Finding the Blessings

Father’s day is tough for me. Not only is it a day that I reflect on my some what estranged relationship with my dad, but also the anniversary of my mother’s death. 5 years ago she was found dead from an overdose in a motel room in Calgary. Sober for a few days before she headed to a friend’s funeral and I guess in a moment of ‘celebration’…. she used.  She thought she could handle it one more time and it was her last.

My mother, Granny as my kids called her, never got to meet my youngest child who was born weeks after she passed. She also will not get to see her grandkids; graduate, win sports events, hear them laugh or cry, sing or tell knock knock jokes, watch them sleep or tell them stories. Drugs stole this from her and her addictions stole all the precious ‘could have beens’ from us.

Then there is my father. He struggled his whole life with alcoholism and a life of reckless decision making mixed with extremely poor choices. This hurt him and it hurt me.

I was always  mostly close with my dad when he was sober. He worked his programs, tried hard to stay sober, but would inevitably fall off the wagon. Life was a struggle for him and he was stuck in a pattern that hurt himself and those he loved.

When I was in my 20’s I maintained a relationship with both my parents and saw my dad almost daily.  I started having kids in my 30’s and things changed. My mom slipped back into heavy street drug use and my dad fell off the wagon…no he set fire to the wagon and left a wake of broken relationships. I wanted to protect my kids from everything and that included potential harm caused by their grand parents. So, this meant keeping them at arms length.

I struggle with guilt every time I attempt a phone call with my father or send a letter or stop in at his work when I cruise through his town. My knowledge of who and how he has hurt others besides me is too big….too vivid….too much and I am at a loss as to how to handle the whole thing.

To stay sane I stay focused on something greater than my hurts and can find comfort in the fact that there has been much to learn in all of this.What have I learned?

  1. I am not my parents.
  2. I can celebrate the fact that I have stopped the cycle of abuse and neglect.
  3. Self care is not selfish and is far more important  than trying to focus on the addicts in our lives.
  4. There is nothing I could have said or done to change my parents. They believed the lie that numbing would remove the pain or provide freedom. It never does.
  5. My parents had experienced things that I will never really comprehend and were doing ‘the best’ they could. It is a big job to hide the messy emotional life we live and my dad had endured some terrible abuse as a child. Their best at times was addiction…. it was the most honest thing about them and their messy life.
  6. Standing in judgement does not serve me ,in fact it steals my joy.
  7. Being angry does not erase hurt.
  8. Numbing erases pain, but it also erases joy and robs us of precious relationships
  9. My parents may have written the beginning of my story, but I get to write the middle and the ending
  10. I may (or may not) regret the distance I keep my father, but I will never regret protecting my children. They deserve it!

Put on my crown

 

 

Bless This Beautiful Mess

“Perfectionism is self-abuse of the highest order.”
― Anne Wilson Schaef

  This morning, as the sun sparkled through the dusty blinds, I felt the rawness of my very emotional week-end set into my bones. An awakening took place that I am still processing and new awareness feels good, but like new shoes, it needs time to form to your feet…or soul .

Upon sitting up, my eyes take note of the laundry hanging loose on the ironing board and the  over flowing basket of clean clothes under neath still waiting to be put away. Clothes are intermingled with decorative cushions on the window seat and corners of books and papers peak out at odd junctures. “Why do people eat in my room and leave dirty dishes behind?”  I say to myself, and then feel a lingering resentment compete with my contentment as I make my way to the door.

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The disarray continues in the hallway as I step over Dr. Suess books and barbies in tattered gowns and missing limbs, but played with none-the-less. My head turns toThe 5 year old’s room that was spotless for a moment last week, but now scattered with toys and clothes and bedding that no longer lives on the bed. Next, I know I am headed to the kitchen where dishes await my attention and the to-do list gathers speed and my chest tightens as my world seems too big to handle.

My feet stop me at the top of the stairs as I look out the dust streaked window into the tops of the trees and memories of first moving into to our home six years earlier remind me of how I disliked our scrawny, little maple tree out front. It seemed so awkward and bent compared to the rest on our street, but I had no clue how to change it so I just lived with it like I did the other ugly parts of myself.

I was uncomfortable with the uniqueness.

I wanted my home to be the same as all the other perfect homes.

 Perfect yards and maple trees that stood tall and round and full set the standard.

I wanted perfect too…it felt safe.

