How God Moves Pieces into Place {and why I’ll be quiet a while}

My boy and I, we leave the house bright and early this morning to run my parents half an hour north to the Kansas City airport.

Their four days here went by far too quickly, punctuated by showing after showing. Five showings while they were in town, and six total in the last week.

All this, after averaging one showing every three weeks or so for months, and we’re looking around at all these giants turning to bread right and left. They’re looking less insurmountable by the day.

It’s one thing to stand in faith on God’s promises, and a whole ‘nother soul-dismantling experience to see them being fulfilled before our very eyes.

Are we under contract? Not yet. But very specific answers to prayers are streaming in while we stand back and watch, jaws hanging open.


I of course can’t share details just yet, but I’ll say this: Jesus is extravagant to us.

Meanwhile, our Maia bean up and takes off walking, spends the entire time my parents are in town finding her footing, growing noticeably more sure of herself by the day. She’s a blast to watch.


New words are finding their way through her 13-month-old lips every couple of days too, and I can’t help but draw parallels between her emerging and stabilizing and expanding sense of confidence — and my own.

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We spend the week with my mom and dad flitting from park to mall to kid-friendly restaurant during showings, and Isaac has the sweetest interactions with his Gigi and Grandpa of possibly any chunk of time we’ve ever spent with them.

It’s a gift to watch your parents love your children, to watch that love be reciprocated. There’s nothing like it in the world.

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We hit one of our favorite parks during our Wednesday afternoon showing and I find myself letting my mom push my kids in the swings, and jumping on a swing of my own. I swing — like, really swing — and the height and the wind in my hair {and the accompanying adrenaline rush} are soul medicine, along the lines of the water slide from last week’s pool adventure.



And through flurries of house cleaning and round after round of people through our home, our hearts quietly orbit this idea of cocooning.

Now that August has rolled around, I’m yet again coming face to face with my need for solitude. My yearning to be refilled in the secret place. It’s a theme that grabs my gaze over and over again as I read the words of kindred-hearted online friends. It’s a holy whisper that echoes inside me, ever closer to the surface.


I call my counselor this morning and leave her a message, belatedly letting her know that our contract fell through, that we’re still in town, and that I need to see her this week if possible, because this whole cocooning thing is pressing all my *fear of man* buttons.

My fear of disappointing people as we pull back and seek quiet spaces together as a family. My need for approval. And most especially, my fear of being misunderstood.


My chest aches and my stomach does flips as I consider the ways this solitude season has the potential to disappoint people I dearly love. As I weigh the likelihood that our hearts will be misunderstood.

The aching isn’t constant though; it’s intermittent, punctuated by hours at a time of this bubble of peace that cushions my insides.

And y’all, I’m so thankful. God’s hand is all over this season for us; His heart is turned toward us; He is not passive in our waiting.

And while we’re worn thin and lots of things feel unreasonably exhausting to us in this season, we’re encouraged as we see God moving hearts and pieces into place in our behalf — both circumstantially and in our cores.


He is to be trusted even when His hand can’t be fully seen, and it’s our heartbeat, our cry in this season – may we be found faithfully trusting, continually surrendering, deeply abiding in You through it all.


*I’ve avoided key details again, I know, and I’m publishing with very little editing, but I thank you for your gracious and prayerful receiving of the words I’m able to share here today.*

**I’ll be taking the remainder of August to be still and quiet. I’ll pop onto Facebook to announce any major news that comes up relative to the sale of our house {If you don’t follow my blog’s Facebook page and you’d like to, you can find it here}, but otherwise my social media channels will be pretty quiet. Please know you’re loved and thought of, and that I so deeply appreciate your walking beside our family in this season.**

***Sharing this post with my friends in Lisha and Kelli’s communities. So grateful for how you all embrace me in the midst of my story.***

Posted in Family Moments, Give Me Grace, misc. walking with Jesus, Unforced Rhythms | 30 Comments

In Which God Makes Giants our Bread {or the medicinal value of water and adrenaline}

photo-8I know I need to write when I sit down before a blank screen and immediately feel the tears. They sting the backs of my eyes, indicative of words that’ve been days spinning below the surface like clay on a potter’s wheel.

Yesterday is Stan’s birthday, so I throw on a tank top I know he loves, don my dangly silver earrings (his fave), throw some gloss on my lips, and leave the kids in the care of a sitter.

I run around buying ridiculous balloons, tracking down party hats and noise makers because Isaac simply cannot wrap his almost-4-year-old mind around celebrating Daddy’s birthday without them.


I covertly get ahold of Stan’s coworkers who, equally covertly, plot to let me into the office building. I show up at his desk, plop the multi-colored balloon bouquet down beside his computer, and announce that I’m here to kidnap him for lunch.

