Honesty

Chosen.

~ The Fragrance of my Mother ~ Leave a comment

(When I started writing this I thought this was going to be a post processing being left. I didn’t realize it was actually about being found. Bear with me.) 

I have spent so many mornings…

 So many sleepless nights asking God the same question. 

Why can’t I let her go?

I’ve prayed until there were no words left. I’ve cried until my chest ached and the sound escaped me entirely. I’ve begged Him to take this pain away because it feels like something inside me is still bleeding. Not the kind of wound anyone else can see. The kind that reopens before my feet ever touch the floor and stays even after my head hits my pillow. 

I’ve spent nearly a year now trying to understand why this breakup has devastated me so completely. 

I’ve wondered if there’s something wrong with me because I’m so stuck in the feelings of missing her. 

At first, I thought the pain was simply about love. 

Or maybe the lack of it. 

I thought I was grieving because I couldn’t tell what had been real and what hadn’t. I replayed conversations. I questioned memories. I wondered if the woman I fell in love with had ever truly existed, or if I had simply fallen in love with the version of her I hoped was real. 

I questioned who I was in our relationship and I questioned my own judgement. 

Was I really that naive? 

Did I completely misread the person I gave my heart to? 

Did I uproot my entire life for someone who was never going to stay and had no real intention of spending their life with me even though they swore up and down that they would? 

Those questions have haunted me. Day in and day out. 

But the longer I’ve sat with the Lord, the more I’ve realized they aren’t the deepest wound. 

Because even if every “I love you” was genuine… 

Even if every promise was sincere the moment it was spoken… 

Even if she loved me the best she knew how… 

She still didn’t choose me. 

And that’s the ache that has brought me to my knees. 

Not simply wondering whether I was loved. 

But realizing I wasn’t chosen. 

Somehow, that cuts even deeper. 

Love can exist for a season. 

Feelings can change. 

People can mean every word they say in one moment and still be unable to live it out the next. 

But there is something uniquely devastating about pouring everything you have into someone-your love, your encouragement, your sacrifices, your future-and discovering that when the moment came to choose… it wasn’t you. 

That is the wound I’ve been carrying. 

The wound of not being chosen. 

I sacrificed so much. 

I uprooted my whole life. 

I walked away from my purpose and laid down my own dreams. 

I poured encouragement into someone else’s weary soul while quietly ignoring how empty my own had become. I celebrated her victories. I carried her burdens. I believed in her when she couldn’t believe in herself. I helped her build a life that ultimately, I’m no longer a part of.  I gave pieces of myself away because I thought love was proven by sacrifice. 

And somehow, despite loving with everything I had, I was still left behind. 

(None of this is at all to say that I wasn’t at fault, because I definitely was in so many ways. But I’m speaking to all the feelings in the present.)

There’s something devastating about realizing your “everything” wasn’t enough to make someone stay. 

That realization has echoed through every corner of my heart. 

It whispers that maybe I wasn’t enough. 

Maybe I wasn’t worth choosing. 

Maybe if I had loved harder…

Maybe if I had been easier… 

Maybe if I had been more patient, more beautiful, less addicted and complicated, more successful, less emotional…

Maybe she would have stayed. 

That ache doesn’t stay politely tucked away. It follows me into grocery stores, into coffee shops, onto beaches, into some of my favorite songs, into ordinary afternoons when something reminds me of her and suddenly my stomach feels like it’s been ripped in two. 

I’ve pleaded with God to remove it. 

I’ve wanted Him to perform some miraculous surgery on my heart while I slept so I’d wake up finally free. 

Instead…

He met me there. 

This morning, I went to to turn on my T.V. and make my coffee, but something stopped me. In the quiet of my home, that bears the many items that she and I once shared in our home together, I sat down on my couch and began to cry. 

Frustrated with feeling the hurt and even more frustrated that I can’t seem to move on, I once again asked the Lord to take it all away and questioned Him as to why He hadn’t yet. 

Through tears I could barely see through, something shifted. 

Not because the pain disappeared. 

But because He spoke through it. 

And I was finally willing enough to actually listen. 

As I sat there crying over the unbearable weight of not being chosen…

I realized….

Jesus knows this pain. 

Not metaphorically. 

Personally. 

Every single day He stretches out nail-scarred hands toward hearts He created. 

Every day He loves people who walk away. 

Every day he pursues people who choose lesser loves. 

Every day He watches people promise Him forever only to slowly drift toward everything else. 

Every day He offers Himself completely…

… and so often, He isn’t chosen. 

He’s treated as if He’s an option. 

He isn’t first. 

He isn’t wanted. 

He isn’t enough for the people He loves. 

Suddenly my heartbreak wasn’t isolated anymore. 

The Son of God has lived inside this ache far longer than I have. 

He knows what it feels like to love without reservation and be answered with rejection. 

He knows. 

Not because He studied suffering. 

Because He lived it. 

And then another realization settled over me. 

This wasn’t the first time my heart had broken this way. 

Years before her… 

There was him. 

My finance. 

Different faces. 

Similar stories. 

The same wound. 

The same desperate ache of rejection. Of not being chosen. 

The same feeling that if I had just loved harder, sacrificed more, become easier to love, maybe this person would have stayed. 

As I sat there this morning, the parallels were almost unsettling. 

It’s as if I’ve lived this story before. 

I’ve cried these tears before. 

I’ve prayed these prayers before. 

I’ve begged God for healing before. 

And somehow… I missed what He was trying to show me. 

But maybe, somewhere beneath the ache, my spirit knew He was trying to reveal something deeper. 

Because as much as I wanted the pain to stop, there was one prayer I never prayed. 

I never begged God to restore either of those relationships. 

I never pleaded with Him to change their hearts and bring them back to me. 

I never asked Him to make the person I loved choose me again. 

Instead, my prayers have always been different. 

I asked Him to heal my heart. 

I asked Him to release me from the feelings that kept me stuck. 

I asked Him to loosen my grip on what I couldn’t hold onto. 

I asked Him to free me from the pain that kept pulling me backward. 

And maybe, even in the middle of my heartbreak, some part of me trusted that God was after something deeper than simply giving me back what I lost. 

Maybe my spirit knew there was something He was trying to uncover. 

Something He was trying to heal. 

Something He was trying to show me. 

Because if I had truly seen it then, I don’t think I would have found myself here again. 

Instead, I repeated the pattern. 

The first heartbreak nearly broke me. 

This one almost killed me… literally. 

And maybe that’s why this revelation feels so different. 

Because for the first time, I wasn’t only looking at the people who rejected me. 

I was confronted with my own reflection. 

Every time I have cried over someone walking away… 

Every time I have begged God to heal the ache of rejection…

Every time I have pleaded for Him to mend what another person shattered…

There has been another heartbreak unfolding at the very same time. 

His. 

