My Children, My Inheritance

      Recently my son was whining, “I just want more space.” I know it’s important to him, and as someone who shares a 10x8 bedroom with a baby’s crib, I get it. Not only that, but Cori has outgrown her infant car seat and we shoved a Britax in my small backseat, “THERE!” It clicked and stayed in place, proving that miracles happen. I would prefer another Radian, but we can't afford it right now. We have dreams, we have needs. Paul sighed the other day, “we just need our inheritance." Although our estate manager (faithful grandpa) is trying to get our due from the death of Paul’s parents, we still haven’t seen the fruition of it. It hit me when my husband said that and I watched our children playing on the floor together, they are the inheritance.

The truth is, when I had my children I had no idea what I was getting into. I thought I would enjoy putting puzzles together all day, coloring bunnies and sheep with my kids on my lap, and organizing markers and crayons in cutesy Pinterest inspired mason jars. I thought a lot of things. To my surprise, parenting totally shell shocked me. I was left wondering “who am I?” after laying my life down day after day. Then, there were the days I would stand up and say “no, they don’t get all of me!” I sat at the computer and let them watch TV for hours, then put myself to sleep that night convicted to my core that my children deserve more. Again, I’d start over- die, die, die some more. I just read a quote, “Only when we die do we become fully alive,” and in many ways that has been the truth. I am happiest laying my life down. I go to sleep with a smile on my face when at bedtime, I sit with my kids on the floor reading books and telling them Bible stories. I feel at my best when we’re home schooling quietly around the table. The battle getting my butt to the table with them, or pushing through my own exhaustion to read them one single bedtime story is equivalent to the front lines in my own life. When I march there, often not fearless or resolute, just willing- I find my greatest breakthroughs.

They are my inheritance. Their visions of Jesus, answered prayers, obvious miracles, and happy glowing hearts against the backdrop of a hurting, dark world. They are my inheritance. God always meets their needs. God cares for them. I watch Him guard their sleep. He tells them secrets they pass on to me, “Mommy, you’re doing a good job, God says.” They dream and scheme about their future and I tell them they can do anything God puts in their hearts. Their lives are like rich and fertile soil, not just able to grow, but eager. As I sow seeds into their mighty destiny, one day I will stand before God and share in their works.  That is absolutely beautiful to me. It is the first thing I think of when I wake up, and often the thing I lament upon as I fall into sleep. They are my inheritance. To be eternity minded is not to invest in yourself, but in the next generation.

It is so strange to me, I tell myself, “I went to school to teach high school students!” I love teenagers. Instead, most days I am cleaning poops, wiping snot, washing the 10th load of laundry for the week, and interpreting toddler jargon, that after processing the words over and over in my head, it turns out they are just telling me how they thought their poop smelled. Seriously. I start pouring myself out to God, “This is my calling? This is destroying my mind!” In many ways, it is. But, I am learning to love. I am learning to pour myself out, and fill myself up, and pour myself out again. That is a skill some never learn. I am learning to control myself, to manage my time well [sometimes], and the illustrious patience. Who I am, who I am becoming is because of all they put me through. The chaos I find peace amidst, the explosive poop I clean with ease, the conflict I handle effortlessly, the water I drink without a second thought, full of floaties from sharing. I am a very dead, fully alive woman. That is my inheritance, and I have my children to thank.

We live in such a success charged culture, it says that children will inhibit our efforts. They will destroy our future. Some think if life miraculously slips through the cracks of prevention, they should just suck the seed out. My opinion is, we’re not afraid of life, just death. In preventing our own, we allow another. And parenting will kill anyone. Parenting done right, will take a willing person, a hardly moldable piece of pottery, and water it down until it is a sopping wet mess of mud. The sun will shine though, it’s inevitable with those sweet giggles and life size stories the little ones tell! All the while, the very hands of God will build the pottery up again. Into something that just stays on the wheel, and falls into His hold, willing to be shaped. The piece won’t dry, and it’s so much better that way. It’ll melt into constant change, and slowly become something new. Something sustainable. Something surrendered.

I thank God that He surprised me with a pregnancy 6 years ago. My life was never the same, in a sometimes tragic, but always beautiful way. I choose this path a thousand times over, and choose the vessel I have become, and am still yet to become. It is painful, if I’m honest, but it’s a quick fix to selfishness and I really needed that...and continue to need it.

