For six or seven years, I’ve been significantly burdened by all the STUFF we own. Everywhere I look, there’s clutter, STUFF we don’t need or use. I have no problem stating the brutally honest truth about all that STUFF.

I can’t stand it.

It’s exhausting to manage and suffocating to my soul.

I don’t need anymore STUFF.

One of the tasks I’m bound and determined to get a grip on between now and the end of the school year is decluttering our house. The past two and a half weeks, I’ve begun to dig out. I realized from the start that it’s going to be a huge job. In fact, I’ve just begun to scratch the surface with a partial clean-out of one side of our master bedroom, a partial clean-out of our master bathroom, a partial clean-out of our baby’s bedroom, and a pre-Easter dump of seasonal goods we don’t use anymore.

I’ve sorted through old t-shirts and barely-worn lingerie stuffed in dresser drawers, jewelry from junior high, over-the-counter medicines already expired, gross smelling lotions only partly used, and hand-me-down toddler clothes that didn’t get used nearly enough. I donated several pair of pants that didn’t fit anymore, sweaters that have gone out of style, necklaces and bracelets I once thought were real gold but discovered were all fake when I brought them to the Gold Guys in hopes of cash. Books that no longer resonate have been tossed in a donation bag along with the free, but ugly hair clips that came with the hair dryer we bought in December. And I’m embarrassed to say that I’ve saved boxes for a year now. You know why? Because I want to sell a bunch of valuable STUFF on eBay, but putting all that STUFF up for auction takes so much time, I haven’t even gotten to it. So there sit the boxes.

The STUFF.

It’s a burden.

Whether we know it or not, whether we’ve had time to sort through it or not, whether we’ve had time to realize how much we’ve collected or not, it’s a burden to our souls.

We collect, purchase, acquire, buy and borrow hoping all these things will fill the holes in our hearts, this longing for something more. But STUFF doesn’t fill holes in hearts. STUFF fills our houses, fogs our brains, clogs the free-flowing life waiting for us on the other side.

We’re drowning in STUFF.

Me, you, our whole culture.

More is better. Or is it?

What if less is truly more?

What if we stopped believing the lie that STUFF will make us happier?

What if we stopped expecting STUFF to fill the holes in our hearts?

What if we decluttered once and for all?

What if we realized that a life worth living has nothing to do with the acquisition of more STUFF?

What if we released the STUFF and opened our hearts to the possibility that freedom’s waiting on the other side of STUFF?

What if we need clean places, wide open spaces so our hearts and souls can breathe and just be for once?

What if?

 

 

We decorate our trees with ornaments old and new. Store bought. Homemade. They remind us of good days, and days that weren’t so good at all. Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas streams in the background. Memories swirl in the invisible. We’re joyful, for sure. But below the surface, there’s a longing, a yearning for more. More than this.

Christmas anyway. 

We hang our stockings by the chimney with care, in hopes Saint Nicholas will soon be there. We ponder over stuff used to fill. Maybe it’s too much. Or perhaps, not enough.

Christmas anyway. 

We place presents under the tree, sweatshirts adorned with AWESOME, tractors made from recycled goods, gift cards and chapter books. Our desire’s to show our affection, our devotion. We love because He first loved us. But we’re really not sure when enough’s enough. One? Two? Twenty? How many will it take for us to feel, to know we’ve done enough, said enough, given enough, helped enough? How long will it take for us to know we’re enough? As we are. Goods or no goods.

Christmas anyway. 

We adorn our houses with care. Snowmen, snowflakes and Santa Clauses. Candy canes, wreaths and lights up the wazoo. Our goal? To make it just so. We waffle like bobbling dolls and teeter totters. One day, life’s good. The next? It’s wrong. All wrong. Our hearts long for eternity, our instincts tell us there’s more than this. We decorate to acknowledge beauty’s waiting to be uncovered, even in the mundane, even in the most dreary and disgusting of days. Beauty matters. Even so. Even when.

