{Letters to my daughter} {No. 3}

Sweet Girl, When you leaned over and whispered, “I don’t think she believes in me” I was a tiny bit caught off guard. I know that feeling. It’s a terrible feeling! I am sorry that something happened to make you believe that. I get it. Truth be told, I would probably feel exactly the same way if that thing happened to me.

But, I have to tell you something. Lean in and listen carefully. It’s important.

I believe in you.

Always. No matter what. I believe in you when you have a good day. I believe in you when you have a bad day. I believe in you when you are at your best. I even believe in you when you aren’t your best. You are incredibly kind, smart, talented, and beautiful. You are a good, loyal friend. You’re honest. You’re a good big sister. You love Jesus. You’re an awesome volleyball player. And, you’re even a little funny! (Ok, you’re a lot funny!) Should I go on? I could fill an entire page!

Here’s the thing: Those things don’t change based on other people’s opinion.

I know how hard you work. I know how far you have come. I see how much you’ve grown up.

Don’t you dare let what seems like one person’s lack of confidence in you define you. Don’t let that squash out your dreams. Don’t let it disappoint you. Don’t let one person saying no keep you from hearing all the people cheering for you and saying yes!

When you are doing everything that you are supposed to do, let that be enough. Work on the things you have some control over and let the other things become secondary. Take responsibility when you mess up and learn from those mess-ups. Find the people God has placed in your life who want to help you grow and help you reach your dreams. Keep those people close.

I will keep reminding you, in the meantime, that I believe in you. I’m proud of you. I’m here when you need me. And don’t forget — believe in yourself. You have great things in you. No kidding. Great. Things.

Keep going.

Love you, sweet girl.

{Southern Gal Hostess of the Year? Not so much.}

A few weeks ago, it was my Dad’s birthday. (Happy Birthday, Dad!) We decided to have an impromptu gathering to celebrate — at our house. I, being the southern belle that I am, had suggested a nice dinner out. After all, the house was a mess, the fridge was empty, and I was tired. Very tired. But, no. Dinner out wasn’t going to do. There had to be a celebration. For my dad. With other people. And I would host.

So, we came home from Sunday lunch and had a few hours to prep for the party. Any southern gal worth her weight in butter can prep for a party on short notice, right? Um, no. I came home and took a nap. Yes. Fell asleep. In my favorite spot. With my favorite pillow. Don’t judge me!

After my Sunday afternoon nap, the house was still a mess, the fridge still empty, and people were still coming over in an hour. On the way to grocery store, I whined and complained at my lack of preparation. I moaned that I know better than this. Why couldn’t we just take everyone out for pizza? My awesome, superstar, worth-his-weight-in-gold hubby assured me it would be fine. He has a beautiful gift of calm. We scurried through the store like a couple of crazy people. We still had 30 minutes to spare. Then, we realized we forgot the cake. Did I mention we were halfway home at that point? Yikes.

When we pulled in the driveway, we were late. (Now, you can judge me.) Our guests were already there. And so, I did what any other respectable southern gal hostess type would do. I put them to work. What. In. The. World. It’s shameful, I know. Pizza really would have been better. I promise the next gathering at my house will be better. I do have it in me.

Here’s the thing: While I may not have scored high marks this time on the “Southern Gal Hostess of the Year” chart, I still had an opportunity that evening to practice hospitality.  It didn’t necessarily look the way I wanted it to look — ok, who am I kidding, It looked nothing like I wanted it to — but, even still, I was being hospitable. See, I’m learning that hospitality is about a heart that says “You are important to me.”  I opened my door wide and invited these folks into my mess because they are important. I opened my door wide and made a place here where it was perfectly acceptable to be a hot mess! Because, hello, did you notice? Hot. Mess. Right here.

Opportunities for hospitality will sometimes interrupt our daily routines with no regard for our empty fridge or our mess. But, it’s ok. It really is. I’m learning that there’s more to it than a perfectly executed five-course dinner or beautifully executed party. It’s about leaning in with a tender heart towards the people that God has put in my path. I can be hospitable when I greet the clerk at the grocery store. I can be hospitable when I greet my neighbor with a smile. I can welcome people into our home despite the mess. Why? Because people are important. Hospitality says I see you and you matter. That, my friends, is the kind of southern gal I want to be. One who is worth her weight in butter because hospitality isn’t just something she does, it's who she is. Kind. Gracious. Warm. Tenderhearted. One who loves others well. That's what we're meant to do, isn't it? Love people. Hospitality starts there. 

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categories / Random Musings, Family, Everyday Life
tags / birthdays, celebrations, devotional, encouragement, family, hospitality, random musings

{Worship | It's a Big Deal}

There seems to be something happening in worship gatherings in churches across America. People are talking about it, writing articles about it, blogging about it. The conversation is important though a tiny bit uncomfortable. See, it appears that more often than not people are coming to church, sitting in the chairs (or standing) and watching worship. We consume worship rather than actively engage and participate in worship. We come with expectations of being entertained by great music rather than expecting to encounter the powerful, life-changing presence of God. This makes me sad.

