That's my story. In 600 words or less.

I was eighteen when I met him. The Lord knew me for years before that though. Yet my craving for human attention won, and I put my sword down and followed my flesh. I left God for a man.

I was twenty-three when we got married. Subconsciously I had been nursing gaping holes left by the removal of the Spirit - seeking relationships with others – male and female – and hoping that marriage would fill those gaps.

I was twenty-eight when I had my first child. She came into the world dead. They revived her minutes later. Pain manifested in extra-marital emotional relationships, unhealthy friendships, spinning out of control, and hoping that a baby would bring me the intimacy with my husband that would fill the wounds created by the removal of God’s love. Nothing filled it. Not him. Not my baby girl. Nothing.

I continued to search for what caused such emptiness.

I was thirty when my husband was hospitalized with a massive anxiety attack that kept him out of work for three weeks. Our lives changed forever this year. It was during this time his therapist introduced him to a form of spirituality guaranteed to change our lives. That it did. We practiced mindfulness for two years before . . .

I was thirty-two when I had my second baby. Although we were neck-deep in peace and mindfulness and now, I was underwater in pain, disparity, and loneliness. Yet, when my son came into the world, he was mindful – alive – awake – aware.

No thing – no child, no job, no husband – could fill the void of emptiness I had. On the outside I had created a façade so beautiful, so concrete, so unfaltering - that nobody had a clue how messed up I had become. My blurred boundaries starting to spill out into my work life, and I reached out again to other men. Money disappeared on vacations, expensive hobbies, masters degrees, clothing, and cars.

I was forty-one when my husband found out about my affair. I was forty-one when I moved out and left my children with him. I was forty-one when I crashed and burned. I was forty-one when I moved into my parents’ storage room. I was forty-one.

I was forty-one the first time I considered how I could end it all.

And then the Spirit whispered in my ear. I looked up, and God opened His arms. He took me up off the ground. Broken. Terrified. Angry.

Desperate.

I clung to Him, feeling more at peace and happier than I had ever been – despite the pain of the consequences of my actions. That year I made so many mistakes, fighting the Spirit with my flesh, but learning more and more about forgiveness of myself and of others - victims of my resentment, anger, and bitterness.

I am forty-three. I am divorced and remarried. I have judged poorly. I have hurt others. I am not perfect to anyone, but in Christ I have been made perfect. I am forgiven. The enemy continues to attack with guilt, but I have on my Belt of Truth.

Today. Tomorrow.

For eternity.

At the age of forty-three, I pray each day that God humbles me and allows me to do His work. He has saved me from destroying myself and others any more. He used my mess to bring me back to Him. He left His flock to lead me back. He opened His arms and celebrated when I returned.

He loved me at my darkest moment.

Holes - my story as it pertains to Psalm 23:2-3

This summer our pastoral staff at church presented a series called Still Waters. The entire series was a close read and understanding of Psalm 23, which I now have memorized. Who knew that 6 verses could carry thousands of church goers for five weeks? But it did, and the wrap-up last week nailed the entire message into place.

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I've talked about holes before. My soul was a holey mess before God picked me up and started patching two and a half years ago. It was oozing and refused to be healed and had been for years. Maybe forever - I don't know. It's like when we are born, we are born whole - coming straight from heaven with a fresh clean soul, a desire to live life, and a seed of independence planted. As we grow and develop, our souls grow and stretch, and unless we feed them and keep them hydrated, they thin out, break, become holey, and in some instances - completely shred. Souls can be delicate if not properly fed and given fresh water to drink.

The verses in Psalm 23 that impact me so greatly are Psalm 23:2-3. The Psalm reads He makes me to lie down in green pastures; He leads me beside the still waters. He restores my soul; He leads me in the paths of righteousness For His name's sake. Now the entire Psalm paints a picture of God as a shepherd leading his sheep. Sheep don't really do a lot of thinking, which is why they need a shepherd to guide them. In fact, many animals (the dumber breeds like dogs who drink from toilets) will instinctively go to a water source, whatever that source is, and drink of they're thirsty. Period. They won't study the water or test it out to be sure it's clean. They just drink.

This is how many of us go through life daily. As a baby or a small child, we may not even have the ability to go to a source of water to be quenched. We have to be led by our parents. Similarly, parents are also responsible for feeding the souls of their small children. If a parent leaves the feeding or hydrating up to their small child, the child will perish. Just like the soul. It will perish later if not fed early.

