I’m pretty sure I’m in the midst of a major life transition. Call it a mid-life crisis if you wish. I prefer to call it a mid-life awakening.

Questions accompany awakenings. Big questions. Deep questions. Important questions. Hard questions.

If we want to change course, if we want to turn our back to old ways and pursue new ways, if we want to trust that what’s ahead of us is better than what’s behind us, we must ask the big, deep, important and hard questions of life.

I’m not an advocate of excessive complaining, lamenting and questioning, but I do believe that no matter how optimistic we are, no matter how upbeat we are, no matter how faith-filled we are, no matter how great our life may be, real life still happens. It’s undeniable, right?

We wonder. We ask. We want to know.

Why? What? Where?

When? How? Who?

So I’m asking the hard questions today. Because I want to. Because I need to. Because maybe you’re asking them too. Because maybe we need sit in the questions, be humbled, and realize we’re not God. We don’t know everything. We can’t fix everything. We don’t understand everything. We’re human, after all.

So let’s get to it.

I’m asking all the hard questions.

I’m just asking…

What is the point, God?

Why is there winter?

Why is it so cold sometimes I can barely breathe?

Why do people starve to death?

Why is there such disparity between the poor and the wealthy?

Why are children the victims of sexual assault?

Why do people have to suffer with autism, dementia, Alzheimers, severe cerebral palsy, deafness, blindness, severe mental illness and the like?

Why do people lie lifeless in comas?

Why do people live lifeless lives of oblivion?

Why do young men and women pass away long before their time?

Why do babies get life-threatening diseases? Why should a baby ever suffer to the point of death? What is the point, God?

Why do we love money so much?

Why don’t we want to help each other more?

Why are we so self-centered?

Why do we fight so much?

Why do we worry about stupid, pointless things?

Why do women think so little of themselves that they prostitute themselves?

Why in the world do people think it’s okay to expose themselves repeatedly to pornography?

Why in the world do they think that is sexy?

Why are near-naked women on magazine covers so often, but not nearly as many near-naked men?

Why are marriages going down the tubes?

Why do kids say mean things to each other?

Why don’t we have more friends?

Why do we live so isolated?

Why do we think bigger is better?

Why do we clutter our homes with stuff, stuff and more stuff?

Why do elderly have to revert to wearing Depends at the end of a good, long life?

Why don’t we value the elderly more in our culture?

Why are innocent people being beheaded?

Why do people talk behind each others’ backs?

Why don’t we love each other more?

Why are we scared of other people?

Why are we scared of being intimate with others?

Why do we so desperately long for more of everything and anything?

Why is there a void?

Why?

Why are we hurting?

Why are we totally disconnected from reality?

Why do we continue to think we’ll magically discover healing and transforming words, photographs, and videos on Facebook?

Why do people overanalyze what others say on Facebook all the time?

Why do we only want to hear the good stuff, the fun stuff, the light-hearted stuff?

Why don’t we talk about hard stuff more?

Why do we blame one another for stupid stuff?

Why can’t we all just get along?

Why are we arguing about the definition of marriage?

Why has it been nearly four months since I’ve gone on a date with my husband?

Why does work have to be so stressful?

Why does unpaid work NOT count for anything in our culture?

Why do I have 10 awesome dresses in my closet and nowhere to wear them?

Why did I get coerced into buying a belt that I’ve never worn?

Why can’t we seem to dig out of our messes?

Why did my neighbors have to get divorced and move?

Why have I seemed to have lost complete touch with an old friend?

Why aren’t woman supporting each other more?

Why does helping have to hurt?

Why are there smiling faces of children living in extreme poverty on my cupboard door?

Why does life have to be so hard that a senior’s daddy can’t attend her high school graduation party?

Why do people lie in bed all day?

Why do people hide away in their houses?

Why are people afraid of everything?

Why is extroversion so highly valued in our culture?

Why can’t our kids go outside and play without us being worried all the time?

