Dear Little Me,

Look at that hair. Just look at that hair.

You don’t care about your hair.

You let it be. Wild and free.

Big.

Flowing.

Part wavy. Part straight.

Bushy, but beautiful.

Beautiful.

Why not leave it at that, little girl?

Leave it at that.

Let it be.

Wild and free.

The way God meant it to be.

Perhaps you’ll learn to hide it, spray it, tame it, sleek it.

Perhaps you’ll wonder if you should just cut it all off.

Be gone, bushy hair.

Be gone, you ugly, not pretty wavy mess.

Be gone.

Be gone.

Perhaps they’ll tell you it’s like Brook Shield’s hair.

Perhaps you’ll believe you need a celebrity stylist to manage this bush.

Perhaps they’ll tell you it’s not like hers, hers, hers or hers.

Perhaps they’ll say you can’t cut it this way, can’t style it that way.

Perhaps you’ll want to replace it. Perhaps you’ll wish it wasn’t yours.

But don’t, girl. Don’t. Don’t wish it away.

What if you wore it wild and free?

What if you just let it be?

What if you just didn’t care about that hair?

What if you embraced it, let that hair keep being what it wants to be, let that little girl be who she wants to be?

Because girl? You’re wild. You’re unbridled, running and frolicking free.

That hair’s flowing. That hair’s growing. That hair’s letting loose.

Girl, it’s not so much about your hair as it is that you care.

It’s not so much about your hair as it is that you dare. To be wild. To be free. To let it be.

It’s not so much about your hair as it is that you’re aware. That beauty runs deep. In heart places, in soul places, in places unseen.

So little girl? Just let that hair be. Who cares.

Let your beauty shine however it wants to shine.

Wild. Free. Big. Flowing. Wavy. Straight. Bushy. Beautiful.

It’s all you, girl.

It’s all you.

Leave it. at that.

Let it be.

 

 

 

*This series is inspired in part by a blog post I wrote in January 2014 titled “Go. Like It Matters. Go. Like It’s Your Life.” And in part by Bonnie Gray’s new book, Finding Spiritual Whitespace. For more information about WHY I’m writing this series, click here to read the first post of this series titled “Restoring the Little Girl Voice (Part 1).”

 

Dear Little Me,

I love this picture of you, of me.

Look at you, little you. There’s something you need to see.

See the care in your face.

See your smile.

See your love, your patience.

See your arm resting gently on her shoulder.

See your concern for her. Not anyone around.

See the way you’re looking deeper, peering longer into the face of that sleeping beauty, wondering if you should wake. Or wait.

See the way she’s trusting.

She her arm’s resting.

See the way you’re in this together.

See the quiet. See the space. See patience in the knowing, patience in the waiting.

See you. Holding that book close, tight.

You. You’re wise. Keep holding your dearest things close, but your dearest even closer.

Keep looking, little you. Keep loving. Keep wondering how you’ll wake her.

And keep your smile. Because it won’t always be this easy.

But this. This. Is really all God’s called you to.

The simplicity of this.

To be present.

To love.

To see.

To wait. Patiently.

To know. When the time’s right to wake, to give voice to those slumbering beauties.

To hold your dearest near.

Yes, dear.

Stay this way always.

 

 

 

*This series is inspired in part by a blog post I wrote in January 2014 titled “Go. Like It Matters. Go. Like It’s Your Life.” And in part by Bonnie Gray’s new book, Finding Spiritual Whitespace. For more information about WHY I’m writing this series, click here to read my blog post titled “Restoring the Little Girl Voice (Part 1).”

 

Go is my one word for 2014, the word that guides everything I do.

I published a post titled “Go. Like It Matters. Go. Like It’s Your Life.” on January 6, 2014. I loved that post. So much so that I’ve kept it on the home page of my blog all these months. It’s linked to a graphic on my sidebar.

So why am I referring to a post I wrote back in January when it’s mid-August? Because there’s one part of that post that especially excited and moved me when I wrote it. For the past couple of months, I’ve been feeling the need to revisit those words.