Because while I was devastated that someone else didn’t choose me…

How often was I asking Jesus to heal me without actually choosing Him? 

Not with my words. 

I’ve always known the right words. 

I’ve always believed the right things. 

But belief and surrender are not always the same. 

With my life, I kept asking Jesus to heal wounds created by building my identity on someone else’s love. 

I kept asking Him to fill places I refused to let Him occupy. 

I ran to people before I ran to Him. 

I looked to relationships to tell me who I was. 

I expected another human being to satisfy a longing that only Jesus could ever carry. 

I wanted His peace. 

I wanted His comfort. 

I wanted His healing. 

But if I’m honest… 

I didn’t always want Him above everything else. 

I wanted Him to stop the pain while I still clung to the very things that kept breaking my heart. 

The second I would find an ounce of relief, given the chance, I would run right back to the very people I was begging Him to set me free from. 

And suddenly, I saw the mirror. 

The rejection that has wounded me so deeply is only the faintest reflection of the rejection Jesus willingly endures every single day. 

Yet unlike the people who walked away from me… 

He never has. 

He has remained faithful through every season I wandered…. Which is a lot as I’ve spent most of my life wandering away. 

Patient through every misplaced affection. 

Steadfast through every attempt to build my life on someone else’s love instead of His. 

He has never stopped choosing me. 

Even while I struggled to choose Him. 

Then another thought settled into my soul. 

For years I have prayed the same prayer… 

“Lord take me deeper.” 

I imagined deeper would be peaceful. 

I imagined it would feel like standing on mountaintops with the wind at my back. 

I thought deeper would remove all the pain. That it would be almost blissful. 

Healing. 

Comforting. 

Satisfying. 

I never imagined deeper would look like this. 

Bleeding. 

Grieving. 

Wrestling. 

Being stripped of every false foundation I had knowingly or unknowingly built my life upon. 

I know enough about God to know that most everything is forged in the fire. 

That intimacy with God isn’t formed in the absence of pain. 

That it’s born right in the middle of it. 

Maybe the deepest places of God are discovered where our own strength finally runs out. 

Because when every distraction falls away…

When every person you’ve leaned on is gone…

When every identity you’ve built around someone else’s love collapses…

You find yourself sitting in the ashes with only Jesus. 

And that’s where you discover something impossible to learn anywhere else. 

You are not alone. 

Not because the loneliness disappears. 

But because Someone is sitting in it with you. 

I’ve spent months asking God to stop the bleeding. 

Today I wonder if He’s been holding my hand though every drop instead. 

Not because He delights in suffering. 

Not because He’s punishing me. 

But because there are places in His heart that can only be known by those willing to stay when it hurts. 

Places where tears become prayer. 

Where heartbreak becomes communion. 

Where abandonment becomes the place we finally discover we have never, ever been abandoned. 

Maybe He wasn’t ignoring my prayers. 

Maybe he was answering them. 

For years, I’ve asked Him to take me deeper. 

I just never imagined deeper would feel like dying to everything that wasn’t Him… 

Today my heart still hurts.

I still miss her.

I still grieve what I thought we were building.

I still have moments where the ache feels so heavy that I wonder if I will ever fully be free from it.

But maybe freedom was never going to look like waking up one morning and no longer caring.

Maybe freedom looks like finally knowing where my heart belongs.

Because the deepest wound was never just that someone walked away.

The deepest wound was believing that someone else’s choice determined my worth.

Believing that if they stayed, I was valuable.

If they left, I was disposable.

Believing that being chosen by another person was the thing that would finally make me whole.

But Jesus met me in that lie.

And He whispered something my broken heart has needed to hear all along:

“You were never waiting for them to choose you so you could be loved.”

“You were loved before they ever saw you.”

“You were chosen before they ever held your hand.”

“You were mine before anyone else had the opportunity to leave.”

Maybe this season wasn’t about God teaching me how to live without the person I loved.

Maybe it was about Him teaching me that I was never created to build my life on someone who could walk away.

Maybe He had to let every temporary foundation crumble so I could finally discover the Rock beneath me.

The strange thing about surrender is that we often think we’re surrendering what we love because God wants to take it away.

But sometimes He’s asking us to surrender because He wants to give us something deeper.

Something that cannot leave.

Something that cannot change its mind.

Something that cannot wake up one day and decide we are no longer worth choosing.

A love that doesn’t disappear when things become hard.

A love that doesn’t run when we become broken.

A love that chose us while we were still running away.

The same Jesus who knows the pain of being rejected is the same Jesus who looked at me in the middle of my own rejection and said:

“I am still here.”

“I have always been here.”

“I never stopped choosing you.”

And maybe that’s the miracle hidden inside this heartbreak.

The person I thought I couldn’t live without became the very place where God revealed that I had been searching for something only He could give.

I thought I was grieving the loss of being chosen by someone else.

But all along, Jesus was inviting me to receive the gift of being chosen by Him.

And that changes everything.

Because people can leave.

Promises can break.

Feelings can fade.

Lives can change.

But the love of Christ does not loosen its grip.

It does not abandon.

It does not walk away.

It does not choose you one day and reject you the next.

He chose me before I knew how to choose Him.

He chose me when I was lost.

He chose me when I was hurting.

He chose me when I was addicted.

He chose me when I was looking for love everywhere except in Him.

And He chooses me still.

This was never just a story about the person who left.

It was always the story of the God who stayed.

Yes, Lord?

~ The Fragrance of my Mother ~ Leave a comment

I found this letter in a journal from several years back. It was candid, honest and as I read it back now, years later, it still strangely resonated with parts of me. But I believe wholeheartedly that it’s in these candid moments, when we don’t sanitize our prayers and we choose to wring out our hearts before the Lord, that He can do some of His deepest work in us…

Jesus, 

I wish I could tell You faith comes naturally to me. 

It doesn’t. 

Most days, unbelief feels easier. 

I don’t understand You. If I’m honest, I rarely do. 

I don’t understand how You can be good while the world is so relentlessly broken. I don’t understand why one life can carry mental illness, addiction, being gay, suicidal thoughts, grief that won’t loosen its grip-as though suffering somehow forgot when enough was enough. 

Sometimes my own mind doesn’t make sense to me. I wake up inside a brain that feels unfamiliar. Some days I can’t trust my own thoughts. Some days I can’t tell what is illness, what is fear, what is temptation, what is trauma, and what is simply being human. It all blurs together until I don’t know where I end and the darkness begins. 

If we are made in Your image, why is there so much heartbreak inside us? 

Why does the soul You created ache this deeply? 

Why does it feel every time I catch my breath another wave knocks me under? 

I don’t understand why You’ve saved my life so many times. 

I don’t understand why I’m still here. 

For what? 

There have been moments when death felt kinder than living, and yet somehow You kept pulling me back. Sometimes I wanted You to. Most times, I didn’t. 

