#write31days Archives - Jennifer Bleakley

Read this when you want to quit

Thu, 16 Jan 2025 19:30:00 GMT

I would love to tell you this post is for you. And maybe it is.

But in full disclosure, I wrote it for myself several years ago. Because I am prone to forget what I know to be true. It’s what I do.

But I want to remember—I need to remember—and so this is for me (but maybe it’s for you too)

Dear Jen,
If you are reading this, you are probably feeling a million kinds of done—and equal parts unsure. You are likely questioning everything—your calling and abilities, your choices and decisions, your dreams and goals and future. And…you are undoubtedly contemplating closing your computer and never writing another word.

I know; we’ve been here before.

But we’ve also learned some things along the way. Things we need to remember.

First of all, inhale.
Deeply.
Fill your lungs with as much air as you can.
Hold it for 5 seconds.
Now slowly—as slowly as you can—let it out.

Do it again , but this time close your eyes. And as you exhale say the name of the One who called you to write in the first place— Jesus.

Now, ask God to help you become aware of His presence with you right at this very moment.
He is sitting at the well of your heart.
Walk to Him.
Acknowledge Him.
Sit with Him for awhile.
Tell Him. Everything.

Tell Him how hard it is to navigate His calling in the noise and chaos of social media.

Tell Him how easy it is to compare your calling to those of others.

Tell Him how often you measure your success by numbers, followers, sales, likes, shares and comments—and how often those metrics leave you feeling less than, unqualified, worried and weary.

Tell Him all of it. Show Him your weariness and uncertainty. Tell Him about every insecurity and doubt.

And then, wait…..
Breathe.
Allow the pent up tears to fall.
Linger with Him at the well.

Now, scoot a little closer, because He is about to speak to your heart…

My sweet child,

I see you.
I see your weariness and your heart for me.
And oh how your heart delights me.
How you delight me.

Know this My precious one—believe this—My love for you is dependent on nothing.

My love simply is. It is as real as I AM.

I love you. Right now. As you are, I, God Almighty, love you.

Let your heart look into my face and allow my words to wash over your battle-weary soul.
And as my words course through your heart, I want you to allow them to push out all the other words.

My precious child, I did not call you to a platform; I called you to a Person—to Myself.

I did not call you to keep track of numbers; I called you to invest in people.

I did not call you to shine a light on yourself; I called you to point others to my Light.

I did not call you to walk someone else’s path, I invited you walk your journey with Me.

My child, the answer for your weariness is not found in giving up; it is found in Me —in trusting me.

So keep writing. Keep sharing. Keep loving. And keep working. But do so for me, and with me. And trust that if I want others to hear the words I give you, I will ensure they hear them.

Friend, your journey may look very different than mine. Maybe writing struggles and social media insecurities aren’t the cause of your battle-weariness today, but whatever has your heart weighed down, I pray you feel the Father’s arms tighten around you as He whispers His love into the core of your being. And as you feel His love infiltrate your DNA I pray you will feel a renewed sense of strength and a fresh desire to walk hand in hand with Him. Not measuring your worth or value by anything other than the One who created you, who delights in you, and who loves you more than you will ever comprehend.

Much love,
Jen

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It’s ok to be scared

Wed, 09 Oct 2024 20:32:00 GMT

I was nice years old when hurricane Elena sat off the west coast of FL for days. At a category 1 it wasn’t anything compared to the recent storms that have wreaked havoc in the southeastern US. And yet, as a 9 year old little girl having to leave my house and all my prized stuffed animals, it was terrifying.

I remember trying to be brave as I watched my parents packing up what they could, but I couldn’t stop shaking or trembling. Noticing my fear, my dad drew me into his arms and said:

“Sugar, it’s ok to cry. This is really scary. So let’s sit here for just a minute and be scared together, ok? I want you to let out all that fear and all those tears, and I will hold you tight.”

And he did.

I was so grateful for the permission to stop trying to be brave for just a minute.

As my tears eventually slowed, my precious daddy said, “Now, we’re going to take a big deep breath, hold it for a second, then blow it out. And when we blow it out we are going to remember that God is with us. We are going to ask Him to give us courage and strength. We will ask Him to protect us and those we love. And then we are going to get up and go. Ready?” he asked.

I nodded my head. We took a deep, steadying breath and prayed. Then we packed the car and headed to higher ground.

So today, to those in the path of a storm, we take a collective deep breath with you and we pray.

We ask God to calm the storm.
We ask God to intervene and help.
We ask God to provide strength and comfort and endurance.

And we ask that he will wrap his presence and protection over you.

Today, as you make your preparations, we will continue to lift you in prayers for mercy, for miracles, for protection.

To those facing a storm, and to those living in the aftermath of a storm:
You are stronger than you know (even in your exhaustion).
You are braver than you feel (even in your fear).
And most importantly, you are not alone!

With love,
Jen

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Paws in His Presence

Tue, 01 Oct 2024 22:34:00 GMT

I have loved every single book I’ve written. Each one is special to me and will always have a special place in my heart. And yet, my newest release (Paws in His Presence) feels a little extra special. I think it’s because in many ways, this is the most personal book I’ve ever written. This devotional wasn’t just me putting words on a page, it was me putting my heart and my deepest prayers in a book in the hopes others might encounter the same powerful presence and peace that steadied me through a very difficult season .

This book will forever stand as a reminder (to myself) that God is faithful and good; and that he can and will hold us through the good days, and the really, really hard days.

And so to celebrate the release of this book, I wanted to share a brief talk I gave at a book release event we had a few weeks ago at Arise Ranch in Raleigh, NC (where the idea for this devotional book was born)

I hope this gives you a little glimpse into the why behind Paws in His Presence .

Being here in this place to celebrate the launch of these books, especially Paws in His Presence is so special—and honestly so sacred—to me, because it was here—actually right over there, that the idea for Paws in His Presence was born.

It was a beautiful fall day in October of 2022. My daughter, Ella, was here helping Brooklyn with a birthday party. There were happy children and smiling adults all around. The sky was a brilliant blue. The air was cool and crisp. The birds were singing.

But my heart was breaking.

I was in the middle of one of the hardest seasons I’ve ever known, and so while the birthday festivities were going on, I was over there, by myself—not in any kind of mood to be around anyone.

I had been trying so hard for so long to make everything ok. I had been pleading with God to intervene, to fix the situation, to do a miracle. But it was like all I could hear from heaven was the roar of a deafening silence.

I came here that day, broken and empty and terrified. I remember standing there, not really thinking, not able to pray. Just…there. Alone.

Until suddenly I wasn’t.

A precious horse named Slick (who you can meet tonight) walked up to me. He stretched his head over the fence and exhaled. I reached out to rub his shoulder and he turned his head into me and just stood there.

With me.

As he stood there, the emotional dam holding back all my complicated feelings burst and all my fear, doubt and sorrow came rushing out. But Slick didn’t move. He stayed. He remained with me through it all.

That day Slick became a living, breathing embodiment of God’s love and presence with me. That day, the horse reminded me that I wasn’t alone. That I never had been—and I never will be. As he stood there with me, he reminded me that I hadn’t been forgotten by God. That God still loved me and was with me.

You see, I had been praying for months for a miracle—desperate for God to intervene in a mighty way. I wanted a miracle so big that it would knock my socks off. I had begging God to wow me with his actions.

But instead, knowing what I needed most, God rescued with his presence.

Now the fact is, nothing about my circumstances changed that day. And yet, everything in my heart felt different.

I had seen a glimpse of God with me and it changed everything. It reminded me that I could face whatever was to come because I would not face it alone. I would face it enveloped in God’s presence and wrapped in his love .

And that is my prayer for all of you. I don’t know where your heart is today. I don’t know if you came here feeling like you’re on the mountain top or in the valley. Maybe your heart is full of joy or maybe your soul feels crushed with grief. Maybe this week you’ve see countless evidences of God’s love all around you. Or maybe you, too, are hearing the roar of deafening silence from heaven. Wherever you find yourself today, I pray that while you’re here you will feel enveloped in God’s presence and wrapped in his love. And that as you leave here, you will take that awareness with you.

Well, a few months after my powerful encounter with Slick, I was sharing the story with my publisher and told her that someday I’d love to put that story in a book. She suggested that maybe that someday was now and we began brainstorming about a new book. I knew that whatever it was, I wanted it to be rooted in Psalms. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love Proverbs and I loved writing Pawverbs, but my heart has always been in the Psalms. It’s the book I go most to when life feels overwhelming. It grounds me more than any other.

Paws in His Presence is full of stories much like the one with Slick. There are also some funny stories in there too, along with some bitter-sweet ones. I really tried to mimic the Psalms by including the range of human emotions and experiences— from green meadow and still water moments, to tales from the valley of the shadow of death. And yet, there is a thread of hope that weaves throughout each and every story.

I love this book so much and I hope you all will like it too.

And it’s actually been really interesting…this book feels a little different than the others. And as I’ve reflected on why, I think it’s because this wasn’t just me writing a book. This was God rescuing me through writing a book.

A book that was born…here.

And so, as I started talking to Brooklyn about the idea of doing an event for this release, I kept coming back to the moment that I stood over there with Slick and encountered God’s presence in such a powerful and tangible way. And I found myself wanting nothing more than to invite others to have a similar experience. And that’s really what tonight is all about.

Ok, now it’s time for a very important disclaimer: If you don’t have some life-altering spiritual encounter while you’re here, that is 100% ok! There is nothing wrong with you! One of the beautiful things about God is that he’s in the big moments just was much as he’s in the small ones. He’s in the burning bushes, just as much as he’s in the mud and the muck of life.

In fact, some of the most profound spiritual moments aren’t ones that would make an instagram reel. But they are the moments that are the most real.

So tonight, we simply want to give you time and space to paws in God’s presence. To enjoy some food, to meet some animals, to hang out with some friends—maybe even meet some new friends . And more than anything we want you to feel held in God’s love and wrapped in his peace as you take some time to paws in his presence.

If you’d like to learn more about Paws in His Presence you can find that here and here

The post Paws in His Presence appeared first on Jennifer Bleakley .

Project Solomon Gallops to Bookstores in 5 weeks!

Mon, 11 Apr 2022 09:05:00 GMT

Once upon a time (about two minutes after I turned in the manuscript for JOEY) I thanked God for allowing me to write that story and then confidently, and assuredly, declared that I would never ever write another book about a horse. (Spoiler alert: my upcoming book with Tyndale is, surprise, a book about a horse!)

It wasn’t that I don’t love horses, I very much do! But JOEY was such a special horse, the emotion of writing the story was so intense, and the whole journey of writing his story was so challenging, that I couldn’t imagine doing it again.

Until I heard about a horse named Solomon.

And now I can’t wait for you to meet Solomon! Writing this book touched my heart in profound and healing ways, and I pray reading it does for you, and for all who read it.

It is a story of the light God can shine into the darkness; the life he can bring from death; and the hope he can extend, even into our most pain-filled moments.

Project Solomon releases on May 17th, and is available for pre-order now.

You can click the link to learn more about the book and pre-order a copy!

PS- We are so honored to have Dr. Jan Pol endorse Project Solomon!

The post Project Solomon Gallops to Bookstores in 5 weeks! appeared first on Jennifer Bleakley .

Beautiful Resilience

Wed, 20 Oct 2021 14:54:00 GMT

Resilient.

She was planted years ago.
Watered regularly.
Watched expectantly.
The gardener eagerly awaited her first blooms.

But one night her leaves were stripped bare. A late night meal for a hungry deer.
Over time new leaves unfurled. One by one they came. Tiny, but present.

The evidence of a promise that life still resided within her.

But that promise soon faced an onslaught of more difficulties. All of which seemed determined to destroy her: flooding rains, scorching heat, destructive insects and, of course, more deer.

One stalk was all that remained when the gardener found her.
One weary stick pointing towards the sun.

A fence was erected to keep the deer away, mulch was mounded to protect from flooding rain, fertilizer was added to nourish her depleted roots, and then…the gardener waited.

Her neighboring plants bloomed all around her.
Brilliant colors burst from their branches.

The little plant, with her tiny leaves and bare spots, looked so small and dull in comparison.
But still she stood.
Her small leaves capturing every ray of sun. Her short branches stretching toward the heavens. Her tender roots reaching deep into the soil.

Months later, the gardener prepared her neighbors for fall.
Their flowers were spent. Their bending branches, heavy with large blooms, were cut back to prepare for next years growth.
The gardener turned and smiled at the little plant. “You will get your turn one day, little one.”

Day after day, the little plant kept her leaves toward the sun. Even when temperatures dropped and all the other plants prepared for winter.
She fought.
She grew.
She lived .

And then one cool sunny autumn day the gardener walked by the little plant and stopped.

The gardener smiled.

“Well, hello there.”

The gardener reached toward the little plant’s one perfect bloom.
A bloom, not impressive by its size, or form, or number.
But because of its resilience. Because of its determination. Because of its promise.

Her time had come at last.

When all around her was spent, she bloomed.

One perfect bloom.
Unconcerned with timing.
Unbothered by the lateness of the season.

One hard-fought bloom heralding a promise of life.
And hope for tomorrow.

The post Beautiful Resilience appeared first on Jennifer Bleakley .

Convincing Raven – a short story to paws and ponder

Tue, 08 Jun 2021 22:08:00 GMT

I had so much fun recording a recent podcast episode for A Remarkable Thought Podcast that I wanted to share it with you!

And a big thanks to Jami Amerine and Katie M. Reid for having me on A Remarkable Thought!

The post Convincing Raven – a short story to paws and ponder appeared first on Jennifer Bleakley .

Maybe it’s time to drop the ball

Wed, 14 Apr 2021 17:03:00 GMT

Full disclosure: I can’t juggle. At least not in the literal sense of the word. But I do struggle with anxiety, fear, and wanting to control things I can’t control. All of which I imagine might feel a lot like being perched over an angry sea while trying to juggle a dozen fragile balls. It’s an image I can’t seem to shake. One that turned into a prayer—and then into a story. A story I hope might give you the permission it gave me to drop a ball or two.

Angry ocean waves beat against the narrow dock. The gaps of it’s weathered boards allowing a view of the raging water below. I want to leave. My legs crave dry, solid ground, but I can’t move. I can’t take the chance.

The balls I am juggling require my full attention. If I do anything to disrupt the cadence, they will fall.

Juggling hadn’t been a problem when there were only three. In fact, it had felt good to keep my hands moving while I enjoyed a beautiful sunrise. But as the day went on, I began collecting more balls. Some I picked up on my own. Some were tossed to me. And some seemed to appear out of nowhere.

After awhile I was keeping a dozen balls in the air. It was exhilarating.

It soon became exhausting.

Not long after picking up those first balls, the wind turned and the waves started to swell. The blue ocean morphed to an eery gray. And the crowd of jovial onlookers left.
But I was unwilling to leave.
Unwilling to drop the balls that had become incredibly important to me—small spheres I now feel responsible for.

The moment I drop one, it will be forever lost.
So I focus harder on keeping each ball in the air.

Off in the distance, I can heard seagulls calling out to each other. I get a glimpse of dolphins playing in the swells. It sounds as if the waves have stilled, but I won’t dare look. I have a job to do.

Must keep the balls in the air .

This is has become my mantra.
This has become my prison.

Someone walks by and starts to toss me another ball.

“NO!” I scream. “No more! I can’t handle any more!”

The shock of my own voice causes my hands to waver. I recover quickly. I can’t let the balls drop.
I won’t let them fall. I can’t lose them. I must keep them safe.

I’ve got them. I’ve got you.

The words—spoken more to my heart than my ears—bring a gasp from my lips. Then, like a camera pulling back to a wide shot, the words cause my perspective to change. Revealing something I hadn’t noticed before…

Resting, open and strong, under my frantically working arms, are the steady hands of God.

“You can let go,” the voice of pure peace whispers. “I will catch them.”

My heart knows his words are true, yet my hands won’t stop moving.
The stakes feel too high.

“I…I don’t know if I can,” I admit.

I feel his compassionate smile.

“You’ve been juggling many things for a long time,” he says, as my arms suddenly feel heavy. ” It’s going to take awhile for you to learn to let them go. And that’s ok. So, how about for now we just start with one?”

One?

I take inventory of the constantly moving balls. It is a lot. How did I get so many? All of a sudden they feel like too much. And his hands…
I risk a quick glance.
His hands are so much bigger than mine. And they look so much stronger and more capable.

“But what if you drop it?” I ask, as my arms begin to quiver.

“I won’t drop it,” he assures me.

And I want to believe him.

“Just one?” I clarify.

“Just one,” he assures, with a smile.

I bite my lip.
I glance at the water.
Fear rises in my throat.
Somewhere in the distance I hear a child’s laughter.
I fill my lungs with air.
I hold my breath.

And I let one ball drop….

It lands safely in his hands.

Joy radiates through my body for a moment before fear chases it away.
What if he wants me to drop more? I can’t. Not yet. I want to. I don’t know if I can.

“I said just one, remember?” he says, as if reading my thoughts. “I know this is hard for you.
Let’s just leave this one in my hand for now and see how it goes, ok?”

“Ok,” I whisper, embarrassed by my lack of trust, grateful for his understanding.

“I’m proud of you,” he says.

My eyes flood. He’s proud of me ? I could only drop one ball into his fully capable hands! Only one!

“You were willing. You tried. You trusted me,” he says beaming like a proud father. “I am proud of you. And, you know what else?”

I nod slightly, careful not to disrupt the cadence of my arms.

“I love you. And I always will. No matter what…even if you never trust me enough to let all of those fall into my hands. I will still love you.”

I’m overwhelmed by his kindness.
Undone by his compassion.
But, still, a jolt of panic erupts from my lips.

“What are you going to do with it? What if you forget it’s there? What if you drop it?”

“I don’t drop things,” he restates matter-of-factly.

I chew my lip. I nod, hopeful, yet unconvinced.

“You love this ball a lot don’t you?” he asks, looking at the precious sphere in his hand.

“I do.”

“I love it more,” he says tenderly.

I believe him.

“I want you to remember that I created this ball. I know it better than you.” He turns his eyes of love towards me. My heart soars. “Will you trust me to hold it, even if just for awhile?”

I nod again.

“I want to,” I answer honestly, “Will you help me?”

“Always,” he answers.

My heart catches his breath.
A wave of peace washes over my soul.

And without realizing what I’m doing, I allow another ball to slip from my hand.

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A Night to Remember

Wed, 31 Mar 2021 17:02:00 GMT

Martha looks so happy! She’s not just serving tonight. She is floating! Her face, radiant. Never did I think filling cups and serving food could look like such fun. Or, so much like…worship! How wonderful that my sister has found such peace!

I know I should be helping Martha right now, but I can’t help but watch him .

I can’t help but wish that everyone here, that everyone everywhere, could discover such peace. To discover…h im.

How I wish I could tell others of the peace I have found at his feet. Of the wisdom I have found in his words. Of the love I have found from being seen by his eyes. I feel as though I might burst if I don’t share what I have found!

As if aware of my thoughts, Jesus lifts his head to look at me. My heart takes flight as he smiles. And my longing suddenly intensifies. Oh, I want to tell the whole world of what I have found in him!

But I am just a woman. I’m not allowed to even speak in public, and certainly not to a man—well, except Jesus, of course. But he is unlike any other man—any other person—I have ever known. He asks me questions. And invites my response! And when he listens, oh, it’s as if he believes my thoughts are somehow more important than those of the Pharisees! Can you imagine such a thing!

My heart begins to beat wildly as a question stirs inside of me.

Does he know?
Does he know how much I love him?
Does he know how much he has given me?

I want him to know. I need him to know. I want to thank him—but how?

What can I possibly offer him?

I am no one.
I have nothing.

The bag on my arm suddenly feels heavy. The weight of the alabaster jar I carry lowers my shoulder. The jar contains my life savings, in the form of costly perfume. I brought it tonight to give to Jesus. After all, what need do I have for it? He is all I need. I figure the money the perfume is worth would go a long way to support his ministry. To help others learn of him.

But now, as I watch Jesus converse with those at the table, I detect a weariness in his eyes. It’s a weariness, a weightiness, unlike any I’ve ever seen in him before.

As I fill my lungs with air, words he has spoken over the years begin to fill my mind. They were words I had tried to ignore. Words I had not wanted to understand, for they always seemed to hint at something awful.

Poured out…broken….destroyed….rebuilt….suffer….lay down my life.

No!

My head snaps up.
My eyes meet his.

And in that moment I know.

I know, beyond any shadow of doubt, that my precious, perfect, glorious Savior is about to lay down his life. For me. For us.

My feet begin to move of their own accord.
I have to do something.

But what?

What do you offer someone who has given you everything, and is about to give you even more?

Acting on an instinct born deep within my soul, I pull my alabaster jar from my bag and break it. Suddenly, the only thing that matters is pouring out all I have on the One who will soon pour out everything for me.

Tears flow freely down my face. I couldn’t stop them if I tried, and I have no desire to try. Instead, I allow them to flow as freely as the perfume I pour upon his head, his feet.

Oh his precious feet. The feet beside which I have sat so many times. Learning from him. Being changed by him. Being seen by him.

Sobs erupt from my body; and perfume and tears mix with the dirt and sand on his feet.

His precious feet shouldn’t be dirty. They are the feet of pure love. But I have no cloth with which to clean them. All I have is…my hair.

Without a second thought I unbind it, sending it cascading around my shoulders and down my back.

There is a gasp somewhere behind me. I don’t care. Let them say what they want. They always do anyway.

The only one who truly matters is looking at me with more love than I thought possible.
He smiles and I am undone.

I want to beg him to not do what he is about to do. And yet, in the depths of my heart I know he must.

He nods, confirming what my heart knows to be true.

I bow my head, knowing this will be my last act of worship before he does what he came to this earth to do.

And so I pour every drop of my costly perfume on him. If he is about to give himself up—if he is about to suffer and die for me, then he will do so with the fragrance of my worship lingering on his skin.

The room is silent.
The jar is empty.
My life savings is now anointing the body of my Savior.

If only I had more to give.

“Daughter, it is enough,” he whispers, his eyes meeting mine. “Thank you.”

My breath catches in my throat.

The sacred moment is interrupted by disgruntled voices. Voices thick with indignation and greed.

“What did you do, you silly woman?!” One voice calls out above the rest. “That could have been sold and the money given to the poor!”

My shoulders fall as the words hit their intended mark. Embarrassment taunts me. Am I just a silly, wasteful, emotional woman?

“Leave. Her. Alone.”

The authority with which Jesus speaks overwhelms the room—and my mind—with silence. He places his hand on my shoulder. His touch, an anchor for my heart.

“Why are you bothering her?” he asks those at the table. “She has done a beautiful thing to me. You will always have the poor among you. But you will not always have me. She has done what she could, and has anointed my body for burial ahead of time.”

Jesus turns his attention back to me—to where I still sit at his feet. He wipes a tear from my face, then places his hand back on my shoulder.

“I tell you the truth,” he says to everyone in the room; his eyes fixed on mine. “Wherever the Good News is preached throughout the world, what she has done will also be told in memory of her.”

A knowing grin raises the corners of Jesus’ lips, and a silent gasp shutters through my body.

He knows!
He knows of my hidden dream to teach others as I have been taught! He knows of my longing to tell the world of the love I have for him! Of the peace I have found in him!

Could it be that with one sentence, one declaration, Jesus just made me— silly, simple, female Mary —a teacher ?!

His grin spreads into a full blown smile as he nods and whispers, “Many will learn from you my precious daughter. Many will learn from your beautiful act of worship.”

I would have fallen to the floor if not for Martha’s arm around my shoulders. I somehow manage to stand. Needing to touch him one last time, I grab his hand. The strength and power I feel there leaves me breathless. But as I pull my hand away, that strength lingers—it spreads. It burrows into my soul.

Martha and I bow to Jesus then retreat to the kitchen, clinging to one another.

We know dark days are coming, and we suspect they are coming soon. But we will not think about that tonight.

No, tonight is a night for worship.
A night for rejoicing.
A night to bask in the fragrance of sacrifice and love.

Tonight is a night to remember.

The post A Night to Remember appeared first on Jennifer Bleakley .

