31Days - Loving First

Little girls whispering among themselves, "Do you think he likes me?"

Notes passed in class with childish writing scrawled inside, "Do you like me? Circle yes or no"

A nudge from one friend to another, begging her to ask the object of her affection if he might like her too.

We didn't want to let on that we might like him if he didn't like us back. It was too risky. We wanted to know before we expressed our hearts that it wasn't one-sided.

We don't pass notes anymore. But I think the fear still lingers in all of us. It feels dangerous to be the one to make that first move.

I made the first move once. This actually takes a bit to admit... but... a little-girl crush, complete with little-girl flirting, is what gave my abuser what he needed to make his move. I adored him. And he knew it. And the knowing gave him an advantage. I'd hung around him the way a little girl will, making a pest of myself anytime he was around. Don't get me wrong, as an adult I know that his actions were his alone. I was just being a little girl with a little girl crush. But as a child what I knew was that he took advantage of that adoration. He didn't care about me. He cared about himself. And if I hadn't projected my crush....

Like I said, I know better now. At least in my head. But it's still extremely difficult for me to be the first to admit desire for relationship. It affects my marriage as well as other relationships – I have a hard time even just admitting a desire for friendship! It's hard not to feel that it's a weakness; that I won't somehow end up being hurt.

So my fear for Day Four:

I am afraid of being the first to admit desire for a relationship.

It's a real fear... with some valid reasons behind it. History – my history – proves it can be dangerous. So there's some truth in the fear. But what's the real Truth? Truth with a capital T?

We love, because He first loved us.
(1 John 4:19)

God loved us first!

Not only that, but He didn't pass cute little notes that danced around the issue. He took the initiative without testing the waters first. Actually, He knew what our reaction would be. We would reject Him. We would hurt Him – physically as well as emotionally. Yet, what He sent was much bigger than a note dancing around the issue:

But God demonstrates His own love toward us, in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.
(Romans 5:8)

He not only loved us first, He demonstrated it and sacrificed for it.

But it didn't end there, either:

A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another,
even as I have loved you, that you also love one another.
(John 13:34)

He called us to love as He loved.

As He loved... You know, I knew God has called us to an unselfish love – one that looks to the interests of others above our own. But I have to admit that until I began writing this for today, I had never put these two verses together. He loved us first. Then He called us to love as He loved. As He loved. No silly little notes dancing around the issue, testing the waters. Whole-hearted love. Even knowing that we might will be rejected.

And just in case we missed it the first time, He said it again:

“This is My commandment, that you love one another, just as I have loved you....
You did not choose Me but I chose you, and appointed you that you would go and bear fruit, and that your fruit would remain, so that whatever you ask of the Father in My name He may give to you.
This I command you, that you love one another.
(John 15:12 & 16-17)

We didn't choose Him, but He chose us and called us to that same love.

You know... there's just not a whole lot I can add to that. He pretty much said it all!

Father God, thank You for loving me first. It's so hard for me to love as You love. I want to hold back and make sure it's "safe" first. But that's not the kind of love You've called me to. It's not the kind of love You've shown. Help me to remember how You have loved. You moved first. You love with Your whole heart. You hold nothing held back. You gave it all even in the face of certain rejection. Oh, Father, help me to remember that You have called me to that same love. Give me courage and strength to follow Your example. I love You, Daddy... because You first loved me.

Fear: I am afraid of being the first to admit desire for a relationship.

Truth:

• God loved us first! (1 John 4:19)
• He not only loved us first, He demonstrated it and sacrificed for it. (Romans 5:8)
• He called us to love as He loved. (John 13:14; John 15:12 & 16-17)

-jenn

Note: This post is part of a 31-day writing challenge. Click here to see the rest of the posts on my 31 Days of Fear (and Truth).

31Days - Chosen

It's the moment every kid hates. Well, maybe not every kid. The kids that will eventually be the stars on our high school basketball courts or football fields, etc., probably love it. Kids like me? Yeah, we hate it. Standing on the sidelines in the elementary gym watching as the two captains take turns choosing from the dwindling number of kids still standing at the front of the class... unchosen. Not athletic enough to be chosen at the front of the pack. Not popular enough to be even chosen at the middle of the pack. If I wasn't dead last, I was at least close. Humiliating. I'd like to know what those elementary P.E. teachers were thinking. Did they not see the emotional damage? Not good enough. Unchosen. Ugh.

Of course, it didn't stop with elementary gym class. There were other moments in high school – waiting to be chosen by a guy for one thing. And I remember years later when I volunteered for something at church and was told "No." They had another person in mind. The reasons were valid and good. I knew, understood, and agreed with them in my head. But inside, even though there wasn't a scrap of truth to it, my heart heard, "Not good enough. Unchosen."

Last year it hit again. I applied for the Lay Counseling Certificate program with the Allender Center. I'd been there for the Story Workshop and walked away really feeling like the certificate program was something I should do. After an extended amount of time waiting for the reply, though, I was told they didn't think I was ready. I wasn't far enough along in my own story work. That was an unexpected blow. I thought I'd come so far... what had the last 18 months of counseling been about? It wasn't good enough. I wasn't good enough. I quietly said I understood before I hung up and let the tears fall. All the hard work I'd done... and still... not good enough. Unchosen. I know now that it really was for the best. This fall is my little girl's last season of high school marching band. I wouldn't have wanted to miss a minute of it. Still... tears threaten to fall even now as I think about that night, those feelings. Not good enough. Unchosen.

And last night I hit the "submit" button on another application for a workshop with the Allender Center. They will contact my psychologist for a reference and will do a 45 minute phone interview with me. And then they'll decide whether I'm accepted... or not. So, yeah, I'm living in fear of that phone call... the one that will determine if I'm healed enough. If I am good enough. If I'm chosen.