My kids have eternal value. It’s because of who I become as a result of parenthood- glorious, heart wrenching, stinky, constant consuming, soul enrapturing parenthood. Then, who they will become because I surrendered to it all. I love you, “my little lambs,” you are my richest inheritance.

Keeping a Journal

   

     Yesterday I bought a new journal, and surprisingly, it was an emotional experience. This is a journal- I began thinking how invaluable the opportunity to write is.
My journal journey began when I was in middle school. I was found guilty of something around the house, and my mom decided I was ungrateful. I’m not sure if this was a trend in my life, or something my mom was especially sensitive to but I feel like this topic came up a lot- I was ungrateful. My punishment was to write down something I was grateful for every day for a week, and I started this project in a journal that someone had given me as a gift. It had Tweety Bird on it. Every day I would open the pages and record my gratitude. It continued beyond a week, then a month, and finally for a year I recorded nearly every day what I was grateful for in my life. One day- I don’t even remember what happened, but I snapped. My little girl’s heart was broken and I thought I would explode. I grabbed my journal from underneath my pillow and scribbled as fast as I could. For years I worked on this journal, and just as I neared the last page, on my 15th birthday a gift came from my step-dad’s mother- a new journal. I wrote it in almost every week, scribbling at the bottom of every emotional scribble, "I am grateful for..."- yes, that habit continued! I took it to camps, sleepovers, to church, and sometimes even to school. I recorded my thoughts and feelings, mostly about boys and being angry at my parents for not allowing my curfew to be midnight when I got my license.

On 8/11/2005, “I hate college. I am so alone. I know no one. I wish I could go home....”

On 9/27/2006, "I am so homesick...."

On 12/1/2006, "I am unhappy and alone....I miss home, pets and family....I hate exam week..."

On 5/8/2007, "I have set a record in length of time gone without writing, probably because of blogging....I got a dog for Christmas, and he is my pride and joy-I can't believe I haven't written about him yet....His name is Braxton and I would be no where without him!" [I just had to include that, it cracks me up I wrote that about my dog! Apparently he changed the course of college for me!]

On 7/28/2008, after a nine month break in writing I broke a trend, “Dear Journal, I was too embarrassed to tell you that I got pregnant and had a baby….but I did. I came back, not because I was ready to document pregnancy, but marriage. I have found the man I’m going to marry. The thing is, I’ve never met him…,” 

This journal spans almost 7 years. When Paul and I first got married, Valentines Day eve was upon us and I cried in bed. Paul snapped, “What is the big deal?” I wiped my eyes and sniffled, “I’m so afraid you won’t get me a gift for Valentine’s Day.” Paul was frustrated, “you’ll find out tomorrow, ok?” I cried some more, tired of coming last in relationships. I didn’t trust him, thanks to those who had gone before him. “Paul, I’m just afraid you don’t really love me.” He went into our top drawer and pulled out a red velvet journal and tossed it onto my lap, “Here! Happy Valentine’s Day!” in a annoyed, accusatory tone. He had no reason to be distrusted, and I still couldn’t believe what sat in my lap. A gift, and not only that, a gift that was deeply personal and meant something to me. I finished up my second journal- which had about 6 pages left in it, and just as soon as we arrived in California, I started up the journal Paul had given me as a gift. Here are excerpts, personal, but threads in the tapestry of  my soul-identity-life. I treasure every word.

8/15/09, “Fear is trying to take over my life, but I can’t let it…why am I so afraid?...I love Jesus.”

4/3/10, “Paul and I are having a little girl in May! I am so excited, I can’t wait to meet her! We are naming her Sonora-Grace...” 

5/30/2011, “Today I want to scream, ‘I don’t want to be married anymore!’ But what then? What about our kids? Where would I live? How would I get money to live? I know God hates divorce, so I will stay….but I’m just tired. It seems like all Paul and I do is spat….he hates his job, he is so unhappy..”

7/23/2011, “There is so much tension in the house. Paul and I are fighting like crazy, I wish I wasn’t here. I wish I was alone….I wonder what God is teaching me?” 

9/9/2011, “Paul and I finally had a breakthrough!! He lost his job, but it was more of a blessing than a loss....He needed a break, and I needed a break. He was so unhappy for so long….Paul and I are so much better now. I love being married…I see now that we just needed a break.” 

1/23/2012, “Paul and I have up and down days, mostly because the enemy is divisive. We tell each other, ‘If we are under attack, we need to stick together!’ but it’s the subtle things that get us down…We have been praying for another baby. I can’t wait! It is in God’s hands- the best place for everything and anything.” 

