I’m an avid reader of blogs. I can’t even begin to estimate the number of blog posts I’ve read. While I greatly appreciate and read my fair share of how-to blog posts, the ones I love most are packed with heart and soul.

I want to know – what’s your biggest battle and how in the world are you overcoming that deep, deep pain? Get real with me. Tell me how it is. And please, oh please, tell me when you’ve seen the light and you’re free to just dance and be.

In all my reading of thousands of blog posts back to August 2010, I’ve run across one sentence that’s proved to be a theme, regardless of the writer’s position on the battle field. And get this – for the most part, it’s worded the same way every time.

I’m too much, not enough.

Whatever the battle is, it comes down to this one false belief.

I’m too much, not enough.

I’m too much, not enough.

Think about that.

The enemy of our soul takes one sentence and uses it to destruct thousands of souls. He morphs and twists it into a whole host of ugly words we use against ourselves. And after all that thinking and speaking bad about ourselves, we just want to curl up in a ball and say forget it. I’m not playing the game. I’m stepping out. I’m not going to win anyway.

I’m too much, not enough.

It’s always both. Never JUST – too much. Never JUST – not enough. Nope. It’s always…

I’m too much, not enough.

The enemy of our soul wants us to believe both sides of this ugly coin. That way he can hit us from every angle.

I’ve written these words about myself. I’ve read it too many times to count. But here’s the deal. I’m tired of these words. I’m tired of these words for myself. And I’m tired of them for you.

So today I’m not going to solve this problem, but I’m going to begin bringing it into the light. And I’m starting with this part of the lie…

I’m too much.

If we bring these lies into the light, we’ll expose them for what they are – flat out lies, false beliefs we’ve held about ourselves for way too long, for no good reason. And truth is? We’ve got to release these lies. Or the enemy will keep us right where he wants us. Flat on the ground, no good for anything, and certainly not up to fulfilling the awesome plans God has in store for us.

So here we go people. I’m giving mine up. All this I’m too much I think about myself? Forget about it. Let’s put it to rest. I’m laying it all out. Right here for you. I’m bringing every false belief I’ve held about myself boldly into the light.

I’m too much.

I’m too serious. Most definitely. For sure. Way, way too serious.

I’m too intense. Like shake it off, girl. Ease up. Take a chill pill, for real.

I’m too fat. My butt is too big. And my stomach has always been too. big. My nose, it juts out just a little too much at the top. The arms, that place behind my shoulder where I have a little too much fat and it shows in pictures shot from the right angle? Too much.

So let’s get back to that too serious and too intense stuff. Like people might not want to hang too long with me because I’m too serious, too intense.

Maybe the activities I like are too boring, too quiet – like reading and writing, watching movies and gardening. Ya, those sound like cool things to do when I’m retired, not now.  

Maybe I’m too churchy, too religious, too spiritual. Maybe I talk about God too much. Maybe I crossed the line, maybe I’ll cross it again and you’ll think I’ve gone too far. I just need to stop talking about all that church stuff. It’s too much.

Maybe I’m too deep. I think and overthink too much. Just ease up. Isn’t that all I need to do? Stop. thinking. too. much. And stop thinking so deeply. Just move on. Who cares. Not everything’s that important, that necessary to think through so thoroughly. I’m just too deep. It’s all too much. I’m too much.

I want things perfect, too much.

I want to do things right, too much.

I want to make the right decision, too much.

I care what everything thinks, too much.

I can obsess about anything and everything, too much.

I write too much. Post on Facebook too much. Made a comment on someone’s blog and it was just a little too much. Shared something intimate, personal, too much. Said something in 1,400 words when I could have said it in 700? Too much. Way too much. Keep it simple stupid. I write too much, divulge too much, care too much. And ya, this post? It’s probably too much.

Explained every detail when I could have gotten to the main point in one sentence? Too much.

Texted three sentences when I could have said it in one? Too much.

Emailed several paragraphs when I could have just emailed one? Too much.

