Stretch-Marks and Sundresses

Today as I sat in the dentist office I couldn't help but hear a woman talking on her phone to whom I would presume was a girl friend.

The conversation made my stomach turn and not because she was discussing her child's recent stomach flu.

I became disgusted at how this beautiful 20 something young lady was skinning herself alive with such a negative perspective of herself.

"Ugh I know. I tried it on and was like, ' why are my hips so huge?! It just made me look like a whale, well I am one but...'"

"Well if I had a tan maybe I could pull it off."

I wasn't only sickened at how such a pretty girl could see herself this way, but that I do the exact thing to myself.

I tell my husband I hate my pale skin, my hips, my hair, the way my arms look in tanks & why it's so unfair I have hideous stretch marks yet have no children.

I am sick and tired of women killing themselves day after day by their bathroom mirror, including myself.

Who taught us to take our characteristics and label them as flaws?

Since when did having a patch of cellulite distract us from how beautiful we are?

I shy from shorts in the summer to hide my porcelain, freckled skin.
But, why?

That fair skin is what makes Britney unique.
That nose that you wish you could trade for a button one?
That makes you unique.

The way we measure ourselves as women is sickening.

We are more than our curly hair, our stretch marks, our freckles or moles.

I quit wearing foundation to cover up those freckles I used to detest.
I will wear sundresses and shorts with pride.
I will not ruin my skin with tanning or chemicals.
I will not cut or reshape the design the Artist intended for me to keep.

I am more than my skin.
I am more than my hair.
I am more than my weight.
I am more than my bra size.
I am more than my height.

I am more than comparing myself to an airbrushed photograph.

I am smart.
I am sarcastic and witty.
I am a book worm.
I am poetic.
I am kind.
I am compassionate.

I am a friend, a sister, a wife, a mother, a daughter.

I am done speaking of myself negatively, even when I am alone changing clothes and my husband isn't around to rebuttal.

You are more than looking good in a dress or the size of your jeans.

You are more than your hips or those stretch marks on your thighs.

There is nothing more rare or beautiful than a woman who is unapologetically herself; comfortable in her perfect imperfection.

You're Human and That's Okay.

In today's world, we are all plugged in.

To Facebook, to Twitter, to Instagram, Snapchat, etc.

It's easy to post everything good happening in our lives.

I mean, who wants people to know that sometimes our life is hard?

That sometimes we yell at our husband?

That sometimes we snap before one of our kids?

That sometimes we slip on the ice and yell a few colorful words in front of the church deacon?

Nobody.

The world of media has made it easier to cover up our hurts than to share them, even when we are unplugged with people we love.

Even Jesus.

You may have forgotten, but Jesus knows you inside and out:

("For you created my inmost being;
    you knit me together in my mother’s womb."

-Psalm 139:13)

He was right by your side when you cut down your spouse in front of your little one.

He was right by you when you slammed your finger in the car door, lost your job, lost your baby, got served those divorce papers.

Anyone can pretend, but it takes true strength to admit when you're suffering.

When life sucks.

When your marriage is falling apart.

When your job is at a dead end.

When you lay your head down on your pillow each night, sobbing yourself to sleep because you're over your head in debt.

When you don't have it all together.

At a point in my life, I was the greatest actress.

My life was great, my marriage was solid, a smile was always plastered onto my face.

You would have laughed in someone's face if they would have told you I was struggling with major depression, driving to lakes at night to cry and scream where nobody could hear me suffer.

One night, crying myself to sleep because my life was a complete crap hole, Jesus whispered, " I am enough. I am enough. Give it here."

What is 'it'?

Everything.

I didn't wake up the next morning to a different life.

Everything was the same, except someone else was carrying the load that day.

Jesus doesn't care that you're human.

He kind of made you that way.

You don't have to smile when you're unhappy.

You don't have to say you're "fine" when you aren't. 

You don't have to have it all together.

Your dishes aren't always done, your laundry is usually piling by the dryer, your kids are sometimes out of control.

You argue with your spouse.

You snap at your kids when you've had a long day.

You even surprise yourself at your extended vocabulary when you can't find your car keys.

