Three or four years ago, I started threatening my husband that I was going to cut my hair off super short and dye it blonde. I casually threatened and joked because I knew I wasn’t brave or bold enough to cut it all off. I casually threatened and joked because I knew my husband strongly prefers me and his girls to have long hair. That is, until one year ago when my husband shaved his head. He began to understand where I was coming from, and granted me complete freedom to go ahead and cut and color my hair however I wanted.

Okay. I know you’re going to roll your eyes, puke in your mouth a bit (if you’re my husband), or maybe even wonder “What in the WORLD is Amy thinking? Has she gone mad?” But think Miley Cyrus. Yes, this is the haircut I envisioned in my mind all those years. No need to go into details, but you know this cut has an even edgier styling option, right?

Why am I talking about haircuts and sharing photos of celebrities today, anyway? Because this seemingly random story about hair has a real-life application. There’s a bigger lesson to be learned here, and I didn’t realize it until I cut my hair.

So let’s go back in time a bit. I promise, this won’t take long.

I’m super low maintenance when it comes to my hair. When I say SUPER low maintenance, I mean it. I get my haircut twice a year AT MOST. I don’t make appointments ahead of time. I pretty much get to the point of emergency and take an appointment wherever I can get in. Hence, the longest amount of time I’ve stayed with one stylist in my adult life is maybe a year or two. I’ve only highlighted my hair a couple times, and have never had a full color job. Garnier Fructis is my shampoo of choice ($3 or less with coupon). Typically, I have ONE high-end smoothing product to help manage my frizzy hair, and that lasts me for several years because I use it so sparingly. Five minutes is the perfect amount of time for styling; anything beyond that is annoying and crosses into high maintenance. And anyone who knows me in real life knows that I love, love, LOVE ponytails. Ponytails are the best, especially when you’ve had the lovely experience of lice through your house twice in one year. Yeah, ever since that, I’ve worn the ponytail 5-6 days a week.

Moving on.

I’d last gotten a haircut in early September 2015. I wore my hair in a bun while I was in Kenya, and kept the spirit of Kenya alive by wearing my hair in a bun EVERY SINGLE DAY from November 26, 2015 through April 26, 2016 when I finally got my haircut. That’s five months, people! I thought the bun was totally working until my former neighbor’s mom saw me in the store and said she barely recognized me because my hair was “so slicked back.” (I wasn’t sure her words were meant as a compliment. I, for one, loved the bun, but knew it was another trap.)

Time to get that haircut.

I’d been thinking and talking about that short haircut for SO long, that I knew this haircut was going to be TOTALLY SHORT or SAFE AND BORING (think ponytail).

Research phase began.

Maybe I should get something dark and edgy, like rocker Demi Lovato?

Maybe I should get something chic and sophisticated, like my one and only television role model, Megyn Kelly?

Ultimately, I narrowed my selection to two realistic favorites which I shared on my Facebook page so people could give me their opinions on the cuts. Julianne Hough rocking the short, but not TOO short hair.

Or Emma Watson rocking the safe, but definitely short style.

The rubber hit the road. It was time to decide. Money was budgeted. The appointment was booked. My decision was SAFE or SHORT, and I was going SHORT. I wasn’t 100% sure about the decision, but I was hovering around 97%.

This is me the night before the haircut. No makeup. Hair just washed and air dried. No products. No styling. My thick, frizzy inherited hair is a challenge to manage. Can you imagine how long it takes to tame this into something presentable everyday (besides a ponytail)?

This is me the morning of the haircut. Slicked back into a bun. The same way I’d worn it every day for the past five months.

Haircut time!

I went to a new salon and booked with a stylist I’d never met. Thank goodness I had a solid referral from a former patient’s mom I trust whole-heartedly when it comes to matters of the hair!

I showed the stylist all the short hair photos I’d pinned. She didn’t want to cut my hair quite that short since it was the first time she’d EVER cut my hair and didn’t know how it was going to respond. So we agreed on a slightly longer version, Carrie Underwood’s 2016 Grammy’s cut. I knew the cut was longer than anything I’d envisioned, but it was still MUCH shorter than any style I’d had since 5th grade, so I agreed.

“All this hair is weighing you down,” she said.

So off went the hair.

I didn’t bat an eye.

This haircut was long, long overdue.