Why? 

What am I still doing here? 

People say You have a purpose for my life. 

Sometimes that feels comforting. 

Sometimes it feels impossible to believe. 

I question Your goodness.

I questions Your motives. 

I question Your silence. 

I question every “why” that has ever crossed a human mind. 

Why do You feel closest after the storm instead of before it? 

Why does obedience sometimes feel less like peace and more like walking blindfolded toward a cliff, hoping Your voice catches me before I fall? 

I want to love You. 

I just don’t always know how. 

I want to obey You. 

I just don’t know how to carry things that feel so much bigger than I am. 

Sometimes I wonder if You’ve asked something of me that I’m simply too weak to live out? 

I don’t understand Your character nearly as much as people say I should. 

I don’t understand this world. 

I don’t understand where You are in so much of it. 

I don’t understand why you go silent.

I don’t understand why You seem content to leave so many questions unanswered. 

And maybe the hardest confession of all…

Sometimes I don’t even know how to trust You. 

Not because I don’t want to. 

Because I don’t know how.

Trust sounds beautiful until it costs everything… which you say to consider… and yet… 

It sounds beautiful until it asks you to keep walking when there is no light. 

Until it asks you to believe Someone you cannot see over the evidence you can. 

I don’t know how to sustain a faith that often feels impossible.

I don’t know how to keep saying yes when I don’t know where yes is leading me. 

Sometimes I envy people whose certainty comes easily. 

Mine doesn’t. 

Mine limps. 

Mine argues. 

Mine cries. 

Mine has to be dragged back to You over and over. 

And yet… 

Every road I’ve taken away from You has only made one thing painfully clear. 

There is no peace anywhere else. 

I’ve looked. 

I’ve tried to outrun You. 

I’ve tried to numb myself. 

I’ve tried to explain You away. 

I’ve tried to fill the ache with things that promised relief and only left my emptier. 

Nothing has ever quieted my soul except You. 

Even when I’m angry with You. 

Even when I don’t understand You. 

Even when I question everything about You. 

My spirit still turns toward You. 

I can’t explain that either. 

Somehow, beneath all the confusion, beneath all the doubt, beneath every unanswered question…

My soul still loves you. 

Not because You’ve answered everything. 

Not because You’ve made life easy. 

Not because You’ve explained Yourself. 

Just because somewhere deeper than my understanding, I know You. 

Or maybe… 

You know me. 

And maybe that’s enough for today. 

Sometimes, all I have left are two words. 

Yes, Lord. 

Not because I’m confident. 

Not because I understand. 

Not because I’m fearless. 

But because those two words are the only worship I can still offer. 

They are whispered through tears. 

They are spoken with trembling hands. 

They are screamed to what feels like an empty sky.

They are carried by a faith that often feels even smaller than a mustard seed. 

But they’re Yours. 

So if You’re asking me to keep walking… 

Yes, Lord. 

If You’re asking me to trust before I understand… 

Yes, Lord. 

If you’re asking me to let go of something I can’t imagine my life without…

Yes, Lord.

If You’re asking me to believe that one day every question will finally find its answer…

Yes, Lord. 

I don’t understand You. 

Maybe I never will on this side of heaven. 

But somehow…

Against my own logic, against my own questions, against every reason I have to walk away-

My spirit still loves You. 

And today, that love is enough to keep saying yes. 

Amen. 

On Silence and Seeing.

~ The Fragrance of my Mother ~ Leave a comment

I used to think I would always recognize God by the fire. 

By the moments that left me undone. By the tears that came so easily in worship. By the unmistakable feeling that He was near. I knew how to find Him when He felt loud. 

I don’t know that I know how to find Him when He whispers. 

The last few months have been a blur of hospitals, diagnoses, fear, uncertainty, medications, healing, survival. Somewhere in the middle of trying to stay alive and stay sane, I think I became numb to my own life. It wasn’t intentional. I think my mind simply did what it had to do. 

There are seasons where surviving is the only prayer you have left. 

And maybe that’s enough. 

But now something is changing. 

I’m getting steadier. 

My body is slowly recovering. My mind is beginning to settle. The chaos that demanded every ounce of my attention has quieted, and in its place is…silence. 

It’s strange. 

I thought once the crisis ended, I would feel relief. Joy. Passion. Gratitude spilling out of me. 

Instead, I feel quiet. 

Sometimes it’s almost too quiet. 

I told God the other day that I miss the fire. I miss the passion. I miss the overwhelming awareness of His presence that once seemed so familiar. 

Yet when I go to pray, I find it hard to even approach Him. 

I don’t entirely know why. 

Maybe because numbness doesn’t disappear the moment the danger does. 

Maybe because God is teaching me something I couldn’t have learned in the fire. 

I’ve begun wondering if His silence isn’t absence at all. 

What if it’s an invitation? 

Not an invitation to chase another emotional high or manufacture an experience that feels spiritual. Not to create a version of God that only exists when I feel Him. 

But an invitation to seek Him. 

Just Him. 

It’s easy to mistake emotional intensity for intimacy. 

Sometimes we become addicted to the feeling of God instead of God Himself. 

But feelings are beautiful servants and terrible foundations. They come and go with circumstances, hormones, exhaustion, grief, healing. 

God doesn’t. 

Maybe that’s why this season feels so unfamiliar. 

Because He’s teaching me to stop listening for Him long enough to begin looking for Him. 

And I’ve started seeing Him everywhere. 

In the sunlight spilling across my living room. 

In the birds that seem completely unconcerned with tomorrow. 

In the quiet rhythm of making tea. 

In the breeze moving through the trees. 

In the deep breath my lungs can finally take. 

In ordinary Tuesday afternoons that would have once felt unbearably insignificant. 

I’m beginning to realize that He has always been here. 

I was just moving too quickly and too erratically to notice. 

Or perhaps I was hurting too deeply to see. 

The hidden places are funny like that. 

God has a habit of meeting people there. 

Not always on mountaintops. 

Sometimes in the deserts. 

Sometimes in the prison cells. 

Sometimes beside hospital beds. 

Sometimes in the ordinary homes where nothing miraculous seems to be happening except that a weary soul decides to keep looking. 

I wonder if slowing down wasn’t a punishment after all. (Though I really questioned that for a time.)

Maybe it was mercy. 

Because left to myself, I would have kept running. 

Kept distracting. 

Kept filling every quiet space with some noise, because it’s all I had come to know. 

Instead, my body forced me into stillness. 

It stripped away so much of my independence, so much of my routine, so much of what I thought made me…me. 

And now all that’s left are these quiet days. 

Days where the greatest miracle isn’t something dramatic. 

It’s noticing. 

Noticing beauty. 

Noticing breath. 

Noticing grace. 

Noticing that God has never actually stopped speaking. 