Worship leaders must strive to make absolute certain that our worship gatherings are biblically rooted, Christ-centered, Spirit-led, and rightly motivated. Worship is not all about us.It's all about Him. Wait, what's that now? I know. Sometimes, it's hard to wrap our minds around anything that isn't all about us. I get it.

Now, we all understand that worship is not just singing songs on Sunday morning. Singing songs is a form or expression of worship, but it doesn't end there. Worship encompasses all areas of our lives. Everything we do, everything we are, everything we say - all of these things point toward a heart of worship. Worship is who we are every moment before the God who created the universe.

We were created to worship. To worship is one of our greatest privileges and it came at a high price. Jesus died. Actually, He didn't just die. Jesus, the Son of God, was mocked, scorned, falsely accused, beaten within inches of His life and then, then He was crucified on a cross so that we might have the privilege of worship. There's more. He did it on purpose. It was no accident. It was the plan. While we were sinners, Jesus died for us. (Romans 5:8) And in one moment, God demonstrated His lavish love for us by providing a way for us to know Him. There has never been a greater demonstration of love. Ever.

I know - you've heard that a million and one times before, especially if you grew up going to church every time the doors were open. (Any other church girls or guys out there?) Here's the thing: I cannot help but wonder if that's part of the problem. Have we heard the story of the Gospel so many times that we've lost any sense of wonder and awe? Has the Gospel become inconsequential in our lives, our churches, and our worship gatherings? Has it become a story we like to tell, but one that we are unaffected by? It was never meant to be so.

So, what do we do with that? As we prepare to gather in our churches across America tomorrow, what will we do with that? Can I encourage you to stop for a few moments today and remember. Settle into a quiet place and let your mind rest on Him. Remember who He is - the Creator of the Universe and Savior of the World. Remember that He knows your name. Let your heart be overwhelmed by His lavish and unfailing love as you remember what He did for you, for all of us. And then, respond from that place.

Let the truth of the Gospel blow you away all over again. It's a big deal.

He loves you so.

{One Step at a Time Gets Me There.}

So, I have a confession. I am an emotional eater. There, I said it. Now, before I go any further, I should explain that I understand there's an underlying spiritual issue -- the emotional eating, that's just a symptom. More on that another time. For now, let it just be enough to get that out there.

So, where was I? Ah, yes -- emotional eater.

I realized there was a problem when I started gaining a reputation for the girl who loved donuts. I do love a good donut, it's true. But is that the thing I want to come to mind when one thinks of me? Um, no. My poor, sweet friends. They really had no choice as much as I raved about donuts. Trust me y'all, it wasbad. One evening I stopped by the Krispy Kreme and bought a dozen hot now glazed donuts. I ate four of them within five minutes -- on my way to a workout session at my church. I saved the other six for my post-workout drive home. That's right. And, I unashamedly boasted about it during the class. What?! Who does that?! {ahem}

Here's the thing: I don't do well with transition and there have been several major (GIANT) transitions in our lives over the past five years. I did have a baby during that time; even still, three years seems a reasonable amount of time to lose the pregnancy weight. The pregnancy weight wasn't the problem, though.

The problem was that food (junk food) became a form of stress management. If I was upset, I'd grab a fruit roll-up or three. If I was sad, I'd grab a dozen donuts. If I was confused, back to the fruit roll-ups. If I was feeling uncertain, I'd eat half a bag of cheese puffs. If overwhelmed, ice cream. You get the idea. No surprise when the scale told me I weighed nearly 200 pounds. (Did I mention all the major transitions?) Yep, almost 200 pounds! Even in my skivvies, even when I shifted around trying to distribute the weight differently, more evenly, even after I inched my feet backwards so my heels hung off the back of the scale. But, the scale wasn't the only issue either.

Poor choices in one area of life affect all other areas of life in some way or other. I was watching that happen right before my eyes. I felt a little hopeless. One morning after tearing off the third blouse as I tried to get ready for church, I lamented that I was tired of being chubby and hated my clothes. There were tears. The big, ugly cry kind of tears. My sweet husband did the only thing he knew to do -- he told me I was beautiful, wiped away my tears and then bought me donuts on the way to church. Really though, this wasn't about being beautiful or weighing less -- it was about being comfortable in my own skin. It was about living well. 

At the end of May, I joined a clean eating group. In June, I signed up for a 21Day Challenge Group and started using Shakeology. After that, I signed on with Team Beachbody as a coach. Sure, the discounted Shakeology and workout packages are great. But, what's even better is having the opportunity to tell someone it's not too late to live well, to live healthy, to be better.  That's why you're seeing more health and fitness posts on my social media lately. If you feel stuck or discouraged in this area of your life, I would love to help you.

I am happy to report that I have not eaten a donut since the end of May! I dropped 13 pounds after my first round of 21Day Fix + Shakeology. But, more importantly, I feel better. Iam better. And stronger. I haven't reached my overall health and fitness goal yet, but I am making progress. One day at a time. One workout at a time. One healthy decision after another. One step at a time. That's what gets me there.

I can. I will.