Apple Seeds and Deep Prejudices

In the Spring of 2016, I realized I am prejudice.

prejudice

noun prej·u·dice \ˈpre-jə-dəs\

: an irrational attitude of hostility directed against an individual, a group, a race, or their supposed characteristics

: an unfair feeling of dislike for a person or group because of race, sex, religion, etc.

: a feeling of like or dislike for someone or something especially when it is not reasonable or logical

All of these definitions fit my condition perfectly.

But my prejudices have nothing to do with skin color.

Home Sweet Home

While preparing a message to give at a ladies luncheon at small church in Southern Kentucky, I got stuck.

When I booked the event, I was told I could plan the theme. Immediately the word “refreshing” came to mind.

I wanted to get the audience brainstorming about their dreams and purpose in their life, to refresh their passion.

I decided to take the ladies through an exercise I had done myself a few years ago and wrote about in my book.

After pulling me out of the darkest pit of my life, God was teaching me how to dream again. He prompted me to make two lists: things I was passionate about, and things I was good at – natural talents and abilities I possessed. When I did this I began to see correlations. I began to see purpose. I started to get a clear picture of what God put me here on earth for.

With the two lists side-by-side, I saw how He had planted specific passions in my heart, and gave me the corresponding skill-sets to go after them. Refreshing, right?

But leading up to the event, I wondered if that exercise had only been refreshing to me. What if no one else found it as revelatory? I thought I knew the direction I wanted to take the day, but every time I sat down to type or research, I just felt….. blah.

In discussing ideas with the event coordinator (my mom), I asked her what she thought about it, if she thought a Purpose-Finding exercise would be interesting and applicable to the rest of the audience.

See, this wasn’t an audience of my peers; other thirty-somethings in the midst of a quarter-life crisis, trying to identify which path to take. This was going to be a room full of women who doubled my age; women who, many of them, had already lived full lives. Did they even want or need to be refreshed?!

But my mom’s response was encouraging to me. She said, “I think that’s a great idea. Because where I am now is, ‘Ok God, I’ve lived this whole life, and I’ve raised my children, and had careers, and I’ve had my own businesses, and I’ve already done all these things, but I’m still here.’ – And, I don’t know how much longer I have – it could be one more day or forty more years- but…. ‘Now What? [she giggled at her clever use of my book title] What am I supposed to do next? What am I still here for?’” And then she ended with, “I kind of feel I’ve outlived my usefulness, like I’m all used up.”

…I can’t express what it felt like to hear those heartbreaking words come out of my mom’s mouth. But I was hopeful because I had a solution, I had some insight for what to do in a “Now What?” moment like that.

And here’s what I know: if my mom felt that way, she wasn’t going to be the only woman in that room who did. So it was settled; I would walk through that exercise with them and plan my talk accordingly.

But nothing changed for me internally. I still felt so unmotivated.

Usually, once I get a clear inspiration for a talk, I can’t put it down and I absolutely cannot wait to deliver it! I get excited about the life change that God wants to bring with my words and joyfully overwhelmed at the honor that I get to be a part of it.

This was entirely not the case this time. I was utterly dreading this event.

The closer it got, the less excited I felt.

I made sure to check off every other thing on my daily to-do list and continued to put off finalizing the talk until it was the week of the event.

I sat down and reviewed the outline I had prepared and then contemplated scrapping the whole thing and starting from scratch.

I worried I had missed God’s leading altogether and was only focused on what I wanted to accomplish that day.

I sat my notes aside and picked up my prayer journal. I began to ask God if I had missed Him entirely. I told Him I was happy to throw out my talk and give the one He wanted.

But when I picked up my notes and read through again them I thought, this is really good stuff. So why am I still so drained and debilitated at the thought of giving this talk?

Within an hour of penning those words in my journal, I found myself on the phone with my high school cheerleading coach. It had been about three years since we last spoke.

While we talked I told her, “Hey, by the way, since the last time we were together, I wrote a book and I started speaking publicly.”

“WOW! Look at you!” She said, congratulating me and expressing her pride.

“Yes, it’s exciting…but it’s also a lot,” I replied, “Since I’m still working full time, it’s a lot on my plate and it’s overwhelming at times. BUT, the cool part is, I know it’s exactly what God is calling me to, and I know it is literally what I was created for.”

And I swear to you, her exact response to me was: “Isn’t that refreshing?”

She went on, “I don’t even know if that’s the right word, but I remember that point in my life, when I realized teaching was for me; that teaching is exactly what I’m supposed to be doing in life. Everything just clicked.”

I couldn’t even tell her how ironic her words were, but I was laughing.

Ok, I hear your confirmation, God, this is the talk I’m supposed to give. But YOU are going to have to give me the passion for it.