Why do the experts make us feel guilty, as if we’re doing something wrong as parents all the time?

Why are stay at home moms undervalued?

Why did the mommy wars start in the first place?

Why do we have to “do it all?”

Why do I own several table books and never look at any of them?

Why do our kids need so many toys?

Why do our kids need toys at all?

Why do some kids go without any toys at all?

Why?

Why do we fight about stupid stuff?

Why do some people get pregnant like that, while others can’t get pregnant at all?

Why are there orphans?

Why do children have to live through trauma?

Why do we meet and love people, and then never see them again?

Why do people play games with our minds?

Why don’t people believe in God?

Why does church have to be so political sometimes?

Why do we allow kids sporting tournaments to run on Sundays?

Why do kids have to specialize in a sport by 4th, 5th or 6th grade?

Why do we have to label people?

Why can’t we all just recognize that we have different personalities?

Why wasn’t I there the day a friend had an abortion?

Why wasn’t I there when friends were going through divorces?

Why do people have affairs?

Why do people look for happiness in complete strangers?

Why don’t people just commit and get married after 10 years of dating?

Why don’t we see extended family more often?

Why don’t we take care of ourselves?

Why does life have to be so fast-paced?

Why are we jealous of one another?

Why don’t we support each other more in our passions and pursuits?

Why do we keep our dreams to ourselves?

Why don’t I have lunch with you more often?

Why did we fall away from one another?

Why does it cost so much for competitive kids’ dance?

Why do I have a huge house and others don’t have one at all?

Why do I feel guilty when I buy regular eggs, milk, meat and produce instead of organic?

Why does everything have to be evil?

Why does everything seem to require money?

Why is life so complicated?

Why do we live so isolated?

Why are we confused?

Why are we lonely?

Why are we stressed?

Why does life feel like it’s always in some sort of disarray?

Why?

Why don’t we have more peace?

Why don’t we have more faith?

Why don’t we share more love?

Why don’t we care more deeply?

Why don’t we invite each other in?

Why don’t we connect?

Why compare?

Why don’t we just ask for help?

Why don’t we just ask for what we need?

Why don’t we just ask for a minute to breathe, for a minute to catch up to this crazy life?

Why don’t we just gather?

Why don’t we just sit in community and ponder all the questions?

Why?

 

 

Dear You, oh Addicted One:

I see you brother. I see you sister.

Who are you? Where are you? What are you doing, dear one? What makes you flee from the beauty that is you? What binds you, traps you, chains you to the drug? Why lie, steal, rob and cheat yourself of life that was meant to be yours? Why, oh why? Why, oh why?

I see you brother. I see you sister.

You’re handsome, a hunk. You’re beautiful, beaming. I wonder why such beauty doubts its worth. Don’t you see God made you for a better story? He created you, dreamed up your days, every one. But dear, you’re wasting your days away. Don’t waste any longer. He says, you can be free in me. Trust, I’ve made you for a purpose. Trust, I’ve got your back. Your beauty’s longing to break free. Your beauty’s waiting to speak life, hope and truth to a broken, desperate world. Why are you wasting your days away? Why, oh why? Why, oh why?

Look in the mirror, dear one. See who you really are. See the body God’s given you. See what you’re wasting away. See that He’s ready to shine through you. Look and see. He’s waiting. He’s waiting for you to say. I’m done with these drugs. I’m done with this life. I’ve had it. I’m beautiful and I’m breaking free from this pain, breaking free from those days of old. I’m breaking free. For I am redeemed.

I see you brother. I see you sister.