A Night Like No Other

Thu, 25 Mar 2021 05:37:00 GMT

As the world and all of her inhabitants settled in for the night—You walked into a garden.
As mothers tucked their children into bed, You fell to your knees in prayer.
As fathers locked their doors to keep evil out, You prepared to face it head on.
As infants cried tears of hunger, You cried tears of holy surrender.
As humanity stood lost and defiant, You humbly laid down your life to save ours.

What was occurring in the heavenly realms as you willingly submitted to the Father’s will?
Did the same angels who heralded Your birth, now stand in silent horror watching You sweat drops of blood?

What about the physical world?
How did creation respond that sacred, holy night?
Did a full moon illuminate Your face as You prayed? Or did the moon’s light surrender to the darkness pressing in around You?
What about the animals?
Were they drawn to you? Did they sing out in worship of their Creator and King?
Or did the weight of the moment silence their sounds?

Was the weight of the sin-burden You had come to carry beginning to fall over you?

That night.
That precious, sacred, holy, heartbreaking, life-giving night.
How does one even begin to express gratitude?
How can we possibly thank You for giving Your perfect life to save such un-perfect people?

Jesus, there will never be enough words or enough time to come close to thanking You. What You did is beyond human words or thought.

You looked at us—sinful, defiant, broken, lost us—and said, “I love you this much.”

And then you—perfect, righteous, holy you—spread your arms wide open and willingly gave your life for us .

On this night of remembering, may we pause to think about that night so long ago, and say thank you to the One who gave his life for ours.

Thank you, Jesus.

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When a whisper is louder than a shout

Tue, 16 Mar 2021 20:00:00 GMT

“Mama, you said that love is stronger than hate, right?” my thoughtful little girl asked from the back seat.
“It sure is,” I replied, unsure of how a debate about the deliciousness (or lack thereof) of Peeps had taken such a philosophical turn.
“Well then why is hate so much louder than love?”
“Louder?” I asked enthralled by her description.
“Yeah, it seems like hate is a million people shouting, but love is just one person whispering. Like when you whisper to me in the morning that you love me and that it’s time to get up.” Her head tilted to the side, “Can a whisper be louder than a shout?”

There are moments when I feel like I learn so much more from my children than they learn from me.

Can a whisper of love be louder than a shout of hate?

At first glance I would have said no. After all, the pain of a hateful word can last a lifetime. The scars of hate-filled criticisms can remain evident for years. But as I lingered over the question, I considered the life giving power of a whispered word of love:

A hate-filled crowd once shouted, crucify him . Their hate crescendoing to the barbaric crucifixion of a perfect man. Yet, as Jesus—Love in human form—allowed Himself to hang on a cross, where he gasped for each painful breath, he whispered some the most glorious and powerful words ever spoken: “It is finished.”

Hate brought death.
Love brings life!

Hate binds.
Love frees.

Hate destroys.
Love makes new.

Hate hurts.
Love heals.

Hate demands.
Love gives.

Hate is darkness.
Love pierces the darkness.

Hate will one day be destroyed.
Love will endure forever.

Hate may be louder to our physical ears, but divine love roars to our eternal souls.

Oh, that we would be a people unafraid and unashamed to whisper words of Love, even among the shouts of hate.
A prayer of love whispered for those chained to hate
A gentle word spoken to one who is not speaking gently
A moment shared…
An email unsent…
A word of affirmation to one struggling…

Whispers of love will often go unnoticed by the masses; but they have the power to change a life for eternity.

Lord, grant us courage to be willing to whisper words of Love to a culture defined by hate. Attune our ears to hear Your whispers of Love and give us strength to share those beautiful whispers with others.

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Go ahead and take ten sad minutes

Thu, 10 Sep 2020 13:03:00 GMT

I could tell the moment she walked through the door that she’d had a hard day. Middle school is hard enough. Middle school during a pandemic while transitioning from remote to in-person is a whole other level.

She has been trying so hard to roll with 2020’s punches. To cope she’s become a craft ninja. The girl can whip out craft supplies and be an hour into a new creation before I even know she’s awake!

She’s taken each new guideline, change and mandate in stride—with as much grace as her thirteen year old self can muster.

But it’s been a lot. And she finally hit her breaking point.

Tears she has fought so hard against for months escaped the dam, finding passage down her freckled cheeks. And yet still she fought hard against the tidal wave of emotion. Trying to rein in the tears. Willing herself to be strong.

I was looking at my daughter—I was seeing myself.

Seeing how hard I’ve tried to keep moving forward when all I want to do is hide under the covers. Seeing how hard I’ve tried to fight against despair, frustration, sadness, anxiety, anger and fear. Seeing the effort it has taken to keep my own tears locked up tight behind the dam of “holding it all together.”

But as I looked at my baby girl—as I gazed into her blue eyes shimmering with tears—I heard myself say, “Strength often comes through our tears, sweet girl. It’s ok—it’s good to let them out.”

I was talking to my daughter—God was talking to me.

As I pulled my girl into my arms, I felt God pull me closer into His.

“How about we take 10 sad minutes,” I suggested, pressing my lips to the top of her head.

She nodded her agreement.

We sat together and allowed our tears flow. They fell for different reasons. They signified different hurts. But in that moment we didn’t need to talk about the reasons, we just needed to let them fall. And as people with big feelings—and a bigger desire to want to control those feelings—we needed a time box. Knowing there was an end to our temporary surrender, allowed the tears to flow more freely.

Ten minutes later we wiped our faces, giggled at our puffy eyes and snotty noses, gave each other a hug and continued with our day.

Nothing was solved, yet everything felt a little better.
And we felt a little stronger.

As I snuggled into bed that night, her head poked into my room.

“Is it ok if we take ten sad minutes again tomorrow if I need them?” she asked.

“Absolutely,” I promised. “I’ll always be here when you need to take ten sad minutes.”

The words came from my lips—they were spoken by God’s heart.

It was a hard day.
It was great day.

It was the day I learned that strength truly can come through tears—especially tears shed while in the arms of a loving, strong, and most compassionate God.

Much love,

Jen

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Gracie’s Journal Entries

Mon, 08 Jun 2020 21:29:00 GMT

The post Gracie’s Journal Entries appeared first on Jennifer Bleakley .

A Dog’s Adventures (Gracie’s Journal)

Mon, 08 Jun 2020 21:26:00 GMT

Gracie’s Journal:

My mom says she isn’t sure if this should still be a Quarantine Journal since some places are starting to open back up. So she suggested just calling this my Journal.

I literally have no idea what she’s talking about. But since—of the two of us—she’s the only one with thumbs, she usually gets her way with these sorts of things.

Well, a lot has happened since I last posted.

First of all, my (and my mom’s) book, Pawverbs, officially launched!!!
I kept thinking that “book launch” meant she was going to throw the book really far and I would run to catch it! But she never did.

And as fun as the day was, I really think book launches would be better if that’s what happened!

I did wear my super fancy bandana for a little while that day. But man! Bandannas are just way too much temptation to wrap around a dog’s neck! I mean…I don’t see any humans walking around with a big ol’ hunk of chewing gum around their necks while being told not to chew it!!! How strong of a will does my mom think I have?
Thankfully, she grew tired of telling me “No chew” and eventually took it off. Now, if only I could find where she hid it…..

Another thing that happened was that last weekend a giant beast of a truck backed into my driveway and dumped out a mountain of something called mulch. At first I barked and tried to scare the mulch away. But once I realized that 1) mulch is not scared of my bark and 2) my humans seemed to have invited the mulch to our home I decided to investigate.

And guess what?!

You can dig in mulch!!! In fact, I am pretty sure the mulch was a gift for me! Maybe it was a book launch gift!

Mulch is SO much fun! You can dig in it, roll in it, play hide and seek with the cat in it, and jump over it!

Unfortunately, my mountain seems to be getting a little smaller everyday, as it appears my family has also been digging in it and then spreading it around the yard.

Oh, wait! Maybe they are creating multiple mountains for me to enjoy! They are so sweet!

Which is actually really good for me (and you) to remember—that they really are kind and nice people—when I tell you my last update. Because this last update doesn’t make them look so good…

Can you believe my family—my precious kind welcoming family—wouldn’t let me play with a new friend?!

It’s sad, but very true!

Three days ago, I was enjoying a lovely time out back with my dad. He was working on his computer while I was enjoying mulch mountain. As I ran over to show him a stick I found buried in the pile, I heard a noise in the wooded area between our yard and our neighbor’s.

A second later a deer ran into my yard.

Visiting deer are not unusual. In fact, I have played chase with many deer in my yard.

But what was unusual was that this deer was MY size! And it was covered in white polka dots.

I couldn’t believe it! I have never been up close to a deer my size before. I didn’t even know what to do—should I chase it or play with it.

That’s when it hit me: Why not do both!

And so I ran as fast as I could to the deer—after all I know how fast those animals are! They are so fast in fact, that I’ve never been able to catch up to one.

So you can imagine my utter shock when I not only caught up to Spots (as I decided to call him) but ran straight into him and knocked him off his feet (or do they have paws? or those hoof things???)

Anyway, I think my dad and the deer must have been shocked too because they both let out a yell like I have never heard. My dad kept yelling my name and the deer made a weird Baahhhh-ahhhhh screeching kind of sound. I think it must be the sound deer make when they laugh. Because I’m sure Spots thought our collision was hilarious!

Since he was laughing, I decided to tickle him a little by licking and mouthing at his neck—I mean, the cat loves when I do that! But my dad rudely pulled me away.

Poor Spots must have felt so rejected because he shot up from the ground and started to run away.

Not wanting my new friend to feel abandoned on our first play date, I wriggled out of dad’s grip and playfully tackled Spots again.

And he loved it so much he made that same sound and kicked his feet/paw/hoof things in the air.

We were having so much fun—until my dad grabbed me again and pulled me away. How rude!

Next, my mom flew through the back door and Spots sprang to his feet and took off running. Dad tightened his grip on my collar.

I can’t believe my Mom and Dad scared poor Spots away!

I think mom felt bad about it because she ran barefoot after Spots for quite awhile.

Bless her heart, she was probably trying to bring him back so we could play some more. But I’ll never know because my dad made me go inside, and when mom came back she said the little deer’s mama found him and took him home.

Poor Spots. He just wanted to play.

But I guess sometimes parents just don’t understand these things.

Hopefully, Spots will come back!

But oddly enough, I haven’t seen any deer in our yard since Spots left. Weird.

Well, back to mulch mountain!

Thanks for reading my non-quarantine (but still kinda quarantine) journal!

Always,
Gracie

ps-since Spots was so rudely run off by my humans, I couldn’t get a picture of my new friend, but the one above is of me in front of mulch mountain!

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A Dog’s Loss (Gracie’s Journal)

Mon, 08 Jun 2020 21:20:00 GMT

I still can’t quite believe what happened today.

Don’t worry…this doesn’t involve the vet. But it’s almost as bad!

There I was more happy than I had been in weeks.

It had finally happened….

My family had finally finished off the giant jar of peanut butter they have been slowly eating from for weeks.

Every time they would open that jar and the glorious smell of peanut butter would waft to my nose, I would start drooling. But despair would soon rip through my heart as they would return the jar to the pantry.

But today—today—the heavens parted, the angels sang, and my mom handed me the almost empty jar of peanut butter!!!!!!!!! (and don’t worry, mom only buys peanut butter that’s safe for me and not toxic. She’s really considerate like that)

Well, I took it in my mouth and ran. Didn’t want her to change her mind.

I wiggled into the perfect position, gripped the jar between my paws, and started to lick. And lick. And lick.

It was divine!
Heavenly.
Perfection.

After awhile my tongue started to ache, but I didn’t care. Nothing would stop this moment. After all, who knows how long it will take for my family to finish off another jar?!

After licking the jar clean, I started to chew on the container—I mean, there was peanut butter underneath the rim. I couldn’t just leave it there!

But just as I sank my teeth into the hard plastic for the second time, my mom took the jar away from me!!!!!

She just took it away!!!

She was like a ninja!

Normally I see her coming, but one minute I was in heaven and the next she was ripping the holy grail away from me!

I heard her say that plastic was bad for me….I heard the word dangerous and choke. But all I could think was “It’s gone!”

My cries of torment and pain fell on deaf ears.

She tossed me a piece of ice—which of course I caught and ate—but does she possibly think ice comes close to peanut butter???

It was a loss of epic proportions.

It felt wrong and sudden and unfair.

And while I know other dogs who have lost more—my friend Darcy once had to let go of a meatball! A meatball!!! How do you recover from that???

But still, I needed to feel sad.

I mean, I know my mom loves me. And while I question her science and logic sometimes, I know that what she does comes from a place of love and so I trust her. But still, it hurts.

But the whole ordeal (from which I’m still recovering) made me think of all the humans who have had to let go of things recently.

I hope they are letting themselves feel sad about those things. From peanut butter jars to meatballs to everything in between, having things taken away is hard. And it hurts.

And it’s ok to feel sad—because it shows that the thing we lost mattered.

I know there will be more peanut butter jars someday, but for tonight I’m gonna let myself feel sad. And if you need to feel sad for a night you can join me.

And then tomorrow we will look to the new jar of peanut butter and count the days until we can dig in! (Or we can steal the cat’s food…whichever floats your boat!)

Stay well and wash your paws.

Always,
Gracie

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A Dog’s Observation (Gracie’s Journal)

Mon, 08 Jun 2020 21:15:00 GMT

Gracie’s Quarantine Journal
Day (is anyone keeping score anymore???)

The other night my family piled on the sofa to watch a movie. Well, everyone except me—I was forced to watch from the floor!
I mean, I am just as much a part of this family as they are, but for some reason—a reason I will never understand—the brand new sofa in the big upstairs room is off limits to me! Sure, I’m allowed on the old sofa in the front room that no one ever goes in, and I can jump on the kids’ beds any time I want, and I have my own bed, and there’s really soft carpet upstairs to sleep on, but still….why oh why can’t I sleep on the new sofa?! It looks so comfy!

Sorry…I digress.

Anyway, while my family was watching the movie from the comfort of the big fluffy soft cloud like sofa, I heard a man on the movie say that life is like a box of chocolates cause you never know what you’re gonna get. (My family said that line with the man, then they laughed. I guess somehow they had seen that movie before)

Well, that sentence made me think about a few things:

First, I really wish I could eat a box of chocolates! But mom won’t let me ? She says chocolate isn’t good for dogs. But is that really true? Or is that just something humans tells dogs so they don’t have to share their chocolate???

Second, I think the movie man is right about not knowing what life—or even what each day—is going to be like.

In fact, maybe that’s part of the reason so many humans are struggling right now. I think humans (and dogs) really like knowing what they’re gonna get, and it’s hard when you don’t. And it’s really hard when you feel like your box of chocolates got turned upside down and stepped on!

I like having a routine and knowing what to expect. For example, I always know when it’s time to eat! And when it’s time to go for a walk. And I used to know what time the kids would come home from school and I would always watch in the window for them.

Knowing what’s coming and having a plan makes me feel happy and safe.

But recently, a lot of our plans have changed. Some in good ways: My once a day walk has turned into twice and sometimes three times a day walks! And my family goes to the refrigerator way more than they used to which usually means I can convince them to give me a little taste of what they’re eating (unless of course, it’s chocolate ?)

But some plans have changed in not good ways.
I can never tell anymore when the kids are gonna be done with school, so I never know when to be downstairs to greet them. And while I love having my family home, it is really hard to take a good nap when they are moving around all the time. And I haven’t gotten to go for a car ride in weeks!

I think mom is having a hard time with her box of chocolate life right now too, because some days she’s super happy and gets lots done (and makes videos with me!), but then the next day she might sit in the grass and cry.

She’s never done that before—so that must be something humans do during a pandemic.
I know eating grass makes me feel better when my tummy hurts! So maybe sitting in grass and crying helps humans feel a better?

I usually throw up after I eat grass—and boy does getting that stuff out make me feel SO much better!

Maybe crying is how humans get up some of the stuff that is hurting their insides.

It’s hard to see mom sad, but I’m glad she’s getting out what needs to come out. And at least I don’t have to clean up after her!

The next day mom will usually be fine again—then a few days later she might sit back in the grass and cry. And then the next day she’ll be ok again.

I never know what kind of day it’s gonna be or what she’s gonna need me to do. But whatever she needs, whether it’s playing outside, making videos, going for a walk (or 5), sitting in the grass, or snuggling on one of the approved beds, I’ll be there for her. Always.

I’m not sure if that’s what the movie man meant when he said the thing about life being like a box of chocolate, but it kinda seems like it.

If it’s not, then maybe he just meant that humans should eat a box of chocolate everyday.

Maybe mom should try that! And if she won’t let me eat chocolate, then I think she should at least let me sleep on the new sofa!

Stay safe and wash your paws,

Always,
Gracie

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A Dog’s Complaint (Gracie’s Journal)

Mon, 08 Jun 2020 21:10:00 GMT

Gracie’s Quarantine Journal
Day ???

I really don’t have much to report. Thankfully, my vet ordeal is over. And the only humans to show up on the other side of the door recently have been leaving packages. And once they hear my ferocious bark, they drop those packages on the ground and hurry right back to their big trucks. At lease some humans appreciate my awesome guard dog skills!

Oh! And one of those packages contained a GIANT bag of my food!!! I think all packages should contain food or treats or….peanut butter!!

Anyway, my family had a good Easter (although I think they would have enjoyed it even more if someone had thought to get ?? a basket full of treats! I mean, does one rubber bone even come close to a pile of candy like the kids got?? What is that about? Can one of you humans reading this please use your thumbs to send out a message to the rest of your species about getting Easter baskets for dogs next year? And cats too—although I have no idea what you would put in a basket for cats? But I’ll leave that to you cat people to figure out.)

Anyway, I forgave my mom for her oversight (and also helped myself to some of the kids candy when they were upstairs watching a movie. It only seemed right for the kids to share! However, mom was not to pleased when she discovered the trail of wrappers I accidentally left as evidence. Rookie mistake! I should have known better….)

I am still so happy to have my family home with me, but sometimes I wonder when things are going to go back to normal—sometimes I even wonder if they are ???? going to go back to normal.

I think mom wonders about those things too because she sometimes gets a funny look on her face, like she’s searching the woods for deer! But I know she’s not cause when she looks like that she’s usually staring at a wall or her computer or at nothing at all. I guess it’s her thinking face. She must have lots of things to think about…

Yesterday when she was talking to her friend on her small portable rectangle, I heard her say that it feels like she goes through the stages of grief everyday only to start over the next day.

I didn’t know what that meant, but her friend laughed and said, “Me too!”

They were laughing, but their laughs sounded a little sad. So I snuggled close to mom and she rubbed my belly for the rest of her conversation.

After putting her little rectangle back in her pocket she took me for a walk. Afterward we stopped at the mailbox for the 100th time this week! Mom is waiting to get a copy of her new book. She is so excited about seeing it for the first time. I’m sure that’s because I am in the book—my picture is even in there! So of course mom is excited! I am too!

Anyway, it hasn’t come yet, so I guess we will be making many more trips to the mailbox, but that’s ok! I’m always happy to go for a walk—and maybe, just maybe, one of these times we are going to open the mailbox and find something wonderful like treats or maybe even….peanut butter!!!

Stay safe and wash your paws!

Always,
Gracie

(the photo is of me dreaming of my Easter basket next year! ??)

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A Dog’s Ordeal (Gracie’s Journal)

Mon, 08 Jun 2020 21:07:00 GMT

Gracie’s Quarantine Journal
Day…does it really matter??

(sorry today’s post is so long…but I have a lot to process!)

Yesterday was horrific. The stuff nightmares are made of.

It is still hard to think about, but mom always tells the kids that it’s good to talk about their feelings when they are upset. She says it helps to release some of the pain.
So here goes….

Yesterday started like every other day. I had a scrumptious breakfast of salmon and rice kibble—and I even got to lick mom’s cereal bowl when she was done!

I took mom for our morning walk—she didn’t want to go but I can be quite persistent.

Then she and I went to work. It has become obvious that she cannot write without me anymore. And so I laid at her feet where my very presence provides inspiration and productivity.

And that’s when it happened.

The loud bell that notifies us of the presence of a human at the front door reverberated throughout the house. It awakened me from my blissful slumber. I shot to my feet, both excited by the prospect of visitors and determined to let any potential threat know not to mess with this house!

I took my place in front of mom, prepared to launch myself into the arms of the visitor or into the stomach of a potential assailant.

As usual, mom moved me behind her saying something about manners.

Manners!? Doesn’t she understand what it means to protect someone???

Anyway, the trusting woman that she is, she opened the door.

And there, standing on the other side of my door was….the VET!!!!!

How in the name of all that is good and yummy did my doctor manage to come to my house in the middle of a pandemic?? Doesn’t she know that humans are supposed to stay home with their animals right now, where they can be properly protected from hidden dangers??

And not only was the vet standing there, she was wearing a muzzle! A muzzle! How dangerous must a human be to have to wear a muzzle???

I backed up—waaaaayyyyy up!

“Hi Miss Gracie,” she said, her nice voice trying to lure me forward. “You sure are looking good.”

Flattery would get her nowhere.

She stretched out her hand. I turned away.

But then….I caught a whiff of something delicious on the air.

Bacon!

My traitor of a stomach moved my feet forward to investigate. She smelled of bacon. And pancakes. Oh no….

Ok, one little lick and I’m gone!

Too late! Mom grabbed hold of my collar and put my leash on and handed my leash to the vet.

I was captured!….By my own mother!

Dumb bacon smell!

The vet walked me outside. At first I was so confused that I blindly followed. But soon I looked up and saw a giant box on wheels in my driveway. And I knew that’s where we were headed!

Oh no you don’t!

I came to an abrupt stop. I shook my body and wiggled my head. Suddenly I was free of my collar. Free of the leash. And I was running for all I was worth to the back door.

Surely mom couldn’t have realized what she was doing. Surely the vet—this doctor of disguise and deceit—had tricked my poor trusting mama.

I launched myself against the kitchen window. My poor misguided mom was working. She gasped when she saw me—good, she must have realized the error in judgement she made. It’s ok. Just open the door and we will pretend this never happened.

She opened the door. Yes!

Wait….NO!!!

Mom knelt down and held me. She held me until the vet returned!!

What? No! Why???

Mind control.

The vet must be using mind control on my mom.

I looked for an escape. I found none.

Where is the cat? I wondered. He can get out of anything! Here kitty kitty!

“It’s ok girl,” mom said.

Is it?
Is it really!?

“It’s just a check up,” she says as if that makes any difference. “You need your shots to stay healthy. You’re gonna be ok. I’m right here.”

I hear the vet say, “Let’s just do her exam here. I don’t want her to be scared.”

Doesn’t want me to be scared? You should have thought about that before you knocked on my door!

Mom held my head and talked to me while Dr. Don’t-be-scared put a strange tube thing with a circle on the end to my chest, opened my mouth and looked at my teeth, pulled my ears up and then stuck something in m back! How rude!

But with mom holding my head at least I’m wasn’t as scared. I mean, I still hated it, but at least I couldn’t hear my heartbeat in my ears anymore!

Thankfully, the vet stood up and said two of the most beautiful words in the human language, “All done!”

Not taking any chances, I hid behind mom’s legs—totally ok with her being in front of me now.

The vet handed me a treat. I didn’t want to take it. But I did….I’m so weak when it comes to treats.

I watched as she left our house—unsure if I will ever run to the door again!

Mom knelt down.

She called my name and I ran to her.

I can never stay mad at her.

I will never ever understand why she let the vet come to our house, but I guess she had her reasons.

? ????? ???? ??? ???? ??????? ?? ???? ??? ???? ???? ???? ??? ???? ??? ???, ???? ??? ???? ?? ????? ???? ???? ???? ??? ???’? ??????????.

Anyway, that was my day yesterday.

My advice to you: Be careful opening your doors today!

Oh, and don’t forget to wash your paws!

Always,
Gracie

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A Dog’s Consolation (Gracie’s Journal)

Mon, 08 Jun 2020 21:02:00 GMT

Gracie’s Quarantine Journal
Day 19 or 20? (does anyone know what day it is anymore?)