It’s Not About Me

Many times before a talk I start to feel nervous or uneasy as I prepare. I worry about delivering just the right message in just the right way. I get pretty worked up questioning if I’m qualified enough and if I have enough value to bring to the audience.

And every time, God reminds me that it’s not about me.

He has opened the door and given me this opportunity and as long as I get out of His way and let Him, He will show up and speak through me. It’s not about me, it’s about the audience and what He has in store for them.

As soon as I take my eyes off myself, my own insecurities, and focus on the audience, what they are going through and what they are going to get out of it – and remember that God is doing all the talking anyway – all of that uneasiness goes away.

With that in mind, I sat down with my prayer journal once more. It was the day before the talk.

I asked God to give me His eyes and His heart for these people. To show me what He sees when He looks at them, so I can feel what He feels and know the right words to give them.

I was immediately blindsided by a fierce conviction: I don’t believe in these people at all. (Insert big eyes emoji)

These are small-town church people living in small-town Kentucky, I thought, Even if God did have big dreams for them, would they even go after them?

It occurred to me I have always seen “these people” as a sub-class. Entirely unambitious. “Poor, dumb and happy.” Oblivious to the fact they are throwing their lives away by staying confined to small towns and small sanctuaries. I seethed with judgement against them for not dreaming bigger. Thinking bigger. For not wanting to “get out” and “move on” like I did. I believed they really couldn’t do anything of significance if they stayed where they were.

I was convicted. Oh no! I am prejudice!

Against small-town people.

And, against traditional “church” people.

In my book, Now What? A Story of Broken Dreams and the God Who Restores Them I recount the months after my divorce when I was angry and bitter at God. I ran away from Him and from all things church and religion – I didn’t want anything to do with any of it. I had followed their rulebook and God’s gameplan and my life didn’t turn out like I had been promised.

Additionally, recollections of the shaming and shunning of people who had fallen short during my childhood church experience replayed in my head as I imagined I, too, was being judged and condemned by these people during the lowest point in my life.

A few years after my divorce, I found a safe place in the welcoming arms and atmosphere of a self-admitted “church for people who have given up on church but not on God.” And it was unlike any experience I ever had to that point. But, even after all the healing and restoration God has brought into my life, I was caught off guard by the fact I still assumed and thought the worst of the “traditional church people”.

I was absolutely prejudice against them.

I had an “irrational attitude of hostility directed against an individual, a group, a race, or their supposed characteristics” just like the dictionary described.

And I was wrong.

For both of these prejudices.

God immediately opened my eyes to see these people weren’t any different than anyone else He’s created.

We are all equally flawed. And most of all, equally loved by Him.

Of course He has a plan and a purpose for their lives.

Of course they could be effectively and impactfully used by Him.

Of course they could dream big dreams and do big things, even from their small towns.

Of course He believed in them.

And of course He expected me to believe in them too.

It wasn’t my talk that was off, it was me that was off! Ouch.

My heart was completely wrong toward these people.

And I had some serious repenting to do.

Apple Seeds

After my revelation (and repentance), I was on the phone with my speaking mentor, recounting the experience to him.

He quipped, “It’s good that you figured that out now. If you had gone in there tomorrow with the same attitude you had toward those people today, you would have felt it and they would have felt it and it would have not been effective.”

He went on to tell me a very wise reminder, one he said he has to constantly remind himself of over and over:

“When you walk into a room to speak to a group of 100 people,” he began, “How many people’s lives do you have the opportunity to impact that day? …..100, right? That math works. The answer is 100, right?”

“Right,” I agreed.

“But that’s the wrong answer.”

Jeff is the master of trick questions that make you feel like you’re brilliant in one instant and rubbish the next, but they get your wheels turning and the lessons stick long-after the conversation.

“When you walk into a room of 100 people,” He said, “The number of lives you have the opportunity and ability to impact that day is infinity. It’s limitless.”

Seemingly changing subjects he pondered an ancient riddle, “How many seeds are in an apple? 10, 12, 15? …But how many apples are in a seed? An unlimited number, right?

…Because an apple seed becomes a tree, which produces hundreds of apples each year, which all contain seeds, that all contain more trees.

…So it’s the same when you walk into that room of 100,” He asserted, “Because those people know people who aren’t in that room, and they know other people, and those people know other people and so on. And those people are going to have kids one day,” He paused, if only for a millisecond, “When you and I walk into a room to speak, we literally have the ability to impact generations of people who aren’t even born yet!

So just think about that for a minute…. If even just one of those 60 year-old, grey-haired, small-town Kentucky women grabs hold of a dream and a vision you share with them on Saturday – and does something with it – she could impact the lives of people who aren’t even born.”