You’re brilliant. Heck, you’re genius as far as God’s concerned. He gave you a brain, man. Why let it waste away? Why, oh why let a day go by without putting it to use? He’s given you an assignment. Your time on earth is limited. So head to work, dear you. Head to work. It’s no accident you’re beautiful and brilliant. It’s no accident you’ve come this far. It’s no accident you’ve made it through. But you’re stuck, dear one. You’re stuck. Climb up. Go. Climb. Climb. Climb. You need to keep moving through, up, onward. So go dear one, keep going. Don’t let your brain trick you. You’re worth more than this. He made you for brilliance, for beauty. Your thoughts are powerful. You’re trapped in a cycle that’s nearly impossible to break, but your brain can be restored, friend. Renew yourself in God’s word. Renew yourself in truth. Find a way out. Drug’s power has a hold on you. But there’s a much better choice. You know it. You know it. Use that brain, friend. Use that brain. Use it for good. Use it for beauty. It’s filled to the brim. It’s worth more than this. It’s waiting, wringing its neurons, desperate to break every bind. The years aren’t on your side, friend, but God. God can do anything. He can transform, He can restore, He can redeem, He can heal those hurts and fears and all the pain that’s ever washed over you.

I see you brother. I see you sister.

You need to know. We are here for you. We see you. We acknowledge your humanity. You need not be perfect. You need not be anyone but yourself. But we need you. Whole you. All of you. The YOU God created. We need that you.

Let the earthly, fleshly, ugly desires of the drug wash away from you, pour out of you, disappear into nothingness, pure oblivion black hole.

We need your story. The world needs your story.

Come on, you.

TURN. IT. AROUND.

Let the drugs control you. Or let God control you. It’s your decision now. Yours and yours alone.

We’re waiting. We’re waiting for you. The world is waiting for you, the real you.

Surrender that old man’s story. Surrender that old woman’s story. It’s tried and true, but it’s old now. It’s ugly. And it’s painful. We’ve tired of that old story. It’s time for new.

So surrender, friend. Wake up.

Surrender this story of addiction. Give it up.

Release the beast. Release the prisoner inside.

Break the chains. Break free.

You must. You must, friend.

Because this is your life. This. is. your life.

Be beautiful. Be brilliant. Be you, real you.

Free the drugs to go, to be, to flee. Forever.

Let us hear your story.

It’s waiting, you know. We see it.

God wants to perform a miracle in you.

He’s waiting on you to decide.

Will it be the drugs? Or will it be me…God…Christ living in you every day?

Come on, you. I see the story all played out. It’s beautiful and brilliant and He wants to work through you to restore thousands. But it requires you to break free first. Once and for all.

So come on you. Come on. Let’s get this show on the road.

We want to see the real you.

 

 

 

Notice to my readers: This post is written in honor of an individual who’s battled YEARS of VERY SIGNIFICANT drug addiction. I originally drafted it on December 11, 2014, after a time of prayer, seeking what to write and publish next. These words were on my heart, but the post felt too dark, so I chose to publish something more reader friendly. The words were timely then, and unfortunately, they’re just as timely today. This post is highly UNEDITED. I ask you to give me grace in regards to grammar, flow and sense. I wrote what flowed from my heart, what flowed from my head, what flowed from God as I typed. Therefore, these words will remain unedited. Thank you for your grace.

We saw the smoke billow black from a distance.

It was obvious. Something was on fire. And we were headed straight for the flames.

The girls and I had a simple morning planned. Church. Lunch. Target. Home. But we hit a detour on our way to Target.

With every turn, the smoke got closer. We agreed before we got there, this was going to be the biggest fire any of us had seen.

We were right. It was the only house fire we’d witnessed that close, and it was a big one.

There it was. A mini mansion burning up in flames. Fire trucks, ambulances, police and what seemed like a hundred people stood by watching it go down.

We pulled into the closest neighborhood and made our way through sidewalked streets. Parents and kids on bikes walked towards the flames. Cars were parked at the intersection in lines, and continued to pull up behind us, too. The fire was in plain sight. Some stood. Some sat. We watched in amazement as the mini mansion went down in flames.

The girls and I sat for 15, maybe 20 minutes, just watching.