The weather is perfect and we sit in the sun at Chipotle, enjoying burrito and tacos and one another’s open hearts, and we chat about the dramatic shifting of our perspective in these days.


The kids and I pick Daddy up from work early. Swimming has been medicine to our souls lately, so we make the trek 25 minutes south to a different pool than normal — with one heck of an awesome water slide.

The kids are of course too little to ride it, so Stan and I take turns hanging with them and letting each other climb several stories, push off at the top, fly around twists and turns and splash into the 4-ish feet of water below.

What. a. rush.

My 3rd time down, I flatten myself as much as possible. I am wildly aerodynamic (or so I imagine) and I’m flying, grinning uncontrollably, water drops hitting my face, my heart about to bust with glee.

It’s been years since I’ve been on a real water slide, and God knows speed and adrenaline are my love language. It doesn’t matter an ounce to us that we are the only adults giving the slide the time of day. We slide over and over, throw dignity to the rushing wind.

And the wind is lifting off months’ worth of heaviness.



For so long now, I’ve written around the pain of this season, processing my heart’s journey through the pressure and tension of this long waiting.

They say what’s most authentically inside you will come out when you’re squeezed, and say this season we’ve been living for sure counts as a squeezing.

And looking back at what’s come out, I’m actually {mostly} thankful.

photo-10I look behind me at round after round spiraling deeper with Him, through aching and waiting and God-given longings still unfulfilled; through choosing to find beauty and grab hold of gratitude; through allowing the pain to forge in me deeper surrender, fiercer trust, more tenacious clinging to His goodness; all while refusing to gloss over raw reality,  weeping honestly before Him on the floor of this season.

As I wrote my most recent post, I sensed that the writing in circles around acute pain and ruthless trust might be shifting. Even as I typed, I grew weary of the words that were coming out of me. Not in an insecure way, but in a something’s gotta *give* way.


Over the last decade or more, the themes of my story have revolved around loss and hope deferred. Owning those themes makes me cringe a little, because the last thing I want is to come off like I’m defined by my losses, or like I live with a woah is me mentality, which I honestly don’t feel I do.

But it’s through all my revolutions around loss and unfulfilled longings that Jesus has taken my hand and invited me repeatedly to press into His heart in the agony. To experience the fellowship of His sufferings.

By His grace, I’ve learned to journey hand-in-hand with Him through deep, dark places of heart-anguish, and I’ve seen Him in that darkness with profoundly life-altering intimacy.

And the truer theme that wraps and redeems all that loss and hope deferred? 

He. Is. Faithful.

This season has been more of the same for me, so while I’ve allowed myself to lean deep into the pain, He has so filled my vision that I’ve been deeply sustained by Him even in my sorrow.

But after I wrote my last post, it began – this Divine tugging at my heart, and Stan’s too.


The invitation this time is something along the lines of: “You don’t have to live *under* the pain of this waiting anymore. I’m calling you to yes, continue to respond to me in the midst of it, but to simultaneously rise *above* it. See it from my perspective. Begin to pray authoritatively relative to it.”

Via communication from a few different friends, along with a book Stan’s currently reading, God is drawing our hearts toward scriptures related to the authority that’s ours in Christ.

Truly I tell you, whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven. –Matthew 18:18

These evenings find Stan and I tucking our kids in and rehearsing over piles of folded laundry the story of Caleb and Joshua and the giants in the promised land. How God wanted to give the giants to His people for lunchhow the giants’ protection had already been removed, if only they would see from His perspective. 

If only they’d look with eyes of faith upon all that stood between them and God’s promise.


So we’ve held hands and wrapped arms around one another and agreed in prayer over the sale of our home, and our prayers are moving away from Lord, PLEASE–, and toward Father, this is what we believe you’ve promised us, so we’re standing in this together, trusting you for breakthrough.

Have we seen a shift in the natural realm yet? Nope. And do I still have moments of feeling discouraged? Um, yes.

But my heart is lighter, my days are brighter, and I feel less like a victim of this season and more like a confident conqueror, because God wants to make all these pesky giants our bread (Num. 14:9).


I turn on the playlist I made for the kids this morning as we wrap up breakfast and move into our day’s routine. Is it my imagination, or are they more peaceful than usual? Either way, my heart is peaceful, and there’s something creeping up around the edges of my soul that feels a lot like…


And that, my friends, is feeling pretty good right about now.

Also? Can I say again that your prayers, your companionship on this journey, and your reflecting back to me my heart as you read it here, are invaluable to me? Because they are. I am so thankful for each of you.

–Sharing with my sweet friends Lisha and Kelli and their lovely communities.–

Posted in Confidence in God, Family Moments, Give Me Grace, Grief and Loss, misc. walking with Jesus, Uncategorized | 14 Comments

This Achy Breaky Heart, and the Eternal Glory that Outweighs It


I sit down to write this afternoon and out comes a deep sigh.

