas, connections to our recent vacation and of course, some new thoughts and images of dear Mr. Rogers.

Thank you so much for reading and staying connected. I’ve missed writing and am so looking forward to putting some more words to “paper,” this week.

Be kind to yourselves, curious and cultivating your both/and. It’s even more necessary in the world than we ever knew. God is good.

Here is a sneak peak!

One of my new favorite images.

Both/and

Xoxo

Jeremiah 29:11

“Thank you for giving me my life.”

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When I met her, I noticed first that she had a brand-new beautiful baby. She expertly carried the car seat on one arm and I was jealous of how at ease she was. Our eyes met, across a couple rows at church and I rose to introduce myself. That Sunday and many following, I couldn’t NOT smile, every time I saw her. Her personality with effervescent, a smile that traversed her whole face. I was newly married, and I have no doubt that seeing how she cared for her baby fed my hopes of having babies in the future. She was capable and confident and even before I knew her, thought she was badass.

Our paths crossed again, on and off again and over a number of years, we became acquaintances. It was a few years later still, that I found myself again smiling, as I listened to her voice on my work phone. I said a quick prayer, acutely aware that God had known that I would have the opportunity to provide support many years later, through counseling.

She is a warrior, this one who has battled through many types of trauma, violation and loss. Her story is not mine to tell, other than, she is one who has taught me so much about the courage it requires to deep dive into your own heart, insecurities and fears, in order to create a healthier present and future. She is stronger than she ever imagined she was and continues to inspire those around her. One of my greatest honors was the moment she hugged me and whispered in my ear, “Thank you for giving me my life.” I tried to tell her that she had given herself every bit of her own life back, but was so moved that I couldn’t speak around the lump in my throat….

She would tell me later, with tears in her eyes often she couldn’t believe that people saw her that way and how she was, in reality, crumbling at that very moment at church. She told me how much “I didn’t like you some days of counseling and was so annoyed with the way you asked questions about things I didn’t want to think about.” She explained how there were days she wanted to yell or even quit, but if she had when things got tough, “I wouldn’t be where I am now.” She asked me to say, on her behalf, “that everyone needs a therapist, and that it is worth all the hard days.”

At another point in my life, I sat with a student whose sibling had died by suicide. Even weeks later, the shock was etched deeply in this student’s youthful face. It was nearly impossible for the student to put more than about 10 words together, instead, shaking their head over and over while whispering, “I just don’t know.” This was one of those unforgettable situations when I learned the difficulty and the beauty of just sitting in the silence when there are not necessarily words that can be said. It is an extremely hard thing, to sit next to someone when they need silence and intentionally avoid filling that holy space with unnecessary words because of our OWN discomfort. I still learn the art of this every day and occasionally feel like I do ok….

Still another, who was both so feisty and also badass, and tender and wounded underneath her carefully crafted tough exterior. She became a mom while still a teen, was bound and determined not to be defined by her age. She was prone to react to anyone who looked or spoke to her negatively, most times reverting to her native language in the heat of what she was trying to convey. My job was to help calm and teach healthy communication. But, true confession? I secretly loved when she switched between the language she had started with and the language she was learning. Beautiful.

 I loved her fire, her laugh and the way she was loyal with every inch of her being, once you had earned her trust, though she did not just hand that out. She and one of her best friends were two of my favorite students that I got to spend time with. When her boyfriend died due to heartbreaking circumstances, I received that middle of the night phone call. I felt capable of so little, but those raw, painful, shocked days allowed some really beautiful conversation. That heartbreak gave me the opportunity to try to show up as I imagined Jesus would. I wanted so badly to take away the gruesome images and even worse pain.

 As I am in the midst of this 28-year career, I am continually amazed, STILL, at the journeys I am privileged to witness and walk beside. There are so many I could tell you about: the ones that I will never know how their lives played out, others I will never stop praying for and still others who have passed away. There are still others beyond that who I get to witness in awe, find their lives again or maybe for the first time.

It is an incredible thing to sit across from someone and support, walk beside and encourage as they plod and weep some weeks, many days want to roll their eyes or even swear at me, grow in awareness and self-worth during other sessions.  It is, hour after hour, of finding the beauty and bravery, acknowledging the whole gamut of human emotion and experiences, the joy of being given the best seat in the house as God reveals his truth to those he dearly loves. Throughout the process of holding others and helping them honor some of their deepest pain, people often share with me, “this is the truest to myself I’ve ever felt.” The thin veil of both/and is a great example of nuance.

Nuance, defined by the Oxford Languages: a subtle difference in or shade of meaning, expression, or sound. I love the learning process of discovering our own nuances, the nuances around us in the world, in our work and how we learn to care. I am fascinated when I can further understand the nuances of the Bible. I hope to learn as much as I can this side of Eden.

I love the depth of Hebrew translation. During a recent conversation with my friend and Pastor, Ross, he explained the Hebrew word, “nephesh.” It literally means “throat” and “as far as human beings are concerned, the Hebrew understanding of the word is, “the entire person, body and soul; It is not the human being has a soul, rather a human being is a soul.” Another part of the definition says, “soul as the seat and support of feelings and sensations.” This particular conversation felt like finally having a word for the fullness of life, the deep resonating sigh and the thought, yes, that is EXACTLY how I feel: that my whole being, belongs to the Lord God; that what I feel, I feel with my whole being because that’s what he intends for me.

For me, to begin understanding nephesh, is to understand love more fully and completely. Always, the tremendous and extravagant love of my Creator that changes and teaches me, guiding my entire being (my nephesh) to love and want more of him. The love of family, friends, the specific gifts we are given, that it how I know how to give and receive love, throughout my whole being.

It is my heart (and nephesh) that is so right, and whole in my calling these days and difficult spaces with clients, bravely facing difficult and complex trauma. It is the richest, holiest work. I get to talk with teens and parents who are entering the weird and wholly world of all things, college. Which one? Where? When? How do I pay for it? The biggest question I get asked and with a lot of frequency is this: “What if I don’t know what I want to do (for the rest of my life?) My answer is typically something like, “that feels like a lot of pressure right now, huh?” Then I usually let them in on a secret: ”you’re not supposed to know yet. It will come, that answer. It WILL show itself. Your job is to get familiar with that voice (some say conscience, some say intuition, still others call it the Holy Spirit) inside you that helps you just figure out the next few steps. Just one, then another. One at a time.”

Nephesh is also, the real-life blessings, both simple (the perfect tea cup, Earl Grey Steep Tea), a good laugh with the kids and the complex emotions: acknowledging that deep fear that flutters in my stomach multiple time a day with the idea of our oldest daughter and senior year. It is the fullness of relationship, a piece of my Mama’s peach/blueberry pie, straight out of the oven. It is the full-body worship of Never Lost, (look for this reference in the previous blog post)and the pure joy of our pups. For me, all of these are gifts from God, an outpouring of his rich, deep love because he is the one who knows me completely, my nephesh.

It is gazing at a one-in-a-trillion, orange, pink and yellow sunset and the surf of Lake Michigan, riding next to the beautiful horses when we bike to Windmill and waiting for them to approach me; their velvet noses, rippling muscles and eyes as deep as inky night skies, evoking deep gratitude for God’s every created thing. My soul leaps, feeling the fully-alive presence of Jesus in hymns new and old; riding in the car with my love, talking about everything and anything, noticing rolling hills and dreamy houses. It is praying hope over the future, watching our kids thrive, grow and learn (even the hard lessons.) It is relishing good food, (ice cream!) laughter, writing and building relationships. It is the safety of authentic lament and the joy of worship.

My soul, my whole soul craves the words, the peace that ONLY comes for me as I quiet down, remember the words, “The LORD your God is in your midst, a mighty one who will save; he will rejoice over you with gladness; he will quiet you by his love; he will exult over you with loud singing.” Zephaniah 3:17.

My soul is full. My being, my life, in the most joyful, peaceful AND the heartbreaking moments, is STILL full.

My soul, my entire being, is what God says it is – strong, brave, broken, sinful, Sprit-filled and not yet all that God says it will be.  My soul IS the now and not yet, all because I have Jesus.

My soul aches, yearns for healing, peace and comfort as I do the work I do, or in the midst of friends struggles, or even my kid’s pain that is anticipated, but so difficult in their teenage years. The tears that come in the throes of beloved friends’ divorce, a loved one grappling with a difficult diagnosis, or the unanswered whys; even these…are part of my nephesh. As much as I long for healing, reconciliation, or ease in dealing with unthinkable pain, the belief that He created each of us with the entirety of our whole being and that he will redeem every part of our nephesh is the most important belief I have.

It is all nephesh, to me. God-breathed, God adored, you. He is cultivating, working and loving you through all the hard parts, the parts that take you away from who you truly are.

Another of my favorite verses, ” For in him all things were created: things in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or powers or rulers or authorities; all things have been created through him and for him.  He is before all things, and in him all things hold together.” Colossians 1:16-17

I cling to the very thought of HIM, being IN ALL THINGS, FOR ALL THINGS AND HOLDING IT ALL TOGETHER: our nephesh. How we care for each other, how we love (each other and ourselves,) how we stand up for each other, how we worship and how we enjoy every GOOD AND PERFECT GIFT.

May we not be afraid to live into the very way we were created, without fear, being true to our nephesh. May we notice everything from the beautiful, complex, simple and tragic with the emotions they all deserve and may we experience God himself in everything. May we trust him even when it feels impossible….

Lake Michigan shore line
Beautiful, beautiful scenery and magnificent gentle giant.
Appreciating creativity!

Pure JOY!

Both/And

Colossians 1:17

Who are you, great mountain…that you should not bow low?