This morning I notice how grand my ignored skinny tree  has become. It is full and round and rivals any of the others around. The branches reach towards the sky in a posture of worship in its fullness and it takes my breath away. I take a deep breath in as I realize how profound this moment is. I did not try and control the tree’s growth process and instead stepped out of it’s way and let nature do its thing.

Just like God does with me.

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Gratitude seeps in and I look back at the mess in my five year old’s room and I become curious about why the mess triggers anxiety in me. Yes, the job feels never ending , and the to-do lists seem daunting, and I can never seem to get ahead of the game, but there is something more. I have let the mess be a part of how I define myself and with every unexpected knock on the door or friend who drops in my fear of being discovered for the mess I am takes over.

Then it hits me…

This mess is actually the most honest thing about me.

It represents the truth of how I get distracted by other pursuits that fill my soul. How my house is full of life and children who create and explore and play and live with out constraint. It is a picture of how I am not perfect and quite frankly can’t always cope with the amount of work it takes to have the pinterest perfect home. The mess may define an aspect of my ability as a house keeper, but it does not define my worthiness as a  human being. The mess does not take away the fact that I am worthy of love and belonging and DOES NOT make me less than anyone else.

I feel another layer of perfectionism strip away  and begin to thank God for the power of honesty and I quietly ask Him to

Bless This Beautiful Mess and all who live in it”

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Between Two Moons

Something happened to me between two moons. Actually, it is an always happening more than a one time thing , but maturity is revealing the pattern to me. That’s right, this Metis girl can finally pull out the cliche “Many moons ago”….actually 48 first  spring full moons…and still counting.

I have been on a path of seeking personal growth and I want to grow and be amazing , you know, with out the growing pains.

With out the pruning.

With out the dying to self.

With out the cracking open.

I simply want to have this beautiful blossoming, but my suburbian self has forgotten the gardening process. It is embarrassing really. Six years in the suburbs with little , contrived 2 x 8 patches of earth to plant and I have lost touch with how to garden. Not an excuse I know, but I am blaming it on the crowded house effect that has me spending too much time in my minivan, shopping at big box stores and piling up packaging in my recycle bin.

I have lost touch.

I have lost perspective.

I have put my faith in something other than the gardener.

What do the two moons have to do with this? Well I could not really put my finger on it until yesterday, the first full moon of spring. I had been going through a very difficult time and had been praying and seeking and reading and writing and sorting through some tough things. I had prayed for God to remove some things in my life that keep me from living wholeheartedly. I had prayed for a deeper, more authentic  relationship with God and I simply wanted Him to reach in magically make it so.

Instead, He planted me in darkness and asked me to trust the process. Like a little seed in the deep, dark soil, I sat waiting not knowing if I would ever see the light again. The dark was scary for me and it felt completely out of control, which is EXACTLY where God wanted me to be.

Letting go of control

Leaning into the unknown

In complete surrender to the process 

I sat in darkness grieving, but completely unsure of what it was I was grieving. Does the rose bush know why its branches are being severed fruit, thorns and all?  Probably not and either did I , but some big things were being trimmed out and I had to trust the process. It was painful, this letting go of tired old branches that felt necessary.

Perfectionism

Retreating

Shrinking

Believing my voice did not matter

It all had to go in order for prayer to be answered, for me to grow new, more lovelier branches of myself AND I had to grieve. I had to lean into sadness which is so very contrary to my perfectionist ways and yet so completely necessary in order to fully experience my joy.

In between the harvest moon  of autumn and the first full moon of spring I experienced a letting go so that I could be replanted freshly in new, rich soil. My heart has had to be cracked open so the nutrient rich word could seep in and begin its sprouting. This first full moon of spring has drawn a renewal, a rebirth, a sprouting towards the warmth of the sun  and God answers prayer like how He grows all of creation. With new strength I push up out of darkness and soak up the gentle spring rain  and know that all is grace.

 

 

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A letter to my Children

To My Beloved Children,

I am not a perfect parent. In fact I have made some big mistakes along the way.

(Okay stop with the “Amen’s”)

Some I have apologized for and some are still being revealed to me and I am trying to right my wrongs as we grow in this family together.

One area I have perhaps brought you along with me unwittingly, is into an arena of faith that was sometimes more religious than spirit filled and had some damaging teachings.

