Let's leave it in the prairie.

I was reading a chapter in Bittersweet by Shauna Niequist during my lunch break on Thursday, when I read her thoughts on forgiveness and forgetting. I'm not going to quote it here, because really you should go buy her book (like really, get in your car and drive to Barnes and Noble, okay?). But the jist of what I read was that her husband and her continued to bring up the past, even though in those moments they had forgiven, they just couldn't let it go and forget. The past and the hurt, from an array of different moments in their relationship, lingered. (And I know we've all been there). So one day, when they were on a day trip, they decided to leave all that they held onto and all they couldn't forget in that town they were visiting. They let it go, never to be hashed again. They dropped the past, in that town, and did it as a way to move on and not let it continue to linger.

The thing that happened while reading what Shauna wrote about forgiving yet having the hardest time forgetting, was my heart's continual beating "me too, me too." There is this deep sadness that comes up every now again in my soul, and I can't help but relate it to this difficulty I have forgetting hurt. Not the little things, but the monumental things that have taken me years to process. I have a really hard time talking about it, let alone writing about it, and I always wonder why that is. Am I afraid that no one will understand? Am I worried that my lingering hurt and inability to "let go" will make it seem as though I haven't been able to forgive? Am I afraid that this sadness that comes up every now and again, if I show it as true as it is to the people who are closest to me, that it will make me out as too sensitive and push those people away? Yes. On all fronts.

But I think its time I stop letting fear and worry get in the way. I think it's time I write about it.

When I was about 12 years old my dad remarried. I had a stepmom, a stepbrother, and a stepsister all the way from those preteen years and through college. I loved them so much, and although my adolescent nature probably made it seem otherwise, I truly did. The last time I saw my stepmom, stepbrother, and stepsister was when I was 23 years old. Matt and I were telling them about our wedding. We were sitting in the living room and talking about all the beginning plans of being newly engaged. I wanted all of them to be a part of our day. I had no idea I would never see them again. I don't really know how much time passed. It was summer or spring, a few weeks after we sat on that couch with them, and I received an email from my dad saying that they were divorcing. I didn't really know why, and its all a blur truly, but I never saw them again. I can't imagine the hurt that they all went through. My stepsister, ten years younger than me, also never seeing me again? A family of 12 years just vanishing? I wanted to just reach out and hug her and say how much I love her, you know? But I couldn't, and I still haven't, and those are the moments that bring true sadness up from my soul to the water wells of my eyes. Or to tell my stepmom (which has got to be the hardest role in all of it - being the stepmother of a teenage girl), how beautifully and respectfully she took on her relationship with me But I never got to say those things, and I never really knew the reasons because I never had any in person conversation with anyone about what had happened. I never said goodbye or see you later to the family that I knew to be mine. It was like I was supposed to pretend those 12 years of my life didn't exist. Soon after Matt and I got married my dad started to also get distant and now here I am at age 28 and it's been three years since I've heard my dad's voice. And all for reasons I cannot even say. This is where the deep sadness comes in again. I start to think of these four individuals, and my heart feels a void. It feels hurt and confusion. Heavy. I ask, why did this happen? I miss them, and get caught in moments where I'm cleaning out old boxes and seeing photographs from our trip up the coast to Pismo, burying each other in the sand, or the entire childhood memories with my dad and the daily reminders that we have so much in common- our love for art, and thrifting, and hats. Or I'll want to just call him and tell him about that thing, or ask him about that memory - but I can't. And I never truly know the answer, except for the truth that we live in a broken world with hurt and sadness, and that things like this happen, and that this is why we have a Savior. 

Something life has taught me is that holding on hurts one person more than anyone else. Yourself. So like Shauna wrote in that chapter in Bittersweet, I want to leave behind these things that still make me deeply sad that I have had the hardest time forgetting. I want to leave behind the question "why?" and the ache from not having answers. I want to hold on to the good out of those years and on to the hope that God is in control and that he has a plan so much bigger than mine. That all of this, in all of this muck, there is light. I know that I've forgiven - myself, my dad. Yet the sensitive human that I am holds on to pieces of the past. It's like if I let them go I will forget entirely those people that used to be in my life - the people that I still love. But I won't. God won't let that happen. 

