love beats fear

I pull a sharpie from the mug that sits to the left of my monitor, removing the cap and securing it on the back of the pen.

“Love beats fear.” The sentence fills my mind as I stare at the blank canvas that is my left wrist.

I write the words slowly, carefully. Each letter the same size and width as the last.

Love beats fear.

For all my confidence and self-assurance there is an underlying current of fear that runs through me.

Am I enough?

Am I too much?

Can I really hang academically?

Am I sacrificing one set of dreams in order to achieve the other?

Does He really know the desires of my heart?

Do I understand His goodness so that I experience it as such?

Do I truly believe He is good?

Love beats fear.

I breathe deep those words, attempting to flood my fears with the truth that His love is bigger than my fear.

His love beats fear.

His love has already beaten each and every one of the fears I have ever or will ever encounter.

And still I write this phrase on my wrist. Always finishing it with a box around the words. Because it communicates a finality that I need to know exists.

That His love has already beaten fear.

That His love will continue to beat fear.

That His fear beating love will remain consistent in my life as it has remained consistent since the first two hid behind fig leaves and among trees, fearful of what they knew, overwhelmed by the love of His calling to them.

He calls to me as I hide amidst my fears. Overwhelmed by each of them both individually and collectively.

“Where are you?” He asks, knowing full well I have taken my eyes from Him and from His love and become mired in the details of questions that seem to lack answers--which means the outcomes are out of my control and isn’t that really the issue here?

“Where are you?” His tone is gentle and firm. Both a call to take His hand and a grace-filled reproof.

I look up from among the trees, away from the fears that seem so true.

“Love beats fear,” He says as He envelops my hand with His.

you're pretty

Sunnies on. Hair in a pomp and pulled back. Sunroof and windows open. I am ready for what awaits me just a few blocks down the road at my crossfit box.

The light turns red, and I slow to a stop. In the waiting I hear the growl of a motorcycle. I glance over my right shoulder and investigate.

"You're pretty," he growls at me from astride his bike.

My heart sinks, but I know how this is supposed to go, so I smile politely and say, "thank you," knowing he doesn't understand; hoping thank you is enough.

"Boyfriend?" he asks.

My heart sinks lower because I choose not to lie, even though it would probably shut him up. "No," I say, polite smile frozen on my face.

"We should go out sometime," he says, inching his bike forward, anticipating my reply.

My heart drops. I fight the anger and the violation, polite smile still stuck on my lips as I shake my head and say, "No thank you."

The light turns green, and I am grateful for a way out.

My workout is a welcome distraction. The sweat pours down my face as muscles strain and push and pull as the growl of his motorcycle and the growl of his voice are pushed from my mind.

But it doesn’t change the freefall of my heart.

It doesn’t change the desire to scrub the encounter off my skin as I rinse sweat away in a post-workout shower.

It doesn’t change the ache of wanting something true, someone true, someone who sees more than blond hair and a pretty face.

The truth is, while some dude on a motorcycle might think he’s making my day, asking me out like that, he isn’t. He is instead affirming the lie that says, “you’re only good for this. You are too much in any other context.” It is a violation of who I am, of how I look, and of what it means to be in relationship with one another, to love one another as we would be loved.

So no, I do not have a boyfriend, and no I do not want to go on a date with you, and yes, I may be pretty, but I am much more than that.

I am made to be loved for more than that.

***Thank you to Emily, who helped me understand all of this in the first place, and to Preston, for raising hell.

unique and unrepeatable

Each one of us is a unique and unrepeatable miracle of God’s grace.

But I do not always feel like a unique and unrepeatable miracle of God’s grace. More often I behave as though God puts up with me because He made me and now He is stuck with me.

I'm posting over at Deeper Story today. You can read the rest of the post there.

a pile of stones

I'm writing over at Deeper Story today on judgement, something that I am far to quick to pass. Here's a bit of what I've written...

A pile of stones at my feet. The accused are lined up before me.

I feel the pores of the rock against my palm. It is heavy in my hand. Weighty.

“Let him who is without sin among you be the first to cast a stone.”

I grip the rock tighter, running through a mental checklist of the sins of the accused.

“Let him who is without sin among you be the first to cast a stone.”

“They need to learn,” I think, words ripping through my brain as the sweat from my palms seeps into the crevices of the rock. “How else will they know they can never measure up?”

Read the rest of this post over at Deeper Story.

fabulous friday video goodness: the david video

Rather than a music video, today I have a thought provoking, beautiful video.