After that phone call, I was electric! My belief in these women and their futures was raised exponentially!

And that’s exactly what I told them from stage that next day!

After pouring myself out for them that afternoon, there were several women who came up to me afterward and told me they really were leaving refreshed. So my mission was indeed successful.

But more than that, I planted some apple trees that day. And I am eager to see the bountiful harvest that comes out of small sanctuary in that small town in southern Kentucky.

Are You There God? It’s Me Rachel

“Tell them to go home and flourish in their planting, in the place where I have planted them, and if they do, they’ll change the world.” – Bobbie Houston

It was a sweltering Friday in July, but I was inside. I was sitting just outside of a hotel meeting room door anxiously waiting for my name to be called.

It was my first writer’s conference and I had scored one of the few, coveted appointment slots with a publisher; during which I would pitch my book in hopes they would offer me a contract.

I sat quietly, legs crossed at the ankles, my hands in my lap resting on top of the three ring binder that held the hole-punched pages of my lifelong dream.

Months leading up to this pinnacle moment, God and I had gone round and round in conversation about whether or not I would self-publish or traditionally publish my manuscript. I was fine with either, of course, I just needed to know which route to take. After all, this was His project and I was just along for the ride.

Once I secured one of the publisher appointments, I thought that was God’s unquestionable confirmation that I was going to traditionally publish. He had opened the door and was making a way.

I started to gather my things when I heard my name but then came another voice, “Rachel? …From Cincinnati?”

I answered yes.

A petite, middle-aged brunette from Oklahoma stood beside me, with an expectant smile and a fire in her eyes, “I need to talk to you,” she said, “I’ve been looking for you all day. I knew I was going to run into you! Let’s talk after your appointment.”

I went into my appointment puzzled and intrigued, trying to figure out how this person could know about me. I concluded that she must have seen me speak somewhere and put two and two together.

But any thoughts about the interaction quickly left my mind as I sat down across the table from this bearer of life-changing conversation.

The publishing agent and I exchanged formalities and cards. I talked, she asked questions, I talked some more. I was prepared to hand her copies of my book proposal and one-pager like I had been instructed to do (and spent days of hours preparing).

And then she proceeded to tell me that there was no need, they would not be moving forward in publishing my book, because….well, I didn’t need them.

“Everything we would do for you, you have already done and invested in for yourself,” She said, “You have the gumption to go out and do all these things and make it happen. Most authors don’t. And that’s where we come into play. So, you don’t need us.”

While that certainly wasn’t what I was expecting to hear, it was oddly flattering. But I left the room more confused than ever, God, why would you set up this appointment for me if this wasn’t how you were planning to get my book into the world?

I was about to find out exactly why.

Upon reentering the corridor, my new friend was waiting for me. We found a quiet corner to chat and she proceeded to blow my mind with the crazy goodness of God.

The night before she had gone into the prayer room that the conference staff had set up and found a piece of paper rolled up with a prayer written by, “Rachel in Cincinnati.”

I also visited the prayer room that day. I had just walked out of a pre-conference session on marketing and my head was swimming thinking about branding and logos and taglines and email lists (UGH! Email lists!! I can’t stand being on them, the last thing I wanted to do was start one!). I darted straight into that quiet, candle-lit space and spent my time on the floor, bawling my eyes out, talking to God about all the things that were overwhelming me.

I was trying to get my book out, but being told I needed to be growing a speaking platform to be successful. I felt like I had too much on my plate already and here He was, trying to add more. I felt like I didn’t have time for everything, or anything. I felt like I was already neglecting Barry enough. In short, I hadn’t even started on the path He was calling me to and I already felt overwhelmed just looking at it!

As per the instructions, I left my prayer scroll in a basket from which the conference staff, or other attendees, could find and pray over/in agreement with.

Turns out, Gwen, this lady preacher from the Great Plains I was sitting across from, was the person who picked up my prayer. And as she was reading, God spoke to her very clearly about me; He told her something He wanted me to know. So she was confident He would arrange that the two of us would somehow run into each other. In this group of 800 women. In the next 48 hours before the conference ended.

As if the odds of that weren’t fantastic enough?!

She explained how she had come to the conference out of obedience to a prompting, and while she was enjoying it well enough, she felt like it wasn’t really for her. Once she read my prayer, she knew she was specifically there in North Carolina on a mission from God, for me.

…how do you respond to that other than weeping?

Understand, I was just coming out of a very long season wherein I felt God had been silent. (I blogged about it several times) I was just learning to hear from Him by reading His Word, but not audibly, or directly or as clearly as I used to. My unspoken attitude in my prayers had become, “Are you there God? It’s me Rachel.”