If you're sitting there with your heart beating "me too, me too," I hope that we can both take the leap to let it go. Whatever it is for you, and this for me: Let's find a place to leave it, and not let it linger anymore. Maybe in a prairie, maybe up high on a hill, or maybe just right there at your computer or in a journal. Let's leave it. Because I don't want life to have too many moments of deep sadness from the past, when there is so much joy in the present to be had, you know?

The Past, Latched Windows, and Forgiveness

I used to be so vulnerable to my past being a stumbling block in my every day. I was like a tiny little house, sitting on the prettiest lot, painted a crisp white with a vibrant blue door, with wildflowers growing along the path leading up to it, sunshine warming its exterior, visitors knocking and leaving treats on the front stoop--yet, I couldn't see it. With the windows latched shut, the door unanswered, my past hung around inside its sturdy walls--that, the only view to be seen. I didn't fully know of the beauty to be had in the every day. I might wander out, outside of this little house I created within me, see the delicate blooms, feel the warmth of the sun, and look like I fully knew of these simple joys; but what a sad picture of my heart one would truly see. All of these life giving things, the view outside, and the people who loved me: all of that juxtaposed blurry and in the background, while the collection of hurt, and guilt, and those heavy past burdens stood all so clearly in focus at the front of my heart.

And so, I'd wander out, but I'd always go back to my tiny little house, or remember what was stored up inside while I was away, behind those closed doors: pressing against latched windows, fogging my mind and tying up my ability to live freely, fully in the moment, openly to forgiveness, all stealing my ability to know joy as it truly truly is. I'd wander out, but at the end of the day, the tiny little house that I created within me was still there just filled with the collection of hurt from others, lies I created about myself, and anxiety from my past. It was there, and that house stayed, and I could not shake it.

The building blocks of this tiny little house in my heart appeared in those days when teenage awareness transitioned to young adulthood, and life slowly switched from the simplicity of childhood and the wild and free feeling of being a young girl (what my childhood was) to a jig saw puzzle of love and heartbreak, adolescent regrets, the pain and longing of wanting to feel fully wanted as a my father's daughter, self-criticism, and changes in acceptance: so many of which are tied to body, and image, and success (or what we label it as). As I navigated all of this: relationships with boys, awareness of my self, stark realities of life and sin, absence of what I wanted in my relationship with my dad, the changing of friendships, trying to fit in, and even stretching into self criticism as a newly married woman, those lies staring back in the mirror, the battle of the mind (I could go on), and all the muck that comes with that package--I learned how to hold on to it all. I learned how to take even the most subtle detail of my past and allow it to stay in my tiny little house. I allowed it to stay in and control how I felt about myself in the present moments of my life. And, of course, as those years from teenager to young adult became more and more, my house only filled, and I became better at not letting anything out. I locked the doors, sealed up the windows, and the light outside became harder and harder to see. Because when you fill your life with so much from the past, even the good, there is no room for anything but that, and you miss out on the present.

My past used to be a stumbling block. I allowed it to be this way. You see, I laid the brick work. I built up those walls. I closed those windows. I locked the door. It was me who didn't allow the sunshine and breeze to come in and freshen up my life, melt it like spring to winter, like a clean slate or canvas for a new painting and story to be written about the present.

I allowed my past to linger in my thoughts, be my crutch, hold me back. Until one day, a loud knock was at the locked front door. A light showed up so bright that even a latched window with curtains pulled tight couldn't keep dark. Like the early morning sun that wakes the slumbering, stirring those first moments of the day, rays kissing the air and singing "wake up! wake up! it's time to live!" And I couldn't resist it. I couldn't leave the door unanswered. I had to pull the curtains. I had to wake up, I had to give it up, I couldn't keep my collection of hurt and guilt away from that light any longer. I couldn't let the past hold cactive my present, and my future. So I didn't.