4/11/2012, “Paul and I have been arguing a lot lately- about food, about his car, and about how to discipline kids. I can feel the distance between us. I don’t know what to do?? It has just been hard. …Oh goodness, I just looked over at the last post, I am pregnant now! I am so happy, I love this baby! God is so faithful to me!”

5/22/2012, “Our life is so in the balance now, but Paul applied for BSSM in Redding and we may move soon. I love new things, and adventure- but didn’t we just say how much we liked our house? Paul likes his job. I love the pregnancy center. Are we crazy?….This just feels right. Where are we going to live? Will we make enough money to survive? AHH! I know if God calls us, He will provide…..Paul and I are doing good- I love him so much.” 

9/12/12, “I am not sure if I have heard the Lord speak to me in days nor have I tried. I keep thinking that Paul goes to school to be filled while I am daily poured out to children, pregnancy, and bedrest. I feel empty- glad to be here still….tomorrow Paul will come to a doctor’s appointment with me, and I am actually excited to have him to myself. He is gone so much, and when he is home, I have to share him with the kids. I am actually jealous of my kids, how bad is that? I feel pathetic.”

3/18/2013, “Paul’s parents were killed in a car accident. We are heartbroken and dealing with grief. I feel overwhelmed by life, to say the least. I am doing a crappy  job- not meal planning, or cleaning up. I am really tired. I am angry at myself. I am failing….Honestly, Paul and I are doing the best ever….Sozo has been wonderful, I have found so much freedom…”

11/24/2013, “There is a horse running free- its me. There are no fences around me. I am loved, known, and seen. God laughs…He tells me I am a warrior poet, like Paul. His love is extravagant…and I am safe.” 

1/6/2014, “I am overwhelmed- kids, chaos, activity, so little quiet time. My heart is in turmoil, I am searching for rest. I love Redding, my children, and God….The house is a disaster, the cupboards barely full and will last only a couple days. We have $50 in the bank account….my marriage is great, probably the best ever. I am certain Paul loves me- and I love him."

1/21/2014, “From Jesus: Summer, my beloved…”

1/27/2014, [as I wept, wondering if I would willingly die as a martyr for God- I was reading Jesus Freaks-don't judge me.]“From Father: Summer- REST, RECEIVE. You would not die for the false religion you walk in and submit, but if you knew Me as I was you would sacrifice-  I know you. I love you. Spend less time agonizing over the pursuit of trust and more time understanding my character and truth- I am eager to show you!...You are greatly loved, valued, cherished…you are precious.”

1/28/2014, On the last page of my journal, I jotted down "The Edge"

Yesterday, for the first time in my life, I picked out my own journal. It was agonizing. Seriously! Were the lines big enough for me to write? Were the pages thick enough not to bleed? Was it crafted for an adult? Was the design too childish? Finally, I settled on something with golden pages. My life is golden and glorious, and deserves to be recorded for my children- an ongoing tension of fear overcome by breakthrough, poverty met with a faithful supply of all of our needs, a marriage that would not give up, and a journey of knowing my beautiful Father in Heaven.

2/14/2014, “I am 26 years old, a mother to 3 wonderful-beautiful children. I am married, sometimes happily and other times willingly. Paul and I are in love...I love Redding, love living here….I love how I am growing, changing, learning to be loved by God...I am on a glorious journey of teaching myself I am enough. God loves me...."

Do it Anyway

 

 I have always been searching for my niche. I grew up riding horses and loved it, but always felt I had been birthed into it. I loved to ride and I did it well, but once I became a teenager I had this panic in me that I wasn't like everyone else. They could cheer, and play sports with balls, and I was a hopeless klutz. I tried out for nearly every sport, and was the reject multiple times. I had been a winner while riding, and here at school, I was the first place loser. I hated myself for it, and it affected many areas of my life. I became that annoying opponent who would quit a board game mid-way if I thought I would lose. I swear, my parents taught me about sportsmanship, but I never hung a red ribbon up in my room. I love to be good at what I do- call it perfectionism or "bad sport" or whatever you want, but I like to think of it as will power. I love doing hard stuff and trying new things, but failing follows me around for days, an evil accuser that assures me I will be laughed at if I try again.

