About Joy

I am a writer, photog, mother of 3, wife to the love of my life and a seeker of Christ. I talk about this journey as a recovering narcissistic, self loathing, hypocrite. The goal is to start a conversation through either words or moments captured through the lens. Most importantly, it has to be authentic. Otherwise, what's the point?

"Mommy, What does dan-it mean?"

Posted on October 3, 2011 by Joy

(This post was written on Sunday night.)

WARNING: I will be disclosing certain reasons why I am flawed as a mother. If you are a perfect mom who never struggles with the question, “Lord, why do you trust me so much when I am clearly inept?” You can skip this post.

Some days, I consider myself a pretty decent mom.
On days like today…not so much.

Our car is in the shop after an unfortunate mishap with an 18 wheeler’s retread from his tire. We ran over it as it came barreling down the road. Long story short, the car had to be towed and will be at the body shop for a week or so.

Today, I was with the boys all day while Chris was at work.
I felt trapped. Without a car to take me anywhere, things felt even harder than they were.

So when I was cleaning up for the 5th time this morning and one of the boys spilled a full cup of juice on the floor, I said a word that I shouldn’t have said. When my youngest asked me what the word meant, I was quickly convicted while explaining that “Mommy shouldn’t have said that word. I’m sorry.”

There are days when I am the kind of mother who practices patience, even when my child has repeatedly screamed, “MAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHMMMMMMEEEEEEEE” at a decibel that only dogs should be able to hear.

There are days when I am not.

There are days when I am a mother to be admired.

There are days when I am not.

There are days when I counsel other mothers, younger than I, in the trenches with the 24/7 care it takes for newborns and toddlers. Assuring them that this time is short. Before you know it, these precious little needy humans turn into self sufficient geniuses, who suddenly, at the age of 5 years know more than I have learned in my 35 years.

I use phrases like, “Hang in there” and “Take some time for yourself”. And while these things are true, I should add that some days are going to be tough. And by tough I mean, every minute, our beautiful offspring will push a boundary, test a limit, express everything in a whine and remain under our feet for 12 hours of the day. They will push us to the point of wanting to throw down the dish towel while exclaiming, “I QUIT!!!” and walking out the door.

If you have never felt this way, please, I beg you, share your secret.

Because I have. More than I like to admit.

I want to be like the woman in Proverbs 31:10-31
…Her children arise and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praises her: “Many women do noble things, but you surpass them all.”

I feel confident that on days like today, my children would replace the word blessed with possessed.

This is not something I am remotely proud of. In fact, I would rather not voice this part of myself at all. BUT, if there is one of you out there reading this who is discouraged by all of the “June Cleaver’s” around you, this is for you.

When I have days like this that I have clearly “messed up”, I try to remember that the most important thing I can do is say these 2 words, “I’m sorry” or these 3 words, “Mommy was wrong” followed by these 3 words, “Please forgive me”.

I attended a seminar last week that talked about the different health factors that certain things have on a woman’s heart and on a man’s.

Not surprising, the man needs to have sex to contribute to a healthy heart. (No offense guys!) It’s great that you’re not as complicated as we, because were you, we would be in quite the predicament.

Here’s the 411 ladies, mamas, sisters, daughters, wives, aunts, grandmothers, cousins, BFF’s… do you know what is detrimental to a woman’s heart health?

No, it’s not missing the sale on your favorite designer shoes (although that is a calamity).

Seriously, it’s NOT EXPRESSING HOW WE FEEL!

It’s stuffing and stuffing until it can no longer be contained. We MUST purge the thoughts that we have, bad and good.

I wish we understood that better, because for some unfortunate souls, they eventually take it out on their defenseless children.

When asked “Why?” they retort with comments like, “I didn’t know what I was doing?!” “I don’t know what happened?!” “I just couldn’t do it anymore!”

I am not, in any way, defending anyone who hurts children. It is never okay to hurt a child for any reason!

Hear me, as women, especially mothers, we must have an outlet for our thoughts and feelings. It actually damages our heart not to! It takes years off our life.

This goes back to what I wrote in “I Need a Hero” We simply MUST have at least one godly woman who we can turn to for guidance.

This is obviously a touchy subject, but one that I think we should allow each other to talk openly about with trusted friends.

Being a mother is by far the most difficult job in the world.
Yes, it is also the most rewarding.

Susan Merrill has two great posts (and many more, I’m sure) on her blog that speak to this.