That pounding, that bright light, in a literal sense: that was the moment where I finally realized my role in it all. That is when I realized I had to give up everything I was holding onto: to give it up to God, to tell others about my anxiety in dealing with my past, through steadfast prayer, and to open up and air it all out in a sense to begin the process of forgiving others and forgiving myself. And to keep my little tiny house from being filled up, I have to do this daily. Because, really, I'll always be vulnerable to neglecting this place in my heart, and allowing the doors and window to bolt up. This is how I do it: Forgive daily. Choose to keep the windows open and the breeze coming in. Choose to clean up house if you will, for me through prayer and mindfulness, or a vulnerable conversation with a close friend, with Matt, or with myself, each and every day.

Everyone has a past. Everyone has hurt, let downs, stumblings, loss, and things they regret. And everyone has to deal with them in a real way. For me, it took years of prayer and true blindness to it all until I really understood how my past held me captive. I fell victim to my own default, to dwell on the collection of bad rather open the windows and see the good of the present. And that's when I realized my role in it all. God was always knocking, and I chose not to answer the door. The light was always peering in through the tightly closed windows of my heart, and I chose to never truly notice.

My past used to be a stumbling block, a hinderance to how I enjoyed my everyday, blinding me from opportunity and beauty that was right there waiting for me to see it, to grab it, to take it as what life is about--and I realize that now. I have learned how to keep that tiny little house bright, and it is a choice that I have to make daily.

What about you? Are your windows latched shut or wide open? Either way, the warmth of the sun and crispness of that air will always be right outside that door to your heart. If anything, know that. And know that someone will always be knocking. Are you choosing to let the present day in and air out what you are holding inside? Are you choosing to answer the door?

… … … … … … … … … … … … 

This post is part of a series of 25 bloggers over 25 days sharing as part of the Skinny Dip Society Blog Tour, hosted by Katie Den Ouden. Be sure to check out Stephanie's post from yesterday, on Falling Back in Love With Yourself, and Caroline's post tomorrow. Katie is also doing a 21-Day Freedom challenge, which may be the perfect little addition for you to live a bit more freely and wildly each day. She is a total inspiration, and an amazing woman cultivating a community of people who want to live life wholly. You can read catch up on the past few week of the blog tour--over here. 

Who Is Least, Who Is Greatest.

Over and over Jesus uses the least of us all, and the smallest, and the weakest, to make point of who is truly the greatest. Like the poor widow who gave two coins as her offering, in a temple buzzing with so many others giving lavishly, Jesus remarked, "Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all of them. For they all contribute out of their abundance, but she out of her poverty put in all she had to live on." Luke 21:1-4

And it is no different today. Even now, in the hustle and bustle of our world, and the lavishness of so many of our lives--who is truly the greatest? "He who is least among you all is the one who is great." What does this mean for you, for me, and for the modern world? How often we wait to give of ourselves once we have a little more. A little more time, a little more energy, a little more money in our banks. But God reminds us that out of our poverty, out of the last of what we have and in our down right bottom-dwelling moments, we can make the biggest change, if only we cling to the hope and belief that we can.

So I challenge myself, and you, wherever we find ourselves today. Whether you are struggling to give, or perhaps waiting to take that leap and place down your last two coins. Whatever these two coins represent in your life; what might happen if you give them? What if, just what if, those two coins were used to make all heaven ensue. What if in giving out of your poverty, in giving when you and I think we have nothing more to give, we give the last of it, and God uses that faithfulness to overflow and change the lives of even more than we can imagine.

This is the visual I'm trying to capture. The visual of what big faith, combined with giving all that we have, can do in a world where so many hesitate to take that leap, take those copper coins out of their pockets, and give them up:

I love how the little girl who gave up her two coins is standing front and center this whole time. When they showed us this clip at church a few weeks ago, I literally was covered in chills. Do you think that the little girl is setting down coins in front of street performers for the rest of her life with the hope that one day this will happen again? Probably. But how sweet that hope and faith is, when you have it. Do you believe that even out of your poverty, even in your least, that you can be used for greatness? Believe it.

Out of Desperation

Out of desperation to soothe my aching body after a nine hour day in retail, I found myself on a yoga mat, in my kitchen, with Jillian Michaels' Yoga Melt Down prompting me from my computer. My body aches from being on my feet now that I work a few days each week at Anthropologie, and its almost as if my extremities are relearning how to function in their new (and fun!) environment. 

