For The Wounded.

I believe everyone has been wounded to some degree in this life.
We are not made for this world, so it is only natural that pain will come while we wait for the day when we are called home.

Pain was not in the original design.
The design was peace.
The design was to live in sunshine, in purity, in a place where we forever drank of the rivers of Christ's love for us.

The design was to dance with no fear in the garden of freedom, not the forest of guilt, shame and brokenness.

Yet, here we are.
In a world full of so much hurt and turmoil.
A world full of disease and hate.
A world full of trials and testing.

We screwed up the original design.
Why?

Because we are man.
Man screws things up.
Man sins.


Man wounds.

We wounded our Creator, we wound ourselves and we certainly wound one another.

Last night I sat on the bed with my best friend, my husband and exposed the wounds I had ignored for years.
Wounds I had slapped a band-aid on in hopes that if I didn't have to see them, I wouldn't have to deal with them. Unfortunately, that doesn't seem to work.
You can't slap a band-aid on a bullet hole and expect it to do the job. 
If you don't eventually expose the wound and deal with it, you will bleed out.
It will be fatal.

I was wounded years ago and have mentioned that wound on multiple occasions here, because I want my writing to be real and raw and relevant.
You can't be relevant if you're afraid of people seeing your dark corners. 
Nobody wants to listen to someone who appears they have always rocked a #blessedlife and are constantly walking in a #highlyfavored manner.

I have a beautiful life, but it has not always been beautiful.
It has had it's dark days.
It has seen it's days of not getting out of bed because I no longer wanted to be awake.
I have been wounded.

I was shot in the chest and blamed myself for that wound for so long that I just covered it in embarrassment and chose to shove it off.
As a strong girl, I thought to be strong I had to bandage the wound and shrug it off, reassuring myself and Christ that I was okay-that I had it all under control.

The truth?
True strength is exposing those wounds.
True strength is letting your wounds breathe not only in the presence of Jesus, but those who love us most.


It all seems pretty hopeless really-
that is, until we turn to the One wounded first.

What does He say about the broken hearted?
What does He say about the wounded?

When Jesus came back after conquering death, after winning the ultimate battle, He didn't come back to Earth and show those He loved brand new, unscarred skin.
Jesus, the Creator of all things, the Alpha and the Omega, came back from the battle still showing and exposing His wounds.

He showed the disciples whom He loved the holes in His hands and His feet.
He exposed His wounds openly.

Not only did He boldly come and expose His wounds, He didn't place blame anywhere.
He didn't place blame on the Father or on the world ( even if we, the world, did deserve it ).
He simply exposed the wounds and healed us through those wounds.

Seems odd to say that wounds were what healed us, but God likes to shake things up.
I don't know what you were wounded by.
I don't know what about your wounds brings about shame or guilt or maybe even anger.

Maybe you were wounded by disease.
Maybe you were wounded by divorce.
Maybe you were wounded by deceit.

Maybe you played a hand in your own wounds, but maybe you didn't.

Jesus hung naked on a cross, alone.
He was mocked by the same people who had years prior clung to His garments.
He was denied by the same people who had shared meals with Him, who had promised to never wound Him in any way.

Yet, despite it all, Jesus came bearing His wounds not with anger, not with shame, not with fear...but with a bold, fierce, gentle, open love.
He healed us with the same wounds that we inflicted.

I think Christ desires for us to follow His example in every way we humanly can-including how we deal with our wounds.

That looks a little like this:

1. Don't hide your wounds.
2. Expose your wounds to those you love.
3. Don't place blame anywhere (that includes on yourself).

It would be easy for me to continue to slap band-aids on my bullet holes until I simply bled out.
It would be easy for me to tell my husband, "I'm okay. I'm a big girl. I got this handled. Don't worry about me"
It would be easy for me to blame the one who inflicted my wounds or even blame myself.

Following Jesus will not be easy, ever.
This won't be either.

The Cross was a necessity to save the world and sometimes our wounds are a necessity to launch us forward or even heal those around us.

When a young woman comes to me, hurt by the sex industry, I can show her my wounds.
When a young woman comes to me, hurt by her spouse, the one who was designed to protect her heart at all costs...
I can show her my wounds.