But this day, His voice was unmistakable; Here is what God said to me (through her):

“…You don’t have to work or stress or strain or worry about any of these things. I will open the doors for you. I will put you in the places I want you to speak. I will take care of everything else. Just go back to the last thing I told you to do.”

So she asked me, “What was the last thing God told you to do?”

“Tell my story. Write it down.”

“Then you get your book out. God will handle the rest. God will continue to bring people and resources you need to get it done, to get it out, like He already has been doing.

And don’t feel any guilt for walking away from, saying ‘no’ to, or ignoring all those other things you’re being told you ‘need’ to do.”

I honestly don’t remember if she also said the rest of this stuff I have written down, or if God just continued the conversation with me once I got alone by myself and my prayer journal:

“God will make all the connections you need and get you in all the doors you need without having to force anything.

Rest in His sweet reassurance of that.

Rest in His Power.

It’s His project. It’s His idea.”

And boy did He ever deliver on those promises!

God was the most incredible Chief Marketing Officer I could have ever hired to launch a book, and He is still putting in hours today.

It’s utterly absurd that I’ve been on radio and TV – an unknown, first-time author from small-town Kentucky?! Are you kidding me?

ONLY GOD could have opened those doors to me, only God can give me the favor of the decision makers and influencers in media outlets.

ONLY GOD could have arranged for industry experts to offer to help me with designs and websites and logos – FOR FREE.

ONLY GOD could have sent a little woman 1,200 miles to a room at a conference to pick up a scroll and obediently relay the Words He gave her for a complete stranger.

There are so many other small nuances and serendipities that He orchestrated in that season. It was marvelous and exhilarating to be a part of!

And it all happened one obedient step at a time. I just kept doing the next thing He was asking me to do, forgetting about the ten other things I might have to do in the future. And He took care of everything else.

The next time you wonder if He’s listening, if He cares, if He still works in real and tangible ways in our lives, on this earth today, remember this story and be encouraged. He is, He does. And He’s waiting to work in your life as soon as you ask!

This Sunday night, I’ll be telling ANOTHER story about a time I felt God was ignoring me for a whole year. I would love for you to join me as I stream LIVE in Facebook. Sunday, Aug 27th at 8pm. www.Facebook.com/RachelDawnWrites

The Year God Stopped Talking to Me

New year’s day 2016 I sat on my living room couch, face red-stained and eyes puffy from hours of crying, my voice half-strained from screaming – at God – in particularly colorful language at times.

Why?

Because it was New Year’s Day and as I sat down to reflect on the previous year and craft my plans and goals for the next, I realized 2015…..Well…..sucked.

Sure there were good things in 2015. In fact, on the outside it looked like a GREAT year:
We bought our first house.
Barry left his job where he was miserable and went into business with his Dad.
We took my my mom on an incredible trip to Hawaii for her 60th birthday.
I finished the last chapter of my book
Started a blog and author social media pages
Began my public speaking career…..

But behind the scenes:
The first two months in our new house Barry and I fought more than we had in the first five years of our relationship – combined.
Barry’s new arrangement with his dad happened a little prematurely than they planned and put a lot of pressure on both of them. Which caused Barry to be tense and irritable and led to us fighting more.
The second day of our incredible Hawaii trip, I got a call that my high school best friend overdosed on heroin and died and I spent most the trip bouncing back and forth between laughing and enjoying the present moment and crying after being blindsided by another memory of him.
I was told blogging and creating a social media following was necessary for building a platform for a book release. But once I started, they only added extra work and mental energy to my already overflowing plate. Which caused me to feel exhausted and (you guessed it) led to us fighting more.
My new speaking career was also happening earlier than I anticipated – it felt overwhelming and intimidating to me, like I was in over my head. I constantly questioned if I was ready or qualified for the task at hand, leaving me feeling insecure and vulnerable.

The fact that all of these things happened within a three month timespan caused so much stress, tension, and anxiety in my life – and my body- it literally almost broke my gallbladder.

I experienced excruciating pain that resulted getting 3-4 hours of sleep a night, for months. It was so bad I almost went to the emergency room on more than one occasion. I lived in fear of every meal I ate because I never knew what was going to hurt me and what wasn’t. For about a month, I ate nothing but rotisserie chicken and apples, since I knew those were two things that would not cause pain.

Sure, there were good things that came as a result of the bad things:
My alarming health challenge caused Barry and I to stop fighting. I had never felt his love as tangibly as I did in those months, as he cared for me, sat up with me, rubbed the soreness out of my back from being hunched over for hours, stayed up with me, and prayed for me.
He took over as the spiritual leader in our home, standing in the gap for me as I struggled with doubt, uncertainty and fear.
These things aroused a great respect and admiration in me for him, and caused me to fall more deeply in love with him than I ever had been.

