To My Father.

To my father: 

I love you. 

I think God understands your anger. 

I think God understands mom's heartache. 

I think God understands me and my sisters fear. 

I think God understands human suffering, but knows we never will. 

I think disease is like a tragic car accident for most people that they casually drive by on the freeway. 

They look in their rear view mirror at the mangled mess and say, "man looks bad," but never think of that scene again a mile down the road. 

You don't know disease until what you love is tainted by it. 

It is unlike any other tragedy because nobody can see it. 

It's not something a human can wrap their hands around. 

We only feel the aftershock of its blows. 

I can't really say I know what you feel. 

To want to be the stone foundation of your family, the strong fortress for those you love, yet you feel like you can no longer shield us. 

You have been my hero even before you knew I liked you. 

I remember the exact moment I really saw you. 

I was a little thing; tight curls glued to my head and eyes bigger than my face. 

You came home in your business suit with your black suitcase that I tried breaking into any chance I got. 

You sat down in a pink chair the size of your hand & drank invisible tea with that little girl who felt so small. 

You made me feel like I was the only person who mattered as you ate fake cookies I sat before you. 

From that evening on, I've seen you and loved you more than anyone could love their father. 

When you feel small, know I still see you as the man with his briefcase, sitting down to my tea party; the greatest, most precious father a girl could know. 

When you feel weak, know I still see you as the man who threw me on his shoulders after that baseball game on a summer night. 

You saw the storm brewing and tossed me up like a bag of feathers. You ran from the stadium all the way to the car with my chin bouncing up and down on your scalp. 

I was scared of storms, but not that night; my dad was strong and instead of feeling fear I felt safety. 

You are still that dad that would set me on his back and do push ups in our living room as I giggled all the way. 

You are still the man that took me and my sister kite flying every chance you got. 

When you feel helpless, know you helped me. 

As a person, I don't have any of the answers. 

As a girl who loves Jesus, I know I never will and I'm trying to be okay with that. 

As your daughter, the only thing I know is that I love you; that somehow I know we're gonna be alright. 

Confessions of a Stepmom

    I never saw myself as the "motherly" type of gal.

I've always joked with those in my life that God forgot to put the womanly qualities in me; cooking, nurturing, the works. 

You know, the stuff that makes your mom a mom. 

When I was growing up during the holidays all the girls would be prepping, baking and talking jargon like "put it on broil at such & such degrees for so & so minutes until browned." 

I'm sorry, what? 

I was typically in the living room with my dad and all the uncles listening to talk about hunting and whatever else men discuss. 

Talk of politics would be floating somewhere in the background as a television show about southern men catching large bass flickered on and off. 

I had no interest in hunting or baking pies. 

My interest was eating. 

I never was the little girl that wanted to play mommy & daddy. 

I played adventures! 

Princess! 

Heroes! 

Villains! 

While other little girls daydreamed about their future husband I had fantasies of saving the world.

Just Britney. 

Solo. 

Ms. Independent. 

Dressing up in a white sheet pretending it was your wedding day seemed pretty lame to me. 

Who wants a flimsy dress when you can have a cape? 

Obviously the teen years hit and boys came into my world like a meteor struck straight into my core. 

I made countless foolish decisions like many teenage girls who are in deep, wreck less "love" do. 

My stance on children never wavered even when I dated someone who desperately wanted children. 

Something just wouldn't settle. 

I got the typical, "ohhhh you're just young. You'll change your mind!"

Didn't happen. 

I grimaced at mothers who licked their fingers and wiped their kids' day old chocolate off their face. 

"Ohhh it's different when their your own. You just wait!"

I am currently 23 years old.

I still grimace at the mom spit move. 

I am full of sarcasm and a "suck it up" attitude. 

I make mistakes. A lot. 

Choice words fall off my lips when I step in mud puddles. 

I've got 13 tattoos and I fancy lip rings. 

I like "that's what she said" jokes entirely too much. 

But there's one thing God instilled in me from the start: deep, unconditional, unwavering, loyal love for those that I let into my heart. 

Some people naturally waltz into my heart effortlessly while others have had to fight their way in. 