I need to speak to you on these matters as Jesus is revealing Himself to me in a new light that is showing me my true value in Him.

There is a lot of theology out there that speaks from a place that I believe Jesus would never speak from, and what I need you to ask yourself when you hear or read a teaching is this;

“Is what I am hearing  born of love or fear?”

Because, If it is born of love then you will feel excitement, chills, and filled as you hear it. Its those moments where as you hear it you feel more alive than before you heard it. It resonates in a deep place that makes you  think or shout “Amen!”

Please, lean in to this and soak up what God has given to pour richly into your soul, to build you up , and make you strong, and wise , and in line with His will for your life.

If it is born of fear you will know, because there will be a little kick to your gut or a flush that comes over you or an uncomfortable feeling that makes you feel ashamed or fearful. Shame feels crusty and makes you want to hide or be something you are not.

This. is. NOT. of. God.

Trust your instincts.

Trust your emotions.

If anyone tries to tell you that you should never trust either of these things…please, please, please know that this is false teaching.

God has given you instincts and emotions for a reason so you know how to stay in the fullness of His love.

Does this mean that if you hear something that challenges you to stay out of sin and you feel discomfort you should ignore it?

No.

What I am saying is that if someone is trying to teach you that your obedience to scripture should come at the expense of your dignity…..there is something wrong in the teaching and you will feel it on some level.

Pay attention to that….it is a place that breeds shame.

This. Is. NOT. of God.

If anyone makes you feel small for questioning matters of faith, know that this is fear and not love. Questioning is healthy and important. God gave us the ability to have reason and faith. The two combined can create amazing advancement for humanity and society. Science, math, art, music, humour, etc are all born out of the partnership between reasoning and faith. This is how God designed us to be and to honour this is to honour our creator.

Besides….extreme certainty with out faith or questioning is self righteous.

 “Self righteousness feels good for a moment just like peeing your pants feels warm for a moment.”Rachel Held Evans

Faith with out reason is irrational and can lead to spiritual abuse. So question and question and wrestle ideas and concepts and points of view and when someone says your questioning is offensive or against God or lacks faith, then know that is not a safe place to be living out your faith.

My children I tell you this because I have lived a fear based faith system where I was asked to submit to men and authority in a way that diminished my dignity. Certain scriptures were used to tell me that my husband has authority over me and that if things are going wrong then perhaps I needed to submit more, pray more, forgive more. This has been damaging to both me and your Father and our marriage.

This. Is. NOT. of. God.

Fear based theology will tell you that your body is not your own and that your spouse has ownership over your body. That if you deny your spouse sexual favours then you are not living up to your covenant with God. This my children is twisted and puts each spouse in a place where their “love” can incur penalties for non fulfillment. This is about honouring a desire not about a covenant of love. Do not believe the lie that we were made solely for the purpose of sexual fulfillment.

Adam was not walking through the Garden becoming aroused and thought ” What should I do with this?” so God god gave him a prostitute.

It is just not how the story goes. NO, first God made Adam out of dust to be full and complete in Him. Not needing someone else to fill him, but feeling fully satisfied in God first. Then from that beautiful, sacred, fullness that was in Adam, God created Eve.

She came not from the garden like a plant whose purpose was to satisfy Adam’s hunger. No, she came from a place that was already fulfilled and brought into existence so that Adam had someone who was also made with the fullness of God to experience the glory of God with him.

You see we are not designed to be in marriage out of empty need, rather to bask in the continued fullness of our creator in a partnership. You see my beauties, love comes from fullness not from scarcity.

“Such love has no fear, because perfect love expels all fear. If we are afraid, it is for fear of punishment, and this shows that we have not fully experienced his perfect love.” 1 John 4:18

I think that scripture can be interpreted in a misguided way and  is sometimes used to force sexual intimacy in a marriage saying that each spouse does not own their own bodies. No my children, please know that there is a BIG difference between demanding sex to fulfill your own pleasure and responding sexually out of love and openness. No one should give pleasure at the expense of their own dignity….EVER.

And if someone is asking for sexual favours that you are not ready, willing or able to give you have EVERY right to say no. In fact, practice your no. Say it, write it, know it and understand that “No” comes from a place of self respect. Someone who loves you will ALWAYS respect your no as much as your yes.