Maybe He’s simply speaking a language I’ve forgotten how to hear. 

Or maybe He’s asking me to stop trying to hear Him altogether and learn to see Him. 

To recognize Him in creation. 

In kindness. 

In peace that arrives without explanation. 

In the slow healing of both body and soul. 

There is a strange tension I can’t quite explain. 

Part of me wonders if this numbness is simply my nervous system finally exhaling after months (years if I’m really honest) of holding its breath. 

A reprieve. 

A mercy. 

Another part of me wonders if I’ll ever feel deeply again. 

It’s a strange place to live-grateful beyond words to be here, yet unable to fully access the emotions I expected to accompany that gratitude. 

I don’t have neat answers for it. 

I only know that if my life has taught me anything, it’s this: 

God does some of His deepest work where certainty ends. 

He seems remarkably comfortable in places that make us uncomfortable. 

In waiting. 

In hiddeness. 

In unanswered questions. 

In slow healing. 

In letting go. 

In silence. 

The world tells us that if God is moving, it will be obvious. 

Scripture seems to tell a different story. 

A mustard seed. 

Yeast hidden in dough. 

Treasure buried in a field. 

The Kingdom has always loved hidden places. 

So maybe this season isn’t evidence that I’ve lost God. 

Maybe it’s evidence that He’s inviting me to know Him differently. 

Not through adrenaline. 

Not through constant emotional intensity. 

But through faithful attention. 

Through choosing to seek Him when nothing inside me feels spectacular. 

Through finding Him in sunshine. 

In birdsong. 

In stillness. 

In the sacredness of ordinary life. 

In the ordinary rhythms of a life I almost lost. 

Because maybe that’s what faith looks like when it grows up.

Not louder. 

Deeper. 

And if this quiet season is where He teaches me to recognize His fingerprints instead of relying on His voice, then maybe the silence isn’t empty after all. 

Maybe it’s Holy. 

Swimming in Circles.

~ The Fragrance of my Mother ~ Leave a comment

A title that would probably only make sense to who this was written about.

It’s getting late. My room is finally clean after weeks of being in complete disarray. (Bi-Polar will do that.)

Laying in bed, I’m getting pretty tired as I’m trying to get back into a consistent routine. I opened my phone to scroll for just a moment and I heard Walking Away by Justin Bieber.

It hit me like a gut punch so hard it nearly took my breath away. I swiped away immediately but 5 seconds was all it took. 

It’s kind of crazy how a song can completely unravel you in under thirty seconds. Especially as I’ve been actively avoiding any and all music that gives me even a fraction of that visceral response. One second I was fine – or at least pretending to be (let’s be honest, I haven’t been fine for a minute now) – and the next I felt this heavy, sick drop in my stomach like every memory of her came crashing back all at once. 

And that’s the part that nobody really wants to talk about or deal with when you’re trying to move on… or at least I don’t. Time passes. Life keeps happening. You go to work, answer texts, laugh at things, pretend you’re healing. But then life gets quiet for a second. A song comes on. A smell hits you. A memory slips through the cracks. And suddenly you’re right back inside the grief like you never left. (Which maybe you didn’t because you’ve been avoiding it all together.) 

Tonight, I see her everywhere. 

In every lyric. Every silence. Every memory I’ve been trying so hard to outrun. 

I think what’s hardest for me, what really breaks me, is knowing I burned that relationship to the ground almost by myself. There’s no comforting version of the story where I can blame timing or distance or fate. I can’t even say I walked away. I hurt someone I loved deeply, and now I have to live with the weight of that every single day. 

Some regrets don’t stay in your head – they live in your chest. In your stomach. In your throat. They follow you around like ghosts. 

I keep replaying everything. Every moment I should’ve been better. Softer. More patient. Sober. More honest. Less afraid. I keep wondering if there was one conversation, one choice, one version of me that could’ve saved everything before it all collapsed. 

And even though deep down I know we weren’t meant to work, and even though I know staying together undoubtedly would have kept hurting both of us, I loved her so deeply that I genuinely don’t know how to picture a life without her in it. And tonight, that’s sitting on me like a thousand pounds directly on my chest. 

So many of my decisions after losing her were made out of hurt. Out of rejection. Out of desperation to distract myself from the reality of what I lost. I kept trying to convince myself I was okay. Trying to move on too quickly. Trying to numb myself with anything and everything. Trying to fill silence with noise so I wouldn’t have to sit alone with what this actually feels like. But the more days go by, the harder it becomes to pretend this doesn’t break my heart. 

I’ve tried to move on in all the wrong ways. 

Distractions that didn’t last. 

In people who were never her. 

In pretending I was fine when I wasn’t. 

In convincing myself that if I just stayed distracted enough, I wouldn’t feel it anymore. 

But grief doesn’t disappear just because you ignore it. It waits. It lingers. It finds you in the quiet moments and plays everything back in high definition when you least expect it. 

And in all honesty, there’s a part of me that hates myself for how long I’ve been running from that truth. 

I don’t know how to rewire my mind after years of loving someone. I don’t know how people just wake up one day and stop carrying another person inside of them. She became everything. The biggest part of my day, my future, my understanding of love itself. And now I’m standing in the middle of the aftermath trying to figure out who I even am without her, or who I was even before her. 

And maybe that’s the hardest truth of all is that I’ve finally accepted that it’s over. 

Not in the dramatic way movies portray heartbreak. Not all at once. Just slowly. Quietly. Painfully. Like something sinking to the bottom of the ocean. 

I think part of me kept believing there would be another conversation. Another chance. Another version of us someday in which it could work. But I know that’s not reality. 

There’s this unspoken idea that you’re not supposed to talk about something if it didn’t work out- like if it ends, it somehow becomes less real, less meaningful, less worth saying out loud. But I don’t adhere to that in the least. Because whether it was right or not, whether it was meant to work or not, it meant everything to me. 

She meant everything to me. 

But that’s the problem, isn’t it? 

Because when you love someone while still being deeply broken yourself, you don’t just love them – you lean on them in ways no one person can carry forever. You start needing them for more than they can realistically give. And when life really bears down on you, it requires a kind of love that doesn’t flinch, doesn’t fracture, doesn’t leave when things get heavy. 

And unfortunately for me… I didn’t always know how to stay fully present in it. I may not have physically walked away from the relationship, but I escaped in other ways. I numbed myself. I lost myself in addiction and avoidance and everything I thought would make it hurt less. 

And in doing that, I lost her. And I lost myself too. 

I don’t know how to begin grieving something that once felt like home. 

I used to tell her I’d see her on the other side of healing – like we would both become whole again and somehow find our way back to each other in a better form, in a better time.  

But now I don’t think that’s what this is. 

I don’t think I’ll see her on the other side of healing anymore. .

