Life in the Balance...Honoring this Anniversary Date

It's been a full year since I've written here. That wasn't intentional. I've been working on a new book which is both exciting and terrifying. I'm not sure it will ever be anything the public has access to, but it has been on my heart, so I have focused my writing efforts there. 

Anyway...I'm here today. It's that time again. April 26th, the day I both look forward to and dread. Today marks 32 years since the day I was raped. It's funny to me how each year feels so different. Last year I wrote of how I am not the same as the victim I was back in 1990 in the parking lot of my high school. That remains true. And yet, this year I feel the sadness a bit more. I feel the weight of all I have carried since that day, and at the same time I feel the relief of allowing the Lord to carry the burden for me. Don't mistake my sadness for not healing. Not even close. 

I carry zero bitterness or unforgiveness about that day. I know that sounds so ridiculous to some who will read this and think, "How in the world do you forgive someone for rape?!" I hear you. And the truth is, you don't. Forgiveness is something that I believe only the Lord can instill in your heart. Apart from my relationship with Jesus, I am a girl who would carry around hatred like a badge of honor. But Jesus took that need away. He replaced it with the knowledge of my own need of forgiveness and well...I'm changed because of Jesus. By his stripes I am healed from that. 

And yet...I hurt. I am learning that hurting is ok. We are made to do hard things. We can carry hurt and still be free and healed all at the same time. We can balance memories that haunt and hope for the future together. We can feel both peace and confusion in the same moment. We are remarkable creations, made in the image of God himself, so quite capable of so much more than we recognize at times. 

Today I feel melancholy, knowing the full truth of my healing and restoration all the while feeling the sadness of the brutality I experienced. And that's all ok. Our journeys don't have to take straight paths; we are allowed to not feel "ok" some days. Some will tell you that God isn't concerned with your feelings. I vehemently disagree. He designed us to be humans that feel, that experience emotions. How could he not care for them when he made them? I don't think he wants us to be guided by them because goodness knows, they are fickle! But our feelings and emotions have value. Today my feelings tell me that I have walked through trial and fire. They also tell me I've experienced loss too great for me to bear without Jesus. But they also cry out with joy for the victory I feel over shame and depression and defeat. So many feelings and emotions, so different, and so very important to me and to my Father. 

I have chosen to take this day each year and do something fun. It's my way of making new memories for this date, to change the trajectory of how I approach this day on the calendar. And so I will spend the day with my favorite human ever (my husband!) laughing and celebrating and remembering that I am not defined by April 26, 1990. I am defined by the One who gave me life, then gave his life to ransom mine back again. How can I not celebrate that beautiful truth? 

I know there are so many others walking this road of healing. Statistics paint a horrifying picture of the reality of sexual abuse and assault. If that is your story, please hear me say that I am so very sorry for the road you're walking. And please look at my life and see the healing that is possible. Memories cannot  harm me; they are just memories. The time in that parking lot was just a blink amid the stunningly beautiful moments of my entire life. He took innocence and trust and safety from me for a moment. He doesn't hold them forever. 

HEALING IS POSSIBLE BECAUSE THE HEALER LIVES. 

I realize that some of you who will read this don't know or believe in the Jesus I love so much. But I know him to be a healer, constant and true and worthy and good and just. And he is for us. He is for me. He is for you. If you are hurting, he wants to heal. If you are broken, he wants to put you back together. My life is a testimony to his ability to do so. 

So today, I celebrate and grieve all at the same time. I will laugh and I may cry. I will sit in silence and I will talk my husband's ear off I'm sure. I will feel the weight of that day and I will feel the ease of my security today. It's a delicate balance at times, but it's a beautiful life. God is so very good, friends. Celebrate with me today. 

If you have been assaulted and need help finding a therapist or just want to chat with someone who has walked the road you're on, please reach out. Find me on Instagram at hollybird72 or email me at hollybird72@gmail.com

Keep walking. Keep feeling. Keep trusting. 

