Hope

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. 

Isolate.

~ The Fragrance of my Mother ~ Leave a comment

“I just feel so isolated.” 

I’ve said it a million times since moving to Washington State. Living on an actual island can have that effect. Living on an actual island and then moving into a place of your own in the middle of the woods can be almost haunting. The silence can either be peaceful or deafening. The solitude, at times wonderful, can also become overwhelming. 

I live in a little apartment about 20 minutes outside of one part of the island and 30 outside of the next island over. It’s right smack in the middle. I should tell you when I chose this apartment, it was completely blind and mildly out of desperation. I was in the midst of a relationship ending and one bedroom apartments, where I live, are extremely scarce. I called place after place with no luck. Voicemail after voicemail, never to be returned and call after call, only to be told nothing was available. Granted, my turn around time was quick. 

After days of calling, I finally found somewhere that said they had a unit available. They told me it was a little dated and a little out of the way and asked if I wanted to come look at it. By the grace of God I did not, because had I seen it before I moved in, I never would have said yes (It ended up fine, I saw the potential and after some work, it’s adorable). I signed the lease blind. It was down to the wire to get everything signed and in place before my move in day, but it worked out and I moved in. 

I remember driving out to my new home and thinking how I had never been out that way. In fact, I had no idea where I was. I pulled up to my little apartment… surrounded by big, tall trees, this little tiny quadplex sat in the middle of nowhere. It took me a while to get all moved in and I had some help. But I remember my first few nights alone here. At first, I appreciated the silence. No dogs barking, no fighting or bickering, no one else in my space. I was completely alone and I loved it. But as the days went on that appreciation grew to become loneliness and the silence became louder. Louder to the point where I was doing just about anything to lessen it. To feel less alone. To feel less isolated. 

I’ve been in this little apartment for almost exactly 3 months now. It’s cozy. It’s decorated completely to my liking. On paper, it’s perfect for me. But every day I’ve been here, I’ve been reminded of just how isolated I am. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Not only am I isolated from where I had just moved from and the people that live there, but I was starting to feel isolated in a grander sense.

My family lives miles away and half way across the country. My closest friend (geographically) lives an hour away, the rest of my friends and support system about 2 to 3 hours away. My relationship was over and that was the reason I was even here in the first place. The heaviness of it all set in and I began to panic. It was a few weeks in and I remember sitting on my living room floor and turning on some worship music, something that I years ago did  often, but now felt foreign. For the first time in years, it was just me and Jesus again. 

Every other time in my life that would have led me to a moment like that, it would have felt natural. Comfortable. But this time, it felt like I was sitting with a stranger. 

Over the past few years, I’ve cried out to him. I’ve asked him for things when I needed him. I’ve occasionally prayed. But overall, my relationship with the Lord was replaced with another and I was planning to build my life on the one I chose. I was willing to sacrifice Him for her. As I sat there, as the heaviness and panic took over, I didn’t even know where to start. I didn’t know what to say. How could I approach Him after everything I walked away from 3 years prior? After everything He gave me? How could I just come back and sit there with Him? How could I sit in His presence knowing full well I had a heart full of sin and expect Him to be there for me when I so easily walked away from Him? 

It didn’t take long for the walls of my heart to come down and for the tears to follow. My heart broke open in a way that I don’t think I’ve ever experienced. In the past, I’ve at least had my family in the general vicinity so I knew that even if things got hard, I could call them and they’d be there. Or I could call a friend, and they’d be there. This time, it was me and the Lord. As my heart broke and I poured out cries of repentance and grief and wrung my heart out before the Lord, I felt Him tell me just to rest.

 It was okay. I was okay to just be. I laid down and embraced the complete silence. No TV. No music. No anything. I heard him beginning to speak to me… This place, as isolating as it may feel, is a place of safety. He hasn’t isolated me, He’s hidden me away for Himself. He gave me a place to heal and cry out to Him, and to break apart and rest. A place to build a new routine and a new life and a place to sit and be with only Him. A place to seek Him. A secret place to be still, to study, to worship, to pray, to find healing. To get to know Him again.