I was fed. I grew up in a Christian home. My soul grew as I grew, but as my seed of independence grew into a young lady, I ate a lot of junk food as well. My parents tried to shelter me from that, but life happens. We are surrounded by temptations that, honestly, are just too good not to pass up - music, boys, friends, food, movies, boys, social media, cell phones, boys . . . did I mention boys? That was my vice as a teenager. Boys. As my soul grew, I started to fill my small holes with relationships and things, money and books rather than with the Lord and His promises. I was thirsty, and because I no longer wanted to walk under the shepherd, He was no longer there to guide me to the clean, still waters. Instead I found mud puddles and potholes from which to drink. And my soul started to get sick.

Feeding my soul and watering it myself was easy. I didn't even really know I was sick, honestly. That happens, right? When you live with something for so long you think that it's normal and everybody lives that way. Well, that's kind of true. Everybody does live that way. Or at least everybody that I chose to be around. I surrounded myself with soul-sick people. The ones who weren't sick definitely stuck out, but I kept myself at a distance from them because I wasn't going there. I didn't need whatever they had. I wasn't sick. 

Oh was I ever sick! I was filling up gaping and growing holes so fast, I was in a panic and had no idea! College, boyfriend, career, theater, music, pot, money, marriage, alcohol, friends, more college, children, cars, pornography, homes, money, vacations, social media, writing, students, affairs . . . everything that was temporary and proved disappointing. And then . . . 

Devastation.

I was left in a heap on the bathroom floor. Sobbing. Gasping for breath. My soul was dying. I had fed it the dead grass and contaminated water. 

At one point, one might even consider so much ruin to be better to start over. Terminate. Abort this mission. End it.

So many holes.

I imagine myself at that point as a dying sheep that had found its way to a pile of stone and collapsed - no water or grass as far as the eye could see. Shallow, dry breaths. Sunken eyes. And the vultures were circling. When nothing else mattered anymore - not the money or husband or car or vacation or kids - I heard His call and sandals in the sand followed by the thump of what I knew was my Shepherd's rod. 

He had come for me. Gently he picked me up and carried me back to the flock, laid me near the clear stream in a patch of lush grass, and let me begin healing. 

Never again will I eat or drink anything other than what my Shepherd provides for me. I have seen the devastation and lived the near-death, and it's scary. There's so much green pasture and clean water now, that my cup overflows! And this is why I share so much.

So if you're feeling soul-sick, remember this blog and the story of how my Shepherd left His flock to find me and bring me back. Remember the holes that refused to be patched until God started nourishing me with His green pastures and clean water. Remember that there is always a better way to fill your holes.

The Power of a Prayer

One thing I know today more than any other aspect about my faith is the power of prayer. It's taken me several years to comprehend how much power a conversation with the Almighty is - and I'm certain I still don't fully comprehend it. I've witnessed miracles through prayer. I've participated in miracles through prayer. I've been the product of a miracle through prayer. I've led others to believe that prayer packs a punch.

Take my son, for example. My little monkey is ten years old, and he's been bowling on a league for a little over a year. He loves it, and it gives him a solid connection with his dad (also a bowler). But Z lacks focus - I mean, he IS ten. But he's the kind of ten that causes public educators to count the years before retirement. He's not mean or evil or belligerent. He's intelligent, sarcastic, witty, and he eats sugar and caffeine for breakfast - even when I monitor his food intake.

So bowling for him is a crap shoot. You never really know which Z you will get on a bowling day, and his games are inconsistent. One game is a 90, and the next one a 147. Again, he's ten, but he's also used to doing stuff well, and working at something cramps his style. So he gets angry and frustrated. And then his dad tries to help by instructing, which - nine times out of ten - only irks him more.

Z doesn't lack skill. He lacks focus and has a big ego. This idea of focus is a universal idea with many facets. Years ago when I practiced mindfulness, we used to ground ourselves by bringing ourselves into the now and focusing on our senses, meditating on a mantra, or visualizing. This worked okay, but it lacked depth and love. Today I pray. I cry out to my mighty, loving Father out loud or in my head when I need to maintain focus, fall asleep, relax, or basically do anything I either don't want to do or don't have the strength or the will to do. I have to humble myself, understand that I'm not in charge, and let my ego go. And guess what. It works. Every time.