In “3 Secrets to Keep Motherhood in Perspective”
She lists these 3 things…

Motherhood is not for the weak at heart
Motherhood is as much about you as it is about your child.
Motherhood is a marathon not a sprint.

My form of organization is unorganized.
She explains what she means by each. I would encourage you to read it when you have a minute.

In her post “10 Confessions Of An Imperfect Mom” Susan lists the following things about herself…

My form of organization is unorganized.
My temper is rather even until I lose it.
I never have the laundry done on time because somehow I lose it.
I can’t even remember what my kids say I always forget.
I get lost in my laptop.
I have forgotten a child, more than once.
I don’t do what I want (like be on time) and I do do what I don’t want (like scream).
I overcommit, overthink, and overspend.
I care too much about grades (a.k.a. the grade nazi according to my kids).
I am undisciplined about discipline.

(I could add a hundred more to her 10)

We women, need to recognize the signs in each other that everything is not okay. And we need to provide a safe place to discuss these things. No matter how crazy they sound to us, they can be quickly diffused by bringing them into the light.

I would love to hear your thoughts on this. Bad or good. Agree or disagree. This is something that needs to be talked about. Yes?

Girl of little faith…Why do you doubt?

Posted on September 30, 2011 by Joy

We forget how fragile life is. How what we once thought was forever is stripped away without warning.

I received an email from a friend who was just told that she has cancer. And not the “okay” kind of cancer that is easily treated, the “oh my god help me” kind of cancer that stops you in your tracks and makes you feel as if you were just thrown onto a spinning merry-go-round with the expectation of maintaining balance.

Disease does not discriminate. It will move in and inhabit the body of a child, a grandparent, or even a young mother. Not even the womb is exempt.

Before we know it, the future that we had planned has been cut short and we are attempting to re-prioritize while the numbness wears off and the realization of our own mortality or that of the one we love, sets in.

Once we have swallowed the news, the questions come flooding in…How do we tell our children, they are so young…how do we walk through this and still meet the demands of everyday life? Is there really a Heaven? What if this is all there is?

And then we’re supposed to sit in it, the feelings I mean. The feelings that change constantly and keep us on the roller coaster of the unknown.

Yes, I know, ideally we would trust that this is God’s will and that it’s all part of a master plan and accept what is happening.

But that’s not in our nature, is it?

Our nature says, “Where is God now?”

My nature has evolved to asking, “Where is God in this?” (Is that any better? I don’t know?!)

We are born with the instinct to survive… to fight death with everything we have. We seek treatments and experts who will tell us something…anything… that we want/need to hear. Our nature is to search the world in an effort to find one shred of hope. It’s to protect our unborn baby…our child…our spouse….our parent. It’s to exhaust all of our resources until there is nothing left to go to.

It is at these times we find that the only thing left is God. Romans 8:18-30

For me, being a seeker of Christ, I believe that the hope is right here, inside of me.

Do I always express that faith when put to the test? Absolutely not! Would I like to say that I do? Yes!

Would I like to say that when stating, “God is in control and even though we are fearful and weak, He is strong and trustworthy.” that I wholeheartedly believe that? Yes! I would!

The truth is, deep down, I know that to be true. I know that God’s word, His promises, His faithfulness, His mercy are mine for the taking and they are new every morning. They’re legit. They are solid. I have tangible evidence of that when I look in the mirror.
I am a living, breathing testament to these truths. Romans 6:23

So why do I so quickly ask myself, “What possibly could be the reason for this?!” Show me Father. Please show me so that I will know why my friend who is a mother to two young children has a deadly form of cancer. Please reveal the reason behind our precious friends who have two healthy, beautiful children finding out with their third that if she makes it full term, she will not live long past her birth and the care involved is extensive and tedious. God, please…please…give me some answers.

In these times, if I will ever be quiet enough to listen, this stillness comes over me and I am reassured that God wants what’s best for my life and the lives of those who I love Jeremiah 29:11

If I truly believe this than Philippians 1:21 is a code for me to live by.

God is God and I am not. And some answers simply are not mine to know.

What’s the Big Deal

Posted on September 27, 2011 by Joy

I can remember being at a conference or somewhere that my dad was speaking and during the worship music that the band was playing people were lifting their hands, swaying back and forth and closing their eyes…it was bizarre!

Yet, at the same time I felt the urge to lift my hands just to see what it felt like. I wouldn’t dare! I was not raised in a church where people did this sort of thing. Why would they?! We were dignified, singing only hymns from a hymnal led by a choir dressed in polyester robes to their ankles with big satin collars, accompanied by an organist.