It’s been a couple months since then, and I’m learning the sweetness of being hidden away with Him. Isolate, by actual definition, means to cause to be or remain apart from others. However, it also means to examine something, to deal with it separately. I don’t believe God intends for any of us to be alone. I believe He gives us community for a reason, especially as someone who’s trying to get sober and stay sober. But spiritually speaking, I think there is such beauty in being separated, set apart and hidden away and I realized that I have been so terrified to be alone with Him. 

I asked Him over and over and over again to take my addiction. To take my mental health struggles. To take my suffering and the other demons I wrestle with. I never understood why they remained. But in being alone with Him, through giving him my entire “yes”, by listening to Him and spending time in His presence, I realize it was all of those awful “unhealed” things that led me to repentance. They led me to a place of desperation that I don’t know if I would otherwise have. That maybe He wasn’t punishing me with those things, but maybe He was going to use them to bring me closer to Him. Maybe… He’s safe. 

In being hidden away with Him, He has been able to deal with me separately. He had to get me alone. He had to get me to Himself. To finally stop running, to finally stop all the destructive behaviors that I’ve lived in for years, to finally start to see my worth as a child of God. In studying the Word, I see time after time, where God does this. He draws someone away, even Jesus, and He draws them away from their surroundings, away from what’s comfortable, away from what they know, and He draws them unto Himself. 

He’s shown me that perfection is not what He’s after. A desperate heart that loves only Him and wants to be made more like him every day is what He’s after. It’s not not relapsing. It’s not, not having any mental health episodes. It’s not, not making the same stupid mistakes that I used to make in my twenties. (There is repentance when I have fallen into those things…) He’s teaching me to really walk this life with Him. Not just day by day. Moment by moment. With a breath by breath dependency. 

This time in my life, this place… It feels holy. Sacred. 

It’s been a long, exhausting road to get me right here. (One which I don’t believe He ever intended for me to walk, but in His kindness, He corrected my course.) To a place where my feet are planted and I rest in His presence trusting Him with my life. These nights are often soaked with tears and the cries continue for now. But there is a steadiness in the brokenness that I didn’t have before. Faith. Faith that even if these battles never cease, I know He’s in them with me. Faith that these moments are but a breath compared to what eternity will be with Him. 

I guess I say all this to say that I am so grateful that God has saved my life over and over again. That He’s brought me to a place of safety, redeemed me and is actively restoring my life in the quietness of my home. I’m so grateful to be hidden away with Him and that He’s healing me and mending what’s broken. My prayer is that in all of this, that I would know Him. That I would be desperate for Him in greater measure every day. That these past 10 years of struggle, addiction and brokenness would shout how kind and merciful He is. That the things that have held me captive would be silenced as I get back up and take up the authority that I have in Jesus. 

I didn’t think I would ever say this, but I am starting to love this season of my life. I thought the whole point of all of this was learning to be alone and to be okay with that, and I couldn’t be more grateful to be so wrong. It’s learning to find Him and realize that I’m never alone. Sometimes He just has to slow us down and draw us away, unto Himself, to get ahold of us. Amidst all of the struggle and the heartache, I have Him and nothing compares to that. 

“In winter, are the trees bare? Yes. In winter, are the trees barren? No. Life still is.”

Alicia Britt Chloe, Anonymous

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. 

Potential.

~ The Fragrance of my Mother ~ Leave a comment

By definition, potential means existing in possibility; capable of development into actuality. 

I’ve really grown to hate that word. I’ve lived my life under the weight of my potential. It seems to me like it’s been a lifelong competition between what I am and what I could. As much as I can appreciate every time someone would say that I “have so much potential”, or if I could “just see my potential” all I could hear was, “you’re not enough as you are right now and you could be better.” And to be honest, to this day, that’s still what I hear. 

The concept of someone’s potential is such an interesting thing to me. I know we’re all striving to be better… to grow, to learn and to change. However, I feel like sometimes I lose myself in the potential of who I could be. It’s hard to find your identity when everyone keeps reminding you that you could be so much more… 

The idea of potential can be particularly difficult for someone trying to navigate life in recovery. In one sense, you have to know that there is so much more to who you are and so much more to life than just your addiction, otherwise, why even bother spending the energy trying to better yourself? On the flipside, it’s easy to get crushed underneath the idea of who you could be, and in turn, you’re left feeling like the person you are today, falls short of that idea of who you could potentially be in the future. 