This was a rare sight. I wondered why nobody was doing anything. Why wasn’t the fire being fought? Why were the fire fighters letting this mini mansion go up in flames in front of their eyes? Why were we all just standing there? Why wasn’t somebody yelling, screaming? Stop the fire! Put out the fire! For God’s sake, stop the fire!

Everyone just stood there.

Nobody seemed worried. Not even a bit.

I decided. Either the fire had gotten so out of control that they’d decided to let it go down in flames, or the fire was intentional. But if it was intentional, the timing was sure weird. Sunday noon. Intentionally start a fire on Sunday, the holiest of days, the supposed day of rest? Intentionally start a fire on Sunday at noon, during family lunch hour? Why?

My nine-year-old snapped pictures upon pictures on the iPhone.

Layer by layer, the mini mansion burned in front of our eyes. The roof tumbled. Then the windows. And finally, after we’d watched a long while and the fire was nearing the ground, water kicked in from behind.

I felt like a tourist of things bad, so I told the girls it was time to go, time to escape this life going up in flames.

A week later, it still bugged me. I wasn’t sure whether that fire was intentional or accidental. So I asked friends who lived near the scene if they knew anything more. The fire was intentional. A couple had built the mini mansion, which all the neighbors agreed was beautiful, but later got divorced. A developer came along and offered top dollar for the property. So it burned baby, it burned, for the sake of cleared land for new development.

I wondered. What about the husband and wife who lived there? Did they have kids? Were they aware that this mini mansion of theirs was going down in flames that day? And if they were there, if they did know…

How did it feel to watch the life they once envisioned go down in flames?

How does it feel to watch your life go down in flames?

How does it feel to watch someone else’s life go down in flames?

We’ve all witnessed our fair share of fires.

We stand. We watch. And wonder.

Why isn’t anybody doing anything about this?

Why are we all just standing here?

Please, won’t someone stop the flames?

Somebody! Come! Make it all better!

This house. is on. FIRE!

Please!

Please.

Fight this fire!

Don’t let it go down.

Don’t let it go.

But it goes, anyway.

And we realize…

Perhaps the fire wasn’t ours to fight.

Perhaps there are times when we need to sit and watch the mess go down in flames.

Perhaps foundations were built on sand instead of soil, or rock.

Perhaps mini mansions were built where humble homes should’ve been.

Perhaps empires were erected where walls should’ve crumbled.

Perhaps egos took a front seat to others.

Perhaps dead things needed to burn to the ground before new life could rise again.

Perhaps our lives were never meant to be built, but to be broken, surrendered, and then lived.

God promises. “In this world you will have trouble.” But He also promises crowns of beauty for ashes.

So let the fires burn. Let the old, ugly, broken-down, used-up, long-ago dead things die.

Burn. Burn. Burn. 

Until there’s nothing.

But ashes.

Ashes.

New life. It rises from the ashes. It grows. It springs forth. It’s crowned with beauty, more radiant than before.

But when and how do we emerge as fellow human beings?

When do we turn from mere bystanders to helpers, firefighters of the most blazing kind?

We’re there in the kindling, before the flames ignite, before smoke’s seen with the naked eye. When something doesn’t seem right, when we get that nudge, when we hear bits and pieces of this and that going wrong? We lend a hand, open our ears and say “this is how I’m going to love you today.” We remind them they’re not alone. We point them in the way of hope. And we offer ourselves as a ray of sunshine. For God makes all things beautiful. In time.

We’re there when flames burn bright. When all’s failed, when all’s gone wrong, when there’s nothing else to do but let the flames engulf. We stand. We wait. We watch. We pray. We let them know we’re there. And we let them know we’re sorry. So sorry this is happening. So sorry your home is on fire. So sorry your life is on fire. So sorry. So sorry.

