Drafts on Ebb Tide

Change is a constant companion in our lives. Like the ebb tide of the waves, the new washes up and the old is swept away. It is relentless. When we are young, this feels slow, as if we will be children forever; remember when summer felt like it would go on forever? One sandy beach day disappeared into the next, marked by dripping popsicles in the hot sun and counting fireflies in the evenings. I never once thought about change on those long carefree days. But change was always there, with me, even when I was unaware. Now as a middling adult, I’m keenly aware of change and the passage of time. My childhood seems a lifetime ago. The changes I have gone through are staggering. The hardships and the growth that followed has formed me into an entirely different person.

As I write, I’m perched at the window bar of a coffee shop and my view consists of blowing leaves and pumpkins on hay bales: it is autumn. This is my favorite season. I identify with its many layers—a clear sun followed by unexpected clouds, cold rain and gusty winds. I have often wondered what our favorite seasons say about us. Fall is a time of change, cooling temps, tall boots and burnt orange sweaters, The days are short, but bright. It is the last brilliant moment before the world resets with a long sweep of cleansing cold, unforgiving air. It is change wrapped around me like a scarf, held in my hands like hot apple cider.

The older I get the more I realize that change is part of the game; it’s not going away. I’m constantly growing and learning. And in that growth, I must face the fact that there needs to be growth, because I’m still not there yet. I see this in my marriage. After 15 years together, we are still figuring it out. Our partnership, all and all, is fairly smooth, but then last weekend we had a fight about a juicer. Yup, a juicer! So guess there is still room for growth there, or at least a glass of carrot juice.

Parenting is arguably the biggest vehicle of growth around. Having a baby is like an instant death to your old self and born in its place is this soft squishy person who cares about bizarre things like the shape of pacifier nipples and who keeps a journal of wet diapers. Who is this person? And in a way you relive your childhood all over again with all the great things, like reading Make Way for Ducklings, but also all the hard things, like when your first fish dies (R.I.P. blue beta fish). And you change. . . you are a parent to a baby and then a toddler and then suddenly the baby is driving. And while you were fine to drive at 16, surely that cannot be true today!

Twisting in the Waves

Change also comes in the form of hardships. Tragedies like divorce, loss or severed relationships that can close off parts of us until they shrivel up and die. We can’t even access that part of our heart anymore. Maybe you have lost someone or perhaps your marriage feels like far more of a struggle than it’s worth, a needy child is chipping away at you and there is no time for anything you enjoy. The grind of life . . . has well. . . ground you up. Those long easy days of summer are a distant memory that play in your head like a movie you watched once. Ten-year-old you would never recognize your life now. Your dream journal seems completely unrealistic. Obviously, you are never going to work for SeaWorld at this point (although, the Blackfish documentary really finished off that dream).

Blackfish aside, I don’t know where you are at today. Perhaps life has come up roses with a few thorns or perhaps it’s thistles with a few flowering weeds. Life is always in motion, the waves are always reaching for us, trying to push us forward or pull us back. Sometimes there is little we can do about our circumstances. My childhood was punctuated with tragedy, there were long summer days and nights on the porch counting fireflies, but storms blew in unexpectedly. Loss and tragedy are big part of my identity. Of who I am. They shaped me young into twisty ways that are taking a lifetime to untangle. But I’m working on it.

The enemy has spent years whispering in my tender ear that this is who I am. That these knots cannot be untangled. The blood supply has been cut off and growth cannot take place. And you know what? In many ways it’s easier to let these areas lie dormant. I’m strangely comfortable in it. Like when your foot falls asleep and you are unaware until you try to move it and as blood flows back into those veins, it is painful. As I have reopened some of my past, it too, is painful; but I no longer want to be pushed into a shape that God did not intend for me.

So I look back at things that happened to me and I start to look at it all through the eyes of the Lord. Sure, He can use these things and He absolutely does, but also He does not want me to be bound up in my losses, my hurts, my disappointments.