That music that I like? Too boring, too slow. Ya, some of it’s just too intense. Like nobody gets that stuff. Where in the world did I find that song anyway? And those movies? BO-RING. Dramas? Documentaries? BO-RING. That stuff that makes me cry? It’s just all too much. Movies are for entertainment, not inspiration. Stop trying to find meaning in movies. They’re just movies for goodness sake. And when I hide away in a movie theater by myself with popcorn, candy, pop and  a movie of my own choosing? That’s just weird. Too weird. Who does that anyway? 

And what about all the dreaming? You’re dreaming girl! Get real! Give up the pipe dreams and start living in the real world. This is life, not Fantasyland! Those dreams, they’re simply too big, utterly impossible. So stop obsessing. It’s all too much. Give it up. Just give. it. up.

As much as I’d like to resolve these issues, take fight against the enemy of my soul right here and now, I want to leave it like that, lay it down just as it is. Because sometimes we just need to admit, here are the lies I’ve been believing about myself. Here are the false truths the enemy has tried to shove down my throat for years. This. has been my reality.

When we take a moment to reflect and acknowledge that these are ugly words, pure garbage, perhaps we’ll get to a place where we finally get real with ourselves and say…

I’m not willing to live that way anymore.

I will no longer accept those lies as truth.

I’m believing the truth about myself is much more beautiful than this.

We’ll talk about this more as the week unfolds. In my next post, I’ll dive deeper into not enough. And I’ll wrap up this week-long series just in time for Easter; we’ll discuss why we’re truly ENOUGH, just the way we are.

In the meantime, I wonder – what are some of the lies you’ve believed about yourself through the years? In what ways have you felt like you’re just too much?

Lay them down. Lay them all down here.

Then, be gentle with yourself. Because you’re not too much of anything. You’re enough, just right, just as you are.

Amy

I couldn’t help but feel I was invisible, just another body, as I walked the pathways of Nickelodeon Universe at the Mall of America.

The diversity of people roaming the walkways was undeniable – young, old, black, white, body piercings, Jesus jean jackets, Albino white hair, curly black wig hair, robed from head to toe, and scantily dressed.

But as I walked and then stood among the people, it was easy to see why anyone could feel alone, unimportant, just another number trudging the ground of this place called earth.

What is this place?

And why are we here?

What in the world is the point of all this anyway?

I pondered these things as I waited for my daughter to take a spin on the swings.

I positioned myself near a duck game and as odd as it sounds, the ducks called to me in that moment. Laying there lifeless, they reminded me of what I’d observed about people roaming Nickelodeon Universe’s walkways. Aren’t we all just waiting to be chosen, longing to know our lives have purpose beyond mere existence? Don’t we all want to believe we’re special, that we stand out amongst the rest? And why is it that everyday life sometimes causes us to become silent, lifeless, stuck in what feels like a plastic merry-go-round, just like those ducks? Can’t someone just come and rescue us, get us out of this place, help us know we’re more than just another body on the walkway of life?

This theme continued to emerge in different ways as we made our way through the Mall of America. Life CAN feel pointless at times. It’s not uncommon to feel alone, even in a crowd. And it’s ok to wonder if we’ll ever be fully loved and known here on earth. We wait, sometimes in desperation, for reassurance that our life truly does matter.

In all my Christianity, in all my belief that there IS more to this life, I paused and wondered, not for the first time…

What IS the point of all this?

Why God?

Why do you even have us here?

The next morning, I woke bright and early for a desperately needed workout at the gym. Approximately 15 minutes into my workout, I noticed two women hovering over the ledge, staring down intently at the cardio and weight training area. One of the women was significantly distraught, the other was working hard to calm her.

I have radar intuition and knew something was horribly wrong, so I stopped immediately.

As I approached, the calmer woman said to the distraught one, “You need to leave. Get out of here. Everything is going to be ok. Don’t watch this anymore. Go.”

And then I looked down, into that open area where everyone but a few were completely oblivious.

A man was flat down on the ground between two weight training machines. His eyes were closed. He appeared totally unconscious. His chest was heaving notably. I could only assume he’d had a heart attack or stroke and might just as well be dying, right there as I watched.