So my fear for Day Three:

I am afraid of not being good enough; not being chosen.

It's a real fear... with some valid reasons behind it. History – my history – proves it can happen. And it hurts. So there's some truth in the fear. But what's the real Truth? Truth with a capital T?

It's one my psychologist shared with me over a year ago:

“But you, Israel, My servant,

Jacob whom I have chosen,

Descendant of Abraham My friend,

You whom I have taken from the ends of the earth,

And called from its remotest parts

And said to you, ‘You are My servant,

I have chosen you and not rejected you.

(Isaiah 41:8-9)

I have chosen you and not rejected you.

It's tempting to read over those verses and think that He's talking to someone else. But the New Testament church (that's us) has been grafted into the Old Testament Israel. He is talking to us. He's talking to me. My psychologist read it to me this way:

“But you, Jenn, My servant,

Jenn whom I have chosen,

Descendant of Abraham My friend,

You whom I have taken from the ends of the earth,

And called from its remotest parts

And said to you, ‘You are My servant,

I have chosen you and not rejected you."

That's the God of the Universe talking. He has chosen me! He has not rejected me. Before I was even born – before I even had a chance to prove my worth – He looked at me, pointed His finger and said:

I have called you by name; you are Mine!
(Isaiah 43:1)

Wow. He pointed at me, called my name, and said "you are Mine!" With an exclamation point, even!

And just two verses later He says,

For I am the Lord your God
(Isaiah 43:3)

Did you catch that? In verse one I am His. In verse three He is mine. The cool thing about this is that it echoes the lovers in the Song of Solomon: I am my beloved's and He is mine. I am His beloved! And He has chosen me. He's called me by name and said I am His.

Remember those selections for teams in elementary gym class? The first names that were called were called with excitement. "Phil!" "John!" "Mark!" Somewhere down the line it became a little less enthusiastic. You might've even heard "Ummm... I guess I'll take...." But at the end? At the end, sometimes they didn't even say a word... just pointed to the last one left... no name needed. But God... God calls me by name and says "You are Mine!" I'm not last. Far from it. I've been called by name; chosen by the King. He calls me by name. He calls me His beloved!

Father God, sometimes I take for granted just how amazing it is that You chose me; that I am Yours. I can so easily let others' opinions make me feel like I'm not good enough to be chosen. Not just for elementary sports or even programs with limited space... but even as a friend. But, God, You remind me that You have chosen me; not rejected me. You didn't take me because You had to, because I was the last one left, but because You wanted to. The picture of you pointing at me, calling my name and saying "you are Mine!" is a picture that speaks volumes to me... touches me. Help me to hold to that; to not take that lightly or for granted. But to remember that the God of the universe has looked at me, really looked at me... and declared I am HIS!

Fear: I am afraid of not being good enough; of not being chosen.

Truth:

• "I have chosen you and not rejected you." (Isaiah 41:8-9)
• "I have called you by name; you are Mine!" (Isaiah 43:1)

-jenn

Note: This post is part of a 31-day writing challenge. Click here to see the rest of the posts on my 31 Days of Fear (and Truth).

31Days - WRONG!

We were in the van with my sister's family and mine. The van was full of family and kids. I think some of the kids were watching Ratatouille in the seat behind us. Someone asked what a sous chef was. Someone else volunteered an answer. I wasn't sure it was right, so I googled it. And then I shared what I'd found. It doesn't seem that big of a deal, right? I simply thought the question should be answered correctly. But something in my voice must have given away my joy in being "right," because later someone told me how I'd come across... and about the hurt feelings I'd caused. And then I was asked why I had to google it just to prove I was right. Why did I always have to be right?! Ouch.

It wasn't a one-time thing. It's a lifetime. Always. I must always prove myself right. And the people around me sometimes suffer for it. I usually don't even notice. But that night someone stood up and said, "This... how you make people feel... it isn't right."

So what place does this story have in a series on fear? Stick with me for just a second. I know most people don't like to be wrong. I get that. But my husband will be the first to tell you that my need to be right goes much deeper than most. Much, much deeper. Much stronger. I don't just dislike being wrong. I hate it. Everything in me hates it. And hate... is a fear-based emotion. So... my drive to be "right" is in fact a fight against a deep-seated fear.

My fear for Day Two:

I am afraid of being wrong.

It's a real fear. With some valid reasons behind it. History – my history – proves wrong is dangerous. Wrong hurts. And psychologically I am driven never to be wrong again. That's the fear. And there's some truth in the fear. But what's the real Truth? Truth with a capital T?

Funny, but just last night our devotions included this verse:

Therefore if there is any encouragement in Christ, if there is any consolation of love, if there is any fellowship of the Spirit, if any affection and compassion, make my joy complete by being of the same mind, maintaining the same love, united in spirit, intent on one purpose. Do nothing from selfishness or empty conceit, but with humility of mind regard one another as more important than yourselves; do not merely look out for your own personal interests, but also for the interests of others. Have this attitude in yourselves which was also in Christ Jesus, who, although He existed in the form of God, did not regard equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied Himself, taking the form of a bond-servant, and being made in the likeness of men. Being found in appearance as a man, He humbled Himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross. For this reason also, God highly exalted Him.... (Philippians 2:1-9)

"Do not merely look out for your own personal interests, but also for the interest of others."

The truth is – as a pastor once told me – it is not always right to be correct. I know I need to look out for others. I mean to, really, I do. But I want so badly to be correct – to never be wrong again – that I lose sight of that. The fear of being wrong can cause me to put so much effort into protecting myself (by making sure I'm right) that I sin against God. I don't put my trust in Him; I put it on my own ability (to avoid being wrong). And I sin against my brother/sister because in my fear I can walk right over anyone who threatens my belief that I'm right. And so the very thing I use to protect myself ends up actually hurting others... and hurting me. I'm building walls that prevent vulnerability... prevent others from seeing the fear and hurt. The lack of vulnerability prevents connection and relationship. I'm also driving others away with hurtful behavior. And it hurts my relationship with God as I reveal my lack of trust in Him.