No sir! We were not led into worship with the most high God by some hoodlum, wearing ripped jeans with holes in his ears and tattoo’s down his arms, who claimed to be saved.

At least that’s not what I was taught. This was before I took hold of the truth that things we are taught growing up are not always for our betterment. Some beliefs stem from insecurities passed down from generations, prejudices, years of attempting to follow rules instead of pursue a relationship. They are fine for remaining stagnant and unaware that there is anyone in this world who might have it worse than I.

At times ignorance is bliss, because once you see it, the poverty, the single mother of 4, the rape victim in the ER, the natural disasters that happen all around us and the children being sold to the most vile of people whose intentions are unimaginable (just to name a few), once you see it with your own eyes, you have to do something or the guilt sets in. And no one likes to feel like they are not doing enough… or even worse, not doing anything…

So why leave the bubble of neutrality and meaningless messages from a communicator who stands high in a pulpit, adorned in black robes, speaking hollow words that are difficult to understand and will soon be forgotten even if they did contain depth. One who is incapable of reaching people because of his lack of ability to relate to those of us who have done things that he would deem unforgivable.

Maybe I’m being unfair…

There is a song by Josh Wilson called I Refuse. The lyrics speak to this very thing.

Back to the subject at hand that started my rant…

I remember the first time I lifted my hands as high as they could go towards the Heavens. It was not even 3 years ago. I was in the shower and as the water hit my face and I could feel the muscles in my arms stretching and my spine straightening, I closed my eyes. I felt a oneness and also a homesickness of sorts…all at the same time. It was just God and me. It felt as if there was no barrier. Not even clothes!

I had never felt such closeness with the Father.

It would be some time before I raised my hands to the Heavens in public. It was just too far out of my comfort zone. Or shall I say it ventured too far outside the realm of my ego.

Ego is a dangerous and tricky thing. If I am living in ego, I am Edging God Out. (That’s not a Joy original. In fact most of us who have been through any kind of 12 step program have heard this before.)

My pride (one of many words derived from ego) would not allow me to open my palms or lift my hands to the maker of heaven and earth. For years I sat in an uncomfortable state when I heard a song that spoke my story. The story I was living at that moment. It was as if gravity itself were keeping me from lifting my hands.

There was a time when I felt that I was denying God by not opening my hands when I felt moved to do so.

I would learn later that the reason my ego kept me imprisoned was because the day I lifted my hands to the sky while singing a worship song, I felt a freedom that I had never known. Complete surrender.

For once in my life, I didn’t care what people around me were thinking. And the truth is, they probably weren’t! I opened my palms and spread my fingers as wide as they could go, while being led into worship by someone wearing jeans with holes in his ears and tattoos down his arms. And I promise you this, God poured out blessings in the form of a better understanding of circumstances, removal of fear, empathy for the lost, love for those hurting, I could go on and on…I closed my eyes and lifted my head to the giver of life. Though I was in a building with a roof, it felt like gold dust was raining down onto my face, filling up my hands and spilling over. No longer would I look down in shame.

This song by Tenth Avenue North – You are More says it better than I ever could.

Here are a few of the lyrics…

You are more than the choices that you’ve made,
You are more than the sum of your past mistakes,
You are more than the problems you create,
You’ve been remade.

‘Cause this is not about what you’ve done,
But what’s been done for you.
This is not about where you’ve been,
But where your brokenness brings you to

You are more than the choices that you’ve made,
You are more than the sum of your past mistakes,
You are more than the problems you create,
You’ve been remade.

It sounds simple doesn’t it? Just open your hands. For me, it is accepting and acknowledging daily that I am not in control and that nothing I am clinging to in my clinched fist could ever compare to what the Heavens want to pour out. If only I will open my hands…

My challenge for you… go to a quiet place, close your eyes and open your hands. Be still… for even 30 seconds. God will meet you there.

Even a Girl Like Me

Posted on September 24, 2011 by Joy

JCP-9884 I am amazed daily by the truth that God can and will use a girl like me…scarred and wretched. But on the mend.

I grew up a P.K. You know…Preacher’s Kid.
I was pretty darn “holy” and “good” until around age 13. With boys, hormones and the fact that I was filling out my bra, well, things changed.