“Go. tell them all the beautiful things they never knew about themselves.

Go. tell them what they really need to hear. Tell them you see them. Tell them you noticed. Tell them they’re loved. Tell them they’ve not been forgotten. Tell them they’ve been heard. Tell them they’re precious, worthy, irreplaceable. Tell them there’s a plan for their life. Ya, Go. Do that. And do it again.

Go. where little girls laugh. And big girls are free to laugh again. Go. Restore the little girl voice.

And don’t forget the vision. Go. Continue becoming the beautiful, old, wise woman.”

There’s something about those words that speak to me deeply. When I wrote that post, I knew what every word meant, and much of it is playing out in real time. But I’m believing those bolded words in particular hold the greatest meaning. Those words flowed out. Those words got my heart racing. Those words had power. Those words felt right. Those words gave me life, joy and peace. Those words felt like my future.

Seven and a half months into the year, I can say with confidence that those bolded words will carry with me into 2015 and beyond. I’m not even close to being finished with those words.

But there is something I feel called to do with a handful of those words right now.

Five words have been calling to me. They’re the five words that have stuck in my mind since I wrote them in January.

Restore the little girl voice.

I’ve wondered. Is there something in those words that’s not just for them, but for me, too?

So in late July, I began brainstorming an August series titled Restoring the Little Girl Voice.

In early August at my 20th high school reunion, I had the opportunity to visit my childhood friend’s home, the place I spent countless hours growing up. As I climbed the staircase into the treehouse we played in time and time again, as I sat in the corner of her basement eating pickles, reminiscing about the exact spot we played pin the tail on the donkey as kids, and as I sat at her dining room table eating breakfast quietly with my husband that Sunday morning, I was reminded that this restoring the little girl voice was good.

Last week I wrote that post about what a great honor it will be to join Compassion International on a sponsor tour to Dominican Republic and blog on behalf of children living in poverty. I recounted God’s working out His story in my life from the very start, from way back when. When I was still a little girl. I knew, yet again, this restoration of the little girl voice was a good, good thing.

And when Bonnie Gray suggested writing a letter to your little girl self in her new book, Finding Spiritual Whitespace, I had confirmation I was on the right track. I needed to do this.

So here’s my plan. For the rest of August, as the Spirit leads, I’m going to be writing a series titled Restoring the Little Girl Voice. Today marks Part 1. I don’t know how many parts there will be. This is a write as needed series, which is totally unlike me. But I’m giving myself freedom to explore with no rushing, no expectations, no boundaries, no specific desired outcome other than restoration. At this point, I’m not sure what restoration will look like. But that sentence, restore the little girl voice, is calling for attention.

Maybe you’re still not sure what this is going to look like? Here are my thoughts…

I’ll be going through old photo albums from my childhood. Anything from birth to 17 years of age will be up for grabs. I’ll be looking for pictures that evoke some sort of strong emotion in me. If it feels like there’s something that needs to be healed, restored, or laid to rest, I’m going there. For each photograph, I’ll write a blog post, a letter to my childhood self. A letter telling that little girl all the things she needs to know, all the feelings she needs to feel, all the thoughts she needs to express, all the things she might want to consider to make life a little easier from there on out.

I’m fully aware that I could journal and make this a private exercise. I’m aware I might make some people a bit uncomfortable. Because I’ll be digging into my past, into my little girl self. I might reveal thoughts that most would keep private. I might dig a little deeper than I thought I would. I might uncover thoughts and feelings I never knew existed, thoughts and feelings I pushed down for years, thoughts and feelings I’ve battled to this day, even as an adult.

But I’ve thought this through. I’ll be wise and prudent. If this needs to go private at any time, I’ll make that happen.

I’m also aware that this exercise will be healing. And I’m aware that exercises like this, when made public, have the potential to bring about healing for others. That’s why I started this blog. To help you know you’re not alone. To help you see we’re all in this together. To help you find meaning in life. To help you discover the purpose of your life. So I’m willing to be vulnerable. For you. So you might bear witness to the bud of my life unfolding into full bloom. And in turn, that you might be inspired, that you might finally allow yourself to bloom. Because don’t we all need a little uncovering, a little unfolding of our best, most authentic selves?