And the crazy thing? According to God's word, if I quit working so hard to raise myself up and protect myself and simply attend to the needs of others first, He will raise me up! Both Matthew and Luke record Jesus' warning that whoever exalts himself will be humbled but whoever humbles himself will be exalted. (Matthew 23:12 and Luke 14:11. See also James 4:10). Even in the Philippians verse above we see that it indicates God highly exalted him (Jesus) because he humbled himself!

This, though, is the verse that I'm really seeing in a new light today:

... and all of you, clothe yourselves with humility toward one another, for God is opposed to the proud, but gives grace to the humble. Therefore humble yourselves under the mighty hand of God, that He may exalt you at the proper time, casting all your anxiety on Him, because He cares for you. (1 Peter 5:5-7)

There is so much in there! I've read it before.  But never really saw it all at the same time before:

• It echoes Philippians 2:4 in that we are to act with humility and care for others.
• It promises that if we humble ourselves He will exalt us.
• It tells me to let Him worry about it all – because He cares for me!

Seriously! How amazing is that? In the middle of telling me to act with humility and care for others, He tells me I don't have to worry about myself because He loves me. He has my back! He knows the fear I have. And He says, "I've got this. You go do your thing, taking care of others, and let Me worry about the rest." He gets me! And He's got my back. Absolutely mind-blowing!

Father God, thank You so much for speaking to me through these verses. Thank you for showing me that You understand my fear. You understand what it costs me to put someone else above my need to protect myself; my need to be "right." And You tell me, "cast all your anxiety on Me because I care for you." I love how You saw it would be hard for me, that I'd be scared, and so you remind me in the midst of telling me to do something hard that I don't have to worry about it, because You love me! Help me to hold to that promise, Father. Help me to hold to that truth. Help me to step forward and be kind rather than right.

Fear: I am afraid of being wrong.

Truth:

• It isn't always right to be correct."... do not merely look out for your own personal interests, but also for the interests of others." (Phil 2:4)
• I can trust God to watch out for me as I care for others.... and all of you, clothe yourselves with humility toward one another, for God is opposed to the proud, but gives grace to the humble. Therefore humble yourselves under the mighty hand of God, that He may exalt you at the proper time, casting all your anxiety on Him, because He cares for you. (1 Peter 5:5-7)

-jenn

Note: This post is part of a 31-day writing challenge. Click here to see the rest of the posts on my 31 Days of Fear (and Truth).

31Days - Anything Worth Saying

It was just three little lines sung at the beginning of an album. An unfinished work that the artist admitted he wasn't sure what to do with, but felt he needed to include on the album. On the next album, he filled out the song and gave it to us in its entirety. But those three little lines echo in my mind the way they were first shared – simply, soulfully, with an echoed, empty-room type feeling to them:

Give me words to speak...

Don't let my spirit sleep...

'Cause I can't think of anything worth saying....

Honestly, I'm not sure what Aaron Shust was getting at with that second line... but I totally understand the lines on either side of it. I write. It's what I do. It's a huge part of me. It's how I work things out. I once saw a quote that said something along the lines of "How do I know what's inside of me, unless I write it out?" Oh! That's so me! Sometimes I sit down and write with no idea what will come... I just know I need to – there's something inside that needs to come out. And I am amazed at the things I discover about myself that I never knew.

That said... much of the time in thinking about writing for an audience my mind goes blank. I can't think of anything to say. It happened in my counseling sessions, too. Our psychologist would ask a question and I'd have nothing to say... just totally blank. One day he put a small hole in my armor when he observed that maybe it wasn't that I didn't have anything to say... it was that I was afraid no one else would find it worthy of listening to. The truth hit home. I didn't believe I was worth listening to. Ouch. Honestly, it's something I still struggle with.

So that's my fear for Day One:

I am afraid I have nothing worth saying... nothing worth listening to.

But I don't want to make this project just a list of 31 days of fear. Yikes. How depressing! Authentic, yes. But I need hope, don't you? So I've identified the fear. Now I need to identify the truth; the hope. The truth is found in this promise:

"Now then go, and I, even I, will be with your mouth, and teach you what you are to say.” (Exodus 4:12)

You may remember the story. It starts in Exodus 3. Moses sees a burning bush that strangely enough isn't consumed as it burns. He goes to take a look and God tells him he is to go back to Egypt (from where he'd fled as a man wanted for murder). God wants him to face Pharoah and tell him to release the Israelites from slavery – to let God's people go. Moses first answers in Exodus 3:11 with “Who am I, that I should go to Pharaoh, and that I should bring the sons of Israel out of Egypt?” Moses thought God had the wrong guy. Moses had already messed up and killed a guy. He'd been missing from action (hiding in the desert) for years. His fear? Nobody would listen to him! (Not to mention potential imprisonment for murder!) Moses didn't believe in himself. Who am I? I'm a nobody! And that's exactly who is going to listen to me -- nobody!

Oh that sounds so familiar. "Who am I to say anything? Who am I to think...? My pain doesn't begin to compare to... I don't have it all figured out... I don't have a big 'come to Jesus' moment in my story... I'm just... I don't..." And the list goes on. All sorts of negating self-talk. I'm good at it. So was Moses. His arguments go back and forth with God for an entire chapter before God answers in Exodus 4:11-12 with “Who has made man’s mouth? Or who makes him mute or deaf, or seeing or blind? Is it not I, the Lord? Now then go, and I, even I, will be with your mouth, and teach you what you are to say.”