God isn't aimed and ready, lightening bolt in hand, waiting for you to do something human again so He can scold you.

He wants you to be human and to admit it.

He wants you to say "God, today I really sucked at showing my family Your love" and to fall back into His loving arms.

("Come to Me all who are weary and burdened and I will give you rest." -Matthew 11:28)

He wants you to keep trying to walk straight even though He knows you're only a babe, occasionally going off course.

He wants you to trade your burdens for rest.

He wants you to know you will not always be the best husband, the best wife, the best parent, the best co-worker or friend.

You will really suck sometimes.

Being human is what made Mercy necessary.

Run towards Mercy, it's waiting.

(Hebrews 4:16 Let us therefore come boldly to the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy, and find grace to help in time of need.)

Stop working so hard to have everything together.

Stop trying so hard to appear okay when you're not.

You're human and that's okay.

2 Corinthians 12:9-10 ESV 

But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong."

The List.

I muted the television.
I closed my eyes and let my face rest on the couch cushion.
I couldn't help it.
The sound coming from the room down the hall was so peaceful; it gave me such rest.

That room is usually a room filled with laughter, yelling, the clanging of toys and the chatter of some electronic device.

Not right now.
Not tonight.

Tonight the only sound resonating down the hall into my heart was the soft, sweet whisper of a man praying over his children.

I went to the bathroom and wiped the tears making my blush smudge.
Why was I so emotional about this? 
It was just a typical bed time prayer.

I hadn't realized that the last memory I had of a bed time prayer was my own; my mother's face hovering over my curly locks, whispering songs to the the Maker.

I remember making a list when I was 12 of all the things I wanted to find in a mate one day (a sunday school teacher's idea, mind you).

Number one?
A man who will hover over my hair like my mother did, making music to Jesus with his prayers.

I got older.
I forgot about the list.

I dated.
I forgot about the list.

I even married.
I forgot about the list.

One day, visiting my parent's church, I looked over to my father as the acoustic guitar made the words of worship dance across the pews like pretty ballerinas.

His hands were open like cups waiting to be filled, lips still and quiet, face at peace and a tear leaped from his eyes.
I followed the tear as it reached his mouth, which now formed a slight smile.

Wow.
That's a memory.
Watching my father worship while my mother sang sweetly by his side, one hand resting on his back.

I wanted that.

In that moment, I remembered the list.
Oh, that damned list!

My soul wept.
My heart was broken.

Through a lot of mistakes, sleepless nights, heart ache, change, growth, pain, Grace, mercy, forgiveness...God threw me on His back, tucked the list into my back pocket and led me to that moment.

I wiped the tears and started laughing.
Just...laughing.
Laughing because of complete and total joy.

This man down the hall was my husband.

He prays for me as I drift to sleep.
He prays for me as he leaves for work.

He hovers over my hair, singing songs to the Maker on my behalf.
He cups his hands to be filled as I lay my head on his shoulder, swaying to the praise of the third Partner in our marriage.

I really screwed up at one point.

God still remembered the list.
He kept it for me, even knowing what would come of me after I wrote it.

You can take what you want from this blog, today.

For me, I would like you to take that God remembers your list.
Whatever your list may be.

Maybe you shot up in your bathroom this morning.

Maybe you got really wasted last weekend.

Maybe your marriage is seriously on the rocks right now.

So what?

At a moment in your life, you made a list, physically or mentally, of a dream.

You may have set the list on fire, ripped it, shredded it, done everything possible to destroy it.

But, God taped it back together for you.

He's holding it out for you.
Sure, it looks a little dirty right now, but He saved it for the day you'd want to read it again.

Take the list back.

I did.

Hunger.

hun·ger

noun

1. 1.

   a feeling of discomfort or weakness caused by lack of food, coupled with the desire to eat.

   
   

verb

1. 1.

   have a strong desire or craving for.

   
   

   
   

   
   

   
   

   Lately God has really been changing Britney. 

   I am currently under serious construction. 

   
   

   A couple of semesters ago I took a pottery class. 

   Even though I absolutely hated it, I feel like I'm in the shop all over again.