Days leading up to New Year’s, I couldn’t stop reminding myself that the ONE thing I did want to get accomplished in 2015 – publishing my book – didn’t happen.

I literally had a single goal, a single dream, a single resolution for two-thousand-fifteen: to put my book on physical (and digital) bookshelves and into hands of people who so desperately need it.
And it. didn’t. happen.

I felt like a total failure. Like I had wasted an entire year of my life.

And, in the midst of aaaaallllll that, God was completely, and utterly, silent. He had been for months at that point.

For countless nights I sat up in hours of pain, I had been pleading with God to show Himself to me. To show me the purpose in any of this.

I had reasoned if the manifestation of my healing wasn’t happening physically immediately, then there must be something I was supposed to be learning in the meantime. Something God wanted to teach me in this place of waiting.

I began asking Him what that was and let Him know I was fully open and joyfully on-board with learning whatever the lesson. Honestly.

Awaiting a reply, I got: NOTHING.
Not a peep.
Nada.
Zilch.
Not a single word

And then, our basement flooded.

That’s when the crying started.

It was New Year’s Eve. As we sat at home, instead of out ringing in the new year with our friends, dismantling drywall and sucking water out with a carpet shampooer, the weight of everything just hit me. I reached my breaking point. And enough tears to fill our basement a second time came spilling out of me.

I began crying out to God again.

If you’re going to make me go through all of this, at least tell me what I’m supposed to be learning! What I’m supposed to be getting out of it!! I shouted at Him.

Still nothing.

I don’t deserve this! I am being so faithful. Do you not see me? Are you not paying attention? Look at me!! What more do you want from me?!

[I began to feel a little like the bi-polar David in Psalms: “I love you Lord, your eyes are always upon me, you have blessed me abundantly.” Very next verse, “God, why do you hate me? My enemies are about to destroy me, why aren’t you watching?!”]

More silence.

And that’s when I got angry.

By New Year’s day, I was yelling most of the same things – just use your imagination to insert expletives in the middle of every sentence. (I guess I had moved on to a little bit of Job at that point….)

Now, what would make this story really great is if this is the part where I tell you, “and then God’s voice boomed audibly into my living room and said, ‘Rachel, oh ye of little faith, I Am still right here.’”

But that’s not what happened.

In fact, I had to sit on this blog for several months because my prayers for a Word and an understanding remained unanswered.

This was the first time since becoming a Christian – really becoming a Christian, since God had pursued me and I met Him in a real and intimate way five years ago – that I wasn’t hearing from Him, that I couldn’t feel Him close to me.

I had relegated myself to the thought that I was just in spiritual dry/desert season and would have to wait it out. (You can read about the desert season here: http://racheldawnwrites.com/blog/deserts)

But Now…..The Rest of the Story

A couple months prior to my New Year’s Day meltdown, a friend reached out to me asking me if I could recommend any specific scripture to help her through a current rough season. I told her, “That’s not really the way my relationship with God works – I hear from Him in songs, and books about Him, or books about the Bible, or even from Him directly (in my mind).” I recommended some songs that really helped me when I was in the same place, and a couple books she could read. And went on about my day.

See, I had tried reading the Bible all the way through, more than once, without success. And anytime I was dealing with something specific, I tried flipping to the concordance to find verses that applied to my own situation, but I always turned up empty – the verses would feel disconnected from what I was going through, so I gave up on that.

Whenever I needed an answer about something, I picked up a Christian book on the topic or found a preacher teaching a message about it to get my answer.

In those weeks of silence while battling my gallbladder symptoms, I began reading a book a friend had recommended to me. It was a topical study Bible called, “The Complete Personalized Promise Bible for Women”. I planned on using it for reference to find healing scriptures to meditate on, but I started with page 1 of the introduction and I’m glad I did. It hooked me, and I started reading it as a daily devotional of sorts.

For each section/topic, there is a promise, a faith confession for that promise, then scriptures backing up the confession.

While studying there, I came across this verse in 2^nd Thessalonians: “So then, brothers, stand firm and hold on to the teachings passed on to you, whether by word of mouth OR BY LETTER.”

I started laughing as it occurred to me Paul was writing to the early church in Thessalonica; those people were getting their messages from God in written letters, via Paul.

And in that moment Paul’s letter was to me saying: “God has written a letter to you. Stand firm and hold on to the things He wrote down 2,000 years ago.”

The next day as I sat writing in my prayer journal, praising God for using that verse to speak to me, I started laughing again as another revelation came: The Bible is called “God’s Word” – literally God’s Words. The Words He spoke to the people He loved. He had already said plenty to me, and it was all written down and recorded, preserved in time, so I could revisit it anytime I wanted or needed.

I was humbled. How arrogant of me to expect Him to talk to me, when I want, in the manner I want?