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I climbed the steep, wooden stairs, trying hard not to think about slowing down those behind me. I looked at the worn wood stairs, instructing my steps one at a time: step up, then again, then again. Some of the planks of wood were worn in spots to the point of seeing the path so many have used over so many years. As my nerves mis-fired, causing my muscles to tense further as I climbed those stairs up to the sanctuary I have seen many times on-line, but never in person, my toe caught on the second-to-last step and I stumbled.

My love was my oak, balanced and steadfast, did not let me fall. And though my face flamed at the thought, he smiled, reassuring me while he also held tight to my hand. We walked through the arched doorway and entered the sanctuary along with our beautiful daughter. My heart opened and I felt the presence of Jesus in the most tangible way…

Before I go further, I need to lift the curtain on the last few weeks….(actually, the last few years).

I wrote my last post on “lament,” a direct result of my own experiences in these last week, wanting to normalize the ache of lament and longing of so many others for peace and so often, at the mercy of an unanswerable “WHY.”

There is even lament this coming season of fall; so many both/ands: the lazy, easy days of summer swapping to the busy, schedule-heavy days of fall, school and sports seasons, the fullness of friendships and the aching desire to ease burdens related to health, crumbling relationships, caregiver fatigue and dessert-size void of grief.

Change, for the great majority of people is something to fear, in and of itself.

Our family is not immune. While I teach and assist with healthy coping, I also get to practice these myself. Did you see that, “I get to?” It is so hard to alter “I have to_____” with “I get to….” in an effort to remind ourselves that all things are a gift and that I do, TRULY GET TO: I get to walk up those stairs, where so many have walked, wanting, trying, pleading to meet God in that beautiful sanctuary. I get to walk at all, a gift not lost on me as I see another CP warrior in the sanctuary, moving in an electric wheelchair. I get to pray for dear friends, fighting infertility, another fighting for their very life in a long-suffering battle with depression. And I got to meet a dear friend who though we’d never met in person, has been the pastor, wisdom-giver and teacher for our family, especially during the Covid-19 pandemic.

For many of us, our relationship with attending and being a part of church communities became much more complicated in the last 5-10 years. While this is not a political post or even a judgement on “church,” the reality in my work and personal life could not be closer to the truth. Between the challenges of church attendance, financial issues and the ever-present fractures in relationships in the last decade for sure (if not before), our sense of safety and community even with church attendance has certainly become more tenuous.

About a year to the day before the world changed with the pandemic, our family faced a “crisis” of our own related to the church we called “home” for nearly 22 years, for many reasons. It was the church I was a part of since its’ planting, where I became an adult who loves her Savior, rather than a child of my parents who met, accepted and loved Jesus through their beliefs. They laid a rock-solid foundation of community, faith and love for the Lord Jesus. (They still meet with the same small-group of people, after nearly 40 years-absolutely incredible to me!) In my young adulthood, this was the church that gave me community, support and where I met my gift of a husband. It was the pastors here who assisted with the baptisms of our babies, and they were who we called in the happiest and hardest times of our lives.

But as time went on, the landscape changed and about a year before that mind-bending and life-altering pandemic, our church became unrecognizable to us and it seemed overnight, we knew it was no longer the right place for our family. To say that was a grief for me does not fully encompass the loss or the difficulty in finding our next church home. “Church shopping” is one of the biggest, most complex and emotional difficulties I personally and professionally have discussed with so many clients.

A dear friend and pastor told me about “a pastor on Instagram who is doing something on the Psalms, you should check it out.” This was just weeks before the pandemic, when we had begun to put roots down in another local church, but for some reason, I was dragging my feet in authentically investing. I did not look up the Instagram account immediately, even though I have ALWAYS loved Psalms. I was busy with a career, kids, marriage, and so many other parts of life.

Suddenly the pandemic was upon us and the entire world flipped upside down and seemed to zip up in an instant.

We were all a breathless as our way of life shifted in many ways, in mere hours. I was thankful for our kids youth pastor who was diligent about staying connected with students, but our church itself was unable to provide anything in the way of connection, support or even presence. While I felt completely unmoored, I remembered my friend John telling me about Pastor Steve Carter and the evening Psalms. From the first, “Good evening and welcome to the evening Psalms,” I felt the presence of Jesus as I had not ever before. Steve’s words were like the best glass of water, when I hadn’t realized I was even thirsty.

Steve began doing “social media live” videos almost every day, sharing his heart, wisdom, love for words and most importantly, sharing the love and relationship with Jesus Christ. His authentic, non-judgmental and humble presence was a new experience to me. He simply shared with such an authenticity and joy that I drank up those posts with a new desire to know Jesus better. It became my nightly ritual to savor those posts, listening and journaling at the end of my day and chewing on a phrase, verse or new perspective. I would text or call my husband and excitedly share with him new ways I understood the Bible, Hebrew words or some other way God himself was changing me. And because we did not have “a church,” we began to watch the evening Psalms as our church, our little family of five as often as we could.

By all rights, though he had no idea who we were, Steve Carter became our pastor as he wandered the dessert himself. (Literally and figuratively). He taught our growing teens about the “ok-ness of mid-rash,” the mountain top experiences with Jesus: my youngest has a FAVORITE – (emphasis hers). Psalm 8, where Steve describes going to the top of a mountain, covered with snow, spreads his arms wide and yells, “How can ANYONE NOT believe there is a God?” Suddenly, a skier comes flying by, and yells back, “I know, bro!” and sails down the mountain. (Paraphrased just a bit!) My daughter, cannot stop smiling as Steve smiles on the video, describing worship and the love of God the Father. “You get Jesus!” he joyfully states, explaining this relationship as the absolute GIFT that it is.

For two years, our family of 5 has listened, sought God in new and intimate ways because of Steve’s teaching and example. We are profoundly grateful and of course, because I value saying the things, (especially when we think the good things, because we don’t say that enough,) I reached out and shared our gratitude and hearts. We have found a beautiful connection. I joke at home with my family that we are “friends,” because I have so much respect and have learned so much, also because I often “make friends” with many. My family says they can’t take me anywhere, maybe this is my inner “Mr. Rogers, ” making friends in “my neighborhood.”

After this season of church together at home, learning from my friend, Steve, we all began to stir a bit to return to God’s house, to begin finding a “new” in-person church. I will readily admit that I was the one of our five who struggled the most with the “church shopping” ahead of us…for many more reasons than this blog has time for. The biggest, in truth was my fear of being hurt again by “church.” Not God. While many described a dessert or drought in their relationship with the Lord during COVID, my personal experience was very much the opposite. I am by nature, an introvert so the time of sheltering and safety brought in part, the opportunity to rest, to seek and to just be, with our family, but also with God. He used many, but especially Steve’s teaching to show me his pursuing heart in all together new ways.

I think this was part of my fears with returning somewhere to traditional worship, sometimes engaging with many at a time is challenging, both for my body, but also for my emotions. I am not a “floater on waves” but rather a “scuba-diver” in social interactions. I wantto make those I am interacting with feel any important and be heard. Truthfully, I am terrible at small talk…

God gently and consistently reminded me that there was a church waiting and kept putting my former childhood church on all of our minds. I am a bit ashamed to admit, I was resistant at first. I think most of us would like to distance ourselves from our “weird and awkward” younger selves, once we’ve become adults, would you agree? But God certainly had a plan and such a beautiful one.

The first Sunday of Advent did find us returning to the church I grew up in. I held my husband’s hand and his wise advice was, “walking in and finding a seat is success.” Success it was! The sanctuary was beautiful with an early December glow, we were greeted by my former pastors with hugs and genuine joy that we were there and instantly welcomed by acquaintances and a few special loved ones.

We have plugged in in beautiful, surprising, and holy ways, from our youngest (also an introvert) spontaneously asking to join the worship team, our teens finding community in the youth program, and for us, the blessing of new friendships that only God could orchestrate. This path is one of the richest and holiest of my life so far…

Steve Carter returned from he and his family’s own sojourn and is now preaching in Illinois. We’ve tried a few times in the last year to make it to his church and finally meet. It has been difficult to make a date work between our kids many activities. Until this past weekend.

My husband and I were taking our oldest to a college visit about an hour from Forest City Church. When I messaged Steve, he was indeed scheduled to preach. Throughout the college visit, time with our girl and listening to God’s leading over the weekend especially, I felt so much gratitude. I so thankful as well, to finally meet this friend who has so blessed our life.

He stood out in the sunshine, greeting guests as the three of us walked up. He leaned around the man he was speaking with and the recognition and smile we received was nothing but a gift. We all three understood the the blessing of spending a few minutes together. He offered coffee, directed us upstairs to the sanctuary and then went to get ready to share his heart.

Remember the beginning of the blog today?

Walking into the sanctuary after navigating those stairs had my heart beating a bit harder than usual, if I can be honest. I was afraid I would be “fan-girling” upon meeting our friend Steve, but truly, I think I was fan-girling more about how God himself just orchestrates every single step of our journeys for our good. To sit in that sanctuary, I was so humbled to know and love my Jesus SO much, to be in this space and could almost feel an intense anticipation at what the morning could bring. God took over my over-firing muscles and insecurity about climbing those beautiful but steep steps and almost whispered to me, “just wait, it’s going to be SO. GOOD.”

Oh my goodness. I don’t even have words. Worship was so full and tangible that I thought the roof was literally going to come off that decades old building, with beautiful arches, stained glass windows and scads of history. The first song had me in tears – Never Lost. But a few lines just leveled me.

“The night cannot whisper away what he said in the light.”

