Be Still.

There is something about being needed.

Even if it's at 2:47am. I'm not surprised. She went to sleep with a less than a happy belly. Or that's the conclusion I made without the confirmation of “yes my belly hurts”. "Owie!", was all I needed to hear. She's back to sleep by 3:03am but I'm not. He had other plans.

I can probably count on two hands the times where I have been able to see what kind of growth being on this journey has brought me. This early morning brought that. In the middle of the dark, quiet night. When I was still. Quiet. Listening.

Thank you that she needs me.

Thank you that my name is the first one on her lips.

My touch. Calming. Comforting. Taking away some of the pain. For now.

These thoughts have only come with practice.

Choosing joy isn't easy and certainly isn’t my default emotion, especially at 2:47am when I'm awakened by a tearful and almost desperate cry of my name. “Mommy? Mommy?"

What a picture of me. My life. My cries.

Daddy? Heavenly Father? Abba?

Oh how I long for THAT to be my default emotion. For the first words on my lips be calling on Him in need.

All day, everyday I encounter "Just one more reason to trust God”. The unknowns are always the ways He chooses to see if my trust still lies in Him. It too, is just a choice.

I am a planner. And right now, I am a girl without a plan. He smiles. Its just where He wants me.

God is always good, and I am always loved.

His invitation remains the same for me as it always has. Do you trust me?

I'm awake. She's asleep. I sit awake smiling because He always gets His point across- no matter what time of day. It is just sweeter and easier for me to understand when I am still. “Be still and know that I am God” Psalms 46:10

Eucharisteo. Thanksgiving. Always precedes the miracle.

He used her voice to awaken me so I could hear His. I should wake her to thank her. But I won't. Tomorrow, that will be the first words out of my mouth.

Its 4:16am. Maybe He will let me go back to sleep now.

My body is a battle ground.

I am insecure. Negative. Critical. Downright disrespectful and rude to my Creator.  

Why, you ask?

Because daily, if not multiple times a day, I look in the mirror and think, "I hate my body! Are my stretch marks ever going to go away?  Am I ever going to feel good about myself?  Are those dang numbers on the scale EVER going to go down?  What a lovely six-inch scar that is!”

The very way God created me when He knit me together in my mother's womb, I criticize. I tell Him that I think, at least when it comes to me, He has failed as a creator.  

I am ashamed to admit that I have thought these thoughts as many times as there are hairs on my head, and I know that every time the light is turned off and the mirror is dark, Satan smirks. He has won the battle. He has won a victory over me. Again.

Don't get me wrong: it's not that I have been in denial or that this is a new issue for me. I have been fighting this battle since I was fifteen years old, and a boy told me I was looking "chunky" in my bathing suit. It’s amazing what damage such destructive words can do. Twelve years later, I can still hear those words as if they have just been spoken.

“Chunky.”

“Fat.”

And yet, I can also hear the whispers of my Heavenly Father, my earthly father, my husband, my mom, my sisters, my friends.

“Beautiful.”  

“Lovely.”  

“Pretty.”

Why do I listen to the one ugly voice over the ten that actually speak the TRUTH to me?

After those destructive words were spoken to me as a teenager, I decided that, of all things, I would prove him wrong. That little fifteen-year-old boy was a friend, and I am sure he was really and truly joking. In the moment, I laughed it off. It was my only defense, but it wasn’t a very good one. The damage was already done.

So I stopped eating. At least, I started eating as little as possible. I was playing basketball and cheering my junior year of high school. When I wasn't at practice for either of those teams, I was working out at home, skiing, or playing volleyball. I began to shrink. My waistline was smaller, yes, but so was my heart. This is my problem. My disease. The battle I have fought for the last twelve years.  

In her book, Loving the Little Years, Rachel Jankovic writes, "Your bodies are tools, not treasures. You should not spend your days trying to preserve your body in its eighteen-year-old form. Let it be used.  By the time you die, you want to have a very dinged and dinted body. Motherhood uses your body in a way that God designed it to be used. Those are the right kind of damages. Motherhood is what your stomach was made for—and any wear and tear that it shows is simply the sign of a well-used tool. We are not to treat our bodies like museum pieces. They were not given to us to preserve; they were given to us to use. So use it cheerfully and maintain it cheerfully. Your body is a tool. Use it."  

::sigh::

Okay.

Those stretch marks are like permanent kisses my girl left for me.  

That six-inch scar is my daily reminder to be thankful for the doctor who poured over books and tests for years in medical school to be ready for that one day—March 11, 2011, at 12:33 a.m.—the day the cord was wrapped around my girl’s neck and her heartbeat couldn't be detected.  Her life: a miracle. Her cry: the most beautiful sound to my terrified ears. 

I can feel good about myself because I am a beautiful work created by the Almighty God who doesn't make mistakes. He calls me beautiful. Complete. His.

So here is my goal: I want to eliminate the words, "I hate [blank]," from my vocabulary.

Will you hold me accountable? Will you help me stop believing Satan's lies? Will you discipline me like a mother disciplines her children when they speak destructive words to another child?  

I have a powerful motivation: my Gracie. Only sixteen months old now, but before I can blink it will be sixteen years. This battle is NOT a legacy; it’s a curse, and I do not want to pass it on to her.  

Besides, I love every ounce of her "chunk," and you know what? She loves mine, too.

Blessings.

When finals are coming up, when the baby is teething, and when we are waiting for the next check from the student loan office to come in to pay the bills, joy can go right out the window. After all, what is there to be happy about in that list of worries?

Choosing joy is a battle that I have fought for as long as I can remember, and being the wife of a medical student has only made matters worse.