I began to dream of living somewhere other than my small town. No one ever left that town! They grew up and worked for their dad. They all played the same part and I wanted to break away. I didn’t know exactly what that looked like, but it wasn’t to stay there and be a naive trophy wife! (No offense to arm candy. It just wasn’t for me)

So I set out on this quest to really “live”. You could not have prepared me for what I would encounter on this journey. I would not have believed you if you had told me the compromises I would make and lack of self-respect I would wear.

Yeah, I know you want all the gory details, but you’re going to have to settle for the abbreviated version and a decade jump forward.

After surviving a beating from the world. You know, that place where I wanted to “live” so much?! I had limited choices as to where to go next. So I finally surrendered.

I know, I know, surrender sounds like giving up. For me, it was not until I surrendered that I found true freedom.

I had grown up hearing about God. Heck, I’d been hearing about Him since the womb! The big Being in the sky, passed the clouds, waiting for us at church on Sunday? “Who is this God and why did I need to pursue a relationship with Him?!”

Little did I know, He was silently pursuing me.

At age 25, after getting knocked up, beat up, locked up (not necessarily in that order), abusing my body and mind through choices that I never thought I would make, getting divorced and growing sick of hearing myself ask, “Why am I even here?!”, I had to find a God that I could relate too.

You know, One who didn’t care if I was used and broken. One who would say, “In Me, you find rest…safety…eternal security.” I needed to be redeemed.

Did He even exist?

I am still seeking, but He shows me everyday, in tangible ways that He does in fact exist. He more than exist. He is working and moving in ways that completely blow my mind.

God willing, on October 19th, I will celebrate 9 years of sobriety. Not just from alcohol, but from many other substances and ism’s that I used to numb the pain.

When the substances, food, shopping, whatever, stopped working and the love of my life sat me down and encouraged me (through a pretty harsh reality check) to admit to myself that I was a hot mess and he was not going to join the “pity city” that I was trying to create, things began to change (slowly).

So, here I am, just turned 35, which I considered geezer age just a few years ago. And the most miraculous things have happened. The craziest of which, being that instead of waiting for a door to open, God has knocked down a wall.He is using my story of shame, in ways that I never thought possible.
I am doing workshops, radio interviews and talking to women from all backgrounds of life. I was the girl who hated other women! Now, I support them in their struggle. WHAT?! Only God.

Only a God who has been in the trenches with me… the bars and back alleys (don’t read into that) and bathroom floor at 4 a.m. and then turned me into a mother of 3, wife to a stud and a productive member of society. Only that kind of God could use a girl like me to bring others back to Him.

People want real…they want scarred…they want hope…even from a girl like me.

I Need a Hero

Posted on September 24, 2011 by Joy

DISCLAIMER: I am not, nor do I pretend to be a professional counselor, therapist, psychic, expert on marriage or know it all about anything. I did not attend school for 8 years and gain a prestigious title that would earn me lot’s of money. All I have is experience. A degree in life. I set out on a journey early in my life and though the scenery, by God’s grace, has changed, I am still a seeker of truth… which in my opinion, ultimately leads to Christ.

In recent conversations with friends who are girls the topic always (and by always, I mean 95% of the time) seems to steer towards relationships.

Some are about friendships but most surround a spouse or significant other.

If there are any guys reading this, there is something you should know… we talk about things other than shoes and shopping, make-up and the latest church gossip.

We talk about sex. The women who have experienced it, those who haven’t and wonder what it will be like some day, those who know it in no other context than abuse, those who wonder if they will ever forgive themselves for past regrets when they freely gave themselves away to anyone who would give them the least bit of attention and those who can’t see the act itself as anything other than dirty due to a parent who was ill equipped to handle “the talk”.

There, I said it.

We don’t degrade anyone or disrespect our husbands in the process. Some of you may be unaware that for some of us, that particular kind of intimacy with you is just as important to us as it is to you.

Okay, back to the girls.

Here is what I wish for you…my hope…my prayer…that you have a friend (who is another female). One who is actively walking with the Lord. (I didn’t say perfect. I said actively walking.) A female who you are able to confide in and ask questions that you have only thought in your mind. Those burning questions that maybe you were taught are completely unladylike to ask.

If they are burning a hole in your mind, clearly they need to be asked. But not to just anyone. Be careful who you trust with your heart.

This is why I BEG you, if you do not have wise counsel in your life, seek it out. Pursue it like you would a relationship with the man of your dreams, because here is what I know, it could be the very thing that saves you from a heart that feels broken beyond repair and regrets that haunt you for the rest of your life.