“Wind, listen to the sound of power on my lips…

“And who are you great mountain, that you should not bow low?”

Oh my Jesus, please remind those that need the biggest reminders, that the darkness is not stronger than even your whisper in the light – even when the dark feels so, so powerful. Please remind us that even the mountains, both majestic and daunting, MUST also bow to you. Remind us that even the wind, beautiful, frightening and fierce, CANNOT remain against how powerful you are.

The community, the worship and yes, Steve’s preaching was a blessing upon blessing. I am overjoyed that we able to be a part of it all, that God continues to put words and music from Sunday on my heart. I cannot stop singing, “never lost,” even the title of the song seems to be God’s way of whispering to me, “no matter what, I’ve GOT. YOU.”

Gratitude to Forest City, Elgin, for hosting and sharing all the beauty of your community. Steve Carter, thank you for being faithful to your calling, for being a pastor to our family. Hope to catch up again soon! You are a gift. To our dear “new church family,” you may never know how much we needed you and our gratitude for embracing us. Mom and Dad, for your love, legacy and faith that you pass on to each of us, I will never be able to say thank you enough.

Jesus, you are everything. Thank you for leaving ALL, never lost.

Both/And

Psalm 8


What do princess markers, Rubik’s Cube and Banana Nut Muffins have to do with Lament?

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I wanted to take a moment and say a genuine thank you. I have been posting now for about 4 months and it has become a favorite part of my week. I really enjoy WORDS. I love the process of conveying my thoughts, experiences and how they all fit together with my many life roles. I value authenticity and how that plays out in my professional, spiritual and sometimes, personal life. And I am so enjoying the connection, hearing how others identify, validate and share their own connections to these words. Mostly, I am amazed seeing how God is using words to bring joy, comfort and healing.

Thank you for reading, sharing and most of all, encouraging, it means so much to me. My greatest hope in all of my roles, but especially this new one (aspiring writer?) is to create space to normalize our collective, complex experiences, share how Jesus loves, some stories and professional connections. My hope is always, to be real, human, healthy in my words, awareness and sharing.

To be honest, I am choosing the authentic truth of not having every post be
positive, cheerful or even, inspiring. Sometimes, in all honesty, it
takes immense energy to keep a put-together mask in place, but I continue to trust that
Jesus will intervene.

To that end, these last two weeks… I am tired. From the time between my last “badass post” and now, life has been full! August has ramped up, leading to sporting and school events, ongoing needs that I WANT and love being present with and some that my heart breaks for. When I sat down to write, my heart felt stretched thin in my own lament for a few loved ones in my life, their health concerns, mental health, relationship conflict and even interpersonal conflict has made this week feel particularly trying.

Maybe you’ve been there before or are currently sitting in your own both/and between outrageous hope AND intense lament as well. Or maybe… feeling hope is good, but the idea of lamenting makes you uncomfortable, sad or wanting to push the hardest of feelings anywhere but where someone may ask about them.

I get that. I am feeling some of that myself.

Lament, in my own understanding, is the dark night of the soul. It is the agony and ache that are too deep for words; the one that nearly levels us with it’s weight, where all we can do is wail, howl and cry out with perhaps a sound only God himself can understand and soothe.

The Oxford Dictionary defines it as “a passionate expression of grief or sorrow.” It may sound weird, but as you read that definition, notice your reaction, deep in your body. Does something stir when you see and hear lament? Just take a second…and a deep breath.

Do you feel anything related to emotional misery that you can still recall
it? Perhaps it is stored IN your body somewhere, a twinge, or a sharp, deep breath,
even as I suggest going back to the memory? Usually when I ask this in
counseling, I can physically see something, a pain so deep that non-verbal
communication gives away when someone is trying so hard to convince me
“they are fine,” in the midst of devastating pain.

Do you feel a time with emotional misery that you can still recall it? Perhaps it is stored IN your body somewhere, a twinge, or possibly a sharp, deep breath, even as I suggest going back to the memory. Usually when I ask this in counseling, I can physically see something, a pain so deep that non-verbal communication gives us away.

I get that too…

If you had a chance to read the last few blogs, I have shared a bit of my own story related to the loss of a dear friend whose life and death deeply impacted mine. It was through the tragedy of drunk-driving accident, his death and others, that I began to avoid, fear, learn, understand and finally allow myself the truth of what it means to lament. What was surprising to me is that I eventually came to cherish the lament. Cherish? Yes, I did, I said cherish. If you will, please keep reading.

Over my 26 year career, the normalcy, my level of ability, and comfort in talking about feelings is vastly different for me now than I was able to do back in my 20’s. In learning to allow for lament, I simply did not know the depth of my capacity to feel sorrow. I did not understand the ache inside me that often did not even have words. When I finally gave myself permission to feel, slogging through the holy work of sitting with anguish, I learned the importance of sifting in the ashes. I learned first-hand the only way THROUGH the hardest of emotions, the deepest losses and insecurities IS THROUGH. (Remember this line in Going on a Bear Hunt?) I began learning then that we will lament much over the course of a lifetime and we will also come through.

Often, it is not the big tragic, unreal events that teach us about lament. I believe we ALL lament in different ways, most of the time not even knowing that we are indeed, passionately expressing a deep sorrow.

Perhaps we begin around toddler-hood – the lament of sharing toys, sharing parents when a new sibling is brought into the mix, moving to new homes, cities, or enduring other changes. At this age, most of the lament is because we can’t always have what we want.

When my daughter was three, I took a brave (or crazy) trip to Target with she and her one year old brother. My sweet E was passionate, strong and already aware of her own desires. She was trying out “wandering,” so I told her we could pick out one thing from the dollar section; if she stayed with me the whole trip through Target, (without running off,) she could bring her thing home with us at the end of our shopping extravaganza. An extravaganza it was, just not in the way you might expect…

Two aisles before the check-outs, she darted down the dog treat aisle, then proceeded to giggle and run away from me. I was terrified of this very scenario as a mom with cerebral palsy, but on the good advice of a friend, I did not chase. I called, “Uh oh…” and slowly began walking up the main aisle with my son staring up at me from his seat in the cart, with big blue eyes.

My spirited girl came running and then raced ahead of me to put her princess markers on the belt. I was already coursing with adrenaline from her solo trip down the aisle, fear of not catching up with her and then her return. She began to climb on the side of the cart, fingers barely touching her coveted markers and my adrenaline spiked again. I felt the heat creep up my neck. Was I going to stay true to my stated boundary and NOT get the markers, risking a tantrum in a very busy Target or was I just going to give in to keep peace with her?

I KNEW that I had to follow-through otherwise I was giving the green light to run from me every single outing. I told her in my best empathetic voice, “I am so sad, we can’t get your markers. Do you remember our deal? You were going to walk with me the whole time and NOT run away and THEN we could get your markers. But if you run, then we CAN’T buy them.”

Her body went rigid, her eyes widened, then narrowed, then she shrieked her displeasure for the entire store to hear. I instantly began sweating as my items were already on the belt. Customers heads turned and her screams got louder. As I held the boundary and did not buy the markers, she laid down, pulled the cart and screamed, “I WANT MY PRINCESS MARKERS!” Her lament (and mine) were very real.

(Though not a huge, prevalent part of the story, I wanted to let you know that this was the only tantrum we had with our now almost 18 year old. The one tantrum, one boundary was enough to curtail her ideas of running away from me in the aisles. )

As we grow our laments morph and change: pet loss, divorce in the family; the lament when we are not chosen for a team, asked to prom or not accepted at the “dream college.” The agony of single-ness when we long to share our life with another, the guttural moan when we don’t see, understand or want to be on this path. Job competition, rejection, complicated fertility, health challenges, terminal diagnosis, even aging, can elicit a deep expression of anguish as perhaps memories, abilities, energy and relationships are changing without our permission.

I’ve had the privilege of speaking with little ones who deeply lament the loss of a pet, a favorite stuffed animal left on vacation or the friend who has moved away. I have sat with many who lament identity, starting over after divorce, loss, long illness or sending children to college. There are those who lament and battle with themselves to remain alive here on Earth. I have held space with many brave hearts who hour by hour lament the loss of one or many they love, deeply sobbing, “I wish it had been me, instead.” And some of the saints among us, who lament they cannot yet “go home to Jesus.” Lamenting is probably, in most our minds, connected with death.

“Lament, meaning a crying out of the soul, creates a pathway between the Already and the Not Yet.” -Aubrey Sampson

We are called to learn the anguished cry of lament. Lament is the cry of Martin Luther King Jr. from his kitchen table in Montgomery after hearing yet another death threat: “Lord, I’m down here trying to do what’s right. . . . But Lord, I must confess that I’m weak now, I’m faltering. I’m losing my courage. Now, I am afraid. . . . I am at the end of my powers. I have nothing left. I’ve come to the point where I can’t face it alone.” Taken from Reconciling All Things: A Christian Vision for Justice, Peace and Healing by Emmanuel Katongole and Chris Rice.

For many, the hope for the Not Yet, is the rock to cling to, while in the center of crippling lament. For me, learning to cherish all I learned, came only after the losses that shook me to my foundation. (At the same time, sometimes having a hard time knowing I was actually still clinging to the rock that held me.) As the defenses I relied on in order to pretend I was be fine fell away, I could only surrender to the mess, or as Brene Brown says, (learned in her discussions with Navy Seals – EMBRACE THE SUCK.) Learning that the only way through, was through, gave me permission to examine every part, with curiosity and kindness instead of judging myself: anger, shock, change, agony, injustice and so many other feelings.

