Category Archives: Letting Go

Concrete Words: New Beginnings {An Abstraction on Soil}

Standing right there in the middle of the cold vegetables and fruits come right up out of the soft ground, he sent the text.

Tons of spider lilies in back like Jesus sprinkled his blood over our new beginnings. I know we have a long road but I liked the scene.



I cried on my Granny’s soft shoulder, a pillow for many sorrows over seventy-seven years, and then wiped my eyes and picked out some salad for an easy supper.

Sometimes marriage is like that, a long road to healing. Sometimes when we clasp hands and slide on matching shiny rings, crying for the hope that is to come, we don’t know we are broken and depraved and that there is darkness lurking in our hearts–darkness that Jesus means to overcome in us.

We don’t see how the hard ground must be tilled and tilled and rained on and battered by storms until seeds begin to take root and grow, the weeds plucked out.

We had argued about directions on the way there, and arrived so late that we thought we would not be able to even get into our cabin. The old guy waiting up for us by one small oil lamp light amongst a foresty-dark farm, said the cabin was a 30 minute drive away. Oh. We were thinking a little walk down the old pine boards and we could lie down on the antique frame together, fluffy old quilts a welcoming respite after a 7 hour drive, and fire crackling bedside.

We stood on the hard wooden floors, and waited as the bearded man retrieved his go-to direction sheet, the lamp’s light dancing a glow across handmade chairs and tables made only the way mountain-men can craft, their wood carved, not flattened through a planer, their edges left as nature intended. They were rough and beautiful. Hard and appealing, needing a sanding but still catching the beholder’s gaze with their uniqueness.

Old trinkets were scattered around, a wooden clock with a coo-coo bird, soft cushions, and beautiful pine. Already I felt a little at home.

But we were not home–not yet. After saying goodbye to the old man, we drove 30 more minutes, which turned into an hour, winding through dark, country mountain roads with poorly written directions and too tired to keep our tempers in check.

We finally found the drive, and the tires slowly creaked over gravel like even they were tired. The mountain trees we wound our way through, they beckoned and bowed over us, angels bowed before His glory and all of creation, even they in awe of His created beings.

A fire was kindled and started in that hearth and in that bed, and that heart-shaped tub.

My husband, he surprised me by getting up before me the next morning with the camera and capturing the light splayed in across a stunning display of antique tea pots, china and oil lamp placed so delicately and thoughtfully by someone on pine. God’s light shown through the small breakfast nook, the windows almost blinding and my feet shod in his peace, the path set before me with his illuminated word.

I had laid under the heavy quilts, a weight keeping me sleepy, while he brought coffee up the pocket sized winding stairs. They were handwrought, sharply-cusped and we had joked that there was no way any elderly person should rent this cabin and there should be a disclaimer. He walked over to the hem of me, fire thoughtfully hovering and fading a few feet away, laid the cup in my weary, heavy-lidded boned self, and I drank in the warm hazelnut deep like I’d never get another drop.

I can’t quite remember, but I think maybe he walked away with a contented sigh.

We had breakfast in a gloriously lit room, more pine than I’ve ever seen in one place in my entire life, and I could not help myself but take shots of everything, with people all around–the piano, the light underneath on gleaming gold petals, and the morning sun smiling in on couples murmuring perhaps little sweet nothings to one another.

We walked up the mountain together, started out on a hike too great for us, and my husband, he grabbed a stick for bears, but in my mind, nothing was too big for me to handle.

I guess I’m naively stubborn like that.

There is a fire in my bones, something that drives me, a passion, like a warrior Indian princess. There is Cherokee blood in me after all, my daddy says, coming down from his grandmother’s long raven hair, even in her old age.

Something about that mountain dared me to climb it, and my soul cried out You’re nothing! I want to be up there with you on the top, to shrink back from nothing and to see everything and to feel the icy-cold wind of freedom on my face!  

We trekked through bountiful fallen gold and orange, and then we slushed through snow, and it came to a point where he asked me to turn around because we were having to jump tiny creeks that only had rocks to leap onto. But in my heart, I could not turn back–I so loved jumping the rocks, the tiny waterfalls, and I dragged him along with me, squeezing through large boulders and snow, almost getting our feet trapped, feet that were not shod and prepared for this mission.