And if you are demanding sexual favours from an unwilling partner , then know that you are acting outside of God’s beautiful will for your life. Love NEVER seeks it’s own selfish desires. Stop it , apologize, and get help from a trained counsellor. If you love someone you will always respect someone else’s no as much as their yes

And if anyone tries to make you feel bad about saying no, please, please know that this is not love. This is manipulation for fulfilling a toxic need (like a drug) and if you succumb you will be stepping out side of God’s will for your life ,as a child of God and as a spouse. So learn strong boundaries and the language to respond with dignity and get help from a trained counsellor if it becomes a problem.

Lastly, my hope for you is that you will grow up and be a people who strive to know love and desire to out-do each other in acts of love . That you would know love so well that your first response is a from a place that others will be in awe and be curious of where your ideas of love come from and in this know Jesus.

Love Always,

Mom

 

 

Losing My Voice

Raison D’être

“The dark does not destroy the light; it defines it. It’s our fear of the dark that casts our joy into the shadows.” Brene Brown 

I cannot recall the exact moment it happened for me….this losing of my voice.

What I can recall though are the moments that it had made its appearance before slipping quietly back into the safety of its witness protection program.

From time to time , In fits of anger or bubbled up courage, I would allow my voice to surface and speak out.

While in my head my words had the eloquence and power of Martin Luther King, in real life they would fumble out of my mouth and end up looking more like the awkward fight scene in Napoleon Dynamite.

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The fumbling would inevitably trigger an avalanche of shame in me and so I would work hard to keep my words quiet….I would retreat safely into silence or craft my words in a manner that made everyone around me feel at ease.

I purposefully quieted my voice to allow space for others to speak more loudly….and in this I shrank.

Some how everyone else’s well being was more important than  my own.

Basically, everyone else’s comfort held a higher esteem than my own dignity.

This was my sad little truth.

The problem is that when I allowed my own dignity to be diminished, it dug a deeper hole into the pit of fear, loneliness and rejection blocking any chance of real relationship.

When shame binds you….fear will define you.

Growing up in a home rife with emotionally unbalanced people meant living in a home with floors made of egg shells. What anyone said or did could pull the trigger of violence and no one , BUT NO ONE , was safe.

So I learned from a young age that being invisible was not just safe, but a super power.

My father layed the ground work.

You see, my dad was a deeply insecure and broken man whose defence came through his fists. One of my first and only memories of him with my mother was when he knocked her off her chair as she fed me. I was in my high chair opening my mouth to receive the food on the end of the spoon and as she reached the spoon towards me his fist connected with her skull and she fell to the floor. I was barely a year old and had not yet learned to speak, BUT had begun the lesson that what I said would either keep me safe or tip the scales.

Again, at five years old, after years of being bounced between parents and grand parents, I went to live with my father, his new wife and her son who was my age.

My father put me on a pedestal and praised me at every turn which you would think would have a positive affect and build my self worth.However, there was  dark side of this as my father  also beat his step son into submission with clenched teeth and closed fists. This sometimes happened at the dinner table but mostly happened behind closed doors. The screams of that boy child invaded every corner of my imagination and I would sit frozen in fear as a shame storm ravaged my tender soul.

The message was loud and clear….NO ONE WAS SAFE…so shrink away unseen.

His hands never had to land on me for me to be hurt. My flesh was not damaged by him, but my heart and soul were torn to shreds making fertile ground for shame to reign supreme.

This was the beginning of the shaping of my character. I knew at 5 years old that my words held power and what I said or didn’t say was going to protect me and everyone around me.

Invisibility may have been my super power but I had to somehow find a way to exist in the world before me. Shrinking away was not always a possibility and so hustling for my self worth became an art in which I excelled. When the only mirror to who you are is via severely damaged and darkened souls you experience yourself as deeply flawed and unworthy of real love and belonging. So in this, you work to be what you think others need in order to be ok. When this is the only view of yourself, you accept it as truth and you go about the lonely business of avoiding real connection and in this, shame quietly wins.

Fast forward almost 49 years old ( I am on the fast train to 50) and I am just realizing the importance of not only finding my voice….but actually using it.

The first step has been in admitting that it was lost. It existed somewhere, but was unrecognizable. I have really had to get out the big girl shovel and dig through piles of shame to find it.

When I finally found it all beaten down and cowering in the corner, I was not so sure I wanted it to come out.

It had a lot to say and it was scary.

I was afraid of its power.