Two gym members stood inches from the man; I assumed they were present when it happened. The manager of the gym was there, and one personal trainer. I’d arrived so early on in the scene that they were just affixing some equipment to the man’s chest, and were performing CPR. I wondered if anyone had called 911, but determined based on peoples’ behavior that it must have been taken care of.

I began praying silently, to myself, as I watched from above.

Part of me realized it might not be terribly respectful to watch this man in his worst of hours, his life possibly passing by. But there was a bigger part of me that knew – I needed to see this. Maybe the reason my eyes were opened to the incident while most were still oblivious was because there was something I really needed to learn that day.

So I continued to pray, watch with open eyes and an open heart.

Before I knew it, one first responder entered the main floor through the back door wearing layman clothing, nothing official. When he knelt down, I noticed the man’s chest was still heaving notably but irregularly, and he was still unconscious.

Just seconds behind the first responder came the policeman with a big plastic tote in hand. He, too, knelt down next to the man. They began a thorough examination.

Then, a whole host of medical and emergency professionals arrived. And now, there were too many bodies to count, all hovering around this one man.

His life was on the line.

It was then, when I could barely see the man on the ground because of the crowd around him, that I understood more than ever the fragility and sanctity of a single life.

Gym staff gathered large signs and arranged them as screens around the scene to honor and respect this man’s privacy as his body was transferred from the ground to a stretcher.

At that point, I thought it was best if I left, continued my run.

But as I made my way around the corner, pressed play on my iPod, and reluctantly pushed the headphones in my ears, I realized the most fitting song was playing.

I stopped.

And looked down once again, this time from a slightly different angle.

The music played.

I watched newcomers enter the space with great concern. I watched people on treadmills and ellipticals turn around and become aware of all that was happening for the first time. And I could feel and see the gravity of the situation on peoples’ faces as they passed and moved about.

It was a holy moment. Right there in the gym.

As the man’s body was rolled away on the stretcher, tears streamed from my eyes. Kari Jobe’s “What Love is This” played quietly on my iPod. And I couldn’t help but feel God’s presence.

There was something about those moments that made me realize – God’s truly in control. There’s a bigger story that’s unfolding and it’s richer and more complex than we know. We don’t need to know all the answers. We don’t need to understand every bit of why and what and when and how.

But what we DO need to know, what YOU need to know, is this…

You are chosen. God knows. your name. Your life means something. Whether you believe it or not.

In the end, what matters is that you loved and that you were loved.

Your life is at stake. Live it.

Because in the end, when you’re flat on the ground taking what might be your last breaths, you won’t be worrying about how much money you made, what position you held in the company, how big your house was, how fat or thin you were, whether you ate steak or hot dogs for every meal of your life, whether you wore Lululemon workout gear or cheap Target stuff, or whether your kid owned a real American Girl doll or the Walmart knock off. And in those final moments, nobody will give a rip whether you worked overtime, full-time, part-time or not at all.

Nope.

The only thing that will matter when you’re on your death bed is whether you lived and whether you loved. Whatever your situation, live it and love it. That’s all there is.

And know. People care. People love you.

So be loved. Allow yourself to soak it in.

Whatever life circumstance in which you find yourself – whether you feel completely worthless and purposeless and like nobody really knows the real you, or whether you feel full of life and purpose and known by many – just know. you matter.

In the end, they’ll hover around you. It will be a sacred, holy moment. Your life will prove its worth.

So make the most of these days.

Because your life is short.

Do what you love. And love what you live.

Decide to do that.

Because none of us know when we’ll be flat on the ground.

So live for today, as if it’s your last.

And know. You’re important to the God of the universe. He formed your being, He named you special, worthy. He made you with purpose. And he wants you to live abundant. Today.

As I made my way around, to the place where the windows faced the ambulance where the man lay, men and women stood, looking on. “We all get to go like that one way or another at some point,” an older man said to me as we stood there quiet, watching. Nothing but the man’s lifeless foot was visible from the one ambulance door that remained open.

Live. So when you die, others might live differently because of your life.

That one thing you need to know about your life? It matters. So live it.

Amy

With the birth of each of our children, came a rebirth of me.