Soul deep.

Know that old song, Achy Breaky Heart? Would it be cheesy if I told you that’s how I feel these days? Achy and breaky.

I’m fragile – more so than usual.



Until the hundred degree heat that’s descended upon us in the last couple of days, the kids and I were spending most of our days outside digging in dirt, swinging endlessly, and y’all, I re-fell in love with bubbles.

The kids would tire of them and I’d still be blowing, my eyes taking in the swirling colors, choosing, choosing, choosing relentlessly to find beauty in this season.


Stan and I hit the 7 year mark yesterday, and it was a good thing we’d celebrated a few days prior.


I am so thankful for the life I share with this man. For the ways he’s loved my heart to life.


I spent all of yesterday sick in bed, and while I definitely wasn’t thrilled to be sick, I was thankful for the timing — Stan’s parents were in town and he had already planned to take the day off work. So Daddy and grandparents spent time with the kiddos, and I spent time in bed resting and revamping bits and pieces of my blog’s design, and wishing I could write.

But no words came.

So– wanna know a secret? I almost never watch movies. As in, I could probably count on one hand the number of movies I watch in a year. (That is, of course, not counting Elmo and Bubble Guppies and whatever else Isaac’s into any given week.)

But yesterday evening after a full day in bed, I finally decided to watch one. Mr. Holland’s Opus.

First time I’ve watched it in years, and it is entirely possible, y’all, that this is my favorite movie of all time. So I sat in bed watching Glenn Holland’s journey of self-discovery on my laptop screen and being moved to tears by the painful beauty of this story.

That movie touches such deep places inside me and I think I need to roll the storyline around in my heart for a few more days before I’ll be able to wrap words around the way I’m moved by its depth.



We had a showing Saturday morning, our first since our contract fell through. The feedback from it was initially somewhat hopeful, but a weekend of waiting ended with no further expressed interest from the potential buyers.


Our neighbors who’d previously decided never to speak to us again are coming back around lately. Not sure we did anything in particular to make our way back into their good graces; pretty certain it has more to do with the fact that the husband is back, then gone, then back again and things have yet again gotten violent.

Same song, 4th verse. The cycle continues and it’s frustrating and so very sad to watch.


So I wake up this morning all achy and breaky and the weight of the invisible elephant on my chest feels a little bit suffocating.

I try to pray through the heaviness, pour out my heart and all my unanswerable questions, beg for grace to continue wholeheartedly choosing Him, intentionally saying yes to Him in this season.

The waiting (which I somewhat ironically almost spelled  w e i g h t i n g) feels so much more acute now, having tasted the end of this season, followed by hopes smashed and the wait stretching out before us yet again, no end in sight.

I stumble into the shower with no music playing today, which is strange for me, but my heart breathes in the quiet like much-needed fresh air. I make my way downstairs to happy kiddos — and a less-than-happy husband.

Turns out his heart weighs a thousand or so pounds this morning too.

Stan tells me he woke up sad, longing for Colorado, and tried to worship in the midst of the aching. Turned His heart toward the Lord despite the pain and tension. And I contemplate how the Lord is tenderly working these deep things inside each of us, this simultaneous carving out of our two interwoven hearts to hold more of Himself.

The more acute the longing, the more deeply we learn trust. The more painful the tension, the more we learn to hold space for Him on our insides.



Hubby leaves for work and I settle the kids, grab Stan’s Bible, and steal a few minutes alone on the couch.

2 Corinthians chapter 4 has been rolling around in my heart for several days — not any particular verse, just a vague remembrance of the way He met me in that chapter a few months ago. So I turn pages and skim words and phrases immediately pop out at me:

Hard pressed on every side, but not crushed.

Persecuted, but not abandoned.

Struck down, but not destroyed.

My heart grabs onto words about carrying around in our bodies the death of Jesus, so His life may be revealed. About not losing heart because even if we’re outwardly wasting away, inwardly we’re being renewed day by day, and our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.

Eternal. Glory.


So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.

Maia’s asleep and Isaac’s still occupied, so I grab my guitar for a few minutes, strum chords and sing these verses spontaneously to the Lord — to my own soul — because I so desperately need these unseen truths to land like embers in my depths and smolder there through these long days.

I breathe silent prayers of longing to surrender to His unseen work inside me in the waiting. In the desires yet to be fulfilled. Cry out for daily, hourly, breath-by-breath help in fixing my eyes not on the visible temporary, but on the invisible, the holy, the eternal.

On the glory that far outweighs this elephant on my chest.

