Being known meant that not only were there those who knew my name and relevant census information, but they also knew my story, my struggles, my strengths, and my snares. It meant having that friend in prayer group who wouldn’t let me get away with looking discouraged on a dark day of doubting without calling me out from across the table, “something’s up with you; spill it.” It meant having another sweet friend and mentor check in with me every few weeks and ask me how my now dust-collecting manuscript was coming along. “I just know God’s going to use it,” she’d say with such calm confidence. It meant having a pastor who specifically took me aside a few weeks before we left to hand me a book reenforcing our identity in Christ that he hoped would be an encouragement for me because he knew of my rejection triggers and how exposed they might be in a move such as ours.

June 27 marks a significant anniversary in my life. Tomorrow it will have been 8 years since I sat on the edge of my bed, buried in grief and rejection, a glut of painkillers in one hand, and a glass of water in the other. Worn and weary, I was ready to sign off permanently. I was done. I’d had enough.

It’s been awhile…. I know.  I’ve committed that terrible writing sin of going too long without writing.  All the experts agree.  You have to be committed.  You have to make the time.  It’s especially important if you are trying to build that ever important holy grail thoroughfare to publishing: THE PLATFORM.  So consider this my confession.  I am guilty. 

Now that we’ve made our lists and figured out what we can do about those things that are causing us to worry, we can start to dig a little deeper. This is where the real work starts, where we start to analyze our core fears and motivators.

Got your list now? Excellent! Me too. Here’s what I’ve got on my worry list…

For me, anxiety is often a precursor to depression. When faced with a situation that is uncertain and unpredictable, I tend to get overwhelmed. It can feel like the typically well-ordered files within my mind get shuffled around and I lose my ability to concentrate…

I struggle with wanting things to go completely go back to normal. There are too many blessings in this new temporary reality that I am not yet ready to give up…

Today I'm feeling sad. Tomorrow will be another day. The sun will rise. The birds will sing. God will still be on His throne. But today I'm feeling sad…

"The counter is sacred. It manifests into the state of my mind. If it is clean and clear, then my mind is clear to focus. If it is cluttered, crumby, and messy, I can't focus on anything and I can't get done what I need to get done." This was my thesis statement for this afternoon's "Family Meeting"…

Lord God Almighty, The birds sing this morning, their songs of praise reminding us that you provide. You care and provide for them. You will, of course, do nothing less than that for us. Help us..

As I write this, I sit on the couch, while "Jake and the Neverland Pirates" blasts on the tv and my 4 year old spins around in circles in the middle of the living room, singing something completely…

This week, as a Christian community, we collectively mourn the many children lost over the years to abortion and we grieve for their mothers who faced such difficult circumstances…

A couple weeks ago I wrote most of a post on the topic of anxiety. It was going to be epic. It opened with a story of me bingeing pretzels on the couch and then writhing on the floor in pain with a racing pulse due to dumping syndrome - a common malady of bariatric surgery patients who indulge in the wrong things.

I sat in my home office surveying the piles of presents that needed wrapping. It was 10pm. I was supposed to start on this task right after dinner. You might say I had been procrastinating. My husband was still trying to get the sugar-crazed, over-excited, completely whacked out 3 year old to sleep.

Thankfulness. At times the concept seems trite. This time of year, it’s obligatory and prescribed. We gather with our families and/or friends to celebrate Thanksgiving, a holiday dedicated to the notion of thankfulness. Through the years I can attest that in preparation for family gatherings thankfulness was the very last feeling I was feeling.

I've spent much time lately reflecting on the events of my life from 6-7 years ago. It is infant & pregnancy loss awareness month (among other things). A few days ago my memories on facebook popped up a post from 5 years ago as we were finally through the storm, content with the family we had, unknowingly on the eve of magnificent blessing in our amazing Maggie.

No one really wants to talk about suicide. I know I don't. It's hard to say out loud to another human being that I once felt that was my only option to end the deep grief and rejection I felt. It's hard to admit that I needed help, that I couldn't lift myself out of my despair.

Statistically middle aged, a protected class under employment law, "mature", the beginning of the end.  Yesterday my friends and family came to celebrate this glorious milestone.  Today was the joyous day.  My age no longer starts with a 3.  The 5th decade has officially commenced.  So people ask me, "how do you feel about turning 40?" 

Have you ever participated in a large Christian gathering and felt a struggle going on inside of you?  It's like you feel drawn into this sort of ethereal type of feeling that seems to have consumed everyone else around you, but you feel a skepticism welling up from within that cautions you from getting too comfortable in this space.

I mostly hate that I have suffered recurrent episodes of depression.  I hate how it zaps me of all energy and zeal for life.  I hate that it turns me inward, trapped in my mind, persistently looping over how completely worthless and unloved I believe I am in those times, ironically while desperately trying to justify some sense of worth and purpose.