What if it was unruly and carelessly opened doors that I was not ready to open?

What if it told stories that I did not want told?

And then that magic moment happened. I looked into the eyes of my oldest daughter who saw that I was not speaking up for myself. She defended me in a situation that she should not have had to. She spoke the words that should have come out of me but my voice was too tired and beaten down.

I saw it right there in her eyes …the “why mom?”

How do I tell her that it is because I am afraid or because I am trying to protect her?  That my silence is my superpower…That I am still believing in the lie that it will save us in the end.

There it sat.

The truth is that I was holding on to a lie and my kids deserved better. They deserve a mother that speaks up….a mother that loves herself enough to know that her voice matters.

I want for them to feel whole and go out into the world equipped to experience love and belonging and trust.

I had to recognize that I am a leader and my little followers will go where ever I lead them. That is a powerful thought and I knew I had to step out at all cost.

But how?

In wanting  something better for those I loved my search began. I stepped out in faith and began by praying.

I prayed for the courage to move into this place of vulnerability.

I prayed for walls to come down.

I prayed for clarity and direction.

I prayed for wisdom of those who have walked before me.

If you are reading this I ask you to continue to pray for me as this will probably always be my battle.

I prayed and I listened.

I read and I talked it out.

I sought healing in counselling and I surrounded myself with people on the same path….and then as my eyes began to open so did my heart.

A friend invited me to sign up for the Brene Brown Courage works course. Her work as a shame researcher has more than held my interest and she has helped shed light on my inner workings. Through this course my eyes have been opened to these facts;

  • I crave wholeheartedness
  • I am bound by shame and this keeps me from using my voice and living wholeheartedly
  • Empathy heals shame
  • Self compassion helps me to move through releasing shame I put on myself
  • In order to have courage to live out side of fear and shame and practice using my voice I must allow myself to be vulnerable
  • Vulnerability will lead to wholeheartedness

 

Not sure why it takes having kids to want this for myself but it is a real wake up call to understand that I could not expect my kids to experience wholeness when I modelled something different.

 

I searched scripture to see how Jesus views me  and how he views all women. God, in the flesh, came at a time when women were valued as less than cattle and he spoke to women in that time and told them (paraphrase)”Sisters, take your high place!” and in the same way he spoke these words to me.

He has reminded that my image….my narrative….my value, is not to be decided by the broken people who have defined this aspect of me for so long. God has given me the power to step out of this. He has shown me through Jesus that I am valued beyond measure and has put loving friends on my path who speak healing truth…. a balm to my injured soul…

” You are a new creation in Christ”

A new creation means I no longer have to hold on to the garbage of my past. Time to declutter and renew my thinking. I can let go of what was so that I have space for what I want to be.

 

I am going to need a lot of space because my heart feels crowded.

It needs a workspace.

A sacred place.

A place to stretch out and listen….listen for God’s voice and in that find my own voice.

The Point of Grace

“Nothing in life is to be feared, it is only to be understood. Now is the time to understand more, so that we may fear less.”    Marie Curie

 

The Point of Grace

If you were given the chance to re- design your life story what would it look like? Would you be rich, poor, famous, tall, short, heroic, tragic, comfortable or an epic adventurer? Where would you live? Who would your parents be? How would the world receive you?

This is one of the very questions that has lead me to believe in God. You see, only He could have woven beauty in the mess of my upbringing. Because, in all honesty, If you or I would have been in charge of designing my life story, neither of us would have ever conceived the craziness , nastiness, or the absurdness of it all. It has actually been so bizarre at times that even I question if it was real or imagined.  The stories of hurt, abuse, neglect, abandonment, and even criminality are at times so extreme and haunting that it is stranger than fiction.

In light of all of it the story’s ending should have been  predictable. As a writer, even I would put a character that has gone through so much trauma directly into a padded room where she can rock back and forth in the fetal position and YET that is not my ending.

It is not even my middle.

Somehow through physical, mental, emotional, sexual, and spiritual abuse I am able to put one foot in front of the other and walk through life in an upright fashion. I am not with out scars mind you….but I am blessedly endowed with a resilience that can only be explained (in my mind) as grace.

What do I mean by grace?

Well…grace has meant many things to me and all the meanings are real and true to me.