Walking with you,     

Holly~

FREEDOM

Today marks 31 years since my life was changed. The day was remarkably similar to today...beautiful spring day, a little chill in the air. That's about where the similarities end. 

I am not the same. 

31 years ago, I walked out of my high school to find a lifelong friend in the parking lot. I left that parking lot a victim of rape, full of shame and hurt, the tendrils of bitterness already rooted in my heart. I entered that parking lot full of confidence, ready to face the world ahead of me and sure of what my future held. I left that parking lot full of fear, hatred, regret and sadness. Those things I carried for a long time. They're all natural results of the trauma of sexual assault.  The problem wasn't my initial reaction to being hurt; the problem was that I tried to carry them on my own for way too long. 

If you know me, you likely know my story. I bought into the shame of rape hook, line and sinker. I wore it like a cloak that would protect me. I hid behind it, believing the lies I'd been told during 20 minutes of horror more than the truth I'd been told the entire rest of my life. So many people have asked me over the years, "what was it that finally brought you back, that made you realize what you were believing was not true? How did you come back from the shame? How did you heal?"

Psalm 40 tells it so well. "I waited patiently for the Lord; he turned to me and heard my cry. He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire; he set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand. He put a new song in my mouth, a hymn of praise to our God. Many will see and fear the Lord and put their trust in him". (Psalm 40:1-3)

It may seem strange to you to hear that Jesus healed me, but I assure you he did. His sacrifice on the cross for the forgiveness of my sins has allowed me to be free, not only from sin but from fear, shame, resentment, bitterness, depression... all of it. Because He forgave me, I have been able to forgive the one who hurt me so much. 

I know that a wall just went up for some of you because I said the word "Forgive". I know because I've been there too. When I was new in the journey of healing from sexual assault, I thought forgiveness was ridiculous. How could I ever forgive this guy? He didn't deserve it! But then I realized that I didn't deserve the forgiveness I'd been given either, and I saw that to be like Jesus, I needed to learn to act like Jesus. It wasn't a quick thing; not even close. It was a daily decision to choose forgiveness verbally until my heart began to feel it and embrace it. 

And you know what? Embrace it, I have! I write these words to you with a heart that holds zero anger, zero resentment, zero regret, zero shame. I write these words with a heart that feels compassion toward the one who hurt me more than I ever dreamed possible. I write this from a life that longs to show others the beauty of living a life of forgiveness because it brings us closer to the Lord. Forgiveness isn't even between me and the one who hurt me; it's between me and Jesus. The one who forgave me commands that I do the same. And I promise you that He never asks me to forgive more than I've been forgiven. He won't for you either. 

Today I am free. I'm free of shame. I'm free of rage. I'm free of depression. I'm free of the chains that held me in bondage. I'm free of hurt. I am free to love, and love I do! I am free to live without fear. I am free to walk with my head held high, unashamed of who I am. I am free to believe the Truth of who Christ says I am- chosen, loved, adopted into his family, sealed with his grace, purposed by him, and so much more. I am free to trust others and myself. I am free to use my gifts for good in this world. I am free to try new things. I am free to fail and try again. I am free to love like Jesus in this world. 

I don't spend a lot of time thinking about that day anymore (thank you Lord!). But on days like today, I choose to remember. Remembering doesn't make me a victim again; it simply reminds me of how far the Lord has brought me. I remember so I can acknowledge how great God's healing has been on my life. I remember so I can be reminded of the chains I once wore that are now broken. 

And then I move on. Remembering is just memories. And memories can't hurt me; they're just memories. In remembering I acknowledge the scars I carry internally and the healing those scars prove. I love those scars. They represent so much grace and mercy and healing. They represent freedom to me. 

My guess is that you have some scars too. Probably you have some like me, inflicted my others. Perhaps you have some self-inflicted scars. Let me remind you that scars are a sign of healing. And forgiveness is how I learned to realize that truth. Maybe, just maybe, the same is for you. 