It was freeing. A weight literally lifted off my shoulders.

I had a few errands to do, but knew my husband was eagerly awaiting the results of my big haircut. All the friends and family who’d weighed in on my haircut on Facebook would appreciate an “after” picture, right? So I tried a couple selfies in the car, but that didn’t work out very well. (Selfies are the worst thing ever. SO awkward!)

After the failed selfie attempt, I went into the mall to do my errands.

As I walked the aisles, I remembered that if there’s one vanity item I really do love and appreciate, it’s clothing. With the exception of a sports bra, I haven’t requested a clothing budget in forever and a day. I glanced at myself in mirrors, trying to determine if I liked this haircut or not, whether I looked good in it or not. Was I crazy for thinking this was a good idea? What’s more, I looked deep in my eyes and noticed they didn’t sparkle any more or less after the haircut.

That’s when I started noticing a difference. Right there in the mall. Right after my big haircut. That’s when I started feeling and SEEING a difference.

This wasn’t really about a short haircut. This was about proving to myself that it was okay to take a risk. This was about proving to myself that it would turn out okay even if it wasn’t perfect. This was aligning my outsides more closely to my transformed insides. This was about seeing myself differently. This was about seeing the world differently. This, in fact, had very little to do with my outward physical appearance and very much to do with my wellness, wholeness and perspective on life. This was about me learning to say no AND yes to what’s me AND what’s not me. This was about embracing my life and taking responsibility for how I choose to live it.

I needed to think, believe and behave differently than I had before.

I needed to see myself differently. 

I needed to see differently.

And that’s exactly what began to happen when I got my haircut.

I tried some more selfies that afternoon and again the next morning, but I never did share an “after” picture on my Facebook page. Guess it’s all here today, right?

Here’s the truth. The haircut wasn’t about everyone else, anyway. I didn’t need anyone’s approval or disapproval. In the end, the haircut was about taking the RISK I knew I needed to take.

Maybe I’m taking this too far. Maybe I’m overanalyzing this haircut. But what if I’m not?

What’s on your heart? What small or big decision’s been weighing on your mind for days, weeks, months or years? What risk have you been longing to take, but fear has stopped you for some reason? What do you KNOW you need to do, but can’t bring yourself to do it for any reason at all?

Here’s the secret. Nobody knows but me, but I’ve been saying YES to a lot of little things since I got that haircut six weeks ago. Saying YES to the haircut helped me see myself and the world differently, which gave me confidence to say YES to a bunch of things I wanted and needed to say YES to.

So what’s your YES today? What risk do you need to take – small or big – to propel yourself forward in life? Perhaps you need a haircut, too? Or perhaps it’s something else, anything else. I’m believing somebody’s out there, somebody’s listening, somebody needs to hear this.

TAKE the RISK.

Do it.

See your life differently.

See life differently.

See differently.

My parents have reminded me more than once that I was so shy when I was younger, that they had to tell me to say “hi” to people.

Apparently, I was afraid of my own voice from the start.

Here’s the truth for today.

I’m battling for my voice, friends.

Perhaps I always have.

This is a spiritual battle. No doubt.

God vs. the enemy. They’re battling for lives. They’re battling for souls.

God created me. He’s cultivating a voice within me. He’s asking me to use that voice to proclaim truth and life to others. Truth and life to myself. He’s asking me to have faith in His creation, faith in the unique gifts He’s bestowed upon me.

The enemy. Forget that loser. Forget the niceties. He’s a beast, a deadbeat. He wants to kill and destroy my voice, my entire life for that matter. He wants to silence me with all his might. He’s on the prowl, up to nothing good. I renounce him and all his evil, scheming ways.

So many things have happened in the 15 months since I left my 14 1/2 year career as a speech-language therapist to stay home and pursue writing and photography. Beyond all the things that have happened, there’s been a behind the scenes. Behind the scenes, I’ve been battling a sense of identity, a sense of place. Behind the scenes, I’ve been asking big questions about work and worth. Behind the scenes, I’ve been struggling with my voice.

I’m riding a fine line between being totally confident in who and where I am, and utterly unsure.

Again, I’m certain this is an issue of faith. I’ve taken a leap of faith, and the enemy is coming on strong with his totally weak, but believable voices of doubt and fear. This is perfect timing for him to ride in on his black horse and kill God’s every plan for my life.