Desperation brought out from a hurting back and throbbing feet is what drew me to yoga. I tried it one night after a Saturday working all day, and was amazed at how much better I felt. Jillian Michaels made me do sun salutations and warrior poses until I felt stronger, looser, and relaxed. My friends have raved about their yoga experiences for years, as I'm sure some of you have similar enthusiasm about it. Yet me? I've never jumped on that band wagon. I love swimming, and running, and turbo kick, and hot baths for relaxing. But yoga? I had never really known the real likes of it, until Jillian, in the kitchen, with the computer screen, whipped me into yoga lovin' shape. I always found myself looking at yoga clothing, yet did I even really know what my practice was? Not at all. I'm wobbly, inflexible and loose my barring when upside down (or so I thought). I mean, yoga, me? I can't even cartwheel! All things that have kept me away for so long. Only playing with the idea of yoga on a conceptual basis, and never truly going to a class, or trying it from home. But this week, because of desperation, I was brought to yoga and finally experienced what everyone is talking about.

The same can be so true when it comes to prayer. People talk about how God made the impossible, possible. How seeking out solitude and time praying is truly how you grow in your relationship with God. Yet, how easy it is to just talk about it, play with the idea of prayer conceptually, yet never truly experience it. Like me. With yoga. Shauna Niequist writes about yoga and prayer in one of her essays in Cold Tangerines. I read this little part in her book today, and not only was the timing of this piece so significant in my life right now, but she puts it in perspective perfectly:

"Prayer, in my life, is similar [to yoga]. If you ask me about prayer, I have the books, the journals, and a few transcendent experiences to report from the last decade, lots of good reasons why every person should do it, and not a tone of extremely current experiences rushing to mind. I believe in it, conceptually. I feel better when I do it….But something has to get you back to yoga, and something has to get you back to prayer, and in my experience the surest thing in either case is desperation. I wait until my life has become so completely unlivable and the person I am has become so deeply unmoored from reality and hope and goodness, that I break down and pray….Prayer heals all the muscles that I've been clenching for a long time, while I'm holding it together, gritting my teeth, waiting for impact. Prayer, like yoga, like singing, brings soft from hard, pliant from brittle, possible from impossible, warm from cold, breath from breathless. And no matter what gets you there, it is better to be there than not." -Shauna Niequist, Cold Tangerines: Prayer and Yoga

Desperation is what brought me to yoga. Now I know I waited too long to meet myself on the mat. I wish I had started sooner, as I feel amazing. I wish I hadn't underestimated my strength, assuming I'd fail because of my inflexible body, or my lack of practice. Like Shauna writes, prayer and yoga are so much the same in this way: for me, I avoid prayer at times because of my wobbly words and inability to see hope, believe in the impossible, or because of my lack of practice. For yoga, it took a desperation to bring me to it. An aching body, looking for respite. Do I want to wait for desperation to bring me to prayer, too? Absolutely not. Desperation is bound to bring me to prayer, but I don't want that to be my only way of getting there. Just like an aching body brought me to yoga, as it will continue to, I'm sure, I want to meet the mat regularly: because I know its good. I want to meet my God regularly: because I know its the best thing I can do for my body (for my life!). I want to reap the benefits of a prayerful life now, not wishing that I had started sooner--because a prayerful life, like yoga, leaves you raving about it, right?

photo via Pinterest

Pulling Against Gravity

Is it difficult for you to slow down this time of year? It is for me. And I loathe it. Partially, my disposition is truly sensitive to the hustle and bustle around me. It is easy to get caught in the spin, looking for a way out, to stop and breathe, rest in the grace and precious gift that this approaching season is truly about--yet, I find myself here far too often. Spinning, spinning, spinning.

And instead of just dealing with it, and accepting that in a month or so I'll get to breathe and stand firmly on two feet, I need to make myself stop. A pulling against gravity has to happen to get me there, and make me slow down. Do you ever feel that way? 