All that time I was in the desert, He was talking to me right in those pages, but I wasn’t receiving it. I wasn’t even looking in the right place!

How many tears (and angry words), how much stress and heartache, would I have saved myself if I had only looked there earlier? How different could the year 2015 have been?

God – thanks for never leaving us, and never forsaking us. Thanks for loving us enough to send and leave Your Word for us. And thanks for your everlasting and unconditional grace that we can never ever use up, because we need it – big time.

You Make Me Brave

brave

Jonathan Robert Willis *Photographer snapped this shot at the ‪#‎Unpolished2015‬ conference the moment he was asking me about my book, and i was telling him and his team about how i’m in the editing process now and how editing is WAY harder and more work than writing the book ever was! and then we laughed about it.

what i love is that this expression captures so much of what 2015 was for me – that’s an overwhelmed laugh. it’s laughter lined with a layer of uncertainty because i actually had no idea what i was doing. being an author, publishing, speaking publicly…. i know it’s what I’m being called to, but it’s all new territory for me.

so 2015 was a year of DOing, MOVING forward, of OBEYing, and figuring it out as i went – even when I felt completely unqualified.

When my picture played in the slideshow during worship at the end of the conference, it was timed perfectly with these lyrics, “you make me brave. you make me brave”.
i think it was a sweet reminder from my Father that I don’t have to have it all figured out, or feel completely certain or confident, He will give me EVERYTHING I need, including bravery, for this task He has called me.

Speaking Life

This week a professional friend/acquaintance told me “you have one of the happiest marriages I’ve ever seen on Facebook.”

While I appreciate what he said, his comment in and of itself was a can of worms. I mean, we are all guilty of using our Social Media pages to portray the “highlight reel” of our lives – I certainly wasn’t posting a status update about the little squabble Barry and I had thirty minutes after that compliment!! But later that night I thought about what he said while I was taking a shower. Then I looked up and a reminder of why this is was literally right in front of me.

You want to know why my marriage is successful? Happy? Not perfect – but (a lot) more good days than bad?

Because these words cling to our shower wall and we read them every day, most days out loud.

blog marriage.jpg

We are programming our minds with these positive thoughts and attributes DAILY. Literally, speaking life into them. Speaking each of them into manifestation in our lives.

Do you notice how they are all action phrases? Deliberate choices.

So when one of us is moody or grouchy or tired or hungry and a quarrel begins, these are the words playing louder than any other track in my mind. And it’s a lot easier to “avoid foolish and ignorant disputes” and keep my mouth shut, when I remember I already told myself I would today.

Having a happy marriage has NOTHING to do with finding “the right one” or your “soul mate”. And happy marriages don’t just fall into place effortlessly. Having a good marriage is the result of conscious, daily effort. It’s work.

It’s choosing to let the snide comment go, and ignore the annoying habit. It’s choosing to put someone else before yourself. It’s choosing not to be offended, or hold grudges, or keep a record of every misdeed. It’s choosing to see your spouse in the best light, even when that’s not really what you see at the moment. It’s choosing to interpret what they said in a positive manner – not the manner that pisses you off – because honestly, that’s probably how they meant it. It’s choosing to avoid strife.

A successful marriage, like success in almost any area of life, is really nothing more than a series of small (sometimes large, but mostly small) daily decisions. But you must decide every day.

One of those decisions is choosing what you put/program in your mind about your spouse and about your marriage. This has been a great place to start for us. You can get your own shower cling here: http://clingtoyourconfession.com/clings

(If you’re not familiar with the concept and power of Positive Confession this probably all seems really weird to you, but diving into that subject is for another day and another post. You can start with these books if you’d like to research on your own: “Hung By the Tongue: What You Say is What You Get” & “What to Say When You Talk to Yourself”)

Weighted Words

The first time someone tells you they took notes on your talk, is a humbling and sobering moment. You realize you’re not just talking anymore.

I’ve always been a story-teller, but now my stories carry a weight and a purpose, and can change people’s lives.

They always have on a smaller scale. Words are seeds. Seeds we plant in our own mind and our own lives, as well as in the lives of those we encounter.

A few weeks ago my church played a music video for “Shake It Out” by Florence + The Machine that they remade. You should go watch it, but for those of you with limited time I’ll attempt to help you visualize: It starts with a scene of a little girl practicing her ballet for her father, she’s so proud to show him what she’s learned. He claps and nods in approval then the words, “you can do better” slip carelessly from his mouth. The words are written in smoke on the screen and travel to the little girl’s ears. Then manifest as a the word “perfectionism” being branded on her chest. Several other scenes of children with their fathers follow, and different words are tattooed on their small, impressionable bodies from the words spoken to them. Those labels become identities, which become demons with whom they battle through to their adult lives.