I used to not like Saturdays and Sundays much because I was alone a lot. I don’t know where my family would go, but they went a lot! Sometimes I got to go with them to the park—sometimes we even went to the lake! But most of the time I got left here while they went…somewhere.

When they would leave I would drown my sorrows in the comfy sofa cushions! Technically I wasn’t supposed to be on the sofa, but what is a dog supposed to do when they feel so alone?? My only consolation was the comfy yellow sofa (which mom now calls my sofa of sadness)

But now, Saturdays and Sundays are my favorite days! Because now my family stays home and we play outside All. Day. Long!

I guess they finally felt bad enough about leaving me that they decided to never do it again! All of my pouting and laying around looking as sad as I felt finally paid off! Never underestimate the power of a good pout!

My family lies around pouting on their own sofa of sadness a lot these days too. But I’m not sure why…I mean I NEVER leave them! So I know it’s not that.

I guess humans sometimes get sad for other reasons.

Sad times happen I guess. But thankfully we have each other to help us get through it and to help us feel better.

Mom always helps me feel better when she rubs my belly—and especially when she gives me a treat!

Hmm…I wonder if I can rub mom’s belly for her?? That will make her feel better. And I will definitely share a treat with her! She will LOVE my new dried salmon treats! They are SO good.

I hope everyone has somewhere they can go when they need to be sad for a little bit (sometimes a sofa of sadness really does help). But I also hope you have someone to rub your belly and give you a treat to help you feel better.

If not, let me know and I’ll get my mom to mail you one of my salmon treats. I don’t think she can mail you a belly rub though…but I’ll ask!

Stay safe and remember to wash your paws!

Always,
Gracie

(this is me on the sofa of sadness when mom and the kids left me to go to FL last month, but it’s ok…they’re home now and all is as it should be!)

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A Dog’s Advice (Gracie’s Journal)

Mon, 08 Jun 2020 20:59:00 GMT

Gracie’s Quarantine Journal
Day 16 (I think)

(My mom said my log is really more of a journal and suggested I change the name. I have no idea what she’s talking about, but she won because, well, she has thumbs)

It sure is hard work to get a book ready to release. My mom has spent all week in front of her portable rectangle. She keeps mumbling about something called social media—and how it shouldn’t take her as long as it does to figure it all out; and how the kids can do it so much faster than she can…or something like that.

I’ll be honest, I don’t really pay that much attention.
I just let her pet my head while she mumbles and types, and deletes and types, then grumbles and types some more, and then calls the kids to come help her.

I learned a long time ago that sometimes it’s best to just keep your head down and focus on one simple thing you can do. For me, that’s usually staying close to my humans so they know they aren’t alone.

But thankfully, when my head is down they usually pet it!!

It seems like a lot of humans have their heads down right now. Maybe because they’re scared. Or maybe because they’re tired. Or maybe it’s cause they need someone to rub their head….

I’m just a dog, so I don’t really know what’s going on or how it’s all going to work out.

But I do know that things don’t feel nearly as scary when you’re with people you love, and when you’re doing something to care for others. (I learned that lesson the hard way—at the vet’s! It’s super scary there…but thankfully my mom is with me; and even though I get so scared my tail rubs against my belly, it makes me feel happy that so many people smile when I come in)

I have also noticed that my family feels a lot better when they talk to God and when they read the big book that I got in big trouble once for chewing on!

So if you have a big book like my mom’s:
1) DO NOT chew on it!
2) Try reading a Psalm each day (I heard my mom say that to someone this week) I don’t know what a Psalm is, but it must be something really good because my mom always seems to feel better after she reads one.

And then after you read from the book you could try talking to God.

I can’t see him, but my mom talks to him a lot, sometimes out loud so I can hear. And sometimes she even cries when she talks to him. But he doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, it seems like God is an even better listener than I am! (I know…it’s hard to imagine!)

I really wish I could lean my head against all the humans who feel scared and tired and overwhelmed. I wish I could sit with them and let them know they aren’t alone.

It’s hard to want to help so many people, but not be able to….

So, I will do for my family what I wish I could do for everyone.

And you know, maybe if we all do something for one other person then pretty soon everyone will feel just a little bit better….even the cats!

Stay safe and remember to wash your paws! (and NOT to chew your big books!)

Always,
Gracie

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A Dog’s Exhaustion (Gracie’s Journal)

Mon, 08 Jun 2020 20:56:00 GMT

Gracie’s Log
(Weekend Edition)
Days 11&12

I meant to get my weekend update out on the actual weekend, but my family kept me so busy the past two days that this is the first time I’ve had 5 minutes to myself.

Let me just say that I love my family with all my heart, but helping them thru this pandemic is becoming exhausting!! I’m starting to understand why some dogs are willing to endure the humiliation of going for a walk in a stroller! How many walks do humans think we need?!

For some reason all my family wanted to do this past weekend was be outside.

I just don’t get it. The outside has always been there—I know because I go out there every single day. But my family is acting like it’s some new thing that just appeared on the other side of the backdoor. It’s so weird.

They are utterly fascinated by the outdoors now. It’s like their drawn to it by some unseen force—I bet it’s the same force that draws me to the litter box! (I am truly powerless against that force!)

The kids even dusted off their bikes and rode around the neighborhood—without me!! That hurt—A Lot. I made sure to show my displeasure by standing at the foot of the driveway and barking incessantly. And I would have stayed there until they returned had mom not distracted me by throwing a handful of food in the grass. Ugh…if only I had the strength to deny my stomach and continue my protest.

Anyway, between washing cars, playing in sprinklers, mowing the grass, not taking me for along on a bike ride, pulling weeds, going for walks, working on outdoor lighting and putting more plants in pots, we were outside all weekend!

It is making me wonder: do pandemics make humans forget about the importance of air conditioning and carpet and tv?

I mean I love the outside too, but even I got to the point I wanted to go back inside. A dog can only take so many games of fetch and so much digging. And my teeth need a break from chewing sticks and pinecones.

Between you and me I am so glad everyone is back on their glowing rectangles today. I can finally take a break!

I hope your having a good day, and that your pet is taking a nice long nap—they probably really need it!

Always,
Gracie

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A Dog’s Delight

Mon, 08 Jun 2020 20:53:00 GMT

Gracie’s Log
Day 10

I spent a lot of time outside today with my family. I was so happy about it that I didn’t even mind the cat being there! The sun felt so good on my face and the grass tasted so sweet (I will never understand why my mom doesn’t like me to eat grass! Clearly she has never experienced the gloriousness of ripping spring grass from the earth and letting it rest on your tongue until you can finally choke it down. Pure heaven!)

Dad finished building that wall thing around the bottom of our deck. At first I was upset, but now I realize it’s ok. He just knows how much I love to dig, and so I think he’s giving me a challenge! Something to do when I need a break from taking care of my family. I won’t let him down! I will rise to the challenge. In fact, I bet I can get under that thing in less than 5 minutes tomorrow! Stay tuned!

Well, that’s all I have for today. After watching my dad, eating grass, running with the kids, and letting my mom take 873 pictures of me—it is SO hard being this cute—I am ready for bed.

Have a good weekend, stay safe and remember to wash your paws!

Always,
Gracie

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A Dog’s Purpose (Gracie’s Journal)

Mon, 08 Jun 2020 20:45:00 GMT

Gracie’s Log
Day 9

I really wish I could fix things for all the humans who are sick, and those who are working so hard to help those who are sick.

I wish I could help the ones who are scared, and the ones who have been working so hard to take care of those who are scared.

I wish I could snuggle with every kid and every grown up who is sad about missing so many fun things.

And I wish more than anything I could make the sickness go away forever.

But I’m just a dog. And while I can do lots of cool tricks, I can’t fix all those things.

But I can be there for my family. I can love my people. I can snuggle with them and make sure they spend time outside with me. I can sit with them if they need to cry. I can jump with them if they want to dance. And I can listen if they want to talk.

I can’t fix everything (or really anything) but I can love the people God has given me and try to help where I can.

And it seems like that’s a good place to start.

So if you could use a snuggle, just pretend I’m sitting in your lap, purring my doggie purr and ready to listen if you need to talk.

Always,
Gracie

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A Dog’s Launch (Gracie’s Journal)

Mon, 08 Jun 2020 20:40:00 GMT

Gracie’s Log
Day 8

I love having my family home with me, but they really don’t do too much!

Mostly they just stare at their bright rectangles, push buttons and eat snacks. Although I do like snack time because if I look at them long enough they will usually share with me.

I guess their rectangles (I think mom calls them computers) are really important. But how something is more important than a walk or chasing a ball, I have no idea. Hopefully, they will get tired of those like I sometimes get tired of chewing on a big bone and they will start spending more time playing with me.

I am staying pretty close to my mom these days in case she needs any help with the book I helped her write. Did you know we wrote a book together? I mean technically she wrote it, but I provided her with lots of inspiration and I laid beside her while she wrote it, so I basically wrote it with her. In fact, I wonder why my name isn’t on the cover….I’ll have to talk to someone about that!

Anyway, mom has been getting ready for our book launch (which does not mean the same thing as when a space shuttle or a rocket launches..but that would be SO fun! I bet if they launched books into space more people would read them!)

Mom is a little worried about launching a book right now because so many people are so sad about the pandemic (I think pandemic must mean when your family stays home with you and only leaves the house to hunt for toilet paper).

Our book is all about real life pets (called Pawverb pets) who help people see a glimmer of hope and joy even when things look kind of dark and boring. So I actually think it’s a perfect time to launch our book. I think people need Pawverbs Pets now more than ever!

And maybe our publisher will even consider launching it into space!

Well, mom needs to take my picture again—for the 100th time this week!

Be safe and remember to wash your paws!

Always,
Gracie
(ps—if you want to read more about our book you can click the link below—but you’ll just have to pretend my name is on the cover! https://www.jenniferbleakley.com/pawverbs/ )

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A Dog’s Wish (Gracie’s Journal)

Mon, 08 Jun 2020 20:34:00 GMT

Gracie’s Log
Day 7

Today was a pretty boring day. I mean I love having my family home with me. But all they did was sit in front of their bright rectangles and push buttons all day. Boring!
Wouldn’t they rather play with me?? Who cares that it’s raining and cold!

Sometimes I wish my humans had fur….maybe then they wouldn’t worry about getting wet and cold and they could play with me outside more!

Actually, my dad is growing fur!!!
I guess he realized how helpful fur can be!
Ever since my family started staying home all day, my dad’s face has been getting furrier and furrier! I like it! But I don’t think mom does—she makes a funny face when he kisses her.
My fur must be softer than my dad’s cause mom never makes that face when she kisses me!

This morning Mom said it’s starting to feel like the pandemic version of the movie Groundhog Day. I have NO idea what any of those words mean. But my dad laughed and agreed.

I think hog has something to do with bacon and I LOVE bacon!! So maybe she was talking about putting bacon on the ground?? I hope that’s it!

Anyway, not much else to write. Like I said it’s been a kind of boring day.

Oh wait! My dad just said we could go for a walk!! I knew him growing fur was a good idea!

Be safe and remember to wash your paws!!

Always,
Gracie

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A Dog’s Life (Gracie’s Journal)

Mon, 08 Jun 2020 20:32:00 GMT

Gracie’s Log
Days 5&6

I barely had time to sleep this weekend, let alone write about it. But now that my humans are back to school and work, I finally have a few minutes to myself (taking care of humans sure is hard work!)

I don’t know what got into my family but they spent more time in the backyard this weekend than they have in years! Dad and Andrew used loud tools and lots of wood to create some kind of weird barrier thing around the bottom of the deck.
And honestly, I don’t like it one bit!
I think they are making a kind of fence or something. But don’t they understand that is where I hide various treasures! And where some of the best digging is? Ugh. Right now it’s only half enclosed, but I have a very bad feeling about this….

Meanwhile mom and Ella spent a lot of time filling pots with fresh dirt and putting green plants in them. The dirt looked amazing! The perfect consistency for digging. I tried to help them, but they seemed uninterested in my digging skills and so I was left to run laps around the house, visit my friends through the fence in the back of the yard, and amuse myself with sticks.

Thankfully, I did get to go on a bunch of walks!

Mom got super upset yesterday about something….I’m not exactly sure what she was upset about. But I think it had something to do with her hair. She kept talking about her hair salon being closed and being scared she’s going to look like someone called Cruella de Vil soon and how if she can’t get her hair colored she’s gonna start scaring puppies??
I have no idea what she’s talking about. But I can’t imagine ever being scared of my mom.
But I don’t think she needs to worry, because if a hair salon is anything like the grooming salon, then my Dad is a pretty good groomer. He gives me great hair cuts! So mom shouldn’t worry! After all, Dad just got brand new clippers for me! And I’ll share with mom!

To help mom feel better, I laid in her lap for a long time yesterday. And it must have worked because after that she got up and cleaned her closet, made banana bread (yum!), and planted more plants on the deck!

I’m so glad I can make her feel better. Now if she would just give me some of that banana bread!

Be safe everyone! And let me know if you need to borrow my new clippers!

Always,
Gracie
(Now, I can finally take a nap!!!)

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A Dog’s Best Friend (Gracie’s Journal)

Mon, 08 Jun 2020 20:29:00 GMT

Gracie’s Log
Day 4

Today was a good day.

I got to walk with Darcy!! She’s my very best friend.

Humans seem to think it’s funny that we’re friends, although I’m not really sure why.
Maybe it’s because Darcy has curly black hair and I have straight blond hair?
Or maybe it’s because I would chase tennis balls all day long if my humans would let me, but Darcy won’t even look at a ball if you throw it…
Or maybe it has something to do with Darcy being twelve years old while I’m just three???
I’m not really sure, all I know is that I love Darcy and I really love getting to go for walks with her.

Since my humans have been home with me this week we have gone on A LOT of walks!! (like I said before I really don’t know why everyone seems so upset these days. I am in heaven!)

Anyway, today was extra special because I hadn’t seen Darcy for awhile. Her leg had been hurting and she hadn’t been able to walk with us like she usually does. But that was ok. Even though I missed Darcy, I was glad she was staying inside and being safe.

? ????? ????????? ?? ???? ?????? ???? ?? ??????? ???? ???? ???? ?? ????.

It seems like there are a lot of humans right now who need time to heal.

And also lots who need to stay inside so they can stay safe—just like Darcy did.

But now Darcy feels better and can walk with me again!

We walked a little bit slower than usual, but that was ok. I was jus happy to be back with my best friend.

I probably should have written more about my humans and what they are up too—I’m still not quite sure what this log is supposed to be. But my mom said I can take all the time I need to figure it out. She said the most important thing is to just share what’s on my heart. (I’m not really sure what that means, but today it just felt good to write about my friend Darcy!)

What would you write about today?

Always,
Gracie

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A Dog’s Perspective (Gracie’s Journal)

Mon, 08 Jun 2020 20:21:00 GMT

??????’? ???
??? 2&3

I forgot to post yesterday, but that’s what my mom gets for tasking ?? with this responsibility. Again, I have no thumbs; and I also have an overwhelming instinct to chase things and eat things and am admittedly quite easily distracted….so I’ll just have to do the best I can.

Actually that was my big take away from yesterday and today—???? ????????? ??? ?? ??? ?? ?? ???? ?? ??? ??. ??? ???? ?? ??.

With all my humans home, I can’t stay with each one of them while they work, and also guard the house, and visit my best friend behind the fence. I can only do what I can do—and that’s ok.

My younger humans have started spending a lot of time in front of their computers and those portable rectangle things (?ℎ?? ? ?????????? ?? ? ????? ??? ??? ?????? ??????!)

Mom says they are at school, but I thought school was when they drove away?? I guess school means something else now…

I think now it means to stop barking and be quiet because no one seems to appreciate my loud defense of our home while the kids are at “school!”

It actually seems like everyone is figuring out what words mean now. Words like work, school, church, and practice all seem to have new meanings. I didn’t know words could change like that…

But it’s ok. I learned what those words meant once, and I can learn them again. At least eat, treat, and walk haven’t changed!!!

I guess while we’re all figuring it out, we will just do the best we can do. And try to help each other remember to laugh and play (and maybe even cry a little) along the way. (I make sure to stay extra close to my mom when she needs a good cry….it seems to help her a little)

So if you need a someone to tell you it’s ok to not do things perfectly or to have this new language and world figured out yet, then take it from me….??’? ?? ?? ?????? ?? ???? ??? ??? ?? ??? ???.

(But…if you have an extra treat, feel free to send it my way!)

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A Dog’s View (Gracie’s Journal)

Mon, 08 Jun 2020 20:14:00 GMT

Gracie’s Log
Day one

[I have been given the task of chronicling my humans’ prolonged time at home with me—sure I have no thumbs or typing skills, but whatever…I was promised a treat at the end of this and that’s really all that matters!]

The humans seem a little tense, but I honestly have no idea why!
Maybe it’s because they can’t find room for all the things they keep bringing home…Or maybe it’s because their hands hurt from being washed so much (I’m just glad they’re not washing me that much!) Or maybe they are tense because the cat keeps sneaking in the house.

Whatever the reason, I am confident I can cheer them up.

After all, they do seem happier when they play with me (and don’t listen to the loud rectangles on the wall or in their hands!)

Maybe that’s it! Maybe I need to start throwing the ball for them to chase! (do you have to have thumbs for that?)
Or maybe I can bring them sticks to chew on.
Or simply look so cute that they pay no attention to the rectangles!

Anyway, I’m not really sure what I’m supposed to record in these logs, but I’ll figure it out as I go.

In the meantime, have fun with your people. Try throwing a ball, chasing a stick (or the cat), turning off the loud rectangles, and running so hard you pant!

And remember we’re in this together—even the cats!

Always,
Gracie
(where’s my treat??)

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A Night to Remember

Tue, 07 Apr 2020 15:46:00 GMT

To me, the story of Mary anointing Jesus with her costly perfume prior to his crucifixion is one of the most beautiful stories in the Bible.

It is rich with meaning, layered with context and powerful in application.

And according to Bible scholars it would have taken place the just two days before the Last Supper. Just forty-eight hours before the Savior of the world would hand himself over to religious leaders to be killed.

And so on this day, more than 2,000 years after Mary’s hands cracked open her alabaster jar, we pause to reflect upon the events of long ago. Events which have just as much relevance to the world today as they did back then—when Jesus demonstrated the greatest act of love the world has ever known.

As I stare at the precious powerful words in my Bible, I can’t help but imagine the scene in my mind…

Mary and Martha find themselves in a familiar setting—a dinner party to honor Jesus. They’ve been here before. Not at this exact party, but one like it. Could it really have only been a few years ago? It feels as if everything has changed since then. And really, everything had.

The biggest change being their brother Lazarus, who had been dead and buried in the tomb, but who was now sitting with Jesus—and very much alive!

How could anything ever be the same again?

Mary and Martha had watched Jesus call their brother out of the grave. They had seen his life giving power with their own eyes.

And yet even before that life-altering demonstration, they had been changed.

Changed by his compassion . When Jesus wept with them at the tomb, when they saw their pain reflected in his eyes—eyes that looked on them with such love and understanding—they were undone. His compassion invited them to lay every hurt, every fear, every broken shard at his feet. And they did. They wept before him. They grieved and cried and ached in his arms. Arms that held them fast. Arms that shielded them in their time of need. Arms that formed an impenetrable wall of love and protection around them.

They had also been changed by his words . Words that held the answers to all the mysteries of life. Powerful words that spoke not just to their ears, but to their souls. Words filled with kindness and strength. Enduring words that ushered them into light. That invited them into hope. Words that drove out evil; words that commanded storms; words that brought nourishment, healing and freedom; words that brought life….

Yes, everything had changed since their last dinner party.

And yet Mary and Martha both understood, deep in their bones, that everything was about to change again.

When Jesus walked into the house it felt as if all of heaven held its breath. The very air felt heavy—a dreadful sorrow mixed with a hopeful anticipation. The feeling was unsettling, yet electric.

The sisters didn’t know what to do. So they simply did what they could.

Tonight they would give everything they had to the One they loved more than any other.

For Martha that meant serving.

She didn’t have much but she knew how throw a wonderful party. She knew how to cook, and she was good at it. She knew how to run an efficient kitchen. And she knew how to effortlessly keep the food and drink flowing while creating a cozy and inviting atmosphere. And whereas the last dinner party she organized for Jesus was done out of a sense of duty and done from a place of bitterness at her sister’s lack of help, this party was nothing but a pure act of worship.

That is what she had to offer her Savior and she would offer it all.

As she joyfully filled the cup of the man reclining across from Jesus, so lost in her worship of her Savior that she couldn’t help but hum a song he had taught her, Jesus caught her eye.

His expression flooded her heart with more love than she had ever known. His eyes told her that he not only knew of her motives for tonight, but that he was deeply touched by her act of worship.

He smiled at her and she knew in that instant t hat every party she ever threw from that moment on, every act of service she ever did for another person, would be done for him.

As if aware of her silent determination, Jesus nodded his approval. And Martha felt as though her heart might burst with gratitude.

And yet, she had a job to do—for him. And so she moved to the next guest and proceeded to fill his cup.

Meanwhile, Mary watched her sister float from one dinner guest to the next. How different Martha was from their last party. Mary was delighted for her sister. Delighted by the peace her sister had found.

It was the same peace Mary had first discovered while sitting at Jesus’ feet just a few years ago. A peace which had changed everything f or her. A peace which she longed to share with others. A peace provided by the one now reclining across the room from her.

So different from Martha, Mary was not blessed with the gifts of service and hospitality. She did it of course, for it was her duty, but it was not her passion.

Secretly, deep down in the most hidden part of her soul, she longed to be a teacher. For oh how she loved to learn! Her very soul craved knowledge and understanding. Her most favorite times were sitting at Jesus’ feet and learning from him. And she had learned so much! Now she simply longed to be able to teach others what he had taught her.

But she was just a woman. She could never be a teacher. She was not even allowed to speak in public, and certainly not to a man—except Jesus of course.

Jesus often asked her questions and even invited her response. And when he listened, he listened with his entire being. He made her feel as if she had the most important things to say—even more important than the Pharisees!

As Mary reflected back on their conversations, on the things he had taught her, on the way he encouraged her to share her thoughts with him, a love so pure and so powerful began to well up inside of her. And more than anything she wanted him to know the depth of her love—the full measure of her worship.

But what could she offer him ?

She was no one.

She had nothing.

Except….

She looked down at the bag she carried. The bag containing the alabaster jar filled with her life savings—in the form of costly perfume. She had brought it with her to give to Jesus. Knowing the money it could bring would go a long way to support his ministry.

But as she watched him converse with those at the table, she noticed a weariness in his eyes. It was a weariness she had never seen in him before. Was it her imagination or were his shoulders slightly slumped? Mary inhaled deeply. As she did snippets of past teachings filled her mind.
Hints at something awful.
Words she had tried to push aside now came flooding back.

Poured out…broken….destroyed….rebuilt….suffer….lay down my life.

No!

Mary’s head snaps up.
Jesus catches her eye.
He dips his head in a slight nod.

And she knows.
She knows her Savior is about to lay down his life.

It can’t be. She recoils from the thought. And yet she knows it’s true.

Her feet begin to move of their own accord.

She has to do something.

But what?

What do you offer someone who has given you everything and is about to give you even more?

She grabs hold of the jar.
She breaks it.
Suddenly, the only thing that matters to her is pouring out all she has on the One who has poured out his heart for her.

Tears flow freely down her face. She couldn’t stop them even if she tried. And she has no desire to try. Instead she allows her tears to flow as freely as the perfume she pours out on his head, on his feet.

Oh his precious feet.
The feet where she had sat so many times, learning from him.
Being changed by him.
Being seen by him.

She kneels at those same feet—somehow knowing this will be her last time to do so.

Sobs break free from her body.

Perfume and tears mingle with the dirt and sand on his feet.

His precious feet shouldn’t be dirty. They are the feet of pure love.
Mary has no cloth with which to clean his feet.

All she has is her hair.

Without a second thought she unbinds her hair. It cascades around her shoulders and down her back.

There is a gasp somewhere behind her. She doesn’t care. Let them say what they want. They will anyway.

The only one who truly matters looks at her with more love than she thought possible . He smiles and she is undone.