Maybe the world needs to see your scars. I am so very grateful that showing my scars have allowed me the honor of walking through the journey to healing with so many others who've endured sexual assault. Maybe someone needs to see the scars you carry to know they aren't alone either. Maybe someone needs to see healing is possible, and your story is the one to tell them that truth. 

If you are reading this as a fellow survivor of sexual assault and feel like you're alone in this world, let me assure you that you do not have to walk alone. I'd be most honored to walk with you to healing. If you don't believe that healing is possible, I'll believe it for the both of us until you're ready. If you need help connecting to a counselor, I'd be happy to help you find one. But whatever you do, don't stay silent. Silence is the enemy of healing. And you're worth so much more. 

Today, I celebrate Freedom. All praise be to God! 

H~

My thoughts on racial equality

It's been nearly 11 years since we brought our daughter home from Ethiopia. I've said it before, and I'll say it again: I had no idea what racism really looked like until she was ours. I naively thought that everyone who loved us would love her, or at the very least that everyone who accepted us without question would do the same for her. She had been with us for less than a month when we encountered our first episode of racism. A little girl in the grocery store called her a monkey, to which her dad responded, "That's not a monkey, that's a n*****, and we don't even look at those". I was appalled, to say the least. I'll admit that I didn't say a lot other than "Don't ever say that. This is my daughter". I didn't know what else to say. I was not prepared. I failed.

Fast forward a few years, and an older man spit on her in a store. When I approached him, he said "I don't like her kind". I won't go into that story here further for the sake of time. But just let yourself for a moment go there: A grown man spitting on the back on a child.

There were kids at school who told others not to play with her because she was black, kids who said they didn't want to be friends with a black girl. There have been adults who've questioned "Why would you go get a black kid from another country when there are plenty of white kids here in the USA who need a home?" We've heard it all.

Two years ago when we made the move to our current city, we were excited to be in a place with more diversity. Until then, Ellie had been one of just a few black kids in her school or church. We wanted her to be surrounded by more people who looked like her. Our church here is full of people of all ethnicities, and that's been great for our family, Ellie in particular. Her school here was a rainbow of colors of children, and we were excited. Again, I was naive in thinking that we'd maybe not see as much racism in a place as diverse as we are now. I was wrong again.

I got a call one day from her principal telling me that there had been an "incident" where a kid had posted a mean picture of Ellie on Instagram with her face "X'd" out. Ellie's friends had seen it and told parents or adults (Ellie didn't have a phone at the time, so she hadn't even seen it herself). The principal said it had been done on a school account and they were taking care of it. When we picked her up that afternoon, it was obvious that this was so much more. We walked inside to talk to the principal after Ellie burst into tears as soon as she got into the car. What we discovered was that someone had hacked into a friend's account (we had evidence of that) and posted not only pictures of Ellie with her face marked out, but had made some gross racial and sexual remarks about her, then ended with a threat to end her life. This was way more than simple girl drama. This was criminal. Reading the screenshots that the principal had that day made me sick to my stomach. The thought that someone had made a threat of violence against my daughter simply because of her skin tone was something I could not grasp.

Law enforcement was called, both within the school and by us personally. The officer quickly was able to question some students that he knew personally and knew the child who was responsible, but the school's attorney blocked the police's ability to get information because it had all happened on school accounts. It's a long story that I won't go into here, but I can't help but wonder if things would have been different if my daughter were a white child that had been threatened by a black child. Where was the justice for my daughter in this? The officer was wonderful to work with and expressed his grief over the fact that his hands were tied. Thankfully the student moved away, and we were able to at least know that Ellie was safe.

In all of this, Ellie's response was simple: "I wonder how bad her life must be to want to hurt someone she doesn't even really know. That just doesn't make sense".