   
   

   Here's the catch-this time I'm the clay.

   
   

   I'm getting smacked, prodded, built up then melted down again.

   2013 really put me through the fire.

   
   

   I thought I was a pretty, polished piece.

   God didn't think so.

   He put me in the furnace, melted me down to a moldable mound of left over clay.

   
   

   Now that He's got me where He wants me, He is carving me, shaving off all the unneeded/unwanted pieces that do not reflect the vision of His finished work.

   
   

   Now, to the point-

   
   

   
   

   I love food.

   I mean, who doesn't?

   
   

   I'm the kind of gal that starts thinking about her next meal before she's even done eating the one in front of her.

   
   

   I am hungry all the time.

   No really, all the time.

   
   

   God shook me recently at a strange time (He likes to do that to me to keep things interesting).

   
   

   I was rummaging between the cabinet and the fridge, in a desperate search for something to fill my hunger.

   
   

   "I wish you would rummage so passionately in hunger for Me like you are in your pantry right now."

   
   

   Of course He got my typical response of a raised eyebrow and a shake of the head.

   I tend to shake God off a lot until He starts really pestering.

   
   

   As I made my plate of all my favorite morsels, God spoke up again right when I was about to enjoy that first bite.

   
   

   "You know I am all you need, right? I'm the most satisfying thing you will ever taste. Aren't you hungry? Really, hungry. The kind of hungry that food can not satisfy."

   
   

   My hand dropped. 

   My heart sunk.

   
   

   He was right, again.

   
   

   I was not hungry for Him, not like I was for food or so many other things of this world.

   I had never felt weak from being so desperate to taste what He had to offer.

   
   

   Though God's goal wasn't for me to feel guilty, I did.

   
   

   I did want to be that kind of desperate.

   I did.

   I was designed to want Him like that.

   
   

   I wanted to be hungry for His peace.

   I wanted to be hungry for His direction.

   I wanted to be hungry for His words.

   I wanted to be so desperate for Him, that I would rummage through the Gospel just to have another bite.

   
   

   
   

   Food is good; God made it that way.

   He doesn't want us to eat cardboard or styrofoam for lunch.

   Food is a delight, undoubtedly a pleasure.

   
   

   Food is also a distraction, an escape, an abused substance, a replacement for something that we no longer recognize as a lack- His presence.

   
   

   Fasting is often abused and misused as a diet, a fad, just something you do because you're told to.

   
   

   For me, it is an act of obedience so that I might learn to be so desperate for Him that food is just...food.

   
   

   God is my Portion.

   Fasting reveals that. 

   
   

   I never used to understand why people would fast. Granted, I'm not the kind of Christian that gives up food for 40 days.

   
   

   Heck no.

   
   

   But, why can't I sacrifice a meal in the evening to spend time with the true Satisfier of my hunger?

   
   

   You can be hungry for many things.

   You may fill your empty stomach for a short time, but you will always be hungry.

   
   

   Nothing you ever eat, feel, experience, see, no successes or amount of cash will satisfy you like the Bread.

   
   

   Do you have to fast?

   No.

   
   

   But, what are you rummaging through life's pantry for?

   
   

   If it's not Jesus, you're missing it.

   
   

   Put whatever it is down.

   
   

   Fill your belly with His goodness.

   
   

   Let Him be your Portion.

   
   

   
   

   1 Peter 2:2

   "..like newborn babies, long for the pure milk of the word, so that by it you may grow in respect to salvation,.."

   
   

   Psalms 81:10

   "I, the LORD, am your God, Who brought you up from the land of Egypt; Open your mouth wide and I will fill it."

   
   

   Matthew 5:6

   "Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be satisfied."

   John 6:33-35

   "For the bread of God is that which comes down out of heaven, and gives life to the world." Then they said to Him, "Lord, always give us this bread." Jesus said to them, "I am the bread of life; he who comes to Me will not hunger, and he who believes in Me will never thirst."

   Psalms 63:1

   "O God, You are my God; I shall seek You earnestly; My soul thirsts for You, my flesh yearns for You, In a dry and weary land where there is no water."