Christmas anyway.

We debate the goodness of Christmas carols. One loves Emmanuel, the other claims to hate Noel. One friend has seven Christmases because of multiple divorces. And another’s at risk of landing in a shelter because they’ve fallen off the wagon…again. An old friend lost her mama this year, and let’s be real, somebody’s baby is starving tonight. We argue about going to this church or that one. We’re not really sure we have a church home anyway, but we get dressed up and go anyway.

Christmas anyway.

We prepare Pinterest-perfect peppermint mousse cups. They’re pretty. Good in theory. But horrific in reality. We taste one spoonful each and agree. Horrible. Terrible. They’re tossed in the garbage in a big ol’ bag. And two hours before guests set to arrive, we run to the store for dessert number two’s ingredients. A good old fashioned trifle from the recipe box suffices. Fine. Just fine.

Christmas anyway.

We set the table, take great care. Cooking, baking and scrubbing have consumed our days. We long for unity, community and love, unconditional. It’s grace that gathers us. There’s no other way. We pass the bowls, serve the kids, and seat granddad at the head of the table. We pray. There’s no other way. Today, we’re desperate for this gathering, this being together as one. Yes. When we finally sit, we know. We’re one body, many parts, all longing to play our part. This is the day that the Lord has made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it.

Christmas anyway.

We wait. For Old Saint Nicholas. Soon he’ll be here. He’s gentle and loving, tenderhearted and giving. He wouldn’t harm a soul, the father figure we’ve all longed for. Whether we believe or don’t believe, we can’t help but love him anyway.

Christmas anyway.

He’s patient. He’s love. He’s divine. He’s come.

Jesus, yes Jesus.

Come. Come. Come, this day, oh Christmas Day.

He’s Wonderful Counselor, Almighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.

Jesus, yes Jesus.

You’re just what we need.

A Counselor.

A Mighty God.

A Father.

A Prince of Peace.

Come, oh come, Emmanuel. God, be with us. This day.

Christmas anyway.

 

 

 

 

Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.

It’s the song I’ve heard most this season. It’s the song that’s resonating most with me this year.

Last Christmas, Apple launched an ad that featured the Harris family and a “misunderstood” teenaged boy on his iPhone. As far as I’m concerned, it’s one of the most brilliant, heart-warming and moving ads I’ve ever seen. It brings tears to my eyes every time I watch it. Remember the song that accompanied the ad?

Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.

(After you watch the video – it’s only 1 minute 30 seconds – make sure to keep reading. I’ll be sharing more about my Merry Little Christmas Giveaway!)

I wonder what it is that you need to have a Merry Little Christmas this year. Love? A big bear hug from someone who really cares? Space to breathe? Peace and quiet? Forgiveness? Words of affirmation that everything’s going to be alright? Quality time with friends and family? Understanding we’re loved by a great big God who sent tiny baby Jesus to save us from the brokenness and pain we experience every day?

I don’t know your most intimate needs this Christmas. But I do pray that the longings of your heart and soul will be fulfilled. I do want you to have a Merry Little Christmas. And I do hope that one of these three giveaway packages could bring you a bit of joy this season.

Between now and Friday, December 12th at 9:00 CST, I’m giving away three Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas packages! The three packages are pictured and detailed below. At the end of this post, you’ll find a Rafflecopter sign up for each package. Sign up for one, two, or all three. It doesn’t matter to me!

Maybe you could use a package yourself, or maybe there’s someone you could gift a package to this Christmas? Either way, it’s all good. Take a peek. See what sparks your fancy. Which package would bring the most joy? Which package meets your needs this Christmas?

For Parents of Littles.

A beautiful hardcover children’s book titled God Made Light by Matthew Paul Turner, an accompanying set of encouragement notes for your kiddos, and a night light to remind your little one that there’s always light, even in the darkest of nights. And for you? The Love Dare and The Love Dare for Parents books. Because if there are two things worth investing in this Christmas and moving into the new year, it’s your marriage and your kids. Maybe this package is for you?!