And maybe I’ve said it over and over in the last 20 or so blog posts, but I don’t know how else to keep this heart alive through the wait, so I’ll pray it again and again:

Oh Christ, I long to fully surrender to your forming of yourself on my insides, your carving out of my deep places to hold more of you.

In all this painful waiting and not knowing, would you settle down inside me still more and just fully make your home in all the rooms of my soul?

I wanna come out of this united with your heart like never before.

{Sharing this post belatedly with my sweet friend Kelli’s community.}

Posted in Uncategorized | 16 Comments

Bloom {Five Minute Friday}


Taking the Hand extended to her, she looks inward. Terrified at first of what she’ll find there.

But the fierce purity of His affection breathes courage, so she explores her depths, laying bare beauty and darkness alike.

Every hidden corner is exposed before Him. Every silent cry is being given voice.

As much as the exploration is terrifying, it is exhilarating. As much as it is acutely painful, it is wildly freeing.

She knows the rich deposits they’re uncovering together can’t stay hidden much longer.

So she grips His hand a little tighter, feels its warm strength pulsing against her skin, sends roots down deeper into the all-embracing steadiness of His love, allows her most tender places to begin to unfold–



wide open flower

Writing in community today with the beautiful hearts of the Five Minute Friday crew. Join us?

Posted in Five Minute Friday, Learning Authenticity | 6 Comments

God’s Not Cruel {On Simultaneous Wrestling and Trust}

photo-18I sit down to write on Saturday night, and I don’t know how to say what I need to say.

It’s dusk and the temps are dropping just a bit, and I’m perched with my laptop on our back deck, watching Stan and Isaac jump crazy on the trampoline.

We’ve just spent a few hours eating pizza and enjoying time with Maia’s birth family. Our relationship with them is a gift to our hearts, and today it provides a much needed break from feeling the intensity of our disappointment.

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Now, I swat mosquitos and try to pretend the humidity isn’t stifling, and I contemplate how to tell you that in one quick day, we went from being Colorado bound, to still bound to this house. In this neighborhood. In Kansas City.

Don’t know how to tell you that our buyer freaked out and backed out and left us hanging out to dry.

How to tell you we’d searched and decided on an apartment complex in Littleton, a temporary place to land that we were genuinely excited about, that we’d applied and paid a deposit and reserved our moving truck, and now it’s all fallen through.

I’d planned one last time play dates and coffee dates and was emotionally processing leaving the city that’s home to so many of our family’s favorite hangouts — and so many of our favorite people.

I’d packed the decor from about 2/3 of our house, designated furniture and baby gear to go to various friends in preparation to downsize from 6 bedrooms to 2.

I took load after load to Goodwill, dumped load after load of excess stuff. Simplifying our lives was feeling so good.

Our hearts were ready, y’all. So ready to be in Colorado. We were aimed at being near family and friends there, ready to hike mountains and soak in their beauty, ready to wrap arms and hearts around our church family there.

Ready to breathe.

In many ways, this waiting season hasn’t been easy, and to say we were excited to be finished navigating it would be an understatement.


Friday late afternoon, we got the call that our buyer was likely pulling out, and an hour or so later found us packing up and heading out as a family. We needed to be alone, not in our neck of the ‘hood, and frankly, the idea of not cooking dinner was appealing, because my heart was tears were stuck to my insides, my heart and body a thousand pounds of thick disappointment, even anger. I was silent as we drove, mostly silent as we chowed on burgers and fries at Five Guys, and I know Stan began to be concerned for me, but this introvert couldn’t bring herself to process externally.

Not yet.

It was all I could do to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Send the necessary text messages. Make the calls to fill key people in. Wrangle the sat a while by the fountain after dinner, let Isaac get soaked, and it occurred to me to choose gratitude for the sweet togetherness of our family, no matter our location.

And thankful I though, the questions churned:

God, what are you doing with us? Why allow us to mentally, emotionally, practically prepare to move — invite us to hope, to be excited, to begin to taste the next season, and then allow it all to come to this?


Stan and Isaac take off early-ish this morning on a “Daddy donut date.” Maia goes down for a rare-these-days morning nap, and I relish the quiet. I sit down to read this post from my friend Alia at (in)Courage, and the realization hits me:

Other than my sleeping baby, the house is empty.

For the first time since the news came, my soul has room to breathe. The combination of “introvert space” and Alia’s transparency unlock my tears, so I sit and cry my tears and my questions to the Lord for a while.

Later in the afternoon, Stan comes into the kitchen as I’m making a grocery list in preparation for a Costco run. He apologizes for not being a better sounding board for me in all this, and on the brink of still more tears, I squeak out something about how this feels like all the times I’ve been pregnant only to lose the life God allowed to begin forming inside me. Reminds me of all the times we chose to allow ourselves to be excited, to hope in the goodness of His heart toward us…

“It’s a gift! It’s a gift from Him—- Oh, no, wait. It’s not.”