I'd like to think at that point I might've gotten it. Oh. Yeah. God of the Universe, in the burning, not-burning-up bush in front of me. Maybe I should shut up and listen. But... looking at Moses... I probably wouldn't have. Because Moses still argued. One more deflection and he got what he wanted – someone else to do the talking. Aaron. You remember Aaron, right? The guy that caved to the Israelites to make the golden calf? Yeah. Hmmm.

I wonder... what would have happened if Moses had just listened? If he had just believed that God would provide the words and teach him what to say? Would he have been able to actually enter the Promised Land? I don't suppose we can know that. But I do believe that the moment Moses chose not to believe, he chose not to receive the best that God had for him.

Lord, I don't want to be that person who doesn't believe that You are so big that You can work and speak through even me. But in truth I am afraid. I feel like I don't have anything to say. I am afraid of not having anything worthy of listening to. But You have written my story, so You must have something to say through it. Help me to hold fast to Your promises. To trust. To go. To know You will be with my mouth. To believe – with all I am – that You will teach me what I am to say.

Fear – I am afraid I don't have anything worth saying.

Truth – "Now then go, and I, even I, will be with your mouth, and teach you what you are to say.”
(Exodus 4:12)

-jenn

Note: This post is part of a 31-day writing challenge. Click here to see the rest of the posts on my 31 Days of Fear (and Truth).

31 Days of...

I saw it on my Facebook feed this morning. Someone shared a link: "31 Days – A Writing Challenge Every October, Every Day." The goal is to consistently write something every day for the entire month of October. It was intriguing. And yet it was scary.

I have to admit that consistency has been a problem for me. So far this year, I've managed to hit "publish" on eight blog posts. Not even an average of one per month. And this has been a good year. I started blogging in April of 2009 and had eleven posts that year. In 2010 I had three. Both 2011 and 2012 held a hefty two posts each. In 2013, I jumped up to ten and 2014 was six. Yeah... consistency hasn't exactly been my forte. So having something to challenge me and give me a jumpstart might be good, right? But then I went to the website to look at the details. Thirty-one days of writing every day... but no prompts. I have to figure out something to say for 31 days on my own?! And... worse than that... you are supposed to pick a topic – a single topic – to write about for each of those 31 days?! Ummm... yeah. I don't think I can write about anything for 31 days straight. I couldn't think of a single topic I wanted to commit to.

And then I saw it. The fear. Identified by my psychologist over two years ago... I'm afraid I don't have anything worth saying. Actually... to be more precise... I'm afraid I don't have anything anyone will find worth listening to. As I considered that... and considered writing what I am putting to paper now... the irony hit me. It's October. The stores have been showcasing their halloween decorations for well over a month already. Halloween isn't something my family celebrates. You'll notice I didn't even capitalize it in the first sentence – I won't give it that importance. I'll follow grammar rules if it's the beginning of a sentence, but that's it. A holiday that celebrates fear (as well as darker things) just doesn't seem to line up with who I want to be... with who God calls me to be. After all, how many times do we see "fear not" in the Bible?

Sorry... little rabbit trail there... So, where was I? Oh yeah. Part of me really wanted to participate in the 31 days of writing (or at least figured it'd be good for me), but I just couldn't figure out how to do it. What could I write about? And suddenly I was staring my problem in the face: a very real fear of not having anything to say... of not having anything worth listening to. Fear. October. Halloween. Smack My Head.

Welcome to my...

