A Church

I have lived my life within a church. From vbs to Sunday school to Lads to Leaders. From youth group to church camp to fireside devotionals. I have been surrounded by this God-ordained institution.

And the church that I attend now? An incredible blessing. That place, those people. It has truly changed my heart.

And last Sunday when I shared my story with my church, I saw a church that was alive. Raised hands, Amens, and Spirit-filled faces. What a blessing to share my story, when my story merged with theirs. I prayed for the story that has been written on my heart to reach one person. Just one heart. And God is so faithful. When we step out of the way, when we stop writing our own stories for ourselves, God does incredible things.

(I shared a version of my broken arms/broken heart story that has been posted in various forms on my blog. The version that I shared on Sunday is included at the bottom of this blog).

But I have also been surrounded by something else – by a body of believers. A cloud of witnesses. A church of friends as I like to call them. And oh, do I have a church.

I live my life within a church of friends. People who speak truth into my life. People whose hearts I know intimately and people who know my own heart just as well. My core group of friends who are so close to my heart that, I promise you, the Holy Spirit has connected our hearts with unbreakable bonds. They text me at the exact moment that I am doubting myself to tell me that I am beautiful and worthy. They call me on nights that I feel lonely to tell me that I am dearly loved. I come home from work on a really bad day to find a hand written letter in my mail box. Incredible. The reason why they are my church is not because I have spent more time with them than other friends (which might be true). It’s not because of the fun trips that we’ve had (which we have had) or the adventures we’ve been on together (which we have done) or the countless dinners we have shared around a table together (which happens every week). Those things make us friends. Best friends. But we have shared our lives and our hearts with each other. We have laid our hearts bare. We have allowed our struggles to become our stories and allowed those stories to speak Truth into each other’s lives. What a blessing my church of friends has been – to know that you are never walking on this journey alone. To know that you were brought into relationship for such a time as this. That’s what makes us more than friends - a church of friends.

Broken Arms, Broken Hearts

I’m a big time dreamer. I’m not just talking about goals and ambitions – that’s true too. But I’m a big time dreamer… in my sleep.

In the past couple of years I’ve developed a condition known as non-REM parasomnia. What happens is that my brain can no longer filter out what it should and should not be responding to when I’m asleep. This means that I do two things. I will repeat any normal, household, every day task in my sleep. Cooking, cleaning, doing laundry, getting dressed, taking a shower, moving furniture… just any really practical, functional item to be doing in your sleep.

But I do something else, too. I act out what it is that I’m doing in my dreams. My most notorious example of this happened a little over a year ago when I was asleep on my sister’s pull out couch at her home in Indiana. I had just fallen asleep when before I know it I’m on a raft in the middle of a raging river. I’m trying to survive the rapids when a black snake with glowing yellow eyes starts to get on my raft. I panic, but then look to my left and see another raft going upstream. I get on my hands and knees and count one two three. And I jump as hard as I can from one raft to the other.

And then I wake up on the floor.

Because in my dream when I am jumping raft to raft, in real life I jumped from my bed onto the floor.

I woke up the instant I hit the ground. I stood up and thought, “I can’t believe I jumped out of bed again.”

And then I thought, “I can’t move my arm.”

When I landed on the ground on my hands and knees all of my weight had gone onto my left arm and I actually ended up breaking the bone in my arm.

I had to have surgery the next day to repair the broken bone. I was really nervous because I had never had surgery or been put to sleep before. The doctor was great. He came in and went through his normal routine of “You’re fine. I do this all the time. Everything will be great.” But then he did the most important thing that happened to me that day. He bent down, looked me in the eye, and signed his name on my arm right where he was about to do surgery. It’s as if he were saying, “This arm? This broken one? It hurts so bad and I know it will hurt worse before it feels better, but it will feel better. I promise! I know this because arms are my thing. I fix broken arms and I make them just like new every single time. Your arm is broken now, but it will be healed. I know this because it has my name written all over it.”

This is beautiful to me because we are all broken in other ways too. Our hearts are broken from the loneliness or the shame or the eating disorder or the alcoholism or the consumerism or whatever it is that is taking up a part of our heart that Jesus is dying to fill. That Jesus did die to fill. And yes, we are a broken people, but our stories do not end in brokenness because we have a great Healer. A Healer who enters into our broken world in the form of a carpenter, a cross, a crucifixion, and an empty cave to offer us redemption, salvation, and healing. A God who looks down, sees our broken heart, and He signs His name on our hearts. And He says, “This heart? This broken one? It hurts so bad and I know it will hurt worse before it feels better, but it will get better. I promise! I know this because hearts are my thing. I fix broken hearts and I make them just like new every single time. Your heart is broken now, but it will be healed. I know this because it has my name written all over it.”