Being silent and hiding your wounds could be detrimental to not only you, but someone else that cries to you for help.

If a woman came to me wounded and showed her gaping bullet hole and I chose to hide my own, she would turn away, possibly more wounded before.

Show your wounds to those you love, but also to the other wounded.

I could live ashamed of the wound I have been given.
I could hide my wound in shame.
I could be silent about how pornography was the loaded gun that blew a hole into my world and my chest.
I could.

Or I could boldly expose that wound.

I could, with head up and chin up, speak up about my wound so that other women everywhere would know that it's okay to be wounded, because I myself am wounded too.

I don't know what wound you're trying to bandage up on your own in the dark, but it's time to let it see the Sun.

Psalm 147:3 "He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds."

2 Corinthians 12:9 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.


1 Peter 2:24 He himself bore our sins in his body on the tree, that we might die to sin and live to righteousness. By his wounds you have been healed.

Who Are You Racing? #blessed

As many of you know, I'm a little obsessed with running. It saved and changed my life in many ways that are a part of my personal body image journey. It taught me a lot about myself, about life and about authentic beauty. 

During every race, I focus on one girl to pass by the time I reach the finish line. Typically she is my opposite, you know one of those girls that running should be a breeze for. She is tall, with legs as long as rain forest trees and broad shoulders. She is making huge bounds with her lean body, gracefully passing everyone around her. 

I look down at my legs the size of dull pencils and decide that I am going to show this girl that I too can run. I am going to pass her and leave her in the trail of my dust and determination. Who wants to get owned by a 5'1 (and 3/4) goldilocks in a race?

Nobody.

I don't look to my left or to my right, I only focus on her...on the finish, on the race at hand.

And yes, I do end up passing no name girl and smirking as I whiz to the finish line.
I just can't help myself.

Friendly competition with an absolute stranger in a  road race is all in good fun. It will motivate you to push yourself more than you would have just staring at your own feet.

But, how many times have we found ourselves racing another off road? 
In our hearts?
In our minds?
In our job?
In our marriage?
In our relationships with our children?
In our physical images?

Maybe I am talking to myself this time, which is perfectly fine.
I don't think I am. 

I think we as women have a natural tendency to compete with those around us, especially other women.

We see their perfect couple pictures in our newsfeed, see their children baking by their sides in photographs and not to mention they just completed 200 burpees with their newborn strapped to their back.

We see these highlights of another woman's life and we look to our shadow spots in comparison.
You just nagged at your husband before he left for work, your kids just gave each other haircuts, all you see of yourself is stretchmarks and cellulite..and honestly burpees don't sound appealing to you at all.

It is so easy to fall into the trap of racing someone else in life that we lose sight of the true race we should be running-the one against the woman we once were and the race that Christ has set before us. 

I don't know about you, but I would hate to get to the end of my race and realize I went off course along the way and missed the finish line, that I missed the mark I was meant to hit completely. 

And that girl you thought you were racing, is at the finish line because she never knew she was in a competition with you all along.
She's probably relaxing with some banana halves with a medal around her neck, because she was too focused on her own race to notice you panting feverishly behind her.

Heads up honey, she probably lives a life very similar to your own, she just does a good job of not broadcasting the negatives to the world like the rest of us.

We like to show the world all of our surface level goodness.

Hashtag blessed.
Hashtag favored.
Hashtag thebestmomever.

It's easier to do that than to admit we are all really just trying to make it to the finish line in one piece.

You know what?

Jesus can do a lot more with a woman hobbling towards Him than a woman sprinting, never admitting how much she really needs Him to carry her the rest of the way. 



Acts 20:24 ESV "But I do not account my life of any value nor as precious to myself, if only I may finish my course and the ministry that I received from the Lord Jesus, to testify to the gospel of the grace of God."

Your "victory" is meaningless, worthless if you run a race never intended for you to run.
Don't you get it?
Passing her up means nothing. 
Nothing. 

You will end up with a life of no value and sadly missing every amazing opportunity and ministry Christ has for you because your focus is on something/someone other than the true Prize.

Philippians 3:14 ESV  "I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus."