31 Days of... Fear (and Truth):

• Day 1: I am afraid I don't have anything worth saying.
  Truth: Exodus 4:12
• Day 2: I am afraid of being wrong.
  Truth: Phil 2:4-9; 1 Peter 5:5-7
• Day 3: I am afraid of not being good enough; not being chosen.
  Truth: Is. 41:8-9; Is. 43:1; Is 43:3)
• Day 4: I am afraid of being the first to admit desire for a relationship.
  (Truth: 1 John 4:19; Romans 5:8; John 13:14; John 15:12; 16-17)
• Day 5: I am afraid of conflict and confrontation.
  Truth: Eph 4:15-16; Matt 18:15
• Day 6: I am afraid of making a wrong decision.
  Truth: James 1:5; 2 Tim 1:7; Matthew 25:14-30; Proverbs 16:9
• Day 7: I am afraid of walking in the dark.
  Truth: Psalm 119
• Day 8: I am afraid of being seen.
  Truth: Matthew 5:14-16; Luke 8:16; Philippians 2:15-16; Acts 13: 46-47; Isaiah 42:6
• Day 9: I am afraid of saying the wrong thing.
  Truth: Job 2:11-13; Romans 12:15; James 1:19
• Day 10: I am afraid of looking weak.
   Truth: Judges 6-8;  1 Cor 1:27; Psalms 46:1; Habakkuk 1:11; Psalms 28:7; 1 Peter 4:11; 2 Cor 12:9
• Day 11: I am afraid of not belonging.
  Truth: 1 Cor 3:23; Gal 3:29; Gen 1:16; Gen 2:18;1 John 1:7; Acts 2:42
• Day 12: I am afraid of being angry.
  Truth: Isaiah 30:27; Psalms 145:8; John 2:15; Ephesians 4:26; 1 Samuel 20:34; 1 Samuel 20)
• Day 13: I am afraid of others' anger.
  Truth: James 1:19; Isaiah 41:10-11; Proverbs 15:1; Judges 8:1-3
• Day 14: I am afraid of the king cobra evil.
  Truth: Psalms 23:4; 2 Chronicles 20:9; Psalms 91:10-13; Luke 10:19; Eph 6:10-18
• Day 15: I am afraid of change.
  Truth: Isaiah 43:18-19; Jeremiah 29:11; Isaiah 25:1; Isaiah 42:10
• Day 16: I am afraid of looking foolish.
  Truth: 2 Samuel 6:14; 2 Samuel 6:21-22; John 12:24 Galatians 5:24;  Romans 8:13-15
• Day 17: I am afraid of failure.
  Truth: Ephesians 2:10; Psalm 139:13-15; Genesis 1:31; Romans 3:10; 3:23; Psalms 73:26; Deuteronomy 31:6; 31:8; 1 Chronicles 28:20
• Day 18: I am afraid of flying cockroaches.
  Truth: Genesis 1:28
• Day 19: I am afraid of revealing my emotions.
  Truth: John 11:35; Mark 6:34; Matthew 26:38; John 14:9; Zephaniah 3:17 and many, many others; John 11:33; Genesis 1:26-27; John 12:24; Genesis 2:18; John 10:10
• Day 20: I am afraid of someone seeing my messy house.
  Truth: 1 Peter 4:8-9; 2 Corinthians 5:12; Titus 2:3-5
• Day 21: I am afraid of not being known (feeling alone).
  Truth: Jeremiah 1:5; Psalms 139:1-5; John 15:15; Genesis 2:18; John 19:26; Ecclesiastes 4:9-12; 1 Samuel 18-19; 1 Kings 19:15-18
• Day 22: I am afraid of being known.
  Truth: Jeremiah 1:5; John 3:16; Psalms 31:7; Romans 12:15; James 5:16; 1 Kings 19: 15-21
• Day 23: I am afraid of the unknown.
  Truth: Genesis 12:1; 2; Isaiah 42:16; 2 Corinthians 5:7; 2 Corinthians 9:8
• Day 24: I am afraid of not being in control.
  Truth: Job 38:12; 32-35; Proverbs 30:4; Isaiah 45:7; Isaiah 45:1-3; Isaiah 46:8-10
• Day 25: I am afraid of God not speaking to me.
  Truth: Isaiah 41:8-9; Isaiah 43:1; John 10:27; Psalms 22:1-2; Psalms 86:7; Deuteronomy 4:29; Jeremiah 29:13; 2 Chronicles 15:2-4.    
• Day 26: I am afraid of not recognizing God's voice.
  Truth: John 10:4; Hebrews 5:14; Psalm 34:8; Psalms 119:10; 2 Corinthians 2:14; Isaiah 11:3; Acts 26:18; Ephesians 1:18; Psalms 119:18; 2 Chronicles 34:27; Exodus 35:21; Isaiah 55:3; 2 Timothy 3:14-17
• Day 27: I am afraid of being the last to knowTruth: Jeremiah 10:14; Daniel 22:20-23
• Day 28: I am afraid of messing up my kids.Truth: 2 Chronicles 28:1-4; 2 Chronicles 29:1-2; 2 Kings 18:3-7; Zechariah 4:6; Psalms 115:3; Jeremiah 32:27; Philippians 4:6-7)
• Day 29: I am afraid of being stuck (not progressing)
  
• Philippians 4:13; John 15:5; 
• Philippians 1:6; 
Philippians 2:13; Psalms 138:8; Isaiah 64:8; Deuteronomy 32:4; Habakkuk 2:3; Hebrews 10:35-39; Ephesians 3:20-21
• Day 30: I am afraid of desire. 
  Truth: John 5:2-6; Matthew 20:29-32; James 4:2;1 Peter 3:15; John 10:10; Proverbs 13:12
• Day 31: I am afraid of falling.
  Truth: Psalms 20:7-8; Psalms 20:7-8; John 16:33; Deuteronomy 31:8; Psalms 125:1

-jenn

Marriage: Give and... Take?

Have you ever sat in a church pew just sure that the person beside you really needed to hear the message being given? You just knew that the words were meant not for you, but for that other person, right? I had that experience recently. Not in church, but sitting in our psychologist's office. He'd listened to us discussing a tough topic for awhile and then mentioned that a lot of people believe a good marriage is one with give and take. He asked us to re-frame that just a bit... with give and receive. I nodded my head in understanding and agreement as he spoke. He then asked us what we thought about that concept and I volunteered that it fit right in with what my parents always taught me – marriage isn't 50/50 it's 100/100. He nodded yes, but added a "but" that should've told me I wasn't entirely tracking. He reiterated that he wanted us to think about that concept of give and receive – rather than give and take – in the context of the topic we'd just been discussing. Uh huh. I got it. My husband needed to focus less on taking and more on giving, being happy with what he was receiving, right? I didn't actually voice that out loud, of course... but anybody could see who that statement was meant for, right?

Okay. Maybe not.

Later that evening my husband offered me a gift involving his time and attention – emphasizing that he wanted nothing in return. I should have been thrilled – he was listening; he got it. He was giving, not taking. I was surprised to realize, though, that I was conflicted. Briefly, I considered the possibility that he was doing this "just because" he was supposed to, not because it was his idea or that he really wanted to. I knew that wasn't fair, though... and even if he was doing it just because of our counseling session, he was still offering in an effort to show love, care, and support. I needed to accept it for the gift it was. Closely following that thought, though, was the realization that even though he had stressed he wanted nothing in return, I wasn't comfortable with that. I knew I'd end up feeling guilty for taking without giving. And I'd feel obligated to reciprocate. I'd "owe" him. As I considered that thought and what to do with it, the next thought surprised me: I realized – quite suddenly – that I never receive from my husband without feeling like I need to give something in return.

As I thought about that, I remembered times when I've given to him and wanted nothing in return. And I asked him what he thought at those times. His answer? "I feel loved." But for me to consider receiving? Just receiving? I feel the "should's" and "ought to's" weigh on me with the strong undertones of "you owe him." It hit me with blinding clarity – I hadn't learned to receive! I thought about how awkward I feel if someone gives me a Christmas gift and I have nothing to give in return. I even thought about my daughter's neighbor bringing food over for her the night we moved her in... and how I taught my daughter that you never return a container empty. And I realized... I don't think we're taught how to receive well. Not a gift. Not even a compliment.