And the door slams shut.

This edge in my voice tonight freaks me out a little, y’all. Freaks me out because I definitely generally prefer my heart to be in a little less of a raw place before I share it with you here.

But, being gut-level honest, this is how this disappointment feels. Like a slap in the face of my choice to hope.

Stan and I chat in our living room tonight after our kids are in bed, and I tell him honestly that as much as I want to believe, I don’t have much faith right now that another buyer will come along any time soon.

I’m burned, and I know it, and despite everything I know that I know about the heart of God, this is where I’m at right now.


Yesterday, not only did our contract fall through, but the lyrics to a song I wrote went live on the Story Sessions blog. {It was a first for me – I’ve never published song lyrics before – on my own blog or anyone else’s.}

When I submitted the song, I re-wrote my bio that I turn in with guest posts, just because it’d been a while and it needed to be updated. I didn’t realize how I was prophesying to myself when I wrote it. (You can read the song lyrics and full bio here.)

These particular lines from my bio are poignant to me right now:

Her passion is to live wholeheartedly awake, holding space for simultaneous wrestling and trust….

…pressing in to uncover and respond to God’s tenderness in the midst of all that’s messy and unanswerable…

And that, right there, is where I find myself. In this weird tension between painful wrestling and profound trust. Searching out His heart in the messy and unanswerable.

Because if you asked me, I’d firmly, fiercely tell you that in the face of all my unanswerable questions and unresolved emotions–

I trust Him.

I do. Deeply.

And that He is absolutely, unshakably good.

And He is. Completely.

And I believe I can be ugly-honest about my crushed heart and my not understanding His ways right now, and simultaneously cling with all my broken pieces to the truth of His kindness. To the tenderness of His heart toward me. To the remembrance of the ways He’s met me in past times of loss and grief. To what I know is His desire in this, which is to meet me intimately in the pain of this crumbling.

I believe I can be raw and honest before Him {and before you}, while holding fast to trust. While choosing to worship in the midst of the loss.

Because even when circumstances seem to scream otherwise, God’s not cruel.

He is kind, and He works all things for my ultimate good, and I am not saying this lightly, as a pat, bandaid answer to cover over my hurt and make it acceptable, or to make myself or anyone else comfortable.

I’m saying it because through all my losses, all the times my soul has been torn, He has proven Himself faithful.

Woven throughout my story is His hand of kindness.

And this chapter is no exception. He will show Himself to me in this, and I will emerge knowing Him more deeply. And I can be raw and broken and bleeding inside, and tenaciously hope in the goodness of His heart toward me.

So I do.

And this post is edging on 1,400 words, so I’ll simply thank you in advance for grace and gentleness in your receiving of my words, of my raw heart.

Thanks for being present with me here. It means so, so much.

{An offering to Lisha and Kelli and their communities.}

Posted in adoption, Encountering God in the Messy, Family Moments, Give Me Grace, Grief and Loss, Learning Authenticity, misc. walking with Jesus, Uncategorized | 28 Comments

Belong: In Which I Beat For Eternity



Life moves in this surreal, slow motion dance these days, as I pack boxes and wipe surfaces and faces and take load after load to Goodwill.

Tonight I watch the sky as I drive to meet a dear, long-time friend for one last coffee date before we move. Rays of sun pierce clouds and I think of how Heaven is my witness to this season. How my Father is the One who’s intimately acquainted with my heart, sees every emotion and deeply knows them all, even the ones I can’t put words to in this season.

And oh, there are so many of those.

My friend and I chat over a Starbucks table, then we pick up and drive down the street to a local park where we walk laps around the lake. We talk church life and parenting and our hearts relative to it all. She’s known me forever, this friend. Like 12 years worth of forever. Been witness to all my emerging and becoming.


Yet I drive home aching. Lonely, and this void isn’t one that this friend or any other could fill, though for a few minutes I let my mind wander to Colorado, wondering if when we’re there I’ll feel a deeper sense of belonging than I do here.

I pull into the driveway, breathe in the 10:30 pm Kansas City humidity, look up through the haze at the nearly full moon and I’m reminded that this longing for a place my heart can nestle down into, spread out, call home? It’s a Divine gift. It’s an echo carved into my soul and it’ll never be totally filled. Not on this side of Heaven, anyway.




I beat for it, ache for it, pound for it, cry for it…

Belong to it.

His eternal, invisible, all-sufficient heart that is my home.


Linking up with Lisa-Jo and the 5 Minute Friday crew because this word just drew me in tonight… and because I love writing in community with these precious ladies.


Posted in Five Minute Friday | 20 Comments

In Which Change Happens Fast and Emotions Are Mixed and Swirling


I’ve escaped to Starbucks with my husband’s blessing for a quick evening alone. Left the to-do lists and boxes at home because holy cow, I am desperate for some room for my soul to breathe.