When the waves reach for me, I start to sink in the quicksand of my emotions, being sucked under by the past. Bound—unable to swim; sinking into depression and despair. At times, the Lord sends others to swim along side of me to encourage me to keep swimming; but more so, Jesus Christ, my Savior, wants to see me unbound, free to swim over the surface of what tries to pull me down.

Learning to swim

He will Walk on Water

When our minds turn to depression/anger/bitterness/ apathy, we start to feel the weight of our past, our pain, the things that haven’t worked out. It’s too heavy, we are tempted to stop swimming and just sink. We look away from God and we start to go under. We are trying to swim with broken legs and twisted arms. If we are standing on the beach and we see our child or a friend struggling in the water, would we not rush out to help them? Of course! And God our Father does the same. If we cry out, He will walk on water to save us from sinking. But more so then save us from drowning this one time, He wants to teach us to keep our eyes on Him so we don’t sink; showing us how to navigate rough waters, to swim because He knows storms will arise often in our lives. While I want Him to remove me out of the water altogether and put me up on dry land, He knows the world we live in and that it will never stop trying to pull us out to the depths. In John 16:33, Jesus says, “These things I have spoken unto you, that in me ye might have peace. In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.”

The waves will roll over my head, the enemy will try to convince me to stop swimming. But the Lord, the Lord Almighty will teach me to swim. The Holy Spirit will buoy me, the Great Physician will heal me, the power of Christ will strengthen me. We will face my crippling hurts together and He will breathe new life into the dead parts of my soul. He will unshackle the weights the enemy has chained to my limbs, and teach me to use them again. I will keep my eyes ever on Him—reading His word to renew my mind and speaking His truth to my hurting spirit. I pray in the power that changes things, changes me; I try (in His power) to cast off the old weights and get my stride. It does not come easy, it is work. I’m fighting the current. But the more I immerse myself in the things of the Lord, the stronger I become. I can only write about this because I have lived it. I have been bound up and I have been set free. Matthew 11:28 says: “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest! “ The ebb tide will never stop, but the difference now is that (in Him) I can navigate the rough waters—I can swim..

In what ways is the ebb trying to take you out? How are your limbs bound up?

What would it look if you let the Lord unwind the areas in your life that are twisted up?

Are you being called to help someone else learn to swim?

DRAFTS on The Time I Melted the Dog’s Face

Don't worry; this is not a post on housework. But it is about a time I tried ironing or also known as the time I melted the dog's face. There are many, many things I struggle with like the aforementioned housework; and then there are things I'm just plain bad at and ironing would fit into that category. But sometimes we are forced to do things we have no business doing. That is just life. The day of reckoning came for me when I dragged my six-year-old to the craft store while I picked out fabric for a project. As you will soon see, I'm no good at crafts either, so I was forcing my friend, Tracy, to make me a shower gift (I do this all the time) and in exchange I continue to be the Ethel to her Lucy. 

After an exhausting hour in the store, against my better judgment, I allowed my son to pick out a craft. He selected these things called Perler beads. The idea being that you take these beads and put them on a peg board to create something like a turtle or a cat. Then you iron the beads to melt them together. Easy— right!?

So, I unearthed my iron from the basement. As I plugged it in, my son, *Wolfy* asked what it was. Which makes sense because I had yet to iron anything in his lifetime. I replied that it was, in fact, an iron. He asked what one did with an iron and I said, “iron things”. He asked the next logical question: is it scary? And I answered: I think so. At that extract moment, the iron let out a hissing spray of steam like a medieval dragon and both my son and dog dove under the bed in pure fear! This is what happens when you don't iron regularly . . . or at all.

Once I tamed the beast and coaxed the team out from under the bed, I set to my task of ironing this beaded puppy. It must be stated here that my son was called puppy for at least two years, so the love for puppies is fierce. He had worked long and hard on his creation (because Perler beads are no joke) and my only job was to fuse it together with a little heat from the hissing dragon. Wolfy and Scout quickly left the room as I cranked it up all the way and laid it on the dog. When I pulled it away, it looked a little —well—perplexed. I sent Tracy a picture and she texted back: Awww, you melted it’s face.