The enemy will not win, friends. He will not win. But he’s still trying.

After months of writing and editing, just two days before I was scheduled to present my first two children’s book manuscripts to my writing group, the manuscripts fell flat to me. Mind you, I’ve worked and reworked these babies up and down the past four months. I’ve edited, edited and edited some more. Both manuscripts have made me cry (in a good way). I’ve been certain there’s something unique about them. I’ve been certain that somebody, some agent out there, will see the beauty in what I’m trying to convey. But last Tuesday? They fell flat. Completely flat. By the time I got the manuscripts to writing group, I’d nearly talked myself out of presenting them to the group because I just wasn’t sure anymore. Fortunately, my writing group knew this presentation was coming and wouldn’t let me out of it. But today, I’m afraid to open the manuscripts back up because I don’t want them to fall flat again.

Yesterday, I published a post on my personal Facebook page in which I complained about having to wash grass stains, mud stains, and dirt stains out of my son’s WHITE baseball pants, something I’ll do 2-4 times a week for the next four months. I thought we’d gotten smarter after last year’s BLACK baseball pants, but not so much. There I stood at the sink, scrubbing for 20 minutes, followed by a several-hour Oxi-Clean soaking, followed by a machine wash and line dry. So I shared this post and it felt real. It felt like I was sharing my truth. But I’ll be honest, I fell in the Facebook trap. I put my voice out there, and then I doubted it. Was I complaining for complaining’s sake? Was I not grateful enough for all the wonderful things that come from my son’s participation on the baseball team? Should I have ONLY shared the awesome things about baseball season starting instead of this very real, but probably silly baseball mom annoyance? I got to overthinking. I got to doubting my voice. I deleted the post. I wrapped two red rubber bands around my phone so I wouldn’t go into Facebook and start doubting my voice again.

I’m doubting the internal voice that’s been telling me for years that I should get my hair chopped off. “Chopped off.” Those aren’t pretty words. That’s not the most eloquent way to say I’d like to get my hair cut VERY short. But that’s the brutal truth of it. “Chopped off.” Since we had two rounds of lice through our house three years ago, I’ve worn my hair up 80-90% of days. I haven’t gotten my hair cut in seven months. I’ve worn my hair up 100% of days since I returned from Africa. I want to wear more than ponytails and buns, especially as I approach 40, but I’m super low maintenance when it comes to hair. Even though my husband strongly prefers long hair, he’s given me permission to cut it. He knows I’ve been talking about this for three or four years, and thinks I really, truly want to do this. The haircut appointment’s made April 26th. I’m 80-95% convinced I’m going super short. But I’ve not fully convinced myself. I’m not sure I can trust that internal voice.

This morning as we were getting ready for the day, my husband initiated a conversation about shoes and clothing items he’ll need to fit in one of our upcoming monthly budgets. When he said “NEED” I assumed he’d mention dress jeans, dress shirts, and casual, but cool short-sleeve shirts he’s been talking about needing for business trip nights out. All things he legitimately and likely needs right now. Instead, he started with shoes. Boots, in fact. He has two pair of boots, both he’s purchased in the past four years, one that still seems and looks brand new to me. Needless to say, a difference of opinion on “NEED” vs. “WANT” boiled to the surface. I dove too far into detail about the condition of his current boots when all he WANTED was new boots. Things went too far, too quick. Words were said. He apologized. And I felt bad for having expressed any opinion in the first place. Why should I stop him from getting new boots if he wants them? After all, he’s the one bringing in all the money right now. And I’m not. I doubted my voice.

Sometimes I don’t know. I really don’t know.

Sometimes we don’t know. We really don’t know.

So here I am. On the upper level of a high-end grocery store. Oddly enough, this is one of my favorite places to write. It’s fairly quiet here, but there are enough people to remind me I’m among the living.

I promised myself I’d write and work on my books every Tuesday and Thursday between the first week of January and May 10th, my daughter’s last day of preschool. I haven’t kept that promise 100%, but I’ve written most days and made a lot of headway. Where the books are going and the timing I had planned isn’t as crystal clear with my dad’s lung transplant in the wings.

More fire. More refining. More defining.

My voice. His voice.

Knock the enemy dead.