Potential is tricky. I find myself dwelling on this today. Over the last few years of recovery, I’ve heard mentions of my potential over and over and OVER again. Who I am and who I could be are two very different ideas in my mind. As someone who lives with a chronic fear of inadequacy, nothing is scarier than the idea of my own potential. 

It was said once… 

“The graveyard is the richest place on earth, because it is here that you will find all the hopes and dreams that were never fulfilled, the books that were never written, the songs that were never sung, the inventions that were never shared, the cures that were never discovered, all because someone was too afraid to take that first step, keep with the problem, or determined to carry out their dream.”

I think this scares me more than almost anything else. I don’t know that it’s that I truly believe I’m inadequate or that I’m not enough, I think it’s that I know that I am, in some way, however I constantly feel like I’m falling short of everything I could be. That I will never live up to the person that I’m capable of developing into or possibly becoming. 

Keyword… Possibly. 

I’ve had so many questions that were tied directly to my identity. Who am I and who am I becoming? What do I believe about myself and what others have said to and about me? What hopes and dreams do I have? What are my books that need to be written and my songs that need to be sung? (I’m going to leave the cures to be discovered to those brilliant, researcher types…) And what are my fears that get in the way of that first step of actually carrying out those dreams? 

I sit here writing this in the place I grew up. Although it’s familiar, it’s no longer home. It’s the strangest feeling being back here. The person I was when I left is in so many ways, is not the person who sits here writing today. When I left, I was so broken that life didn’t matter anymore. I had let go of the hopes and dreams of my life years before I left here and I was simply existing rather than living. That girl was so terrified of any sort of potential that she rejected it all together and chose the path of destruction because it was so much easier that way. 

After a few years of some serious healing and searching, I’ve found that I care far less about my potential and far more about my purpose. I’ve heard it said that “your potential is everything you could be and your purpose is everything you’re called to be.”

I like that. 

So I guess my question now is what is my purpose in this life? What is my purpose even just today? I blame it on being a HARD enneagram # 4, but this question alone motivates so much of what I do and don’t do in my life. 

I’ve lived my ENTIRE life feeling like a failure because I felt like I wasn’t living up to my potential. The potential of who I wanted to be and who everyone said I could be. And I fell short every single time. 

What I’ve learned in all of this… 

God calls us according to HIS purpose, not OUR potential.

He doesn’t call us to our purpose. He doesn’t call us to anyone else’s idea of our potential. He calls us unto himself, for himself. I’ve learned you can’t run from that. As much as you try. He always runs faster. His purposes ALWAYS prevail. His words never return void. His word is ALWAYS final. In a lot of ways, I used to see this as control and I didn’t understand it. However, over the years, I’ve started to see that his purposes are for his glory and our good. And he is ALWAYS good.

I’ve recently started to understand this more, and I’ve realized that in the searching, that there really is nothing that can separate us from his love. His promises are true… ALWAYS. Under the authority of his purpose, my potential crumbles. And I’m grateful for that. And the more I understand that it’s his purpose and not mine, the more I realize that  I don’t really have to worry about trying to figure it all out anyway. That’s HIS business, not mine. It’s only for me to trust him in this very imperfect process. 

Those dreams I have? He placed in me. Those books I want to write? Those are his words. Those songs still to be sung? Those melodies belong to him. Without him, I would have NOTHING.

What I know is this. No matter where you live, what you do, what you’re struggles are, how you feel or think or where you try to run to, he never changes. He is always the same. Clinging to Him has been the saving grace of my life and I wouldn’t be here to even write this if it weren’t for him and I never want to lose sight of that. I didn’t save myself, he saved me, despite the fact that I was hellbent on destroying my life… because his purposes always prevail. His ways are always higher. 

And for today, I’m grateful.

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. 