Because some things don’t come back around. Some loves don’t circle back to each other. Some endings don’t reopen into beginnings. 

And I think I’m finally starting to understand that this isn’t something I’m supposed to hold onto until it turns into something else. It’s something I’m supposed to put down, even if my hands still shake when I do it. 

I loved her. I really did. Not halfway. Not temporarily. Fully, messily, imperfectly. With everything I had at the time – even when I didn’t know how to give it properly. In so many ways I still do – I don’t know if that ever goes away, and I don’t know if I would ever want it to.

I think I’m finally at the place where loving her doesn’t mean keeping her anymore. 

It means letting her go. 

Not because she didn’t matter. Not because what we had wasn’t real. But because it was. Because it shaped me. Because it hurt me. Because it changed me. Because it deserves to stay what it was instead of being dragged through what it can no longer be. 

So this is where I stop reaching for her in the dark. 

This is where I stop turning memory into something I can live inside. 

And if she ever comes across this… 

I don’t need anything from her. I don’t need a response. I don’t want to reopen anything that life has already closed. 

I just hope she knows she mattered. Not briefly. Not conditionally. Not quietly. 

She matters to me in a way that doesn’t end just because we did. 

She will always matter to me. And for that, I’m extremely grateful.

There was no way I was going to be able to go to sleep with that all sitting with me, so I’m leaving all the thoughts, all the heartache, all the memories and all the tears here, at least for tonight. 

On Choices.

~ The Fragrance of my Mother ~ Leave a comment

Running. 

Ironically, I hate running when it comes to physicality and I love it when it comes to my circumstances. Unfortunately for me, I do both. 

Typically, if I’m in a good place holistically, I’m doing the one I hate and when I’m in a really bad place holistically, I’m running away – from everything and everyone. To those who know me, I’m known for it.

But regardless, it’s something I always end up doing one way or the other.

It’s extremely rare that God ever forces my hand in anything. I can count on one hand the number of times He’s done it. Usually, if He’s leading me somewhere and I’m running away from it, He just lets me make enough mistakes to pile up to ruin whatever plans I’ve made for myself until I begrudgingly run back to Him, only to do the bare minimum to make myself feel better.

It’s usually only a matter of time before I’m off doing my own thing again. 

It’s been about a month(ish) since God took my entire world and flipped it upside down, very much forcing my hand this time. 

I was running way too fast in the wrong direction, again, and I believe He had had enough. Both because I was gambling with my life and also because He’s given me about 4 years now of doing things my own way. 

I was dabbling in substances, spending time with people that I had no business being around and drinking myself into oblivion in a very short amount of time. All the while, crying out to Him and wondering why I felt like I was quite literally losing my mind and had NO peace. 

My behavior was completely unhinged, compulsive and destructive and I no longer cared. I was willing to do whatever it took to just not feel the emptiness that was consuming me. 

When I finally came out of the bender I was on, my first thought was to run. To run back to rehab. To run back to my hometown. To run to somewhere new. To run literally anywhere that would get me away from the environment that I had built and demolished in as little as a few weeks. (Realistically, this was a long time coming…) 

The thing I’ve learned about running away is that everywhere I’ve ever ran to, I was still there. I couldn’t outrun myself however, I was arrogant enough to think that I could outrun God. Never happened. 

In my trying to figure out what I was going to do and where I was going to go, God made it quite literally impossible to not stay where He had me. Nothing panned out and nothing pulled through, when usually it happens pretty easily. He made my circumstances so impossible in fact, that for a time, I couldn’t even leave my apartment if I wasn’t leaving on foot. 

For lack of a better term, at 33 years old, I was very much grounded by my Father (God, not my Dad to clarify!) . He had taken away my car, my safety nets, my sources of comfort (numbing) and my ability to choose where I went next. Again, He had enough. 

God gave me a choice. 

Either I allow Him to do what He wanted to do with my life or I could continue in the same loop of insanity and take my chances with my life. I know that His grace is sufficient and I know that He is rich in mercy, but I suddenly got the sense, and I felt it to my core, that there would come a point when His grace runs out and where would I be when it did? 

This question changed everything for me. 

It wasn’t just about getting sober anymore. It wasn’t just about whether I can be a lesbian or not. It wasn’t about just redeeming my reputation or trying to salvage relationships that had been strained. It wasn’t about going to church or AA or not sleeping around or getting my life back on track. 

It was about realizing that I had a choice. And that choice was a mark of His grace all in its own right. Not everyone gets that. Not everyone is given the opportunity to try again or to get right with Him. I’ve watched it over and over again in the lives of people that I loved dearly that I’m sure that not one of them ever thought that the choice they made would be their last on this earth. 

God has given me more grace than I could ever put into words. More than I could ever write down or document. I’ve gambled with His grace more times than I can count and in my pride, truly thought that I could just continue to live however I wanted and do whatever I wanted, with whomever I wanted, and still be right with Him. 

In this past month of God disconnecting me from everything I leaned on and filled my life with, I started to question whether that was true or not.

I wanted to believe God was who I wanted Him to be, not who He is. He is gracious yes, but He requires much from those who call themselves followers. I said the words, claimed I loved Jesus, yet nothing in my life would have reflected that. In fact, I had posted a picture of a bible study I was doing, and a good friend of mine messaged me saying “oh the lesbian is now super religious?” He was completely kidding and didn’t mean it with any ill intent, however for someone who has claimed to love Jesus with all of her heart her entire life, it was jarring to hear how others saw me vs. how I saw myself.

Nothing in my life would have told you that I’ve given up everything to deny myself and follow Him. If anything, I was living in complete hypocrisy – praising Him with my mouth and denying Him with the rest of my life. 

I will say, He may have forced my hand to some extent, but he has been so patient and so kind to me over these last few weeks. He reminded me of who I was before I walked away. I had forgotten and have been on a completely unsuccessful mission to figure out who I am now. 

And Thank God. 

I was trying to find myself in the world when I was never called to that. He had called me to ministry. To discipleship. To learn a completely opposite way of living than what’s comfortable. He called me to trust that if I kept my eyes on Him, who I was wouldn’t matter anymore, because it was never about me. And that without Him, I will always be lost and searching.

I remember when I decided to up and follow my own path about 4 years ago, a dear friend and spiritual mentor that’s known me since I was little, pulled me aside and warned me. She sat before me with tears in her eyes and said “ If you decide to walk in this, if you decide to walk away from Him and everything He’s brought you out of, your words won’t matter, the world will love you and you will sacrifice having Him.” 

My heart was so hardened at the time, it just made me mad and honestly, I think I ran away faster. I had made my choice. I chose myself. I chose the life I wanted. And my life has never been the same. Another failed relationship that I banked everything on only to feel like I was never enough and completely unloveable in the end, heartache, addiction, legal issues, broken friendships, broken trust, the inability to move on from things that were hurting me… the list goes on. Just brokenness in every way.

