Who Does She Think She Is?

The Early Years


I grew up on a few acres in a small town in Northwest Georgia. Our home was small by some standards, but it never felt small to me. My Dad's name is Howard and he is the hardest worker I have ever known. He still is. There were very few moments in my young life that I witnessed my father sitting still. He was usually away at work, slaving away at the paper mill, perfecting a work ethic that would eventually sustain a 40 year career at that place. When he was home he was still working, either in the yard or on a car. My mother, Debbie, stayed home and cooked, cleaned and blessed my brother and I with a maternal love that was more than we could have ever asked for. She was soft, tender and even when we drove her to her breaking point we never questioned her love for us. By "us", I mean my brother Justin and I. Justin was born about two years after I was and immediately I loved him. He was a living baby doll in my eyes. That is, until he started talking. Our younger years were a constant push and pull for attention with long breaks in between of a familial companionship that I think happens especially with siblings who are close in age.

Early in the morning, before the sun would rise, I would hear the stirrings of my father as he prepared to go to work. The house would be quiet and dark, my brother and mother still sleeping, and I would make my way to the soft light coming from the bathroom. I would sit on the counter in silence, watching my Dad in the mirror as he shaved his face. The coffee would be brewing and the bitter fragrance of the coffee would mix with his aftershave and cologne. It was a mesmerizing and delectable scent. In those moments I felt safe, secure and so very close to him. It was just the two of us in the world in that half hour or so in the early morning and I looked forward to it each day. We didn't talk much, we didn't have to. I appreciated being with him and having him to myself and I think he knew I was just a little girl fascinated by her father, wanting to be just like him some day. Quiet, strong, respected and hard working. I admired him very much and still do. When it was time for him to go he would turn on the TV with the volume down low and I would watch Tarzan(the black and white version) until my mother woke up to get us ready for school.

My mother is beautiful. She has bright blue eyes, soft, pale skin and tiny hands. She gave me comfort like nothing else. If I was hurting or sad, she would take me in her arms and I would lose my worries in her powdery scent and softness. There has always been mystery behind her blue eyes and even today I know there are parts of her I don't know. Most importantly, I have known her love. On summer days she would lay in the lush grass as my father did yard work and we would imagine whole worlds beneath the green blades and leaves. We would part the grass and see ants, crickets and other bugs scurrying around and we would imagine where they were going and what their little bug-lives were like. Each evening she would begin preparing dinner. I remember watching her small hands peel endless mounds of potatoes, mixing cornmeal and buttermilk with them to make cornbread and then washing dishes in scalding water after the meal was complete. I always marveled at how unfazed she was at the scalding water as she scrubbed pots and pans, her tiny hands never lost their softness despite all the abuse.

Whether I liked it or not, Justin was my only consistent friend. On summer days we would head outside just after sunrise and would explore, create and adventure until the sun went down, stopping only if Mom called us in for lunch. We had several peach, cherry, plum and walnut trees on the property and my brother and I would use the unripened fruit to make "stews" to accompany our mud pies. When the fruit was ripe we would pluck quick snacks off the trees in between adventures. Three acres doesn't seem like much to some, but to us it was a world of endless possibilities. While Dad was at work we would rummage through his tool shed taking hammers to the big granite rocks we would find hoping that once we crushed them there would be some rare gemstone inside. Unfortunately we never found any gemstones. What we did find were our imaginations. Some days we would pretend to be characters in made up stories. Some days we laid in the tall grass so that all we could see were the golden blades blowing in the wind and the clouds floating by against the blue sky talking about nothing in particular. And when we heard Dad's old pick up truck turn into the gravel driveway we ran as fast as we could back to the house.

My Dad would watch TV after dinner for a little while before going to bed. I remember sitting in the living room floor watching Tour of Duty and feeling grown up even though I really didn't understand most of what was going on. Sometimes I would get bored trying to understand and I would put my headphones on and listen to George Michael, Tiffany or the Beatles on my little portable cassette player and lay underneath my Dad's feet as he laid back in the reclining chair. I'm not sure how he never managed to close the chair on my face. I guess he always knew I was under there.