Y'all, I don't have adequate words to express how my then 12 year old daughter's words changed my heart. Not even a teenager, she had already learned something a lot of us could use today. She had learned the gift of empathy. You see, while she was not AT ALL condoning the wrong done to her, she was able to see a different side. She was trying to understand a perspective different than her own. Ellie was practicing empathy.

Please hear me out. The ONLY PERSPECTIVE ABOUT RACISM IS THAT IT IS WRONG. I'll say that again in case you misunderstood. ALL RACISM IS WRONG AND THAT'S THE ONLY PERSPECTIVE WE CAN HAVE ABOUT IT.

Lately, my social media feed is filled with posts and articles about the looting and rioting happening in our world. I get it. Seriously. I don't agree with violence of any sort. I am pro-life from womb to the tomb, so I can't get behind the violence happening. However, it is my own opinion that posts like this are taking away from the heart that started the protests to begin with.

Just like Ellie was able to see that a kid had likely had so much trauma in her life that she'd respond in a way that was hurtful and unacceptable, maybe we need to give space for some understanding that our brothers and sisters who are black have gone through so much pain and trauma that they too are crying out now. And sometimes that crying out may not look exactly like you and I would do it. It may not sound the same.

BUT CAN WE AGREE TO TRY AND HAVE SOME EMPATHY AND SIMPLY LISTEN TO THE HEART BEHIND IT ALL? CAN WE GIVE ENOUGH DIGNITY TO PEOPLE TO STOP FOCUSING ON WHAT HAS USURPED THEIR POINT AND GET TO HEARING THEIR HEARTS?

Our family marched in a peaceful protest this past weekend. It was awkward, and admittedly uncomfortable for me. I had never marched before. The chanting felt awkward, not like me. But I think I was SUPPOSED to feel awkward and uncomfortable. My life has been easy; I haven't had to worry if it's safe for me to run in the neighborhood or walk out of a store or get pulled over for a traffic stop.

But my daughter will grow up with those concerns.

She will have to worry that even though she may be the best candidate for the job, her skin color may keep her from being hired. She will have to concern herself with the fact that the white boy she has a crush on has parents who won't "allow" him to like a black girl or ask her to the dance. She will have to worry about being followed in a store by employees who think the black kid is probably trying to shoplift when her white friends won't have that same kind of scrutiny. She will have to worry about a speeding ticket turning into a fight for her life.

So, I'm trying to have some empathy today and in my life overall, for people who are hurting in ways that I can't begin to understand. I'm trying to remember that it's not about me or how comfortable I feel in this situation. I'm trying to remember that we don't have to agree on every single thing to still stand on the same side of justice and liberty for ALL. I'm trying to remember that this is a new fight for many of my white friends who have never experienced racism personally. I'm trying to remember that people all around me are hurting, and I want to be an agent of change for them and for this world. I believe that as a follower of Jesus, that is what I'm called to do.

A few days ago, I reached out to some of my black friends and asked if I could just listen to their hearts in this. I asked what it is that they would love to see from me. And I've had a few of my white friends reach out to me and ask "what is it that you need as a mom of a black child?". Let me share some ways we might grow our empathy for our black friends, how we can join together with them in unity.

1. Listen. Try to empathize and understand a perspective that isn't your own. Don't try to change the narrative. Let people say "Black lives matter" without changing it to "all lives matter".  I heard it said that if your house was on fire, you wouldn't want the fire truck to come to all houses on your street but to yours. Think about that. Let's put the emphasis where the need is right now. Saying Black Lives Matter does not take away from anyone else at all. It never has. Listen to that narrative.


2. Have hard discussions. If you see racism, call it out. And call it out immediately. That doesn't mean posting on social media. It means one on one talks with the people in our lives.

3. If you have kids who are friends with black children (please please if your kids are friends with my girl!!), tell them to watch out for their black friends. If they hear other kids saying racist things, tell them to speak up to an adult. If they see racist posts on social media, tell them to get a screen shot immediately then tell the parents or teachers. This one act likely saved our daughter from more immense hurt, and possibly even a dangerous threat to her safety.