I often tell people that allowing for feelings is a bit like examining and manipulating a Rubik’s Cube. I can never solve them, but my son can, in mere minutes. I watch him get one color complete, then mess it up to get another color correct. He turns the cube, looks, changes something and looks again. He doesn’t however, get mad at the cube for being what it is. In the same way, getting mad at ourselves, whether in the lament, in the happiness, or any feeling in between is counter-productive. We can so much sooner help the hard feelings by caring for and crying out that anguish, keep the “Not Yet,” in view, while also allowing for and honoring all that has been lost.

If only it were that easy…

“Grief, after all, is part of love. Not to grieve, not to lament, is to slam the door on the same place in the innermost heart from which love itself comes.” – NT Wright.

Isn’t it so scary, sometimes, to feel the hardest feelings? But isn’t it harder to keep pushing the feelings and anguish down? Is the fear of feeling our own lament stronger than the lament itself? What if we could honor the feelings of lament themselves as part of our love story, the one about God, his love and the many we turn to heal when we become heartbroken this side of heaven? The love in that very story is how Jesus redeems and will keep redeeming every. single. lament.

You see, though I had known Jesus because of my parents faith since before I could remember, my own relationship with him had it’s own path; a cherished part of that path that was ultimately in the days, months and years following my friend’s death, because it was exactly there, that I met Jesus. He was exactly where I felt like I had nothing to offer except my shock, anger, resentment, authentic belief, even when I could not understand: in the heart of my lament.

Time after time in that year, God himself allowed for all those emotions, sustaining me in a rigorous MSW program, an internship at our local Hospice organization, blessing me with a support system in my parents, friends and colleagues that showed me the beauty in authentic lament. God graciously brought my husband and I together, almost exactly one year from my friend’s accident, and he offered a calling into counseling, specifically grief and trauma counseling.

In Nicholas Wolterstorff’s book “Lament For A Son,” he says that every lament is [ultimately] a love song. Lamenting is the other side of loving deeply and I’ve come to believe that you truly cannot have one without the other. It is a difficult and holy both/and.

The Psalmist gives the best example of both the lament, the love story and both/and in Psalm 13.

(for the director of music, a psalm of David).

1 How long, Lord? Will you forget me forever?
    How long will you hide your face from me?
2 How long must I wrestle with my thoughts
    and day after day have sorrow in my heart?
    How long will my enemy triumph over me?

3 Look on me and answer, Lord my God.
    Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep in death,
4 and my enemy will say, “I have overcome him,”
    and my foes will rejoice when I fall.

5 But I trust in your unfailing love;
    my heart rejoices in your salvation.
6 I will sing the Lord’s praise,
    for he has been good to me.

If David, a man after God’s own heart, is allowed to lament (and had so many things to lament, many his own choices) and TRUST, then can we? There is also Jesus, lamenting in the Garden of Eden allowed to lament….AND trust. Can we?

There is hope, even in the lament. There is space for great anguish and trust, even in the fear that so often accompanies pain. And perhaps in time, there is room to see the love story in both.

I pray that you who are struggling to catch your breath because your lament is so heavy, are able to cry AND be comforted; that those who are experiencing joy can share it with grace and that we all can love one another like Jesus.

Both/And

Psalm 13

PS I couldn’t not add this from my friend, Brene, from Her 2010 TEDxHouston talk on The Power of Vulnerability  “The problem is–and I learned this from the research–that you cannot selectively numb emotion. You can’t say, here’s the bad stuff. Here’s vulnerability, here’s grief, here’s shame, here’s fear, here’s disappointment. I don’t want to feel these. I’m going to have a couple of beers and a banana nut muffin. (Laughter) I don’t want to feel these… You can’t numb those hard feelings without numbing the other affects, our emotions. You cannot selectively numb. So when we numb those, we numb joy, we numb gratitude, we numb happiness. And then we are miserable, and we are looking for purpose and meaning, and then we feel vulnerable, so then we have a couple of beers and a banana nut muffin. And it becomes this dangerous cycle.”

Both the hard, difficult, vulnerable and gratitude, joy and happy. And banana nut muffins. 🙂

Redefining what it means to be Badass.

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I wonder if you’ve ever watched an event, a TV show, or a person when something about a particular feat that resonates within you. Somewhere deep inside you find yourself thinking, “that is simply, __________.”

You can fill in your own blank. I realize that for some, the word badass may not be the first word to come to mind. For me, 1) I live with teens, so the “normal” around here could be different than yours and 2) sometimes, there is a bit of streak inside me that loves to find the perfect word, the one that fits as an exclamation point, shout of joy or pain or just to emphasize a point that is a bit edgier; never names of God, just to clarify. Those hurt, a lot. But the ones to get my point across with a bit more hutzpah? Yes, sometimes I really like those.

Badass has become one of my very favorite descriptions because it fits so many situations. I’m not sure when I adopted it…it has come to bring a sparkle to my eye, a bit bigger smile, an earnest desire to share how I see a person or situation – with strength and fortitude that moves me.

One of my earliest memories was about 16 years ago…a dear friend’s daughter told me when she was 14 or 15 that she wanted to be a policewoman. My friend was cutting my hair as her daughter came in to say hi and told me her future plans. I motioned her to come closer to me and stated, “That is so badass.” Her eyes lit up and it fit her, that statement. For the next few years and probably still now, when I see this beautiful, spirited woman who DID INDEED become a policewoman and so much more, we smile and both recall the “badass” day fondly.

My nieces, who’ve both moved, braved hard things, have found their own identities, created adventures and show me a level of badassery from far away. They both continue to branch out with both their career, geographical pursuits, hobbies and beliefs while also advocating for mental health – INCREDIBLY badass.

Clients who show me hourly how they choose to brave by showing up, engage in care and compassion for self while processing past events, pain and the desire to change sometimes against insurmountable odds, are badass. The one this week, disclosing a long history of eating challenges, self-harm and difficult relationship dynamics, still pushing toward healthier? BADASS.

My husband and son, rebuilding a 1998 Jeep Wrangler, together learning endless new skills AND bonding for a lifetime? Badass.

My daughters, badass in many ways, but currently resonating with the new Barbie movie, pushing boundaries for girls and woman, self – love and empowerment, most definitely. Also, dads who show up, put egos aside, communicate and empower? This is an entirely different kind of badass!

Moms, in the postpartum fog of childbirth, then learning the intense pace of having a child in the NICU while healing? Badass.

Single parents, teen parents, all parents. ALL kids, especially those who hold on to self-worth when the odds are stacked against you. Grandparents who love unconditionally, chose to evolve and continue praying, always.

Those with chronic, life altering disease, cancer and so much more – the nuances are so layered and so are the levels of badassery…

Those choosing life, family and themselves day by day over the battles of addiction and their loved ones who choose, walk and forgive right beside them…do you see how many people and situations in which “badass” could just be the most encompassing description for the most resilient among us?

I could give you so many more examples that come to mind. For me this, is yet another truth, when I really sit back and ponder Jesus’s life, ministry and relentless perseverance of intimate relationship with each and every person. I certainly do not mean any offense, but when I think of Jesus, teaching, being, loving and pushing every single boundary, even death? Even more than Badass. SO MUCH MORE.

I know I could filter, use different language and “clean this up,” but that defeats the goal of being authentic for me. Badass is truly one of those perfect words for me, at least right now. It has taken me a long time to get here for myself. A lot of reframing, redefining, wrestling and finally acknowledging the badass parts inside myself. Maybe you will relate, cringe or see your own inner badass as well.

I began seeing Dr. Hotchkiss in 3rd grade to address some of my particular musculoskeletal nuances of cerebral palsy. I did not know the half. But I was the kid undergoing the appointments, bearing his watchful eyes as I walked, the distant, cold demeanor he had and the pain involved with surgery after surgery. I wasn’t SUPPOSED to understand it all, but certainly DID IT ALL – healing, wheelchairs, re-learning how to walk multiple times, even into adulthood.

My parents would not ever have called me “badass,” because that is just not who they are or the time I grew up in. Support, yes! Love, undoubtedly! But seeing that endurance as badass then? I don’t think the world knew that word as we know it now. I think (and maybe they will say I am wrong,) that life really was more about “doing” and getting through, rather than dwelling on or labeling. At least then. I think that has been part of the American way for a very long time. I’m not sure when it began to change, but I am certain that many kids (and adults) with CP who share their struggles and many victories on social media can surely called badass in so many ways. Though I grew up in an age where we didn’t know or use the word, doesn’t mean people were not badass. Quite the contrary….what joy it is to share my journey here, even the hard parts.

During the pandemic, my mom was sorting and gave me an huge plastic bin of old photos. I love photos and began to look through them with care, a slow pace that the pandemic taught me well. I didn’t have many photos of my youth around the times of those surgeries, instead, vivid memories that I could tell in great detail. When I came across a few pictures of me in the hospital, post-surgery or my early teen years recovering in a wheelchair, I did not know how to feel. Again, meaning no offense to my dear parents, we “got through” a lot of that, have some sweet and funny memories along with the pain, but they were not ever people who would dwell on the most difficult. My mom is so skilled with pivoting into happy when people are struggling, especially grandkids! My dad is not someone to dwell on emotions either. But as I looked at those few faded photos, I felt something new…I couldn’t even name it, YET.

My mom, with such good intent, wanted to get rid of those pictures, probably so difficult as a parent to see, let alone remember. But I couldn’t let her throw them out. I held them, looked, put them away, looked again and then could not look away.

I have no problem telling you that I, as a therapist, see a therapist. I believe every person walking this earth COULD benefit from a therapist. When you’re a therapist, in my opinion, it is imperative to do your own work. It was to her that I brought one of those pictures. I couldn’t put it away, but my heart was still raw by looking at it, for there were parts of me that were transported back to that wheelchair. A both/and that said, “talk with your trusted person about this one, something is stirring.”