There are three boys that danced in like it was always how it is now. 

Like a natural occurrence. 

Like how the sun rises every single morning. 

Coming in so late isn't easy. 

Any step parent will tell you that. 

Some days I go to sleep with less hair than when I woke up with that day. 

Some days...I go to bed smiling from the sweetest hug or "goodnight Britney". 

Sunday night, our oldest hugged my neck and told me he loved me for the first time since I made the transition here. 

My heart swelled with pure joy-a joy I can't remember ever feeling before. 

At that moment, my world tilted.

All of those moments where I felt broken or confused as to why I couldn't picture myself having a child of my own burst into a million fragments.

I imagine the way my spirit felt when I heard those words fall off tiny lips was how Edison felt when he saw the glow of light for the first time. 

I am most certainly still learning how to navigate the ship of parenting. 

God knew what He was doing long before I knew Him. 

He saw me with glazed eyes as other little girls sang "hear comes the bride" with a funny piece of toilet paper hovering over their face to attempt a veil. 

He saw before I did that I would one day step into this challenging, beautiful, rewarding role of a step parent. 

When people raise their eyebrows at me and ask, "so you think you're ready to be a mother to three boys?" I know they don't understand the dynamics of this whole step mom thing. 

I am Britney. 

To those three boys, I am Britney.

I'm not here to replace or to be their mother. 

I'm here to love them as hard as I can as Britney.

When they fall off their bike.

When they get their heart broken.

When they get a bad grade.

When they need a bandaid, a kiss on a scraped knee or just a pat on the head with my typical "Hey kiddo."

That's what I am. 

I will be their cheerleader.

I will guide them as far as I know to go.

I will protect them before protecting myself. 

I will sacrifice late nights with friends for sleep overs in the living room. 

I'm 100% human with a 100% chance of screwing up a few good times as I sail the seas of growth. 

I am constantly still trying to find my footing in this climb.

Every giggle, kiss on the cheek, hand holding I receive is a confirmation of where my heart belongs even on the days I can't seem to wrap my mind around the journey I'm on. 

I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I have ended up where I needed to be.

Heard it Through the Grapevine: Gossip Grapes

" I heard it through the grapevine

not much longer would you be mine.

Oh I heard it through the grapevine,

Oh and I'm just about to lose my mind.

Honey, honey yeah."

I'm sure you've all heard these famous lyrics and even used the phrase that you heard a certain piece of gossip "through the grapevine."

We've all taken a grape off the vine of loose lips.

Most of us have been on the receiving end/giving end. 

And for some of us, we were the wine of the season. 

Everyone was tasting, talking about just what we were made of; how we measured up to the wine they tasted last month. 

I have a bit of news myself to share: 

Those tasty grapes from the grapevine are small bits of poison. 

Each time you pluck one of those little morsels off and feed it to someone else or even take one from someone else who hands it to you, you are poisoning yourself. 

The bible even tells us that the tongue is the most difficult thing we possess to control. 

Psalm 34:13 ESV 

Keep your tongue from evil and your lips from speaking deceit.

Proverbs 17:28 ESV 

Even a fool who keeps silent is considered wise; when he closes his lips, he is deemed intelligent.

Proverbs 15:4 ESV 

A gentle tongue is a tree of life, but perverseness in it breaks the spirit.

I don't know about you, but to me a break in my spirit sounds like pretty serious stuff. 

The last thing I want is for my lips to be loose and be a "Did you hear?!" Christian. 

The last thing I want is for my ears to be so open that I never block out my neighbor stripping another follower's character to shreds. 

Someone once flippantly said to me: "It isn't gossip if its true." 

This is untrue and disturbing that so many believers see talking about others so lightly. 

Gossip is idle talk or rumor about the personal or private affairs of others. It is one of the oldest and most common means of sharing facts, views and slander.

This term is used pejoratively by its reputation for the introduction of errors and variations into the information transmitted, and it also describes idle chat, a rumor of personal, or trivial nature.

Now, many times we see our flapping lips as justified. 

I mean, if you know all the facts it's okay right? 

You couldn't be more wrong. 