I found myself this past Saturday afternoon, thinking I could pile on a mile high to-do list, and that after the to-dos were checked off that Matt and I would meet up for a night of Christmas decorations, finding the perfect tree, hanging twinkle lights across our front window, and snuggling up for some eggnog and a movie. But my piling on, that list I made that was only of my doing and of my high expectations, burnt me out. Come 9 o'clock I was exhausted, and nearly in tears as I had no drop of energy left for decorating. My heart was broken. Broken all because of my doing, and my inability to slow down. I look back now and ask myself why I had to get those things done. Why were they so important--and to the extent of burning me out enough to have nothing left for my favorite thing of all time--decorating for Christmas? Not in the slightest.

Tomorrow we head out to Kansas for Thanksgiving. Matt's entire side of our family will be together in one place. And for me, right now, this is a gift. A reason for me to slow down, a pulling against gravity that will pick me up out of my busy little Denver sphere and plop me in a town with expanse fields, corn stalks for miles, homemade pies, and family. I want to have a season, or a life really for that matter, where I can slow down and easily get out of the spin. I don't want my own anxiety or need to accomplish things get in the way of new memory making, traditions culminating, and the simplest things I find so much joy in. Wouldn't that be the best gift? A box of encouragement wrapped up with string and parchment paper, that would overflow patience, a slowing down, a heightened sense of joy for the little things, and a buffer that would warn you if you were getting pulled in, starting to spin, away from the way you are supposed to live?

I want that for Christmas. And I'm pretty sure we can figure out a way to give it (without string and parchment paper).

To the Hills

Wide open space. This was in our top five reasons for why we must move to Colorado. Days like this are the ones I hold onto when the city gets to be too much. When to-do lists and chores try to become my focus, and when its easy to forget this, this beauty, that I was created to find solace in. There is a longing in my heart, and I think in all of us deep down, for wide open space. A space to feel so little, so vulnerable, so out of control as the world around feels so big, sky so high, while wandering at the will of the rising and setting sun. I like to imagine what it must have been like to discover this place. This western wide open space. What did they say? What did they see? Truly, where the buffalo roam, to the hills and through the valleys is what I hold onto. I hold onto it and keep it tied up in a leather bag that I open whenever I need a reminder. A reminder that this, this beauty, is what I was created to find joy in.

These photos were taken just outside of Morrison, Colorado.

Linking up with Annapolis & Company.

An Afternoon Perspective.

Without even knowing if the season will bring rain or drought, the farmer plants his crop. I long to be like the farmer, don't you? To have enduring faith, and yet to even know if drought comes, harvest may still come elsewhere or next year. So what about you. If you knew that tomorrow would go to pieces, would you still plant your "apple tree"?

Donate a Bra | Free The Girls

You probably have figured it out by now that I'm pretty passionate when it comes to advocating for underprivileged women. So when Dave shared the vision behind Free the Girls at church this past Sunday, I wanted to find out even more about the non-profit, and how this organization has turned the second hand clothing market in Mozambique, namely reselling bras, into a business endeavor that empowers women coming from extremely abusive situations and the world of sex trafficking. And after reading more, I knew I had to tell you about it. Not only is the non-proft giving job opportunities to women rescued from sex trafficking, but they are being sensitive to these woman who have been so taken advantage of, even worse than we can fathom, by having their work be mainly focused on a female market --selling bras-- with female mentors alongside them.

SO WHAT’S THE PROBLEM?

Currently 27 million men, women and children are being held as slaves around the world— more today than in any other time in history. 80% of those slaves are women and girls. There are a number of amazing organizations that are helping to rescue these women out of a life of prostitution, but what happens after they are rescued? Many safe houses and aftercare facilities are doing great work in providing comprehensive rehabilitation and educational opportunities to survivors, but often their resources are limited.

OUR SOLUTION

By partnering with safe houses and after-care facilities, we provide an opportunity for women rescued from sex trafficking to earn a living selling second-hand clothing while going to school, getting healthy, and caring for their families.

WHY BRAS?

"Let’s face it, ladies: the back of your underwear drawer is most likely a graveyard of bras you don’t wear anymore or that never fit right in the first place...