      Paul asked me early in our marriage what I enjoyed doing and the only thing I could conjure was talking. Story telling, maybe?  He told me, "We have to got to find you something you like to do." Since then, I've tried sewing, cooking, playing guitar, piano, jogging, and crocheting. I managed to become a mediocre seamstress- sans the fact that I hate doing it, but for necessity's sake it has been good. Cooking is fun, but also part of my job description. Everything else caused me to melt into a hopeless puddle of despair. Nothing moved my heart.

      I met Beth Little a couple years ago. She is a fun, spunky lady whom I love. She also happens to be an incredibly talented artist, and one day she invited me out for the day and explained how she got her start. She just decided she wanted to paint once her kids were grown, took some lessons, and worked hard. I think anyone who knows Beth wants to be like her- myself included. I began to confess to her that art was on my list of a hobby to try. Of course, I knew nothing about painting. She told me, "you may not know anything, but the Holy Spirit does." Two months later, Paul and I were making a Christmas list and I muttered in a moment of reckless reserve, "I think I want painting supplies." I was beyond embarrassed because Paul's entire family is artistically gifted, I felt totally LAME for wanting to paint. I couldn't escape the desire though, and when I got my set for Christmas I stayed up late that very night talking to Jesus, and painting. It was an incredible experience, especially since God speaks to me with pictures. I was able to convey things that I felt in my heart. I never told anyone I liked to paint, except my husband. For me, painting was an experience and a doorway to prayer- not for show and definitely not commission. Not because I wouldn't like that, but because I have never been artistic. However, I began to learn about myself, I actually thrive when I am being creative.

     I painted 3-4 times a week. When Father's Day approached, I got this wild idea to gift one of my spiritual fathers with a painting. I was so humiliated that I thought so much of myself- this is how I perceived giving a painting of mine as a gift- that I would give away a painting. I thought anyone would be embarrassed to receive from me. I realized one day that it wasn't the painting that was the gift, it was the prayer, it was the effort, and finally it was my vulnerability to sacrifice my self-limiting beliefs for only a moment. I felt ridiculous, I felt stupid, but I had a vision and a word, so I painted it and reluctantly gave it away. From time to time, there were people very close to me that I would paint for but still felt like....hmm, I'm sure they think this is dumb, but I don't care. Sometimes "I don't care" can be a good thing.

      When we moved to Redding, I didn't paint for months. God brought a wonderful friend into my life named Sarah, and like most creative people I have grown to know and love, I wanted to know her more. She had various colorful canvases hung on the walls of her home, and I was intrigued right off. When she told me she had painted them all, we began a conversation on how both of us had family who were extremely gifted at art, and while neither of us had traditional technique, we both loved to paint prophetically and God honored our talent and showed up time and time again. The freedom that she had found to just paint with sponges or her hands, with no motive but enjoyment with Father God set me free to do the same. So many of my finished canvases were just stuffed in a paper bag underneath my bed. Sarah inspired me, her artwork moved my heart. Her and I met up outside the prayer chapel one night with canvases and paint, and sat with a sunset and a snow-capped Shasta as our background. People approached us and asked if we were artists, and I'll never forget the first time I answered, "Yes, I am actually." When passerby's asked me if I painted on stage at Bethel or at the Healing Rooms, I cracked up at the notion that my art could mean anything to anyone else. It was my secret, I loved it, and soon....piece my piece, I believed in myself enough to hang my favorite paintings on the wall of my living room. After I did it, I was embarrassed for myself. It helps to be childlike when you're surrounded by children, so I'm glad Jake came up to me when he did and said, "Oh Mommy, I love your art on our wall."

      Weeks after my breakthrough of hanging up art, a precious lady at Bethel started her own ministry. She had a heart to reach women in the community through events that provided free services and clothes to anyone who showed up. She posted in a facebook group I am a part of searching for prophetic artists to volunteer and no one spoke up. Every time I read it, God would remind me that I was a prophetic artist. I mostly painted in the quiet hours of evening after kids went to sleep, while snacking on tortilla chips and sipping on chamomile tea. Not with people who didn't know me, and certainly not for people. When no one volunteered, I called Sarah and wrangled her into the ministry with me. She agreed happily and within days I realized what I had done- I was going to paint for people- real live people that would find out I knew nothing about art.  Not only that, but I was going to be prophesying. I was so terrified I was shaking, I expected to fail. The enemy reminded me of all the people I knew who were real artists, and how they should be the ones there, not me. I had no confidence in myself whatsoever, I have to highlight that. I was embarrassed for myself that I had signed up for this.