Every hiker that came down from the mountain looked at us like we were loony, but I truly believe I could have climbed to the top with only my Indian princess animal skins on (and fur boots made of buffalo of course).

We argued some of the way, and he nearly lost it for me pulling him so high up the mountain.

He said, honey, it is getting dark soon; all the hikers are coming down–the bears will be out and there will be no one to call to for help. The snow will only get worse from here and we are already drenched. Let’s head on back, please?

I looked up at the top of the mountain and it called to me. But so did my husband.

So I made the right choice.

And through great courage and discipline and solidarity of mind, I turned around and listened to the wisdom of reason, though my spirit wanted to soar free.

Courage can take many different forms. Sometimes it means just listening to reason when I don’t want to, and giving into something and compromising when everything inside is screaming NO!

Sometimes it is allowing God to prick the hard ground of our hearts and till up soil, to call up a friend when it’s been a while and say I’ve been thinking of you, and though things have happened, my love for you has never changed.

It may be confronting that great, big mountain of fear in our lives and trekking up the steep, smashing boulders when all we want to do is turn around and go back down.

Or it could be going around a mountain that’s not meant for us to tackle, and God says there’s a better way, perhaps a harder way, in the deep places where the evil things lurk and we must get our swords out, fight and pray.

Maybe it’s as simple as plucking up some of that hard ground of our hearts with His truth, and asking a friend for forgiveness, or going over to a neighbor to help or ask for help when we’ve been wounded.

Maybe it’s in admitting we need help to someone we trust. And healing comes. And when those we trust betray us, we release it to Him who was broken completely and totally into and is our Comforter, and we just keep loving, and healing comes.

There are always new beginnings for our woundedness and there is nothing God can’t tackle, but we have to let Him give us the grace to allow Him to do it in that hard soil.

Then, maybe we will look out and see the red burst into bloom, scattered bloody all around shooting forth, up and out toward the sky, grace, forgiveness, freedom, joy, peace, righteousness, goodness, love, forbearance, kindness, gentleness and self-control.

There are always new beginnings…in Him. And we are saturated in it.

 Now let’s have some fun with Concrete Words! (Please keep writing centered around the prompt:SOIL Thanks!)

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On Letting Go, Daffodils, and the Narrow Way

I am cold, hurting, sad and despondent and he says, “get dressed and come outside with me–it’s such a nice, warm day”. Something inside me jumps at the thought of being in the sunshine after so much grey rain in my life. It has been a long time coming–this spring rejuvenating joy!

As I throw my clothes on, not caring if my hair hasn’t been washed {i’m going to the sunlight}, girls all dressed and I step outside, this change is hard. Hard because my emotions don’t feel it. But I’ve been here before, and I know that the emotions are not always in sync with what my heart and soul {God’s Spirit speaking?} are saying is vital, purposeful, helpful, and joy-creating. Human emotions don’t so easily give way to joy and peace-creating moments. My emotions stand hard and stubborn as brick, and they are not easily dissolved and replaced with God’s love, gentleness, patience, and hope.

Hope is a funny thing….it’s like stepping outside to the sun’s blinding when I’ve been hibernating inside my comfort place, my isolation for too long. It all feels raw, open, it hurts and blinds and in the same breath feels like warmth to the soul, the soul slowly waking, and the Son telling me time to get up.

He turns on the radio, and says, “You ARE ready–wow! Let’s go!” And my heart is so easily led because it craves it and needs it. My heart craves, this heart that is only for him. And it is this that God is trying to show me–yes, my heart craves, and it is truly HIM that I crave, that my heart yearns to follow.

In the sunlight, always the blinding light, I am so thankful that He gives spring….and I see it. I see that the leaves, the brown, black and grey, the dead things must come for life to come forth. All of the wretched things, the things I hate the most, the things that seem so evil to me–cloudy days that offer no hope, rain that never gives any light or warmth, no life or beauty to be found, all of the loneliness and disappointment, the anguish, the desperate pleas for help, and the trudging through of the feet–all of these must be so that HOPE can come.

So that LIFE can push really hard, can push hard and long against the surface, so hard until it seems I will give way, and when I think that my weary heart and soul can take no more, there it is! Life to be felt, touched, all warmth and sun and the SON comes in strong, like a team of wild stallions beating back ocean waves, and He calms me with His steady hand, touches me, ME who doesn’t deserve anything, feeling like a silly child for asking, for reaching out, and He gently cradles me like summer sun, blinding the eyes and letting lids drift off asleep.