It's taken me years to learn to appear to receive a compliment. I used to always deflect. I've finally learned to smile and say "Thank you," but if I'm honest even with that I have to admit that I'm still deflecting inside. I don't really know how to receive a compliment well. And I don't know how to receive a gift well. I feel obligated to return the favor. And that... that makes it... not a gift. That takes the joy away from the giver.

Webster defines the word gift as "Something voluntarily transferred by one person to another without compensation." Did you catch that? "... without compensation." We can't repay a gift. Any attempt to do so, by definition, changes it from a gift. Instead, it becomes an obligation – and something the giver never intended.

I'd like to think I'm good at giving. I enjoy meeting a friend for lunch and treating her. I squirm inside, though, when she only allows me to do so with the promise that "next time it's on me." That's not my intent. I mean for it to be a gift, a blessing. That response moves it from being a gift to a debt; from being a blessing to an obligation. But I'm realizing that I do the same thing. It's hard for me to accept a gift and offer nothing in return. I want to pay it back. I don't like to be on the side of receiving. Whether it's a compliment, a gift, or help – I'd rather give than receive. That even sounds biblical, right? It's better to give than to receive – I'm sure I've heard that somewhere! (Acts 20:35). So I can justify it... it's a good thing, right? If I am always giving, though, I don't leave my friend or my husband, or even my God, space to give. In my failure to receive well, I rob them of the blessing of giving. Our psychologist's words echoed in my mind – give and receive. The words were more for me than I thought.

So that night I told my husband what I'd realized... and admitted to him that I needed to learn how to receive. I needed to LET myself receive – without feeling the obligation, the "should," the overwhelming feeling that I needed to pay him back. I needed to learn the vulnerability of just receiving... of just enjoying the gift. And so that night I accepted his gift as just that – a gift. I'm sure I've got more work to do, but the beginning was beautiful. I rested in the love, in the gift – without the obligation. And what's more – he was able to enjoy it... to enjoy me freely receiving. And his enjoyment brought an even bigger smile to my face. It was a beautiful moment that touched us both deeply.

It seems our counselor was on to something: a good marriage – or any relationship – is not one where you've learned the art of give and take... it's one where you've learned to give and receive. That one little word change... so close... and yet so different. So... freeing.

So... how well do you receive? Do you, like me, feel a need to reciprocate, or pay back something which was freely given? Or are you able to allow the giver the blessing of accepting it with nothing but a smile and a heartfelt thank you? If not, what prevents you from receiving well? If you do, then feel free to share how you've learned to give and receive!

-jenn

At the Edge of Surrender

Last week I attended the SpeakUp Conference for Christian speakers/writers. It was a good experience. Several women there encouraged me.What sticks out most, though, are those moments where I was able to encourage others. It was probably a little short-sighted of me, but somehow I didn't go expecting to minister – even though it was a conference on improving our ministries. And... I probably learned as much about myself as I did writing.

During the first evening the writers each shared a small piece of writing for critique in a small group – basically the first page that an acquisition editor/publishing house would see and make a quick judgment on. That's kind of scary. Okay, more than kind of.  You're really putting yourself out there. As I walked away, though, I was actually feeling pretty good about how it went. I'd gotten good feedback, some tears, and one woman who commented on an example I'd made and exclaimed she'd never thought about it that way – it was like the Holy Spirit punched her in the gut. That's a pretty good night for a writer. You know what you said connected with and impacted someone. Your words made a difference.

Shortly after that, I checked into the hotel where several of us were staying. The manager asked me what the conference was about. Feeling slightly awkward, I answered, "Depending on what you're doing, making us better speakers or better writers." I figured that would be the end of it, but he then asked, "What are you doing?" Oh. Wow. I'm going to have to actually say it out loud! There was no way to avoid it, so I hesitantly answered, "Writing." The next question, though, really threw me for a loop. He asked, "What are you writing about?" I know that question shouldn't have surprised me, but it did. I hadn't even considered the possibility of someone asking what I was writing about. I mean, in truth, I wouldn't have even said I was writing... I was just thinking about writing – and I don't even feel comfortable admitting that! It took a minute before I answered with a quiet, "Umm... probably childhood sexual abuse." His eyes showed surprise as he asked, "From what perspective?" Gulp. Did he seriously just ask that? "Survivor." He didn't even flinch as he went on to tell me about his involvement in helping children trafficked from Africa. I nodded in understanding and relief. I was glad that the first time I'd admitted my desire to write –  especially on such a tough subject –  had gone so well. No awkward silence. Just a common ground. Cool.

The next morning at the conference I chose a seat at a table that initially had only one other woman. I left an empty chair between us. We made small talk for a moment, asking which track the other was on. Then she asked me what I was writing about. My hesitation was smaller this time. I think God had used the conversation the night before to prepare me. I drew in a breath and quietly answered again, "Probably childhood sexual abuse." Her eyes widened as she blinked and made a small, nearly undetectable gasp. I prepared myself for the sympathy/horror I thought I saw in her eyes. Her first words, though, were "My grandson...." Actually, those were her only words for a moment as her eyes watered and words failed her. I immediately moved to take the seat between us, touching her arm and encouraging her to go on. While her grandson's story was different from mine, it was surprisingly similar. We shared a God-ordained moment in which two lives intersected briefly but deeply. I left the conference with names to pray over, and the confidence from knowing I was where I was supposed to be in that moment of time. It's an amazing thing to be a part of a God-orchestrated moment.