What Are You?

My latest weekend adventure was chaperoning my church’s middle school retreat. I am a Covenant Group leader for the 8^th grade girls, so it was great to go and spend more time with each of them! Weekends like that are the experiences that build incredible relationships. Those middle schoolers all have a very special place in my heart.

I hadn’t been on a middle school retreat since... well… since I was in middle school. It had been a long time since I had taken a cold shower with flip-flops on, sang around a campfire, and played games involving ‘dares’. I had forgotten just how fun and full of life middle schoolers are!

And I also had multiple conversations just like this one:

Are you a mom?

No.

You seem like a mom. Why aren’t you a mom?

Because I’m not married.

You seem like you are married. Why aren’t you married?

Because I want to be single right now and do my own thing.

Oh, so you are in college!!

No.

You aren’t in college and you aren’t married and you aren’t a mom? What ARE you?

I didn’t know what to say. I had a moment like the guy in this Chevy commercial.

I had a million things to say. Plenty of really great answers. My mind was racing in a million directions. I wanted to tell her that we are defined by so much more than the titles of "Wife", "Mother", and "Student". I wanted to tell her that there is no standard age for when you get married. I wanted to explain the importance of finding who you are before finding a husband. I wanted to tell her that the time between College and Husband is not No Man's Land (okay, well technically I guess there are no men), but it is probably going to be some of the best years of her life - just like it is for me. I wanted to tell her about all of the beauty that I see in the marriages around me from some of my dearest friends who were blessed to find their perfect partner early in life, but also the beauty in the strong, independent women who never settle and wait longer to find The One – because there is just as much beauty in the wait, too. I wanted to tell her that her story doesn’t begin with a significant other or with children – that it begins with herself. I wanted to look her in the eyes and challenge her that maybe if we searched for God the way that we are always searching for Mr. Right – in our churches and our universities and our careers and in our relationships – that our lives would be full of more Love than we could imagine and overflowing with all things Right.

What are you?

The question hit me like a ton of bricks a bride’s secondary bouquet. And I stood there with a blank expression on my face, just like Chevy dude, while my mind raced to the tune of Beyonce’s Single Ladies. The inquirer's middle school attention span did not allow for my wandering thoughts and she turned and walked away while I mumbled something vague like “A young professional...”.

Smooth.

Oh, but now I am ready. Next time, sweet girl. Next time you are getting a heart-to-heart.

Two Truths and a Tale

I recently volunteered with my church's youth group to be an 8th grade girl's covenant group co-leader. I am beyond excited to get to know all of these great girls and invest in their lives.

But as of two weeks ago, I didn't know these girls at all. And they didn't know me. So to help them get to know me, we played a game called Two Truths and A Tale. I gave them three facts about my life and they had to guess which one wasn't true. Now, I'm sure that if you have been reading my blog that you know the answer to most of these, but you just might learn something new. So here you go...


I am a graduate of Lipscomb University. My career is in marketing.  I am a childlife volunteer at Vanderbilt Children's Hospital.

The Tale: I am a graduate of Lipscomb University. I actually went to Oklahoma Christian University.



On the weekends you can find me hiking, sewing, and riding a motorcycle.

The Tale: You can find me hiking. I rarely hike. But I do sew and ride my dad's motorcycle.



I have recently developed a love for surfing, skydiving, and cake decorating.

The Tale: I recently developed a love for cake decorating. While my big sis can handle it like a pro, my cake decorating skills match that of a 6 year old. I do, however, enjoy surfing and skydiving.



I love to eat cheesecake, pomegranates, and salmon.

The Tale: I love to eat cheesecake. No way. I don't eat sweets.



In my home you will find a marble collection, a roomba vacuum cleaner, and a guitar signed by country music artists.

The Tale: In my home you will find a roomba. I don't have a roomba. I wish! I do have a marble collection and a guitar from a charity auction.



My favorite things to do with my friends are snow ski trips, shopping, and going to concerts.

The Tale: Snow Ski trips are not my favorite. But I do love some great shopping and concerts.



My jobs in college included working as a sumer nanny in East Hampton, NY, tracking legislation at Congressional hearings on Capitol Hill, and helping my Italian Papa open a pizza joint in Chicago.

The Tale: I spent a summer helping my Italian Papa open a pizza joint. I don't have an Italian Papa, but I do like pizza. I was, however, a nanny and a political action committee intern.