I do not want to reach the end of the road and realize I missed the mark...

and that the person I was trying so hard to catch, was never even racing.

2 Timothy 4:7 ESV"I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith."

 

50 Shades of Emotional Porn

Now before I really dive into this blog, let me be real here and admit I tried reading the first book in the  ever so popular 50 Shades of Grey series when it first erupted a few years back.
Not only was I constantly looking over my shoulder wondering if anyone could see what I was reading in my very own home, but I failed to make it half way through the book. 

First, I have to question why I was reading something I felt uncomfortable reading in the privacy of my own room in the first place.
Secondly, what was it about the book that made me squirm?
Why did I feel so guilty for reading it that I marked my place in the first book before the half way spot and never picked it up again. I had thought about giving it to anybody interested in not spending the money on buying it for themselves, but I felt so disturbed by it that I threw it into the trash, not wanting anyone to experience those pages on my watch.

I am a Christian, yes. But I don't think that is the root of the issue here, so I won't waste my time throwing scripture at you because I am sure you have already heard enough flack from conservative women (something I am not) as it is on pretty much anything you enjoy doing.

You shouldn't wear yoga pants out in public, you shouldn't have a glass of wine with your girlfriends, etc. etc. etc. 

Most likely I am writing this blog in my yoga pants and sipping on my wine as Netflix hums in the background.

I'm not here to preach, I'm here to pose a different perspective for you to consider.



The other day I was informed that some wives willingly buy their men magazines with half-dressed women in them (or nude, who knows). I won't really touch on that much, except what in the hell are you thinking? Even if you are not a Christian couple, why are you gladly handing your husband something that could ruin him and your marriage? You are there to partner with him and help protect him as much as you can from destruction. Guess what? Lust and porn is destruction. For more insight on the subject you can check out my blog on the ugly truth about porn here :

http://britkayandsuch.blogspot.com/2014/12/the-ugly-truth-about-porn.html

Aside from that, most women would feel betrayed and sickened to find their husbands crouched in a closet or locked in the bathroom with pages flooded of images of a sexual fantasy not of them, but a stranger. I know how it feels to witness the one that is meant to only have eyes for me blinded by the sex industry. It cost me years of self-loathing and trust issues for my wonderful husband to clean up after.

Now, why would you think your husband would feel any different seeing you fantasize over a sex life not your own? 
Women are not visual creatures for the most part, so the sex industry can snag us in a new way : emotional porn. 
Yeah yeah, sounds really silly.
But think about it, women all over (many of them married) are cuddled up reading pages filled with explicitly detailed erotica, all the while their husbands, though seemingly indifferent to their wives' new thrill, sit and watch the woman they married share a part of her heart only meant for him to fill.

Most men will not voice when they are hurting, but I guarantee there are husbands all over cringing at the thought that they are not enough for their wives in the marriage bed, so she is turning elsewhere to fill her needs- a book for crying out loud.

How hypocritical is it of ladies to elbow their husbands for even looking in the general direction of another woman, yet we are emotionally staring, gawking even, at the sexual object of Mr. Grey and the content of the books' pages?


It's interesting to me that the same women who 'Amen' my stand on men and pornography are the same ones who are gushing over their own sexual fantasies and snagging the first tickets to 50 Shades. It's sugar coated porn for women and that's the hard truth.

There are no 50 shades in lust, it is black and white...and will lead you straight to destruction.

Find another form of escapism or just learn to live in reality, with a real man and a sex life that isn't fabricated.

Next point: the book is filled with self-serving and self-seeking sex. I would call it intimacy, but that is not what is contained in it's pages. It is a domineering man, controlling his partner (if i can even use that word) in every way-emotionally and physically. Honestly, if you would take off your fantasy glasses, you would see it is a book about a male-chauvinist and his journey of abusing a vulnerable, weak woman. This is not the kind of love most little girls dream of as they play dress up and as a now grown woman such should still be the case.

As a feminist, or a woman period, why would you want to give one dollar of your money to such a cause? If we as women are now in support of a rich man enticing a woman into his lair of submission, feminism is dead. 
Huge statement, but seriously.

Everything about this poor girl is controlled. Mr. Grey even goes far enough to control what she eats and when. If this is okay with you, I am utterly lost.