She looked at the picture I handed her, after my conflicted feelings tumbled out of my mouth and maybe my eyes in the form of a few tears.

“What do you see?” She asked as a good therapist is known to do… (I answer questions with questions ALL the time too.) I described the pain I had been in, some of the trauma, then waited for her thoughts.

She smiled the gentle smile I’d become accustomed to and asked, “yes, those are about you in this picture, but what do you see?” She asked so gently. I simultaneously was frustrated and wanted to hug her for the care she exuded. (See the new T-shirts in the both/ and T-shirt store regarding the both/and we may feel with our therapists.) I know this on both sides, as a client AND a client therapist.

“I don’t know….” I stammered, hemming and hawing. I did not have the ability yet to be with that seventh-grade girl. I just know I couldn’t stop looking at her in those pictures.

“I see strength and courage,” she said softly; “how she persevered…” instantly, the tears filled my eyes and I could feel a cry rolling up from the depths of my body. Never had I EVER considered that those days were anything more than awful, terrifying and that I had not been brave enough….

Here in this sacred room where I had shared some of my deepest fears, shame, changes and hope, things were changing in this instant, as they had a many times before during my hour with my therapist. With the soft, caring tone she intentionally used and that achingly poignant question, she altered the view I had of that photo (in reality, that time in my life) and began to help me permanently change it.

I have become so proud of her.

A few weeks later, I sent her an email, telling her how badass that little girl was and “I just never knew it.” She applauded this perspective, agreed with me and asked me to think about other times “I was a badass.” Some big seeds, planted and watered.

I have played with the word, smiled about it, shamed myself for “being arrogant,” adamantly disagreed in my own mind and then tried to be kinder to myself. It took a lot of time, emotional tug-of-war and intentional self-compassion to begin caring about myself, seeing my own resiliency. But it wasn’t until I began riding a new recumbent around that same time, that I began to embrace and LOVE the idea of being a badass. Another perspective shift, this time from my husband and kids.

When I got my new bike, I was and felt much slower than my much younger kids. Still, the freedom and movement were new and beautiful gifts. I felt a bit sassy on that bike and battled through my negative self-talk to give permission for joy.

My husband began riding with me and as I gained strength, he started upgrading my bike. He turned my 7-speed cruising recumbent into a 21 speed as I got stronger. He surprised me that summer with a hidden, beautiful moniker. “Badass.” With every ride, his belief was right in front of me, on repeat. I smiled, grit my teeth, cried some days, but I could not NOT see his reminder to me. Every ride. Every single rotation of my left, then right leg. And with every ride, the reminder began to wash away any other belief I had about myself. I finally owned, “I AM BADASS.” My kids felt a little rebellious, excited and nervous, when we told them it was ok to say, (at least in this context, not at school!)

My husband is ridiculously smart, talented and knew this reminder was important.

I’ve been building that belief since. Some days, it is easier than others to hold on to that semi-new belief, while also believing the fire (and honestly the FUN) of those words. I LOVE, love, love the idea of being so able and strong, resilient and capable, not fragile. The truth of 2 COR 12:9 that says, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” It is a complex thing, to find your worth…

To believe in yourself, means overcoming the multitude of reasons we range from self-loathing to mean (rarely kind in our own minds, remember that 80% kinder to others than we are to ourselves statistic?). It requires a level of badassery all of its’ own. But the journey to both healthy self-esteem and the knowledge that we aren’t worthy and NEED Jesus Christ is a beautiful one. I believe with my whole self that we are worthy of both, freedom from the bondage of low self-esteem AND the delight of feeling badass.

My former pastor often shared this quote: “The gospel is this: We are more sinful and flawed in ourselves than we ever dared believe, yet at the very same time we are more loved and accepted in Jesus Christ than we ever dared hope.” –  Rev. Tim Keller from The Meaning of Marriage: Facing the Complexities of Commitment with the Wisdom of God

 Every day, I get to watch the transformation from shame, low self-esteem and self-loathing to redemption, belief, self-compassion and “loving yourself just like you love others.” (a paraphrase of Mark 12:31). I began to process that verse quite a while ago as I saw a trend of “putting others first ALWAYS (the emphasis from MANY clients over the span of this career.) My hope is that the perspective of this verse including caring for ourselves AS WELL, allows us to love and care about each other and ourselves in the best manner.  Most of the time it is hard for any of us to argue when we flip it, but all too often, I think we focus on others and let the as yourselves slip by the way side.

In my minds eye, I imagine The Father, Son and Holy Spirit each and all, enjoying how we are created, loving our dependence on God and the fulfillment that knows WITHOUT GOD, we are lost. Once again, please forgive me if it offends, but the very act of loving and trusting, trying to hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for he who promised is faithful.” (Hebrews 10:23,) is not without some brave hutzpah of its own!

To witness the sheer weight, agony and chains of self-doubt lift, replaced with a spark, a firework and incredible strength of seeing ourselves with even a small bit of how God himself made in us is life-changing and beautiful for me as a therapist, even if someone does not know or ascribe to who God is.

The very small comparison for me personally, is the joy I feel when I watch my kids feeling so strong and ready when they compete in various sports or perform, prepare for a test or follow the call of Jesus. When they flash me a “Mom, I am ready and I am badass,” smile, I know, that no matter any outcome, they are feeling exactly right in how God made them and HE is WITH them.

Badass indeed!

A few weeks ago, two dear friends took me out for dinner. It was pure joy, the laughter, the support and the pizza pinwheels. They shared a smile and as I was trying to figure out why, one handed me a colorful little box. “Just because we love you.” I opened the box and found the perfect gift: A cursive, dainty, badass necklace! It is full of beautiful reminders, to the care of sisters and the grace of God that says, “we see you and will remind you even if you forget.” They are WITH me….

A perfect gift. 💗

So, here’s the question…

Is badass a word that means something to you? If it is that particular word or maybe another, who or what makes you feel strong, capable and ready to take on the world? That is what badass is to me. It is feeling both strong, brave and capable and if you believe in Jesus, holding the truth that you are lost without him.

I believe with all my heart, mind and strength that God is within us, before us and behind, always for us. What amazing reasons to embrace our strength and if it feels right to you, your own inner badass. There is infinite room for growth, humility and pointing back to God and his goodness. Remembering where true strength comes from and holding our own worth and strength, that to me, is absolutely breathtaking.

I am thankful for it all – parents who are badass in their own way, who love and give and care tremendously; medical professionals who are skilled beyond what I can comprehend, possess the badassery of holding change in their very hands; each and every person who inspires me, (far too many to name), the journey and those who walk it with us, everything learned and gained even on the hardest days. Most of all, I am thankful to my Savior who models fearless, unwavering passion and pursuit without EVER giving up on any of us.

Whatever words embody your strength, capability and tenacity, I pray you see and feel his love, always. I pray that you are surrounded by those who make you feel badass and remind you when you can’t see it for yourself.

Both/And

II Cor 12:9

PS: On my ankle is my first tattoo, a small Jesus fish with II Cor 12:9 arched around it. I deliberately placed the reminder of God’s sufficient grace in my weakness about ½ inch away from a surgery scar. I think even before I knew it, I was working out what it means to be badass. It is one of my most beautiful reminders. I hope you look for and find your reminders as well, as often as you can.

“You have solid steel I-Beams, Stace.”

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“Mom, they are going to demolish that building soon.” My son told me as we drove through town.

“Yeah?” We were talking about the former municipal power plant building, much of which was already demolished.

“Yes, they are getting the explosives set on the beams. The I-beams are the only thing left.”

My brain raced back to the sweetest of memories as I glanced at the big building.

“You have solid steel I-beams, Stace.”

Do I? Is he talking about me?

I held the phone, tears in my eyes and a hopeful breath caught in my throat. My friend and mentor, Jim, had offered a defining word of encouragement that would shape my journey from age 29 on…

I suppose to really explain the importance and beauty in those words, I have to go backwards before I go forward. This is often something I explain to clients in the beginning of counseling (and remind often during counseling).

It was the first day of my sophomore second semester at Hope College. The pressure to declare my major was looming larger each day and it was nerve-wracking to figure out what I was going to do with the rest of my life. I had moved back into Gilmore Hall a few days before; it was snowy and cold, which matched my feelings of overwhelmed and lost. Initially, I wanted to be an English major, writing was always my favorite part of classes. I kept getting asked what kind of career that would give me and I honestly did not know….

 I had explored so many different career and major options but for a multitude of reasons, none seemed to fit. I could not settle on any of them.  My dad always encouraged, “have a job that you love going to, you will spend a lot of time there.” Both he and my mom had careers they loved and it set a strong example for me. They both worked so hard, lots of long hours as a physical therapist and a nurse (and her side hustle as an antique dealer.) At dinner, they always had good antidotes about their days, from his inspiring patients and the bartering and re-selling antiques to also the sweet (or funny) parts of her day as a nurse in a pediatrician’s office.

They have both lived what it means to love the career you choose and are given as a calling.

That pressure, to find my path, was mounting and the more worried I got, the more confused I became as well.

That January morning, I trudged through the snow on campus, cursing Michigan for this snow. It seemed to match the feeling in my body (what I would later learn is fight, flight or freeze). I was panicking about my future; it was cold and my anxiety was spiking. Trying to pay in class was going to AWESOME. I’m not even sure I remembered which class I was trudging to…

It didn’t help that my class that morning was located in Graves Hall, a building on campus that was old and original to when and how it was built. In other words, outdated, dark and seemed to have a musty, dusty smell to match. (Kind of similar to the fabricated smell of the Haunted Mansion, just not near as fun to be in.) No offense to my Alma Mater, by the way. Simply the way I experienced it, 30 years ago. Graves has since been renovated!