When I sat to write at this high-end grocery store this morning, I looked left to a meeting of elders. Honestly, I have no clue why they were there or what they were doing. But I kept noting this man across the table. He held a book. He read aloud. I sensed his wisdom, his kindness, even through the paneled-glass windows. I’ve never seen the man in my life.

As he exited the room, he laid his hand on my shoulder gently, far more than a split second, and said “Good Morning.”

Good morning. I see you.

Good morning. You’re here.

Good morning. Wake to the voice inside.

Good morning. Wake to your life.

Good morning. Trust God’s got this.

Good morning. It’s another day.

Good morning. It’ll all work out.

Good morning. Your voice, your place in this world is important.

Good morning.

Dearest Blog Readers,

My iPhone died late this afternoon. I tried a bunch of things and nothing’s working to fix it. Looks like I’m going to have to bring it into AT&T tomorrow to see what’s wrong.

For some odd reason, the temporary death of my iPhone caused me to have a significant revelation this evening.

Something is off with me.

Something is not sitting well with my soul.

My last day of work as a 14 1/2 year speech-language therapist was December 18, 2014.

That was followed by two months of my husband’s eye cancer.

That was followed by two months of hefty spring cleaning and acclimating to new normal.

That was followed by a crazy busy summer, home full-time with our three children for the first time ever.

That was followed by September through December 2015, four of the crazy-busiest, all-encompassing AND life-giving months I’ve experienced in my life.

That four month, crazy-busy period was followed by January and February 2016, which have been the quietest, LEAST BUSY months in MY. ENTIRE. LIFE.

How odd is that?

Since the first week of January, I’ve been spending every Tuesday and Thursday working on a long-standing dream. Writing books. I’m working on a children’s book series. The first two children’s books are fully drafted and have been edited MANY times. I think they’re good, potentially very good and unique, too, but doubt and disbelief definitely get in the way. The third children’s book is a crappy first draft that needs at least 500 words edited out before it has any sort of viability. The fourth book is adult nonfiction. It’s a slow go. SLOW. VERY SLOW. It will likely be a year or two or five before it’s viable. But I’m going. I’m moving on it.

I’m certain God’s granted me these months of quiet space for a very good reason. He’s given me quiet before the storm, or quiet to work on these books. Perhaps BOTH. Either way, I’m doing my part. I’m taking advantage of the quietest space I’ve had in my adult life.

For months, I felt as if I’d emerged from a wilderness or captivity, but was standing at the bottom of a wall looking straight up. I wasn’t sure how to get over the wall and was feeling stuck.

In December and January, I had revelation not once, but three times, that God was going to take care of moving that wall, NOT me. I’ve felt freedom in that realization. I no longer feel stuck like that.

But since that revelation, I’ve felt more and more that I’m LOST. Or maybe I’m drowning due to my own lack of faith. 14 months ago, I took a major leap of faith, arguably the biggest leap of faith I’ve ever taken. I’m in the water. I’m in the deepest deep. But I’ve lost sight of something. I’m feeling a certain panic about the complete UNknown that comes with a leap of faith. I have no idea what’s next. I have no guarantee of what’s going to happen next week, next month, next year or five years from now when it comes to this leap of faith to focus on writing, photography, and staying home with my children. I can’t promise myself or my husband, my family or anyone else what’s going to happen next. There IS no paved path. It’s just me and God here. If I’m completely honest, this is freaking me out a bit (or a lot). It’s testing my faith. I’m simultaneously bored and all wired up. I’m simultaneously full of faith and lacking faith in what God has planned next.

But there’s something else.

I’ve become aware of a grief that’s in me. It’s come out sideways for a long time now. I wasn’t aware it was grief until a few months ago. Now I know better.

Yesterday, I watched a video of researcher, author and speaker Brene Brown. It was about grief and allowing ourselves to say good bye to some things before we’re fully able to embrace and move into what’s next.

That video resonated with me. Deeply.

I’m believing more and more that I need to grieve some things.

This is private business.

This will not be public.

This is for me and me only.

I need to get with God.

I need to do some journaling.

I need to create some crappy art, to do some crappy writing that nobody will see or judge except me.

I’ve already visited one pastor for some conversation. I’m thinking I need to visit another.

I need to give myself time to explore this grief. What is this? Who and what do I need to grieve before I can move on to what’s next?