She wants to scream, NO! She wants to beg him to not do what he is about to do. And yet she knows he must.

He nods.

She knows.

This will be her last act of worship before he does what he came to this earth to do. And so she pours out every last drop on him. If he is about to give himself up, if he is about to suffer, then he will do so with the fragrance of her worship lingering on him.

The room is silent. The only sound is Mary’s weeping—and that of her sister whose hand is resting Mary’s shoulder.

The jar is now empty. Her life savings now anoints the body of her Savior.

If only I had more to give. …

“Daughter, it is enough,” he whispers followed by, “Thank you.”

Thank you? Jesus thanked her ? Oh master, it is I who will spend my life thanking you!

He smiles again and nods. He knows she will keep her word. That the rest of her life will be lived in gratitude and worship.

The sacred moment is suddenly interrupted by a disgruntled voice. A voice thick with indignation and greed.

“What did you do silly woman?! That could have been sold and the money given to the poor!”

Mary’s shoulders fall. The words hit their intended mark. Is she just a silly wasteful woman?

“Leave her alone.”

Jesus’ words lift her head. The authority by which he speaks silences the room.

His eyes are fixed on the objector—his look is one of love mixed with deep sorrow. “Why do you criticize her for doing such a good thing to me?” he asks, “you will always have the poor among you, and you can help them whenever you want to. But you will not always have me. She has done what she could and has anointed my body for burial ahead of time.”

Mary’s heart sinks with his words. Confirmation of what she had sensed moments ago.

Jesus now turns his attention to Mary. She is still sitting at his feet. He wipes a tear from her face and then lifts her head to look at him.

His next words set her heart on fire.

“I tell you the truth,” he says to everyone, while speaking directly to her, “wherever the Good News is preached throughout the world, this woman’s deed will be remembered and discussed.”

A silent gasp shutters through her.

A knowing grin raises the corners of Jesus’ lips.

Is it possible he knows of her hidden dream? It is possible he knows that more than anything she wants to teach others as she has been taught? Could it be that with one sentence, one declaration, Jesus made her—silly, simple, female Mary—a teacher???

His grin spreads into a full blown smile and he whispers, “Many will learn from you my precious daughter. Many will learn from your beautiful act of worship.”

Mary would have fallen to the floor if not for her sister’s arm on her shoulder. Instead, the two sisters stand to their feet. They bow their heads to Jesus and retreat to the kitchen to process all that has happened.

They both know that dark days are coming, but they will not think about that tonight.

For tonight is a night for worship. A night for rejoicing. A night to bask in the fragrance of love and sacrifice.

It is truly a night to remember….

Has Jesus changed you? How? What do you have to give? Will you offer it to him this week as an act of worship? Will you remember all that he has done and thank him? He loves you more than you will ever know and he is with you. Will you sit at his feet and allow him to show you the full measure of his love?

*[This story was written with my Bible, heart and imagination open. Obviously, I wasn’t there so I don’t know the details, but I drew from John 12:1-11; Matthew 26:6-13 and Mark 14:1-9 ]

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An Open Letter to Those in the “Vulnerable” Group

Fri, 20 Mar 2020 19:39:00 GMT

“It’s hard to be told you’re old and vulnerable.”

The words fell in the middle of a funny text from my dad in which he was informing me ( aka his long distance warden) of his plans for the next day and the precautions he would be taking as he ventured to the grocery store during “senior hours.”

And while the text made me laugh, it also shifted something in my heart. And made me wish I could wrap my arms around each and every person in the “vulnerable” group and say these words:

1) You matter.

I am so sorry you have heard younger people say things like “The virus only affects old people so I’m going to keep living my life and doing what I want.” Oh how those words must hurt. And how they break my heart and the hearts of so many others.

For the truth is, this virus affects everyone and our actions affect everyone. And your life matters just as much as someone a few decades younger than you.

The fact is we need you. Perhaps now more than ever! After all it’s your generation that knows a thing or two about sacrificing for the greater good; about working hard to help others; and about doing what’s right even when it costs you something.

You may be feeling like you are expendable or past your prime, but my precious friends, that is the furthest thing from the truth. We need you. And you matter.

2) Your adult children may be acting like long distance wardens, but it’s because we love you and need you so much.

I never thought I would be telling my parents to stay home and wishing I could ground them !

This reversal of roles from our teenage years feels so strange and in some ways so wrong. Yet, if it feels that way to me, I can only imagine how weird and wrong it must feel for you. After all, you’re used to being the ones to give us advice and telling us to be cautious.

This must feel so upside down.

But these are unprecedented upside down days and your children and loved ones are scared—scared for you and scared for ourselves.

So please know that our fear and overprotectiveness is not because we think you are weak or frail or incapable of making wise choices. It’s because we can’t imagine a world without you.

3) We are still your kids.

We are also acting a bit overprotective because when it comes down to it, most of us feel as powerless as we did when we were little kids. There is a part of us that just wants to run into your arms and be assured this is all going to be ok. But we can’t do that right now. And so, we nag and plead and lecture. But please know all of that is really just us lifting our arms up to you, asking you to hold us like you used to and tell us it’s going to be ok.

4) We want to stay connected.

We want to stay connected to you. That connection might look different for awhile. (And please forgive us for not doing a great job at staying connected in the past.)

But one surprising positive from this pandemic is that it’s causing us to realign our priorities.

It’s also causing us to find creative ways to stay connected. So please don’t feel like you have to endure this alone. Call. Text. Email. And we will do the same.

And if you’re feeling lonely, odds are someone else is too. So reach out. Stay connected.

We will get through this together—even if it’s a virtual together.

No offense to the millennials or younger generations! (I happen to love many people in those generations—including my own children. And I truly believe there are many in that category that are doing awesome things and will become extraordinary leaders!) but they will only become extraordinary leaders by learning from those who have gone before them.

We need your wisdom, experience, counsel and expertise.
We need your humor, perspective, knowledge and common sense.
We need your compassion, determination, work ethic and love.

We need you.

And we need you to take care of yourselves so you will be here to help us figure out how to move on with life when all of this is over—and how to deal with a world that will be forever scarred from this pandemic.

And who better to help us figure out how to cope and recover as a nation than those who were born during the great depression, graduated during World War 2, raised a family during the Vietnam War, and navigated the days and weeks after the assassination of JFK?

Yes, you may be in the “vulnerable” category, but you are the most capable and strong generation we have. And any other message you receive is—as an older friend would say— utter hogwash.

So, I pray you feel loved today.
I pray you feel seen.
And I pray you stay well.

We love you and we need you.

Much love,
Jen

The post An Open Letter to Those in the “Vulnerable” Group appeared first on Jennifer Bleakley .

The Dangers of being an Anger-Stuffer

Tue, 22 Oct 2019 13:32:00 GMT

“What’s making you angry?”

I recoiled against the question, whispered to that sacred space where heart and mind meet soul.

“I’m not angry,” I spoke through clenched teeth into the silence of my car.

I felt the Holy Spirit repeat His question.
My shoulders fell.
My voice quavered as self-awareness mixed with pain.
The dam cracked.
The first words were whispered.
The next spoken aloud.
The rest shouted.

Whether a enneagram 9 trait, my Meyer’s Briggs combination, a characteristic of being an introvert, or just part of being me—I am an anger-stuffer.

A shove it way down deep anger-stuffer.

Anger makes me nervous—twitchy.

But worse than the fuzzy head and tingly fingers I get from anger, my anger stuffing tendencies have a far more sinister effect— withdrawing from that which I should pursue.

And that’s what I was starting to do.

And God was calling me on it.

But He wasn’t just looking to reveal the symptom, He was looking to treat the source.

At first I didn’t understand how telling God about my feelings of anger might help. After all, giving voice to my feelings was not going to change my circumstances.

And it didn’t.

But—as if injecting a powerful antibiotic—what it did do was stop the festering spread of anger in my soul.

And while nothing was instantly fixed, everything was different.

By naming my feelings, I dragged them into the light. And there—in the light of God’s love and power—those feelings that had owned me for so long began to lose their power.

That day, as the Holy Spirit gently nudged me to release something I was terrified to surrender, and patiently listened as it poured out, His role as Counselor became more evident than ever. I didn’t have to guard my words, or worry about offending Him. He simply listened. He simply loved.

And amazingly, after I had released all that had been stuffed inside, I realized I was not empty. Instead, I was filled with a peace I hadn’t expected.

The circumstances weren’t any different, but I was.

And as a weightless peace filled my soul, I found I was no longer content to retreat in anger—but ready to pursue in love.

Grateful to a Wonderful Counselor who never retreats from pursuing us….

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If you realize you've let social media control your life, don't throw your shoe at your husband…

Fri, 14 Jun 2019 12:59:00 GMT

I wanted to throw my shoe at my husband. But thankfully, it’s summer and I wasn’t wearing shoes.

His words had elicited a visceral response in me—my first clue that they had merit. However, the moment the words, “Do you really need to post so much?” left his mouth, I had stopped listening.

We had been having a discussion about social media. And I was second-guessing whether or not I should have shared something.

“Babe,” he said, “Maybe sometimes God just wants you to absorb the moment. You don’t always have to post everything.”

(Cue the shoe-throwing reflex)

I was aghast.

“You just don’t understand,” I condescended, “I have to post. That’s how it’s done. Social media is part of the deal. You want to be a writer? You gotta grow your platform. You want to grow your platform, and get your book in people’s hands, and share all the words God gives you? You gotta post on social media.”

He said more words, but sadly I didn’t listen. I was right. I knew I was.

Wasn’t I?

Hours passed but his question didn’t. Over time his words melded into a question. Yet the question didn’t come from my ~~annoyingly right~~ sweet husband. And instead of making we want to throw my shoe, it made me want to fall to my knees.

“Are you trusting in Me or in social media? ”

Mic-drop.

Heart drop.

When did I allow the subtle shift to occur?

When did I buy into the lie that the reach of social media is more powerful than the reach of God?

When did I start letting social media manage me instead of me managing social media?

I was dumbfounded, and really glad I hadn’t been wearing shoes earlier that morning because:
1) It is wrong to throw footwear at husbands and
2) (this is kinda hard to admit but…) My husband was right!!

Somewhere along the way I began assigning sovereignty to social media.

And while I know God is in control, my constant scrolling, refreshing, comment / like checking, and lamenting over what and when to post were telling a different truth. A truth which basically said: God is in control, but He needs the help of social media to get the word out about all the things He calls me to write.

Uh….no.

No.

God is in control. Period.

No qualifiers.

And while He can (and does) work thru social media, He can also work without it.

And while some people can do social media with ease and find life-giving joy in posting all the things, others don’t. And. That’s. Ok.
We don’t all have to do things the same way.

There is freedom in answering God’s call to write . We don’t all have to follow the same exact formula!

And sometimes He might actually ask us to do things differently. And again…That’s. OK. In fact, it can be a really good thing!

This whole shoe-throwing, visceral reaction, mic-drop truth has made me realize that I need to: 1) realign my priorities 2) reassign sovereignty to its proper place and 3) allow myself the grace to walk my own journey with God—even if it doesn’t check all the boxes the writing conferences tell us we have to check.

For me that will look like a social media fast on Sundays (actually I prefer to think of it as a tithe of my time and my attention…I’m not sure why, other than I could probably talk myself out of a fast, but telling God I won’t tithe to Him feels really gross)

It will also look like setting certain times throughout the day to check in with social media, instead of picking up my phone 57 times a day to mindlessly check-in!

It’s a subtle shift—but one I pray will make a huge difference in my heart.

I’s just one way for me to declare to God that I believe He is bigger and more powerful than social media, including the almighty algorithms! (gasp!)

I pray it’s also a way for me to fully engage again in my own life.

I’ve noticed that (for me) when everything becomes a possible post, story, or hashtag, I stop living in the moment and begin assessing every moment. (but that’s just me. Others may find absolute joy and life in posting all the things and that’s great!! Again…there’s such freedom in walking your own journey with God!)

And so while I’ll still post and share and scroll, I am choosing to trust God more than social media.

And I am going to fight hard to manage my social media instead of allowing it to manage me.

Much love,
Jen

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What would you say to twelve-year-old you?

Tue, 04 Jun 2019 21:31:00 GMT

A few days ago, while talking to a friend, I mentioned how I wish I could go back and tell twelve year old me (who struggled with feelings of awkwardness and insecurity, and always felt a little different from everyone else) that she was going to be ok.

It was a passing comment.

One I laughed while saying.

Yet the words began to swirl around my mind like dandelion seeds caught in a breeze.

Then days later, while sitting outside in the cool of the morning, I felt a stirring from deep within.

An awareness of the twelve year old girl who still dwells inside my heart—and who often still finds herself feeling less than, different, scared, and unsure of her place in this world.

“Hi,” my grown-up voice whispered. “It’s been a long time.”

Tears pooled in my eyes as I envisioned myself sitting next to twelve-year old me—my arm around younger shoulders.

“Hi,” a child-like inner voice whispered back.

I sat back in my chair, took a sip of coffee, and began to talk to a much younger me.

Telling her all the things I wished we had known back then.

Things like it’s ok to feel a little awkward and different—to some extent, everyone does, and to a greater extent, it was those feelings which drove us to find our identity and hope in Jesus.

That different is simply a synonym for special and unique —words which define the calling God has for each of His children. Not a calling to walk another’s journey, or to do things just like someone else, but to walk a unique journey hand in hand with the God who loves us more than we can fathom—the God who hand-crafts journeys and callings for each one of us.

And I reminded the girl within that she was and is far braver than she knows.

That true bravery is found in the simple act of showing up, of trying, and in refusing to quit—even when it’s done in quiet unassuming ways.

My heart and mind grew quiet for a moment, as little girl merged with grown woman. As dreams collided with reality. And as insecurities were exposed to light and truth.

“You’re gonna be ok,” a voice whispered to my heart.

Yet, I wasn’t sure whose voice had spoken the words.

Perhaps both had spoken at once. Each needing to hear the other say those words.

Words I pray you also hear right now.

I know it feels so hard—I know it is so hard—but you are going to be ok. For you are stronger than you feel, braver than you know, and loved more than you can fathom.

Maybe take a moment today to quiet your heart and mind and spend some time talking to twelve year old you. Reminding your younger self of just how far you’ve come, and then allowing your younger self to talk to you.

They may be just the words you need to hear.

Much love,
Jen

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Read this when you want to quit

Thu, 23 May 2019 10:30:00 GMT

I would love to tell you that title is for you. And maybe it is.

But honestly; I wrote it for me. Because I am prone to forget what I know to be true.

It’s what I do.

But I want to remember—I need to remember—and so this is for me (but maybe it’s for you too)

Dear Jen,
If you are reading this, you are probably feeling a million kinds of done, and equal parts unsure. You are likely questioning everything—your calling, your ability, your influence, your dreams, goals, your journey. And you are undoubtedly contemplating closing your computer and never writing another word.

I know, we’ve been here before.

But we’ve also learned some things along the way. Things you need to remember.

First of all, inhale.
Deeply.
Fill your lungs with as much air as you can.
Hold it for 5 seconds.
Now slowly—as slowly as you can—let it out.

Do it again, but this time close your eyes. And as you exhale say the name of the One who called you to write in the first place— Jesus .

Now, picture His face. Ask God to help you become aware of His presence with you right at this very moment. You are the Samaritan woman and Jesus is sitting there at the well.
Walk to Him.
Acknowledge Him.
Sit with Him for awhile.

Tell Him. Everything.

Tell Him how hard it is to navigate His calling in the noise and chaos of social media.

Tell Him how easy it is to compare your calling to those of others.

Tell Him how often you measure your success by numbers, followers, sales, likes, shares and comments—and how often those metrics leave you feeling less than, unqualified, worried and weary.

Tell Him all of it. Show Him your weariness and uncertainty. Tell Him about every insecurity and doubt.

And then, wait…..
Breathe.
Allow the pent up tears to fall.
Linger with Him at His well.
Now, scoot a little closer, because He is about to speak to your heart.

Sweet child,
I see you. I see your weariness and your heart for me.
And I know that deep down in that well of your heart, your desire is to write, speak, and share my words. And oh how your heart delights me.
How you delight me.
Know this My precious one—believe this—My love for you is \dependent on nothing.

My love simply is. It is as real as I AM.

I love you.
Right now. As you are, I, God Almighty, love you.
Let your heart look into my face and allow my words to wash over your battle-weary soul.
And as my words course through your heart, I want you to allow them to push out all the other words, especially your own.
As you lean into my words, I want you to remember your calling.

I want you to remember me.

Sweet one, I did not call you to a platform, I called you to a Person—to Myself. I did not call you to keep track of numbers, I called you to invest in people. I did not call you to shine a light on yourself, I called you to point others to Me. I did not call you to walk someone else’s journey, I invited you on a unique journey with Me.

The answer for your weariness is not found in giving up.

The answer for your weariness is Me.

Stop writing for others. Write for Me.
Stop sharing for others. Share for Me.
Stop comparing to others. Talk to Me.
Stop being envious of another’s journey. Walk with Me.
I love you.
I have a plan for you.
And I am most delighted in you.

You are infinitely more than the sum of man-made numbers. You are mine and I am yours.

And if I ask you to write just for Me, and you do it, you are a success!

For true success is loving and obeying me.

So go on and write. But do it for Me.

And trust that if I want others to hear the words I give you, I will ensure they hear them. But the results, my sweet one, are mine.
You just write, speak, and share what I give you, and trust me with the results.
And above all, remember who you are: You are mine and I love you more than you can know.

Much love,
Jen

ps-I would never presume to put words in Jesus’ mouth, so please know that what I wrote to myself (from Him) is a compilation of months (and years) of study in His word. I drew much from the Psalms, Isaiah, Jeremiah and John to write this letter to myself. (and interestingly, Psalms and Jeremiah are full of exhortations for us to remember God, which really is where this post was born)

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When you just want to curl up in a ball and lay your head on God's lap

Mon, 04 Feb 2019 14:45:00 GMT

(This post was originally shared on 2/4/2016. When it popped up in my “memory feed” today, it seemed appropriate to re-share; both as a tribute to my sweet Bailey and because I think we are all kinda at the point of needing to lay our heads in God’s lap for awhile….)

Bailey, my sweet golden retriever, has had a hard week. A large cyst ruptured on her back, requiring emergency surgery. She now has six inches worth of stitches surrounded by a massive patch of shaved skin.

My super-sympathetic husband has started calling her Franken-dog!

Obviously, I can’t sit my dog down and explain wound care to her. She doesn’t know that by scratching her stitches she will pull them out. So we have to keep an ace bandage wrapped around her chest, and because my kids think it is cute, we also put a t-shirt on her. The look is both adorable and pitiful.

As if the stitches were not bad enough, Bailey began obsessively licking the shaved skin on her front leg where the IV had been. Her licking caused a giant sore to form. We aren’t sure if she was licking because of pain, stress, or boredom, but the fact was she licked her wound so much that it created a bigger wound, and earned her the cone of shame.

Pitiful right?

We have been treating her wounds, giving her medicine, and putting her various apparatus on all week. However, yesterday God allowed me to see a glimpse of His heart in the midst of my daily dog care routine.

We had put all the paraphernalia on her before leaving the house that morning, then I came home at lunch time to check on her. I found a pitiful looking dog desperate for a break from the dark and cumbersome cone. I sat down on the kitchen floor and removed every piece of material that was on her- allowing her to feel unhindered for a few moments. As soon as the last bandage was unwrapped she threw herself onto my lap and began making a symphony of doggie noises. She wrapped her paws around my leg and would not move.

As I sat there with Bailey nestled on my lap, my mind flashed back to a time I felt nestled on God’s lap.

It was my junior year in college and I was a mess. My best friend’s father had recently died from cancer. It was devastating to all who loved him, and who had prayed so fervently for his healing. I had the honor of being in the room with his family as we watched the Lord welcome him into His eternal arms. It was the most beautiful and heartbreaking moment I had ever experienced. And I couldn’t quite process it all.

Witnessing an actual life and death experience made my normal college routine seem rather meaningless. On top of dealing with huge feelings, I was also sick, extremely tired, and struggling to keep up with my classes. One night it all became too much for me to handle.

Like a weight crushing me.

I decided (in hindsight, I realize it was the Holy Spirit leading me) to write a letter to a good friend. Pouring my heart out, I wrote about my experience, my feelings, and my fears. I wrote and wrote until I felt empty. (Later, as a grief counselor, I would learn about the healing that can come just from writing your story, but this night I was simply writing to a friend.)

Setting the letter aside, I began to sob, alone and broken. Darkness all around. Emptiness threatening to consume me. I curled up in a ball and called out to God, “Daddy, it hurts so much. I can’t do this. Please hold me. Please don’t let go.”

I can barely describe what happened in that moment. A flood of peace rushed over me, as the arms of love wrapped around me. Holding me in a heavenly embrace. My tears eventually subsided as faint memories of hymns wafted through my mind. And as sleep overshadowed my consciousness, I dreamed all night long of Jesus smoothing my hair and wiping my tears, as I lay curled up beside Him—my head resting on His lap.

That moment of darkness led to such a marvelous light.

Today, as I held my sweet dog on my lap, God took me back to that night so long ago when He held my broken heart on His.

Bailey has been through an ordeal and she doesn’t understand why. But I do, and I am only doing what is best for her.

In the same way, we can’t always understand God’s ways, but we can trust that He is ultimately working for our good and that He will hold us through the times that threaten to break our hearts.

Was there anything good about my friend’s dad dying so young? Not at all. Cancer is AWFUL…a result of the fallen, broken, sinful world in which we live.

But can God bring good from bad? Absolutely! And He will.

So many people are hurting right now….feeling broken, tired, and worn. My prayer is that we will find comfort in the arms of our gracious heavenly Father. That we will snuggle onto His lap, feel Him smooth our hair as we cry, hold us fast in His arms, and envelope us in a blanket of pure peace.

Will you go to Him even now? Let your heart snuggle in beside Him, lay your weary head in His lap, and trust Him to hold you.

He loves you sweet friend….more than you could ever begin to fathom!

Much love,
Jen

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When the foundations are being destroyed, what can we do? Look up!

Fri, 25 Jan 2019 22:12:00 GMT

When what we have been standing on, hoping in, and depending on begins to fall, what are we to do?

We are to stand up, reach up and look up —this is the message God keeps whispering to my heart this week.

Yes, things are bad.
Yes, evil is running rampant.
Yes, sin’s tentacles stretch far and wide.

But, there is still hope!

Why?

Because God is still on the throne!!!

This week my gaze has been fixed on the wretchedness of man’s sin, the depravity captured by news cameras, the hatred spewed across firmly drawn lines, and the horrors taking place in the name of love, justice and choice.

And my soul has cried.
My heart has broken.
And my head has bowed under the weight.

So I cried to God. I sat with my Bible open and my mouth closed. I raised my hands in worship and bent my knees in prayer.

And I felt the Almighty God— our most kind and generous Savior —speak to my heart:

Look up, my child , came a whisper from heaven.

I am still on my throne.

Look up, my child. I remain the same yesterday, today and tomorrow. Unlike the culture around you, I do not, and will never, change.

Look up, my child and remember that I see all, I know all, and I care far more than you ever could.

Look up and remember that I am as just as I am gracious.

Look up and remember that I am stronger than sin and death and evil.

Look up and see me in my holy temple and on my holy throne. Allow my holiness to move you to your knees in worship and adoration. There you will receive strength to persevere.

Yes, foundations you have been standing on are crumbling. My people are feeling shaken as the foundations of politics, ideologies, and cultural norms are crumbling. But my child, those things were never meant to be your foundation.

Why would you stand on something able to be destroyed by man?

Stand on me and me alone.
Cling to me and me alone.
For only then will you be able to stand firm, unafraid and unwavering.

So stand up for justice. Cry, weep, mourn and lament over the wretched effects of sin, for it is good and right for you to do so.

But as you do—my blood-bought child—look up, see Me, and remember:

I AM with you. I AM unchanging. I AM Yahweh, Jehovah, Messiah. I AM here.

And I AM your hope.

Sit with me.
Talk to me.
Quiet yourself before me.

For my precious, precious child, I AM your hope and I AM right here.

My friends, let’s look up and remember…..