There was a bigger room in Graves, where student life usually showed semi-new releases for students on weekends. It had old fold-down seats with velvet cushions, once decadent and now aged.

I settled in, pushing down the adrenaline that came from walking in the snow and fear of icy sidewalks on the way to class and pushed my ever-present, “what am I doing with my life?” fear even further down.

“Hi there, so glad you are all here.”

I looked up and saw a warm, familiar smile. Jim (Dr. P on campus), was both a neighbor of my family AND a former fraternity brother of my dad. Even when I ran into him near home, he was always kind, happy and genuine in his “good to see you.” I could feel my heart, body and anxiety settle a bit, just in his greeting. I had also forgotten that he taught this “Intro to Social Work” class.

He began describing both the goals of the class and the history of social work. For the life of me, I wish I could remember the next few sentences, but I cannot. All I know is that it was in those few sentences, God made himself and my path abundantly clear. I think it was something like, “If you have a heart for caring for people, listening and helping problem solve, this is the path for you.”

I sat riveted on Jim’s passion for this field, the joy and humor in his voice, suddenly feeling the pressure dissipate.

I often ask friends and clients how they KNOW when God is guiding them. “When have you known without a SINGLE doubt, this is the path God has for you?”

Usually the answer is, “I don’t know, I just know.” For some who might not know Jesus, perhaps this is your conscience or a gut feeling. For others, this could be related to having an intimate relationship with Jesus, being guided by the Holy Spirt.

For me, this moment was without doubt, one of the places I did and still return to if I am struggling to make a decision or have difficulty deciphering “next steps.” I cannot tell you how or why, but I know with absolute certainty that I heard Jesus gently whispering next to me, “THIS is the path for you. THIS is exactly where I want you.” That fear that had been mounting since my junior year in high school, quickly began exciting my body, like a balloon that suddenly begins to leak and lose air. It was replaced just that quickly with a sort of scary excitement as Jim described the many areas in which a social work degree could be used in a career.

I realize that this paragraph might sounds like a nice story or argument to trust Jesus but it is all my truth. I know that deciphering God’s will is not that easy all the time, but for me, even when it is not entirely clear, it is more than enough….

I declared my social work major a few weeks later and the path since has been not always easy, but always completely RIGHT. I often tell clients, “The right thing is rarely the easy thing.”

About 3 weeks later, on Saturday, January 23, 1993, I awoke to a knock on our dorm room door. A family friend stood there and I was so confused. I loved her, but could not for the life of me, figure out what she was doing in my dorm hallway, knocking on the door, on a snowy Saturday morning.

“Stacy, I am so sorry, your grandma died this morning.”

My Gram’s death and all it taught me is certainly a post for the future. But
I’ll leave it here for today just knowing that I was one person before I answered that door and another entirely after dear Ardys uttered those words.

The following days and weeks were some of the most confusing, life-changing and difficult I had up to that point in my life. And God absolutely began shaping me in those very days to become a therapist specializing in grief and loss.

I moved in a fog, feeling so heartbroken and disorientated that I did not know which end was up. I sat in my writing class and my professor asked if I was alright. I was anything but…I couldn’t stop crying, aching or simply feeling shocked.

One day, not even really knowing how or why, I found myself wandering toward Jim’s office. He welcomed me into the sunny space that was filled floor to ceiling with books. Heavenly. There was a path to his chair and one other comfy chair that I gratefully sunk into, then noticed being surrounded by piles of papers; I spied a notorious “blue exam booklet” (Did other colleges besides Hope use those?) on top of a pile here, manila folders there. I instantly felt welcomed and safe, even though I truthfully felt like a complete wreck.

I don’t know what I said (again), or what he said, other than the fact that he reassured me that I wasn’t crazy, I wasn’t going to flunk out of college, and that I would, indeed, someday stop crying. It was all going to be ok, somehow. I could believe him a tiny bit, a miniscule beam of light in that dark season of my soul.

Jim was an absolute anchor in the storm and I experienced the care of Jesus many, many times over in the course of our friendship. I visited him many times that semester, as well as many the following two years. I did indeed graduate with my BSW. We stayed in touch during my first job. 5 years later I applied and got accepted into grad school and as God led me closer and closer to becoming a therapist. He was affirming in my professional skills, as well as becoming a trusted role model for my own internal struggles. Which was why, when the bottom fell out of my life again, the week after I started graduate school, he was amongst the first phone calls I made.

Someone dear to me was killed violently and tragically as he drove home from his job as an EMT in the middle of the night. The driver, her passenger (her sister) and my friend were all killed instantly as the girls were both many times over the legal drinking limit.

In this, another, life-changing moment, my foundation shook and crumbled. I had family support, friends who did their very best to understand and yet, I was floundering, triggered once again. I often tell clients,  Grief brings up grief.

 One of my favorite analogies comes from Disney’s original animated version of The Little Mermaid (1989). Do you remember how Ursula grows gigantic quickly and begins stirring up the sea with King Triton’s glowing Trident? The old shipwrecks begin to resurface from the ocean’s floor. I often tell people that “Big Ursula “can feel like our present grief and all the “shipwrecks” can be past grief experiences that resurface in connection with the new, present grief. While the analogy is my own, if it weren’t for Jim, I would not have been able to move through both of those searing losses and have an understanding to draw on when counseling in the future. He spent many hours listening, normalizing and teaching me about grief, it’s affects, the need for self-care and affirming my ability to work through it, WHILE going to graduate school.

It was Jim, who with the wisdom of a dad, said to me one night on the phone, “You have solid steel I-beams, Stace. You are so strong in your desire to understand, work through and be healthy.”

That is how I felt about myself, that I wanted to understand, to find my way through this scary forest (many forests for all of us) and come out with better understanding, peace and the ability to help others because I had people who helped me.

In his kind affirmation, he praised WHO I was, HOW I was and gave me much-needed belief in myself.

I remember vividly, sitting on the floor, tears streaming as he uttered that life-changing-truth to me. I can feel how I wanted to rise to that, to see it for myself. I can feel the gift of being known by this mentor and friend and I am ever thankful.

I wonder who it is for you, that speaks absolute acceptance and life into you. Who is your person, who sees you as you want to be, who accepts who you are now, but cheers you on to who you will become?

I know we don’t have just one….there are many who add to our lives, each has their place. But don’t we all have a couple who come into our lives, help us see our own strength and change us for the good?

Mr. Rogers, in his acceptance of a Lifetime Achievement award, said (in part) to an audience of Hollywood elite:

Oh, it’s a beautiful night in this neighborhood.

So many people have helped me to come to this night. Some of you are here. Some are far away. Some are even in heaven.

All of us have special ones who have loved us into being.

Would you just take along with me 10 seconds to think of the people who have helped you become who you are — those who have cared about you and wanted what was best for you in life?

Ten seconds of silence.

I’ll watch the time.

[silence observed]

Whomever you’ve been thinking about — how pleased they must be to know the difference you feel they’ve made.

Jim is still the dearest of friends and mentors. We don’t talk often, but when we do, we pick up just where we left off. We share photos and details of life in the present and he without fail, he encourages me. The blessing of being known is without compare.

He is but one who has shaped me and been an important part of the tapestry of this life, both personal and professional. He is an important one for me in this 28-year career, one who I still draw from today in my work and value.

I pray that you too, have many, who come to mind who have believed in and loved you. It is one of my biggest hopes and prayers, that we can feel and give that care and love to ourselves and others. If you have a “Jim,” or Neen, Tom, Jill, Rick or Susan, whoever it is that speaks love and affirmation in your life, today is good day to tell them. You never know if today is the day that your encouragement will bless your person in return.

I pray we can all claim our own “I beams,” or the truth others help us to see about ourselves. That is so much of the journey. Be proud and even a little excited at what it has taken for you to keep going on your journey. It is nothing short of miraculous.

To that end, if you look in the shirt shop, you will find an option to support kidney disease awareness. I have a dear acquaintance who shows me daily what it means to be born with a steel I beam. I made the “I would go anywhere as long as its not dialysis” in her honor. All proceeds from the sale of this shirt will be donated at the end of December.

 God is good, all the time. Thank you, Jesus, for each and every one of the people you place on our journey to show us how you love. I am profoundly grateful.

Both/And

Phil 1:3-5

For the love of mountains and Jesus; or pink slippers, 10% and unexpected grace.

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(An entirely different post than what I planned be writing this week…)

I have been chewing on a post for the last week and half and it is not this one….

Typically, an idea forms and the words come relatively quick. I reword and rework, sometimes erase and rewrite, but the words and ideas seem to just come. Writing for me has always been a joy, a place to release my thoughts, hopes, fears and prayers into the wide open. I can’t begin to express how important writing has become to me – and your comments, encouragement and ideas make it so much better.

Last week was not the easiest week and I am not even sure why….

I had a post started about some family conflict, how it is NOT always easy or pretty or even kind around here. And yet, it has not felt quite right to publish here, YET. Maybe in time, maybe not.

The reality is, I work really hard to be authentic, to not buy into only sharing the positive, “picture perfect” moments; normalizing both the struggle, the hard feelings AND the beautiful ones. And this past week, the beautiful seemed harder to find. Until yesterday…

A couple days before my big kids left to go on a church youth group trip to Colorado, we all seemed to be having issues with each other. Tension seemed sky high, all of us ruminating our own struggle. Suddenly, the kids were packed, leaving our house and off on a trip to Colorado for the first time.