Just Sing

There is a line in the song Just Sing, by Paper Bird, that speak louder than any other words in the song. And each time the lyrics play, my eyes swell and thunk goes my heart. The words go " If your heart is beating, or if your heart is beaten up...just sing." 

The reason my heart goes thunk when I hear Esme sing these words, it that my heart, however passionate, driven, and cared for it really is--it does feel a bit beaten up some days. Or at least, my heart feels more vulnerable to switch from a life giving steady beat to a state that needs rest and mending. This is the symptom of ongoing anxiety.

I am still learning how to mend it. And just when I think I have figured it out, and I let loose my grip on the Lord, carrying the weight of my anxiety by myself, I falter. 

Just this past Saturday, my jubilant beating heart took a falling, and turned into ugly panic. It's been months since I've had a panic attack--yet a few days ago I was reminded of how human I am, and how dependent and in need I am for the unconditional love of a Savior. Because, like I said, I am on the mend, and my heart is vulnerable when it comes to these things. What triggered my panic, and left me with a beaten up heart, is not even important in what I've come to realize. Because the common thread, for me, is when I step in front of God, and think I have it under control without Him (cue: lack of prayer & lack of praise...) Whether I let feelings from my past creep in, lies take over my thoughts, or overwhelming guilt win--one thread remains common: when God is at the center, panic dissipates | when I am at the center, panic escalates. 

So this is where the other part comes in. Just sing, the song goes. To me, in this state of recovery, of mending and healing, of surrendering anxiety, guilt, depression, regret, worry, built up lies and all other things -- singing, or worship, or prayer: that is all I know how to really do, and what I need to do. When left with a broken or beaten up heart, one can always just sing (no matter how sad, off key, or full of sobbing the song may be it may be).

I write these things not to bring pity, or to bring concern, or worry. Because truly, I am happy. I am blessed beyond belief. My heart is beating, and my song is one that more often than not is light and cheery. But some days, I sing because my heart is beaten up. And I sing a different song--one of hope and longing, as to mend, and to rest my weary heart.

The song continues on, "If your heart is beating, or if your heart is beaten up, or if your rolling down a long winding track, and you don't believe in luck--just sing." 

Thunk.

Reality and Dreamers

What C.S. Lewis says about reality couldn't be more true. But you know what caught my attention? Do you not agree that dreams can be odd, not as obvious, not at all what we expect, and a bit messy as well? I think to take it even further would be to say, that dreams and reality aren't that far from each other. And that we need to allow them to meet more than we do, allow ourselves to let them, because I think that's when the magic happens. That's when God shows up, or we see Him more--when we let go and allow the messy and complicated reality meet the odd dreams that are on our hearts--those dreams that we can't control. What would happen if those dreams, and reality, did intertwine? How would our world look different? Would the logical dream more? Would the dreamer see potential in the real?

Words For Thought, From Francis Chan

I was first introduced to Francis Chan at our home church in California. He was the pastor there, and shortly after Matt and I got plugged in, he moved to San Francisco. As a pastor, he always made the Word so applicable to how life as a Christian should be lived out. I always left feeling challenged to live a bit more uncomfortably in the name of Jesus. Francis brought perspective to who our God really is in a way that helped me grasp greater understanding specifically living in a city--you should listen to his podcasts or check out a book he wrote if you are looking for something new. Something I have been dwelling on lately are words from his book Crazy Love: Overwhelmed by a Relentless God. He writes, 

“Our greatest fear should not be of failure but of succeeding at things in life that don't really matter.” 

Pretty spot on, isn't he? So if you, like me, often weigh your failures against your successes, stop and ask yourself -- what are those failures and successes in the context of what really matters? How are you measuring them? I think if we ask ourselves these questions more often, there would be a lot more good in our realtionships and in our communities, a lot less pride in our hearts, and a new perspective on failure and success entirely --don't you?

Think about such things | Love Yourself Linkup

Sometimes, anxiety is a full on battle of the mind. I first wrote about my untold story, my battle with anxiety, here. In the process of recovering from and overcoming anxiety, if thoughts are not corralled or paid attention to, the flick of a switch can bring on the tightening of the chest and panic that turns into an attack. The mind defaults to worry, if not intentionally lead to focus on the opposite: on things that are good and true. Anxiety is a battle of the mind, and I mean literally.