I worked full-time until the birth of our first child in 2002. It was then that I realized, for the first time in my life, that I might not want to be a full-time work outside of the home mama. My mom worked full-time her entire life, so I assumed I’d do the same. My husband and I had purchased a home, and hadn’t planned our finances around me staying home in any capacity. But I knew right away, as soon as our son was born – I didn’t want to work full-time anymore. I wanted to stay home more. I worked full-time for a year and a half after that first maternity leave. And then my husband got a raise, just enough for me to stay home one day a week, so I reduced my work to four days per week.

It felt just right. And I was grateful for more time with my baby boy.

With the birth of each of our children, came a rebirth of me.

I worked four days a week until the birth of our second child in 2005. After a 12-week maternity leave at home with our daughter, I returned to my four days a week position. I remained solid in that position for one more full year. My husband was deep in the trenches with his work, and just weeks before I’d found out I was pregnant with our daughter, our entire family began managing what would become six years of the worst of my sister’s mental health and addiction issues. Add my four day a week workload, and it felt like way too much. I knew something had to change. So I made a dramatic move. I took a formal leave of absence, and cut all the way back to one day per week of work. Working one day a week worked really well for two whole years. But then my leave came to an end and I was informed, given the shortage of professionals in my field, my employer needed me back, full-time. There were no part-time options, so I opted to resign and open my own private practice.

The time was right. And I was grateful as I’d always envisioned myself in private practice somewhere along the way anyway.

With the birth of each of our children, came a rebirth of me.

I started and maintained my private practice, working 2-3 days per week, until the birth of our third child, another baby girl in 2011. At this point, we’d been through a lot. I’d been through a lot. We’d spent years managing unbelievable trauma and drama with my sister, she’d had a baby, and things had finally stabilized to the point they were manageable. For years, it seemed there was no way we could add another baby to the picture, but I didn’t feel “done” having kids and our biological clocks were ticking. So we thought hard and prayed hard. The answer was yes. It was indeed time for another baby. After I returned from maternity leave in March 2012, I continued seeing patients two days a week, and did everything else that needed to be done for the private practice when I could fit it in. (And for the most part, that remains true today.)

But things were different this third time around.

You see, after all those years of trauma and drama, after all those years of waiting, I realized what a gift we had in our baby girl. I knew and had a strong sense, for the first time in my life, that if God blessed me so richly with this baby girl, maybe He had other beautiful plans for me, maybe there were other things I was supposed to do that would fulfill me as richly and as deeply as this baby girl? Maybe He’d planned beauty from all this pain?

So I picked up the bits and pieces of a dream that had been building since the birth of our baby boy in 2002.

I’d just returned from maternity leave, and baby girl was only three-months-old. I knew it was kind of crazy, this starting something new and big when I’d just had a baby and was trying to adjust to work, again, as mama of three. Baby was still a baby, I had two other little ones, and my husband had begun a big corporate job. But God called anyway, it’s time.

So in April 2012, after seeking wise counsel, I decided, it was time to launch this blog. In-between work and dance class and baseball and changing diapers and everything else, I worked my butt off getting ready to launch this thing.

In July 2012, I launched the blog. It was no small thing as far as I was concerned. The blog was important to me, and I valued it immeasurably. It was part of a dream I’d been visioning, at that time, for nine years already.

So that brings me to today, to this post.

I’ve decided to take a three week break from blogging.

Because I know, with the birth of each of our children, comes a rebirth of me.

And while I’ve without a doubt been working towards that rebirth of me, it hasn’t happened yet.

I’ve known, for 19 months, that it’s time for rebirth. But my rebirth is different this time. It’s not just a matter of making a few adjustments and I’ll be good to go.

It’s a matter of handing my life over to God and saying – what would you have me do next?

It’s a matter of deciding – am I going to continue thinking I’m all in, or am I actually going to live all in?

It’s a matter of believing and trusting, truly following this Jesus I say I believe in.

So I’m sitting in this boat. Jesus is smiling so slightly with his gentle, gracious and patient spirit. He’s looking at me. He’s waiting. He says “give me an hour, and I’ll change your life.”

And I’m here, still deciding if I’m going to give him “this hour.” Am I ready to give it to Him, or not?