My Mom would tuck my brother and I into bed. If we asked she would gently caress our arms and hair until we fell asleep, her small fingers relaxing me into dreams. Sometimes she would sing Jesus Loves Me softly to us as we drifted off.

Birthdays were one of my mother's specialties. She always, even to this day, makes me feel special on my birthday. When I was little she would often make a strawberry cake from scratch. My favorite. We would spend the weekend somewhere away from home, sometimes it was the lake, sometimes it was the beach. My brother's birthday is just a few weeks after mine so some years she would celebrate them together and I didn't mind really. We always received our own special gifts, individual cake and lots of attention. As I got to be an older teen I lost some appreciation for this. It wasn't until I was a bit older that I realized life really should be celebrated. Surviving in this world another year is a big deal and it just feels good for the ones you love to let you know you're special to them. It's this that makes my own boys' birthdays such a big deal to me. It's a wonderful opportunity to take a break from the daily grind and let them know they are loved and life is worth celebrating. I'm glad my mother instilled this in me.

On the weekends my brother and I would soak up time with our Dad. Even if it was helping him with yard work or some other unpleasant chore we looked forward to just being with him after his long week away at work. He also seemed refreshed on the weekends most of the time and not as tired and stressed as he usually was during the week. After we'd been outside much of the day and Mom would call us in for dinner, Dad would challenge us to a race from the tool shed to the house. I'm not sure the distance, a few hundred feet or less, but my brother and I absolutely loved it and silently hoped each Sat evening he would suggest this particular challenge. I'm sure our faces lit up when he did. What I loved the most was that his face did. Usually he would let us win but sometimes he would run as fast as he could to the house, my brother and I mustering all the speed our little legs could, and I would look up to see my Daddy, out of breath at the front porch but smiling his big smile, brilliant teeth and all, as he watched us run to him. He didn't smile like that all the time and I loved it when he did.

On winter nights we would gather around the old wood burning stove letting it's warmth sink in to our bones and relax us from the inside out. The wood would crackle and glow and my Dad would warn us numerous times not to get too close. My brother and I almost dared the flying sparks to touch us...until one of them did. The brick mantle surrounding the fireplace was the central meeting place in our home in the winter. I wish it had recorded all the conversations we all had sitting in front of it. Like the huge oak tree in the front yard, it had watched Justin and I grow from babies to big kids, and I bet it could tell me a lot of stories I don't remember.

Those days were beautiful. I had an amazing childhood and as I've grown older I appreciate it more and more because I've met so many people who have not had a great childhood. I know I am blessed to have these memories and to have experienced love from my parents the way I did.

Things changed when I was about 11 or so. My grandfather passed away unexpectedly and with him the family that I had taken for granted also became part of the past. Still, I have two loving parents and brother who continues to be my best and most consistent friend. It was during this time that I turned to writing. I needed something to make sense of the world around me. I needed a way to release all the emotion that was choking out my logical thinking. Seeing my thoughts on paper helped me make sense of them. It was writing that helped me get to know myself. I could read my poetry, short stories and journal and figure myself out in a way.

I suppose that's what I'm doing now. I'll go back and read this later and feel or see something I missed when I was writing. I hope you will too. I think our stories teach us about each other and about ourselves. Each person who has ever shared their story with me has taught me something about myself or something about this world I never knew.

I will continue my story next week.

                                               
                                                  My childhood home no longer stands, but
                                                  Justin is restoring the property and has managed
                                                  to keep the mantel. I took this photo at sunset one 
                                                  evening.

Marriage & Mountains

I stood on the mountain, a chilly breeze blowing hair in my face. I'm quite sure my toes were numb but the excitement I felt inside was enough to warm me from my fingertips to the bottom of my feet. The sun had just began it's slow descent toward the tree tops and from where we stood the glow from the sky seemed to embrace us. Months later I would see the photos the photographers took that day and would notice the rays of light breaking through the clouds, like fingers reaching from the sky to touch us.

Several months before I climbed that mountain my Dad had asked me why I thought this time would be different. What made me think I was ready? He has always been good at encouraging me to think through big decisions before leaping from one thing to the next.