4. If you are a follower of Jesus, make racial unity a matter of prayerI. Prayer does change things.

5. Look for ways to get involved. March with your black brothers and sisters. Do it peacefully. But do it. Give to organizations that are trying to make a difference. If you need ideas for that, contact me.

I believe in a world where my daughter and all those who look like her will be accepted because of who they are. I have to believe in that. And I will fight for that day to come. She is worth it. All people of color are worth it. Because Black lives DO matter.

30 years

Thirty years is a long time. No doubt about that. It's true that it really does fly by, but that doesn't take away from the fact that it's still a long time. 

Thirty years

Thirty years ago this weekend, I was raped. Most days it feels like 30 years, and it honestly never crosses my mind. I'm thankful for that grace. But the truth is that if I do stop and think about it, I can still recall every single moment of that event. I can still smell the smells and hear the words and recall the fear. Our minds are crazy like that. We are hard-wired to remember. It's how we are created. 

But remembering does not equal experiencing. That's important. I can remember and not be taken back to the hurt. I can remember and yet not be a victim anymore. I can remember and not be defeated. In fact, it's in the remembering that I have found the most victory. 

Remembering increases my gratitude for the fact that I not only survived, but I have thrived. Remembering makes me more compassionate toward others who have experienced trauma. Remembering makes me more aware of the dangers of this world, but also makes me more aware of the beauty. Remembering makes me real, authentic. 

I've heard many people over the years tell me "I just want to forget" when talking about trauma or hurtful things they've experienced. I get that. Truly I do. I felt that myself for a long time. And yet, trying to forget is futile. It's not possible. We can stuff it down and ignore it for a season, but eventually everything is going to come out. And usually, when we've tried stuffing our memories and feelings, the way it comes out is not healthy. But when we embrace the memories and sit with them, we can start to see that they have no hold over us anymore. And more importantly than that, we can start to see where the Lord can actually bring good from our deepest hurts. 

Yes, I said good. What good can come from rape, you ask? Well, let me tell you. My rape has led to plenty of good in my life. For one, it's given me a platform to relate to a world that is hurting. No, not everyone is hurting because they've been raped or assaulted, but everyone hurts in some way. And because I've walked through some serious hurt, I can relate. 

It's also led to some incredible friendships with people. When you have similar stories, you can really relate in a special way. I have so many deep friendships because of the shared experience of sexual trauma. I'm eternally grateful for those ladies in my life. I'm not sure I'd have the full healing I have if it weren't for some of you. 

Rape has made me brave. Seriously. If I can get through this, I can get through anything. Sometimes I look in the mirror when I'm walking through a difficult season or even just a bad day, and I think, "you survived a rape. This day has nothing on you". But it's also made me more brave to put myself out there and tell my story. One thing is certain: I am not alone in this journey. Statistics will tell you that 1 out of every 4 women have experienced sexual abuse or assault in the US. So, I'm not walking this road alone. And yet, when you're walking it, that's just how you feel. Alone. 

Sexual trauma has a way of cloaking you in shame. You can say to yourself all you want, "I'd never feel ashamed over something I didn't do", but until you've walked it, you'd be wrong in assuming that. Shame is a natural response to rape, and I wore it like a prized possession for longer than I ever want to recall. It ate away at my very soul, trying to destroy me completely. 

But God....

God took what was shattered and made it my mission. He took was what broken and made it whole again. He took what I thought could never be redeemed and gave me a ministry to other ladies who've walked this journey. He took the scars that I have and made them memories of how far He's brought me, how much He has restored. He took what was meant to harm me and made it for good (Genesis 50:20). 

Let me say this, on this 30th anniversary of my assault. There was a time when I thought this thing would beat me, would be the reason I chose not to continue living, the reason I'd never be worthy of a husband, the reason I'd never have children, the reason I'd never have joy again. There was a time when I let rape define ALL of who I was. There was a time when I chose to walk around in that cloak of shame as if I had no other option. 