After watching, take a second to read about the making of the video and visit the illustrator, Annie Ludes's blog.

more faithful than the morning

The sky burned red and gold, clear and fuzzy all at once. Maybe it was my early morning eyes. Maybe it was Him whispering, “Good morning, beloved.”

It’s been so cold here this summer. Empty hands and quiet houses full of only the noises I make.

I’ve spent the summer missing other noises and familiar hands.

I’ve spent the summer longing for different noises and new hands.

But this morning, when the sky was on fire and it seemed like He and I were the only two awake, I felt His faithfulness wrap me up, pull me closer.

This morning when the sun shone bright, shades of spun honey and molten lava all at once, I remembered that I am the one who changes, that I am the one who is inconsistent.

He stands steadfast, ever faithful.

More faithful than the morning.

looking up

It's a little later than I like to wake up in the morning, but I can't seem to stop hitting snooze. I know there's ground coffee waiting for boiling water in the french press, and dark wooden table beckoning me to come and sit. I choose five more minutes, and as I close my eyes I think, "but you were going to actually get up and read this morning."

My eyes open, my feet on the old wooden floors beneath me, I shuffle to the kitchen, boiling water, setting lunch out, returning to my room to check Facebook and my email. My eyes land on the stack of books by my bed as I pull the covers up and arrange the pillows, "you're up, why aren't you reading?"

Coffee pressed, preheated mug full of hot french press, I climb onto my bed pulling my Bible and a small devotional into my lap. Turning to today's date, I read the first sentence and I see my Father running out to meet me after what feels like such a long absence.

"Hope is a golden cord connecting you to heaven. This cord helps you hold your head up high, even when multiple trials are buffeting you. I never leave your side, and I never let go of your hand. But without the cord of hope your head may slump and your feet may shuffle as you journey uphill with me." [Jesus Calling]

"Father," I think, tears stinging my eyes, "how did you know?" Of course He knows, He has walked each shuffled step as I have taken my eyes of the destination and focused instead on the difficult terrain beneath my feet. With the reminder of hope fresh in my ears, I breath deeply, and choose to look up, choose to engage with hope, even though it feels a bit foolish. Because I am tired of looking down. Because I am tired of trying to avoid His ever present hope. Because I am called to hope, and I have the best reason to hope. Because I am promised that He came to give me to live life to the full.

guest post: good friday

I'm posting today over on my church's women's ministry blog, Imago Dei Women. It is a reflection on the separation between Jesus and God that we enter into on Good Friday. It has been interesting, even after writing it, to take time and consider that separation and what that sacrifice means for me, for us, as Christ followers.

prone to wander—a deeper story

I'm posting over at A Deeper Story today, wrestling through adultery...or at least attempting to.

As a single, Christian woman it would be false to say I do not spend time thinking about marriage, both the overarching concept of the sacred union and the specifics of daily life marked by private rituals that would go unnoticed by anyone but the husband and wife. And as that same single, Christian woman, it would be false to say that I do not spend time thinking about adultery.

Not committing it, but about its prevalence. About how it doesn’t discriminate. About how it. is. everywhere. Stories shared by women on blogs I read. Conversations across small tables in coffee shops and living rooms. And once in a tattoo parlor while my skin bled with words of do not worry, her skin bled the name of another woman’s husband.

Read the rest over at A Deeper Story.

psalm 27:13–14

I am still confident of this: that I will see the goodness of the LORD in the land of the living. Wait for the LORD; be strong and take heart and wait for the LORD.

He is so good

We sang this song in church yesterday. I love it.

enough

photo credit

remember you are dust

The sound of rain is heavy on the roof as my pastor reads thoughts on life and death. I sit in the increasingly familiar magenta pew, sandwiched between my students, wishing I didn’t feel so fragile. Wishing I hadn’t spent the past day and a half wrestling with deep, old wounds that have resurfaced. Open and sore, rather than the shiny pink I would have assured you they were two days ago.

I look up from my lap, straining to hear the words read from the front. Thinking that if I just listen hard enough maybe I can wade through this issue and focus on my return to dust and dirt instead of the rawness of my wound...