I had not always took his advice and thought things through. Worse, there were several decisions I had made in life apart from God and those decisions had led me to divorce and becoming a single parent. Even worse than that, my sin and walk apart from God had brought my children into a broken home and they deserved better. It's easy for me to blame other people, my own ignorance and all the chaos I allowed in my life at that time but ultimately, the demise of my first marriage is because I never really invited God into it. I wasn't interested in actually walking with Him in life and it actually never occurred to me to seek Him during the time I was struggling in keeping a covenant I made with Him. It's almost silly, really. I made a promise to God and another person and never thought to ask Him to be a part of it. That doesn't make sense, does it?

Brad and I began dating several years after the divorce but only a few weeks after I had surrendered my life to Jesus. I was this raw, new person and all I really knew at first was that I never wanted to leave Him again. I knew that my life would be a chase after Him from that point forward so when Brad came into my life I was both excited and scared. I have always been the kind of person who loves wholeheartedly. I didn't want new, exciting love to distract me from the journey I knew I was on with God. Several weeks into our relationship it was very clear that Bradley was a part of His plan to bring me closer to Him than I had ever been.

It's no accident that God chose marriage as a way to teach us to love like He does. And I really can't thing of something more profound and compelling than God blessing two people with each other and using their life together to demonstrate His own love for us.

Sometimes Bradley will bring me coffee while I'm working on Saturday mornings. In church he will reach for my hand and hold it while we sing worship songs together. On a few occasions he has bought home a bouquet of flowers for no reason other than I just like seeing and smelling them in our home.

Sometimes God will paint radiant pink and blue skies as I'm driving home and I know He knows it brings me joy. The moments I have spent staring at the ocean, in awe of it's power and vastness, is a reminder of His love. The sun that warms my skin and wakes me in the morning is a gift He gives and He knows I will ponder it. He knows I will relish it's warmth and be grateful.

It's those little things that you appreciate, maybe when you're on a walk or just driving home from work alone, that He gives us as if to say, "You see this? I did this for you. I painted this sky in your favorite color because I knew you'd like it."

There are times that Bradley hurts my feelings. He forgets a special event that meant a lot to me or he acts uninterested and gives short responses when I want a full-bodied conversation. There have been a few times I felt a lack of love at all. I imagine the feelings I feel during those times may be how God feels when I ignore Him and the skies he paints for me, when I focus more on things I want to do and less on spending time with Him in prayer. I bet that the One who died for me may be hurt to see me try to control life instead of trusting Him to lead me where He wants me to go. I'm sure it's hurtful when I don't listen to Him, when I don't consider Him in decisions I make or invite Him to the places I go.

And yet He gives me grace every time.

So we are called to do the same for each other. The moments I am feeling most hurt by Bradley because he's forgotten something, ignored a thing I said or just simply didn't consider me when I thought he should have, I remember God's grace that I am given in abundance. It's because of this abundance of grace and love that I have grace and love to give others, especially my husband.

I didn't have to die for Bradley. I am blessed to live life with him. Jesus died for me and yet I struggle to live life for him some days. I'm glad He knew it would be a struggle and decided to bless us with marriage to teach us grace and unconditional love.

Back to the mountain...

As we danced to the wind and the music that was only playing in our minds, I was thinking of that question my Dad had asked me. What was different? Was I ready?

I had invited God to the wedding that day and He showed up in all His glory as only He can. The clouds were lined with gold, the sky a brilliant blue, the air was crisp and the leaves fluttered in flashes of sienna and crimson on the trees. More than the invitation to the wedding, I've held tight to His hand throughout our marriage and hold fast to the promise that I will never let go. When the enemy attacks my marriage His words are my weapons. When I feel the desire to lash out when I've been hurt, I remember that God wants me to respond with grace. This is the difference. God won't bless what you don't invite Him to.

I finally knew what it meant to follow Him. To seek His will, to walk the path He made for me and not the one I created for myself. This is how I knew I was ready.

I knew that marriage would be a lot of mountain tops and valleys and that I would have to keep God the focus in both. I was ready to follow Him, I had accepted that marriage isn't about Brad and I, it's the way our loving Father teaches us to love like He has loved us all and putting that love on display to glorify Him. Unconditional love and grace. I truly can't think of a better wedding gift than that.