And then I see, I see the brown leaves, {so happy to be picking up those brown leaves, everyone pitching in, the warm sun our helper}, and I know what they have covered up this whole time–it has been life growing underneath.

In the front yard, where he is raking strong and ferocious, we meander and follow him, walking and looking, taking in beauty, holding hands, snapping our happy day in freeze-frames.

 Then it happens: I hear him say, “No, Bella, you know Mama doesn’t want you to do that”. It is always Mama that doesn’t want the children to run and frollick and make mischief, always Mama that has a hard time with letting go. And in an instant I see that Bella has plucked all my lovely daffodils from the front garden, the only sign of life in this deadness, the only beauty that I loved, and before I think, I say sternly, “NO, Bella!” and now her tiny shoulders droop, her joyous flower-possessing countenance falls, and straightaway, she is a mess, and so am I.

 I go to her, drawn like the pull of heartache, and kneel down beside her. I say, “It is okay, Bella. You can have Mama’s flowers”. And these words are hard for me to say, and they are pulled out like weeds stuck in the hard winter ground. I hurt, I am torn, and my anger dissolving, I know that I must let go. I know that this is good for me and for her. I hug her and keep saying it over and over, and of course, in Bella’s usual style, she has to punish me just a bit. She can’t move past it right away, and oh, she is MY child; she definitely came from my womb, this child that has it hard letting go.
And suddenly I realize that it is not I that is supposed to be teaching her in this moment, but it is she that is teaching me, and she is teaching me well.
 I am a broken Mama, throwing myself against the stubborness of this child, and breaking over and over and over. God knows that this is what this sinful, hard heart of mine needs. 

WHY is my first reaction to sternly correct and break littles’ spirits? Couldn’t I, being fully aware of her possessing my prize, just have let my laugh carry on the wind, reach her with a warm enveloping smile and let her know that I will always, always give her what is mine?

I will never, ever forbid her to come close and I will always, only embrace her fully, mistakes and all.

Isn’t this what the Father has done for me? Yes, He gave it all.

I want to shed this cloak of doubt and fear and despondency and turn face full to the sun, grab my child’s hand and show her that things here don’t matter.

I want to run over and wildly pluck a flower, tuck it behind her ear and whisper it on the gentle spring breeze, “You are free to love, child, free as your Father in Heaven has loved you and made you free.”

I imagine she turns to me, smiles, her eyes alight, and she looks up at me like maybe I’m God and it just makes me want to always, only walk towards that narrow gate.

I take her hand and lead her there.



“Enter by the narrow gate; for wide is the gate and broad is the way that leads to destruction, and there are many who go in by it. Because narrow is the gate and difficult is the way which leads to life, and there are few who find it.” 
Matthew 7:13-15; New King James
“Don’t look for shortcuts to God. The market is flooded with surefire, easygoing formulas for a successful life that can be practiced in your spare time. Don’t fall for that stuff, even though crowds of people do. The way to life–to God!–is vigorous and requires total attention.”
Matthew 7:13-15; The Message
**edited re-post from the archives
This post shared with Ann, Jennifer, for #TellHisStory, and Beth at Messy Marriage, where she writes real, raw, and redemptive.

On Voice And Fear of Being Uniquely Me {Day 7}

Photo credit

“It’s harder than you think. It’s not enough to be good. You have to be great…You’d better love it. (Otherwise, quit now.)”–Jeff Goins, writer

This world moves a little too fast for me–blogging, writing, tweeting–it all seems to blur straight past me, and I’m a straggler, weary to keep up.

Every day there are more stories that are important to read, tweeted writing advice I should pay attention to. I open them so I don’t forget and they never get read.

I wonder, amongst so much good advice, so much rich story-telling, so many beautiful voices on the web and in great books, what IS my voice? How do I find this elusive thing?

If I find it, does it have a place amongst such beauty, depth, richness, and efficiency moving forward, me left standing in the wake of all that momentum?

I read this on Amber Haine’s site and it left me reeling a little. Thank God for writers like Amber, who really write what we’re all thinking. Stories are great, and must be told, must be written, handed down. I believe in this.