   John 7:37

   "Now on the last day, the great day of the feast, Jesus stood and cried out, saying, "If anyone is thirsty, let him come to Me and drink."

   John 6:35

   "Jesus said to them, "I am the bread of life; he who comes to Me will not hunger, and he who believes in Me will never thirst."

   
   
   
   
   
   
   

   
   

   
   

   
   

   
   

   
   

   
   

   
   

   
   

   
   

Simplify and Get Over Yourself

To simplify something is to make it less complex and easier to understand.

When you simplify, you make things clearer.

Since simple things have less parts or complexity, when you simplify, you're eliminating the clutter and reducing something to its essence.

This year God has laid the word "Simplify" onto my heart.

When New Years rolls around, our televisions are lit up with weight loss fads, our newsfeeds are filled with financial plans, our entire January filled with hopeful life goals.

"I want to lose weight."
"I want to buy a house."
"I want to stop smoking."

These are all great, but while many of my peers are jumping into a large pool of resolutions I am wading in the shallow end of life's simplicities.

This year I will be still.
This year I will listen more than speak.
This year I will glide not gloat.
This year I will worry about my expanding influence on others, not my shrinking waist line.
This year I will shy from spotlights and aim to honor others in their successes.

I will simplify by stripping myself of "me me me" and putting on the cloak of "not me, but You."

I do not need a number on the scale, a new wardrobe, a new job, a new financial plan, a new house, a new car, a new "me."

What I need is to get over myself this year.

Seriously.

Do I want my year to end with only a new body to show?
Or more money in my pocket?

I want my year to end with a heart empty from pouring out all the muck of me, left in a simple and pure state.

This year I will donate clothes, not buy them.
This year I will be concerned with the food I serve to others, not to my already full belly.
This year I will trade pedicures for washing another's feet.
This year I will de-clutter my mind, my spirit, my closet of all the fleshly things I tend to grasp onto all too tightly.

I possess a lot of things emotionally and physically that are only taking up space.

Those shoes that I never wear, but a girl on the street would love to have.

That bitterness that isn't making enough room for all the love my heart could hold.

May I end 2014 with less of myself than when it began.


Sometimes, less is more.

Sometimes, you just need to simplify.

Sometimes you need to get the heck over yourself.

How Cancer Saved My Life By Ruining It.

Cancer is a term used for diseases in which abnormal cells divide without control and are able to invade other tissues.

It will invade the body.
It will invade the human spirit.
It will invade your home.
It will invade your world and tear it apart from the inside out.

Cancer can not be contained or controlled.

Cancer ruined my life and because of that, my life was saved.

My dad has cancer.
He has the disease, but his family carries it too.

Cancer affects everyone and everything.

I see my father in physical pain.
I see my mother in emotional turmoil.
I see my grandfather care for him because the rest of us just can't.

My father who used to throw me up in the air so high my tiny fingertips would dance across the ceiling now gets out of breath walking to the mailbox.
My mother now has to worry about bills, plane tickets to see my father & sleeps alone at night.
My sister watches her new son grow up without being held by his grandfather as often as he should.
I feel consistently and constantly helpless to the point of incontrollable sobbing at night.

Sounds awful doesn't it?
How could I be so ridiculous to say that this hideous disease that has so many in pain, saved my life?

I was selfish.
So selfish.
I cared about the latest shoes, the cutest dress, having a lot of friends & always having it all together.

I cared that my hair didn't lay right.
I cared that the rain soaked my socks.
I cared that my piece of crap car kept breaking down.
I cared what people thought of what I did and what they said about me behind closed doors.
I cared about how many people liked my Facebook status.
I cared about the weather.
I cared about being late because of all the traffic jams. 
I cared about my nose being stuffed up, preventing me from sleeping all 8 glorious hours.

I cared about a lot of things.
A lot of complete crap.

I don't care about any of that.
My dad can barely sleep some times because of physical pain.
My dad doesn't have hair to comb.
My dad doesn't have the ability to even drive a car right now because of weakness.
My dad is on his way to doctor visits and scans and needle poking sessions, not the mall.