When the storms of life threaten like the raging waves of the ocean with a hurricane looming on the horizon, it’s a battle just to keep your head above all that water, let alone to keep your attitude of gratitude in check and your ear tuned to the gentle whisper of the Creator who made it all! And not just made it, but allowed every detail in it to happen: “Surely, just as I have intended so it has happened, and just as I have planned so it will stand” (Isaiah 14:24, NASB).

As God plans…so it stands.

A missionary from Brazil challenged me to wake up every morning and say out loud, “Jesus, you are welcome here.” And not just welcomed, Lord, but wanted. Desired. Needed.

I don’t know where you are on this journey of being a graduate wife, but I am only beginning. My husband is starting his second year of medical school in a very dark and lonely city. Miami is my home now, but most days it feels more like a foreign country.

I have to remind myself that this life, this story, is one He penned long before I ever had any knowledge of such crazy plans.  Long before I ever let fear win for far too long or allowed my joy to be stolen.

The deceiver.

You know him: the one that desperately longs for you to live in the bondage of fear, depression and pain. Don’t get me wrong; I know life can be hard, stressful and depressing, but I believe it’s what you make of those days that really counts. It matters that you get up, brush yourself off, and play rap music way too loud to have a dance party in the living room with your 16 month old. Then the smiles come. The deep belly laughs as she shakes her entire body in an effort to shake her booty. And then the overwhelming, flowing gratitude. Thank You that I can dance and laugh and see. Thank You that my daughter is healthy enough to do all those things, too. Thank You for the glimpse into the eternal blessing of the choices I make everyday.

A wise man once said that whatever gets your attention, gets you. Stress and fear might get my attention, but I certainly don’t want them to get me!

How do you battle stress and fear? Me, I fight back with gratitude.

God is always good and I am always loved.

Counting my blessings:

Clean clothes.

Food in the fridge as I watch the homeless man dig in the dumpster.

Showing my girl how to jump in puddles.

I love what Ann Voskamp writes in her book, One Thousand Gifts. She says, “It is impossible to feel two emotions at one time. The only way to fight a feeling is with a feeling. Feel thanks and it is absolutely impossible to feel angry. We can only experience one emotion at a time.”

Therefore, I decide what I will feel. Do I choose joy or depression? Happiness or sadness? Fulfillment or loneliness? My choice.

Choosing joy has often been an extremely difficult task, but it is the quest that I have set out on. My heart and my soul desperately long to live in the freedom of that place.

Joy. No matter what.

No matter if there is enough money in the bank account, if finals are just around the corner, or if the baby is having a rough day.

Joy. All the time.

Joy. Overflowing, becoming the very essence of who I am as a woman, a wife, and a mom.

So I ask you, regardless of your circumstances, do you know how to have joy when the only reason to be happy is Jesus? Your choice.

Choose Joy. You won’t regret it. Your husband and babies certainly won’t regret it, I promise!

Noah and the Ark.

When the Lord called Noah to build the ark, do you think Noah was excited about this 100 year project? I don't know and won't pretend be Noah or know his emotions but if it was me, excited wouldn't be the word I would use. How in the world does one begin to build a boat big enough to hold a pair of every animal the Lord created?

One Board at a time.

One. Then two. Then 3. Until the boat is finished.

Noah is a hero of mine for sure. Obedient. Faithful. Courageous. Brave.

To imply that I am a modern day Noah, is a joke but sometimes I feel like him. Sometimes I feel like what the Lord is asking of me is the size of the ark. It feels like a 100 year project.

Miami is my ark. Medical school is my 100 year project. 4 years of school and 3 years of residency feels like 100 years sometimes. A lot of times actually.

I want to be Noah- if nothing else to be found faithful and obedient. He was obedient and therefor avoided consequences and more often than not, I ONLY want to avoid consequences. I only want to survive this "ride". I want to hold on so tight to the Father's hand that no wave can throw me, dunk me, or drag me out to sea. The truth is, He is not going to let go of MY hand. If I let go, he will still hold on. He is my life line.

To look back over the last 11 months has been painful and rewarding all at the same time. It is encouraging to see how the Lord has softened my heart to this place and moved me from a place of extreme anger to a minute by minute trust.

I love what Brent Shoemaker said in a message he did at North Point. He said, "If you are waiting for the fear to go away, you will never move".

I remember my screaming tantrum in the bathroom of Winter Park all to well. I was terrified and all I knew to say to Tim was, "DON'T MAKE ME DO THIS!" His response was from his lips but from the Lord when he whispered, "Babe, we have to be obedient. I don't want to either, but if we are obedient, we will be found faithful, and I want to be faithful".

Be faithful. Be obedient. Avoid consequences. Allow God to be God. He takes full responsibility for the journey when you choose to follow him. Leave a legacy. Be brave. Be courageous. Be salt and light. Be love. Be a blessing. These are the things that run through my mind when fear begins to take over. These things were not what I was saying to myself a year ago. And for that, I am thankful. Thankful that the Lord has been patient with my hurting heart. Thankful that He has never let go of my hand. Thankful for the softening. I don't like it, but I need it.

When you can't get your head around it, get your heart around it-and step out or off- step up or bow down and be obedient.

To me, faith is: Saying yes to the Lord when the blind fold is still on...when the water is rising...when life is scary...when life doesn't look like it "should". When you can't hear anyone else but the still small voice that says, just hold on to ME. I won't let YOU go.

What is written on your board? What board number are you on? No matter how many times you have dropped it, burned it or painted over it. Pick it up. One at a time. And build the ark the Creator of the Universe designed you to build. You won't regret it.

From board to boat.

Go and build.