All the feminists of the world sigh in unison and face palm in absolute despair. 

I will not be giving any part of me to this movement; the "grey area" of the sex industry.

Christian woman or not, you deserve a man of substance that will respect you, honor you, cherish you and love you not with domination, but with gentleness and honesty.

Stepmoms Chronicles: Stepping On Legos.

I had an amazing mother. 

She could do all of those must-know mommy things, like pull a three course meal from a can of corn. 

She could use that strange machine...what was it again? 

Oh um, I can't remember. 

You use it to sew stuff.

She was like the tear-wiping, bed time story-reading, lullaby singing goddess. 

Luckily my sister snagged that craft-loving, cooking, baking gene because this girl lost it along with all the other things like matching socks and how to tease your hair. 

Give me a puppy, I'm set for days. 

Hand me a crying child, I will look at you like I just saw my life flash before my eyes. 

So pretty much, I'm a "Pinterest fail," but in human form. 

Now now, I'm not downing myself. 

I think I'm pretty great, but...not a typical "mommy."

First: I'm a bonus momma; like those extra points you get that save your arse on a quiz. 

Kind of. 

I don't know nursery rhymes. 

I don't do spit up or snot. 

I have to consciously make myself laugh at a kids' joke so that I don't appear to think that was one of the dumbest things I've just heard. 

I'm really great at answering my stepsons' legitimate questions with sarcasm or blunt truth. 

Example A: 

"Britney, what happens to them bunji -jumping if that cord breaks?"

"Well kid, they die."

Not a very mommy answer, but I don't do well at the coddling bit. 

I could fluff this blog up and say being a step mom isn't hard and we all just know what we are doing all the time, but that would be a lie.

We're winging it, just like you probably are. 

But, I'm not just a step mom, I'm 24 and was also raised a lot like a dude. 

My father, now one of my best friends, bless his heart, had no idea what to do with two girls. 

Crying was stupid and unnecessary. 

I learned to suck it up real fast and I figured out things like sucking your own thumb wouldn't last in the real world. 

Now, I'm thankful my step kids are boys for this reason: I would break a girl. 

Either that or she would end up like me...which isn't all that awful. Okay she would be a boss. 

But anyway. 

I make this face when people start crying around me, like I've just seen their guts exposed. Literally. 

Before you go calling me heartless, hear me out. 

I'm not a typical mom figure and when I first stepped into this role I was hopping around injured like I was constantly stepping on Legos. 

Why? 

Because I had no idea what I was doing or how I was supposed to act. 

I spent the first six months thinking I was going to have to learn to say things like "aw, come here poor baby", spending my time buying mom jeans that make my butt look too long and chopping my hair into a bob. 

That was funny and you know it. Get a sense of humor. 

Finally, I asked myself: "what the hell are you thinking? That isn't you and it will never be you."

Not only were all these mom standards not imbedded in my personality, but that was OKAY. 

Not only was this okay, but the boys didn't NEED me to be anything but what I was and they didn't NEED me to try to scrounge up random garbage to offer to them. 

The boys needed me to be the classy, tacky, a little smart-assy girl I was to begin with. 

They have a mother that loves them, kisses their foreheads and can do all of that mommy stuff that I understand as much of as my spanish professor's lectures. 

So what did I have to offer? 

What do I have to offer? 

What do YOU have to offer, step momma? 

How about yourself? 

You might be the only parent with cut off tees and tattoos in the school orientation, but there is beauty in what you have to offer: DONT CHANGE. 

Your kiddos most likely already have a great mommy in their life-don't think you have to be mommy. 

For me, that's a huge load off. 

Am I saying you won't have to discipline, help with homework, feed (even if it is tater tots), hug, love, protect your step kids with everything you possess? 

Absolutely not, but you can do all those things as (fill in your name here). 

I can offer my boys things a biological parent can't, just like the biological parent can offer things to them I never will be able to. Also a good lesson to chug and swallow right now. 

I can offer my boys an "outside perspective," one not shadowed by rose colored glasses. I can tell them things I see in them that they might not want to admit is there and that mom and dad might not want to see. I can see those things and out of a desire to protect them from future destruction, point those things out without appearing to be a nagging parent (though I really am one). Trickery. 