Circles and Oceans

Four years ago I sat in a chair at West Ridge Church for the first time with each of my boys by my side at the funeral of an amazing young man that had tragically passed away. His life had impacted many in just a short amount of time and due to the obedience of his spirit my life was one of those impacted. He exuded the love of Jesus and the Holy Spirit flowed from him. He was the first person in many years that I had came in contact with that reminded me what the Holy Spirit felt like and stirred in me a longing for Jesus that I had not felt in a very long time. 

It was there in that chair I surrendered years of numbness, a disbelief in love and a hardened heart scarred by pain and disappointment. As the walls around my heart crashed I could feel God's presence all around me. He embraced me in a way only he can and welcomed me back home to him. I didn't know what plans he had for me at the time but I finally gave in to the fact that I could no longer do life without him. I had been crushed by the weight of trying to carry all my burdens on my own and he began teaching me to give those burdens to him instead. Slowly my superficial band-aids were ripped off and he healed my wounded heart. Instead of cold stone he replaced it with a heart on fire for him. 

There are no words to describe how I feel about his relentless pursuit of me. He was with me in each of the sinful places I visited before that day I finally surrendered to him. He was with me as I tried to drown my wounds in alcohol and selfish endeavors to glorify myself. He chased me though I spent years ignoring him, convincing myself my issues were too insignificant for him. He chased me though I acted like I never knew him. He chased me down until I could no longer ignore the songs he played for me, the sunsets he painted and the people he used to remind me that his spirit still lived inside me and that it was me that had pushed him away.

Over the next several months it was I that desperately began chasing him. The more I chased the more he amazed me. He brought love into my life. I met the man that would eventually became my husband. And then I witnessed miracles in my husband's life and was blessed to watch God chase him into the transformation of a lifetime. 

My two sons were brought to salvation. There is no other gift a mother could want more for her children.

He erased debt. He blessed me with friends and mended relationships with family members. 

And then there's this joy. This state of mind and heart that before I didn't know existed. There is no bad circumstance, situation or negativity that can take it away. Joy isn't dependent upon a person or circumstance. It's knowing that despite what's going on around me, good or bad, I have a loving Father that I can cry out to in pain, worship or praise. He is with me through it all, holding my hand and my best interests in his.

I could go on and on about the blessings he has poured out since that day I finally surrendered and then began to chase him. But I won't, instead I'll finish by telling you a short story about circles and oceans.

This past week I spent at a youth camp for our church. Completely out of my comfort zone as I am quite introverted, I did my best to show Jesus to a group of high school girls. One of the last nights we all went outside to an amphitheater by the ocean to sing worship songs together. Surrounded by about 1000 middle and high school kids, my fellow group leaders and others I lifted my hands to heaven and the love being poured out of these kids' hearts for God was tangible. 

And then the song began. The song that played in my car, on my Pandora station, in grocery stores randomly for several weeks that lead up to the day of my surrender. I didn't know the song, I didn't listen to Christian music at the time I first heard it. But it seemed to follow me around and it was the song that played as I sat in that chair at the funeral. It had been Him calling me all along with those lyrics. He knew that music has always spoke to me the most and he used it to call me to himself. 

I stood there as the kids sweet voices harmonized the words. The waves crashing a few feet away. The salty air blowing gently around us. Tears falling in appreciation of where I had been when I first heard that song and where I stood in that moment. Full circle. From dying daily to sin and shame to standing in His mighty presence full of joy and life, surrounded by love and grace. 

"And I will call upon Your name
 And keep my eyes above the waves
 When oceans rise, my soul will rest in Your embrace
 For I am Yours, and You are mine"

My prayer now is that he continues to lead me where my trust is without borders and that I may go wherever he calls me. I pray my life glorifies him and that maybe one day my life might impact one person in the same way he used someone else to save mine.

I think we forget sometimes just how much we impact others. I hope you know that your life is a powerful testimony and has the power to save others. Share your story. Love out loud. Know that the God of the universe is chasing you and will play songs, paint sunsets and place people in your life to win your heart.