Yup, I melted the dog's face. My dog, Scout, was not wrong to hide from the threat of a similar fate.

We all have things we struggle with, but can't get away from as parents, spouses, friends, employees and writers.

Fortunate for me, ironing doesn't come up very often, although my mom would argue that perhaps it should, but other things do—more important things. Perhaps forgiveness is hard for you or patience and when you are forced to pull these things out they are rusty and scary and quite frankly could melt a dog's face.

Maybe it’s a part of your job, such as being nice to rude people or maybe you are in a parenting stage that you are just plain bad at like having sympathy for teenage problems. Perhaps being happy for others who are achieving your dreams, when getting there yourself is proving difficult. 

This is great lighting, but this poor dog’s face is much more melted than it appears—we all love a good filter.

What is the "ironing" in your life? Is it something tangible like caring for an aging parent or is it something emotional like serving your boss who you feel should not be in charge of anything. I did go on to iron a turtle, a cat and another dog with varying degrees of success. No one who knows better, will be asking me to iron anything, but I can do it when life demands.   

Ironing aside, we are all asked to do hard things. Challenges we feel unequipped to handle. When we are naturally good at something we tend to do it in our own might; thinking, yes, I’m good at connecting with people or I’m trained for an emergency. But when something arises that is out of our wheel house we acutely feel the lack of our own abilities. It is in these moments that I have learned (often the hard way) to find strength in someone else, someone bigger than me — my personality, education, background — when I’m out of my element, I have to turn to the Lord. He tells us in His Word that our weaknesses are made perfect in His strength. Do we believe this? What does it look like when we live this way? I have to lean on Him to walk through the anxiety and fears that often accompany the areas of my life that make me want to pull the covers over my head.

Parenting asks so much of us, as does marriage or work. At times, demanding things we don’t feel able to give, but know we must. God does not ask us to go it alone. He says come to me, you who are tired and weary. Why does quitting sometime seems easier? Because I’m trying to do it on my own and I simply can not do it. Writing this blog forces me to talk about it, ask people to read and share it and that makes me want to cringe. It makes me want to quit. But I asked the Lord to bless my writing, to use my words to be an encouragement for the weary, a needed word or bright spot. It is only in His strength and not my feeble attempts that any good will grow out of these scattered seeds. Perhaps you feel this at your job or in a relationship, you feel the weight of doing it alone, when the Lord never asked this of us.

Write about something you tried to do in your own strength. How did it go? (Did you melt the dog’s face?) What would it look like if you tried to rely on God’s strength instead?

*This is my son’s chosen nickname, which I’m using for blogging purposes—but ironically one of my fav names growing up was Wolfgang and I distinctly remember my mom saying she hoped I would marry a man that would not let me name a child this. Ha! The Wolfgang name will be victorious. I don’t get this last sentence?? This last sentence is from my mom and it makes me laugh so hard I had to leave it in maybe nobody gets it but me(?)

Drafts on the Comments Section

I have been word-bombing blank pages with my thoughts since elementary school. The journal covers may have morphed from prancing horses and snuggling puppies to vintage travel with Jane Austen quotes, but the idea is the same—I need to write. I find putting pen to paper not only a way to organize my thoughts, but a form of therapy. As my emotions perch on the lines of the pages, I can look them square in the eye. In high school, I can remember writing so hard I ripped the paper (bc teenage feelings are that strong). Some words came carefully, as I tried to get them just right, and others poured out like a faucet, open at full tilt, left to overflow the sink and splash around on the floor.

As I grew older, I started writing pieces to share with others. I wrote poetry for my friends and short stories for class. Teachers and family encouraged me to pursue writing. I would work on stories for weeks before reading them aloud to my sisters. Their excitement over my characters and the dramatic and often tragic storylines would thrill me and encourage my writing. I learned that I didn’t want to just write in journals for myself, but I wanted to write for others. I started taking creative writing classes and reading books on the subject. After attending a writing conference I quickly realized this is what I wanted to do. College beckoned and I went on to earn a professional writing degree and started publishing my homework in magazines.