You can find the rest of this post at A Deeper Story.

thankful on a thursday—unzipped

If you asked me about the past three years I would tell you about pain, process, healing and redemption. I would show you my kitchen table, and the two chairs that sit there. I would tell you about gut wrenching sobs, tears spilling onto my lap, cheeks that burned with shame and embarrassment, and the exhaustion that would set in night after night. I would tell you about my roommate, a woman with more patience and the incredible gift of walking alongside you RIGHT, EXACTLY where you are without fear or judgment. I would tell you about anger, fear, resentment and jealousy. I would unzip the center of my chest and show you the scars on my heart.

This one is from June 2009. It took all of June some of July, to heal. If you look closely you can see it's really a series of smaller scars that melded into one.

This one was from a night in October. It was a old wound that had to be reopened so it could heal properly. It took me so long to admit that it needed to heal differently.

This one that seems as though it should have severed my heart in two? That's an old one, that's a daddy one. I think at one time my heart may have actually been in two separate pieces, but it is back together now, and beating stronger than ever.

I would tell you about healing. I would tell you the freedom of collapsing on the floor in tears crying out to Jesus, knowing that there is NOTHING in this life that I need more than I need Him. I would tell you about nights when tears were cried in joy and celebration. I would tell you about the lightness and laughter after the healing power of the Holy Spirit washed over me. I would tell you about the time in the shower I couldn't stop laughing because of the joke God told me.

I would tell you that these last three years have been some of the most painful, most challenging, most beautiful, most incredible years of my life. I would tell you that I have never felt more like myself and that I have never loved myself more. Not because I am better, but because I am broken and made new. I would zip myself up, look you in the eye and say, "I'm so thankful I don't have to hide these scars from you."

I am so thankful...

1. Brokenness and the way He enters into every corner of it, shining His healing light and love.
2. Friendships forged in times of trial.
3. Snow, even if only for the morning.
4. Snowboarding for the first time in THREE YEARS.
5. First rail slides and my incredible cheerleader, The Mustachioed Woodsman, who high fived me each time I did one.
6. A snowy weekend away with the youth group leaders in Glenwood.
7. All day at the cabin with just The Mustachioed Woodsman, his dog and me.
8. A new friendship full of love, joy and truth.
9. The process of making pie crust.
10. Laughter.
11. An outdoor fireplace and a cup of french press.
12. The same God who placed the stars in the heavens knows MY name, and knows exactly how to love me, and LOVES me.

walls

They stood there, tall enough that I had to stand on my tip toes to see over them. Four walls of brick and mortar, built with my own hands. Built to keep me safe, built to keep him out, built for the purpose of protection.

Inside these walls that were supposed to offer safety, all I felt was alone. I could hear the emptiness fill this place, just big enough for me and no one else. “It’s better this way, just me. I’m safer without anyone else in here,” I told myself as I poured water into the powder that would become the mortar that held these walls together. “Not too big,” I thought as I laid out the footprint of the box that would become my home. “I don’t want people thinking they can come and stay.”

I'm writing at A Deeper Story today. You can read the rest of the post there.

it's kind of nice, talking

My lips are tight, and I cannot smile. Not a real smile, not a Haley smile. Just to the left of center on my lower lip, pulling the skin taught, cracked and aching, and the other almost perfectly centered between the corner of my mouth and the middle of my upper lip, five days closer to healed, a dull ache. I don’t know where you’ve come from or how you got here. There is nothing to do but wait.

Each time I try to smile, each time he makes me laugh, each time I start to speak, they pull. Serving as physical reminders of what I fear. You’re only pretty on the outside. You are ugly inside, and now everyone can see it. This isn't real. He won’t want you if you don’t have something to offer him physically.

But last night, last night I spoke the light of truth into that darkness. Confessed fear and insecurity. And was met with listening ears and more light. “It’s kind of nice, talking,” he smiled, glancing up at me while he diced tomatoes.

thankful on a thursday—people

A father daughter date. That's what it was. We sat across from each other at a little cafe, my latte warming my hands, his green tea still too hot to drink. "I feel like I'm in a rut," I say, "like I've gotten into this routine and I don't know how to get out. It's comfortable and safe, but what I want is adventure." It is freeing to say these words. It is healing to confess them to him, to one of the fathers I've been blessed with, to have him listen, to have him offer words of kind intention. "What about teaching English somewhere?" He asks, "you said you'd always wanted to see Japan."

I consider his words, consider uprooting myself from this place–from these people, and it hurts. "I don't think moving is the answer," I reply. "It would feel like running, and there is nothing here I want to run from."

