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Dear Younger Me

Don't Worry!

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I am a worry wort.  I come from a long line of many faithful worriers.  It’s true.  It used to be I could worry myself sick – about my kids, their safety, about my parents, their health, my family and their salvation, my marriage, my job, our country….and the list goes on and on.

It’s an exhausting way to live.  When worry invades, I sin, because I leave God completely out of the equation.  My weary heart cries out, God, I know you have always taken care of me.  I know you have always provided for me but I really don’t trust you to do it again. 

My Grandpa, we called him Papa, was an exception.  Papa was not a worrier, he was calm, steady, content and reassuring.   He was an incredible man; intelligent, kind, unassuming and above all purposeful with his words and actions.  A man of quiet, consistent, powerful faith.

I wish I were more like him.  Worry has never been any friend of mine.  High blood pressure, heart pounding headaches, stomach aches, anxiety.  Worry, worry, worry.  Worry tears and gnaws at my insides, allowing my mind to dwell and agonize on problems or even worse “potential” problems.  Problems that most likely will never even come to pass.

God tells us not to worry.  He tells us to stop worrying, stop trying to figure Him out, stop planning and playing God.  But I still worry and analyze every situation, each possible outcome.

God says “look at the birds “and “see how I provide and care for them”.  In my attempt to calm my worry, I reason, if He cares for the birds…He will care for me.

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Fight Your Fear

Dear Younger Me

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I quit my job.  It’s not as crazy as it sounds.  Well, maybe it is.  Especially considering when I quit, no other offers existed.  Raising three beautiful daughters, I need a job, but the one I had just wasn’t right.  Struggling with the decision, I ask God, “Should quit my job?” All I heard was crickets.

But I knew in my heart, it was time to move on.  Talk about being terrified.  And yet for some reason, I wasn’t.  Not this time.

Do not fear is written over 400 times in the bible.  God must have known we would struggle with it since He wrote it so many times.  And usually, His “Do not fear” is followed by, “because I am with you.”

Something powerful happens when we know someone is “with us”.  My fear takes a back seat when I realize someone is on my side.   

I grew up learning to depend on myself, not on others and not on God.  The type A, over achiever, planner in me throws a low blow, You are irresponsible for quitting a job when you have nothing else.  And yet I know God wants me to depend on Him, to take the risk, He is with me.  Honoring Him is more important than my comfort so I step up to the challenge to Trust.

Out of nowhere and when I least expect it, fear trips me up and sucker punches me square in the jaw.  Jab…jab…cross, hook.  I haven’t written on this blog for more than three weeks because I am afraid.  Why am I writing…I am not a writer?  Who is even reading this? It’s hard work and why does it even matter?

Much of my life has been dictated by Fear.  I consistently choose safe, sure and secure. But a few years ago, something more was calling and I started thinking, what if everything God wants for me is outside of my comfort zone.  What am I afraid of?  Who am I depending on?  I want to live outside of that box that I made for myself.

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Perfectly Imperfect

Dear Younger Me

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“Momma, what would you tell younger you?”

“A lot.”

“What would you change….?”

“Not one thing.  The choices I made, made me and made you.  You are my greatest blessing, treasure and gift.  To change any of my choices good or bad, right or wrong, would mean I would forgo my greatest gift, you.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

My oldest daughter, Shelby and I listen intently to the radio as we make our way down the familiar windy road that leads to home.   The last refrain of the song, Dear Younger Me, repeats it’s counsel to me.  “You are holy.  You are righteous. You are one of the redeemed.”

The simple yet profound song words penetrate my heart, if I knew then what I know now.  It was Shelby’s question to me but I was already deeply pondering my answer.

Her inquiry hung out in the air floating for only a few seconds, but it seemed like an eternity.  It never fails, the best conversations with my teenagers always somehow find their way to me in the car.

So many things to tell her, I roll it all around in my head, where do I even begin?

So I start with this one thing.