We’re there when nothing remains but ashes. When life’s hopeless, worthless, and pointless. When dusty black’s all over their feet and hands, and the mess is trailing everywhere they go. We’re there. Yep. We’re there. We’re there in the waiting and wondering if anything’s going to change. We’re there in the doubting and discouragement. We’re there in the believing nothing’s possible. But we know. Everything’s possible. All is possible. So we sit. In the ashes. With them. We get dirty when we don’t want to. Even when it costs us. Because we bear all things, together, even in the ashes.

We’re there when new life springs forth. When hope abounds. When things are looking up. When nothing but better days are bound to happen. We’re there. When dead things come to life. We’re there, rising forth as fire fighters. Trained. Determined. Ready to love and fight again.

And all the while, He’s there. Bestowing beauty for ashes, making all things beautiful. In time.

Dear Little Me,

You make me smile.

This picture? It’s loaded with goodness. And it made me realize who you are, who you’ve always been, and who you’re still going to be.

I want to talk to you about those clothes.

Look at you, girl. You’re dressed up. You’re ready to go…to school.

You can’t manufacture that.

You’re taking this business seriously. You’re taking life seriously.

I wonder if you know that your 38-year-old self’s favorite store is 90% dressy. And 10% casual.

I wonder if you know that when you’re 38, you’ll still be staring at all those fancy dresses in your closet, and they’ll be your favorite thing to wear, but you won’t have nearly enough places to wear them.

I wonder if you know that your 38-year-old self has dreamy visions of getting dirty during the day and dressed up at night.

I wonder if God’s preparing you, already, for the beautiful and mysterious of what’s ahead.

Is there something that needs to be said? That your best self is expressed when you’re fully yourself?

Be open, girl. To truth.

There’s something about you that’s beyond your years. He made you an old dressed up soul for a reason.

Don’t be afraid to look different, to be different, to dress differently.

Don’t let others make you feel you’re dressed up too much.

Don’t worry when you’re the dressiest person in the room.

Don’t think twice when they ask you why you’re still wearing your church clothes on Sunday afternoon.

Keep choosing to wear what makes you feel like you.

Stand tall, girl.

Be confident.

Know you’re this way for a reason.

Know your dress is a way to express what’s on the inside.

And may your insides always match your outsides.

Dressed up.

Ready to go.

Taking life seriously.

Being the best YOU that you can 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 know you, sweet one.

You want to achieve. You want to do your best. You know how to do your best.

You’re pretty good at achieving, aren’t you?

But girl, you’re worth far more than your achievements.

Your achievements are what you do, how you perform, how well you’re able to complete tasks according to the world’s standards.

Do you see yourself here? You’re quite literally hiding behind your achievements.

You did just about everything, and you clearly did it well. In just one swoop, you made muffins, cookies, a homemade television toy, a stuffed bear, a tote bag, and a multi-page book for children. And it looks like you won awards for them all. Good job, sweet pea. I am proud of you. You can do lots of things well.

But dear, oh dear. Do not hide behind your achievements. Don’t let those blue ribbons determine your worth. You are worth far, far more than a ribbon.

Girl, you don’t have to be the best at everything. Just be the best at some things, or a few things. Or maybe even one or two things.

God didn’t make you to be the best seamstress, and the best cook, and the best child development expert, and the best children’s literature author all at once.

Which one of those things made your eyes twinkle, little one? Which one made you light up? Which one made you smile like no other? Or maybe a better question is this. Did any of those things bring you great joy?

Girl, this is what I want for you. Pick one of those things. Or pick none at all. Find what it is that brings a sparkle to your eye. Find what fills your heart. Find what’s calling your name. Find why you were made.

You don’t have to do everything.

You don’t have to do what everyone says you should do.

You only have to do what you know in your heart you were made to do.

Forget all the rest. And rest.

I see you behind those achievements.

I know you.

You are more.

You are loved.

So put away the awards and achievements.

Lay down the ribbons.

Light up that smile. And let that twinkle shine.

 

 

 

 

*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).”