One of my favorite aspects of being an author is opening a notebook and letting others read my words. Like anyone in the arts, we don’t want our creation to stay tucked away in the studio, we want the world to see it and react. I have written pieces for others like a gift, the same way a potter fashions a cup or bowl with someone in mind. I have friends who cook or sew or make chocolate—I write words. Poems about friendships, articles about my mom’s love and short stories about my dad’s farm. This is an expression of gratitude. I want to see their reaction, like when we find the perfect gift for someone, we can’t wait for them to tear off the paper and see just what they mean to us.

When I started this blog, I really thought it would be mostly about writing and its brewdy sidekick, coffee. I had hoped to encourage writers, provoke ideas and share tips. I knew my faith would enter in at times because it is such a big part of me and my writing. After a handful of posts, with nods to my faith, it began to take a more prominent role, no longer watching from the wings, but stepping out into the spotlight. And it felt right, like that is where it belonged the whole time. Like when the star of the show gets laryngitis and the understudy has to go on and he is amazing! I love to write about publishing and little lessons from my life and will continue to do so, but I have felt that there is more to say. Like perhaps my writing is a form of worship, a love letter to my Lord. And I hope it comes across in my words. I don’t want to live a faith that leaves people wondering.

God did not leave us to wonder. He wrote a book for us so we could know Him. It’s an amazing love story! And like any good book, it has it all—humor, drama, adventure, loss and Redemption. God had His book commissioned—to be read; it has an eternal message we all need. I hand out business cards, post on social media and try to casually tell people in conversation that I have written something (not of Biblical proportions by any means!) but I would love it if they took the time to read my blog. The hope is that lots of people will read it and even more so, leave a comment!

Readers comments are the fruit of my labor. When someone takes the time to tell me what my writing meant to them personally, how it was just what they needed that day or that they shared it with a friend, I’m overjoyed. All the hard work feels worthwhile. I try hard to not have high expectations, for it’s a slow process and I’m figuring it out one hurdle at a time. Which brings me to a recent post I wrote and how it had no comments, not one! I was rather disappointed. Perhaps it wasn’t that great of a post; blogging is such a different thing than writing articles for magazines. Blogs are just quick shots of life, not poured-over manuscripts for which someone thought worthy of pay. I assumed it just wasn’t a comment-worthy piece until I realized I hadn’t turned on the comments section!

This got me thinking about how often I feel that God isn’t speaking to me. I’m praying, asking for answers and guidance and if feels like He stays silent. But have I turned on my comments section? Am I looking for the answers in the right place? God has authored a book and as it turns out, many of the answers I’m looking for are in the pages of His Word—God’s comments section, if you will. If we want to hear God speak we must turn on the “comments section” by opening up our Bibles. Something I have not always done. In my younger years of being a Christian, I did not read my Bible very often and I wondered why God was so quiet. Turned out He had plenty of notes and suggestions, if I cared to read it.

Once I realized I had not turned on the comments section of my blog post, it all made sense. Of course, I wasn’t going to hear anything! I have always wished I could get an audible response from God or even if He wanted to write me a letter—I would wait by the mailbox everyday! Well, He did write me a letter - I just need to turn on the comments section or better known as “opening up” His Word. Of course, God speaks to us in other ways, in our spirit and through His followers as we are His hands and feet (“Now then we are ambassadors for Christ…” 2 Cor 5:20a). He often sends someone to encourage or redirect us. I have sat across many a café table from someone lamenting that they just wish they could know the truth. I love to say God sent me to tell you to turn on your comments section. He is Truth . . . and He has so much to say.

Have you ever been confronted by something you journaled, perhaps putting those thoughts on paper made you examine them in a different light?

If you have journals, look through some old musings and write about how your feelings have changed.

Are you looking for answers when you haven’t turned on your comments section?