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How to Live “Outside the Box”

Climbing Kilimanjaro for the children of Africa

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It’s my first day in Uganda and I relax inside a safe house in Kampala.  The cheery bright blue house sits in stark contrast to it’s ten foot perimeter wall, shards of broken glass bottles line the top like soldiers standing at attention.  Seven year old, Justine sits criss cross applesauce in the middle of the floor and I can’t resist taking a million pictures of her.  Her tiny soft chocolate brown hand gripping mine; letting go only long enough for me to take yet another picture.  She is barefoot and her blue and white striped sundress is almost identical to the one my daughter, Ella, has at home.

In six short months, I will climb Kilimanjaro, with Justine as my inspiration.  Thirty mission driven adventurers will embark on the steepest trek of our lives to help 240 children in the most disadvantaged part of Kenya.  Our goal, to raise enough money to build six classrooms for Missions of Hope.

Kilimanjaro is the tallest mountain in Africa, over 19,000 feet.  Slow and steady, most of our trek will be a moderate climb, but the lack of oxygen and extreme temperatures make summiting “Kili” a unique challenge.

This isn’t my first adventure to Africa.  Two years ago, I flew twenty-one hours to Uganda with no plan, just an email challenge from Restore International, founded by Bob Goff, author of Love Does.  All of the book proceeds go to Restore to fight for freedom, human rights and improving education.

I can’t just up and go to Africa, don’t I need a twelve page plan and some huge purpose?  Apparently not, just a…”save the date”…”because maybe we have a trip in November”.   Maybe they have a trip in November?  Just over 30 days away?

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13 Life Changing Books

Change me, Lord!

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I grew up loving to read; getting lost in adventure, being transformed into a different place and time.  Climbing up in grandma’s four poster cannonball bed;  on one side, the stack of green and gold Book House books and Mama on the other.

We called my grandma, Mama – pronounced Mawmaw.  The sweet smell of honeysuckle drifted through her open bedroom window.  My favorite green and white gingham blankie, my thumb, Dr. Seuss, Mama and I snuggled together at the end of the evening.

Even now, forty years later, that smell carries me back to the middle of Mama’s big bed.  If I close my eyes, I can hear the familiar rustle of the wind through the forest of trees in her back yard and the soothing song of the train in the distance.

One of my favorite books is Shell Silverstein’s, “Where the Sidewalk Ends.”   I love the poem titled, Sick.  As a child, it brought me unbridled joy.  It’s about a precocious little girl who came up with every ailment she can think of to get out of going to school; however, she didn’t realized it was actually Saturday.

“What…what’s that you say?  You say today is Saturday?  Goodbye, I’m going out to play.”   I wanted to be that little girl who broke the rules; I memorized every word of that poem.

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How I Learned to Surrender

Palms up

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A three braided cord is not easily broken; the three of us walked, side by side, on that cool fall day.  Krista was pouring out her encouragement over me like the melody of a sweet song, gentle and loving; reminding me of Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego.

“Kristen, you don’t smell like smoke.”  She gently touched my right shoulder and looked at me square in the eyes.

That lump in my throat meant I was holding back tears.  I hate to cry.  I closed my eyes and let her words wash over me; covering all the shame.

“You are standing in the middle of the fiery furnace and you don’t even smell like smoke!”

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What’s an Orange Meatball?

Grabbing Hold of Impossible Dreams

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My four year old daughter and I lay lingering in the grass on a typical sticky humid Indiana summer afternoon.  Abandoning our active play, we rested flat on our backs, on my grandma’s quilt, making pictures in the clouds.

“What do you want to be when you grow up?  Where do you want to live?”

“On an Orange Meatball,” she grinned.

I’ll admit I wasn’t completely surprised by her answer.  Rachel loved orange.  Actually, she was obsessed with the color.  Her whole bedroom glowed creamsicle orange.  Orange walls, sheets, tennis shoes, dresses, coats; you name it.  It was orange. Daily, she would vehemently refuse to leave the house without having orange somewhere on her little body.

Living on an orange meatball was Rachel’s desire to live an impossible dream.  Her bold answer and childlike faith were challenging me, reminding me that anything and everything was possible.

Even living on an Orange Meatball.