Dear Idols

~ The Fragrance of my Mother ~ 4 Comments

It’s been 2 years since I began my path of recovery. Incredibly difficult. Immensely rewarding. Mistakes have been made… Many mistakes. Questions have been asked. Words have been said… and unfortunately at times, screamed.  Flaws have been seen. Tears have been shed. Anger surfaced. Doubts, insecurities and lies exposed. But in all of the mess and ugliness of countless meltdowns, temper tantrums and a significant crisis of my faith and identity, there has been far more beauty than ashes. 

Laughs have been shared… Many laughs. Passions have been discovered. Lessons have been learned. Friendships have been formed. Changes have been made. Healing has begun. Fears have been conquered. Confidence has been built. Joy has been found. What would have been a tragic story of addiction, loneliness and depression ending in suicide was rewritten to one of hope, restoration and abundant life.

A life saved and forever changed. My life. 

In honor of these 2 years, I wanted to share the moment that changed everything for me.

I was reading through the tear soaked, barely legible pages of an old journal when I found it. The letter. I remember the moment vividly. My 29 year old self, sitting in a bunk bed in the tiny room I shared with 4 other grown women trying to piece their lives together just like I was. Earplugs in (because the aforementioned roommates were theorizing about who was stealing everyone’s coffee creamer and arguing about “how early is too early to set an alarm in the morning?”… Community living.) 

I cracked open my journal, as I did most nights, and I began to write a semi-satirical letter to “all the drinks that did me wrong” hoping that there would be some sort of cathartic release or at the very least, maybe a laugh. As I began to write,  a bible verse from Isaiah 44 came to mind that had been given to me months prior. The verse didn’t make much sense to me at the time I received it, so I didn’t really think about it again until that night when it crossed my mind.

 As I started that ridiculous letter, I couldn’t get that verse off of my mind. I stopped writing and was just still for quite some time. Thinking. As I did, I began to realize it wasn’t just the alcohol that I was addicted to. It was so much more than that. It was approval. Validation. Acceptance. Vanity. Money. Sex. Men. Women. The idea of success. And so much more. I lived for myself and no one else. I constantly and compulsively lied and manipulated to get what I wanted and I didn’t care who it hurt or affected. I was a borderline narcissist who was incapable of seeing outside of herself or taking ownership for any of her actions. 

I began writing again, but this time it was an entirely different letter. My hand was cramping from trying to keep up with how fast my thoughts were firing and tears were running down my face and soaking the pages of my journal from the overwhelming emotion of it all.  Finally I had come to terms with everything that had happened over the past 10 years. The person I had become. All of the trauma, grief, disappointment, failures, mistakes, doubts and horrible decisions that I had made and as a result, the consequences that I faced because of them.

I was 20 months into a 12 month treatment program (yes, you did read that correctly…) and I had had enough. Enough of myself. Enough of the constant voices that told me I wasn’t good enough. That I was never going to be able to change. Enough of the alcohol. Enough of the relapses. Enough of the shallow and sinful relationships. Enough of the lying. Enough of the selfishness. Enough of making stupid decisions. Enough of feeling like a failure. Enough of fighting and rebelling against the One who saved my life. Enough of all of the BS I had put up with and put myself through for my entire adult life.

What started off as a humorous coping mechanism quickly turned into the most important decision I’ve ever made, and it was anything but funny. Since that night, I’ve never looked back. Recovery is so much more than sobriety. It’s finding the courage and humility every single day to say yes to God and no to myself, no matter what the cost. (Which is so much easier said than done.)  

Today, I’m sober, healthy (mentally, spiritually and physically), full time interning in ministry, living in a city I love surrounded by people I love. My life is incredibly imperfect yet I am incredibly happy. I never could have imagined that my life would look the way it does now and I couldn’t be more grateful for that because I honestly don’t think I would have done it had I known what all this was going to entail. 

This letter was not just about alcohol and addiction but to everything that I put before God in my life and it is a declaration of who I am now and more importantly, who I belong to. This is where it all changed for me…. 