I can offer my boys a more open, modern, real world side to life. This may not always be the case for all step mothers, but I am a young mother, still navigating my way through faith, knowledge, wisdom, politics, etc. and still seeking more and more from life. I have not yet settled into a way of thinking, part of me hopes I never do. (Who can't use some more knowledge?)

I can offer my boys a safe place to have a voice. It's not foreign to all of us that (typically) mom and dad are not the ones we want to go to when we have a struggle, an opposite view, a hurt. Though a parent figure, I am a safe haven to approach and to voice to whatever they might be fearful of projecting elsewhere. 

I can offer my boys a hell of a sense of humor. It might take some time for them to catch on to how great it is to chill out and know a good joke, but they will. Knock knock jokes just aren't funny. Stop lying to yourself. My mother may call me tacky, but that's really code for genius humor. Trust me. 

I can offer my boys a look into what a woman CAN look like. 

It can look like the kind that isn't afraid to speak her mind or enjoy a glass of wine with her dinner. 

The kind of woman that has a presence that speaks for itself-no entrance announcement needed. 

The kind of woman that knows that silence is powerful. 

The kind of woman that knows she can do anything a man can and isn't afraid to prove it to them by lapping their butts in a race. 

The kind of woman that works hard, works long. 

Step mom, you have unique things to offer your kids. Don't keep stepping on Legos and beating yourself up because playing mommy isn't your forte.

Strap on your motorcycle helmet, let down your hair, paint, write, work, don't work, do whatever it is you do that defines you. 

My boys will never see me trying to be what I'm not, that's a personal vow. 

They may not see me knitting and baking like a DIY Pinterest board, but they will see me come in from running 26 miles of hills, plopping on the couch next to their ruffled hair...

Cracking a joke and hugging their neck just as hard as any other mother could. 

Children don't know labels, only you do. 

So what do you have to offer? 

What are you going to STOP labeling yourself as and what are you going to START labeling yourself with? 

Women Christian Men Should Not Marry and other Fire Breathing Dragons

I recently stumbled upon a real knee-slapper of an article written by a fundamentalist preacher, entitled "10 Women Christian Men Shouldn't Marry." 

Here's a sample. Take notes guys this is futile. 

2. The Divorcee. Jesus clearly taught that unless the first marriage ended due to a partner’s sexual infidelity, a second marriage is to be considered invalid and adulterous.  A divorced woman, therefore, is off limits for a Christian man–unrepentant adultery being a sin that prevents one from obtaining eternal life (1 Cor 6:9).  “If she divorces her husband and marries another, she commits adultery” (Mark 10:12). “And I say to you: whoever divorces his wife, except for sexual immorality, and marries another, commits adultery” (Matthew 19:9).

4. . The Feminist.  There’s no room within Christendom for the “Christian feminist.”  Though women and men have equal value in the eyes of God (Gal 3:28), they certainly have different God-given roles.  Any woman who tries to usurp her husband’s authority or even claims to be a co-leader with her man is gravely dishonoring the God who created her to be subject and obedient to her husband (Eph 5:22, Col 3:18, 1 Pet 3:1).   Eve was distinctly created “for” man, a point that the apostle Paul makes abundantly clear in 1 Corinthians 11 when he writes, “For man was not made from woman, but woman from man. Neither was man created for woman, but woman for man.” (1 Corinthians 11:8-9).  Men, your wife is to be your “helper” (Gen 2:18)–not your leader and certainly not your equal in terms of authority.  Look for a woman who agrees with you in this very vital God-ordained relational dynamic

7. The Childbirth Avoider. Do not marry a woman who is not willing to have children of her own.  In the Christian worldview, there is absolutely no room for two married, biologically capable, human beings to remain intentionally child-less.  If you are adverse towards having children, then there’s a simple remedy for that: single-hood.   However, if God has called you to marriage, then He actually expects children.  Both the New and Old Testaments are very clear on this teaching: “Did he not make them one, with a portion of the Spirit in their union? And what was the one God seeking? Godly offspring” (Malachi 2:15).  “Yet she will be saved through childbearing—if they continue in faith and love and holiness, with self-control” (1 Timothy 2:15).