And you, my readers? You’ve found me here, in this in-between place, in this moment of deciding what’s next.

In this in-between place, in this moment of deciding, I’ll be doing practical things, logistical things, and hard things.

What are the practical things? I’ll be attending my nephew’s baptism, celebrating my daughter’s golden birthday, and spending a week with my kids during their spring break. Just as important, I’m desperate to keep my promise and call my friend, Denise, with whom I haven’t chatted for way too long.

What are the logistical things? If time allows, I’ll be updating my Meet Amy and Blog Vision pages on the blog. I’ll also be working on finalizing plans for my second annual Special Mamas series in May.

What are the hard things? I’ll be spending time in reflection and praying, hard. I’ll be reading scripture and books, reviewing old diaries, journals, and blog posts. I’d like to spend some time journaling, without editing, without an audience, to better discern what’s next. And I’m seeking wise counsel, because I can’t do this alone.

Oh ya, I might open that bottle of champagne that’s been sitting in the fridge since December 6th, and enjoy it with my husband some night. 🙂

Thank you for understanding, thank you for reading today and any other day you’ve read in the past, and know I’ll be back.

As of now, I plan to return to the blog on Wednesday, April 9th, but if I need more time, I’ll take it.

If you’re new to the site, or haven’t had a chance to read as many of my posts as you’d like, I recommend reading the two series that reflect my writing and heart best to-date, Letters to the Unthanked and Journey to Haiti. If you’d like to contact me for any reason while I’m gone, please don’t hesitate! All of my contact information can be found on the Connect page on my blog.

Blessings to you all.

Amy

“I’m thinking a mid-life crisis is not so much a crisis as it is an awakening. Either you’re upset where you’ve landed and you perceive you’re stuck there for the rest of your life, or you’re wide awake and ready to use your wisdom to launch you into an even better second half. I strive to be the latter.”

Post from my personal Facebook page – May 25, 2013

Amy

*This is the final post from a month-long series about my journey to Haiti. Click here to read all the posts in the series.

*Music courtesy of Ft. Alex Boye, Africanized Symphonic Cover of Adele’s Set Fire to the Rain

He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart; 

yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end.  Ecclesiastes 3:11

God makes no mistakes.

He orchestrates every detail of our lives.

He knows exactly who to bring into our lives and when, so we become more of who He created us to be.

It’s been 12 days since I met Kednaud. Out of all the translators I could’ve been assigned, God chose Kednaud. It was truly a divine appointment.

Kednaud spent an entire day with me. It was arguably the most important day of my trip to Haiti, the day I met our sponsored children. He translated every word I uttered, every word our two sponsored children uttered, and every word uttered by a mama, auntie, nurse, and project director. Add up all of those words across an entire day, and you’ll begin to grasp the thousands of words Kednaud translated.

I was grateful for Kednaud’s presence and assistance, truly grateful.

The only words he didn’t know how to translate from English to French Creole were “pink” and “swimsuit.” That accounts for an entire day of translating words. I’d say that’s beyond impressive.

I’ve worked with translators before for my work as a speech-language pathologist, so this translation was nothing foreign to me. But this experience of working with a translator all day, non-stop? It was beyond amazing. The Compassion staff reminded us that these were not just translators, they were “relationship builders,” and that’s exactly what Kednaud was.

But there’s something more I want you to know about Kednaud. You see, he wasn’t JUST my translator that day.

I believe God sent Kednaud to be my translator because there was something He desperately wanted to show me, show us, in the moments in-bewteen translation.

God arranged moments in-between translation for me to connect with Kednaud. When everyone else was using the restroom, when everyone else was helping the kids change into their bathing suits, when everyone else was helping the kids change into their clothes, when everyone else was getting a second helping of food, and after everyone else had been given gifts, Kednaud and I were blessed with small moments to connect about things that matter most.

What are the things that matter most? They’re things that connect us as human beings, regardless of our gender, regardless of where we were born, regardless of our possessions, regardless of any circumstance.