Much love,
Jen

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How Not to Pray (A series on Prayer: Day Two)

Wed, 23 Jan 2019 16:04:00 GMT

How Not to Pray

This post is part of a series on prayer. You can find all the posts here.

Sometimes the most effect way to learn what to do is by observing what not to do. Maybe this is why Jesus begins His instruction of prayer with how not to pray.

Here we have two examples of how not to pray:

Don’t pray like a hypocrite.

Don’t pray like a pagan.

There is so much unpack in these verses, but the most significant lesson to me is one of motivation— the why and the who behind our prayers.

In both cases we see wrong motivation.

Neither the hypocrites nor the pagans were having a genuine interaction with the Almighty God. Instead, they were having a “look at me/listen to me” moment.

Both examples point to an incorrect view of prayer—that of the one-sided monologue.

The hypocrites (the religious elite) Jesus spoke of prayed loudly and with eloquent words. Yet, their sole motivation was impressing others. Their interest was not in humbly approaching the throne of God to have their hearts aligned with God’s, but in impressing those around them.

Imagine someone comes up to talk to you. After casting a quick glance your way, they turn away from you, and although they continue to use your name, they are clearing speaking to the crowd that has formed around you. They make themselves sound good, they talk about how close they are to you, they recall all the things they have done for you, but never once do they look into your eyes. Never once to they turn to you and invite you to speak.

“Don’t be like them,” Jesus said.

God desires us to sit with Him. To look at Him. To simply be with Him. He is not impressed by our words or our achievements. He simply desires us—for who we are.

God is more concerned with our presence than our words.

I think He would rather we sit silent in His presence than say a bunch of words intended to impress others.

He also warned us about not praying like the pagans. They treat God like a genie or a magic spell. Thinking that if they can figure out the right incantation that God will surely grant them their request.

This is also an example of a one-sided monologue. For when we pray like that—trying to crack God’s secret code—we are not engaging in a genuine moment with our Creator. We are trying to manipulate Him to do our bidding. Instead of asking Him to help us surrender to His will, we are trying to bend Him to ours.

Both of these examples of how not to pray, provide a beautiful look into the heart of God.

A heart which desires us. Desires a genuine relationship with us.

Ponder that for a moment!

God desires you!
To spend time with you.
To hear from you.
To help you.

Prayer is the most powerful way we have to connect with the Almighty God. So let’s linger with the Savior today.
Let’s stop trying to find the right words and just sit with Him.
Let’s stop worrying about what others think, and turn our faces to the One who loves us more than we can fathom.

And let’s simply pray.

Much love,
Jen

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Is prayer really all that important? (A series on prayer: Day one)

Tue, 15 Jan 2019 15:15:00 GMT

This post is part of a series on prayer. You can find all of the posts here

In my quest to dive deeper into the gift of prayer, I have written out several questions about prayer, as well as several statements which I believe contribute, at times, to my lack of prayer.

The first bullet point reads:

Considering God already knows everything, is prayer really that important?

The main passage I have been studying is Matthew 6: 5-15. However, after praying over this bullet point for several days, I found myself in Luke 11:1-13. The scene opens with the disciples, who have seen Jesus do extraordinary things and who have already been sent out in His name and power to do extraordinary things, ask Him to teach them to pray.

I found that fascinating! Here they are seeing, observing and even participating in the mission and work of Jesus Christ and then one day as they see their Teacher and Lord praying, they suddenly think to ask, “Lord, teach us to pray.”

Jesus’ answer to them seemed to speak directly to my first bullet point.

“He said to them, ‘When you pray…..” Luke 11:2.

He didn’t say if you pray or in case you pray. He said when you pray.

The assumption being that we will pray. An unspoken command to pray. An example to follow. An instruction to heed.

I often get to wrapped up in the wrong question words.

Jesus spent much of His earthly time talking to His heavenly Father.

Jesus, fully God and fully man, deemed it important enough to spend time lingering with the Father.

Why would we do any less.

Even if my quest to understand more of prayer ended here, I think it would be enough.

Enough to simply follow Jesus’ example. To focus on who God is. To pray. Even if we don’t understand it all, even if all we do is rehearse to God who He is, even if all we do is ask God to teach us how to pray. (to borrow from Nike…. let’s JUST DO IT.

Let’s:

Pray.
Talk to God.
Listen for God.
Get up early or stay up late.
Keep our eyes open or shut them tight.
Raise our hands or sit on them.

Let’s just pray. Let’s follow the example of the One who knows us and loves us more than we can imagine. And let’s walk in the footsteps of the One who delighted in drawing near to God—the source of His strength, peace, and purpose.

Oh yes, prayer is important.

Why? Because Jesus said so!

Much love,
Jen

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Unwrapping one of God's Greatest Gifts—A blog series on prayer

Tue, 08 Jan 2019 15:49:00 GMT

My husband gave me a big leather box this Christmas. It was black and had a cool silver swirly thingy towards the top. But all I could see was a box. I turned it upside down. I turned it around. I touched the swirly thing. But I had no idea what I was supposed to do with the box. I kept a smile fixed to my face as I said thank you.

“Do you know what it is?” he laughed.

“Not a clue,” I admitted.

“Lift up on the silver handle and then pull down on the inside flap.”

It was a jewelry box!!

Over the next few days as I began placing my jewelry in that box—opening and exploring every nook and cranny, I began to think about prayer…

For as beautiful as the gift of prayer is, how often do we look at it without really knowing what it is? How content are we to just place it on a shelf without using it for its intended purpose?

Our pastor asked a this question on facebook last week:

If you could ask the Lord one honest question about prayer knowing you would receive an answer, what would you ask?

By the replies to his post, it’s pretty clear that I’m not the only one with lots of prayer questions.

Clearly, prayer is a gift from God—of that I am sure. But I think sometimes prayer a lot like my big black mystery box.

So this year I am on a quest to better understand the gift of prayer. I want God to show me how to lift the swirly thingy and lower the inside flap so I can better see the resource He has given me—given every one who trusts in His Son.

Want to join me?

I won’t pretend to have all the answers (in fact, I have more questions than answers in every area of my life!) But I want to learn and I want to share what I learn.

And if you have a specific question about prayer send it to me! I’ll add it to my giant list of questions and ponder over that one too! You can comment here or email me at jen@jenniferbleakley.com

Excited to begin this journey with God and with you!

Day One
Day Two

Thanks for reading!

Much love,
Jen

The post Unwrapping one of God's Greatest Gifts—A blog series on prayer appeared first on Jennifer Bleakley .

To the Weary Writer: Maybe it's time for a change

Fri, 02 Nov 2018 16:56:00 GMT

To the Weary Writer Who Wants to Quit:

I see you.

I know you.

I am you.

You have words—so many words inside of you.

You have a message, a story, a calling you want to share with the world.

And you’ve done all the things— all the things they say to do.

You made a website. You started a blog. You post cute graphics every day. You learned what a sticky statement is and try to include one in every post. You attended a conference. You wrote a proposal, and a one-sheet, and a query letter. You practiced your elevator pitch. You joined a writing group and a critique group and a support group. You faced a Goliath-sized fear and did a facebook live video. You gathered email addresses and tried to create a newsletter. You figured out how to do an author page on facebook and invited people to like it. You created an instagram account and tried your best to figure out Pinterest. You created a Goodreads page and followed all the authors. Clearly, you have done ALL THE THINGS.

And yet…..

Your platform is still small. Your numbers have barely moved. Your posts rarely get engagement. And every one except YOU seems to be succeeding. Every one else seems to be doing it right.

You question your calling.
You question the One who called you.
You question your talent and ability and purpose.

“I will never be a success,” becomes the lament of your heart.

But then…..

A warmth spreads through your heart, as whispered words flutter through your soul.

You already are.

At first you don’t recognize the source of those words, for they are so different then the internal accusations and taunts that have been bombarding your for so long.

These words are different—much different. They feel like a hot shower to your cold and weary heart.

You lean into the words, desperate to hear more…

You are a success , you hear spoken over you, For you are writing for Me. You are sharing the words I have given you.
I have not called you to walk another’s journey. I have called you to walk with Me. To write for Me.
If I call you to speak to just one and you do, you are a success.
If I call you to write a devotional for your church, or a blog post to reach just a few people and you do, you are a success.
If I speak a word to you and you allow that word to change you, you are a success.

You hold these words deep in your soul. You play them over and over again, until the voice of Love speaks once again….

Precious child, you must change your definition of success.

For too long you have allowed this world to define success for you. Let go.
Let this be your definition of success: that you write and speak for me—trusting my plans are greater than your own.
I may not call you to write a book, or a magazine article or a viral blog post, but that does not make the words I give you any less powerful.

I am not interested in numbers. I am interested in people.

Whether one or one million—each one matters to me. You are a success if you reach the ones I send to you.

You sit in stunned silence.

You test His words on your own lips, “I am a success to God.”

Your heart shifts with the declaration. And fervor begins to grow as you commit yourself to the One who has called you. As you commit to make a most important change:

You know it will not be an easy road, but you are willing to walk it, because the One who called you is faithful and He is your biggest fan!

Listen….can you hear the Father cheering you on? He’s cheering for you—the apple of His eye and the delight of His heart.

Keep writing!
Jen

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My Life Motto Should Clearly Be: I Try….I really, really try

Fri, 26 Oct 2018 13:38:00 GMT

My life motto should really be “I try.”

You guys, I try so hard. I really do. But so often it just doesn’t quite work out.
Case in point: last night’s dinner.
I had it all planned out.
Having done take out several nights this week, I committed to making a nice home made meal. I searched Pinterest and found the perfect fall recipe.
Cranberry Orange Zest Chicken.
I gathered all the required ingredients. And was thrilled to realize I already had chicken breasts in the freezer!
I chopped.
I minced.
I zested.
I marinated and I baked.
And then I waited for the savory smells of autumn to fill my house.

“Mom, it stinks in here,” my daughter stated, matter-of-factly as she walked into the kitchen. “What are you making??”

Sadly, I had to agree with her. The kitchen definitely did not smell like an autumn bouquet. It smelled off. Unpleasant. Not quite right.
I peaked in the oven. It looked like an autumn bounty. The chicken was browning, the cranberries deepening in color.

It was beautiful.

So, I tried to ignore the smell.
It became impossible.

Maybe I did something wrong with the marinade? Too much garlic? Too much zest?
No, I followed the recipe exactly. I was sure of it. Besides, it was the chicken that smelled off.
Could the chicken be bad? I had pulled it out of the freezer after all. Maybe it was a few months past it’s prime???
I dug thru the trash to find the package.

You guys!!! The sell by date was 9/9/2015!!! ? ? ?

Oh. My. Word!! I had just cooked three year old chicken!!!

Yep, a beautiful autumn bouquet of potentially toxic chicken!!!

Chicken with a side of food poisoning, anyone???

The post My Life Motto Should Clearly Be: I Try….I really, really try appeared first on Jennifer Bleakley .

Some JOEY News to Share

Wed, 03 Oct 2018 15:06:00 GMT

Before launching JOEY my greatest fear was that it wouldn’t sell. That only my family would buy copies.

The post Some JOEY News to Share appeared first on Jennifer Bleakley .

When Your Story Doesn’t Have a Happily Ever After

Thu, 09 Aug 2018 15:14:00 GMT

When your story doesn’t have a happily-ever-after

Once upon a time I told God that I would never write a book that would make people cry.

I should have known better than to do that. After all, I also recall, at different points in my life, telling God that I would never marry a man who couldn’t sing ( my amazingly talented husband can do almost everything but sing!); live anywhere other than my home state of Florida (I now reside in North Carolina); teach Vacation Bible School (I not only taught it a few times, but ended up writing VBS curriculum for our church in NC); or ever do any public speaking (I recently spoke to 300 women at a women’s event).

So what on earth possessed me to tell God I wouldn’t write a book that made people cry? Actually, what I really said was that I would never write a book where an animal dies. In fact, I think my actual words to the Lord were, “I will not write Old Yeller .”

Let’s just say God seems to delight in moving me past my list of “I wont’s” in order to embrace his will.

And so… spoiler alert… I wrote a book where an animal dies. Ugh. I am so sorry! However, when you are writing a true story and the actual animal that you are writing about dies, well… what are you supposed to do?

I know what I wanted to do! I wanted to change the ending. I wanted to write the happily-ever-after scene that I had imagined and dreamed about. I had the ending all worked out in my mind. It was going to be glorious, inspiring, cheer worthy. But as I was hard at work writing about an amazing animal and how God was using him to lead others to hope and healing, the animal died.

He died!!!

I was devastated. “How could you let this happen?” I remember crying out to God. This story was supposed to inspire people, make them hopeful, bring joy into their lives. And now the main character of the book was dead.

After receiving word that he had died, I remember closing my computer, convinced my dream of writing his story had just died too. After all, who would want to read a book about a dead horse? And what publisher would want to market a book about a dead horse?

My computer remained closed for days as I grieved a multilayered loss.

I felt numb, broken, defeated. I attended a memorial service for the horse. Almost a hundred people came! For a horse! There are humans who don’t have even have half that many people come! As I sat in the back and listened to people share their stories of loving this horse, and of how the horse helped them heal and find hope, I felt God stir my soul to continue writing. I shook the feeling off. It would be too painful, to raw, to “un-happily ever after.”

But it would be rea l. I heard whispered to my soul.

I chewed on those words throughout the service as I watched the faces of those in attendance—most of whom were well acquainted with grief and loss, who knew first hand that happily-ever-afters really only exists only in fairytales.

As a hundred memorial balloons dotted the clear blue sky, I suddenly I knew what I had to do—write what was real.

That day I was reminded that loss is a part of life, and that the best way to honor a life is to allow yourself to grief the loss, and share what that life meant to others.

I was also reminded that hope does not come from happy endings, but from perseverance and determination that we can keep going even when life knocks us down.

Hope comes from knowing—from trusting—that One greater than us will hold us through the hurt and pain of this life.

I will confess that I still wish I could have written the happily-ever-after scene, but maybe in a way I did. Because now the world will know about a very special animal who made a huge difference in the lives of many people—people who are different because of him. People who now share the light of hope with others that they first saw reflected in his eyes.

Not every story will have a happily ever after, but maybe that’s ok.

Because maybe what people need more than a happy ending is….hope.

Much love,
Jen

The post When Your Story Doesn’t Have a Happily Ever After appeared first on Jennifer Bleakley .

You've been called by God, but what if everybody else gets there first???

Thu, 02 Aug 2018 17:04:00 GMT

You’ve been called by God, but what if everybody else gets there first???

My daughter doesn’t just get hungry. She gets hangry! When that girl needs a meal, we all know about it!
Normally a sweet, loving girl, her entire personality transforms when her belly demands food. And when that happens…watch out! And get the girl some chicken nuggets!!!
And while she’s gotten much better over the years at controlling her hanger, her hunger is still fierce!
But she’s not the only one…..
I mean, don’t we all get hungry sometimes. Like really hungry!
But not juicy cheeseburger hungry.

Soul hungry.

The hunger of not being where we want to be in life.
The hunger that comes when others achieve your dream.
The sharp hunger pains that come from being passed over, ignored, left out, unwanted.
My arms wrap around my midsection. A phantom cramp from memories of recent hunger.
We want to serve. We want to write, and speak and share.
We want to achieve dreams and inspire others. We want to be bold.
We want to enjoy life.
We want our turn!
But all we can see is the line. The backs of all those in front of us. All of those more gifted, more noticed, more equipped. Surely there won’t be enough for us, right?
Our souls lurch with the hunger of uncertainty. The pain of doubt.

Our enemy sees an opening. He tries to get us to focus on our hunger —on our lack—so we won’t see the abundance the Father is preparing.

Oh, if only we would open our eyes and LOOK!
Look backwards to a moment…and see ourselves there:

(Cue the going back in time music)*

Your hungry belly reminds you that lunchtime has come and gone, yet your heart will not let you leave the presence of the man who speaks with an authority you can’t explain.

A small boy approaches Jesus. The crowd is so large, you have to crane your neck to see what Jesus is doing. You can’t hear the disciples whispers, but they look confused.

As you try to decipher their expressions, you hear Jesus cry out His thanksgiving to the Father. You see Him raise His arms toward heaven. In them is the little boy’s lunch. The crowd begins to murmur. The scene suddenly chaotic.

What’s happened?

The disciples stand, faces transfixed on Jesus. Their expressions a mixture of fear, shock and excitement. The crowd begins moving forward.

The disciples shake their heads, as if coming out of a fog.

Something is being passed.

A basket.

A large basket is making its way back to you. You see people reaching in and taking something out. Your stomach surges with the realization that it is food. Food! The sweet aroma of bread mingles with the salty scent of fish. People greedily take what is offered. The basket is passed, and passed, and passed. Hands pulling out all of its glorious contents. Your heart drops.

There won’t be any left.

Too many hands have taken from the basket. Your stomach tightens, hunger wraps around your belly.

As always, you are too late, too far, too….passed over.

As if taunting you, the basket continues its journey back through the crowd. You can no longer bring yourself to watch as the last pieces are taken. With your gaze fixed on the grass beneath your feet, the basket is placed in your hands. Tempted to just pass the empty vessel to the next unfortunate soul, you decide to reach inside in the hopes a crumb remains. You thrust your hand in, intending to scrape from the bottom. However, your hand is stopped. Something is blocking the opening. Your hand opens, it touches… bread.

You close your fist around the loaf. Your free hand takes another.

The basket is taken from you, continuing it’s journey. Your mind swirling with questions. Another basket makes its way to you.

Fish.

The basket is held for you as it travels. You quickly grab several small fish. Your hands are full, your is mind reeling. How did that just happen? You saw the baskets. You saw people taking from them.

They should have been empty .

You should still be hungry.

Yet, as you take bite after bite, you are full. Both stomach and soul.

How?

The question whispers through your mind the rest of the day.

How?

How??

As the sun makes its descendent toward the horizon, the crowd disperses. Open space now dots the once packed mountainside.

You turn to face the water, still trying to process the abundance .

Your gaze catches His.

A knowing smile on his lips. As if He somehow speaks the words without moving His mouth, you hear the phrase, “With God all things are possible.” They are words you have heard Him speak before. Beautiful words. Powerful words. But now they are more.

Now His words have become life.
Now His words sustain your soul.
He nods to you before beginning his journey up the mountainside.

Never before have you felt more satisfied. For now you know with Jesus there will always be more than enough.

Much love,
Jen

The post You've been called by God, but what if everybody else gets there first??? appeared first on Jennifer Bleakley .

When You Feel Overwhelmed Take it One Bite at a Time

Wed, 20 Jun 2018 14:13:00 GMT

When You Feel Overwhelmed Take it One Bite at a Time

I stare at the offending room.

The clutter and chaos taunt me.

My kitchen has become a giant (and maddening) game of whack-a-mole!! It’s clean—it’s cluttered. It’s organized—it looks like a bomb exploded. It’s lemon-fresh—dear heavens what died in here?!?!

It is an ongoing battle (one I’ve enlisted the entire family in fighting) and yet most days it still feels like we are losing!

Today I survey the battle scene.

Every surface needs tending.

I want to have a clean kitchen. I really do.

And yet I pause. I stare. I walk away and come back again. I start at the table, but get distracted by the counter. And then I’m over at the island, before picking something up off the floor.

I back out of the room, deciding to return later.

But later just makes it worse.

I peer into the room and feel completely overwhelmed.

Looking at the mess as a whole feels daunting and impossible.

It makes me want to run. To close the door behind me, throw a condemned sign on the front of the house and just start afresh somewhere else!

But then I remember an odd saying my mom used to recite:

You eat an elephant one bite at a time.

I always questioned that piece of advice. I mean:

who is going to eat an elephant??? and
who came up with that? Did a mother somewhere in Africa plop a 6 ton slab of elephant on her son’s plate and say, “Now Johnny, I want you to eat all of your elephant. Just remember to eat it one bite at a time!”

Well, while I don’t have any plans to dine on Dumbo, I do understand the concept.

Instead of looking at the whole, just start with one tiny part.

The advice rings true for kitchen disasters, but as I force myself to focus only on cleaning my kitchen table, I realize my mom’s elephant advice pertains to far more important issues as well.

For the fact is, my kitchen frustrations are just a focus for a far greater frustration: the state of our world—specifically our country .

Things are a mess. A big ol’ giant mess—a mess which makes my kitchen look clean!!!

And I am just one person.

One random, non-political, non-activist, don’t-really-have-a-clue-how-to-affect-change kind of a person.

But I am a person who looks at the state of our world and longs to somehow make it better. I want to help clean our country’s kitchen. But where would I even start???

It feels too big.

Too messy.

Too caked on. Too stacked up. Too much.

And yet, if I do nothing things will only get worse right?

So I guess I need to take my first bite of the elephant.

I wish I could take a big bite. A bite that will bring peace and unity to a tragically divided nation. A bite that will affect policy and process. A bite that can right wrongs and heal wounds.

And yet, I realize my first bite will surely go unnoticed.

After all, the first bite in a 6,000 ton steak is negligible. But it’s a start.

I don’t know what that first bite will be.

I’m still surveying the kitchen.

But I will take a bite.

And you will take a bite.

And maybe, just maybe, a bunch of random, ordinary people, will be able to eat an entire elephant…
One bite at a time.

Much love,
Jen

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The Scent of God's Love: Surely it Smells Like Listerine

Thu, 14 Jun 2018 00:01:00 GMT

The Scent of God’s Love: Surely it Smells Like Listerine

I snuggle my eight-year-old self under the quilt, reveling in the decadent space of a queen-sized bed.

I rub my cheek against the feather-soft pillowcase and breathe deeply.

An intensely comforting aroma fills my nostrils as Listerine and Bengay forever intermingle with the memory of sleep-overs with my Grandmother.

She climbs into bed beside me.

We giggle as the bed squeaks in protest of its additional occupant. We giggle even louder when my Granddaddy calls out with feigned indignation from his adjoining room, “You girls settle down in there!”

The baritone chuckle a few seconds later gives him away. My grandmother winks at me before reaching over to switch off the light.

Turning toward me in the shadow-filled room she asks, “Did you have a good time tonight, Sugar?”

“I did,” I whisper, staring into the darkness, longing for the light.

“I sure do love having you here, ” she tells me, her voice soothing—beckoning me to look toward her and not the elongated shadows on the wall. “Sugar, you make every day feel like sunshine.”

The shadows suddenly retreat.

“You ready to say prayers?” she asks.

I am.

I love to hear Grandmother talk to God. I snuggle a little closer as she begins.

I know from experience this is going to take awhile. But I don’t mind.

I smile with anticipation—for I know after just a little while I will hear my name.

She always begins by thanking God for who He is. She calls Him Savior and Father and Lord . She thanks Him for her family and the good things He’s given her. She even thanks Him for the hard things.

She says the hard things draw her closer to Him. I wrinkle my nose, hoping God doesn’t get any ideas of giving me hard things!

I quickly remind Him that I feel pretty close to Him already.

She then begins the roll call of family prayer. My Granddaddy is always first followed by her children in their birth order, then each member of her children’s families—in their birth order. My daddy is the second to the youngest, so I have a bit of a wait until my name is brought before God.

My eyes grow heavy as she prays for my cousins.

I am sleepy, yet comforted by the fact my grandmother possess a superpower making her able to know exactly what each person in our family is struggling with and how to pray for each one.

I am just about to surrender to sleep when I hear my name on her lips. My eyelids fly open . I lean into her.

I don’t want to miss a word.

She thanks God for making me her sunshine , and for our sleepover. She asks Him to always keep me close to Him .

I feel her hand reach for mine under the covers.

Her voice becomes serious, almost pleading, as she asks God to always remind me who I am—of who I am to Him .

I squirm a little as she prays for my future husband—as she asks God to grow him into a strong godly man.

I hold my baby doll in one hand and my Grandmother’s hand in the other as she prays for the children I will one day have. I listen to her ask God to draw their hearts to Jesus at a young age so they will always know and love Him.

She finishes by praying for at least a dozen friends, for her church family, and for the courage to tell more people about Jesus.

She concludes with an “amen, ” kisses my head and whispers, “I love you Sugar. ”

“I love you too, ” I whisper back, turning over to the cool side of the pillow.