KEEPIN’ IT REAL MOMENT: I have not always liked women. I grew up a tomboy and liked to play sports. All of my friends were boys except for one, who has been with me since we were toddlers and still remains my closest female confidant. No one knows me better than she and my husband.

I had very few friends who were girls from about the 7th grade on. There are several reasons (in my opinion) for that. Few that need discussing right now. One being that boys were always easier to manipulate than girls. I didn’t like being called out on my b.s. by another girl. I didn’t trust ‘em. Primarily because I was not to be trusted.

Some of you reading this know what I’m talking about. You’ve lived it.

Fast forward to today. I do not know what I would do without my girlfriends. They walk beside me through some of the most confusing, difficult things, especially those rooted in emotion. They speak truth to me. And know I am receptive because, just as they are, I too am trustworthy.

When you go from being the girl who steals everyone’s boyfriend to trying to build relationships with women, it takes time. Sometimes you have to give time, well, time.

Just this morning I was having coffee with a couple of women who I not only call friend, but whose opinions and views I care about. Being that they did not ask to be dragged into my blog post, they shall remain nameless. Just know that they are some stellar chicks who have a good head on their shoulders!

As we talked about different scenarios of relationships (mostly marriages) and grew visibly more and more grateful for our own, we came to the topic of affairs.

I know, touchy subject. But one that should be talked about openly with godly women who will speak truth.

The best time, in my opinion, to discuss preventing an affair is before it happens.

Why don’t we feel like we can talk about things like this?! Why do we wait until it’s too late?! What are we afraid will happen when we address the fact that on average most couples are living in a sexless marriage with little to no communication that pretty much sucks in every area. Why don’t we, together, come up with a battle plan to combat the stereotypes?!

I don’t know the answer. Here is what I do know. (And please hear me out. You’ve read this far, might as well keep reading). A recent study shows that 92% of men who have cheated say that it wasn’t primarily about the sex. The majority say it was specifically a sense of feeling under appreciated or devalued. (No rolling of the eyes, ladies!)

Men are little boys with long legs. They are sensitive (especially when it comes to their self-esteem which encompasses how well they are providing, protecting, succeeding and loving.)

Somehow, somewhere, we women got it in our heads that our men are unshakeable. That nothing should affect them, especially the way it does us.

That simply isn’t so.

Our man wants to be our hero. OUR HERO! Remember that song by Bonnie Tyler – I Need a Hero? For some of us this song evokes memories of leg warmers, white reebok high tops and running in place while awaiting the next move from an aerobics instructor with a sweat band holding back her bad perm.

ANYWAY, back on track…

When my man walks through the door, in from the world and all of it’s toxic arrows, the first thing he should be able to do is shed his armor.

I don’t always allow him to do that. I don’t always tell him what an amazing provider he is and how strong and courageous he is to fight the daily battles that I could never withstand. I’m not always his biggest cheerleader and I don’t always let him know that there is no one to me like him.

I want to. I do.

MY will gets in the way.
MY clouded perception of who does what and who should do more or less, creeps up at times.
MY skewed sense of self worth puts up a wall that isn’t always easily torn down and instead of voicing my insecurity, I lash out.
MY self centeredness kicks in, more than I would like to admit and within moments, my priorities can center solely around my wants.

Ugly picture, yes?
This is not something I’m proud of.

Here is the solution. And I know this, because I have failed at so many other ways of trying.

When I wake up in the morning, I connect with my Heavenly Father.
I ask that He please help me keep that connection open ALL day.
At night, I check back in and review my day.

Be careful what you pray for. When asked with a willing heart, God goes to work.

“Lord, I want to be a wife like no other for Chris.
There is no one in this world to me, like him.

I want him to sense that there are still times when he looks at me and my stomach flutters.

Even after more than 18 years since first we met, I still remember the way the world seemed to shift when I saw him. And even now, when looking at him across a room, all of the questions about life and uncertainties seem to just melt away. He is home to me…on this earth.

It is not a building or any kind of structure. It is this man who I adore.
Please Father, guide my actions in a way that shows him my faithfulness and commitment to him alone. Please do not ever let me cause him to doubt that he alone holds my heart and

no one else is capable of stealing it from him.
Let me be the lover of his soul. May we bathe in the beauty that our marriage bed is sacred.

It is blessed by you and to dishonor that would be to dishonor you.
Mold me into the kind of wife that your word speaks of in Proverbs 31:10-31.