Want to read more from this genius? This is the full spankin list:  

http://nycpastor.com/2014/12/29/10-women-christian-men-should-not-marry/

Ahem, anyway. 

First of all, we can all agree this guy is a total arse. 

This New York City pastor goes on to abuse scripture stating that among these women christian men should avoid include those who desire to travel. 

If this pastor found his ideal wife, we may never know...shes most likely sticking her cranium into an oven and studying proverbs 31 with a magnifying glass...

Or the more likely option- harvesting male genitals somewhere in Europe.

Let me be the first to raise my hand in the room, letting everyone know that yeah dude, I'm divorced. According to this bro, I am the untouchable of all things holy. You should probably just go back to where you came from because I'm currently growing horns, doomed for all eternity and I possibly breathe fire and burn bibles in my spare time. 

This guy is basically telling Christians to slap the scarlet A on every divorcee's chest, throw them to the lepers  

and get the hell away from them. 

What does jesus do with adulterers?

Ummm...he kicks the religious rock throwers in the balls and tells her to get up, brush that shiz off and start living life differently. 

Moving on...ah, child bearers. All fellas better back away from me because I'm not popping babies out anytime soon, more like ever. 

Even notice the author uses the phrase, "of her own," totally discarding a woman who only wants to foster, adopt or something really crazy-help raise someone's else's child as her own. 

Not surprising coming from a fundamentalist, but to take a portion out of context for his personal use, so literally that he implies women are SAVED through childbearing. 

I'm officially damned 2X over. 

Dang it. 

The feminist theory I will avoid touching on too much, as I will most likely begin breathing fire again and setting things ablaze.

Bail money is just not in my current budget. 

I am a Christian woman, but I do see me and my husband as EQUALS. 

*Le gasp*

He is my protector, a provider, but submission is often twisted behind the pulpit and again we take the word "for" a man so literally, we begin to place women in an apron and slap her on a shelf where she "belongs." 

I was made FOR one "being"-the Creator, Who has no gender...because divine cannot be confined to things like masculine or feminine. 

So...just avoid women with brains, with drive, with control of her own uterus and you'll pretty much be safe. 

I can just shorten the list for you here: 

1. Women who want their own identity. 

The Step Mom Chronicles; Finding Your Place.

I remember when our oldest had to be rushed to the Emergency room, bleeding immensely from his upper lip.
Jarrod hurried to his side as soon as he heard the cry and acted not only quickly, but logically.
As a father he didn't think twice about letting his hands form a cup for his son's blood to pour into over the cold wooden floor. 

I stood there, wide eyed and puzzled; feeling like a puzzle piece myself.
I was one of those frustrating puzzle pieces with strange, jagged edges that is so ambiguous you can't quite fit it anywhere you try to force it. 

Where did I fit into this equation?
Should I hold him?
Should I close my eyes and try to cup the blood myself? 

Before I could even react, Jarrod had swooped him up and made it half way down the highway. 
What did I do?
I cleaned up the blood.
I wiped the floor.
I wiped the walls of the bathroom.
I cleaned up the wreckage.

I threw the dishcloth into the washer, put the other boys to bed and then stood in front of my bathroom mirror. 
I was a mess. 
I looked like a frantic idiot, but had his blood all over my knees and on my shirt. 

As a step-mother (or bonus mom, as we like to call it-I can't get over the whole Cinderella gig) you're going to get blood on you. 

You're like a new culinary student, trying hard to please your professor, your peers and even yourself with your incredible abilities. 
You are trying to be a pro, but your hands are covered in band-aids from constantly chopping yourself up. 

The good news?
Everyone else's fingers are covered in bandages too, even the professor's.

I know we often feel like that jagged puzzle piece I mentioned earlier. 
We are constantly trying to shove our way into an empty place, only to get booted out again because we don't quite fit. 

You have a corner jutting out here, a curve where there should be a corner there and oh, are you even from this puzzle box? 
I think you got mixed in by mistake. 

That. 

It's easier to feel that way than to keep trying to fit into places you're told you don't belong into-either by someone else or yourself.