The video is powerful. It’s shaking. It leaves a lasting impression. It’s absolutely true.

And it’s not just children who are affected by words, we all are. You know that phrase, “sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me”? Yeah, that’s a lie. I’m sure it wouldn’t take you long at all to think about some hurtful words you received at some point in your life that still occasionally (or constantly) haunt you. Or even some positive words you heard that have driven you, or molded you.

Now I’m speaking words from a larger platform and more people are being impacted than just my friend on the phone or the person on the other side of the Starbucks table. Which is exactly what I wanted, what I know God is orchestrating, but the reminder struck me with such a sense of responsibility in that moment.

“To whom much is given, much is required.” -Luke 12:48

A select handful of close friends have read my book already on order to help me tweak it and to provide “advanced reviews/praise” for the release.

One of those friends recently told me that she took a lot of notes while reading my book. I giggled a little and told her, “I never thought about people taking notes from something I wrote. But I guess that makes sense because I take notes from books I read.”

It’s little milestones like these that keep me encouraged and moving forward on this journey.

The bigger my platform grows the more people my words will reach, and the bigger the responsibility I have to consider every word I let out.

No matter whether they come from my fingertips through the keys or out of my mouth, my resolution is that every word I produce: uplifts, encourages, inspires, provides hope, and comforts a hurting heart. I want people to receive a Breath of Fresh Air through me. To feel lighter, empowered, brave, comfortable and confident after I leave them. I want to lift the weight of shame, guilt, doubt, uncertainty and depression off their shoulders in the time I have with them.

That’s a lot. A big responsibility. It could be a lot of pressure. But I know I cannot do any of this in and of myself. It doesn’t come from me anyway. I’m only a grateful conduit of this transfer of love, grace, hope and inspiration with my words.

My task now is to always keep in check where my words are originating, are they from my flesh or from my Spirit? I will not always have the right words to say, but I don’t have to.

“Then the LORD reached out and touched my mouth and said, “Look, I have put my words in your mouth!” – Jeremiah 1:9

“For it was I, the LORD your God, who rescued you from the land of Egypt. Open your mouth wide, and I will fill it with good things.” – Psalm 81:10

#56

Skydiving is was on my bucket list. It’s number 56, in fact. I kind of had it penciled in for this Summer, and then my best friend turned 40 and decided that’s what he wanted to do to celebrate. BINGO!

Weeks leading up to the event I was pure bottled excitement and eager anticipation.

My husband had a scheduling conflict arise so that he was not able to join us, and I remember having a strange little flutter of uneasiness. Am I going to be able to do this without him? Won’t I need him there? Then I reminded myself, I lived a pretty routine life for 25 years before I met him, eight of which included my best friend who I was going to be with, so I would be just fine.

As the day drew closer, I started to feel my excitement turn slightly to nervousness and the night before, I was progressively overcome by sheer, paralyzing terror.

I took a long shower to try and relax my nerves, but sitting on the floor in the steam the words of the mandatory safety waiver video played through my head on a haunting loop, “Skydiving is dangerous and can cause serious injury, or even DEATH. Nothing about skydiving is guaranteed. No parachute manufacturer is perfect, no parachute packer is perfect, no skydiving company is perfect, no instructor is perfect. Equipment can fail. Instructors can fail. Weather can cause unsafe conditions. Strong winds can cause a parachute to collapse….”

And then this thought went through my mind: Was I going to die the next day? Followed by: What if I did? How badly would my husband be crushed? Would he blame himself? How long would his life be derailed? Is this the last day I’m going to spend with him?

I got out of the shower and the words continued to avalanche. I distinctly remember as I smeared lotion on my legs thinking, what if something worse happens – like we crash and I am paralyzed? I just met a quadriplegic who’s walking her faith journey out with God, and feels closer to God now than she ever has. What if God allows that same thing to happen to me? What if God tries to teach me something through an injury? I like my legs. I like being able to use them. Is this the last time I’m going to be able to move them freely myself?

A movie reel played in my head as it zoomed out on this moment: a bird’s eye view of me lotioning my legs was the foreshadowing of what I didn’t know was coming the next day. It’s actually beautifully cinematic, I darkly narrated to myself. Should I just not go through with it to avoid even the possibility of disaster?

I should pray. But, is this something I am even allowed to pray about? Or am I not allowed to ask for protection for voluntarily jumping out of a plane – literally putting my own life at risk? Am I tempting fate? Tempting the prowling lion looking for lives to devour? Was I moving outside that hedge of supernatural covering I’d so clearly seen and felt protecting me?

I thought about all the things I knew I was created to do that were still undone, and wondered if I was risking letting Satan steal them?

I was almost sick to my stomach with all the thoughts swarming in my head.