You're eating the poisonous grapes without even realizing it. 

How dangerous. 

We never know all the details, especially not enough to claim our snip bits of here say as facts. 

You either fall into one of three categories: 

The plucker, the receiver/processor, the wine. 

I've been all three.

I've plucked the gossip grape, received and savored the grape but I've also been the "wine of the month." 

On display for anyone and everyone to inspect my quality of life. 

As Christians we often like to take what we like and leave the rest that makes us uncomfortable. 

We like to hit on adultery, homosexuals and drinking margaritas. 

We like to sweep gluttony, gossip and greed back under the couch. 

They're all in the same list people, have we forgotten? 

I want to encourage all three groups. 

To the plucker: you are serving poison to your neighbor.

Would you serve rat poison to sweet, half way dead Mrs. Flowerbed next door? 

Of course not. 

Stop the cycle. 

Your spirit hangs in the balance.

To the receiver/wine taster: 

Have you ever attended a wine tasting?

You taste small glass after small glass. 

Then you find yourself fumbling to find your car keys. 

You are slowly poisoning yourself glass by glass. 

Say "no thank you" to the plucker who made a nice glass of gossip just for you. 

To the wine: 

Just like the finest bottles, you will get better with time. 

Hold on. 

People who speak hurtful words behind your back are right where they belong: behind you.

Don't let this season cause you to be a bitter wine. 

Ephesians 4:29 ESV 

Let no corrupting talk come out of your mouths, but only such as is good for building up, as fits the occasion, that it may give grace to those who hear.

Dear Noah: On Your Birthday.

Dear Noah: 

Where do I begin? You're the only person who gives me writer's block. 

You're the only one who has, does and always will see me. 

You're the only one who saw me letting my dreams flutter away, only to catch them and keep them safe for me while my heart was away from them. 

You're the only one who had me so confused I could only react by being rude and rebellious around you. 

You were the first to read my writings and beg for more. 

You were the first to remember every word I said, even the ones I didn't know you heard. 

You were the first I told my biggest hurt to. 

You picked out the red and clear gummy bears because you knew they were my favorite. 

You listened when I questioned God and never tried to push your beliefs on me, knowing all along I'd find my way back home. 

You stopped in your tracks each time I entered the room. 

I could see the breath leaving your body when I smiled.

Other guys made me feel attractive, but never beautiful. 

To many men I may have been one of several pretty girls in a room, but to you I was the only girl you could see. 

You challenged my mind with our hours and hours of theology discussions. 

You challenged my heart with your own.

When I see you hug your boys necks my spirit leaps. 

When I see your face light up when you talk about ministry by heart literally bursts. 

You were the first to pray over me/with me. 

When I hear you speaking to the heavens on my behalf my breath is taken far from me. 

I know we've had it rough. 

I know some day more rough times will come our way. 

I know we've lost a few people along the way, but we've tripled our loss with even more people who love us beyond our past. 

I know our story can be hard to take hold of to so many, but I know when they see the way my eyes light up when I hear your name, they get it. 

So yes, we are celebrating your birthday. This day changed my life forever before I even knew it. 

“So it's not gonna be easy. It's going to be really hard; we're gonna have to work at this everyday, but I want to do that because I want you. I want all of you, forever, everyday. You and me... everyday.”

-Noah 

I'll be seein you,

Allie. 

Washing Dishes and Washing Feet

   I finally made it on the plane to Caracas, Venezuela after 6 years of waiting to return. 

I still remember the feeling in my gut stepping back onto American soil after an incredible and life-changing week at the Samuel's House orphanage. 

The United States would never again feel like home to me. Sure it was comfortable, but home? 

No more. 

The first hug I received from a wide-eyed, dark-skinned little girl with seemingly no reason to rejoice altered my universe-one that once revolved around me. 

I was a selfish, arrogant, rebellious 17 year old child even though at the time I saw myself as an adult. 

What a joke. 

I knew a lot about Jesus but I had no idea who He was. 

My relationship with Jesus has morphed and turned my world upside down, inside out and shaken everything I thought I knew about being a follower. 

I have made a transition from fan to follower. 

Pain does that to you. 