But that time is no more. Today, I can remember and rejoice- not because I was raped, but because I LIVE. I can rejoice not because I felt shame, but because I now FEEL FREEDOM. I can rejoice not because I experienced the bondage of refusing to forgive, but because I now feel the HOPE of letting go and letting God fight that battle for me. I can rejoice, not because I'm defined as a rape victim but as a CHILD OF GOD, fearfully and wonderfully made and loved wholly. 

Friend, if your story involves sexual trauma (abuse, rape, assault, violence, or anything else!), let me assure you that healing is possible, and it's for you too. I remember today, and I may even grieve a little over what I lost that day long ago. But I'll also remember what I've gained, and I'll celebrate that forever. 

If you need help dealing with trauma, please reach out. If you need help getting connected to a counselor, please contact me! If you just need a friend to walk the journey with you, I'd be honored to be that friend! 

Peace and joy to you! 

Happy 30 years to me! 

It's real. It's really real

I went to a nail salon today. It's not a typical thing for me, but I had a free morning so I thought I'd take the opportunity. I really like this salon. The Vietnamese girl who owns the place is so sweet and always provides great conversation. Today was no different. We chatted about a recent trip to Vietnam she had made and about different news stories that were playing on television as she worked. An older lady came in and sat next to me, starting up a cheerful conversation as well. 

The news aired a story that shook me. In Las Vegas, a kindergartner came home to tell her mom of a new "game" her teacher had played with the class. She said it was "kind of like duck duck goose, but different". The game was called "Hunter Chase the Slave" and the little girl went on to say that you could have a gun or dogs or whips if you catch your slave. I was appalled. In the story, the little girl's mother, a black woman herself, was interviewed and explained her horror at this being played with children at her school. She met with the school principal who immediately took action (the teacher was removed from the classroom pending a full investigation). 

In the salon, we talked about the story. I'll admit I didn't say anything for a moment, as I was trying to hold back tears at the thought of such a horrific thing. My nail tech said, "What was that teacher thinking?" The lady beside me then sighed heavily and said, "Well, here we go again. Another story of a black lady just wanting people to feel sorry for her so she can get something for free or her five minutes of fame". She went on to say "It's crazy that people actually try to get us to believe that racism is still real. This is not slave days anymore. Do they think we're stupid?". I was completely shocked at that point, and stated, "I disagree. Racism is real. I'm looking at it and hearing it right in front of my face in this very moment". 

She was defiant and angry at that. How dare I suggest that she was racist? And so I told her that I was the mom of a beautiful black daughter who had endured racism personally. I explained to her that I knew it was real because we had experienced it. My voice faltered a little as I spoke, and she chuckled that I was "actually convinced this was real". 

Last year, while a 6th grader, our daughter was victimized via social media. Another student, using an account at the school, posted pictures of our daughter with her face "X"'ed out and statements about how ugly she was. They also posted vile and graphic statements, both racial and sexual in nature about her, and finally they ended with a statement about how they wanted her dead. Not everything that was said about her was racial in content, but enough of it was. And it was so hurtful. Thankfully, Ellie did not have social media at the time and thus did not see all of the posts. Some of her friends saw and reported it to their parents and teachers (Thank you students for handling that so beautifully!). 

I won't go into details about the case, but law enforcement had to be involved as a threat was made to her life via a school account. And I'll tell you that the school swept it under the rug and caused a great difficulty for law enforcement to even investigate fully. In the end though, we were sure of who the culprit was, and that student has moved out of state. But the hurt remains. 