So I decided one day that I would try it with him. I have been sharing my answered prayers list with this boy for years, so he knows that I believe in the power a prayer can pack. And when something blows my mind, I make sure to share it. He believes it's real, but I don't think he comprehends the magnitude of God's grace. During a bowling practice, I grabbed him gently and told him that if I were planning to do something I loved as much as he loved bowling, I would stop, take a deep breath, and say a short prayer asking God to help me to do my best. Before every ball. And it works. His focus significantly improves, which leaves room for skill to take over, and WOW, can he bowl!

One Tuesday this summer I couldn't be there to watch him bowl, which means that I couldn't pray behind him and remind him to "use our strategy". His dad sent me a text telling me how terribly Z was bowling, and I responded, "Hey, remind him about 'the strategy' he and I use to get focused."

My ex-husband isn't a believer and had no idea what I was talking about, but about thirty seconds later I received his response. "lol he got a strike!"

Of course he did. And his dad was encouraging him to pray without even knowing!

This last Tuesday, Z was bowling poorly - ended his first game under 100, and he was really frustrated. Dad was trying to help Z "find his mark" - whatever that means, and the little storm cloud appeared over his shaggy head. I got up quietly and went down to him, sulking on the chair by the lane. I wrapped my arms around him from behind and whispered this prayer, "Heavenly Father, we thank you for the time here today and for the opportunity to bowl and to have Mommy and Daddy here to watch. We know that you can hear us, and Z is super frustrated right now. Help him to get focused and play his best. In  your son Jesus Christ's name, Amen."

And he bowled a strike.

Prayer doesn't mean that you can get on your knees and ask God to change your situation or to bend a situation in your favor. It doesn't mean you can ask God to change a person or to win a game or to be better at bowling. It means that you can ask for change in you. You can ask God to help you be more focused and to learn or improve your skills. Prayer is connecting with God, and God wants you to become a better person every day - every hour - every minute. Jeremiah 29:11 says, "'For I know the plans I have for you' - this is the Lord's declaration - 'plans for your well-being, not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope.'" You can't accept that unless you humble yourself before your Creator and let go of yourself. That's what Z is learning. That's what I'm learning. I'm learning that through prayer, miracles can surface that I never knew even were possible.

Not Alone

At one point in my life
     I was alone.
Even though I was in the center of everything
     I was alone.
People surrounded me on all sides and yet
     I was alone.

And then you picked me up off the floor of my self-created shattered mess and I was
     no longer alone.
You filled my gaping and oozing holes with your love, your grace -
     Never alone.
Your presence filled me to overflowing to a point where joy had no choice but to bubble over from my lips!

You are always by my side, and I will never be alone again.

Tiny Big Miracles

I've learned through the years that when God allows you to go through something distasteful, negative, terrifying, or just plain painful - if you don't use it to become a better person, you have wasted the time He has gifted you to live on this planet. I also have learned that sharing His amazing miracles is a testimony to His greatness, and that is why I am writing this blog this morning.

For those who know me, most know that I am a numbers geek. I love numbers, always have - and that includes balancing the checkbook. To the penny. Weekly.

July is a crappy month for piano teachers. Many students go on vacation, and we are left with partial payments for about 30-40% of our studios, leaving some of us (me) to use creative budgeting strategies.

I knew it was coming. Last July my income went down by $300 from June, which, in the grand scheme of things, isn't a lot, but when June's income had already gone down $200 - it is significant. And this year I lost 2 students and am losing a few more in August. So at the end of June this year I went into "what can we cut down/out as a family" mode for July. It doesn't help that in our family, four out of the six of us have birthdays in the summer, and we are still trying to unload a second property. AND it doesn't help that over the last twenty years my husband and I (in separate marriages) made some pretty poor personal financial choices and are now facing serious consequences because of them.

Currently we spend $4500 on mortgages. Yes, mortgageS. We thought we had unloaded one of them, but the buyer's mortgage fell through on a property I owned from my previous marriage, so we were stuck paying the second mortgage for the month of July. So there's that. I had half-prepared for it just because of the rigmarole WE went through to attain this beautiful home where all six of us could live in the same house (because we spent the first nine months of our marriage living in two different towns), but I was praying that we could breathe a sigh of relief in July.

Not in God's plan.

Friday I balanced the checkbook and started the monthly budget. I was feeling pretty confident because there were no big surprises ("Oh by the way I forgot to tell you I spent X$ on bla bla bla."). I felt like I had made a good plan for the month, and we would be fine.