I was once stung by a jellyfish three times in one day in Panama City.  I broke my arm by jumping out of bed while acting out a dream. I cut my leg open by falling off of a fake bull.

The Tale: The jellyfish thing never happened. The dream and bull accidents both did.
Speaking of dreams, I recently found out that a famous comedian, Mike Birbiglia, has the same sleeping problem as me:  non-rem parasomnia (acting out his dreams).  And it just so happens that he just made a movie called Sleepwalk With Me. And it just so happens that the movie is playing at a local theater in Nashville this weekend. The trailer is hilarious, but a little bit terrifying. Watching him act out his dream makes my arm hurt. I'll let you know how the viewing goes.

So there you have it. I am a traveling, dreaming, surfing, motor-cycle riding, sewing, sky diving, marble collecting, no-sweet eating, accident prone OC-alum marketer. And that's the truth.

Stir: My Broken Arm Adventure Retold

Stir, my Young Professional group at Otter Creek Church of Christ, has recently started a blog.  I was thrilled when I was asked to be a monthly contributor! Check out my first post on the new blog – a familiar but retold story of my broken arm adventures and God’s healing in our hearts.

To learn more about Stir (Otter Creek’s Young Professional Group) watch this video or check out this facebook site.  Amazing things are happening in this group.  I’d love for you to join us.

A Birth Story - The Holy Kind

God chose a young woman. Someone normal. Someone ordinary. Someone original. She may have been a quiet, shy, and sweet girl, but she may have also been a little bit sassy, strong, and driven too. She probably liked to cook for her friends, make crafts at her house, and grow organic foods in her own garden. I’d imagine that she got tired of doing laundry, rolled her eyes at the marketplace when the people in front of her were taking forever, and occasionally dreamed of something bigger than her current circumstances. Honestly, Mary sounds a lot like me. And you.

But when God enters your world, everything changes. And after a divine encounter, Mary is still Mary. But now, Mary carries Jesus into the world. The tiny baby fingers that will heal the broken, the eyes that will look into faces and see souls, the lips that will calm nature, and the tiny little heart full of a perfect love is living in Mary in a pure and perfect way. And on a silent, holy night a baby was born that changed the course of time, the hearts of the holy, and the way that God relates to His people.  The God who created mankind to live in relationship with Him came to His people. He entered our broken world and our wounded lives because He is a God that always meets us right where we are. And when He meets us, nothing is ever the same. 

On a silent night in the little town of Bethlehem when the herald angels sang in celebration of the first noel, the God of Abraham and Moses and Esther chose Mary to deliver Jesus into the world in a physical, redemptive way so that He could move from living in our temples to living as a human. Immanuel. "God with us". And through His life and resurrection, the God of Elizabeth and Paul and Timothy moved to living in our hearts. And while we don’t have mangers or messages from angels or three valuable gifts from some very wise men, you and I are just as much a part of the birth story as the original crew. We are all Mary. Jesus has never lived in our swollen abdomens, but He has taken up residence in our hearts. And we are called to do something huge with this holy resident. Something extraordinary. Something divine. 

 

WE ARE CALLED TO DELIVER JESUS TO THIS FALLEN WORLD.

Living in the Shadows

Today the city streets are lined with flags.

The fire department has a memorial in the front yard.

Our church had a special chorus and memorial performance.

Today we remember to mention our troops when we pray for our Sunday dinner. We look people in the eye when we tell them that we love them. We once again transform into the strong, noble people that we became in the wake of the tragedy ten years ago. 

September 11, 2001 is the first real world event that I remember. We’re talking truly remember in vivid detail. The events of the day were so huge that they have completely altered the way that I view the time of my life. I remember with no effort that on 9/11/2001 I was in 9^th grade – fall semester of my freshman year. If anyone asks me what year I began attending WHCA, I start with 2001 and count backwards to 5^th grade. What year did my sister get married? I start in 2001 and count forwards to junior year. It was pivotal.

As I sat in church this morning remembering the events of a decade ago, I couldn’t help but notice that the large wooden cross over the stage caught the lighting just perfectly - casting a shadow of a giant 11 on the wall. On any other Sunday I would have never noticed, but today I couldn’t take my eyes off of it. You see, even the largest tragedies in my life live in the shadow of the cross.  I am thankful for a Life that brought mercy and justice and love and peace to this world that is dark and wounded. A Life that covers our brokenness and tragedies. A Life that was truly a pivotal moment in time - a birth that marked Year 0 AD. And I am thankful for ending the memorial service this morning with these lyrics of hope:

“You are the life to my heart and my soul,

You are the light to the darkness around me.

You are the hope to the hopeless and broken,

You are the only truth and the way.”