In all of this (as in instances in previous years), Ellie remained loving, graceful, compassionate, forgiving, and altogether heroic. I wanted to rip someone's eyes out of their head, if I'm blatantly honest. I was angry. But Ellie simply said, "How bad must someone's life be to want to hurt me like that, mom?". Geez. Talk about putting me in my place! Ellie taught me in that moment a couple of things. 1. We can't fight injustice with just anger. Love must be our weapon. And y'all, that girl is FILLED with love. It oozes from her. 2. My being angry didn't change things; My actions could. Jeff and I worked with law enforcement, and when given the opportunity, we were able to speak to the principal about our disappointment in how things were handled on her part and how she could do it differently in the future. BECAUSE IT WILL HAPPEN AGAIN. That's a guarantee. 

I've looked for where I'm supposed to speak into these issues. I am convinced that we've walked through this experience and others in previous years for a purpose. We have a voice. And today, that voice was needed to speak TRUTH to a lady in a lofty position of whiteness and arrogance and ignorance that racism is still very real. It hurts and destroys and maligns, and if left unanswered it spreads like a cancer. 

I have come to believe that a big part of what's wrong in this world is that we refuse to acknowledge and believe each other's stories. If that lady today had been willing to just listen to our story, maybe she could have seen something different than her current belief. And don't get me wrong: I've been guilty too of not hearing people out. But y'all, when we take the time to really listen, we hear the heart of a person. And that's where change happens The people in my life who are the least like me are so very dear to me because we've taken the time to hear one another's hearts. That changes things. 

So, who do you need to listen to today? What is it you've been refusing to acknowledge as truth because you haven't experienced it yourself? How can you make a change in the direction of understanding and empathy today? Perhaps if we each take one small step toward each other every day, we can truly come together eventually. 

26 years

26 years ago yesterday, we said "I do". It's been one heck of a ride, and I can't imagine a better roller coaster partner than my man. So... in honor of 26 years, here's 26 reasons I still do....

1. He says "I love you" with words and actions.
2. He always keeps his word.
3. He cleans the kitchen after I cook dinner. Every. Single. Night.
4. He has fun with me, but never fun at my expense.
5. He still opens the doors for me. All of them. Every time.
6. He has laundry folding parties with me.
7. We are still honeymooning. Yep, that's exactly what I mean.
8. He goes along with my wild ideas, particularly with decorating.
9. He hears my dreams and makes them happen.
10. He never lies to make me feel better. He's honest with me always.
11. He knows I'm a strong woman, but still takes care of me as if I needed it.
12. He does the bills and gives me a "report" of where we are financially. It's not because he thinks I'm too dumb to do it. He just knows I hate doing it, but wants to make sure we are on the same page.
13. He calls me "Bird".
14. He's the best human I know. Seriously. The VERY BEST HUMAN EVER.
15. He made me my farm table, then helped me find a house that it would fit in when we moved.
16. He cries with me.
17. He holds my hand.
18. He dates me.
19. He writes me love letters.
20. He is the best dad around, and teaches me how to parent well.
21. He is interested in the things I enjoy.
22. He is my #1 fan in everything.
23. He tells me I don't look like a hooker when I'm wondering if my outfit is ok.
24. He sends me texts throughout the day just to tell me he's thinking about me.
25. He takes care of himself physically so that we can live a long life together.
26. He's all mine, every day of every year. And it just keeps getting better.


Love you, Jeff. Here's to the rest of our years together! I will always choose you.

Thoughts on Holy Week...

We are in the midst of Holy Week, the most significant week ever for those of us who profess to follow Jesus. I’ve been a follower of Jesus for 28 years now, and I have been in church my entire life, so suffice it to say that I’ve had a lot of Holy Week teaching in my years. But if I’m brutally honest, a lot of it has just skimmed the surface of my heart. Sure, I know all the right things to say. I know that the week signifies when Jesus entered Jerusalem riding a donkey just as the prophecies foretold. I know that he cleared the temple when he found money changers cheating people. I know that Jesus went to the Mount of Olives. I know Judas Iscariot  made negotiations to betray Jesus. I know about the Last Supper with his disciples and how he washed the feet of those men that night. I know how Jesus went to the Garden of Gethsemane to pray, and it was there that Judas betrayed him with a kiss. I know Jesus was taken to Caiaphas, the High Priest, where the Pharisees began to make their case against him. I know that he was eventually sentenced to death on the cross- a horrific and torturous death. I know about the nails and the crown of thorns. I know how he breathed his last breath, then was buried in a borrowed tomb, and three days later arose from the dead just as He proclaimed he would. 