My eight year old heart is full.

Peace floods my soul.

And just before I drift off to sleep, I mouth goodnight to God.

The God who, I am still convinced, calls people Sugar and smells a lot like Listerine and Bengay.

Much love,
Jen

“May my prayer be set before you like incense; may the lifting up of my hands be like the evening sacrifice.” Ps 141:2

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Dear kids, you’re not gonna like this (but I’m ok with that)

Thu, 24 May 2018 14:06:00 GMT

Dear kids,

I love you two more than you can imagine—more than my own life or happiness. I love you with a forever love. A fierce love. A protective love. A love which is stronger than my desire to make you happy every second of the day.

Don’t get me wrong, I want you to be happy. I really do. That’s why when your dad and I want artichoke chicken for dinner, I will gladly make you a pizza. And why when you were little I had sippy cups in every color of the rainbow, because heaven forbid you wanted a red one and all I had was blue! I love making you happy. I love seeing you smile at something I’ve done for you.

But….your happiness is not my main concern.

Go ahead and breathe, I know that’s hard to hear.

And don’t worry, I still want you to be happy. But the truth is my main concern is your heart.

My main job as your parent is to help you grown into a kind, caring adult who contributes good to society. And for our family your dad and my main goal as your parents is to lead you to Jesus and pray you will find your joy, contentment, peace and strength in Him. For He is all that will truly satisfy.

You are growing up in a loud and chaotic culture. You are being bombarded with images promising fame, riches, happiness and satisfaction. Your mind is being engaged every second of the day with screens offering escape and engagement. Every moment is packed with noise and images. Your brain is inundated with stimuli.

It seems good on the surface right? I mean, you hate boredom. You loathe quiet. And why wouldn’t you? It feels unfamiliar. Wrong even.

And yet…..

Silence, quiet and boredom are the fertile soil from which springs creativity, growth and progress.

Your minds are precious gifts—filled with limitless possibilities, gifted to you by your Creator. But those possibilities depend on one vital thing—silence.

For only in silence will you hear Your Creator whisper the combination needed to unlock the possibilities He’s placed within your mind.

Only in silence will you hear the voice of the One who created you with the talents, attributes and gifts which make you you! Only in the silence will you clearly hear the voice of the only One who can give you true joy, contentment and peace.

Don’t be afraid of the silence, even if it feels weird or uncomfortable.

You will need to retrain your mind to accept silence and boredom .

But do it sweet ones. Please! It is a skill and a discipline (I know there’s another word that makes you cringe) but silence is a skill and a discipline which will create in you invaluable things such as wisdom, compassion, discernment and joy. Those are things I cannot give you. I can show them to you, model them, pray them over you, but they are traits which must be grown inside of you, grown from the seeds of silence and boredom.

This world is just going to get louder. Opinions, advertisements, and voices will continue to come at you like a blizzard—whiting out everything else. It is going to be vital for you to make time to ponder and process all you hear. To be still and think before you speak. To allow yourself space to form your own opinion. All of this will require quiet.

Silence—a way of life just a few decades ago—is now a skill which must be practiced.

You must train your body to allow for silence, just as you would train your fingers to play guitar or your body for a marathon. But I promise, as your mama who loves you with a fierce and protective love, it will be worth it!!

And because I love you so much that I’m ok with you not being happy every second of the day, this summer we are going to practice embracing the sound of silence (cue the theme song!). We are going to devote one day a week to being screen free. One day a week to turning off the noise and listening.

Listening to nature.

Listening to each other.

Listening to our own thoughts.

And listening for the voice of God.

For only in the sound of silence will we hear the call of the Creator.

Remember, I love you with all my heart. Which is why I feel so passionately about protecting and nurturing yours.

(but it’s ok if you don’t feel so happy with me right now, my love for you can handle that)

Love,
Mom

The post Dear kids, you’re not gonna like this (but I’m ok with that) appeared first on Jennifer Bleakley .

Be The One

Sun, 20 May 2018 04:51:00 GMT

Tonight I sat on my teenage son’s bed, fighting back tears as he asked me if I thought he would ever get shot at school. It was the first time I’ve seen real fear on his face—fear born from the stark realization that life-altering, life-ending violence can happen anywhere. And I hate it. I hate not being able to tell my son with 100% confidence that violence, evil, or the effects of brokenness will never touch him or those we love. I hate it. I hate it so much it makes me physically ill. I despise the mess our world is in. I want nothing more than to make it better. I want to tell my son he and his sister are safe. That they can grow up in a safe and stable world. A world where goodness and kindness reign.

But sadly that is not our world.

For we live in a broken world, a hurting world. A world tainted by evil—marred by sin.

A world full of wounded people, shattered people, confused people. A people capable of great acts of violence—violence born from violence.

And we as a culture are left to cry out in fear and anguish—mourning one senseless loss while dreading the next. For we know the next is always coming.

We lament and ponder. We accuse and blame. We draft laws and memos. We train and we equip. But nothing changes. Why?

God, why???

Is it because the change we need—the change we truly need—cannot be legislated or mandated, instituted or decreed?

Is it because the change our society needs cannot come from politicians or platforms but from people just like you and me?

Is it maybe because the only way we are ever going to put a stop to the senseless violence destroying our schools, is by radical acts of love and kindness?

I am just one person—and an introverted scaredy-cat one at that—but if I am one person willing to show love, compassion and kindness to one other person, then could I possibly affect a larger change.

For what if—just what if—at some point in my life I end up reaching just one person on a crash course with a deadly act of violence? What if I (one ordinary nobody) interrupts their life with light and love? What if I plant a seed of hope into their life? And what if that seed grows large enough to push out the seed of violence, planted earlier by an experience with trauma or hurt? Wouldn’t it stand to reason then that one seed, planted by one regular person, could potentially spare the life of another—or possibly even many others? Thereby bringing much from the one?

Could it really be as simple as that???

Maybe not, probably not—and clearly there is much that needs to change and many many things to fix—but for the sake of our kids, for the sake of my kids, I am willing to try anything!

And I might be naive—it wouldn’t be the first time and it certainly won’t be the last—but here’s the thing: By myself, I can’t make a law. And I can’t enforce a law. And I can’t even change a law. But because of God, I can change a life. And maybe that’s even better. Because one life changed could mean many lives saved. And isn’t that reason enough for us to be willing to:
Reach out to one
Pray for one
Show love to one
Teach one
Guide one
Stand up for one

Platforms are great, pulpits are needed, policies are warranted, but ultimately people need people. And most of all people need Jesus. Real Jesus. True Jesus. The powerful, perfect, redemptive love of a Savior capable of transforming hearts and lives.

Kids need us to see them, to hear them, to offer them another way—a better way. Our kids, both those inflicting pain and those bearing pain, are victims of the broken world in which we live. And it’s a mess. A giant mess. And when we look at it as a whole it’s overwhelming—feels too far gone to save.

But when we look at just one child—step into just one life—suddenly it all seems a little more doable.

And so maybe if we want to change the world—really change the world—we go look for the one. We teach a class, mentor a child, get involved in our schools, hang out on our front porches, coach a sport, invite someone to dinner. Maybe we stop looking at the big, giant overwhelming picture and instead take one step, speak to one person, ask God to lead us to one hurting soul.

It will probably feel awkward. It will no doubt get messy, but what if—just what if—God uses us to interrupt the cycle of violence?

What if God takes our little and brings forth much—much good, much love, much lasting change? Then wouldn’t just one be worth it?

It’s probably naive, it’s undoubtedly too simple, but maybe it’s at least worth a try…

Much love,
Jen

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#nofearFriday: Identity Versus Fear

Fri, 18 May 2018 15:28:00 GMT

#nofearFriday

It’s #nofearFriday and today we are tackling identity and fear.
What do you think? Can identity influence fear? Does confusion over our true identity cause us to be more fearful?
I think the Bible gives strong evidence to suggest it does. I also believe that the secret to living a fear less life is to ground our identity in Christ.
[videopress Va8497y5]
Would love to hear your thoughts!
Much love,
Jen

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Learning to Let Go: when God has to pry the mom fingers from our teenagers' faith

Mon, 14 May 2018 16:12:00 GMT

“God,” I whispered, afraid of uttering aloud the thoughts in my heart. “I wish my son would never have started reading the Bible.”

There. I said it. And I meant it—even though the admission brought a fresh wave of tears. I mean what Christian mom doesn’t want her son to read the Bible?? What Bible believing, Bible teaching, Bible loving mom wishes—at least weekly—that her teenage son would have never started reading the Bible through in a year?

As a young boy, my son would declare his love and devotion to Jesus by writing John 3:16 in sidewalk chalk on our driveway; by scribbling “Jesus Loves You” on napkins at restaurants; and by hammering scraps of wood together into crosses, painting them with left over spray paint, and scattering them across our yard—resulting in more of a creepy pet cemetery look than the “Jesus loves you and wants to give you life” look he was hoping for, but still…he was expressing love for the Savior he loved so much.

From the moment he could speak, my son talked about Jesus and God and the “Ho-wee Spear-it.” He once asked me (at the age of 4) “if satan said he was saw-ree to God for sinnin’ would God forgive him?” And then just a few months later, after listening to the story of Jonah from his little rhyme time Bible, he declared, “Jonah made a bad choice so God put him in time-out in dat whale’s big ol’ belly so he could think about makin’ a good-er choice.”

And on many occasions he would meet random strangers and say he was “God’s boy” or “Jesus’ bestest friend.”

His early faith—his strength of faith—caused me to think that his faith was a sealed deal. That God had imparted into his little heart a rock-solid faith that would never be shaken.

I was so blissfully naive!!

Oh, if only we could live out our 4 year old devotion to the Lord all of our days. If only we could remain Jesus’ boys and girls.

And yet, He made us to grow. In fact, He put within us a yearning for wisdom, discernment, knowledge and understanding—things which can only come from questioning, wrestling, doubting and deciding.

God wants us to make our faith our own.

He doesn’t want us to ride the coattails of our parent’s faith, or our teacher’s faith, or our mentor’s faith. No, He wants us to own our faith.

And that all sounds well and good—until…you watch your child begin his own faith journey. Until you see your son shake off your faith and begin to question his own. Until you watch as your little boy trades his sidewalk chalk for doubts; his napkin evangelism for questions, and his haphazard crosses for objections.

Yet even in that you hold onto hope that the little boy faith is still in there—just morphing into big boy faith.

But then….

Your son trades his rhyme time Bible for the real deal and then asks one night at dinner, “How can you think God is so loving when he ordered the annihilation of entire nations?”

His questions and objections catch you off-guard. You feel completely unprepared for his criticism of the Word you hold so dear.

Since my teenager decided to read the Bible through in a year, I find myself wishing God would have sought the help of an editor. Or maybe consulted a publicist. Or ran a few Old Testament books past a focus group.

As I watch my son wrestle over who God is and whether or not He is good and trustworthy, all I want to do is put his little Rhyme Time Bible back in his hands.

“He’s mine. Trust me, ” I hear the words in my heart, but I shake my head against them. For my role is to lead my children to faith in Jesus. This is my job as his parent. It’s on me if he walks away. Right?

“All I ask you to do is introduce him to me. Now, it’s my turn. Trust me.”

“But God,” I cry, “What if he doesn’t choose you?” the words cause pain as they escape my lips. All I want—all I really want from this life—is to know that my children are walking with the Lord. What if….I can’t finish the thought.

Trust Me with your son. Trust Me with his heart. Trust Me…I am starting a new thing. Trust Me…I am working all things together for his good. Trust Me…I know the plans I have for him. Trust Me…Neither height, nor depth can separate him from my love. Trust Me enough to let go. Let me have his heart. It is not your job to win his heart, that is MY job. Trust Me.

I’m not gonna lie…this has been the hardest part of parenting for me. Realizing that I can’t control my kids’ hearts and thoughts. Allowing them to make their own choices, understanding that those choices could lead them places I never wanted them to go. BUT, at my core I believe that God is good. He is trustworthy and He loves my kids more than I do. I trust that God still speaks through His Word—even in our confusion and doubts. And I rejoice that my teenage son is reading that word…even if he’s wrestling with it.

And so…I will trust and pray. Believe and encourage. And I will stay close, but let go enough to let God take over.

But between you and me, I’m holding onto that sidewalk chalk and Rhyme Time Bible…just in case!

Much love,
Jen

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Launching hope one story at a time…

Thu, 10 May 2018 16:16:00 GMT

Launching hope one story at a time…
What is hope? How would you define the word?
Trust in a promise? Belief in something? An idea?

This weekend I launched my first book. And it was glorious and beautiful; surreal and exciting. But what struck me the most about the day was that the launch of my book JOEY was less about a book launch and more about launching hope .

The definition naturally lends itself to self-reflection:

What expectations do I have?
Who or what am I trusting in?
What are my unwavering beliefs.

JOEY is the true story of a blind rescue horse who helped others see hope.

(My husband nudged me awake a few nights ago. Apparently I was reciting the tagline from my book in my sleep!)

We had prepared for the JOEY launch event for weeks. I had memorized my speech. The amazing people at the Hope Reins horse ranch had planned for every detail. The ranch was beautiful. The horses prepped. The food delicious.

And hope was palpable— like particle charges of hope floating in the air.

No, we were hoping in God and expecting Him to show up.

And He did.

He was visible in the words written on the sides of rescued horses. He was evident in the stories of restored children. He was heard in the words of those who spoke about the hurting, the broken, and the forgotten. He was felt in the gentle breeze. He was magnified through the scarlet thread of redemption woven into a glorious tapestry of hope—a tapestry that looks a lot like a spotted horse named JOEY.

Hope.

Something a blind horse helped people see everyday. Something a horse was able to give because humans had given to him.

Hope .

The realization that if the life of a broken and blind horse mattered—and had a purpose—than maybe, just maybe mine does too.

Hope .

The understanding that if there are safe people in this world who care for abused and abandoned horses then maybe there are safe people who will care for and help me.

Hope—the unwavering belief that if there is a God who cares so much about a blind horse surely He must also care about me.

Joey was a horse with a powerful story. A story woven together throughout many other stories. Each one meaningful. Each one powerful. Each one vital to create this tapestry of hope.

Each one of us has a story.

What’s yours? Have you ever thought about it? Can you trace the thread of hope woven throughout your story?

It’s there, I promise. But sometimes it’s buried. Sometimes other threads have been sown over it. But the thread of hope is always there.

Always.

So today, as JOEY is officially launched into the world my prayer is that this book launch is really a launching of hope…one story—one thread—at a time.

Much love,
Jen

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Throwing off the cloak of fear

Mon, 30 Apr 2018 17:12:00 GMT

My fear started off as a warm blanket wrapped securely around my shoulders—protecting me from an ever growing list of potential dangers:

Germs.
Public speaking.
Sharks.
Sharing my writing with others.
My kids playing outside.
Cold coffee.
Driving on the highway.
Roaches.
Submitting a book proposal.
Talking to a publisher.
Doing a facebook live video.

The list was endless. And my blanket was getting tighter—feeling more like a binding cloak wrapped tightly against my body. My arms, once free to embrace a new challenge, now dug into my side. My lungs, which once belted out praises, sang lullabies, and roared with laughter, now felt tight—constricted. Suddenly, I wanted the cloak off, and yet it wouldn’t budge.

I was tightly bound—powerless against it’s constricting weight.

No longer could I run free toward new adventures.
No longer could I embrace those around me.
No longer could I rest in the moment.

No….my cloak of fear was too tight. Too heavy. Too strong.

“Oh God!” I cried out to the only One stronger than this crippling fear. “Please take this cloak away. Rip it off. Slice it open. I can’t breathe!”

Yet in spite of my heartfelt prayer, the cloak did not fall off. Nor did it rip in two from top to bottom.

But…I did feel the a slightest weakening of the oppressive garment—my lungs expanding for a brief moment. My shoulder twitching with the unexpected freedom. The cloak, of course, was still there. Still wrapped tightly around me. But it was loosened—enough.

Enough for me to invite others to lean on my newly freed shoulder.
Enough for my lungs to whisper a prayer of thanks.
Enough for my heart to beat wildly with the awareness of the One who truly is stronger than my fear.

Over time, my cloak has become less and less constricting. Eventually, my arms became free enough to embrace the new adventure God had been calling me toward.

And yet, that cloak is always nearby.

Sometimes pooled around my feet.
Sometimes draped across my shoulders.
Sometimes tucking itself around my children’s laps.

Always there, hoping that I will forget what it really is. Hoping that I will fall into old patterns. Longing for me to once again see it as a warm security blanket.

But no. No more.

For now I see fear as it truly is: Not a security blanket, but a trap! A trap and a liar! A sneaky, conniving, deceiver who seeks to immobilize—to paralyze us from moving forward. From moving toward God’s calling and purpose. From embracing all that He offers. From embracing those around us who are trapped by their own cloaks.

No more!

No more, fear!

And while that pesky cloak may always be present, I pray it never again has such power over me. For the truth is, why would I ever turn to a blanket or cloak of fear when I am covered in lavish robes of righteousness

And one day I will look down and that cloak will be absent, and in its place will be the glorious light of true freedom!

Much love,
Jen

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Things I'm supposed to tell you and things I want to say

Mon, 23 Apr 2018 14:03:00 GMT

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What's with all the Latin??

Sat, 14 Apr 2018 13:53:00 GMT

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No Fear Friday (Good Friday edition)

Fri, 30 Mar 2018 17:32:00 GMT

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No Fear Friday

Fri, 23 Mar 2018 16:50:00 GMT

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Maybe it's time to consider a different platform…

Thu, 22 Mar 2018 15:22:00 GMT

I am a writer.

I make sense of my world by turning feelings into words—experiences into sentences.

Written words are as much a part of my daily life as eating and sleeping. And while some of my writing is private, and some only for a select audience, much of my writing involves words I long to share. Not because I am an expert or have it all figured out, but simply because I enjoy recording lessons and words God gives me, and I long to share them with others—just as a chef longs to share a new dish with patrons, or a composer longs to share a new melody with an audience.

God has nestled within each of us a desire to share our gifts with others. It is how we were created. And how he intends to bless and provide for his people. And yet, sadly, that innate desire to share our gifts can get twisted and tainted by selfish ambition, jealousy, insecurity and pride.

It is a desire that needs constant monitoring and guarding.

It is also a desire that—in order to be used as God intended it—needs to be surrendered to him daily.

Surrender. One of the two dreaded “S” words of the Bible. (the other of course is that most dreaded word: submit! But we will save that one for another day.)

Have you ever thought about what could happen if you surrendered your talent and gifts to the Giver of those gifts? Even if that means giving up dreams of a big platform, a book deal or thousands of followers?

We are living at a time when anyone can post a blog, self-publish a book, throw a video on YouTube and potentially reach thousands, if not millions, of people. And yet, the reality is the number of those who reach that level of fame or followers is tiny. Teeny-tiny.

But giant platforms are the standard, right? If you are a writer and want to have a book published with traditional publishing houses, most won’t even consider you unless you have 10,000+ likes, followers, comments etc. And so you write and follow and share and tweet and retweet and post and—unless you are one of the chosen few—you eventually give up because it’s exhausting!

All you want is to share a story God laid on your heart! All you want is to share with others the words he’s given you! But now, you feel beat-up, less than and defeated.

What’s the point?

Why is this so hard?

Why isn’t my platform growing ? (by the way I vote that we erase the word platform from our lexicon!)

But what if we stop for just a minute, take a step back and consider something:

What if you are meant to share your story? What if the words God gave you are meant to be shared. BUT….what if they are simply meant to be shared in a different way?

A different venue? To a different audience—maybe even much smaller audience?

Would you be ok with that?

Would you surrender to God, your words, your story, and even your audience?

Consider this scenario:

You have lived through something tragic and know that your survival was the direct result of God’s presence and plan at work in your life. You have seen the light of hope and were drawn to it like a moth to a flame. You are living proof that God can redeem the worst life has to offer. And now, more than anything, you want to share your story with the world. You want to tell everyone what God did for you and encourage them, in the midst of their darkness, to look for his light. And so you write your thoughts down in the form of a book proposal. You write the first few chapters. You start a blog to begin building an audience. You schedule some facebook live videos to generate buzz. All so that you can share this amazing story. Because clearly God wants you to share this right? This was all him and you simply want to give him glory and help others. But weeks pass, months pass, and your platform has barely grown. You only have a handful of likes on your videos, a few comments on your blog from your aunt Sally, and an inbox full of rejection emails. “Lord, I just want to share my story,” you cry out, your passion beginning to wane. Feeling dejected and unnecessary, you are about to delete every word on your manuscript when you feel a whisper to your heart that says, “Then share it.”

“But they won’t listen, they don’t care,” you shoot back, convinced you are talking to yourself.

“Then share it with just one.”

The command is unmistakable and yet it goes against everything you have been taught.

“Just one? But this story needs to be told to millions Lord! It is so much bigger than just one! It’s a book! It needs to be a book! It needs a big platform. It needs to become a movement!”

You pretend the divine conversation didn’t happen. You don’t delete your manuscript but you do close your computer and decide to take some time away from building your platform. Then one day, needing a mid-day pick-me-up, you enter a coffee shop. and notice an old friend. She looks tired and far away. You smile and engage her in conversation. She confesses that life has gotten hard and things feel dark. You scoot in front of her in line and buy her coffee and then ask her to sit with you. You share your story with her. All of it. She is riveted.

“How did you survive that?” she asks, weary eyes fixed on yours as if they are a life-line.

You share how God held you through each painful moment. You cry with her. You pray with her. And she leaves. Lighter. And for the first time in a long time, full of hope.

You linger over your coffee, processing what just happened.

And though you will never know the impact your story had on that woman—or how the light of hope cast a glow over her that day that would grow into a flame which would allow her to shine the light of hope into the lives of many others—you suddenly see clearly the power of sharing with just one.

So what if today we erased the word “platform” from our vocabulary and write for just one?

What if we speak to just one?

What if we invest our time into just one?

And what if—just for today—one is just the right number?

If God has placed a story in your heart then share it! And don’t let anyone tell you that your story only has value if it’s bound in a book or shared a million times! Your story matters. Your voice matters. And maybe today there is one who desperately needs to hear your story. So share it, however God leads you to share it—knowing that, believing that, one truly does matter!

Much love,
Jen

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Confessions of a first time author (part 1)

Mon, 19 Mar 2018 17:09:00 GMT

T-minus 7 weeks till book launch…

I honestly thought writing the book would be the hardest part. But dear Lord, let me write a million more books instead of promoting just one! I am an introverted introvert. I crave quiet and order; anonymity and alone time; jammies and soft pillows. And I am terrified of public speaking; answering on-the-spot questions; and small talk. Oh, and I have horrible handwriting. So basically I have no natural skill-set for what is to come over the next few months.

And yet even just writing those words makes me feel guilty. I mean, I know there are so many people who would trade places with me in a millisecond. Many waiting to hear back from publishers. Many who have been told “no” more times than they can count and are dangerously close to giving up on their dream.

So why the heck am I whining about seeing mine come true?

But maybe that’s part of the issue. For the fact is, my dream was just to write a book. And to touch people’s lives with the fingerprints of hope.

My dream was not to stand on a stage and talk about the book. Or walk into a bookstore and tell them about my book. Or build a social media platform to promote my book.

My dream was to wear fuzzy slippers and type on my laptop. My dream was observe the world around me and turn those observations into stories. My dream was simply to craft stories of hope.

And yet…what good would those stories be if no one ever read them? Or how would anyone ever read them if they didn’t know about them? And how are they supposed to hear about them if I don’t share about them?

And so, here I am. Less than two months away from the release of my first book —and smack dab in the middle of marketing and promoting said book.

And it’s hard.

And glorious.

Overwhelming and humbling.

Confusing and exciting.

It is all the feelings, tossed together and shaken until they come flying out in a torrent of laughter or tears.

I have never felt more vulnerable or more exposed in my entire life. I have never been more nervous or more excited. Or experienced such rapid-cycling emotions.

And at least once a day I fantasize about telling everyone “never-mind,” pulling the covers over my head, and hiding for a week. But that is simply not an option.

Nor is it really what I want.