What is it about me that needs to move out of the way so I can fully embrace this next season God has for me? Thank you, my friend Monica, for helping me see that I NEED TO MOVE OUT OF THE WAY.

Thirteen months ago, my writer friend, Kris Camealy, told me that my “five point plan [wasn’t] going to work anymore.” I have NO idea how she knew that. But she was spot on. My five-point plan isn’t working anymore. I’ve been trying to work a five-point plan, and let me share a little insight. Five-point plans don’t work in God’s economy. Five-point plans aren’t compatible with leaps of faith. Five-point plans don’t cut it when you need to grieve some things you weren’t even aware you needed to grieve.

It’s time.

I’m nearly 40 years old. I’ve already told you I’m going to ROCK my 40s and beyond. I WILL do just that.

I’m also keenly aware that I have no plan B. I’m already IN plan B. Plan B WILL BE God’s way.

There’s been a struggle, here.

I haven’t cracked the struggle wide open yet.

But I’m willing. And ready.

I didn’t expect this. I didn’t plan this AT. ALL. It’s not a part of the five-point plan. Honestly, this all just occurred to me TONIGHT. But I’m taking a blogging break, effective immediately, for a minimum of two weeks. We’re in the middle of a series titled “Love Letters to Friends.” Four posts remain. God’s up to something with this series. And those last four posts are important to me. I’m not willing to write those posts and move forward unless I’m ready. Tonight, it came to my attention that I’m not ready. Not quite yet, anyway.

I’m not ready to finish this blog series until I do some work.

I’m not ready to move to the next step in writing those books and book proposals until I do some work.

I’m not ready to break free until I do some work.

I’m not ready until I’ve cracked the struggle wide open.

I’m not ready to move into my future until I’ve grieved the things of the past.

And I’m not fully surrendered to God until I COMPLETELY surrender my strong people-pleasing tendencies. This is a problem, people. Taking a leap of faith is not a time to worry about people, what they think, how they respond, or how they don’t respond. I thought I’ve been real, but I’m worrying too much if I’m resonating. And it’s spilling over into my book writing.

I have some work to do, friends.

So long.

Farewell.

I want to be better for you.

I’m called to this. So I have to work through this.

Offline for now. Online again, once I’ve worked through some things.

Thanks. I adore you for reading and understanding and hanging in there with me. Please pray I’ll come back better. It’s time for soul care and deep digging.

 

Dear Friend,

I sigh as I sit down to type this letter. Do you know why? Because I’ve neglected you. I’ve outright neglected you. It’s not okay. It’s simply not okay.

Back in the day, we were best friends. You’re so humble, kind and gracious to have still called me best friend this past year. But I’m afraid I haven’t acted like a best friend. AT. ALL.

Back in the day, we were active friends. We lived together. We did lots of stuff together. We shared our deepest, darkest secrets with one another at the dinner table. Long walks and late night conversations bonded us forever. Not to mention all the crazy fun we had together. Honestly, I’ve never had so much fun as I did with you.

You made me free.

You made me laugh.

You made me feel special.

You noticed all the little things.

And you always had the capacity to go deep.

Back in the day, we spent a lot of time together. In fact, I’ve spent more time with you than 90% of friends I’ve had in nearly 40 years. Time. It’s worth something. It means something. It meant something to me. Time means we went deep. Time means we were true. Time means you saw me, and I saw you. Flaws, beauty and all.

Back in the day, I’m sure we would’ve never imagined that you’d move there and I’d be here. SO far. Yet so close.

What does this mean for us?

It means I haven’t seen you in something like seven years. Maybe more?

Wow.

I’m sighing again, friend.

That’s too long.

Distance made me immune. Distance caused me to believe we’ll never recapture the essence of the friendship we once had. Distance made me believe it’s okay to NOT respond in a timely fashion. Distance made me forget your awesome, beautiful, gracious humanity. Distance told me “Hey, no worries. It’s not like we can go out on Saturday night, anyway.” Distance made me inconsistent and terribly unpredictable as a friend.

I’m not nearly as awesome at friendship as I once was.

And I’ve proven myself to be a horrible long-distance friend.

I’ve neglected to return phone calls. Worse yet, my best excuses were “so busy,” “too busy,” and “too crazy around here.”