Years later, the Holy Spirit brought those words back to my memory, and I wept over them. 

Not because I was sad entirely, but more so because I was so grateful that He didn’t let me die in that, when I could have several times over. That He gave me yet another opportunity to turn my life back over to Him. That my life didn’t end in rebellion, brokenness and addiction.

Choosing Jesus, and I mean truly choosing Him, isn’t the easy choice. It’s excruciating at times. It will cost you everything. It will mean changing the way you think, changing the way you speak, changing the way you respond to circumstances and people, changing who you surround yourself with, changing what you allow into your space and who has access to you, changing what you listen to, changing what you watch, changing what you talk and joke about… I mean the list is endless. He requires much of those who say yes to Him, and honestly it’s never convenient. 

BUT… 

There is peace. There is joy. There is contentment. There is faith. There is hope. There is freedom. There is knowing that you are not alone. There is HIM and I promise you, that is everything. 

I have often fallen into wanting the things Jesus could give me more than I actually wanted Him. As He’s brought me into this place of what I can only refer to as anonymity, he’s stripped me of everything. My identity. My desires. My plans and my wants for my future. 

But in exchange, as I’ve chosen obedience, He’s given me Himself. His presence. His wisdom. His strength that I certainly don’t have on my own. 

In a world that focuses so much on I and me and making it happen for myself I’ve had to allow Him to reframe everything. I’ve had to let Him teach me His way.

For me it looks like choosing no contact when I desperately want to text them. It looks like staying off of social media (for the most part) instead of scrolling for hours. It looks like surrounding myself with a Godly community even when I’m aggressively uncomfortable. It looks like giving up music I’ve loved for years. It looks like waking up early every day and opening my Word instead of turning on my TV. It looks like saying no to sex, alcohol, binging, isolating, numbing and instead getting on my face before the Lord and feeling everything as He breaks my heart wide open. It looks like deleting photos and phone numbers. It looks like staying exactly where He has me instead of running away even when I’m crawling out of my skin with restlessness and anxiety. It looks like walking/running down to the beach everyday even when I’m too tired and would rather stay on my couch. It looks like worshipping Him through the tears and the temptation instead of choosing the immediate gratification. It looks like discipline and routine. It looks like praying about everything and allowing trusted voices in my life to help me because I can’t be trusted to make healthy decisions on my own yet. It looks like having to accept the decisions I made even just weeks ago and choosing to thank Him for saving me instead of condemning myself and worrying about what other people are going to think. It looks like letting my life speak for itself moving forward instead of trying to prove myself.

My prayer is that in time, I will be unrecognizable to the people who knew me even up until about a month ago. That was a lesser and far crazier version of myself than who God ever intended me to be. That person was selfish, a liar, a manipulator, a controller, an addict and a hypocrite. I was an extremely broken person who lacked boundaries and who thought love was ultimately about myself.

As far as I’m concerned, that person doesn’t exist anymore. Not because I’m some self-righteous person sitting on her high horse or just choosing to ignore everything I’ve done and said, but because an extremely loving God saved my life over and over again, and in the light of what He’s done for me, radical change and everything I have is the only appropriate offering I can give Him. 

I’m so grateful He gave me the choice to do things differently. I’m so grateful that I found a wonderful little church and godly people to walk beside. I’m so grateful for the desire to know Him. I’m so grateful for a beautiful place to live for the time being. I’m so grateful He never turned His face from me and never lifted His grace off of me. I’m so grateful He ruined all of my plans and gave me a new life. Certainly not an easier one, but one that doesn’t have darkness hanging over me to the point where I don’t even want to live it anymore. 

Voddie Baucham, one of my favorite Pastors, said it like this, and it resonates so deeply at this point in my life… 

“I may not be where I want to be, but Hallelujah, I’m not where I was.” 

This is my story…

~ The Fragrance of my Mother ~ Leave a comment

“I can trust God with my life. God has a plan for me. I was born with a purpose. I was born with talents. I was born with a mission to set the captive free. I can trust God with my life.

 I try to say these truths to myself, over and over; hoping somehow they sink in. Praying somehow they shout louder than the voices that haunt me. Cuz from day to day they are battling with all the words inside of me; the many wars inside of me. Like what if God fails me? What if I make a mistake and I ruin the lives of the people around me? What if I’m the one person who doesn’t have a purpose? What if my talents are not good enough? What if my decisions are not good enough? What if my life is not up to par of what everyone expects of me and I’m drowning in the sea of what-ifs…” 

These Waters by Hosanna Wong 

I spoke these words 3 years ago at an event. Tears came to my eyes and a lump grew in my throat as I said them because they resonated so deeply with me. I felt them in bones. 

3 years later, I still find myself weeping over these words. 

The doubt that I thought would subside is still here. The voices and the words inside of me that I thought would be silenced are still very much battling. 

As I get ready to go back to the place I ran from, I find myself terrified but finally hopeful. I find myself encouraged. I find myself at peace. All things I’ve desperately longed to feel again but thought were out of reach. 

I will say this. 

God. Is. Good. 

ALL. The. Time. 

In the darkness, He is light. In the chaos, He is peace. In the confusion, He is clarity. In the doubt, He is sure. In faithlessness, He is faithful. In weakness, He is strong. 

I was raised on these words. They were instilled into me as a little girl. Yet somehow, thirty-some years later, I still wrestle with them. I still question Him. 

I’ll say this…. 

Addiction is a monster. A bigger monster than I ever realized. Yet God is greater still. Relapse happens and it’s easy to feel like all hope is lost. Loss happens and it’s easy to feel like all hope is lost. LIFE happens and it’s easy to feel like all hope is lost. 

But God can author a redemption arc like no one else. Hope is not lost. Not with Him, ever. He can fix and resolve what nothing and no one else ever could. 

In the moments I felt like my life was over, like things were too far gone, He always responds. He always steps in. It just takes my willingness. 

This past year I was sober, and yet somehow further away from Him than ever. I relapsed and I found Him again in my brokenness. 

Why? How? 

He is a God that LOVES the broken. He is near to the brokenhearted. He finds us in our weakness and it truly is where He is strong.

I have tried to shoulder everything myself. I failed. 

But Jesus… 

The moment my world fell apart, I found Him again. He was waiting with open arms. And somehow, in all of my doubt, in all of my faithlessness, in all of my brokenness, there He was.  

And the crazy thing about Jesus is that He used the thing I hated more than anything (my addiction) to pull me out. Had my addiction not flared back up and my relationship not fallen apart, I don’t think I ever would have seen that I was spiritually dying. 

He took something horrible and used it for His glory and my good. 

Addiction is overwhelming. But God is bigger. Doubt is overwhelming. But God is bigger. He is there, always. 

He never leaves us and He never forsakes us. 