Because while this part is indeed uncomfortable, it is important. And I am slowly accepting that. And while I will have to speak from a stage, make small talk with strangers, sign books, and post and comment on social media, I am finally starting to realize (slowly but surely) that this entire uncomfortable process really isn’t about me at all.

Let me write that again so it soaks into my thick head: This is not about me.

None of this is about me.

It’s about Him.
It’s about writing what God laid on my heart to write.
It’s about sharing the message of hope—a message He led me to see.
It’s about getting over myself so I can love people in His name.
It is all about Him.

And so I put on my big-girl pants.

And I pray for strength and peace and endurance.
And I trust Him to speak through me.
And I depend on Him to provide answers and give me words.
And I even surrender my horrible penmanship to Him.

Then I let Him lead me away from my comfort zone—reminding myself that He is bigger than my inadequacies, stronger than my insecurities, and more powerful than my fear.

And I commit to taking time to ponder and treasure every moment of this beautiful, amazing journey.

Which I will remind myself daily—hourly if need be—really isn’t about me anyway.

It is, in fact, all about Him.

Much love,
Jen

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The antidote

Mon, 12 Mar 2018 21:26:00 GMT

There are moments when God clearly speaks to your heart. Not audibly or from burning bush or anything, but gently and quietly and straight to your heart.

Today was one of those days.

You see, I have been plagued with fear. Shocker right! If you’ve followed my blog for any length of time you know fear and I go way back.

But this fear hasn’t been like the others. This fear doesn’t have anything to do with me not feeling adequate or capable or strong enough. No, this fear has been more insidious. Its tentacles wrapping around every good and gracious gift God has been giving me. This fear has been sinister in its taunts. Relentless in its pursuit.

This fear also plays dirty. Throwing past mistakes in my face. Manipulating and parading past struggles toward my present; making me feel trapped, and destined to repeat the same patterns.

This fear likes to ride the coattails of pride while it mocks, “You better not enjoy this ride too much or you’re going to get prideful!” Then it jabs with a right hook, “You know your heart. You know your past struggles. You don’t stand a chance!”

Ouch. Fear is a such a bully!

For the truth is pride is something I have struggled with for years. Although it didn’t always announce itself as pride (but really what sin does? What sin stands up and says, “hello, my name is sin!”) Sometimes it will show up as feelings of unworthiness, other times it sneaks in as self-sufficiency. Still other times it enters through the door of ambivalence. And then of course there are the times that it just struts through the front door as the ugly ol’ pride that it is.

And so I have been hypersensitive to my pride-o-meter as of late. Praying diligently for help in kicking pride—in all of its many forms—to the curb. Asking God to guard my heart. To convict me quickly. And to show me some kind of antidote to pride.

And He’s been quiet for weeks.

“Surely you want me to figure this out Lord!” I would often mutter.

Silence.

And so I would pray some more. And I would read verses and write verses and memorize verses about fear and humility and surrender and remembering the Lord.

I even reached out to our pastor and sought his counsel.

And yet something was still missing. My joy had been hampered. And my spirit has been restless.

Recently, my husband saw me skimming over an early review of JOEY . It was positive and precious and normally would have made me weep tears of joy. But I just skimmed it.

“Sweetheart, that’s incredible,” he beamed, reading the review over my shoulder. “That must feel so good,” he added.

But then he looked at my face, “Wait, what’s wrong?”

The tears fell before the words came, “I….I’m afraid to read them. What if…Maybe I shouldn’t. I don’t want to become….”

“Hey,” he said getting me to look at him, “don’t let your fear steal your joy.”

We talked, I cried (I’ve been doing a lot of that lately!), and then he left. But his words remained. Swirling around my heart. Shining light into the depths of my soul.

And then today while spending time in prayer for the people on my launch team (something I felt God prompt me to do this morning), I started really praying for each one, by name. I prayed that they would feel loved by God and by me.

As I was praying I began to feel convicted. But is wan’t a taunting conviction like I am used to from the enemy. This was a soft, gentle, leading away from one thing and towards another. Like a parent pulling their child away from the edge of a cliff and into their arms.

Love. I felt the word settle into my heart.

Love my people . The words echoed through my mind.

The sweet conviction hit its mark. I need to love people better. I need to see people not as distractions, interruptions or potential connections. But as people. Beloved by God. Made in his image. And worthy just because they are.

And so I prayed. A lot. Asking God to forgive my ambivalence and to help me love his people just like he would—like he does.

And then as I prayed and pondered, I again felt a stirring in my heart. And like bubbles floating to the surface came a phrase: Love covers a multitude of sins.

“Wait! I know that verse!” I exclaimed rousing my dog from her nap. “Where is that verse?”

A quick google search revealed its location in 1 Peter 4:8.

A laugh escaped my throat. Not a haha laugh but a God-induced laugh of sheer joy.

For there, right beside me on the table was my Bible, already lying open to, of all places, 1 Peter chapter 4. I have been studying that passage in my weekly Bible study. I have read that verse countless times and yet today…today at my table with my sleepyhead dog beside me, it jumped off the page as if seeing it for the first time.

Love covers a multitude of sins.

That means love covers fear.

It means that love covers pride!

All of a sudden my vision cleared and I could see the truth:

But our all-knowing God, who knows I’m a little slow at times, again whispered through the pages of His Word:

Love my people Jen and pride will flee.
Love my people Jen and your fear will vanish.
Commit to loving my people from the stage and from the page and you will be free to enjoy the gifts I am giving you.
Don’t let your fear—especially your fear of sin—steal your joy. Don’t allow it to enslave you. You are free. Live free. Love free. Speak free. Be free.

And with those beautiful, powerful words I felt the chains that have gripped my heart for months finally break free. And I smiled. Then I laughed. And then I read every word people have written about JOEY and I gave God praise and I smiled more. And I delighted in my good, good Father who, for some reason only He can understand, delights in giving his undeserving children precious gifts—gifts that are not meant to be hoarded or fretted over, but shared and enjoyed and smiled over.

And so now, here I am breaking every blog rule I know! This post is WAY too long, too rambling and it is not sprinkled with cute graphics. But I don’t even care! Because I am free! and this long, rambling post is my stone of remembrance and my public declaration of praise to the God I simply adore! And my way of thanking him for every single gift (the delightful ones and the difficult ones) that he has given me.

I love you Father. And YOU are the greatest gift of all!

Much love,
Jen

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Sometimes you just have to get out of the car

Wed, 07 Mar 2018 18:04:00 GMT

His body tensed, “I can’t do it. I just can’t.”

Doubts and fears were wreaking havoc on his mind. “I’m not ready. I’m gonna fail.”

Hormones were wreaking havoc on his self-esteem. “I look hideous. Everyone’s going to stare at me.”

It wasn’t just one thing, it was a culmination of many: being overtired, hormone surges, hunger, two tests, and the-ready-for-spring-break-blues. He was hurting, and nothing I said was helping.

We sat in the car and waited for the tide to ebb. Yet his distress only escalated. His fear paralyzed him. He didn’t think he could do it. He didn’t feel able to face his peers, didn’t feel ready to take his tests. He wanted to go home, put his pajamas back on, and retreat to his comfort zone.

I knew that could not happen—not if he was going to grow.

Realizing he was already late, I drove out of the parking lot and headed up the road to the donut shop. He stayed in the car while I went inside and got him some breakfast. He had forgotten to eat, which was certainly not helping his current mood. “Sweetheart, you’ve got to eat something. You will feel a little better, I promise.”

He looked at me with the skeptical eyes of a teenager, but his stomach won the internal fight and he ate. “Why can’t I just go home?”

“Because you have to face this. And you can face this. This is not as bad as it feels right now. You can’t always go by your feelings. Sometimes you just have to trust God to walk with you and know He’s got this.”

His body tensed, “But what if I fail?”

“Well, then you fail. But while you may fail by the school’s standards, but you will have succeeded to me and your dad because you tried. You will have trusted God to get you through this day. Let’s just say that for today, getting out of the car is more important than getting a good grade.”

He took a steadying breath, confusion etched on his face. “Why am I getting so upset?”

“Because you’ve held so much in for so long. Middle school is hard. Everything feels bigger and harder. You are changing from kid to grown-up and that process hurts sometimes. It’s ok to cry. In fact, every once in awhile it’s good to cry and let it out.”

He was breathing normally as we turned back into the school. “I love you,” he whispered.

“Oh my sweet boy, I love you too.”

I stopped the car, put it in park, and turned to face him. “Now…it’s time to just get out of the car and know that God is going with you. You are not alone. You are never alone. God’s got this. He’s got you.”

I watched with pride as little boy merged into young man right before my eyes. He walked into the school, prepared to face his fears.

Tears began to well up in my own eyes as I put the car into drive.

“My sweet daughter,” I heard in my heart, “Now it is your turn. Those fears you have, those doubts that are keeping you frozen in place. You need to give them to me. I am now asking you to just get out of the car and walk with me.”

“But Lord,” I replied, “What if I can’t? What if I fail?”

“You may fail by the world’s standards, but you will have succeeded to me because you tried. Trust me, hold my hand, and go where I lead you. But first, you need to get out of the car, and trust me to go with you.”

“Lord, why am I so scared and upset?”

“Because my precious daughter, you’ve held so much in for so long. This life is hard. Somedays everything just feels bigger and harder. You’re changing from self-focused to Me-focused, and at times that process hurts. It’s ok to cry out to Me. It is good to cry out to Me. I am here for you.”

“I love You,” I whispered through my own tears.

“Oh how I love you my sweet child. Now, it is time to get out of the car and walk with me. Know that you are not alone. You are never alone. I AM with you. I’ve got this. And I’ve got you.”

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Once upon a time a girl had a teeny tiny dream….

Wed, 28 Feb 2018 13:41:00 GMT

Once upon a time there was a girl (ok, so she’s really a grown woman who still thinks of herself as a girl) who had a dream. It was a nice dream. A good dream. A safe dream. Her dream was to write a book about a blind horse whose story had touched her heart. Her dream was to self-publish the book, selling it for $5 to the 25 or so family members she could convince to buy it, and then donate the proceeds to the ranch where the horse had lived. She loved her dream and kept it close to her heart, partly so that it wouldn’t float away, and partly because she was scared to share it with anyone. For the girl had never written a book before. In fact, the girl didn’t even know anything about horses!
“Surely my dream is just….a dream,” the girl thought.
And so she held her dream close, hiding it from those around her. Only pulling it out when the urge to write became stronger than fear of discovery.
She wrote and wrote, even though she didn’t know what she was writing.
Was it fiction? Or a true story? Was it for children? Or adults? Was it an animal story? Or a memoir?
So many questions, so few answers.
“Surely this is silly,” the girl thought. “Surely I should stop this nonsense,” she mumbled.
But the words wouldn’t stop coming. The thoughts tumbled out of her faster than her fear could hold them back. And so she wrote and wrote and wrote some more.
One day, the girl came across a literary agent offering phone consultations to help writers who had questions and needed answers. And although the girl knew she was not a real writer, she did indeed have a question. A question that refused to go unanswered. A question that grew louder and bolder than the girl’s fear could contain. And so one October day the girl bravely picked up her phone and spoke to the kind agent. The agent listened to the girl’s story. She listened to the girl’s question. And then she spoke.
“This is a powerful story,” the agent said.
The girl exhaled a breath she had been holding for years. Could it be true? She dared to believe. Feeling emboldened by the agent’s words, the girl was about to ask for recommendations on self-publishing. But the agent silenced her with her next words.
“This for sure is a book,” the agent said. “But it’s also a film.”
The girl had no words.
None.
The agent kept talking, and planning and dreaming. Big dreams. Giant dreams. Dreams that the girl didn’t know she could dream. Dreams she would never dare to dream.
But the agent did. She dreamed and she dreamed. And within months the girl had a book contract. She felt dizzy. She often thought someone was going to realize their mistake and come and take it all away. But they didn’t. Instead they helped the girl to rewrite her story. They taught the girl. Encouraged the girl. Brought words from the girl’s heart. They helped the girl dream bigger dreams. They continually pointed the girl to the Author of every good dream. They reminded her often that when she pursues His dreams that anything is possible. The girl was still scared but she was beginning to believe them. And she was trusting the Giver of her dream. Her now much bigger dream.
And then one day the girl was given her dream, in the form of pages of a book. Her little dream was there in black and white print. Her dream was now a reality. Her dream was now ready to go and shine light onto other people’s dreams.
But the Giver of her dream wasn’t done, not yet. No, His dream was still bigger. There were more people He wanted to reach.
And so one day, as the girl was scrolling through her newsfeed, she saw a post. A post from a woman who was going to take her dream in a different direction. Who was going to give her dream new dimensions and brighter colors. The woman, a film producer, had posted about the girl’s book. The girl’s book that is now in development to become a movie.
The girl just stared at her screen. For she had known the producer had acquired the rights to make her book a film. She had signed the papers after all. But the girl had been too afraid to dream that big. Too afraid to believe it was real. And so she had tucked that dream safely away where the disappointment couldn’t hurt.
But as the girl stared at the post, she could no longer keep anything contained. Every dream. Every hope. Every prayer came pouring out of her. Dreams she had dared to dream now floated heavenward with her praise.
Tears of gratitude, humility and joy fell from the girl’s eyes.
How had she gotten here? Who was she to experience this?
She looked up from her screen. Her face bathed in the warmth of the sun.
“It’s all you,” she whispered through her tears. “It’s always been you,” she spoke aloud. The Giver of dreams, the Author of hope, the Grantor of grace was the One who had called her to write. He was the one who gave her just enough of a glimpse of His calling at each step of the journey. For He knew that if He showed her too much too soon He would have overwhelmed her, sent her scurrying away. And so He slowly, carefully led her along each and every step. Bringing just the right person at just the right time to advance her steps and reveal more of the dream He was growing in her heart.
His dream.
His calling,
His horse…His story….His girl.
His grateful, humbled, grace-saturated girl.
Much love,
Jen
ps-sorry it took me all those words to tell you that JOEY the book is in development to become JOEY the movie!!!! (what?!?!? Only God you guys, only GOD) Stay tuned for more details…..

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A lesson from Billy Graham: No ministry is too small

Mon, 26 Feb 2018 11:07:00 GMT

In honor of Billy Graham and the unmeasurable impact his life has had on our culture, this post is an excerpt from one I wrote two years ago after visiting a Billy Graham exhibit at the NC Museum of History. You can read the entire post Here

Yesterday I took my kids to a special Billy Graham exhibit at the NC Museum of History. It was moving and powerful. And somewhat intimidating as we stood in front of a wall that was illuminated with pinpoint lights.

Each light represented 2,000 decisions made for Christ as a result of one of Billy’s crusades. All together the lights represented more than 3 million decisions!

As I took in the breath and depth of his ministry I started to feel so small—so unimportant. (Isn’t it interesting how the accuser can accuse even in the middle of a deeply spiritual moment!)

My heart whispered, “God, I’ll never have this kind of impact. I’ll never be able to do anything like this for You.” My shoulders slumped. “Does my teeny tiny little ministry even matter?”

Yet, before the accuser could get another word in, the voice of Truth called out, “Look up.”

My head raised on its accord. And what I saw brought tears to my eyes.

My two babies were standing in front of the wall of lights. Two souls standing in the Light. Two lives changed by the light of the Gospel. Two souls entrusted into mine and my husband’s care. Two children given to us to instruct in the way of God’s Word. Two little ones we had the joy and privilege to escort to the foot of the cross where they surrendered their lives to Him. Two souls who will live eternally with Jesus.

It was then God allowed me to see a very important truth:

Every single soul matters. Every. Single. One. Whether 3 million or just 1 person. Every heart won. Every soul saved. Every life changed by the blood of Jesus matters.

No ministry is too small for Him to use. No act of obedience is too mundane if done by a willing eager heart.

I do not have to worry or fret over numbers or stats because none of that really matters. I just have to walk in obedience, remain in His Word, bask in His Truth and then speak and write what He tells me to speak and write so that I can shine His light into this dark world.

I pray that today we might all find freedom from measuring ourselves by earthly standards and with earthly measures by instead looking to the One who loves us and has called us to simply serve Him. The results are not our concern.

Results, like glory and honor, all belong to God.

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Billy Graham

Wed, 21 Feb 2018 14:53:00 GMT

As a little girl, I used to preach to my stuffed animals.
I would line them up and then passionately preach the Good News of Jesus to them, just like Billy Graham. As a shy girl who loved Jesus, I was fascinated by the dynamic man who taught the Bible to thousands. As a teenager, I attended one of Billy’s crusades. And whenever anyone would ask the question “what person, alive or dead, would you want to have dinner with” I would always say, “Billy Graham.”
Maybe it was the secret evangelist in me who longed to step into the light and boldly share my faith. Or maybe it was me simply wanting to be near someone who was so near to God. Or maybe it was his humility and simple upbringing that made this friend of world leaders somehow seem approachable.
I find myself reflecting on all of this today. This day when Billy breathed his last on this earth and opened his eyes to the Home he has spent a lifetime leading people towards.
And I grieve. I cry. I mourn our loss.
But then….
But then I realized that even in his death, Billy is pointing us to hope. Pointing us to truth. Pointing us toward Home.
In a time when our country is heartbroken, when the darkness seems too strong and hope seems like a fantasy, Billy’s life stands as a beacon for hope, for light. Today his message is being broadcast on every news station. His words, the words God ordained him to speak during his lifetime, are once again going forth among the nations.
Only God could bring life from death.
Today, someone is going to hear Billy’s message replayed on their tv.
Today, someone is going to hear the message of hope.
Today, someone is going to fall to their knees and surrender their life to God.
Today, someone will begin their eternity with Jesus.
Today, life will come from death.
And that is the power of the Gospel. The Gospel Billy Graham gave his life to preach.

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The only place comparison ever takes us is away from who we are meant to be

Mon, 19 Feb 2018 22:48:00 GMT

I reveled in the attention, as one stepping into sunlight after countless days of rain.

As a painfully shy child who found making friends difficult, my then six year old self delighted in the crowd of children who surrounded me. Each one there to admire the fluffy little bunny I cradled in my arms. My new bunny shook with fear. I trembled with the joy of acceptance.

Days later, my new friends still wanted to talk about my sand-colored bunny—appropriately named Sandy. After just one successful show and tell, I suddenly had something to talk about with people. I had a way to connect with kids I had never been able to connect with before. And I loved it.

But then….Emily got a bunny.

And I got jealous.

The same crowd that had surrounded me, now surrounded her. The same questions that had been asked of me, were now being asked of her. I envied her attention. I resented her bunny. I longed to once again feel the warmth of the spotlight.

And so I pouted. I wallowed. And I never went over to look at her bunny.

I still feel bad about that.

And granted I was only six, but what if…..

What if I would have walked over to her and said, “I really like your bunny. Maybe our bunnies could play together sometime.” Or “hey, you have a bunny, I have a bunny. Wanna make a bunny club?”

What if instead of seeing her bunny as a threat, I had viewed it as an opportunity to connect?

(ok, so maybe not thoughts a six-year-old would have, but certainly thoughts grown-ups could have!)

So much of my life has been spent comparing myself to others and finding myself lacking.

She’s prettier.

Her house is nicer.

She’s far more talented.

She’s a much better writer.

Her dog doesn’t act like a maniac when company is over!

But….

What if instead of viewing each of those statements as a threat, I turned it around as a chance to connect?

What if I made an effort to get to know the woman behind the beautiful face? Her hopes, her dreams, her fears. For surely just because her face could grace a magazine cover doesn’t make her immune from insecurities, fears and…life.

What if I asked the lady with the nice house to share some decorating tips with me? Or what if I got over myself and committed to invite someone over to my house to extend the same hospitality that I was shown?

What if I decided to support another’s talent? Show up for her. Cheer for her? Encourage her to reach for her dreams?

What if I learned from another writer? What if I supported her work? What if instead of viewing her words as a threat, I shared her words with others? For what if her words breathe life into someone who is on my friend’s list? What if her words were meant to be shared through me?

And what if…well…what if I just hire the lady with the well behaved dog to come train mine!!! You guys, the struggle is real!

Each one of us has value, purpose, and meaning.
Each life is precious and sacred and important.

And yet, the only place comparison ever takes us is away from who we are meant to be.

So let’s ask God to expose areas of pride, jealousy and doubt. And replace them with humility, love and trust.

And let’s embrace the gifts, talents and abilities that God has given each one of us, let’s celebrate them in each other, so that we can all become who He created us to be.

And if you ever get the opportunity to form a bunny club…take it!!!

Much love,
Jen

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Exposing the puppeteer behind the curtain….

Wed, 14 Feb 2018 16:27:00 GMT

Over the last several weeks our pastor has been challenging us to trace the symptoms of our sin to the source of our sin.

Lying, stealing, disobeying, lashing out in anger….all of these are symptoms of sin— outward evidence of an inward problem.

So often I simply want to address the symptom without addressing the source.

But that’s like wiping an allergy-irritated nose instead of removing the allergen or taking allergy medicine.

Or like putting a band-aid on a wound that really needs sutures.

And while God has been revealing sources such as pride, self-reliance and flat out laziness (I’m telling you it’s been an eye-opener and making me SO thankful for grace!) The source that rises high above all the others is fear.

Fear.

The great puppeteer of my heart.

Fear pulls the strings of my thoughts and behavior like no other.

Fear even sources other sources like pride and greed!

That last one really blew my mind! I had never thought of fear and greed as going together, but so much of my greed (my greed for a big savings account, the approval of man, my precious free time) all stem from fear! Fear of the future and not having enough. Fear of not being liked. Fear of having my “me” time encroached on.

The more I trace my outward signs of sin the more I find fear at the root, pulling the strings of my thoughts and behavior.

Perhaps this is why God tells us over and over again to “not be afraid” for He knows how greedy a puppeteer fear is.

“God, what am I to do?” I cried out as I drove to pick up my kids from school.

The puppeteer felt too big, too powerful, held too firm a grip.

“Do not fear, for I AM with you….” the words of one of my favorite verses (Isaiah 41:10) floated through my mind, settling in my heart—giving fear a little push.

The great I AM is bigger than my fear.

God is bigger. He is stronger. He is more powerful. And He holds my heart. He dwells in my heart. And He can cut the strings right out of fear’s hand.

The verse goes on to say, “I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”

God says that He will hold me.

If I hold a Marionette puppet in a firm grip then whoever is pulling the strings would not make the puppet move, right? And… if I wanted to I could even cut the strings completely!

I will probably always struggle with fear.

The puppeteer will always lie in wait, seeking to pull the strings of my thoughts and behavior.

However, there is One greater than my fear, whose loving grip is far stronger. And He offers to help me, to strengthen me, to be with me.

So today I choose Him.

I choose to trust His grip over fear’s strings.

I choose to trust that His plans for me are good, that His ways are good. That He is good.

And with each decision to trust God, the strings of fear become weaker and weaker.

What puppeteer seeks to control your thoughts and actions? Will you ask God to reveal it to you? And when He does will you measure that against God? For no puppeteer can stand against God…ask God to help you. Ask Him for strength. And trust Him to hold you tightly in His loving and firm grip.

Much love,
Jen

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First Joey Interview: On Writing, Horses, and Hope

Mon, 12 Feb 2018 17:50:00 GMT

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Good advice from a good granddaddy

Fri, 09 Feb 2018 16:48:00 GMT

“Sugar,” he said, his Kentucky accent flooding my heart with warmth, his serious expression straightening my posture, “Never forget your roots. Never go so far that you can’t remember how you got to where you are.”

My granddaddy was a man of few words. But man could he say a lot in those words.

I adored my granddad. I once told him that, to my little girl mind, he was the perfect mix of Superman and Santa Claus. He had a quick wit, a quicker laugh, and a fierce love for his family. He was the kind of man who could share with you wise counsel and then make a joke about bodily functions. He gave the best hugs and could make anything from wood.

Fifteen years ago today I said goodbye for now to my precious granddaddy. And yet all these years later, his words to me about roots that day in his living room in FL still echo through my heart and mind.

We had been joking about something. And then I had shared that I was thinking about becoming a doctor. He told me that he knew I would make a great doctor; that I could in fact do anything I set my mind to. But then he turned serious. His eyes fixed on mine. I could feel the charge in the air as he urged me to remember my roots. I will confess to being a bit confused at the time. Why had he become so serious? And what did me wanting to be a doctor have to do with my roots? And what the heck were these roots anyway?