My husband, youngest daughter and I remained home in a much quieter house. We visited dear friends for the weekend they left, but when we returned Sunday afternoon, the quiet within our walls was both needed and a bit unsettling. My mind kept thinking, “is this how it will feel a year from now, when E goes to college?”

Funny thing though… THIS post is not yet about my daughter marching toward senior year at an ever-quickening pace or my own both/and/and/and moments about that. My heart skips as I write that sentence, both excited for my girl and grieving already the future changes to our family as she makes decisions. But this post, this one that is jumping from my heart and fingers so quickly I can hardly keep up as I type, is about mountains, love and being seen.

Life for me growing up and navigating teen years was just full of unique to me challenges. EVERYONE can speak to their own challenges, none better or worse, simply our own. When my high school youth group was going to Colorado Challenge, I was not ready. I am sure that I missed an amazing experience and yet, I was not physically or emotionally aware enough at that point in my life, to face the difficulties of hiking, rappelling and advocating for my physical needs. I didn’t have the confidence. I believe it was absolutely part of God’s divine plan for me that I didn’t go THEN.

When I began working for a grassroots teen ministry just out of my undergraduate degree, I was invited to go with the church who had started and most supported this ministry. Though I was still anxious about the landscape and being out of my comfort zone, I was also beginning to understand my needs and voice. I know without a doubt that God wanted and made the way for me to go, AT THAT TIME in my life.

Before I gush poetically about the natural beauty and awe-inspiring scenery of Colorado itself for many paragraphs, (If you’ve been there, you know right?), this about sums it up, at least for me.

 “There were those green, undulating hills and this very beautiful river, the Colorado. The place is inspired and inspiring.”

– Terrence Malick.

I was in awe of Colorado, from the scenery as we drove through the state, to Colorado Challenge and every experience from the first to last time I was blessed enough to travel to Colorado, 5 trips in all. The last, was the one I had only dreamed of, worked for and raised money for so a group of teen moms could attend camp like their peers.

Each time I went has it’s own beauty and sacred space. I have memories I will forever cherish, tears that led to lifetime changes and awareness, places marked on my journey with Jesus Christ that allowed me to meet and love him personally. Moments where worship was ALL of who we are, you can’t get near enough to God’s own heart and call and YES to him is the most right, easiest answer.

I also had breathtaking moments of love, acceptance and grace that until that point, was new to me. From sitting behind students throughout evening chapel events and literally watching and praying with them as they said YES to Jesus and relationship to him to the grand view of Pikes Peak from camp. Whitewater rafting at Noah’s Ark, horseback rides through stunning trails, conversations late into the night, even helping the girls navigate conflict. Memories with my sister-friend and the students who bravely allowed me into their hearts and fears.

The first year I went, I struggled with many of the physical aspects of getting around the rustic camp grounds, roots, jutting up from the dirt in odd ever-changing directions, loose stones and steep inclines, not to mention that climbing was involved in nearly anything that you wanted to do for activities.

When we arrived at Rainbow Falls where groups were given the opportunity to rappel, I instantly knew  I could NOT climb to the top of the cliff we were supposed to rappel down without some serious back-up. I didn’t know the kids or leaders well, because I was asked to be an adult leader last minute when one of the others was sick. But I fell prey to believing that I, as an adult, “should not, could not,” ask those kids or other leaders for help climbing because “I am supposed to be an adult and help them!” Thank goodness for therapy that helps us see our own faulty beliefs and some of their roots.

By the next summer, I had built strong relationships with a number of the same high school kids who refused to let me “wait at the bottom,” this time around, walked with me carefully and safely up cliff and then helped me rappel! It is still an exhilarating badass, capable memory that means so much to me because it felt so impossible and I yearned to try.

One night, after worship had blown the roof off the chapel, I sat down next to a student named Ryan who just had a magnetism to kids around him. He had a smile that was both mischievous and kind, a signature baseball hat always worn backwards. He was wrestling in a way that I could feel as I sat next to him, listening and partly, just being present in whatever was the internal fight. “Why do you even want to listen?” He finally asked and his battle with something was palpable. I just prayed as tears filled his eyes. It was a holy, heart-wrenching space and yet, a memory I hold dear from an evening in that chapel in the mountains, overlooking Pikes Peak.

 In camp was Soldier’s Mountain, again something I had only heard about. I wrestled with longing and grief, the limitations of this body, when the kids begged me to come with them. A group of teen boys moved me to literal tears when they nearly plowed me over in the snack shack on our next to last night in camp.  They were organizing a sunrise hike up Soldier’s and “were bringing me with them!” They refused to take my no for an answer, (thankfully) and literally walked-step-by-slow-step up a steep incline to the top of Soldier’s Mountain. Reaching the top was an absolutely surreal moment, a picture of trust, care and acceptance that showed me Jesus himself in those teenage faces. Those boys are still “little brothers” to me, many years later.

There are so many more moments, the beautiful, brave teen moms that showed me as a single 25 year old what motherhood and sacrifice mean, how God can use everything to bring us closer. Jaw-dropping scenery, over and over, devotion from youth leaders and the very definition of brave, so many times I lost count.

Safe to say, Colorado has an important place in my heart. I even had dreams, hopes and prayers about moving there in my 20’s, but that too, was NOT God’s plan for me. My best friend played “Wide Open Spaces” by the Dixie Chicks about that time and it was as if they had written it for me… (Perhaps my version of how Taylor Swift “just gets it!!” in 2023?)

Life continues, I got accepted into graduate school in Michigan, met my love and the dream changed. God knew…and yet, I have for a long time told my kids about my love for Colorado, the incredible beauty and how God moves, especially during camp experiences…

I think in our relationships, there are always “mountain top and valley events,” and for me, relationship with Jesus is included. The mountains, whether physical and emotional, change us. Tremind us of the passion, the love and the goodness that ARE mountain-top experiences in relationships, especially when the greater amount of time in relationships takes place on the flat ground or the valleys (not always the most exciting parts of being in relationship.)

I have been doing clinical work for 22 years now, so my days of youth leading and traveling with students are a past chapter. So much so, that it caught me off guard when the church we’ve been attending since December began talking about a youth group trip to Rocky Mountain High in July in Estes Park.

I realized that my teens would get to experience Colorado in their own way; so. good.

I knew that the scenery would move them. I was even somewhat prepared for their personal “mountain-top experiences” and “the impending post-camp blues,” both familiar to me from my days as a camp counselor at Camp Geneva and Colorado Challenge.

What I really hadn’t considered for them was how this experience, uniquely their own, would truly translate, change them and shape them. How this week would give them lifelong memories with friends, leaders and Jesus Christ.

We picked them up yesterday in the church parking lot…rolling off the bus sweaty, exhausted, hoarse and beaming. Tight hugs, high-fives and inside jokes that I am sure, I will never here the beginning or the end of. The swath of parents hung back, both debating about embarrassing kids with big hugs (perhaps just me??) and trying to respect the vibes they were sending off. It was evident how this group of leaders and kids had bonded.

On one hand, I felt so old; and…so very thankful that after the pandemic changed so many things about so many churches, we are finding our way into a church community again, with our beautiful kids leading the way, fearlessly. A couple leaders came and introduced themselves, blessing us with kind words about the kids’ behavior and character. They may never know what that meant to us…

For the next few hours back home, the kids talked over and around each other, a unique shared experience of going on youth group trip as siblings and friends and all the dynamics in between. They showed us pictures of stunning mountains, sunrise views, elk roaming downtown, “right by the jerky store” and one of their leaders, dressed in a bear hug nightgown, pink slippers, shamelessly directing traffic in downtown Estes Park. They described “worship with so many kids, all raising our hands and holding nothing back.” They described messages from Megan Marshman, who presented them with opportunity after opportunity to know Jesus’s love, desire for relationship and sacrifice in such personal ways.

They told us about how as a group, they would nightly share their last 10%, allowing their friends and other leaders into the parts of ourselves that we all hold back, because, “if someone knows ________ about me, they will__________ (leave, tell others, think I’m a _____}”, or many other reasons.

Our kids shared some hard stuff about their own struggles. We are so very proud of them and shared with them our experience and belief that God will draw us in, rather than shame us out. They told us how their leaders discussed some of their own struggles, encouraged each other, then asked the group to pray over our kids and family.

I’m not sure if that moves you, but I get goose bumps (again) as I write those words.

It has been said, “It takes a village to raise kids.” The older I get, the more our village blesses us. The more our village draws us closer to Jesus, just by being WITH, authentically. The more the village ebbs and flows. The more the needs change within in the village, within ourselves.

I was once on the front lines with teens, staying up late, running on fumes, holding their stories firsthand. I was surrounded by a different village as I was a part of students and oh my goodness, those were the days….

Now…my kids are traveling; their village will change and I may not even know all their members. They are being challenged, sharpened, changing, softened and from what I know today, going all in with Jesus.

I am profoundly grateful for those who walk with me, who have shown me the heart of Jesus in Colorado and beyond. For the relationships I still have because of heart connections on the mountains and deep in the desolate valleys. I am thankful for those who see us not as we are but as we can be and have the courage to say so. I am thankful for health and strength. May we all be surrounded by those who build up when we need it, sit quietly and those who hype us into believing in ourselves at exactly the right moments.

“Colorado has always been a good place to find what you’re made of.”

– John Hickenlooper.

To Jesus, E & E,  Colorado and everywhere in between.

Both/And

Philippians 1-3-4

“Mama, Jesus is smiling!”