Over the course of the weekend others encouraged me. Several affirmed that my story was needed. Others gave me contacts and resources. So it was good... affirming... encouraging. In the midst of that, though, I think I heard another message from an unspoken voice. One that said the time isn't right yet. One that said I wasn't ready.

What I began to understand is that I'm still at a spot where it's "my story." I'm writing for the right reasons – my aim is to encourage others; to shed light and open a door. I'm not writing to vent, or to gain retribution or to justify myself or to say "look at me." I truly want to help others to break out of their silence and find freedom from shame. I want to touch women like that grandmother at my table and let them know they are not alone. And if I were writing from a secular perspective, I think I could say I was in a good place with good motive to write and do just that. But I'm not writing from a secular perspective. And there's the problem. I haven't let it be His story yet. It's still my story. As I'm healing I tend to think about what I need to do to make progress.  I tend to ask questions like "How do I....?" Yes, I can see God in it at times and I know He's there. But if I'm honest, I have to admit that I'm not very good at inviting Him in. I tend to try to do it on my own power. And until I drop those walls and wave the white flag of surrender, it's not His story. It's still mine. And as long as it's mine, it's not mine to tell. It may bring encouragement to someone. It may let others know they are not alone in their experience. But it won't point them to the One who is always there; who will never leave them alone. When it's really His story, not mine... then it will be time.

Does that mean I won't still write? You know me better than that, don't you? Writing is how I process. I have to write.  And I feel called to be authentic – to be real – so I'll keep sharing it here. But until I know that it's truly His story, not mine; that it will bring eternal encouragement, not just temporary... then this is it. This little piece of cyberspace. My place to be authentic; to admit it's not all tied up with a bow. My place to be held accountable, even – to admit I'm struggling and I know I'm not where I need to be; to let you in and give you permission to call me out or to check in with me. Because once it's out there... I become more real not only to you, but it becomes more real to me, too.

So... Hi, I'm Jenn... and I'm way too independent for my own good. I need to surrender.  How about you?

-jenn

Note: The BlogHop below consists of blog entries from other SpeakUp Attendees....

I Remember You

I was driving along the interstate on a stretch of road where I couldn't find a Christian radio station. Roadtrips and music go together, so  I hit the USB drive option on the sound system and followed up with a quick tap to "shuffle." Several songs played that I hadn't heard in a long time and at one point I found myself adding harmony to Mark Schultz's "Remember Me."

Sung from God's perspective, He asks the listener to remember Him in all the little things of life:

Remember Me
When the color of the sunset fills the sky
Remember Me
When you pray and tears of joy fall from your eyes.

He speaks of the agelessness, the eternity of His unchanging presence:

And age to age
And heart to heart,
Bound by grace and peace.

Then He asks us to remember Him, because He's remembered us:

Child of wonder
Child of God,
I remember you...
Remember Me

Tears gathered in my eyes as that truth suddenly hit home: He remembers!

He remembers that 6 year old little girl.

He remembers that child of wonder.

He remembers her trust; her innocence; her child-like joy.

He remembers who He created her to be.

He remembers what was stolen from her.

He remembers the damage done and the trust betrayed.

He remembers what that six year old girl had no words for.

There were no witnesses to my abuse, but He saw.

It was years before I told anyone, but He heard.

He remembers what no one else does; what no one else even knew.

Even my memory has some gaps. But God knows.

He saw.

He heard.

His heart broke.

And He remembers.

He remembers because it matters.

He remembers because I matter.

He remembers.

He remembers the child of wonder, child of God.

He remembers everything.

And...

He remembers...

ME.

- jenn
Psalm 115:12: The Lord remembers us.... 

Into the Mess

Image by ChariT's Inspirational Creations

In some ways, I was a bit hesitant about publishing "Sound Reflections: Echoes of my Boots." I felt it was a good piece to share – it spoke of hope and it was true at the moment. But I also knew that other moments might be different – in fact WOULD be different. That's the funny thing about healing – it doesn't take a linear path. It's a jagged line with peaks and valleys. The general direction is usually up, but sometimes those valleys can plunge dramatically – perhaps even further down than the last dip. Sometimes the valley may even seem to be more of a gorge with a raging river running through it.

"Echoes of my Boots" was from one of the peaks. I knew there would be more valleys, so part of me hesitated to publish a post that might imply everything is now all good. It's not. Healing is a process. Sometimes it gets downright messy and unpredictable. Sometimes it seems to go backward before it goes forward. Sometimes you manage to take a few steps only to be knocked back again. Often you find yourself tumbling toward the valley floor only moments after standing on the peak. If you are in that place, healing from ANY hurt, please know that's normal. Things often get worse before they get better.

When I clean out a junk closet I usually drag everything out to sort through it all. The mess I create in the process actually looks worse than it did before I started. That's probably part of the reason so many of us put off doing it. As long as the door is closed, everything is okay. At least, it seems okay. We do a pretty good job of acting like it is – even convincing ourselves that it is – until someone opens the door a crack and gets a peek at our mess... or until that one last thing you want to stuff behind the door causes the entire mess to come crashing down around you.

My psychologist cracked open that door for me a couple of years ago. I'd been convinced there wasn't even anything in that closet. When he suggested there was, I denied it: Everything's okay, nothing to see here. I was wrong. He saw what I couldn't see. The mess in that closet – the broken trust of that six year old little girl¹– rules my reactions. It affects how I view the world, myself, and how I react to others – with reactions that aren't always justified.

We've been working on that. But to change something, first you have to be aware of it. To be aware, you have to look at it – really look at it. You have to take it out of the closet, out of the box. Once it's out you have to deal with it. You have to face those emotions and reactions. That's where it gets messy.