But telling the truth? This is priceless,

and I’m a just-starting-out-writer who is so grateful for people like her, who make me pause, make me ponder and reflect, draw up out of me what’s really clawing at the surface, fighting to get out. The problem is that I keep stuffing it back down.

But that voice that keeps asking me what is your voice, Nacole? Where is it? 

That voice is very important, and it just may be that it’s the very voice I’m looking for—the one I’ve been stuffing down, shoving a sock in, telling it to hush so I can do this grown-up business.

The whole time I’ve been on this quest to find my voice–even when I wasn’t aware that’s what I was doing–and all along, that holy grail, has been trying to claw it’s way out of an early grave, buried alive.

I’ve been squelching it out of fear. How much of what God created me to be have I silenced and buried deep because I was afraid to be me, out loud, with no apologies?

I’m thinking about voice, as seasons change and things are hard for me, and I sometimes feel I’ve committed to too much, and I stand braced against the gale winds–

and I think, maybe voice is about just that–maybe it’s letting go of the fear and inviting whatever will come, maybe it’s not being willing to change who I am for anybody, not a jot or a tittle.

Maybe it’s just being uniquely me. Here is where I choose to take the road less traveled by and I let go of my fear of being “me” all wrong.

There is no right or wrong way of being me, because God created me the only one.

What freedom.

Linking up with The Nester, and all the other 31-Dayers.…This ought to be one wild, brave ride…

Do you struggle with fear of being uniquely you, friend? Does it hold you hostage? What’s your story? How has God redeemed it? Have you found grace? Your comments so encourage me. I draw strength from your kind words and knowing you were here. My faith walk is seasoned with the right ingredients when you hang around…


Some other 31 Day collectives I’m loving: Shelly @ Redemptions BeautyAmber Haines , and Lisa-Jo


This is one post in a series of 31 days of Fear. You can find the entire 31 Day collective here.  I have chosen to do this one on FEAR, because it seems to be something I keep wrestling with over and over, something that keeps me in chains, pins me down, won’t let me free. I hope you will come with me on this journey–to get a taste of glorious redemption as I soul-search and look for Jesus smack-dab in the middle of my fears. And Jesus sits with sinners. I won’t have to look very far.

Couldn’t we all use some freedom from those fear-chains that bind? I pray God gives me the strength and the courage to complete 31 days–y’all, it’s going to be hard on this ‘ol gal to write every.single.day. Pray for me?   







Friends, meet my friend, Jennifer Lee. She is so lovely and down-to-earth, a farmer’s wife in Iowa. I just love her, and you will too. If you would so kindly click here and go over to my friend, Jennifer’s site for a GIVEAWAY!You can enter until the 14th! Her sweet daughter, Lydia, is having a jewelry party to raise money for a school playground for children in Haiti. We know these children and families have been affected by much suffering after the earthquake. This jewelry is hand-made by our sisters in Haiti–Jennifer has been there, met them, hung out with them in their homes–and this is Jennifer’s project. By buying one of these beautiful necklaces, you will be helping a Haitian woman work to feed her family, AND you will be helping raise money for children to have a place to play! She is also giving away some jewelry, so hurry on over and share on facebook, twitter, etc for your spot in the giveaway! I’m definitely buying one–I hope you do, too!

Giggles

In the harshness of dark and responsibilities weighing heavy–they all have had baths, supper finally eaten at 8:00, teeth brushed, and now time for prayers and a story–I try to make sense of time and how it seems to rush away from me, leaving me here, empty, with all my stress and worry.

I am trying to get everything done so that when they at last fall asleep, Mr. Simmons and I can watch a movie, snuggled up.

But I hear squealing coming from their room, and I realize that he is not cooperating with the plan. I peek into their room to see what the commotion is, and see pillows being flung, laughter escaping little mouths, and eyes wild with excitement. He is in on it too.

I could get annoyed at the plan being sabotaged, as I have in the past and tell everyone to calm down so that my nerves can rest. But I don’t. I have learned a new motto: If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em–at least when it comes to the lighter issues of life, and when it applies, and I whole-heartily believe it applies to pillow fights.