“The poor, deluded fool feeds on ashes. He trusts something that can’t help him at all. Yet he cannot bring himself to ask, ‘Is this idol I hold in my hand a lie?’”  Isaiah 44:20 

Dear Idols, 

I don’t know how to say goodbye to you. Most of you have walked alongside me for years now. My most consistent companions. I’ve cherished you, served you, listened to you and indulged you in every fantasy. I’ve played your games and worshiped you. I gave you a sacred place in my heart that truthfully, you neither earned nor deserved. I allowed you for far too long to lie to me and make promises to my heart that you could never fulfill. You promised comfort and gave me chaos. You promised love and broke my heart. You promised confidence and you made a fool of me. You promised satisfaction and I was always left empty. I want you to know that I see you now for what you are. A lie. A fantasy. A romanticized illusion of fulfillment – overpromising and under delivering every time. I exalted you to a position in my life that you were never worthy of holding. I thought that you were good, but I know now that you were nothing more than comfort. I thought what we had was intimacy, but I now know that it was just familiar. You were convenient. Easy. Shallow. I want you to know that you can no longer have this place or any place in my heart again. That place is meant for the only one who can rightfully rule my life. He doesn’t bring chaos or confusion. He doesn’t put me down or tell me lies. He doesn’t deceive, manipulate or control me. I’m not a slave to Him, but his lover and his friend. Although I believed that there was room in my life for Him and all of you, I was gravely mistaken.  So as of this moment, our relationship is over. The longing for you and the idealized perspective and rose colored lenses are shattered. I see you for exactly what you really are. And now, I see Him for exactly who He really is. The position of Lord belongs to Him and I am going to let him do the honors of dethroning each and every one of you Himself. So this is in no way an amicable and mutually respectful parting or goodbye. This is me declaring war back on you for all of the hell, confusion and destruction you’ve caused me. I want you to know that I DO NOT AND WILL NOT choose you. Your reign of death and terror in my life is over and you now are subject to the anger and vengeance of the One who conquered you once and for all, long ago on that third day; when he rose up and walked out of the grave he left and buried you in. I am done with you, in every way and you CANNOT have my attention, my affection or my imagination any more. We are done. For good. I am choosing life. I am choosing to walk on the side of truth and fight for all of those who are deceived and broken just like I was. I will not aid you in fanning the flames of lust, addiction, greed and impurity, but I will snatch those deceived and broken ones from the flames and show them The Way to life. I want to make myself explicitly clear. I no longer answer to my flesh. I only answer to the spirit of the living God and I will no longer be engaging your advances in any way. This is the end for us and I am never looking back. This abusive relationship is now over. I will no longer be answering when you call, responding to your invitations or entertaining any sort of engagement with you any longer. You no longer have a place in my life – you’ve taken far too much for far too long and honestly, you can keep it all because The One I belong to now is a giver of life and all things new. You will never be anything more than a cheap knock-off, fraudulently parading around as freedom and love, and you can no longer have any part of me or my life. This is it for us. Just know that from now on, if you try to reach me, you’ll have to go through my Father, my Husband and the Spirit of the Living God Himself. 

-E

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.

The Unraveling

~ The Fragrance of my Mother ~ Leave a comment

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Todays thoughts: Being alone takes courage.

Whether by choice or not, both bring a different element of discipline. Being alone by our own design is courageous because it means actively quieting all the voices of desire that fuel expectation; both of our own or of everything and everyone around us. Making the deliberate choice to take pause and time for ourselves and our own lives, often isn’t the easy decision.

Being alone when it’s not our own choice is courageous because it means choosing patience to bravely stand alone over things that we can’t always control. Whether it’s something that has been stripped away or simply hasn’t presented itself yet and despite the longings in our hearts, it takes courage to wait faithfully. To trust that there still is hope, even though our futures may not look anything like we’ve imagined them to.

I find myself somewhere in the middle of these two positions. Sitting on the edge of complete uncertainty, yet intentionally making the decision to stay exactly where God has me. I’d being lying if I said it was my choice to be where I’m at in my life currently, but I can say, that it is my choice to accept it honestly and faithfully, and find grace in wherever that is. Grace towards everyone around me. Grace toward God and his radically different plans than my own. Grace to accept that my mom “should” still be here with me. Grace over the anger and emotion of my very flawed, human heart. Grace towards myself.