The first girl I painted for, I prayed for first. God showed me a bouquet of flowers and I drew them the best I could. The girl started to cry, she had a tattoo of a lily on her back. She said, "I never thought about painting like that, you just let go and make whatever, huh?" It was a kind of backwards compliment because she was confirming that I sucked big time, but apparently it impressed her. Another painting, I made a mountain and a valley. The woman cried that she had lived in a valley her entire life and had no hope. So I wrote HOPE on top of the mountain and told her it would come for her. Sarah and I prophesied for over 40 women that day, painting an individual canvas for more than half of them. I could not even began to count the tears that I saw, and eventually coined the term, 'prophesy until they cry'- not to be cruel, but to know that God had wedged His way into their hearts. We quickly and willingly volunteered our time for the next event in another town, where we had the great privilege of prophesying over mostly children. A lot of parents drop unwanted kids off at our table because they assume it's a "painting station" or something. It's a wonderful opportunity to bless these children and paint for them too...even though they are way more specific and often ask for sheep and teddy bears- not my thing. I have left both of these events totally touched by God, and assured of His affection for all of His children individually.

I shared a testimony during Firestarters one Sunday of my risk, and Kevin Dedmon was so moved that he called me out and blessed my prophetic anointing to increase exponentially. He also asked me to record the testimony for his website, and after class I was recorded on camera. What had I done? I painted a picture for a sweet girl, told her what it meant, and saw her in one moment set free from bondage.

     I am hardly nervous when I arrive at these events now because I learned at the very first sitting with "flower girl," this isn't about me. I am simply yielded to the God of the universe who loves these women. I can assure you, He knows them. He sees them. In this place of complete surrender, God tells me the most specific words of knowledge, and often gives me a window into their very soul. It has been an incredible experience, and all I did was say yes. Yesterday, I had the opportunity to minister to abused women and children, and Sarah and I decided to do something different. We painted 12 canvases last night and wrote "words" on the back- and if you aren't into Charismatic Christianese, those are basically personal letters from God to people. That means there were approximately 12 miracles. The women walked over to the table where we laid our paintings out and each one had a painting that stood out to them, and for every single woman, the words they received were extremely accurate. One woman cried when she touched a canvas Sarah had painted, and had not even read the word attached to it. One woman told me her story, and I had painted a picture and written a message from God on the back that was word for word what she had told me. I went to grab it from the table for her, but it had been taken by another. I realized her teenage daughter had chosen it for herself; the painting was for their entire family. The woman was speechless, crying out, "God knows me." This entire scenario seriously made me laugh once I got home, because I still cannot believe that God uses my art.

Honestly, I am so proud of myself. This is huge in my life. I wanted to write this blog because our culture celebrates gold medals and success, they silently congratulate the silver medal, and do not bear mentioning the bronze. We value hard work and overcoming adversity-all good things. But what if we just cancel out competition from time to time and enjoy life? What if it isn't about how good we are, or the old adage "practice makes perfect"? What if God tells you to lay down what you're really good at, and pursue for a lifetime what brings defeat? (I won't even mention parenting little people right now, but that is what I am thinking of! )

I really feel like pursuing painting has been one of the most frightening, enlightening, and freeing experiences of my life. To be poor in spirit- recognizing a need for God, is the keys to the kingdom. When I paint and prophesy, I am never so aware of my need for Him as I am in that moment. Taking lessons from professionals, watching their every stroke, sipping coffee while I watch youtube videos on the craft all bothers me, then I feel fidgety and inept. I remember that I'm awful! Just sitting with Jesus, letting Him show me pictures, then painting them onto a canvas, there is nothing more calming in my life. In fact, it's when I am trying to do something that frustrates me. I am learning that sometimes God calls us to the things that we're least qualified to do. Our society says, find something that makes you happy and make money with it- that's the secret to life. What if the thing that makes you happy is a place void of talent?

    I am going to say it- do it anyway. Who cares? You don't have to make a living from it, but it can still bring life to you. Paint because you like to paint. Take pictures because you like to take pictures. Sing because you like to sing. Play the guitar using the only two notes you know, then write a song. Do it for yourself. Do it for God, who probably put the longing in your heart in the first place. Do it because you deserve to be happy. You deserve to find out, like I have, that the things that are free to you are not worth near as much as the things you will have to pay a price for. When you figure it out, please post, I'd love to start a trend...a completely backwards cultural trend of taking those things in our heart- whatever they are, and celebrating them. At the end of the day, we're the only versions of ourselves that can do those things, and that's special in itself. Here's to doing hard stuff, no matter what.