In the past 6 years I've gone through seasons of dryness, anger, mourning and joy. 

When I originally planned this trip my life was in a completely different place than it was today.

I have recently suffered great grief, great change, but great freedom. 

I have lost some people that I pictured holding my hand through every life's season. 

I have planted seeds in new places and taken roots in fresh soil. 

I have learned to smile again for no reason. 

I have learned to not force people to stay in my life, but to remain open to anyone willing to stay. 

I have learned to laugh at life and change. 

I have learned to love people so deep it has consumed every thought and keeps me up at night.

I have learned its okay to let go when you've fought yourself to your own collapse. 

Part of me thought I should cancel the trip to Caracas all together. 

I let a select few's words poison the dream God planted in me before I even had a name. 

God wasn't going to let that happen. 

Words to any of you: 

Nobody, I say NOBODY can wipe away the identity Christ has given you. 

NOBODY can write whatever they want on you without your consent. 

In a matter of three months I have been shattered into a million pieces, to sitting on an airplane with a smile on my face and a song in my heart. 

How? 

I ask myself that everyday. 

Jesus is in the business of broken people. 

God met me while my face was buried in that off-white carpet that day. 

I was screaming, hurting and angry. 

I was clawing my nails into the carpet and sobbing uncontrollably like a child away from his mother for the first time. 

I was doing much more talking than listening that day. 

God laid on that carpet by my tear-stained sleeves and reminded me of Who I was dealing with. 

I was dealing with the same Jesus Who took a murderer and turned him into a ruler. 

I was dealing with the same Jesus Who took a stuttering man and with him parted seas of red. 

I was dealing with the same Jesus Who took adulterers, killers, losers, screw-ups & turned them into vessels. 

There was no way Jesus was letting me off that easy. 

My life pivoted at that moment. 

Jesus came into my life like never before. 

I have become head over heels in love with Jesus. 

Ive fallen so hard and deep I find myself loving people I couldn't love before. 

God took me, broke me, rebuilt me from the bottom up. 

He shook me, washed me and clothed me with new garments. 

When I see old friends they notice that thing some people have in their eyes after they've just had their honeymoon. 

That's what it feels like to be in love, in obsession with Jesus. 

I went into the week absolutely blind, but open to anything and everything Jesus had for me. 

The week was not what I expected. 

At first, I questioned God as to why He would bring me all the way to another country to...clean dishes and mop floors. 

That week I witnessed servant hood in a real and tangible first-hand way. 

One morning as I washed dishes, staring at the beautiful Caracas mountains God stood next to me and spoke in a quiet, clear voice.

My heart had been broken for this exact week, this exact moment in my life. 

God allowed me to experience brokenness in order for me to experience restoration. 

All the scrubbing, drying, washing, mopping; it was for me after all. 

To go and give of myself, asking for nothing back. 

To go and wash another's feet. 

I expected to go and teach others about Jesus, but ended up being taught lessons by people who never spoke a word of English. 

They didn't have to. 

Isn't that amazing? 

The woman who cleaned/cooked everything every day with a smile on her face showed me Jesus in a way I've never know before, and she couldn't even speak my language. 

This week was to show me that this life I live is not about Britney, but about everyone else. 

I learned how to shred 10 pounds of meat by hand, fold trash bags, prepare plates for upcoming groups of volunteers. 

I swept a floor that I knew would re-dirty within ten minutes of my cleaning. 

I washed dishes I knew would be stained with food again within 2 hours of my labor.

Sometimes you must minister behind the scenes of another ministry. 

You may never get recognition. 

You may never get servant of the week at your local church. 

That. Doesn't. Matter. 

Jesus has washed my feet for so long, knowing I'd wander off to only get them muddy again. 

Yet He washes them again. 

And again. 

And again. 

What God spoke to me as I stared out that window has changed the way I see myself in future ministry: 

"Britney, don't you see? I have brought you to the perfect place for ministry: on your knees." 

God brought me across the world to shake me up and open my eyes to my lack of a servants heart and need to only minister in the lime light. 

May I always remember washing those dishes. 

May I always serve in small tasks to make big impacts.