Granddaddy didn’t expand, and I didn’t ask. He didn’t explain, and I didn’t question. I simply agreed and we fell back into our light banter. But his words had become a seed buried deep into the soil of my heart. A seed that would quietly grow for many years, until it’s roots made their way to my consciousness. A seed sown by God, who happened to use my Granddad to speak the seed into existence.

I never did become a doctor—but given my aversion to blood, I don’t think my was surprised! But I did move away from home. And I did end up doing something harder than I ever thought I could do. And now as I sit just on the other side of my life becoming very different for a few months with JOEY getting ready to launch. I find myself reflecting a lot on Granddaddy’s words that day. And I can’t help but picture a tree, whose branches are stretching toward the sun, whose leaves are being blown by changing winds, and whose roots are holding it firmly to the ground.

Roots of faith in God’s Word and in His strength.

Roots of family and friends.

Roots of experience and education.

Roots of both precious and painful memories, both of which have served to shape the way I see this world and the way I try to love people.

And the roots of those who have loved me enough to speak loving truth into my life.

I so wish that Granddaddy could have lived long enough to know my kids—oh how he would have loved them. (although he did live long enough to meet my son—something that I had begged God to allow, and will never be able to thank Him enough for granting. Granddaddy died hours after meeting my son).

I also wish that he could be there the day I launch my first book. (in fact, one Christmas I gave him the very first—and painfully bad—book I had ever written. It was a story about our dogs. I just printed it off my computer and stuck it in a document folder, but he acted like I had given him a Pulitzer Price winning book!) He was always so proud of his family!

But while my eyes crave seeing his smiling face at the launch party, my heart knows that he will be there. For my heart feels the roots of his love wrapped tightly around me—intertwining with the root of my faith in God—and holding me steadfast and firm.

Have you ever thought about your roots? What holds you in place when the winds of this life blow fierce? Maybe today take a minute to ponder your own roots and ask God to help you strengthen the roots of others. And if you happen to still have your Granddaddy with you, would you give him hug for me?

Much love,
Jen

“Blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord, whose trust is the Lord. He is like a tree planted by water, that sends out its roots by the stream, and does not fear when heat comes….” Jeremiah 17:7

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A prayer for two boys….

Thu, 08 Feb 2018 15:16:00 GMT

(Two boys in my son’s 9th grade class were involved in a serious accident last week, and both have been in the hospital ever since. The boys and their families are being prayed over constantly by so many. My heart has been so heavy for all those involved as they sit and wait. As they brace themselves for each new report. And as they long for their boys to wake up. If you have a moment, would you join me in praying for these two…)

Lord God—the Almighty One, mighty to save and incomparable in power,

In times like these we realize just how powerless we are. How dependent we are on You—on Your will, Your plan and Your presence.

Father, our hearts are broken for those who have been hurt, and for those who are hurting with them and for them. We cry out against the pain, against the fear and the unknown.

We long to turn back time—to stop this from ever happening. But once again we are reminded of our powerlessness, our weakness.

God may that awareness draw us to Your power, Your strength, and Your grace.

Lord, two young souls lay in broken bodies. Bodies which have been battered, bruised and scarred. Unreachable by those desperate to once again hear their voice, see their smile, feel their embrace. Deafening silence permeates a room which should be filled with chatter, with laughter, with life.

Father, right now we ask that Your voice would go where human words cannot.

Jesus, would you speak, even now, to the hearts of those boys. Will you whisper words of hope, of peace, of grace. Of life.

Lord God, with but a word you spoke life out of darkness. Will you speak once again.

With but a word you pushed back the sea. Will you speak once again.

With but a word you healed, redeemed, forgave, saved. Will you speak once again.

And God we trust that while we may never hear Your voice speaking to the boys, you are indeed speaking even now. You are whispering words of love. You are speaking words of truth. You are breathing words of healing. You are singing words of delight.

God we trust that the voice of God can go where human words cannot.

And we believe that in the darkness, You are shining light.

In the quiet, You are speaking grace.

In the brokenness, You are making new.

And in the heartache, You are healing.

Jesus, we commit these boys to You. We trust them to Your care. We place them in Your hands.

And Lord we ask that You would strengthen their parents and families. Flood each soul with Your peace—peace that doesn’t make sense. Peace that stronger than fear. Draw their hearts ever closer to You. Infuse them with strength. Sustain them with Your power—the same power that triumphed over sin and death.

God we are fully dependent on You. We stand here broken, with empty hands raised to You in full surrender and trust. Be glorified in this Jesus. And as your children heal and recover may they become living breathing thriving testimonies of Your grace, and mercy and power.

It is in the powerful, healing, sustaining name of Jesus we pray, amen.

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Three powerful words to remember when GOD seems far away…

Tue, 06 Feb 2018 02:17:00 GMT

When flood waters rise and unrelenting rain pours from the sky, God where are you?
When fires rage, consuming everything in their destructive path, God where are you?
When hurricanes churn in open waters, terrorizing those in their paths, God where are you?
When a grim-faced doctor reveals a life-changing diagnosis, God where are you?
When nations war against nations, people against people, brothers against brothers, God where are you?
When children are buried, marriages dissolve, and hurting souls take their own lives, God where are you?

I AM here.

The words float toward earth—billowing echoes from the throne of Heaven.

I AM here , the echo repeats, C loser than the air you breathe, nearer than your beating heart.

I AM standing beside you, giving you strength.

I AM whispering peace in your ear.

I AM holding your hand as you stand in broken disbelief.

I AM stroking your hair, catching your tears.

I AM waiting within the pages of My Word.

I AM longing for you to look to Me.

I AM the Sovereign God who promises to never leave you nor forsake you.

I AM brokenhearted with you. I AM grieving with you. I AM saddened with you.

But I AM also the author of Hope, and dear one, your story is not over, this moment does not define you. This storm will pass, and you…my precious child, you will be stronger, braver, bolder. You will be changed because you saw Me in the midst of the storm.

For when you see Me—when you look past the visible, into the face of the eternal—you will never be the same.

This is my promise to you:

In Me you will find strength and peace and rest.
In Me you will find hope and courage and wisdom.
In Me you will find refuge and protection and light.

In Me you will find….life.

I AM here.

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Pain—life’s motivator

Tue, 30 Jan 2018 16:45:00 GMT

“Pain is a great motivator.”

She spoke the words so matter-of-factly—as if part of her daily routine. And yet in that moment my world stopped spinning as I absorbed the unintended meaning of her words.

Pain is a great motivator.

I looked around the open gym area of the physical therapy office. I was there for my second visit—finally having surrendered to the limitations and pain of the whiplash I experienced last summer ( you can read about that here ). For months I have treated pain with over the counter medication and heat—or attempted to ignore it all together. And for months the pain kept getting worse. My range of motion became decreased, as did my willingness to try new things or even experience simple things I used to love, like laying my head back in the sink at the hair salon!

For months my pain motivated me to medicate, withdraw, and retreat.

But all of a sudden my petite twenty-something physical therapist was offering a new way—encouraging me to allow my pain to motivate me to stretch, strengthen and work-out my neck muscles.

“Your shoulder muscles have been doing things they were never meant to do,” she reported during my first visit, while massaging the pyramid of knots from left shoulder. “They have been overcompensating for the weakness in your neck muscles from the injury you sustained. You need to retrain each of your muscles to do the job for which each was intended.”

I didn’t quite absorb her words at the moment, since I was trying not to come up off the table as she worked out each painfully tight knot.

But yesterday as I reported feeling pain while typing away on my laptop, she urged me to use the pain to remind me to do the specific stretches she had printed off for me the week before.

“When your neck starts hurting, don’t ignore it and don’t grab Motrin,” she said, her tiny frame at odds with her commanding presence. “Instead, I want you to let the pain motivate you to stretch and strengthen your muscles, ok?”

I nodded at her, but deep somewhere deep within my soul, I felt myself agreeing with God.

From her audible words, my heart heard the inaudible voice of God whisper:

A massage and a spiritual lesson! I’m really liking physical therapy!

And so today, I will pause from my typing to stretch and strengthen my neck. Knowing that it is not an overnight cure, and that strengthening these muscles and retraining them to only carry the burden to which they were created will take a long time. But trusting that one day the pain will be less and my neck will be stronger.

Today, I will allow my pain to motivate me to do the work I must do so that I can heal, whether that work is neck stretches and exercise, or prayer and spending time in God’s Word.

Much love,
Jen

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Parenting free of fear (even when your kids begin to drive!)

Fri, 26 Jan 2018 16:25:00 GMT

I felt like an idiot crying my ever-lovin’ head off in my kitchen. Thank God no one was home.

What is wrong with me? I cried out, startling the dog from her nap.

I kept staring at the text that had just come through letting me know it was time to schedule my son’s behind the wheel driver’s ed class. I had read the words and then lost it. The weight of a hidden fear I have carried for years erupting like an emotional volcano.

A fear that had begun as a dream….When my son was only two, I had a dream that he was driving our car and crashed. In my dream, I ran to his lifeless little body, sprawled out on the road.

Awful right?! (welcome to my nightmares!)

It was so awful and a dream that has stayed with me ever since. A dream I never told anyone about. And a dream that fueled a fear that I would allow to simmer until that day in my kitchen.

But that day as I stared at my phone I had to confront that fear. And it was hard. I cried. I yelled. I stomped. And I totally freaked out our poor dog!

“God, ask me to write 100 more books,” I pleaded, “but please don’t ask me to let my son drive!!”

I’m embarrassed to admit this, but I had a full on temper tantrum with God for about thirty minutes. But then, when all my tears were spent and all my emotion laid bare, I quieted.

I took a deep breath.

And I surrendered.

I surrendered my perceived control for God’s full control.

I submitted my fears to His Sovereign will.

And I committed my child to his heavenly Father’s plan.

It was hard, but at the end of my emotional torrent, I meant every word.

For years I have been anxious of letting my son drive. For years I have feared having to let go. And for years I have tried to shove those feelings and fears down, pretending all was well.

But that day as my lack of control could no longer be denied, I remembered something—a fundamental truth I have preached and taught and shared with others, but a truth I had somehow forgotten to apply to myself: the need to allow yourself to grieve.

From my time as a grief counselor, I saw firsthand the importance of taking time to grieve. Those who did the painful work of grief—remembering, weeping, allowing themselves to feel anger, allowing themselves to simply experience the feelings—would eventually heal. They would always bear a scar, but the open wound would heal. But those who tried to shove the grief down, tried to hide the pain or ignore the wound, would carry that wound with them for the rest of their lives.

Maybe because I have worked with children for so long, I tend to put important things I want to remember into rhymes. And because I saw firsthand how important it is to let yourself grieve I put that principle into this rhyme:

Catchy right?

And yet so true!

As I dried my tears that day in the kitchen, I felt lighter than I had in years. I had finally allowed myself to feel and deal with my fears—and to feel and deal with the fact that my baby is getting older and the childhood clock is running out.

I have loved being a mom to small children, and even though I love my older kids and find that this stage of parenting is pretty awesome too, I finally realized that I needed to allow myself to feel the loss of the little kid stage, and the perceived control it afforded me.

So much of parenting involves an aspect of grief, doesn’t it? It seems weird to write that, but yet as our children enter a new stage, it means the loss of the one before. And while for some stages that is great! For others it is painful.

I think as parents maybe we need to let ourselves feel and deal a little more, something that is getting harder and harder in this crazy busy world that demands our full attention and constantly has us on the go.

But I know the peace that flooded my heart that day in my kitchen was a result of pouring out my fears and my feelings to the One who knows my heart and invites me to share the burden of my fears, my feelings, and my pain.

Do you need to cry out to God today? Is there a pain or a fear you have been trying to ignore or hide? He awaits with loving arms open to you (even if you come to Him in the midst of a big ol’ adult temper tantrum!) And as you feel and deal in His arms ask Him reveal His love and goodness to you.

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An Easy and Powerful Way to Connect With Your Child

Mon, 22 Jan 2018 19:33:00 GMT

My 15 year old son sat crossed legged in the middle of my bed as I dug through our fire safe. I was looking for his birth-certificate and social security card—documents he would need to take to the DMV the next morning to get his learner’s permit. Our fire safe contains a hodgepodge of items: documents, mementos, recordings, and letters. My son tried on his great-grandfather’s ring, marveled at a two-dollar bill and begged to know when he could cash in his savings bonds.

Finally securing the necessary papers, I took them downstairs and placed them in an envelope for their trip to the DMV. After cleaning up the kitchen, letting the dog out, and putting the clothes in the dryer, I returned to my room to put the fire safe away. There I found my son, still sitting in the middle of my bed, surrounded by the contents of the safe and clutching a sheet of paper. His grip was firm—yet reverent. His expression hard to read—but clearly focused. His eyes glassy with unshed tears.

Mentally scrolling through the list of documents, wondering what could have him so enthralled, I asked what he was reading.

He looked up at me—the look on his face is something I will never forget.

“You wrote this to me,” he said, sounding befuddled.

He untangled his limbs and stood. He held the letter out to me.

“You wrote this to me before I was even born.” His words held a reverence I’d never heard from him. “I….you….I love you mom.”

I was enveloped in his arms. His head resting on my own. His six foot frame towering over mine.

And then he left, the emotion more than his teenage heart could handle. But before he left, he handed me the letter—a letter I don’t recall writing, let alone placing in the safe.

I scanned the first line.

“To my little buddy, I am 23 weeks pregnant with you and this will be the first of many letters that I will write you.”

I sat down on my bed and read the words I had penned over 15 years ago. I have written many letters to him since, but I didn’t remember this one.

I had written of my fears and of faith. I had made him promises and written of all the things we would do together. And about how much I wanted him, how I longed to meet him, and how proud I already was to be his mom.

I made myself cry—reading the letter I still had no memory of writing!!

But my amnesia didn’t matter. All that mattered was that those heart-felt words had touched my son’s heart in a way that I couldn’t have imagined.

I will confess to making a ton of mistakes in this thing called parenting, and no doubt, I will make many more. But I believe that day I accidentally stumbled across something very powerful, a precious tool every parent has in their parenting toolbox—the power of the written word.

My son was able to see the depths of my heart in a way that is easily lost in the torrents of errands, dinner, homework..life. He was able to absorb my words as they were intended, without a lecture or big life lesson tossed in the middle. And he was able to see me as a person—a person struggling with fear, wrestling with my faith, and longing for my heart’s desire.

I tucked the letter back in its envelope and placed it in the fire safe—right behind another envelope.

This one yellowed, with a different name on the front. My name, in my daddy’s handwriting. Inside were letters my dad had written to me. The first one penned when my mom was pregnant with me.

How had I forgotten these letters?

And so I snuggled into my bed and carefully opened the envelope. I held the sheet of paper reverently as I read of my dad’s fears and joys, his hopes and dreams. Of his faith and his love for his family.

A letter.

Words on a page.

A heart shared through sentences and paragraphs and thoughts.

Such an easy assignment.

Such a vast reward.

You don’t have to be eloquent. It doesn’t have to be long. You don’t have to be a great writer or good at grammar. You just need to be willing to take ten minutes and share a bit of your heart with one you love.

In this day of electronic communication, emojis and gifs, there is something almost sacred about words written on a sheet of paper (or even a napkin).

And even though one day you might forget ever writing those words, they just may end up being one of the most precious gifts you will ever give your child (or anyone).

Do you have a special way of connecting with your child? Do you share letters? Or maybe a special date night? I would love to hear about the ways you share your heart and connect with your kids!

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Why you might want to buy an old fashion ice tray…

Thu, 11 Jan 2018 17:56:00 GMT

Our ice maker stopped working several months ago. Annoying, yes, but worth spending over $100 for the replacement part—when a bag of ice costs just over $2? Um…no. I’m sure we will eventually get around to repairing it, but in the meantime we are making do with bagged ice and one little ice tray.

Remember those things? Those little plastic trays you fill with water and watch magically turn into ice?

My kid’s minds were blown the first time I made ice the “old fashioned way!”

Over the past few months I have developed an odd, but deep, respect for our little 12-count ice tray.

You see, I have a dog who loves ice. I mean LOVES the stuff. To her there is no greater treat than a big block of ice. (why can’t I think of ice as dessert?? Chocolate cake, ma’am? Oh no, just bring me a giant bowl of ice please!!)

[Side bar story: the first time our sweet girl went outside to a snow/ice covered yard she threw her head up (in what was surely a moment of canine praise and worship of the Maker of the ice mana) before frantically eating her way across the yard—her mouth open like a blue whale feeding on krill!]

Well, since she loves ice and considers it a treat, having ice on hand is, in her mind at least, necessary.

The frozen cubes are also deemed necessary by my teenage son who is convinced that sweet tea belongs at the bottom of the food pyramid—the sweet ice cold foundation upon which all else stands.

And so, with such fervent ice needs, I’ve had to buy a lot of ice (ok, now that I’m writing this maybe we should just pay the money to get the new part!)

But we’re ~~cheap~~ frugal and thankfully our ~~cheapness~~ frugality has allowed me to see something I believe God wants us all to understand:

So back to my ice tray—

This little thing only makes 12 cubes at a time—not nearly enough to keep the dog happy all day or my son’s tea cold each time. So when I would fill the tray in the morning, its contents would be used up by the evening, and either the dog or the boy would be left lacking (I’ll let you decide who usually wins the rights to the last ice cube)

But one day recently I decided to be proactive with our ice situation and emptied and refilled the ice tray every few hours—again blowing my kid’s minds when they came home to find well over 100 ice cubes in the non-working ice maker. (it really doesn’t take much to impress my kids!)

That little tray would rest under the faucet where it would be filled to the top before going into the freezer to do the job to which it was created—being emptied of it’s contents. It would then be returned to the source of water in order to repeat the process.

As I watched our ice maker fill with ice—a mere 12 cubes at a time—I started to see the beauty being reflected in that cold freezer drawer.

When we go to the source of Living Water—when we sit before the Father, whether in deep study of His Word or in quiet recognition of Who He truly is—we become filled to the top with His goodness and His character. Then as we go about our daily routine—to the jobs and roles He has given us—he places a cube of His kindness here, a cube of His generosity there, a cube of His love over there. And pretty soon we have been emptied of what He has given us so that we might return to Him to be filled again, therefore filling this world with the fingerprints of God.

The more we are filled, the more we have to share.

I will never look at my little ice tray the same way!

Much love,

Jen

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To the stressed-out Christmas mama…

Sat, 23 Dec 2017 21:25:00 GMT

Dear Stressed-out Christmas mama,

Oh precious maker of Christmas magic; you who thoughtfully chose gifts, decorate cookies, hang garland, applaud at Christmas pageants, hang out at the grocery store more than your own kitchen, and fearfully watch your checking balance dwindle; I promise you that what you’ve done is enough.

It is enough.

You can breathe.

Relax.

Sit down.

And know that it is enough.

In this home stretch—this Christmas Eve eve—our tendencies as makers of Christmas magic is to do just a little more. Buy just a little more. Make just a little more. Plan just a little more. Wrap just a little more. Run hard at the very end to ensure our people have a wonder-filled Christmas morning. And yet more often than not our sprint toward the finish line adds nothing but stress, fatigue and resentment.

And so today let’s make a pact to take Christmas Eve back! To allow truth to seep into our souls— the truth that there has only been, and will only be, one perfect Christmas and one perfect Christmas gift. And so the pressure is off!! We can’t add to perfect. And we can’t outdo the perfect Christmas. So let’s not even try.

In fact, think about that first and only perfect Christmas for just a minute:

There was no beautifully decorated house. No garland. No twinkling lights. No stockings hung from the mantle. In fact, there was no house! Only a barn. And no Yankee Candle from which wafted the scent of evergreen Christmas meadow. Nope, the only scent wafting was ode de cow manure!
There were no matching pajamas. Only strips of cloth wrapped around a wiggling baby.
There was no feast to be found. No cookies to be iced, and no cider to be warmed. Only two parents watching their new son in awe and wonder.
There was no Pinterest worthy table set to welcome dinner guests. Yet, guests did come and they were in fact welcomed. Guests who most likely smelled no better than the animals napping in the barn.

No, nothing about that first Christmas would have ended up in a magazine spread.

And yet it was in fact perfect. Absolutely gloriously perfect.

And so to my fellow makers of Christmas magic, this year let’s let ourselves off the hook!

We can give gifts without feeling the pressure of giving the perfect gift! We can entertain guests knowing that at least we aren’t moving a cow over to make room for our aunt! We can say “maybe next year” to those things we didn’t get done this time around.

So let’s agree that:

Whatever gets done is what will be done, and that is enough.
Whatever gets cooked will be what is cooked, and that is enough.
Whatever gets decorated is what will be decorated, and that is enough.

For the truth is—the glorious, unchanging, light-shining truth—it is enough because He is enough.

Rest.

Breathe.

And ponder the Who of Christmas. For as you ponder the Who of Christmas you might just find that the what doesn’t matter quite as much.

Much love and Merry Christmas,

Jen

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Why I am trying so hard to avoid the “S” word this Christmas….

Thu, 07 Dec 2017 18:18:00 GMT

Nor is it Santa (although who knew that word could be quite so controversial in certain circles!!)

No, the “S” word that I am trying so hard to avoid this year is the word…..SHOULD.

Does any of this sound familiar?

Maybe it’s my age (after all I am finding my 40’s to be so incredibly freeing!!), but as my mental “I should’s” began to kick into high gear this Christmas season, I found myself suddenly asking:

Says who????

Who says that I should buy more, do more, feel more?

Seriously? Who?

I pondered the internal list of should’s and realized that I was the one saying what I should do. So doesn’t it stand to reason that I could also be the one to tell myself to shut up?!?!

And so I did!

And oh my word y’all! It felt amazing!

So many “should’s” have crept into my Christmas over the years.

Some of them are related to traditions (and yet most of those traditions were things that no one even really missed!!).

A lot of my “should’s” come from the ding dang Hallmark Channel! (oh Hallmark Christmas movies how I love you! but how you cause me such angst when I can’t decorate my home like a movie set, or when my people don’t follow the heartwarming script I’d gladly provid, or when my neatly tied-up happily ever after doesn’t happen. And so I will continue loving you and your sappiness, but dear Lord I will stop trying to expect my life to mimic you!).

And still other “should’s” come from my desire to want to look like I have it all together—the joy filled maker of Christmas magic whose heart is at all times awash with the glow of the wonder of the manger and whose inner soundtrack is at all times tuned to “O Holy Night.”

Well, this year I surrender.

There will be traditions that go undone.
There will be pain-in-the-neck-to-hang garland that goes unhung.
And there will be Christmas songs that go unsung.

But you know what? I have a pretty good feeling that Christmas will still happen! That it really isn’t even about that stuff anyway! And that it might even be a pretty good one!

And yes, there are some things we do at Christmas (and all year long) that we just have to do. But those fundamentals (like keeping the humans entrusted into your care alive and educated) aside what if this year every time we start to hear ourselves say a mental “should” statement we replace it with a “can” question?

What if instead of:

I should really make 89 loaves of banana bread for all my friends and family because…well, I made them last year….

We replaced it with:

What can I do to bless those God has laid on my heart this year?

What if instead of:

I should go buy more decorations…

We asked:

How can I make my home an inviting place for my family to gather this Christmas?

And what if instead of:

I should have the perfect tree, matching family pajamas, professionally decorated cookies and well thought out gifts awaiting the wonder-filled faces of my perfect children this Christmas morning….

We asked:

Lord, how can I simply rest in You this Christmas—the only perfect person and gift ever given?

This Christmas is not gonna be perfect at our house: I found a typo in the Christmas cards that I actually remembered to order on time. We may or may not make the annual gingerbread house. Our tree is way too fat. I didn’t put garland on the piano, we have mismatched lights in our bush outside, and my kids are stressed-out, school-burned-out maniacs!

But, you know what? An imperfect “should-free” Christmas sounds absolutely perfect to me!

May your Christmas be should-free and your heart grace-filled!

Much love,
Jen

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For the Weary Writer

Thu, 02 Feb 2017 14:44:00 GMT

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