Chances are, you’ve heard the story as well. And that’s precisely the problem.

We still think of it as just a story. We treat it as a made-up story with tragedy and a fairy tale ending, and we miss out on the heart of it. 

I’m experiencing Holy Week differently this year. I’m trying to sit with the reality of what happened during this week all those years ago and how it’s still so real and beautiful and transforming today. I’m trying to grasp the GRACE of Holy Week. Too often, we miss this part. We are too busy trading the Cross for Easter baskets full of eggs and candy, and trading the crown of thorns for frilly dresses and bonnets. 

Please don’t hear me say that I’m a hater of Easter traditions. If that’s all you hear from this writing, you’ve missed my point entirely. I’m just saying that I’ve been guilty in the past of focusing on the outward and man-made traditions of Easter that I miss the holiness. I don’t want to be guilty of allowing a bunny or dresses or baskets or honey-baked ham or “Up From the Grave He Arose” be what is worshipped instead of a Savior who gave himself up out of obedience to the Father for the atonement of sin once and for all. 

When I think of Easter, I think of healing. Isaiah 53:5 tells us that “by his stripes we are healed”. It’s true. The work is already done; the healing is ours for the taking. It seems too simple, doesn’t it? I get that. But let me tell you this: I have experienced His healing- physically, spiritually and emotionally. I KNOW it’s real. My life is a living testimony of the healing power of Jesus. And Easter is what made it possible. When Jesus died on that cross, it was because he was being obedient to his father to carry the sin of the world on himself. He who knew no sin bore ours. But if the story ended there, that’s not Easter. You see, Jesus defeated death when three days after he was crucified, he rose again to life. No other god of any religion can say they worship a living God. The same power that resurrected Jesus from the tomb can resurrect a marriage that is dead, a relationship that has lost its life, an addiction that is killing you slowly, a mind that tells you that you’ll never be ok. You have healing, and I have healing, because Jesus is alive. 

But Easter also makes me think of redemption. Sometimes life hands us things we’d rather not hold. Sometimes we find ourselves facing situations that seem daunting, impossible even. And there are days when we feel the air has been sucked out of the room, and we are just struggling to survive. And it’s in those times when the redemptive power of Easter is alive. Just as the resurrected body of Jesus was restored to fullness, we are too. When we surrender to him, all the broken pieces of our hearts and lives are redeemed. We find purpose in our pain, ministry in our messy-ness, testimonies that point to the power of a loving God who restores. We find that our scars tell a story of his power, emphasized in our weakness. 

Friends, Easter is real. And it’s not a bunny or painted eggs or pastel dresses and pictures in front of the freshly planted flower beds. It’s a bloody Savior, broken body on display for a crowd who hurled insults at him. It’s a council of Religious leaders that preferred to kill an innocent man than admit they were wrong about their teachings and religious practices. It’s a mother watching her son die in agony. It’s the Messiah, feeling the weight of humanity’s sin and feeling separated from His Father for the first time ever. It’s darkness, death and destruction.

But it’s also light bursting forth from the tomb when death was defeated forever. It’s victory when Jesus said, “Father, forgive them for they know not what they do”. It’s beauty of obedience even to death. It’s LIFE arising from death. It’s PURPOSE. It’s HOPE. It’s GRACE. It’s HOLINESS. 

And it’s ours.

May the reality of Easter envelop your heart this week. If you don’t know this Savior Jesus, I’d love to introduce you.