Weeks later I am on the phone with a friend, recounting this conversation to her. "You can run or you can dig in," she says, "those are the two ways to get out of a rut." Her words are true, and they confirm the direction I have chosen to go. Not that it was a hard decision.

I choose to stay. I choose to dig in. I choose to invest in the people, in the relationships that seem to multiply weekly. How did I get here? How am I suddenly surrounded by so many incredible people? Though if I consider consider the road I've walked, these people have not appeared so suddenly. Looking back I see how many different intersections I've crossed, the ways our paths have joined and continued on in the same direction. I wonder if this is how Paul felt when he would sit down to write his letters to the churches, thanking God for them and for their faithfulness. What a gift it is to be surrounded by these people, to love and be loved by these people, to serve with these people, to simply encounter them, even if only briefly.

This week, I am so very thankful...

1. For the high school leaders and the way they love the students.
2. For the high school students, for their beautiful hearts and the ways they struggle to love and serve the Lord.
3. For friends, new and old.
4. For a run with Sarah around a beautiful lake, and for all the conversations we had.
5. For an upcoming visit to see my Dad.
6. For how different my relationship with my Dad is only a year later.
7. For all the different fathers my Father has blessed me with.
8. For a place to share my stories and my mess.
9. For getting a card in the mail from Kath.
10. For the most wonderful weekend with Erica, and all the subsequent phone calls, emails and texts.
11. For the way he holds my hand.

expelling thoughts

I'm so used to sitting down and just cranking out my thoughts. I wait until they're seconds away from overwhelming me, and then quickly expel them on the page or screen in front of me.

But not now. Not with this. It is a combination of intimidation, a desire to take this seriously, fear of failure, and fear of engaging in real conversations.

So I sit and stare at screens and pages. A smattering of semi-connected thoughts, waiting for me to do something with them, to elaborate, to connect the dots.

I know my story. I know what I want to tell you. It's just never been this hard before.

thankful on a thursday—i'm back?

It's been a while. And there are reasons. And I've got an unpublished post or two that discusses those reasons. But instead of waiting until they're ready (translation: until I feel comfortable posting them on the interwebz) I'm just going to tell you that this Thursday I am very thankful. I'm also going to tell you that I have missed these weekly pauses where I reflect and am thankful.

1. Lizzy and Ashby are here and spending the night with me tonight.
2. The joy and beauty that seems to explode whenever Ashby smiles, laughs, babbles, basically whenever she does anything.
3. The rain that's pouring down outside and the way it reminds me of the way He washes me clean.
4. There is beauty in the broken mess of life.
5. The broken messiness of life is even more beautiful and wonderful when we invite others into our own broken mess.
   **Excuse me while I go repeat that to myself while looking in a mirror.**
6. I am His beloved and He is mine.
7. Twitter's direct message feature and the conversations that take place behind the scenes.
8. Going to my first, but not last, NFL game and seeing the Seahawks WIN!
9. Tattoo Friday.
10. When He looks at me, I am holy and blameless before Him because of the incomprehensible sacrifice of my Savior. I do not understand it, but I cannot deny that I have done NOTHING to deserve this gift, and I cannot deny my gratitude at the enormity of this gift.

thankful on a thursday—be still

When I can't seem to keep my head on straight, He reminds me to be still.

When dreams for the future vanish like the sun in the midst of an autumn rainstorm in Portland, He reminds me to be still.

When I am so tired I can barely drag myself out of bed, He reminds me to be still.

When nothing makes sense, He reminds me to be still.

He reminds me to be still and know that He is God. When He reminds me to know that He is God, I am reminded of His goodness. I am reminded of His promises. I am reminded of His jealous love for me. I am reminded of the lengths to which He has gone to love me, to intercede for me, to ensure that He is with me always.

In that stillness, if I listen, I swear I can hear Him breathe. I swear I can feel the warmth of His breath on the top of my head, whispering the love and kisses of a Father to His daughter. "Trust me. Abide in me. I love you, and My love is more than enough for all that you are going through."

1. The reminder to slow down, to be still and KNOW.
2. I have the best friends.
3. Bourbon and ginger ale.
4. Honesty in the midst of the messiness of life.
5. The middle, even though it's hard to live there.
6. My lovely cousinsister Katie has moved back to the Pacific Northwest.
7. I am not the same person I was a year ago, or even six months ago.
8. Warm coffee on rainy autumn days.
9. He who began a good work in me is faithful to complete it
10. This time to stop and be thankful each week, and my awesome friend, Nish, who started it all.