In our culture we can see grace in a manner of something or someone who displays elegance. Grace Kelly, Princess Diana, Audrey Hepburn are some famous women who come to mind as pictures of this type of grace. This is not the kind of grace that would describe me or my life but it is a lovely variety of grace none-the -less.

There is also the grace that shows up as a prayer of thanksgiving usually around the dinner table.  Coming from the Latin Gratia  or gratitude and in a most humble fashion makes grace a verb.

In my instance grace has not been elegant or something anyone would naturally associate with gratitude. OH, on the contrary, The grace I am referring to has come at points in my life as a blessing (usually in disguise) and serves as a catalyst for change or opportunity.

For example….at 16 years old I had to escape the clutches of my physically abusive 20 something boy friend by army crawling through the neighbourhood hiding under vehicles desperately trying to be unseen. He had locked me in his bedroom of his mobile home (Cliche I know) and threatened to beat me if I made a sound. I somehow got loose and made a run for the door. He heard the screen door slam behind me and the scene quickly turned into predator chasing prey.

I remember the terror that ran through my veins as his corvette passed up and down the streets looking for me. It had been raining and the ground was muddy and wet soaking me to the bone. As the sound of his car grew distant I made a break for it and headed out of his trailer park avoiding the main road putting myself into a 6 foot deep irrigation ditch to get to the highway. The ditch was about 3 feet deep with water and the muddy bank kept giving way as I scrambled to climb up to the road. My hand finally reached a clump of weeds that somehow held my body weight and allowed me to pull myself up to the edge of the highway. My heart was beating out of my chest and I must have looked insane hitch hiking covered in mud. With the sound of the corvette still charging through the distance, I hopped into the first car that stopped.

This was a point of grace.

As I sat sobbing and vulnerable in this man’s car, he was kind enough to drive me 35 minutes to the house of my foster family. It was late and they rarely kept track of my coming and going so it was easy to slip in and out unnoticed. When I arrived home I went straight to my bedroom to undress and climb into bed. What I was not expecting was what happened next.

As I turned on the light I saw it right there on my bedroom mirror. Written in black eyeliner …

” YOU ARE A DEAD  LITTLE SLUT”

I stood frozen in that spot looking past my own reflection at the marked threat. The air hung heavy with traces of his smell still there. It could only have been a matter of seconds between him leaving and me arriving.

This one last intrusion scared me enough to break change. 

He had somehow, brazenly snuck into my foster home looking for me and in his spiteful way left me the message that would open the door to me telling someone….finally….about the abuse.

Again, no one…especially me….would ever think to bless someone with this kind of grace. However, this one intense point of grace…a crack that let enough light in…. gave me the courage to speak up. Some where, some how I was not letting him have control over me ANYMORE. and so I told my foster sister who then told her mother who then told someone who told him directly that we were all on to him. It was a small town so I still ran into him but, I had the strength to not be pulled back into his sick little world. You see….the moment I shined a light on the dirty little secret the shame of it lost its grip. Without shames hold on me I gained strength and grace seeped in.

That strength to me is grace.

This is the type of grace I am now understanding as being cut from the cloth of faith and in my instance identifies as the unmerited favour of God who bestowed a blessing upon me to bring me into relationship with Him so that I could see my worth. Yes, I had to go through an abusive relationship to eventually fully grasp grace.The dark CAN give shape to the light.

A life of faith building rarely looks neat and tidy and this is how I know it is of God, because if I wrote my story I would have chosen something that glorified me. I would have been rich, good looking, perfect family, neat and tidy life. My mother would not have been a prostitute addicted to heroin. My father would not have been the violent drunk that sometimes lived in the park all bloodied and sad begging for change from my friends as they waited for the bus. Christmases would have been spent around our big tree with smiles and love instead of at the penitentiary where we could visit both parents and a couple of other relatives too.

Yep….if I had been the author of my story it would have been a bit different.

Instead , God made me a mountain climber and gives me the strength to take each step from valley to peak and back again gaining a deeper perspective with each climb. Sometimes it feels like I am ill equipped, like climbing everest in flip flops, but that is just my fearful human perspective. When I take my eyes off my lack and instead focus on His greatness, I am able to climb to the top.

And when I practice the other kind of grace….as in gratitude….I can be thankful for the trials that have made me unique and for how God is using every messy little detail to write a bigger story

Besides….no one said grace had to be boring and apparently I am here to prove that.  😉

 

Grace and peace to you my friends!