So let’s do this. Now is the time. I’m setting out on an unknown journey to restore my little girl voice, and perhaps, along the way, you’ll be encouraged to restore your little girl voice. And hey, men, I haven’t forgotten you. Perhaps along the way, you’ll be encouraged to restore your little boy voice. It doesn’t sound as pretty, but it’ll work all the same.

Restoration, it’s a good thing.

So let’s restore.

Let’s begin.

Let’s begin again.

Let’s restore the little girl voice.

This is the trailer for Bonnie Gray’s new book, Finding Spiritual Whitespace. The book is incredibly soulful and healing. I recommend it heartily and without reservation for anyone who’s seeking white space, room to breathe. This video is peaceful, breathtakingly restorative to me. It’s a beautiful representation of the tone in which I’d like to write this series, Restoring the Little Girl Voice. Thank you, Bonnie, for your beauty and authenticity.

The earliest of autumn’s crispness set into the evening air. Most likely, this was a one-night phenomenon, with many long, hot days to come in-between here and the shorter, colder days of fall.

Still, mama knew.

Change was coming. Change had already come.

And uncertainty was most certainly all around.

Mama just heard of a great actor and comedian’s passing. Suicide they suspected. And she couldn’t get over it. She couldn’t let it go. Because this great artist, this human being of a different kind made mama laugh, made mama cry. His portrayal of a great physician in Awakenings awakened her to life not once, but many times over. It was one of her favorites, a gentle-spirited movie about waking up to your life, capturing moments while they’re still in your grasp.

She was a little distraught about this passing. But she bathed her babe anyway.

The days since babe’s last bath had passed in a flash. After one glance at babe’s dirt-filled fingernails and brown-stained feet, mama knew it was time for that bath.

“My got my diaper off! My ready!” shouted babe as she waited for mama to fill the tub.

Mama turned on the water. Not too cold, not too hot. She threw in the bath toys – puppy dogs and fish-catching nets, wobbly-weebly people made for miniature yellow boats.

She watched as babe lathered up soap on a washcloth and scrubbed her body, her baby doll, her wobbly-weebly people, and even the bath ledge clean again.

Don’t we all walk ledges – longing for better days, opportunities to start over, desperate for someone to see us for who we are instead of the mask we’ve been? Don’t we all sit on ledges – waiting to feel clean, whole, restored to brand-new condition, free again?

Mama thought hard as babe scrubbed the bath ledge. She wondered how it could be that a celebrity, a comedian, a great artist of our time could be so desperate, so filled with pain, so wanting to leave this world.

The pain fell like a curtain. She felt all the pain of the world in that moment. And she wondered why moms and dads take their lives, why babes suffer beheading, why kids cross borders alone, why Ebola strikes ebony and threatens to spread like a deadly wildfire.

Babe continued to wash the bath ledge new.

Dad and son watched the Matrix in the other room.

And mama thought of Jesus. Jesus on the cross. His pain. His suffering. His crossing every border because of us. His name that spread. Like wildfire.

So mama decided. She couldn’t push away the joy because of the pain. And she couldn’t push away the pain because of the joy.

Babes take baths. And babes are beheaded. Children frolic in sprinklers. And children watch parents fall ill and pass in a matter of hours. Children are safe and sound in the comforts of home, and children are sent afar, alone, to cross borders in search of freedom. Children experience lifetimes with mommies and daddies, and children live orphaned because mommy and daddy couldn’t bear the weight of this world anymore. All under the same sky. All under the great canopy provided by God himself.

She didn’t understand. She didn’t grasp the purpose of this pain. She couldn’t fathom the point of it all, couldn’t reconcile this good and evil under the same blue sky.

So she asked, yet again, one of the greatest questions she’s ever asked God. Why must babes, innocent children suffer? And why is it that some humans sneak by with mere inconveniences, while others are bathed in blood, pain, trauma, poverty and the like?