So I join in on the pillow sacking, and the girls run from me, in squealish fright, eyes wide with merriment. Mr. Simmons grabs a pillow and sacks me and I stand bold and pretend to hit him with all my might. (Of course, we all hit Mr. Simmons harder than we do each other because he can handle it–isn’t that the way with Daddies and heroes?)

While Mr. Simmons is preoccupied with being tackled by eight tiny hands–even little baby Lilly, who we heard grunting in her crib, wanting in on the fight–I run and retrieve my camera to capture the moment. Lilly toddles over, unsteadily holding baby-sized pillow over her head, mimicking her sisters in their ambush.

As Mr. Simmons becomes too tired to continue, and the room begins to quiet, all three oldest girls are in a trio huddle, and I try to snap a frame of them, only for them to fall backwards in giggles on the bed.



I capture their sweet giggles, as Mr. Simmons stands in the doorway watching. Ivy has a contagious, innocent laugh, her body slumping back with the limp happiness, reminding me of the sweet gigglish bunny of the cartoon Robin Hood. She rings pure joy, the echos reaching my very soul, and I know…this is what life is about. This is contentment, this is savoring the moment, this is wisdom…slowing down just to hear her laugh, just to taste the sweet joy of them, their faces all flushed tingling happiness.


My gratitude:

#236 tree tops bowing in storm, the way i do before God and His mercy

#237 pine trees swaying–one last dance before winter’s bareness

#238 wings flapping past window pane

#239 from my perch at sink, a close-up view of tiny bird on her wire perch–her distinct lines, soft belly hair, and ruffled, white-streaked tufts of mohawk adorned head

#240 how the green lush is greener against the grey sky

#241 grey skies that lend to me staying in my context and settling into family games inside while it pours outside

#242 feeling useful

#243 that i can again do tasks for my family that require a lot of me

#244 making food to fill their bellies while Husband practices guitar with eldest daughter and little ones play with dolls

#245 that they are learning music together

#246 pinkness of salmon

#247 a new food and fitness plan for me, bedtime routine for all 6 of us

#248 that he read scripture before family card game on our Labor Day together

#249 candles’ soft glow on table

#250 children’s laughter and my learning to just let go

#251 tiny brown paper heart handed to me in the middle of my chaos of emotions and her angelic voice, “i love you”

#252 Husband calling into work and spending the whole day being lazy with me, just for us

#253 napping in the hammock with Husband, reading aloud together “The Mystery of Marriage”

#254 being on time

#255 peacefulness

#256 realizing that i long for home when i’m out and the familiar smell when i walk through the door

#254 date night twice in a week’s time

#255 Husband taking me to Joann’s and buying craft supplies to keep my mind off things

#256 us reading scripture at the supper table and him choosing the Psalms because he knows that it soothes me

#257 the two of us, one, praying together at bedtime

#258 Lorna’s prayer: “God, thank you for everything we have, and without all the things You have given us, we would be very poor. Please help the children in Africa, and Brazil and Australia that don’t have anything to eat and please give them more than just one room in their home and take care of them. Amen.”

Counting 1,000 grace filled moments to be thank for…with Ann…you can too:

Letting Go Gracefully {and sometimes not so gracefully}–revisited

I am cold, hurting, sad and despondent and he says, “get dressed and come outside with me–it’s such a nice, warm day”. Something inside me jumps at the thought of being in the sunshine after so much grey cloudiness and rain in my life. It has been a long time coming–this spring rejuvenating joyousness!

As I throw my clothes on, not caring if my hair hasn’t been washed {i’m going to the sunlight}, girls all dressed and I step outside, this change is hard. Hard because my emotions don’t feel it. But I’ve been here before, and I know that the emotions are not always in sync with what my heart and soul {God’s Spirit speaking?} are saying is vital, purposeful, helpful, and joy-creating. Human emotions don’t so easily give way to the joy-creating and peace-creating moments. My emotions stand hard and stubborn as brick, and they are not easily destroyed and replaced with God’s love, gentleness, patience, and hope.

Hope is a funny thing….it’s like stepping outside to the sun’s blinding when I’ve been hibernating inside my comfort place, my isolation for too long. It all feels raw, open, it hurts and blinds and in the same breath feels like warmth to the soul, the soul slowly waking, and the Son telling me time to get up.