Another post on Hard Stuff

Stability.

Today, I cried. No, I wept. I yelled at my husband and told him that my life as it was had to be his fault. Before I married him, my life was pretty predictable. I daydreamed of a grand adventure to come, and Paul promised it with no problem at all. Boy, has that come to pass! We have moved across the country, then multiple times in the county we finally resided in. Again, we felt God pulling us to Redding, and we gave away more than ¾ of our things, and eventually moved into a house with a couple we had met on the internet- we didn’t meet them until move in day. Halfway through our year, we packed our things again- what things we had left, and moved again. Paul is nearing his graduation day now (we moved here for school) and suddenly I have decided adventure isn’t for me. Three children later. Two states, and five house later I feel done.
Now my heart’s cry is stability. I’m looking at my husband like, “You accomplished adventure. Do you know how to do stability?” There is no doubting my approach is rough and accusatory, I am working on that. It just happened fast.
One day: Let’s be dandelions in the wind!
Next day: Please plant me somewhere.
On this crazy adventure we have been on, I have seen many, many miracles. Money has come anonymously, close to $5,000 over the last couple of years. Food, worth probably the same, has been left on our doorstep. We have been honored for our sacrifice to go anywhere, or do anything God has told us to do. God has shown up, and the other day I decided that I don’t like that lifestyle anymore.
If you haven’t had a miracle, it will change your life. The breakthrough will change your life when it comes, but the tension leading up to it will break you into a thousand tiny pieces. You will spend a lot of time on the rug in your bathroom- assuming you have a rug, sobbing into a handful of cheap toilet paper. You will gather an arm-full of your children onto your lap and tell them everything will be ok, and only barely believe it yourself. You will love your roommates sometimes, hate them sometimes, be surrounded by people only to feel incredibly vulnerable and lonely because in the midst of an adventure, you’ve grown all too aware that nothing lasts long in a cyclone. I feel like my life has been a cyclone, and I’ve ridden the wind with all my might and learned to love it. I prayed for it to get crazy sometimes. It taught me faith, trust, endurance. It filled my house with children I couldn’t afford without a house that resembled a shoe box. In that place, I learned to be grateful for how everything knit together…usually at the last possible second. The other day we had another miracle- MIRACLE. Not a “please give me money…” and a “here ya go” from a friend. We went from being deep in a hole, to back out on top. Usually I would dance or something, but on that day, I cried some more because it has felt like the grace for this season has slipped away.
Now, I am ready to own my own furniture- not rent a “fully furnished” house where I am paying to store my landlord’s ripped and scratched and stinky junk…of which half is being stored on the back patio for backs falling off chairs, and tables tipping sideways from screws come lose. I want my pots and pans back, where they are sitting in storage. I want my winter clothes, and my favorites boots, and all of the things I left behind for adventure. I want Paul’s parents things in my house…not packed away for a later season. I feel like God is preparing me for that season, and in waiting, I anticipate another great miracle- perhaps the greatest of all, we will find stability.
Why am I writing all this? To remind myself what this feels like. It hurts- the tension before a miracle, it’s like there is a groaning in my spirit. I look to Paul, “fix this!!!!” and he shrugs because there is nothing we can do. We have done this for so long and God has absolutely never failed. This time though, I’m not asking for a quick move, or the stirring of a new passion, or for money to buy bread- I want a completely new season. I want to settle down. I want to give my daughter a princess room, and my son a superhero getaway. I want to buy something new for my baby. I want to have another baby. I want to live in a house for 24 months.....wouldn't that be beautiful???  I want to see my husband happy at a job, because he’s an amazing man with an incredible anointing. I believe in him. I am writing this in response to the tension, to quiet the new stir- God is going to come through. I don’t want to forget how grateful I am for provision, for miracles upon miracles from a good Father. What sounds like a crazy season was God’s answer to our prayer- we wanted a wild life. We wanted a mighty testimony, and if you haven't heard it, flip through this blog a bit. For the better part of this journey, we have thrived. Now, I am dragging my feet through sludge, so this is my chisel in a stone….God is doing something so big in my life right now. I refuse to surrender to that bathroom rug, I am choosing to stand tall and believe He is going to do more than we can ask or imagine. Stability, here we come.