For Parents of Teens and Pre-Teens.

Maybe, like the Harris family, you’re seeking a little wisdom as you parent a teen or pre-teen this Christmas. This package includes Dennis & Barbara Rainey’s book Parenting Today’s Adolescent, as well as The Love Dare for Parents, because truth be told, we could all stand to learn some fresh ways to love our kids. This package also includes The Love Dare, because I’m a firm believer that children and teenagers need healthy, loving relationships modeled for them. Do you want to learn practical ways love your spouse even more this Christmas? Do you need a little insight as to how to navigate those teenage years? Then this package might be for you!

For One Who’s Seeking Less. Or More.

I don’t know who you are, but I know you’re out there. Maybe you’re Longing for More, and could use Timothy Willard’s book. Maybe you just need some Breathing Room, and could use Leeana Tankersley’s book. Or maybe you just need a really good cry? The Notebook DVD will help you release those tears if nothing else will. Guaranteed. When I saw this movie in the theater the first time, I thought I’d nearly break out in ugly cry right there in my recliner eating buttered popcorn and Sour Patch Kids. So if you need more. Or less. Or an ugly cry this Christmas, maybe this package is for you?!

The giveaway ends on Saturday, December 13th at 12:00 am CST. I need time to get these packages mailed and to your door before Christmas!

Enjoy, friends.

And Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.

 

 

 

a Rafflecopter giveaway
a Rafflecopter giveaway

 

I’m not sure when it was. Maybe a year ago, maybe two.

She said those words. And I knew they were true.

“You’ve been sprinting through life. You’ve burned yourself out.”

Yep.

It’s true.

I can’t deny.

Life’s a marathon. And I’ve been sprinting.

First it was tennis, tennis and more tennis. I played morning, noon and night, it seemed. I’m pretty sure I burned out long before I was aware. I knew in my heart that winning wasn’t my goal, so I snapped at the coach at an inopportune time, then kept on playing as big as I could. I played once or twice in college. That’s it. My heart was never in it from there on out. I haven’t picked up a tennis racquet for 16, 18 years.

Then it was flute. Now that I’m a mom of a not-always-excited-to-practice band student, I’m convinced I practiced like a good girl should. I never second guessed the proper amount of time I should put in to perfecting my art. I just did it. It worked for me. I must have loved it, or I wouldn’t have done it. I did band. I did lessons. I did private lessons. I did recitals. I did solos and ensembles. I won awards. I was honored for my achievement and my art. I even did wind ensemble through most of college, even when I didn’t have to, even when I was one of the only non-music majors. And when my best friend asked me to play flute at her son’s baptism, I did. I hadn’t played for three years, and it felt good. I was better than I remembered. Yet, after that day, I didn’t pick up a flute for another 12, 13 years.

Things changed a little when I became a full-fledged adult, a full-fledged wife and mom of one, two, and then three. The race venue changed. But I hadn’t.

I went to graduate school. Let’s just say I burned out before I even finished. My mom can attest to that fact. But I pressed on anyway and got that master’s degree.

We did young married couples’ bible study. With good friends, GREAT friends, for five years straight. Nearly every single week we met, traveled across the metro to another young married couple’s house. We bundled our son, and when our daughter came along, we bundled her too. I loved it and we did it for five years, but after a while, this beautiful bible study thing started to feel a little like a burden, a commitment that wasn’t working as well as it once did. The constant bundling up and heading out with two little ones on cold work and school nights was feeling like too much for this family to bear once a week forever. Yet I knew “good Christians” attended weekly bible study, wouldn’t complain or feel burdened, and would never consider a break. Then we moved. The increased travel to and from was too much more than it already was. We knew it was time to say good-bye to that not-so-young-anymore married couples’ bible study. So we called it a day.