Because– did I mention we’re MOVING?!

Y’all, we finally got our offer. It’s a cash offer and we’re under contract and so far, things are going smoothly. Hopefully “smooth” will still be my descriptor after our inspection this Friday.

Last Tuesday evening, a week ago tonight, we had a showing. Stan had a *feeling,* said he was all excited and peaceful and he just knew this was the one. My response, I think, was something like, “Oh babe, I wanna believe you but I’m afraid to…”

But deep in my gut, I had a feeling too.


We went to Costco during the showing, y’all. The place we went during the 2 showings that ended up being no-shows. The joke became, “Don’t go to Costco during a showing – they won’t show!”

Guess the Lord redeemed Costco for us.

So we sat there in the Costco food court that evening with a cartful of bulk groceries and plates full of pizza, and in between putting bites of food in small mouths, we whispered the same ol’ prayers: Lord, please let ‘em show. Please give our home favor. Please let this be the one. And please, PLEASE help us trust you no matter what.


The next morning I took the kids to the zoo and tried not to think about how intensely I longed for the “we have an offer” phone call. Got a call from our realtor friend to let me know they’d asked for comps. This was a good sign.

Checked out giant tortoises with the kids and rode the carousel, then drove home and tucked them in for naps.

The clock ticked… ticked… ticked…

And the call came. “We have an offer.”

It was a little on the low side, so we countered, and the buyer accepted our counter.

That’s the story in a nutshell and the hand of God over this whole thing has been so, so apparent.

So we’ve spent the last week making phone calls and getting our arms around our Kansas City friends and purging our home of everything we don’t absolutely have to take with us. Downsizing from 6 bedrooms to 2 is no small task.

We found an apartment complex in Littleton we’re excited about and are in the process of getting locked into a one year lease there. After that, we’ll see. The adventure continues, I guess.

As things stand now, the plan is that we ship out August 2nd – 3 & 1/2 weeks from now.

And you’d think, with all we have to do between now and then, I’d be at home packing boxes tonight.

But the last week has been an absolute blur of busyness and mixed emotions. We’ve spent sweet time with Stan’s cousin and his family who’ve become dear to our family over the years we’ve lived in KC. We’ve shared our news with our church family, and I helped lead our church fam in worship for the last time this past Sunday. {Speaking of emotions.}


And tonight, my heart just needs to breathe. And to tell you that oh man, this is happening fast. And now that things are in motion, I feel even more peaceful about our move than I did before. A deep settledness and joy about where we’re going and who we’re going to be with. I also feel more grief over leaving Kansas City than I expected to feel. My heart is tearing and I’m taking this as confirmation that I’ve lived and loved wide open in this place.

So the peace, excitement, and pain swirl around in my heart, this mixture that compels me to lean into His heart in gratitude and utter dependence in the midst of the external flurry of activity.


And the cocoon? I’m not sure what’s happening cocoon-wise right now, but I do know that this right here is not a short-ish season like I’d originally expected, but a longterm lifestyle God’s asking us to intentionally step into.

And I long to say yes to Him in this new season. Because maybe it’s less black and white than I thought. Maybe it’s more learning to carry the hammock and the cocoon in my heart and let all my emerging come *out of* that place of intentional rest and selectiveness about what activities we say yes to.


I’m clicking publish tonight with very little editing, and thanking you for grace as you read my jumbled heart tonight.

Also? Thank you for your prayers. For the way you’ve loved and prayed us through this waiting season. Your continued prayers for our family as we transition to Colorado are more appreciated than I can say.


So much gratitude.

And so much love to you, dear friends.

Posted in Encountering God in the Beautiful, Encountering God in the Messy, misc. walking with Jesus, Uncategorized | 14 Comments

Unedited Thoughts on Our Life in Limbo


Our neighbors gradually clutter [read: trash] their front porch.

But when the mess spills over into their yard and driveway, the chaos begins to advance much more quickly.

Torn apart box springs and smashed TV’s and an old fish aquarium litter the premises and the slightly disillusioned piece of me honestly can’t help but wonder — are they trying to sabotage the sale of our house? Because a vacant property on one side of us, and a house and yard that look like theirs do on the other side, are not exactly screaming “This is the house you want to buy, peeps!”

They wake our son up at 5:30 this morning, standing on their front porch yelling because someone locked someone else out of the house.

During my kids’ naps, they pull their car up their driveway, just several feet from the north wall of our house, and blast rap music at full volume. And yell/rap along with it.

Thanks, guys.

Keepin’ it real here: I am not thrilled. Also keepin’ it real? The way they don’t give a rip about the state of their home or their neighbors is discouraging. Angers me, even.