I was terrified to say anything out loud, or at least wise enough to know what not to let come out of my mouth. I didn’t want to give life to any of these fears – as statistically improbable or irrational as they were. The seed had been planted and my enemy – the biggest liar in history – was having a field day with it!

I was lying on the bed staring at the ceiling when my husband walked in the room. I’m sure by my deflated body-language alone he could tell I was troubled by something.

“What’s wrong?”

I hesitated to answer. “I think I’m a little bit nervous about tomorrow.”

“Yeah? Are you scared?”

“No, I don’t think I’m scared, I’m just nervous I think.”

“Well, if you don’t want to go, you don’t have to.”

A little defensively, “No, I want to go, I want to go skydiving. I’m going to go at some point in my life, so there’s no reason for it not to be tomorrow. I’m just nervous.”

And he said to me again, “I’m just saying, if you don’t want to go, you don’t have to, you can back out. And it’s ok.”

My eyes lingered on his, trying to communicate what I was feeling without saying the words. All that came out was, “I don’t think that’s what I need you to say to me right now.”

“Oh.” He said. “What do you need me to say to you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you want me to pray for you? Would that help?”

Knowing my friend, I said, “Well, I’m sure Keith will pray tomorrow before we all go up, but, yes, I think that would help.”

He grabbed my hand and began his prayer by thanking God for the day, and for our time together, for Keith and our friendship. He prayed over the rest of our plans for the weekend. For himself to get everything he needed out of the men’s retreat he was attending. He prayed that I would have fun the next day, that I would enjoy every moment and that I wouldn’t be nervous. And then, without a peep out of me, he literally started naming every single specific aspect of the jump the next day, eliminating each of those fears, one-by-one as if he was checking them off a list,

“And God, we ask that you watch over Rachel and Keith, and everyone else skydiving tomorrow. That the weather would be clear and perfect, that there would be no wind, that the plane would fly safely, that all the staff and instructors would be alert and focused, that all the equipment would perform as designed, that each harness and safety clip would function properly, and the parachute would deploy without issue, we ask for a safe landing….” Tears streamed down my face as I received his words and a peaceful calm settled over my spirit.

I thanked him for praying, and he hugged me for a long time.

“Feel better?”

“Yes! 100%!”

“Not nervous anymore?”

“Nope. Not one bit. I’m pumped!”

He left the room and then I started to think about how sly the devil can be, how he uses the most strategic offenses to wage the warfare where he knows he can win – in our minds. Not only was he was trying to stop me from living life. From experiencing something new and invigorating. From creating a lasting memory with some of my closest and most special friends. But, from living boldly and confidently.

I thought about how conniving he had been, how he had slowly watered and pruned those thoughts as soon as they had been planted in my mind from that video.

What if I had listened to him and not gone? What if I had let those thoughts overtake me and given life to those fears, given life to death, given it permission to come for me that next day?

The tongue is a “small part of the body” (James 3:5), yet Proverbs 18:21 says it “has the power of life and death.” This holds true whether we’re speaking of spiritual, physical, or emotional “life and death.”

And that’s when I got mad. How dare he?

I have already conquered this area of my life so many times and in so many ways. I have already learned to control my thoughts and mind my words. I mean, this is beginner faith stuff. I learned this a looooong time ago. There is a whole chapter on it in my book for crying out loud!! How dare he work his way back in there? Satan is not welcome in my mind.

You May Have To.jpg

And then I saw how easy it was, how quickly he worked back into that driver’s seat, darting my thoughts all over the place. How rapidly I spiraled down that dark, dangerous rabbit hole. And I was reminded again how vitally important it is to constantly be renewing and guarding my mind. It’s not a one-time thing. It’s an every day thing.

And be not conformed to this world: but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind, that ye may prove what is that good, and acceptable, and perfect, will of God. (- Romans 12:2)

I felt like Vince Lombardi was standing in front of me, pigskin in hand, uttering, “This is a football.” The basics. The basics are the basics for a reason, in sports or faith or any other arena of life. They are building blocks, the foundation on which we build [the rest] upon. And if your foundation starts weakening, it won’t be long until your whole house crumbles.

Now am I saying it was God’s “will” for me to go skydiving? Maybe I am. I don’t know. But I do know it is NOT God’s will for me to live a life of fear and timidity, weak and limited, a life of mediocrity.

God has created and called each and every one of us to a life FULL of adventure, of taking new ground, of winning battles (even if they are just in our minds), and of doing it all for and with and because of Him. Because he has empowered us to do so.
And don’t you forget it. The next time those voices of fear and uncertainty start to creep in, silence them quickly before they paralyze your faith. Because if you don’t, you’ll miss out on awesome stuff like this: