For there is no fear in love - and weight loss

1 John 4:18 says there is no fear in love, for perfect love casts out fear. But he who fears has not been made perfect in love.

I spent forty-one years of my life riddled with fear. My journey out of that abyss has been a long and treacherous one. I keep stumbling and falling backwards, but I’m slowly moving forward. Yesterday I discovered that something as trivial as weight loss can have remnants of fear attached to it. Not one experience I have had with weight loss (since I was ten) had a positive spin to it. Every time I struggled to lose weight or maintain weight lost, it was done out of fear that I would disappoint somebody else’s goals. That they would stop loving me or be disappointed in me because I was fat.

Yesterday my counselor brought this to my attention. She suggested that I haven’t been able to lose the weight because, for the first time in my life, I feel loved without that condition! And I cried in my car for fifteen minutes. Out of relief that I hadn’t lost my will and my drive. Out of anger for being stuck in that fearful mindset. Out of pain. Because I now know that I have allowed myself to be held prisoner to other people’s standards. Never had I ever lost weight out of obedience to God and out of pure respect for my temple.

I’m guessing it won’t be easier, but this is one more layer for me. The fear layer is being peeled back because the lie has been uncovered. God loves me. My sweet husband loves me. My babies love me. Two hundred pounds or one hundred twenty-five. I need to come up with a different excuse to be disobedient and disrespectful to my health. Or I need to lean into God’s love, fill those areas of fear with it, and let Him guide me through it.

Just one woman's journey through Isaiah (part 1 - background and chapter 1)

By the time I had decided that I should do it, God had been on me to read the book of Isaiah from start to finish. The Bible is a tough book to read, and the book of Isaiah is a very daunting undertaking - so I ignored His whispers until I found myself without a study and starving for His words and wisdom. That's when I made the commitment to read the book. Two days after my forty-fourth birthday, I started on August 26.

I started by reading the pages of introductory material in my NKJV. Although it isn't the easiest translation to read, I've been a bit nerdy about study, and I knew that it is more of a "serious study" translation, and that's what I've been trying to do - seriously study. I used about six other translations to help with deciphering the material, and I purchased a monthly subscription to my Bible app, which came with dozens of commentaries and study material to really help if I struggled - which I did. I also decided to use the COMA method of study presented by Pastor Jim Nicodem from Christ Community Church because it was methodical, and I like methodical.

And I began. I knew very little about the book when I started:

• I knew that Isaiah prophesied during King Hezekiah's reign (I only knew that because I read it in a novel about King Hezekiah.)
• I knew that the book itself was controversial as to when it was actually written until the Dead Sea Scrolls were discovered, and yet people still argue about whether Isaiah is a faulty book in the old testament.
• I knew that it was LONG.
• I also knew that if you compare the book of Isaiah to the Bible as a whole, the book of Isaiah is a good summary of the Bible from cover to cover (Creation-Fall-Redemption-Restoration).

And that's about it.

Oh, and I also knew it was daunting. And poetry. Most of it was written in poetic form - for which I lack an appreciation and understanding. Needless to say, I was not looking forward to the task at hand, but when God starts on you about something, He doesn't stop, and then when you finally follow through, He blesses you. Which he did.

So I'll start today's blog with a tiny introduction to the book of Isaiah before I dig into the meat and potatoes of it. If you're a reader or study-er of God's word, you pick it up for a variety of reasons. I'm an application and logic gal, so I like to know how the reading connects to things. That being said, that's going to be my approach to this blog series.

So. The book of Isaiah. The Assyrian Empire was in it's third stage and had spread over the land and was taking over kingdoms as it grew. The Assyrian army was barbaric during it strongest point - around 900 BC to 600 BC - and Isaiah lived and prophesied during some of the most barbaric and chaotic periods of that time - the last half. From what I have gathered from several sources, the Assyrians would conquer kingdoms brutally and plunder them OR make peace with them and require the rulers of these kingdoms to pay a substantial tribute to the Assyrians. During Isaiah's lifetime, Judah had fallen under Assyrian tribute law. We start in chapter one where Isaiah is called to do God's work.

The first chapter, after Isaiah accepts his position as prophet, he immediately sets to work explaining that Jerusalem is in trouble. God's people have taken him to the end of His patience, and He's about to dish out some discipline to get their attention. By the end of this chapter, however, God's promise to deliver His people comes into play again, and we see that the enemy's plan to completely wipe out the bloodline of Christ will not come to fruition. God remembers His promise to Abraham. He can see our hearts. He will deliver those whose hearts remain pure.

As a mom, this brings me to tears. I am a forty-four year old woman who, after living a life of shame and rebellion and being set free from all of that, still can't get it right. I lose my Jesus on my children. I eat too many Reeces peanut butter cups. I harbor resentment. And yet God knows my heart. I pray daily that my heart is clean, that God will forgive me, and that I can be one of His chosen ones that He delivers. Through this prayer I know that He forgives me, and I pray that the next day will be better, and that I will invite Him to help me make better choices with my kids, my health, and my life.

The next installment of this series will move forward through a series of chapters. Isaiah's first thirty-nine chapters made me want to pull my hair out. By chapter fifteen I wanted to cry thinking that I was going to have to read sixty-six chapters of sin, death, and destruction. And yet the entire story wrapped up so beautifully by chapter fifty-nine (which, to me, was the climactic chapter), it actually took my breath away to conclude with God's grace. 

Remember, this is just one woman's journey through this book. I encourage you to take your own journey through it as you read through my revelations. I pray you are as blessed as I have been to be called to read this part of God's word. Much love to you.

Seek Him in the quiet. Keep him in the Chaos.

This is a beautiful illustration of how we seek God in the busyness and chaos of our lives when in all actuality we have to STOP the chaos to hear. He speaks to us, but we have to stop and listen. Very difficult when you’re in the midst of disaster, trauma, chaos, or severe anxiety/depression. This is why practicing while you’re in a better state is so important. Practice makes perfect. If you can connect while things are good, you have a better chance of staying connected while life is crumbling around you.

Does this mean there’s no hope if you’re seeking in the midst of disaster? Absolutely not. What it means is that you might need to hit a place where chaos gets so out of control it leaves you in a heap in the floor as it walks away, dusting off its hands in temporary triumph. Then, and only then, does it get quiet enough to hear God’s voice of comfort, forgiveness, and mercy.

Never again will I leave myself open for disconnection. #stayconnected

The Lord said, “Go out and stand on the mountain in the presence of the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by.” Then a great and powerful wind tore the mountains apart and shattered the rocks before the Lord , but the Lord was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake came a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire came a gentle whisper. 1 Kings 19:11-12

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.