Kednaud’s friends tease him, joke that He’s not fully Haitian. He “gets” American culture. He has friends that are from America, and they’ve invited him to come and live in the United States. They’ll even buy him a house if he’ll move to America. It’s tempting, but he knows. He’s Haitian. He loves his country and he doesn’t want to leave. He’s meant to stay here, in Haiti.

So he translates for American visitors, he values the opportunity to engage and develop relationship with Americans who visit and build homes in Haiti.

And God’s placed on Kednaud’s heart a big God-sized dream. Kednaud dreams of learning 21 languages. He’s already learned four, and knows what his fifth will be, Italian. Because education is expensive and finances are limited, Kednaud works on one language at a time, as he’s able to afford. He takes courses online, through a website called Babbel, where he learns each language and earns a certificate that proves his proficiency.

Kednaud understands. His dream to learn 21 languages is big. It’s a dream most might think is unattainable, especially considering his circumstances. But he believes, I believe, that ALL things are possible with God, through Christ.

I shared about this “God-sized dream” talk in America, how God places dreams on our hearts that seem big, unattainable through the lens of human eyes, but that we trust, knowing anything is possible with God.

We both looked up towards the sky, stating out loud, agreeing as brother and sister in Christ, that yes – anything. is possible. with God. There was peace and joy in this agreement. And that was the first moment I knew, God had me meeting Kednaud, and Kednaud meeting me for a very special purpose. To propel both of us further, with confidence, towards His dreams for us.

Kednaud plays drums. He’s in a band, and he writes songs. And as you might guess, he loves American music. The most perfect medley of songs played throughout the day with our sponsored children. Bryan Adams’ “Everything I Do,” Louis Armstrong’s “What a Wonderful World,” and The Jackson 5’s “I’ll be There” played as we frolicked in the pool for the first time ever, played games that united young and old, and shared a great feast together.

Then, it was time to present the families with gifts I’d brought from home. First was Bethchaida. The joy on her face was indescribable. And sweet Djino. I’ll never forget the way he smiled bashfully when I showed him the motorycycle shirt I’d brought for him, the way he bent over, kissed me on the cheek and said “merci.” Kednaud was there, and captured it all in words and photographs.

But there was something missing. I’d promised Kednaud a special gift, too. There was a song, it came to me in the moment we were talking about American music. And I knew I needed to share it with Kednaud. I’d just downloaded it from iTunes a few weeks prior to coming to Haiti; it’s the song that’s resonated most with my spirit these days.

So I ran. I literally ran back to the place where I had my iPhone and headphones. Because the clock was ticking. I’d used up all but 15 minutes of time with my sponsored children and their accompanying adults, and I didn’t want to miss a minute. But I wanted to keep my promise to Kednaud. I wanted to give him this gift, I wanted him to hear this song. So yes, I ran, and then I ran back, iPhone and headphones in tow.

I turned it to this song, Just Say Jesus, and gave Kednaud the headphones.

I sat with the children, the mama and the auntie gathered the gifts, and as we all sat together, speechless, in these last moments, Kednaud pressed play.

The music started. My heart raced. This was the song I’d promised. I had no idea why it was the only song that’d come to me when I learned Kednaud’s dreams and love for music, but this was the song I needed to share.

And that’s when he began. As the words and tune met his ears for the first time, he smiled, his face lit up. He air drummed, and he air drummed some more, non-stop, until the song was done.

He loved it. My gift had been received. God’s gift, to both of us, had been received.

The day had been worthy of a million pictures, and this moment was as worthy as any other. So we snapped a photo of another moment I’ll never forget, a moment that needed no translation.

God unites his children in the most unusual and unexpected ways. He tailors our experiences uniquely. Because He’s the one that created us. He knows our innermost being. He knows our heart and He owns the dreams He’s placed there. He’s the only one who can translate, when words just don’t suffice.

I saw so much of myself in Kednaud. We share a love for words, for music. Kednaud’s only part Haitian, and I’m only part American; we rest in peace knowing our eternal citizenship is in heaven. We share God-sized dreams that seem impossible, but we know in our hearts, without translation, that anything is possible with God.

Amy

*This is part of a month-long series about my journey to Haiti. Click here to read all the posts in the series.