I’ve neglected to return emails in a timely fashion. You’re AMAZING at email, and I’m hit and miss when it comes to responding to personal email of any length, width or depth. It irks me beyond belief that you sent an email wishing me Happy Birthday and Happy Anniversary last July 4th, and I found it in my inbox a couple weeks ago, realizing I likely never even responded.

I neglected to acknowledge your 40th birthday with a call or card.

And yeah, back to email. It seems like every time I throw you a tough one, you respond immediately, with depth, sincerity and love. And I don’t respond for another month or two, three or four. What’s up with me and this long-distance friendship thing? Clearly, I did MUCH, MUCH better when you were in my daily physical space.

I’m running myself into a rut, and I know this isn’t what you would want for me. You always want the best. You always love, even when it’s not justified. You always send the sincerest, even when I’ve been more selfish than I care to admit. You’re always honest. Always kind. Always true. Always loyal. Always FULL of grace. Forgiving. Thoughtful. And humble.

Sighing again, friend. This is weighing on my heart.

I don’t know what to do.

Honestly, I hate talking on the phone. I just need to get better at email. And somehow…we need to see each other again and maybe more often.

Seven plus years is too long.

We need a night or two together.

Girl’s night. Just you and me.

Then maybe another girl’s night with some of our old friends.

Then an afternoon hanging with our kids at the park. They play. We chat. We eat picnic lunch. However long it takes.

No rush.

No distractions.

Just us.

Catching up. In real life. In real time.

Yeah, that would be good.

That would be awesome.

I’m sorry, friend.

Please accept my apologies.

I know I’ve already addressed this up and down, and I know you’re filled to the brim with GRACE, GRACE and MORE GRACE, but I’m wholly convicted. I’ve not been good at this long-distance friend thing.

I don’t have a great solution, but one thing’s for sure…you’re worth more than I’ve given.

This, I need you to know. 

You’re still in my heart. You’re still there. Nothing’s changed deep down.

Above all, I pray you find a true heart hidden in this letter.

A heart still loyal.

A heart that still calls you friend.

A heart that remembers the best days, treasures the bond, and expects hope and a future. For us. As friends. For now…LONG, LONG-distance best friends.

 

 

 

This is part of a month-long series on friendship titled Love Letters to Friends. To read the rest of the posts in the series, CLICK HERE and you’ll be directed to the series introductory post. Scroll to the bottom and you’ll find all the posts listed and linked for your reading pleasure.

Dearest You,

I’m pretty sure you wanted to be friends with me. You reached out to me. Personally. On more than one occasion. FOUR times to be exact. I’m quite embarrassed to admit that I declined all four invitations.

Why did I say no? I don’t know.

I’ve likened myself to you more than once. I see myself in you. You and me? We’re kind of the same. You’re the high action version of me. The version of me that achieves and accomplishes and knows everyone. The version of me that’s smart and witty, lovely and involved. The version of me that “does it all,” and does it all well.

But for some reason, that version of me isn’t working right now. I’m all pooped out. I’m all worked out. I’ve achieved. I’ve done it all. But yeah. I’m kind of tired.

I need time to explore the creative side of me. I need time to determine if my dreams have meat to them, or if they’re just puffy clouds of cotton candy high in the sky. I need time to breathe and be, and figure out what life’s gonna look like through and far beyond my forties.

You and me? Yeah. We’re kind of the same.

Deep down, I wonder if you remind me of the person I “should” be, the person I “could” be, the person I believe the world would prefer me to be. Yeah. That’s probably right. Totally right.

Honestly. Shame on me for putting my insecurities in the middle of a friendship you wanted to forge. I should have just been myself, ALL of myself, and said YES to every one of those first four invitations.

But before I go off the deep end and dramatize this as if it’s a done deal…

I did reach out once. (It went well.)

And I did say yes, TWICE, to your most recent attempts to include me in something super cool. (I give you major props. It was as super cool as it seemed.)

But truth be told, we’re much more acquaintances than we are friends.

That’s my fault. That’s my insecurity getting in the way of friendship.

Please accept my sincerest apologies.

If you ever reach out again with a personal one-on-one invitation, perhaps I should seriously consider a YES.

 

 

 

This is part of a month-long series on friendship titled Love Letters to Friends. To read the rest of the posts in the series, CLICK HERE and you’ll be directed to the series introductory post. Scroll to the bottom and you’ll find all the posts listed and linked for your reading pleasure.