/8 Comments/in /by

(For SHM)

The sun was shining, I had the day off work. After I was blessed with a good workout and some quality time with my hubby, my youngest daughter (in her last year before turning 13,) asked if I would take her to 3 stores: a local consignment shop, 5 below (undoubtedly to spend her hard-earned dollars on a Squishmallow) and Ulta where she can cover the back of her hand in colors of eyeshadow, lip gloss and everything in between.

I learned a long time ago that when spending time with teens or even younger kids, being able to talk is one thing, but usually, having an activity at the same time is the very best case scenario. Before the pandemic, I spent many counseling hours playing Uno, “garbage” coloring or shooting hoops with a nerf basketball hoop while listening to some of the hardest stories and emotions. It is a lot easier for most of us, I think, if we are not in the spotlight, face to face or even asked direct questions.

With my own teens, sitting in the car driving, watching movies, building Legos, coloring and drawing or even sitting on their beds while they clean has provided some of the richest conversations we’ve ever had. Earning the right to be heard also consists of providing the safest opportunities and trust to be vulnerable.

In all honesty, I didn’t want to shop today. It has been a busy week, a headache was edging around my head from the moment I woke up and I truly wanted to spend some time researching how to self publish my writing! But…because of this career I have and the deep value instilled inside me about relationships, especially, with our beautiful kids, it was truly a very easy yes.

Our youngest daughter is the “icing on the cake,” of completing our family. She is, by many people’s description, “sunshine in human form.’ She loves with every fiber of her being, she cares deeper than most can even begin to imagine, is kind to a fault, has incredible wit and comedic timing (at 12!) and so truthfully, has a heart so much like how I know Jesus to be.

Lest you think she is the favorite of my 3 (or perfect), that is not the case. We ALL have our own brokenness. And we all know it…if we don’t, someone in this house will certainly let you know! She is a bundle of energy, lets her bodily noises fly at the most inopportune times and is at a really moody, emotional rollar coaster of a spot currently. We practice both/and ALOT in this season with (nearly) 3 teens in the house.

All that being said, I am feeling the race of time and KNOW without a single doubt that the days of her wanting or being able to amble around Ulta and laugh at funny outfits we put together on the fly or even spoil her with yet ANOTHER stuffed animal, are fleeting at BEST.

Before we left the driveway, she was cuing up Taylor Swift on her phone, creating our shopping play list in Apple Music and directing our route. Though I instantly became concerned about how long this shopping extravaganza was legitimately going to last, I played along because honestly, she’s my youngest. I’ve learned some things since the first daughter and our second kid, our son. She DOES have the more laid back versions of us, sometimes. Sometimes, I think we’ve kept her little for too long because “the last,” is hard to fathom. Whichever way it is, on any given day, we adore them all. So we listen to Taylor, LOUD, know we are enabling with ANOTHER stuffed animal and don’t get too uptight about it…at least today.

She directed me first to the consignment shop. On our way, we stopped at a busy intersection near a Burger King and the highway. On our right, a woman was walking, waving to each car. I looked and what appeared to be her husband and two small children sat in the grass, a sign explaining their need for food and shelter due to homelessness was propped up beside them. I am utterly ashamed to admit it, but my very first thought was, “shoot, I don’t want to make eye contact.”

These situations wreck havoc in my social-work-trained mind, my heart and the many pieces of advice and experience in our culture.

I have vivid memories of growing up in the Midwest and NOT experiencing the ravages and complexities of homelessness until I was on a family weekend in Chicago. As we walked our privileged selves to see Phantom of the Opera after eating at Gino’s East, we were asked many times for money, help or “a place to sleep.” My parents had tried their best to prepare their sheltered Caucasian kids, “don’t make eye contact,” tried to explain some difficulties with “giving money,” while also trying to honor helping others in the the name of Jesus. But nothing prepared me for the man propped up in a doorway, wearing clothes covered with dirt and holes, struggling to speak and holding a battered sign as we walked past. I am not sure if my parents whispered or if I realized on my own that the man also had cerebral palsy. I am certain I stopped and stared. I am certain seeds of fear were planted, “is this what happens as your grow up with this?” I was both terrified, horrified that this was indeed a real situation and sickened at injustice; this, awful, awful reality this side of Eden.

“Dad!” I tugged my dad’s arm as the crowd of people in Chicagoland kept moving past. “Dad, he has CP. And I think he peed on himself!” I cried, begging my dad to help him. It wouldn’t be the last time. My dad called my sister’s name, who was a bit ahead of us, but still near. She was carrying the coveted left-over pizza, had claimed it for her snack after the musical finished. He took the pizza, brought it to the man, set it in his lap and motioned for us to keep going.

Another time, we had driven to see my grandparents who lived an hour away for a pre-Christmas visit. The lights were bright and blinking, I was in the warm and lovely space of just seeing my grandma and suddenly, at a traffic light, a man yelled to people in the cars around us, for help. Tears streamed down my face as I heard my parents talking about calling the police, “he would at least be safe and have a warm place to sleep if they pick him up.” “Jail??” I thought, not understanding how that could possibly help him

. My dad, after trying to explain to me, poured hot coffee from the packed thermos into the mug he’d brought along, got out onto the busy, snowy street and as the man yelled, handed him one of our very familiar mugs. I watched, clutching a stuffed animal I had along and wondered how my dad would get his mug back. I think I started praying…that’s all I remember.

On yet another family trip, this time to San Diego there were countless experiences that I will not forget, both beautiful and life changing including one at Seaport Village that left a permanent mark on this heart God has given me.

We sat as a family eating dinner overlooking the ocean, the lights of the nearby carousel beckoning me in the dusky sunlight. It was dreamy and I felt like whole world was wide open to my teenage hopes and dreams. Suddenly, I looked out the windows in front of us and saw a man, bundled up in the California heat. He walked slowly, dreadlocks hanging in his worn face. I couldn’t take my eyes off him as suddenly he began digging in the garbage can in front of the windows where we sat. Tears instantly sprang to my eyes as he pulled an entire order of fries from the garbage and gobbled them like he had not eaten in a long time. I wept without control, pummeled instantly with a level of sadness and reality that I had no idea existed. I cried with a heart that was simultaneously terrified that people lived this way and the overwhelming desire to fix this man’s plight. It was a moment forever imprinted on my heart.

This was the feeling, now with years of life experience, but the same conflictedness, that came rushing back as my sweet daughter turned to me yesterday….

“Mama, we have to help them.” Her big eyes and heart were like looking in a mirror. My humanity thought, “I don’t know how…” The two of us in the car, safety, not sure about the situation and the realities crashing together with my daughter’s innocence, the innocence of the babies sitting on the grass with their parents and the overwhelming guilt that we were going to ULTA while they were in huge need….

I took a few deep breaths, drove slowly and prayed for God’s presence and wisdom.

It took a minute. My heart rate slowed. I explained to my love that I needed to think about it and she so patiently waited for my response….

I wanted to honor her, her desire and I needed to sit the wrestle I felt, trying to decipher the truth. I parked outside 5 Below, another deep breath…

“Trust me.” I almost audibly heard my Jesus whisper and wrap around me. Breathe…. “Trust…”

“Babe, let’s go get some things for them.” I said quietly to her and her face was so sure and beaming. “Oh mama, let’s!” She held my hand tight, helping me navigate the curb and entrance into the overstimulating store. We were five steps in when she knew EXACTLY what to do.

We filled a backpack with some basic supplies, her leading the way as I listened to her clarity and wisdom. Who was I to witness how God was using her?

She went to the stuffed animals. “This will be good for the baby! And the little kid will really like this!” She held up a zebra and a monkey. We lastly grabbed a few snack items, I handed her all the cash I had in my wallet and let her pay herself. Our items were nearly the exact amount I handed her. “Trust me…” Jesus seemed to whisper again to me, perhaps her and maybe even this family. We walked out and my sweet girl slipped her hand in mine again. “Mama, Jesus is SMILING right now!”

She filled the backpack while I drove back. The traffic swirled at that intersection and I prayed, “Jesus, use this moment, bless my girl and this family…” I couldn’t see the family for all the cars, but I carefully navigated to what I hoped would be a safe spot for us to give the backpack. I drove around the Burger King and there sat the family, all crowded under umbrellas, almost it seemed, to be waiting for us.

“I want to go, Mama.” I looked and my girl, so far beyond her years, was mouthing a prayer of her own. She took a deep breath as I put the car in park just feet from this dear family. She opened her door, stepped up to the mom who smiled and greeted her like a long lost friend.

“My mom and I bought this for you and your family. There’s toys for your kids. I hope everything in here helps you guys.” The parents both smiled, thanked us profusely, repeated, “may God bless your family.” As I sat there, the mom began to unpack the backpack, pulling out first the zebra and handing it to her smiling toddler. The small child broke into the biggest smile, hugging the zebra tight. My daughter climbed back in, waved and I could not control the tears that feel from my eyes, overwhelming my whole body. We backed out as they continued waving, eyes full of thanks. I sobbed, at my daughter’s faith, joy and leading. I cried for this family’s plight, wishing I could do so much more. I cried, out of my own shame and ignorance and God’s unending love and forgiveness.

“Mama, I have never felt this good. I think this is why we were supposed to come shopping today.” My little said in utter joy.

I have so much to learn. I learn so much from her and so many others around me.

Thank you for being such a picture of my Jesus, my daughter. You, change the world. You change me….

Thank you my Jesus for being patient in my ugly moments and for teaching me to trust you. Hold this family close, us all close and please keep making us each, more like you. I pray you are indeed, smiling.

Both/And

Psalm 13