I fall prey to the feeling of unworthiness more than I’d like to admit. I believe the lies. I believe the thoughts of not being good enough. I believe that, even just at 26, I’ve made too many mistakes. I’ve messed up too many things and I’m truly not enough and seemingly, never will be.

Although through the eyes of humanity, those things at times may be true, but I have been so struck by the truth that God’s grace is enough. It’s such a simple truth, yet it’s filled with complexities that go so far beyond my human understanding. My grace fails all the time. Sometimes, I don’t always have the capability of displaying true grace. Grace to forgive. Grace to understand. Grace to be compassionate. Grace to be patient. Grace to be kind.

To stand alone in these realizations can be really hard. In my human mind, it often times comes across as I’m not enough. The really beautiful thing about that is that it’s true. The only thing that makes that not completely contradictory, is that we can admit that we’re not enough, and in that grace, we can stop apologizing for who we are and where we are, and accept exactly where we’re at but without shame. We can admit the things we’ve messed up and done wrong, but we don’t have to live in the fear of being completely unworthy.  

I’ve spent several days and nights quietly by myself recently and in those times, I’ve had a lot of time to really appreciate that time alone. I don’t mean that I’ve always been blissfully happy in the peace of my own home, because truthfully, many of those moments have come with tears, with heartache and trying to just figure out how to exist by myself for the foreseeable future. But in the midst of all of that, it’s come with understanding.

Suddenly, letting go of “who I should be”  or “where I should be” doesn’t seem so scary. I may still be scared of a future unknown, but I’m starting to have the courage to lean into that fear and face it without the shame of being unworthy. Instead of putting on a brave face, learning to live authentically, exactly as I am.

I’ve had the feeling my life was “falling apart” a lot recently. The more I’ve prayed and the more I’ve asked for God’s grace over the understanding of my life I’ve started to see it more as a beautiful unraveling. Although my life may be “coming apart” it doesn’t mean it’s not intentional. I believe that sometimes God pulls on the strings of our lives. Not as puppets, but as creations. Sometimes you have to pull something apart to put it back together, only better.

I was angry for a long time about this. I felt like God pulled the strings of my life more like I was a marionette doll. I felt like all these things were happening in my life and I was just supposed to “move how God tells us to move.” It made no sense to me because how I felt didn’t match how I was supposed to act.

It took awhile, but I eventually saw that God wasn’t pulling the strings of my will, He was pulling the strings of my circumstance and my heart. He could see what was loose and snagging, where I couldn’t.  He wasn’t trying to control me, He was trying to secure me. Where I was unraveling, He wanted to put me back together, the right way. Sometimes in order to do that, it requires being isolated.You would never catch a single snag in a sea full of threads.

God had to get me alone to really hear His voice. My heart has been so tired and I’ve felt so isolated, but I’ve found more courage in those solitary moments than I have ever before, so I’m thankful.

It by NO stretch, means that it’s been an entirely enjoyable experience, but I am still finding joy in present moments. I’m still finding strength that I didn’t know I had. In everything I’ve felt like I lost and in all of the angry moments of feeling alone, God has never been absent. He has never not been visible in the fabric of my life. It’s just a matter of if I choose to see past my present emotion and trust that my future will make more sense.

When the comforts around you disappear, even ones that you’ve maybe even depended on for years, and you stand alone, your heart learns to take courage. Courage to let your past be your past. Courage to be vulnerable. Courage to lean into the hurts of your heart all the while, leaning into a God that is bigger than all of those hurts combined. Courage to willfully still choose joy.

Despite being afraid, I’ve found that God grants us the courage to be brave in imperfection. We can live a life completely unraveled, and still be a perfect a mess of threads. A mess of human emotion. The beauty is that when we see a mess, or even a disaster, Jesus sees a lifetime of untangling.

To live and to love so fiercely, with such a raw vulnerability, with so little guarantee of the life that we’ve always pictured, is the ultimate picture of Jesus to me.

“To be nobody-but-yourself in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody but yourself – means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight- and never stop fighting.” – E.E. Cummings