But I guess we want whoever buys this house to know what they’re getting into.

Sigh. Unedited thoughts here for y’all tonight.


How do you continue to love well when you’ve bent over backwards to serve and bless and the moment you don’t do what they want, they’re angry at you? How do you demonstrate the Gospel when their very lifestyle violates yours? When their entitled mindset and life-orientation threaten to swallow you whole?

Y’all, I wish the picture I was painting was of a beautifully budding, Gospel-centered friendship with our neighbors, despite our countless differences. I wish I was writing a story of lives being transformed. Of Jesus revealing Himself, capturing hearts, setting people free.

But that’s not the tale I’m telling tonight, and it’s hard sometimes not to feel like we’re failing here. We’ve tried to love and we’ve prayed and we’ve spoken life, and actually….


What if the difference God’s wanting to make is more in us right now than in them?

Don’t get me wrong — I do believe He wants to make Himself known at a transformative level in their lives.

But what if, right now, all this is so much more about us learning to cultivate internal peace, nestling right up close to His heart, feeling its holy rhythm and living to its beat in this place? What if it’s about not letting that rhythm be drowned out or thrown off kilter by the chaos around us?

Yeah… what if that?


Our friend Sarah arrives at our house at 8:25 this morning, takes over kid-loving duties so I can find a few hours’ worth of fresh air for my heart. I kiss my littles goodbye and take off driving.

Heavy inner city atmosphere gives way to open highway, which gives way to the ‘burbs, and I’d be lying if I said suburbs don’t feel like a slice of heaven to me in this season.

A mere twenty minute drive, and the contrast is stark.


I pull up to my dear friend’s house. Diane’s kids are grown and flown, and in her spare time, she loves on women my age, and has cultivated the most beautiful oasis of calm.

I enter to hugs and offers of still-warm scones and fresh fruit and yogurt. She prepares it all for me despite my “Oh, you don’t have to do that…” Asks me to please let her serve me.

I almost don’t know what to do with myself, but I know I need to receive, so I do. Even though it makes me squirm a little inside to be so thoroughly, extravagantly cared for.

She pulls a hammock out of a plastic bin in the corner of the backyard, sets it up next to the flower garden. I haven’t told her that hammocks are one of God’s and my secret love languages.


So I scrawl my heart nearly illegibly in my journal, munch my fruit and my scone, and lay quiet a while in the back yard, listening to waterfall and birds and wind chimes.

The sun climbs higher, and I move inside after 45 minutes or so. I play her piano and let the mingled notes flow free, a mixture of deep-heart-longing, and intercession for my sweet friend. Father, bathe this atmosphere even more in your peace. Your nearness.


Diane sends me home after a few hours with fresh flowers from her yard, and upon entering through my back door, I’m greeted with kisses from my favorite little people — followed a little later by angry text messages from our neighbor, the contents of which are best left to the imagination. I try to respond with honesty and a gracious heart, which only draws more anger so I let the conversation drop.

I do take note, though, of how little I’m rocked by her disapproval, and I pray silent prayers of thanks, along with requests for help, as I blow bubbles and fly around on the trampoline with my boy at dusk.

And maybe our house will take months yet to sell, and maybe God’s plan isn’t to airlift us out of the chaos and frustration of our geographical location any time soon. Maybe there’s more forming of Himself in our deep places that He wants to accomplish here.

But I know His heart for me is rest… rest… rest, child. And if I can hold a hammock in my heart, nestle deep into this cocoon of internal rest for as long as we’re here– I’m gonna be okay.

And we’re gonna make it through this season. We are. Because His grace is sufficient for this moment, and for the next, and the next.

And His power’s gonna be made perfect somehow, in all these places where we’re running up against brick walls and we straight up don’t know what to do.

And if we emerge into our next season knowing Him more deeply, rooted in Him more deeply, all this ridiculous limbo will have been so much more than worth it.



Sharing this post with my sweet friends Lisha and Kelli and their communities.

Posted in Encountering God in the Messy, Encountering God in the Mundane, Give Me Grace, Ministry, misc. walking with Jesus, Uncategorized | 36 Comments

The Best Way {for me} to Really Love


Our friends who are a full life season ahead of us, they sit on our couch the other night and graciously receive Stan’s and my poured out hearts.

We talk of busyness, and how being surrounded by so much good often robs us of time for the best. How we long to live an intentional life and what are our personal values, really? And what could we be doing less of so we can do more of the stuff that’s deeply important to us? What are we doing out of obligation, and where do our hearts truly find life? Find Him?

Our friends sit silent, listening to our unchecked dumping of all the things we find draining in this season, our questions of why can everyone else pull all of this stuff off, and in this season, we. just. CAN’T?!