Mama had to let it go. She had to release it to Jesus who suffered the greatest pain of all, to God who created it all. For us. For all of us.

So mama washed babe’s hair and smiled at her big. Because babes need encouragement if they’re to live upright in a culture that can feel completely hopeless. If we’re going to fight this fight, we musn’t give up. We must prepare our generation, the next generation, as armies of brave warriors. Warriors armed with belts of truth, breastplates of righteousness, and swords of the Spirit. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.

She bundled her babe in a plush pink towel, and pulled out those pink pajamas with the frog on front. She read babe a book about the animals of the world. And she brought babe a glass of water before turning on the white noise.

Downstairs she went. She felt directionless, like her cares were nothing compared to the weight of this heavy, heavy globe called Earth.

Mama got out the vacuum. The floor was a disaster. Then she got out the mop. Because the vacuum hadn’t cut the grime. This mopping wasn’t as easy as it looked. She pushed hard, and while the floor was still dirty, she couldn’t bring herself to finish. Because it still seemed pointless compared to the world’s greater state of disaster.

It was then that she really heard, really noticed the girls out on the front porch. There were six of them, to be exact. Binders and bows, brushes and blow dryers laid on the table. A big bucket of clean water served as their source for making all things new in regards to their hair. They’d created a hair salon and were busy bees prepping and primping one another.

Mama addressed the first thing any mama would think of when it comes to homemade hair salons. Don’t share brushes. The girls already had that taken care of. They’d already gone home to get their own.

As mama lingered with the girls for a few quiet moments, she continued to have a hard time reconciling all this innocence with all the world’s tragedy.

She asked the hard questions. Again.

Why do these beauties have the privilege of creating a hair salon on a porch, while others equally as beautiful sit on a mountain top afraid for their lives?

Why do these beauties get to primp and play, while others equally as beautiful walk miles to cross borders into the unknown?

Why do these beauties have a clean bill of health, while others equally as beautiful suffer death?

Why do these beauties wonder whether their daddies will arrive back home at 5:00 or 6:00 tonight, while others equally as beautiful discover their daddy’s decided it’s the last night he can hack this world?

It’s hard to understand why God would allow all of this.

Hard questions don’t have easy answers.

But by the supernatural grace of God, powerful words came to mama’s mind.

For God is not a God of disorder but of peace.  1 Corinthians 14:33

Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.  Romans 12:21 

 You are of God, little children, and have overcome them, because He who is in you is greater than he who is in the world.  1 John 4:4

Then, mama decided she simply had to trust. That He’d take care of it all. That the world’s weight wasn’t hers to bear, but His.

So she let it go. As much as she could. She gave it up. To the One and only One who knows the purpose of all our pain, who knows the story He’s writing.

Two girls danced in the driveway with caps on their heads to protect the beauty they’d made. And one little girl came to mama needing help with her headband. Mama helped the little girl put on hope in the form of a butterfly, and sent the six beautiful warriors on their way.

The bikes swished and swooshed down the street.

Mama stood alone with the bowl of clean water.

Truly I tell you, anyone who gives you a cup of water in my name because you belong to the Messiah will certainly not lose their reward.  Mark 9:41

Mama couldn’t help the world, but she could help those she was called to help. For tonight, the gift had been water. The washing of water over a warrior babe in a bathtub. A glass of water before bedtime. A bowl full of water for warrior girls who know that it’s glimpses of beauty, glimpses of gratitude, glimpses of the Divine in the daily that make the world go round.

It occurred to me last summer as I walked into that home daycare for a little speech therapy. It was a revelation, really. Then, and only then, did I start seeing my job in a whole new light. Perhaps God was using these 14 years of home visits to prepare me for something else. Maybe that something else wasn’t about speech therapy at all, but more about helping fellow human beings discover their voice. Maybe it wasn’t so much about articulation as it was helping others articulate their best selves. Perhaps it wasn’t so much about language as it was about breaking down language barriers so the heart of human souls could be revealed. Perhaps it wasn’t so much about pragmatics and social communication as it was about developing authentic relationship.