It's easy to listen to your voice, the world's voice, a biological parent's voice over the Truth's voice. 
Why are we listening to anyone but the One who created the concept of family in the first place? 
Um, hello.
What does He have to say?

John 10:10"The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life and have it abundantly."

We often apply scriptures like this to HUGE spiritual battles and we may not feel like our roles as step parents are included in that, but what bigger battle ground is there than the one in our own home, our own heart?

The enemy comes to steal your confidence as a step parent, kill unity in any way he can and to destroy the peace in your home, your family and within yourself. 

The good news? 

You have the biggest, baddest dude drawing the sword out for you. 

Psalm 46:1-3

God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble.  Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea,  though its waters roar and foam and the mountains quake with their surging. "Selah"

First of all, boom.

Right? 

Even if the earth is blown to smithereens, God is saying, "Yo, I got you. Just Chill and watch me handle this." 

Okay, maybe that's from the New International Britney Version, but you get the idea. 

And the word Selah? Though an exact interpretation has never been pinpointed, it is often said to be a break in a song, a word telling you to "stop and listen" or "stop and think on that."

So do it. 

Stop.

Listen.

Meditate on that. 

The last bit of good news? 

You are right, you don't fit into that puzzle.

How is that good news? 

That old puzzle was broken. Half the pieces are missing from the box.

That puzzle was split down the middle and was incomplete.

You are a piece from a brand new box.

That box holds the puzzle only you can complete. 

Get to it. 

Put On Your Dancing Shoes

I have known what was on my heart to write to kick off this new year, I just hadn't discovered how to convey it in the proper way. 

We all do New Year's resolutions, or goals. Maybe you just focus on one single word for that year. 

This year, I haven't found what I want to add to my life, but I have found things I want to take away. 

Last night I attended a beautiful wedding reception filled with fancy dresses, high heels and bow ties around young mens' necks. 
Me and my husband made our way onto the dance floor as a slow song began to make its way into the air.

I rested my head onto his shoulder and my gaze lined up with a young girl in the middle of the floor. 
She was wearing a white tulle dress with fake flowers embedded in her flowing blonde hair. 

Nobody was around her. 
She didn't appear to belong to anyone but herself. 
Her shoes were nowhere to be found as her feet made love with the wooden panels below her. 
She was spinning,waving her arms over her head and cared less about the fact that I was staring at her dancing there all alone.

I smiled and observed her practice her grooviest moves for an audience of one. 

My face dropped as amusement soon turned to sadness when I realized she would one day not be so free to move on the dance floor, barefooted and ignorant to the stares of others.

She would grow up and begin to care. 
She would grow up and begin to know her hair was frizzy, her feet exposed and she would soon grow older and begin to scrutinize how her body looked in that beautiful tulle dress. 

So I watched her dance while she could.
I was a little jealous honestly; I had already lost that part of me long ago.
The part that will hit the dance floor alone, having a party of one, hair down and unaware of anything physical about myself but the feeling of my feet moving to the beat.

When had I lost that? 

When had I traded my dancing shoes for shame and embarrassment?
I had somehow misplaced the dancing shoes I had slipped off to cut loose and when leaving the floor put on body shaming instead.

Last night I decided I wanted to leave that behind in 2015.
I want to leave shaming myself and others for what they bring to the dance floor behind. 

No more changing ten times, leaving my closet looking like the mall threw up. 
No more pulling and tugging at shirts.
No more missing out on the best dancing songs life has to offer because I'm afraid to take my frizzy hair down and cut my body loose.

Every body is made for dancing.
Size 00 to 20, a girl should dance when her song comes on.

I have heard body shaming on every side, from telling a thin girl she needs to go "eat some meat" to telling a plus size woman she should be on a treadmill.

I can't make the world stop the shaming, but I can start a movement by beginning with myself first. 
A beautiful thing happens when a woman shows others she's not afraid or ashamed of her body.

Honey, find your dancing shoes. I know they're buried in that closet somewhere.
Cut loose. 

You weren't designed to be a wallflower at your own party.

It's a new year and it's time to get the hell off that wall and not care who's looking.
Bust out your best moves, bust through the barriers you built for yourself because your main jam just came on.

Leave body shaming behind.

Put on your dancing shoes.