He turns on the radio, and says, “You ARE ready–wow! Let’s go!” And my heart is so easily led because it craves it and needs it. My heart craves, this heart that is only for him. And it is this that God is trying to show me–yes, my heart craves, and it is truly HIM that i crave, that my heart yearns to follow.

In the sunlight, always the blinding light, I am so thankful that He gives spring….and I see it. I see that the leaves, the brown, black and grey, the dead things must come for life to come forth. All of the wretched things, the things I hate the most, the things that seem so evil to me–cloudy days that offer no hope, rain that never gives any light or warmth, no life or beauty to be found, all of the loneliness and disappointment, the anguish, the desperate pleas for help, and the trudging through of the feet–all of these must be so that HOPE can come.

So that LIFE can push really hard, can push hard and long against the surface, so hard until it seems I will give way, and when I think that my weary heart and soul can take no more, there it is! Life to be felt, touched, all warmth and sun and the SON comes in strong, like a team of wild stallions beating back ocean waves, and He calms me with His steady hand, touches me, ME who doesn’t deserve anything, feeling like a silly child for asking, for reaching out, and He gently cradles me like summer sun, blinding the eyes and letting lids drift off asleep.

And then I see, I see the brown leaves, {so happy to be picking up those brown leaves, everyone pitching in, the warm sun our helper}, and I know what they have covered up this whole time–it has been life growing underneath.

In the front yard, where he is raking strong and ferocious, we meander and follow him, walking and looking, taking in beauty, holding hands, snapping our happy day in freeze-frames.

 Then it happens: I hear him say, “No, Bella, you know Mama doesn’t want you to do that”. It is always Mama that doesn’t want the children to run and frollick and make mischief, always Mama that has a hard time with letting go. And in an instant I see that Bella has plucked all my lovely daffodils from the front garden, the only sign of life in this deadness, the only beauty that I loved, and before I think, I say sternly, “NO, Bella!” and now her tiny shoulders droop, her joyous flower-possessing countenance falls, and straightaway, she is a mess, and so am I.

 I go to her, drawn like the pull of heartache, and kneel down beside her. I say, “It is okay, Bella. You can have Mama’s flowers”. And these words are hard for me to say, and they are pulled out like weeds stuck in the hard winter ground. I hurt, I am torn, and my anger dissolving, I know that I must let go. I know that this is good for me and for her. I hug her and keep saying it over and over, and of course, in Bella’s usual style, she has to punish me just a bit. She can’t move past it right away, and oh, she is MY child; she definitely came from my womb, this child that has it hard letting go.
And suddenly I realize that it is not I that is supposed to be teaching her in this moment, but it is she that is teaching me, and she is teaching me well.
 I am a broken Mama, throwing myself against the stubborness of this child, and breaking over and over and over. God knows that this is what this sinful, hard heart of mine needs. WHY is my first reaction– when they are {mischeviously}, blithely having carefree, airy and sun-happy fun–to sternly correct and break littles’ spirits? Couldn’t I, being fully aware of her possessing my prize, just have let my laugh carry on the wind, reaching her with a warm enveloping smile and letting her know that I will always give her what is mine? Couldn’t I just have let go, and not worried about the things that bring beauty, but instead beheld with awe the real moments, the real cherished moments with my daughter? For if these moments are holy, and they are good, and have been good since the creation of the world, then these moments are for inspiring awe in us. And these moments teach us the practice of letting go. This letting go is apart of grace, a reflection of my Father’s love. This is how He meant it to be. He never meant for me to give anything that I don’t have to give. He conceived and birthed the life of His son, nurtured it, and then He sacrificed that beautiful life, the one He loved the most, and then, and this is the most exquisite thing of all–He didn’t stop there–He victoriously conquered the world for me, and He did all of this so that I could freely take from His hand. This is grace–not only mercy and pardon, but a beautiful gift laid at my feet for the taking, laid at the feet of the undeserving. And this is where I take up His beautiful gift and I take it to others who may or may not deserve, and I say “Take the flowers, Bella. Take anything that is mine, take anything I have to give, because I am only giving what has been given to me. All that I have is your’s.” And this is only the beginning of letting go gracefully. Maybe I don’t always do it so gracefully–more like a child with fist clenched tight, really, but this grace part He is so generously and gently teaching. I think, for me, this is a start.