I wasted a huge part of my life over thinking such little things.
Things that I now no longer even remember.

My dear friend just lost her father to the same disease that plagues mine.
While you were obsessing over getting a coach purse, an Xbox or whatever expensive gift that you'll forget about by next year, she was holding onto her father's hand for the last time.

My father was sitting on a hospital bed with my mother in a cancer center this Christmas, not by a tree surrounded by lights and laughter like he should have been.

Cancer changed my life.
I notice things like sunshine; 
things like a child's fingerprints.

I don't even see the people on the street the same, holding their "homeless and hungry signs."
I used to be that person, you know, the one who doesn't hand out that extra change in my cup holder because they'll "...probably just spend it on drugs." 

Who cares?
That is not my place.

I am here for a very short time, part of that time already dissipated into a pile of worthless rubble.
I now give the change I have.
I hold a child who cries out for attention.
I don't care if it rains.
I don't care about Christmas gift lists or birthday wishes.

I care about life.
I care about people.
I care about hugging my kid's neck and telling them I care.
I care about rubbing my husband's shoulders just because I might not be able to tomorrow.
I care about laughing at dumb jokes.
I care about giving my time to anyone who asks of it.
I care about investing in a life that nobody else cares to notice.
I care about working hard.
I care about apologizing first, forgiving always.
I care about Grace and Mercy, not being right.
I care about slow dancing in my living room.
I care about getting on the floor and playing with Cannon when he asks for someone to play with.

Cancer made me see so much suffering that it eventually allowed me to see hope, kindness and what my tiny life is all about.

Without darkness, nobody would notice the light.

Cancer ruined my life;
but I'm so glad it did.

Stitches and Butterflies

When I was a child, running in my garage (when my mother specifically told me not to) with my best friend I was a huge mess waiting to happen.

You know when grown ups always used the "you'll bust your head open" gig to get you to stop doing something really stupid?
This time, the gig was for real.
I ran full speed straight into my friends forehead.

I looked down at my hand after holding the wound and it was covered in blood.
Of course at the age of 5 I thought I was about to surely die.
My parents rushed me to the hospital with a wet rag holding my head together.
I remember hearing my mom and the nurse murmur back and forth about options, one of them being a "butterfly."
For those of you not educated in gaping wounds a butterfly is a quick fix for wounds not so serious.
I started crying, "not stitches! Butterfly! Butterfly! Please!"

Guess what I had to get?
Stitches.
A butterfly would be a quick fix but would never close this gaping wound.
My parents knew I would suffer through a period of pain, but that the wound would be shut correctly.
There were three options for their baby girl:
1. Let me bleed to death.
2. Give me a quick fix and let the wound break open again eventually and let me bleed to death.
3. Watch me suffer for a short time but eventually find true healing.

As a child I was angry with my parents for putting me through pain when there was this other option that would get me out of this mess just the same, but my parents knew such was not the case.

They knew the only way to see their sweet child be back to where she was meant to be, she had to suffer some.


Sometimes the only option to get you out of the muck is still painful.

Sometimes Jesus sees His kid's gaping wound and knows the only way to healing is a painful way.

You may have to suffer through thorns for some time to get out, but your suffering will lead you from your own destruction.

Sometimes suffering is really salvation in a cloak.

Sometimes we are thrown into a den of lions and sold as a slave to lead us to our destiny, one which we would have never went to without the catalyst of suffering to push us there.

Sometimes we are swallowed by a fish to puke us to the place God called us to but we ran from for so long.

Sometimes we must weather a storm on a battered ship so that God can get us alone enough to finally walk on the water with Him.

Sometimes plagues come before the parting of the seas.

Sometimes when we think we have been destroyed, it is really a detour to safety from devastation.

Sometimes God throws us into the waves because we have been clinging to everything but Him and it's time for that to change.

Sometimes suffering is a gift of Grace in disguise.

You will not come out shiny, polished and new.
You will come out with scars from fighting through bigger than life thorns.


I will always carry a scar above my eye from those stitches, but better a healed scar from suffering than on a death bed from a butterfly kiss.