Saturday I checked the account to be sure all was well, as we were expecting the second mortgage to
come through on Monday, and I almost choked.  This is what I saw. I closed the app and reopened it, thinking there was some sort of mistake, but there wasn't. So while driving from one piano lesson to another, I called the bank, only to discover that I had paid the first mortgage twice, and we were now $2500 short for the month, and there wasn't money in the account to pay the second mortgage when it came through Monday. The tears came immediately. How could I have done this? I am so stupid! is the only thing that I could think. How am I going to explain this to Brian???

Knowing he was still sleeping (he works midnights), I texted him and asked him to please call me when he got up and warned him he wasn't going to like me very much today. God must've known that I'd be climbing walls if He didn't get B up, so He nudged him awake, and Brian called me.

He was surprisingly full of grace. Not because he isn't generally full of grace, but because of the predicament I had put us in. We agreed to meet at the bank when I was on my way back home. He would stay while I went on to teach more lessons.

The prospect was pretty bleak when we got there. Both $2500 payments had gone through and cleared, so there was no way to stop either payment. We had to talk to the mortgage company . . . which was, of course, closed until Monday.

I taught the rest of my lessons, took in a few checks and some cash (as expected about $400 for the 4 students for the month - but not enough to make up the difference), and then stared blankly at a wall for a while, while Brian assured me that God had this - that it would be okay, and that He would provide a way out. I really wasn't hearing it. All I wanted to do was wallow a bit in my drama and misery. What was I thinking .  .   ?

He must have asked me twelve times if he could do anything for me. His optimism is always annoying when I'm trying to be crabby and miserable, and I grumped out a solid NO, and then I stopped short.

"Yes," I said. "There IS something you can do for me. You can pray." And he immediately strode from around the island in the middle of our kitchen to sit next to me. Taking my hands in his, Brian started to thank God for our beautiful home, our children, our jobs, and for lessons learned. He professed his faith that God had this, and he prayed that I would be able to lean on the Lord enough to get us through this situation. The final "Amen" left me significantly more peaceful than I had been just five minutes before, and I picked up the small stack of cash and checks to get them ready for depositing.

And that's when I discovered the first miracle.

Two separate families had paid me in advance - which so rarely happens. One family paid me a check for both July and August, and another family paid me four months in advance in CASH. I was stunned. What I thought would be a $550 deposit ended up being a deposit of over $900! My spirits lifted as I realized that God was trying to show me that he was about to blow my mind.

And still I worried.  Just like the Israelites in the wilderness. God had shown them so much grace and given them so much and they STILL worried and complained!

We left for church a little early so that we could make the deposit. We were still $700 short of being able to cover the check that was supposed to come through on Monday. Brian sat in his faith, expectant. Me . . . not so much. But the funny thing is - I told Brian in the car that I could SEE God up there with a box full of miracles. He kept trying to put it down so He could open it, but I was pacing so quickly, he didn't have anywhere to put it down! And that's when I knew I needed to take a deep breath, lean back into God's truth, and allow God to do His thing. So I did. Right there in the car, I sat back and relaxed and stopped thinking.

And that's when God put the miracle box down. He looked right at me and said, "Heather - where else could you have stashed money?" I didn't answer. I waited.

And then it dawned on me that I did, in fact, have money stashed somewhere else. Each month I put $50 each into separate savings accounts for the kids to use to buy presents for their friends or family members or to use to donate to charities. The total on those accounts on Saturday was a little over $800. My eyes flew open.

"Brian," I said slowly. "I'm going to say something that is going to sound crazy."

And I told him.

That night, I prayerfully transferred the money with the promise to pay it back once we could recover some of the money later in the month, and then I praised God for His odd way of providing us a way to cover that check.

Here's the thing - God wanted us to know that this miracle was from Him so much so - that every part that worked together was just enough - just enough - to cover the check. Not almost enough or more than enough, but just enough.  I checked our account this morning. Yesterday I borrowed $200 from our grocery cash "just to be sure". How silly of me. Today our balance showed this. Just enough. Without my lack of faith extra $200 deposit we would have had $3.25 left.

God, forgive me for lacking faith, for leaning on myself and for not consulting you first thing. But God please use my story to allow others to see that You're there listening and watching and waiting to provide if we would just slow down and rest in your peace. Praise be to the Almighty!