I told her I wanted to run for city council. Perhaps I thought I was superwoman. Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps I wasn’t superwoman at all. Yet, I offered myself for an open seat on the planning commission anyway. The fit for my gifting and personality? It worked. Fine. I did my job and I did my best. I read every note. I studied and understood as best as I could. I sat in that seat for three years, one whole term. But I knew, this city government stuff wasn’t for me. Plus, I had elsewhere to focus. I’d started sprinting in a new direction.

Wife. Mom of two, then three. Private practice owner. Speech-language therapist. And planning commission.

It wasn’t enough.

I added non-profit board member to this sprint through life.

But at this point, I must’ve known in my heart of hearts. I needed to be CALLED to something rather than just DO it for the sake of doing it. Because all my sprinting was beginning to take a toll, and I hadn’t even begun to identify the problem yet.

So I thought and prayed over the opportunity to join the non-profit board for NINE months before I finally agreed to do it. A series of events led me to believe, very clearly, that I was being called to join the board. So I did. For three years I served diligently as board member. I gave 110%. And my God-given gifts were utilized. To this day, I believe God had called. I obeyed. And it was a beautiful thing. But when my three-year term neared the end, I knew it was time to go. I was growing weary. I knew it was time for fresh faces to step in. And since I started my term on the board, I’d also begun this blog. It was time to focus my efforts here, where I was feeling a strong call to be.

This isn’t the end of my sprinting story. There are parts I’ve left out. Intentionally. Because I’m not ready to tell the whole story yet. And I’m sure you get the point, anyway.

What I’ve written is vulnerable enough for today.

I’ll leave the rest of this story for another day.

This is the only thing I really wanted to say.

I’m no longer willing to sprint through this marathon called life.

It’s time I admit this, now.

It’s time I confess this, now.

Because sometimes life feels short, but more often? It feels like a marathon.

I’ve done things by “the book.” I’ve sprinted with all I have towards the finish line. But if God has me running a full life? I’m not quite half through “the race.”

I’d better start pacing myself.

I’d better start focusing on the things God’s called me to do instead of the things that would be good to do.

I’d better start living instead of sprinting.

So today, I slow myself. Intentionally.

I commit to living slowly, thoughtfully, and gracefully in this writing space. I commit to keeping my heart engaged. I commit to feeling connected. Always. I commit to listening to God’s call for every step. And I commit to staying and doing the hard work even when the journey feels bumpy, unsteady, fully unknown. I commit to giving myself grace and freedom to be and write like me, even when the voices tell me I should change, quit, be realistic, more practical, whatever. Burnout isn’t an option in this place. It just isn’t.

I commit to living slowly, thoughtfully, and gracefully in my living spaces. Yes will no longer be my default. No will be an option. And maybe will be just that. Maybe. We’ll see. I need to stop for a break, clean up the rubble, gather unnecessary things I’ve lugged on the sprint, and toss them out once and for all. For more is not better. And faster’s not always effective. So let me stop, please. Then I’ll pick up the pace, this time slower, with more intention.

I commit to living slowly, thoughtfully, gracefully for the loving faces. Because I’ve loved, but not enough. I’ve been vulnerable with a few, but guarded with most. I’ve lost all trust when all I really want to do is gain, and more. I’ve wanted to connect, but I haven’t known how. I haven’t had time to sit, haven’t had time to be, haven’t had time to linger, with you. A part of my heart has grown cold along the sprint. Cold, believing everyone’s sprinting, that nobody has time, that everybody has their own agenda and nobody’s interested in real relationship anymore. What if most of us are sprinting? What if we’re all burning out? What if we just need to slow down and linger longer, and that’s all we really need for our hearts to burn brighter and lighter again? So I commit. Whether I’m bad at it or not, to slowing and lingering. For the sake of connection. With you.

Life’s a marathon.

I’m slowing.

I might even have to stop before I pick the pace back up to a jog.

But you better believe this.

I will sprint no more.

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.