In "The Wounded Heart," Dan Allender wrote:

"The answer involves a strategy that seems to intensify the problem: peer deeply into the wounded heart. The first great enemy to lasting change is the propensity to turn our eyes away from the wound and pretend things are fine. The work of restoration cannot begin until a problem is fully faced.²

The truth is that we don't want to clean out that closet. We don't want to look. But we have to look if we want to change. We have to peer deeply. And if we find the courage (or the desperation) to do that, it seems to actually intensify the problem! Ugh! Emotions and reactions come to the surface with surprising strength. Messy. Painful. It gets worse before it gets better.

Recently, my psychologist asked how I was doing. After a few moments' hesitation and reflection, I answered:

"I feel worse... but I think it's because I'm doing better."

He smiled and nodded, affirming: "I couldn't have hoped for a better, more profound answer." Then, of course, he asked me to explain.

I felt worse because peering into the wound had stirred up emotions and reactions that had been suppressed. They were no longer stuffed behind the door, but were beginning to spill out. That week I'd seen in myself an unjustified reaction toward my husband and I'd cried in his arms because of it. That was the feeling worse. But it was also doing better. I'd actually allowed myself to feel – and that was progress. It's difficult for me to allow myself to feel and express emotions. I've pushed down and invalidated my own feelings for so long that most of the time I can't tell you what I'm feeling because I don't even know myself. It's amazing how much time I've spent on my psychologist's couch in stumped silence because I had no answer for his questions of what/how I was feeling! It's something we've been working on for over two years... with a frustrating lack of progress. But that week I'd seen my brokenness. I'd seen how it hurt my relationship with my husband. And... I was heartbroken over it. Heartbroken and angry that all I had to offer my husband was my brokenness. I was at that spot where the mess (part of it anyway) was out of the closet. I felt worse. But I was doing better.

I've been going through that closet now for a couple of years. Things have been wedged in there so tightly it's taken a lot of tugging to pull it out. Sometimes I feel like I'm getting a handle on it – times like I wrote about in "Echoes of my Boots" or "Changed by Story." Sometimes I get blindsided by something I didn't see coming – like when a simple devotional recently had me sobbing (and totally freaking out) in my husband's arms. But I'm learning that the mess can just be that for now – a mess. It's okay. God took 40 years to teach Moses humility, patience, and trust as a sheep herder in the desert (after he killed the Egyptian and in preparation for the Exodus). God used 17 years of slavery and imprisonment to prepare Joseph to act as second in command of Egypt. So it's okay if it takes some time. It's okay to sort through it a few things at a time, going through it on my own time, in my own way. It's even okay that sometimes it seems like the mess is bigger, not smaller. That just may be what Joseph was feeling as he sat in that jail! I do wish I didn't have to remind myself of that so frequently, though....

The important thing is to open the door; to go into the mess. If we are willing to go into it, God will bring us through it. The Apostle Paul promises us that "He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus." ³ So, yes, it's okay not to be "there" (wherever "there" is). It's okay to be a work in progress. It's okay to be a mess. As Ally in the movie "Mom's Night Out" says:

So keep looking; keep going in – because He will bring you through. He will complete what He's started!

-jenn

P.S. I thought the hand-stamped dogtag necklace in the top photo was pretty cool. It's available for purchase at ChariT's Inspirational Creations.

P.P.S  And, yes, now I want to see "Mom's Night Out" again. Great movie!

---

^1. See "Into the Silence" ↩
^2. From "The Wounded Heart" by Dan Allender (I also recommend "The Wounded Heart Workbook" to go with the book) ↩
^3. Philippians 1:6 ↩

Sound Reflections: Echoes of my Boots

It was a beautiful spring morning. I closed the car door and walked across the gravel parking lot, crossing the street and stepping onto the sidewalk outside the church. I smiled inside at the sound of my boot heels on the walk beneath me. I'd noticed it before – a small sense of satisfaction at the sound of the new boots clicking with each step. As someone who is in sneakers far more than anything even remotely resembling a dress shoe, and is far more comfortable in those sneakers, I had assumed the satisfaction was part of the healing from my sexual abuse... finally starting to take joy in being female... feeling good about myself... enjoying a sound which reflected that change... a sound which was... uniquely female. 

As I crossed the walk that morning, though, my mind suddenly flashed back to a conversation in my psychologist's office just a few days before. I'd confessed to him several weeks ago that when I become highly upset, I have a deep desire to throw things. I had been realizing there was evidently more anger buried inside than I'd wanted to admit, even to myself. In my last session I'd told him that as I'd thought more about it, though, I'd realized the desire really wasn't just to throw something. I wanted the satisfaction of throwing it against a wall and hearing it shatter into a million places. I'd come to realize that while there might be some physical release from hurling an object through the air, it would feel empty without the sound of it shattering as it hit the wall. It was the sound my soul was screaming for. The sound... shattering the silence.

I've lived most of my life in silence... without a voice. As I'd thought about that desire to throw something and hear it shatter against the wall, I'd realized that even when I couldn't find my voice... even when I'd wanted to hide what had happened... somewhere deep inside there was still a little girl who needed her pain and anger to be heard. The shattering glass would give sound to the silence... sound to the shattered soul. It would be heard.  It would give voice to the pain that I was unable to give voice to.

All of that flashed through my mind as my boot heels sounded on the walk that morning. As it did, I realized that yes, there was a new "female" sound to my footsteps... a sound I took satisfaction in. It was more than that, though. It was also... just the sound itself. Firm. Solid. The sound of the boot heels echoing into the silence of the morning... breaking the silence... announcing my presence. It was a sound that said "I am here. Hear me."

And in that moment I realized... I had been doing so much more than trading in my sweatshirt for a sweater; my sneakers for new boots. I was trading in my silence... SHATTERING the silence. As I reached for the door I smiled.  My boots sounded on the walk below me, echoing the cry of my soul: I am here. I matter. Now hear me roar... into the silence. 

-- jenn