Part of my personality is that I think best when I am alone. While I enjoy being with others, I recharge my energy best and feel most myself when I have significant alone time each day to focus and get "in the zone"--whether while doing concrete productive tasks like running, swimming, blogging, writing, reading, gardening--this is simply how I work. Because I am wired this way, and because I think best and process fully when just me, in my alone time it is vital that I set aside time to dwell on what is true, noble, right, pure, lovely, and admirable. When I do dwell on these things in my alone time, through time with God, reflection, engaging in God's word, prayer, or just thinking about those things while I run, swim, garden, etc, I am better. Anxiety almost diminishes. When I have alone time to dwell on those things, I am well prepared to face those moments when anxiety likes to build up. I am prepared for battle. On the opposite end, when alone time is gone, and time to think about these things is stripped away, then my mind and heart are not equipped to fight.

Confidence is the sexiest thing, Etc. | Love Yourself Link Up

source

We've read these words before: Confidence is the sexiest thing a woman can wear. Quotes like this one are pinned all over Pinterest, strung as pretty font across beauty blogs, and written on pink sticky notes near mirrors in teenage girls' bedrooms. But in the eyes of our culture, the line between confidence and external beauty is significantly blurred. The separation of which comes first is confused, especially in a dialogue where magazine covers and media try to convince us to believe that if we-just-wear-this or look-just-like-that or loose-ten-pounds then confidence is guaranteed. If confidence is truly the sexiest things a woman can wear, why do external adornments have such a grip on us?

Notes from a Swimmer

There was never a time in my life when I wasn't a swimmer. Without the pool, half of my childhood memories, if not more, would be gone. I am a swimmer. Through and through. And although competing stopped for me before I headed off to college, time spent in the water is where I still find myself whenever I'm feeling a little bit lost. It's where I find myself when I feel I need to get back to the core of who I am. Swimming is where I find my peace, my strength, and my clarity. Do you have a place like that? 

Years ago I made a decision to stop competing. It was a time in my life when I was truly compelled to think about two things: Live my life for God or live my life for the pool? When I made that decision, I was learning how to live my life for Jesus, and I was learning so much about myself as a young adult, and at that time I had to choose one. Not to say that I couldn't have done both fully, but at the age of 17, I felt the need to choose one an focus on that. You see, I was new to this thing called having a personal relationship with God. And so, I made the choice to go off into the wild blue yonder of my college years without swimming--because I wanted, for the first time in my life, to explore ministry and a life different than the one I was so accustomed to-- with 4 a.m. swim practices, meets every weekend, and the cycle of "swim, eat, study, sleep, and repeat." But I wonder sometimes where I'd be if I hadn't made that choice. Where would I be if I chose to swim into my college years? Do you ever get caught up in the "what if's" when thinking about a decision you made? 

I am multi faceted. I am a wife, a daughter, an educator, a writer, a blogger, an artist, a decorator, a dog rescuer, a friend. And yet always, I am a swimmer. Through and through, this is my core. So every now and again, there may be some notes from me-- a swimmer--in this space where all my hats can be worn. :)

A Woman Inspired

The following is a post by Kristen Schiffman. She most recently shared her 10 Dares for and Adventurous Summer--over here. Kristen loves tea lattes, weekend hikes, everyday celebrations, her funny husband, and Humphrey Bogart (both the man and the dog she named after him.) She’s a messy faith embracer who believes wild & free things are the best things. She serves on staff as Director of Communications at A Woman Inspired. 

I have this lovely memory tucked away in my heart from my early years in ministry: a hot coffee in hand, an open Bible, my most cherished pen*, and oh, just my favorite women from around the world hanging out at A Woman Inspired.

A Woman Inspired’s 2009 Get Revived conference is still an online ministry highlight of mine. How cool is it that with modern technology we can study the Bible together, get revived, encourage our friends, and do it all in cozy socks?

Stronger than.

Praying for healing, recovery, and strength for those in Boston. Believing that love and unarmed truth have the final say.