I knew it right then and there.

The Lord had invested years and years into my adult life so I would be prepared. For moments like this.

You see, He knew from the very beginning. He placed a yearning in my little girl heart. A longing to love on others in far off places. A longing to do something for little ones in need. A longing to step right in the middle of extreme poverty. A longing to look long, stay long with the faces and know they were real, live human beings with hearts and souls, burdens and dreams.

He fed my little girl longings in the oddest, most unlikely of ways. Television commercials. Memories of those television commercials are the only way I know today, that this lifelong dream, this current reality is from Him and Him only.

For years and years, those television commercials continued to pop through my screen as I watched Little House on the Prairie and ate cupcakes with pink frosting, potato chips with french onion dip. In-between scenes of Laura Ingalls with Pa and Ma, the Lord showed me faces. Faces of a little girl with a pink shirt, boys walking through a dump, and a man with a gray beard who reminded me time and time again that I could sponsor a child in that far off place. Sally Struthers told me I could sponsor one child for “just 70 cents a day.” The date on that commercial is 1987. I was 11 years old. God was working already.

The years passed.

My little girl heart grew into a mama bear heart.

But the longings never left. Never.

Sally Struthers had long been replaced by new familiar faces. Brighter, more brilliant campaigns dazzled the television screen to fight global poverty. But the celebrity faces didn’t really faze this mama bear heart. Because a mama bear heart knows what a mama bear heart knows. Those commercials? Those kids living in extreme poverty? They were still speaking to me. God was still using them to remind my little girl heart what it yearned for most.

That is, until He spoke through a different screen.

Yes, He knows me best. Introverted. Visual. Communicates best through writing. Moved by emotion and story.

So television commercials turned into Twitter in August of 2010. Because God’s timing is perfect.

It was Ann Voskamp’s blog post in September of 2010 that changed everything. Ann was in Guatemala with Compassion International, visiting her sponsored child. She wrote this post, “How to Make Your Life an Endless Celebration.” And it wrecked me. Tears streamed down my face as I read her post. My little girl heart came alive in a new way. God began whispering. This is the way.

From then on, I was sold out for this organization called Compassion International. I believed in their mission to release children from extreme poverty and I knew this was a match for my little girl heart. So signed up to become an official Compassion Blogger. I also became a fiercely loyal follower of Compassion’s blogging trips to visit sponsored children all around the world. And somewhere along the way, I began dreaming that maybe one day, some day, I could go on one of those trips, too. Maybe one day, some day, I’d use my blog to be a voice for children living in extreme poverty.

I wrote that defined dream on my heart, in a journal, and later in a private document titled “A Possible Calling” that detailed all of my God-sized dreams.

Our family sponsored a little girl through Compassion International in August 2012. In December 2012, we became correspondents with a little boy who has since joined our growing family of sponsored children.

I began to feel a call on my life to do something more.

So on July 1, 2013, after much prayer, conversation, and financial consideration with my husband, I clicked a button that meant I would be traveling to Haiti in February 2014 to visit our two sponsored children through Compassion International. The sponsor trip was marvelous, beyond my wildest dreams. It fulfilled every longing my little girl heart ever had. Because of God’s faithful provision, I’d stepped into a world of extreme poverty and became a voice for the voiceless through my daily blog posts.

But He who begins a good work will carry it out to completion. God was not finished with me yet. In fact, He’d just begun.

On July 1, 2014, exactly ONE year after I’d clicked the registration button to travel to Haiti, I received a personal message from Compassion International. They wanted to verify my email address. They needed to send me something. I opened that message as I was getting into the car after a speech therapy home visit, and didn’t have time to respond because I was on my way to the daycare where I’d had that revelation last summer. So I made my way to the place of revelation. Tears streamed and holy goosebumps popped as I thought up all the amazing reasons Compassion might be contacting me on this seemingly random summer day. But I didn’t let myself get too excited because I am a realist, after all. Perhaps Compassion was contacting me in July because they needed me to pull something I’d written about the sponsor trip I’d taken back in February?