We feel weak, inadequate, even exhausted — more emotionally and spiritually than physically — and we’re frustrated by our limits.

They absorb our thoughts, ask insightful questions, look deep into our lives and consider who we are. And then she speaks, this woman who, in all her real *seeing* and drawing out of my heart, has become a haven in recent years: “You know how a caterpillar is busy, busy, busy — does all this work — and then disappears into a cocoon for a time before it emerges as a butterfly in its new season?”

I already know where she’s going with this and my head is nodding, nodding.

“I feel like the Lord is wanting you all to cocoon for this season, while you’re waiting to emerge into the next season in Colorado. He’s wanting you to pull back significantly, and you’re resisting the cocoon, which is why everything you’ve been able to do in the past feels so draining and difficult now.”


I tear up a little as she speaks, and all I can say is, “that’s the Lord. That’s the Lord.” I say it over and over, and the weight of God’s desire for us in this season sinks in deeper, deeper.

So yesterday after church, we pull aside with our friends who lead our house church, let them know we need to take a break, to pull back, to rest. They are gracious and understanding, and already it feels like a weight has lifted off our shoulders.

But while I had inklings, I don’t think I fully understood the depth of my heart’s need to hibernate until just today, when this blog post from Esther Emery hit my inbox.

Esther lives in a yurt in the Colorado mountains with her husband and young children, and today she writes about the differences between her family’s off-the-grid yurt life, and the temporary life they’ve recently lived in an apartment in the city.

She writes:

“I’m going home in a week or so. I’m going home to my healthy place, which is a yurt in the woods, with no electricity. I wish for you, with all my heart, that you would find your way home, too.

“My home is completely isolated, but for the hummingbirds. I know that this is not the way for everyone. Maybe it won’t always be the way for me. But as long as it is, I need to go.”

Tears burn the backs of my eyes yet again as I read Esther’s words today, because while her family’s outworking of their values is radically different than ours, we as a family are looking to find our “healthy place” in this season.

Don’t get me wrong – we fiercely love people and thrive on deeply connecting with those in our lives. But if we’re going to love well, we’re learning that we need that connection to flow *out of* our solitude with the Lord. If we’re scrambling to love and serve, but struggling to make enough space in our lives together for stillness and togetherness, art and heart, we’ve got it backwards and we will be exhausted. Drained dry.


[Also, just to be clear, while yurt living is incredible and fascinating, I'm pretty sure we like electricity too much to ever do more in the wilderness than tent-camp for a few days.]

We don’t know yet what else this season will hold for us. How much more we’ll need to withdraw from activities we believe in and people we dearly love in order to embrace the stillness and hiddenness God is drawing us into. I’ve struggled with fear and guilt over disappointing those who’re dear to us.  My people-pleasing and people-loving tendencies (both the unhealthy and the healthy ones) are kicking and screaming even while my deepest, truest heart is crying for rest and silence and space to breathe.

So for now, please pardon us if you don’t see our faces as much. Because we’re learning that the best way to love those around us is to be the most grounded, authentic, resourced-by-God version of ourselves. And while our “healthy place” might look different in another season, for now, being healthy and obedient and loving people well – require that we create time and space to press into one another, press into quiet, and press into His heart in the stillness.

So… we will be learning to do life slow, and letting all our loving and engaging of others come out of this new pace.

**What does your “healthy place” look like? What are the good things that tend to rob you of the space in your life to pursue what’s deeply important to you? The space to become the truest, most grounded version of yourself as you find rest in Him?**

PS. Sharing this post with Kelli’s community, Unforced Rhythms… and the coolness of the heart behind that name, and its correlation with this season of my life, is so not lost on me.

Posted in Community, Freedom From Perfectionism, misc. walking with Jesus, Uncategorized | 21 Comments

Surrender to Freedom {Five Minute Friday: Release}


Let there be release for the bound up places. The places where fear has gripped tight and squeezed tighter.

Let there be release for the hidden places. The places insecurity has kept us from letting our truest selves see the light of day.

Let there be release for the invisible. For what’s inside us that’s been invalidated and rejected till it’s just shrunk and disappeared.

Let there be release for the heart that’s caged by the voices, the lies that’ve deemed it worthless and insignificant and commanded it to shut down… and shut up.

Let there be release. And let there be courage to fly free once the cage is opened, because, friend? The world desperately needs you to be fully, wildly, authentically, bravely who you were made to be.

Release is here, and His name is Jesus. So grab hold, brave heart. Say yes. Surrender to freedom. Because there’s no greater way to glorify the One who purchased it for you.

{Sharing this quick outpouring with the precious hearts of the Five Minute Friday community. You’re invited to join us here.}

Posted in Confidence in God, Five Minute Friday, Freedom From Perfectionism, One Word | 19 Comments