This is my humble entry, a little late and asking for grace, for a scholarship to the She Speaks Conference in North Carolina with Proverbs 31 Ministries. She Speaks is about women connecting the hearts of women to the heart of our Father God and that your heart is to serve Him and His daughters, as He leads. You can go here to enter, deadline is 9 am April 2, and may not be open long.
And to learn more about the She Speaks Conference, or Proverbs 31 Ministries, just click on the button:
She Speaks Conference







#22 green life pushing up under all that deadness
#23 knowing that this is God’s plan for me too
#24 joy in the realization that spring always comes, even in the winter of my heart
#25 bright sun warming my weary soul
#26 children so cute, sunhats on
#27 family helping as a unit and it can always be this way if we learn
#28 Bella’s small hands and his large gloved hand
#29 two curious heads, pawing and digging at the ground in hopes of finding some roly poly or other sort of lone stragler.
#30 Ivy’s cheery face as she picks up leaves and how she smiles as soon as she sees me watching
#31 Even little Bella helping, and how she heaves strong the sticks that are bigger than her
#32 Lorna convincing him to let her ride, so easily made happy 
#33 that God gave me sweet faces to take pictures of
#34 all of this glorious sunshine
#35 Bella’s sweet little hand in mine and the silky-soft feel of it 
#36 her blinded by the sun and cannot open her eyes, even for a picture
#37feeling the strength in my arms as i work, thankful for the arms to do it with
#38 the beauty and smell of freshly raked grass, moss, and acorns

#39 brown leaves, just the brown leaves, all in a heap

#40 that he came and took over for me when i was getting tired and irritable–such comfort in that
#41 Bella picking my flowers and teaching me more love-lessons
#42 beautiful daffodils and chubby fingers
#43 a safe place out of the blinding sun and potting her stolen daffodils just like Mama does it
#44 child-like wonder at tiny round pebbles
#45 knowing that for all of my kicking, pounding on chest, and yelling, that i can only find rest when i just let it all go  and lay in HIS arms

Letting Go Gracefully {and sometimes not so gracefully}

I am cold, hurting, sad and despondent and he says, “get dressed and come outside with me–it’s such a nice, warm day”. Something inside me jumps at the thought of being in the sunshine after so much grey cloudiness and rain in my life. It has been a long time coming–this spring rejuvenating joyousness!

As I throw my clothes on, not caring if my hair hasn’t been washed {i’m going to the sunlight}, girls all dressed and I step outside, this change is hard. Hard because my emotions don’t feel it. But I’ve been here before, and I know that the emotions are not always in sync with what my heart and soul {God’s Spirit speaking?} are saying is vital, purposeful, helpful, and joy-creating. Human emotions don’t so easily give way to the joy-creating and peace-creating moments. My emotions stand hard and stubborn as brick, and they are not easily destroyed and replaced with God’s love, gentleness, patience, and hope.

Hope is a funny thing….it’s like stepping outside to the sun’s blinding when I’ve been hibernating inside my comfort place, my isolation for too long. It all feels raw, open, it hurts and blinds and in the same breath feels like warmth to the soul, the soul slowly waking, and the Son telling me time to get up.

He turns on the radio, and says, “You ARE ready–wow! Let’s go!” And my heart is so easily led because it craves it and needs it. My heart craves, this heart that is only for him. And it is this that God is trying to show me–yes, my heart craves, and it is truly HIM that i crave, that my heart yearns to follow.

In the sunlight, always the blinding light, I am so thankful that He gives spring….and I see it. I see that the leaves, the brown, black and grey, the dead things must come for life to come forth. All of the wretched things, the things I hate the most, the things that seem so evil to me–cloudy days that offer no hope, rain that never gives any light or warmth, no life or beauty to be found, all of the loneliness and disappointment, the anguish, the desperate pleas for help, and the trudging through of the feet–all of these must be so that HOPE can come.

So that LIFE can push really hard, can push hard and long against the surface, so hard until it seems I will give way, and when I think that my weary heart and soul can take no more, there it is! Life to be felt, touched, all warmth and sun and the SON comes in strong, like a team of wild stallions beating back ocean waves, and He calms me with His steady hand, touches me, ME who doesn’t deserve anything, feeling like a silly child for asking, for reaching out, and He gently cradles me like summer sun, blinding the eyes and letting lids drift off asleep.