All this to say, my life that I built for myself on pride and ego, fell apart. Crumbled. I relapsed. My relationship ended. I am moving back to the place I ran away from. 

But God is so good. He is so patient. He is so gentle. 

When I look at the fruit of my life as of recent, I can’t say that any of it is viable. It’s dead and decaying. 

So I’ve decided to make a change and go where He sends me. I cried out to Him and let me tell you, when I say He made things move in 24 hours, He flipped my world upside down and opened every door that needed to be opened. 

He is a good and gracious Savior. 

I just want to love Jesus. 

With all my heart and mind and soul. 

I just want to honor Him with my life. 

I am beginning this journey today. I’m leaving literally everything behind to pursue Jesus. 

And I have decided… 

To follow Jesus. 

Thoughts for Wednesday.

~ The Fragrance of my Mother ~ Leave a comment

“I hope you will go out and let stories, that is life, happen to you, and that you will work with these stories… water them with your blood and tears and your laughter till they bloom, till you yourself burst into bloom.” Clarissa Pinkola Estes 

Stories. One of my very favorite things in this life. I love true stories. Listening to the experiences of others. I firmly believe stories train our empathy. I’ve always tried to listen from the inside, if that makes sense. To hear from within the story. To hear, smell, taste, see and feel everything as if I were there. 

Some of my favorite stories are that of my Grammy, Mary Louise. She is a beautiful, independent, authentic, creative and deeply insightful woman. A poet, artist and brilliant writer. And her gracious but blatant honesty precedes her. I love that about her. Her experiences are rich and full and she has the wisdom of a life well lived to prove it. Her stories are hers to tell, however I was recalling a conversation I had with her about a year ago and I was reminded of just how valuable experience is. Her past experience speaks to my present; a conversation that went something like this… 

“Sometimes I feel like ‘did I ever do anything right?’  Because the bad stuff is always ready to stand up and take credit. But once you realize the bad stuff is just standing in front of the stuff that you did well, you just have to tell your naysayer where to go sometimes … even when that voice is strong. It’s persuasive and loud. Sometimes it’s hard to know. Is it friend or foe? When it’s trying to silence you, it’s not on your side.” 

These are my naysayers… fear, shame, regret, doubt, insecurity. It’s crazy the way we allow our regrets to speak to us. How loud we allow fear to be in our ears. How much we believe our own insecurities and allow them to tell us who we are. And shame… wants nothing more than to keep us quiet. 

I sit here this morning, so grateful for the wisdom of my Grammy. Whose courage to live in vulnerability has helped me to find my own. To ask every intrusive thought that tells me I did nothing right… “is it friend or foe?” To live with a wild heart wide open and vulnerable. To value the times of struggle and chaos, because there has been unspeakable beauty that came from those ashes. To step on the head of shame with a vulnerable heart and cherish every experience because it all shaped me into who I am today. 

So my thoughts for today…. Tell your story. Say no to fear. Reject regret. Cry it out. Be present. Fall in love. Live authentically. Let your stories, which is life, happen to you. Water them with your blood, tears and laughter until they bloom.

 And tell the naysayers in your life where to go...

Collecting Lessons.

~ The Fragrance of my Mother ~ 1 Comment

“You’re not a failure… you’re collecting lessons.” – A ghost of my former life (aka my ex fiancé) 

As much as I really hate to admit it, He was right. 

I had a conversation recently with a dear friend who is walking with her child through a difficult time. It’s a road that I myself have walked. She asked me if there were any verses, sayings or anything that helped me.

This got me thinking. 

If I could go back and talk to a much younger me, knowing what I know now, what would I say?

Emilee,  

Hi sweet girl. This isn’t going to make much sense to you now, but as life unfolds before you, I hope you remember these words. 

Life is never certain. You can’t control it… no matter how hard you try. 

There will be moments of great joy. There will be moments of great pain. Cling to the moments of joy. Even if they are momentary. 

Loss is inevitable. And you are going to experience some significant losses. As much as I want to warn you so that you can prepare yourself,  no amount of warning can prepare you to lose someone you love. 

So cherish those you love. Be kind with your words, because the people you speak to may not remember them, but you will. 

Be a good friend. There will come a time when you truly believe that life is all about you. That you can do it on your own. But it’s not and you can’t. This is a tough lesson you’ll have to learn. And you’ll lose some friends along the way. But humility and honesty will bring you through. Admit when you’re wrong and don’t stop there. Take ownership of your actions and learn from your mistakes. Admission without change really means nothing. 

Never stop dreaming. Don’t be afraid of failure. Keep taking chances. 

You are going to embark on a journey to “find yourself.” I hate to break it to you, but you don’t find yourself in one attempt. Although this would be easier, it’s a lifelong process. You’re going to make mistakes along the way. Many, many mistakes. (Unfortunately, bangs will not be the worst of them. Not even close.) And that’s okay. You’ll learn.  

Don’t try to grow up too fast. Enjoy being a kid. Enjoy the simple things in life that you love. Sunsets. Fireflies. Staying outside in the summer until the streetlights come on. The smell of chocolate chip cookies in the oven. Laughing with your family in the backyard. Playing catch with your dad. Hiding in the neighbors yard with your brothers. Reading to your sister on the couch. Snuggling your mom. Savor those moments. 

Pay attention to the good. Because eventually, moments just become memories. 

“Cool” is underrated. Lead with your weirdness. There’s no use in trying to change that. It’s who you are. Eventually, you’ll see it as a good thing. 

Cherish your purity. Know that your value and your worth do not come from what anybody tells you or what you can give them. Also, you’re not going to find your husband in a bar… No matter how charming he is…

You can’t hide from your life. You can’t hide from your mistakes. You’ll have to face them eventually. This will be really hard, but you’ll get through it. 

Vulnerability isn’t weakness. In fact, it’s one of the greatest strengths someone can possess. Write everything down. Share your experiences and give them a voice. This will be crucial for you when you walk through some really hard things. 

Don’t let anyone tell you that because you are emotional, you’re crazy. Your emotions are actually going to be one of your greatest strengths. They will fuel your empathy and your compassion for others. Cherish these too and don’t try to shut them out. Learn from them. (And remember that emotions are in fact real, but they may not always be reality.)

Mental health is really important…  Especially for you. Depression is a real thing but there’s no shame in that. Find a good counselor. Talk about your pain. Talk about your goals and your dreams. BE HONEST. 

I would say don’t drink… but I already know this is a lesson you’re going to have to learn the hard way. You won’t listen to anyone else, so I know you won’t listen to me either. However, know that when it gets really ugly, and unfortunately it will, it will get better. 

Family is everything. When your family seems mad at you because of the choices you’re making, it’s not because they hate you, it’s because it scares them. They just don’t know how to say that. They actually love you very much and want the very best for you. Destructive choices hurt people. Losing you scares them just as much as it scares you. Remember that. 