I got myself to a public library as quick as I could, and responded in the most proper way possible to verify my email address. I received an email back from Compassion International within an hour.

“We are all so grateful for your commitment to release children from poverty in Jesus’ name. [We] also wanted to invite you on a sponsor tour. Another one…” And later in the email, “There are so many great stories that occur during the week of a sponsor tour, as you know, and we want to start exploring what it would be like to capture those stories through our bloggers.”

My heart raced.

This was nothing but God’s pure grace, divine favor, a miracle. Compassion International just celebrated five years of blogging trips, and now they’re beginning another adventure, inviting bloggers to join a sponsor tour.

I’d been chosen to be a part of this new adventure.

As I sat there in the car reading the words over and over again on my tiny iPhone screen, all I could do was pray over and over again “Dear Lord, I am humbled and grateful. Dear Lord, I am humbled and grateful. Dear Lord, I am humbled and grateful.”

After gathering myself, I texted my husband and asked him to “call me right away if you have time!” “You’ll never guess,” I said when he called. “You’ll never guess.”

God’s grace.

His favor.

A Miracle.

Most definitely, yes.

I’ve been keeping this secret since July 1st. It’s just been me, my husband, Compassion and God himself that have known. I shared the news with one sweet soul one week ago, our parents yesterday, and my prayer and support team yesterday afternoon. And now, today, it’s your turn to know. It’s time to make the news public!

I’ve been invited to travel to the Dominican Republic with Compassion International and join a sponsor tour in January 2015. I’ll be traveling with a bunch of sponsors and TWO other bloggers. Kris Camealy, Sandra Heska King, and I will share stories throughout the week on our blogs. We’ll travel the beaten down, graveled up roads our sponsored children travel. We’ll see Compassion’s Child Survival Program in action, we’ll visit homes and Child Development Sponsorship Program projects, and we’ll see the most amazing fruits of Compassion’s efforts when we meet young adults enrolled in the Leadership Development Program. But most exciting of all? We’ll meet our sponsored children. We’ll meet them face to face. In fact, we’ll witness a whole host of sponsors meeting their sponsored children. And it will be beautiful, divine, holy.

The moments will be orchestrated by God himself. The stories, prepared in advance for us to tell. May our words be a vessel through which He speaks truth about the value of every human life.

As I drove away from that daycare yesterday, I remembered the revelation I had at that same daycare one year ago. Perhaps God’s been preparing me with these 14 years of speech therapy home visits. He’s wanted me to learn what it takes to enter in to others’ private space, others’ holy space and bring voice to the voiceless. He’s prepared me for a lifetime, really. My little girl heart has grown up into a great big mama bear heart. He’s fulfilling the promises He set in me from the beginning. That makes my heart beat hard, takes my breath away, gives me holy goosebumps. And brings wells of tears to my eyes. Because God is good. His promises ring true. Always and forever.

Similar to every major series I write on this blog, this post will serve as the landing page for my Dominican Republic trip with Compassion International in January 2015. All the posts I write about the trip will be listed and linked here, at the bottom of this blog post. You’ll find this Dominican Republic graphic displayed on the right sidebar of my blog homepage. Click on the graphic anytime, and you’ll be brought right back here where you’ll find all the blog posts in one place!

Other posts in the series about my trip to the Dominican Republic:

The Sweet Girl I’m Going to Visit in the Dominican Republic

I’m Empty. Apparently That’s the Way God Wants Me.

Bonita y Muy Guapo

Giving and Receiving Through Child Sponsorship

A Best Friend for Eternity

How a Formerly Sponsored Child Taught Me Anything’s Possible

A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words

Have you always dreamed of sponsoring a child? Why not do it today? I promise, it’ll be one of the best decisions you’ll ever make. Maybe Dominican Republic’s your place? Or perhaps you’re feeling called to Africa, Asia or elsewhere. Check out Compassion’s website by clicking right here. A whole host of children are patiently waiting for a sponsor. If you could meet them face to face, I just know you’d understand what an honor it is to release them from poverty and give them hope for a better tomorrow.