And then I see, I see the brown leaves, {so happy to be picking up those brown leaves, everyone pitching in, the warm sun our helper}, and I know what they have covered up this whole time–it has been life growing underneath.

In the front yard, where he is raking strong and ferocious, we meander and follow him, walking and looking, taking in beauty, holding hands, snapping our happy day in freeze-frames.

 Then it happens: I hear him say, “No, Bella, you know Mama doesn’t want you to do that”. It is always Mama that doesn’t want the children to run and frollick and make mischief, always Mama that has a hard time with letting go. And in an instant I see that Bella has plucked all my lovely daffodils from the front garden, the only sign of life in this deadness, the only beauty that I loved, and before I think, I say sternly, “NO, Bella!” and now her tiny shoulders droop, her joyous flower-possessing countenance falls, and straightaway, she is a mess, and so am I.

 I go to her, drawn like the pull of heartache, and kneel down beside her. I say, “It is okay, Bella. You can have Mama’s flowers”. And these words are hard for me to say, and they are pulled out like weeds stuck in the hard winter ground. I hurt, I am torn, and my anger dissolving, I know that I must let go. I know that this is good for me and for her. I hug her and keep saying it over and over, and of course, in Bella’s usual style, she has to punish me just a bit. She can’t move past it right away, and oh, she is MY child; she definitely came from my womb, this child that has it hard letting go.
And suddenly I realize that it is not I that is supposed to be teaching her in this moment, but it is she that is teaching me, and she is teaching me well.
 I am a broken Mama, throwing myself against the stubborness of this child, and breaking over and over and over. God knows that this is what this sinful, hard heart of mine needs. 

WHY is my first reaction to sternly correct and break littles’ spirits? Couldn’t I, being fully aware of her possessing my prize, just have let my laugh carry on the wind, reach her with a warm enveloping smile and let her know that I will always, always give her what is mine?

I will never, ever forbid her to come close and I will always, only embrace her fully, mistakes and all.

Isn’t this what the Father has done for me? Yes, He gave it all.

I want to shed this cloak of doubt and fear and despondency and turn face full to the sun, grab my child’s hand and show her that things here don’t matter.

I want to run over and wildly pluck a flower, tuck it behind her ear and whisper it on the gentle spring breeze, “You are free to love, child, free as your Father in Heaven has loved you and made you free.”

I imagine she turns to me, smiles, her eyes alight, and she looks up at me like maybe I’m God and it just makes me want to always, only walk towards that narrow gate.

I take her hand and lead her there.



#22 green life pushing up under all that deadness
#23 knowing that this is God’s plan for me too
#24 joy in the realization that spring always comes, even in the winter of my heart
#25 bright sun warming my weary soul
#26 children so cute, sunhats on
#27 family helping as a unit and it can always be this way if we learn
#28 Bella’s small hands and his large gloved hand
#29 two curious heads, pawing and digging at the ground in hopes of finding some roly poly or other sort of lone stragler.
#30 Ivy’s cheery face as she picks up leaves and how she smiles as soon as she sees me watching
#31 Even little Bella helping, and how she heaves strong the sticks that are bigger than her
#32 Lorna convincing him to let her ride, so easily made happy 
#33 that God gave me sweet faces to take pictures of
#34 all of this glorious sunshine
#35 Bella’s sweet little hand in mine and the silky-soft feel of it 
#36 her blinded by the sun and cannot open her eyes, even for a picture
#37feeling the strength in my arms as i work, thankful for the arms to do it with
#38 the beauty and smell of freshly raked grass, moss, and acorns

#39 brown leaves, just the brown leaves, all in a heap

#40 that he came and took over for me when i was getting tired and irritable–such comfort in that
#41 Bella picking my flowers and teaching me more love-lessons
#42 beautiful daffodils and chubby fingers
#43 a safe place out of the blinding sun and potting her stolen daffodils just like Mama does it
#44 child-like wonder at tiny round pebbles
#45 knowing that for all of my kicking, pounding on chest, and yelling, that i can only find rest when i just let it all go  and lay in HIS arms

To jump into letting go, and connect with other women who are doing the same, slip over to Ann’s site with this button –or just click on this link: http://www.aholyexperience.com/2011/03/why-do-lent-why-a-failing-lent-actually-succeeds-a-booklist/