Freedom isn’t what the world tells you it is. Booze, boys (and girls… you’ll face that someday too) and bars are going to seem like a lot of fun. They might be for a moment, but it doesn’t last. And getting drunk and sleeping around will leave you emptier than you can imagine. And the older you get, the less cute it is. “Hot mess” is not a good look.

Protect your heart. This doesn’t mean never being in a relationship or never letting people get close to you. Just be careful with who you give your heart to. Watch how they live their lives and listen to how they speak to and about people. It will be an indicator of how they will treat you when the guards come down. Maya Angelou said it best… “When somebody shows you who they are, believe them.” 

Find things that you love to do and don’t ever push them aside for someone else. If someone asks you to give up your passions for them, DONT. 

Lastly, but certainly not least. In fact it’s the most important thing. God is good… ALWAYS. He is faithful. ALWAYS. He will save your life, quite literally. So listen to Him. Spend time with Him. Tell him when you’re mad at him, because he already knows. But whatever you do, don’t turn your back on Him. He is the only one, who won’t fail you. Who won’t disappoint you. And he is the only one who will get you through those moments when life hits you so hard that you can’t breathe. 

Nothing worth having comes easily. You are going to have to fight for the good things in your life. But your life is worth fighting for. 

Because someday around 30, you’ll wake up one day a little older, a little wiser, a little chubbier and a whole lot happier than you’ve ever been and you’ll realize that God has given you an AMAZING life. 

So ask for help when you need it. Tell someone when you’re hurting. Pray ALWAYS. And remember that this life is precious. That your life is precious. Everyday that you’re alive is a gift. So take a breath, sit back and enjoy the crazy ride. It won’t look anything like you’re imagining now, but if you stick it out, it will be better than you can even believe. 

Today.

~ The Fragrance of my Mother ~ 5 Comments

Today I’m starting a journey. 

A journey of transformation.

A journey of renewing my mind. Every day. Making every effort. Because you say I’m already equipped. 

A journey of awareness. Self Awareness. Awareness of your presence. 

My mind is powerful and I have lived under the weight and burden of negative thinking for far too long.

But it’s you who created my mind.

You are higher You are greater.

You say I have the mind of Christ. A partaker in the divine nature.

So today, I’m choosing a new path. A new way. I’m choosing you. 

I’m choosing to live presently. To dream. To have vision. To laugh. To cry.

To live free from the distractions and the noise that I get so easily entangled in.

Today I give myself permission to be and I give you permission to do.

Today I choose to reject fear and I choose to accept grace. 

Today I will make every effort to respond to your promises. 

Today I will patiently endure. 

Today I will trust. 

Today I choose purity. 

Today I will seek knowledge. 

Today I will  love. 

Today I choose self-control. 

Today I choose godliness. 

Today, my heart is postured toward courage. My mind is set on you. My purpose is your will alone. 

I will walk this new road with humility, in your ways, not my own. 

I am set and determined to open my eyes and see the beauty of your creation every day. I don’t want to miss a thing. 

I long to have a heart that hears you. To encounter you in all things. 

To live this life with you. To live believing that there is nothing that can separate me from your love. 

Today I relinquish all control.

I will wait with patience. I will listen with intention.  I will obey when you speak. 

You go before me and I will follow. 

I choose the road marked Holy Ground. You’ve paved the way and you will direct my every step. 

I will trust you today, not worrying about tomorrow. 

 I am not guaranteed even the next breath, so I will not waste it. I will no longer take this life for granted. 

I will not waste my life. 

I will live everyday believing that today is going to be the best day of my life. 

I wait expectantly for what you will do in this process. 

Thank you for today. 

Three Years…

~ The Fragrance of my Mother ~ Leave a comment

FullSizeRender.jpgThree years. It seems like forever, yet at the same time, it seems like just yesterday.

It’s been three years since I’ve heard your voice. Three years since I’ve heard your infectious laughter. Three years since I’ve called you at three in the morning and you let me come over and watch movies and you stayed up with me, just so I didn’t feel alone.

Three years breaks my heart. Three years makes me really appreciate the 23 years I got with you, however it seems so cut short. Three years feels like way too long to go without my Momma’s advice.

However, you left me with the legacy of your life. You reminded me that it’s one step at a time. You reminded me that God holds a light to our present steps and motions. You taught me that it’s okay to not know how the future is going to go, and it’s okay trust Jesus step by step.

More than anything, my Mom taught me that fear is only an emotion…. If we allow it to be. She taught me that all of us get scared, especially about the unknown, but her faith and her unwavering dedication to trusting God with such uncertainty showed me that even though life may not turn out how you want, God is ALWAYS good. He is ALWAYS sovereign. He is ALWAYS faithful.

My life looks nothing like I thought it would at 26 (or regardless of age, wherever I’m at). I’ve learned that heartache doesn’t dissipate. I’ve learned that there will always be reminders of heartache.

Forgiveness doesn’t wipe out the existence or the memory or hurt, it simply allows us to graciously accept our current circumstances. Healing is taking brokenness in stride. It’s understanding that the process of being mended is a delicate balance of joy and suffering.

In order to truly appreciate the journey of healing, you have to know where you started and came from. To see where God brought you to, or out of.  Learning to walk with faith doesn’t always mean walking without grief. But there is a sacred beauty in the joy that comes from that refinement. The scars we bear are beautiful because they reflect the scars of a man who took on what we couldn’t. Jesus. 

Ecclesiastes says that “Everything is made beautiful in it’s time.” There is a time for everything. When we hold onto pain, anger and hurt we miss SO much that is happening to us. When we graciously accept all of this as a tool of refinement, we are able to see past the emotion of heartbreak and see how God is using it to shape us.

In all the “times” that God speaks about love and hate, I’m reminded that when we hate, God is love. In our time of tearing, God is mending. In our time of quiet, God speaks louder than ever. In our time of grieving, God teaches us to dance.

This isn’t a post about having all or really any of the answers, it’s a post about being reminded of that fact that Jesus is sovereign over everything.  My Mom’s legacy reminds me to take every day as if you’re being lead by a lantern.

Every step is lit only one by one. I may not be able to see every step in my future or know where it leads, but I rest in that fact that it’s covered by Jesus. I may have my moments of questioning and doubting, but I am so  reassured of the grace of God. I feel freedom to ask what he wants to show me. I feel freedom to ask where he wants me to go and what He wants to do with my life.

All this to say, I feel like my Mom played such a huge role in me trusting Jesus. Her future was SO uncertain. Her life was ended much sooner than she (or any of us) had planned, but Jesus had planned something different and she rested so peacefully in that. She is my legacy. She is my reminder that Jesus is ALWAYS good. And most importantly, she is my reminder that what I do with my life is not of myself, but of Him.