Please show me when I am walking in darkness or being deceived by anyone or anything,

including myself.
It is in Jesus’ name that I ask these things, with the faith that they will come to pass. Amen”

It is my belief that when I cry out to God in this way, satan has no ground on which to stand. He is not able to gain a stronghold, because he is bound by the King of Kings. However, I never lose sight of the truth that what satan wants more than anything is to destroy our family’s.

It leads me back to what I said earlier…please find a group of women or a woman, who will support you on your journey. It has made all of the difference for me.

Remain open to changing things up where needed to avoid a rut in that same old routine. Make it a priority to encourage your partner in front of others in the coming week. Sincere public recognition goes a long way.

Encourage your man to look through your eyes so that he can marvel at what a masterpiece he is. Just using those words with him will make him feel valued.

Some of you are thinking, “That’s great and all, but what’s he gonna do for me?!”

To that I say, “First, start from within yourself. You will be amazed at how everything around you starts to evolve.”

Trust me…

This Man

Posted on September 17, 2011 by Joy

Okay, okay, I get it. You want the story. The Chris and Joy “Happily Ever After” story.

An entire book could be written on this subject alone… How we met when I was just 16 and he was 18 and though it would be years before we would consummate what had only grown stronger since that first meeting… our lives… from that day… would never be the same.

And those of you who know me well are right, I cannot get much further into this blog world without talking about the man who stormed the gates of hell, picked me up and carried me home.

More times than not, when I don’t do something, it’s rooted in the fear of failure.

In this case, it’s the fear that I can not do our story justice through my menial writing ability. That I do not have the words to paint an accurate picture of the way that God used this man to change the course of my life. That because of him, I have been redeemed. And because of his faithfulness and pursuit of my heart, I have a better grasp of Christ’s love.

The man that I see when I look at him is one who has sacrificed much and fought tirelessly. This strong and beautiful man has saved me from myself more times than I probably even know. He saw promise in the brokenness. He was able to see what I could not see and he has spent the last decade helping me uncover and bring into the light who I really am.

Christopher is the first man, the first human being that has ever had a front row seat to my heart and soul. It’s a scary thing. He, however, sifted through the lies of darkness, broke down the walls of self loathing and established residence. It was no easy task. His persistence paid off and after, not months, but years of diligently championing my heart, I began to see what he saw. Possibilities from within.

There is a song called Bless the Broken Road.
The first time I heard it while driving, I had to pull over as the tears kept flowing, stinging my eyes and blurring my vision.

Here is the part that most resonates with me…

I think about the years I spent just passing through
I’d like to have the time I lost and give it back to you
But you just smile and take my hand
You’ve been there you understand
It’s all part of a grander plan that is coming true

Every long lost dream led me to where you are
Others who broke my heart they were like Northern stars
Pointing me on my way into your loving arms
This much I know is true
That God blessed the broken road
That led me straight to you

Now I’m just rolling home
Into my lover’s arms
This much I know is true
That God blessed the broken road
That led me straight to you

Though there is so much more to the story…so many details and tangible evidence of forgiveness, struggle, passion, pain and beauty… the truth that I know, that I will always know, is this…

God created me. And while forming and shaping my being, He already had Christopher in mind. He then made him to fit me exactly. Or maybe vice versa…either way, we are like puzzle pieces… Each completes the whole. We were created with the other in mind and God’s hand is on us still. Of this, I am sure.

A Stranger in my Own Skin

Posted on September 15, 2011 by Joy

Have you ever felt restless…almost like you’re allergic to your skin?

If you have, you know what I’m talking about and you probably just became a little uncomfortable recalling that feeling. If you haven’t, try to imagine thousands of ants crawling on you… beneath your skin.

I had all sorts of “isms” that I used for years to cope with the feelings and happenings that I wasn’t sure how to walk through or even sit in, for that matter. They worked really well…until they didn’t anymore.

So here I am, almost 9 years later and have learned to meet life on life’s terms…mostly.
My dad called the other day and just like every time he calls, when I answered (thanks to caller ID), “Hey dad.” He responded with, “Hey, My Joy! How are you?”

My reply, “Do you want the honest ‘how much time do you have, cause this is gonna take a while’ answer or the generic, ‘I’m fine, how are you?’ to avoid discussing what’s really going on answer?”
To which he replied, “Let’s try the honest answer.”

“I’m restless! Like, the down in my soul kind of restless. Not the, I’m bored, I need a change of scenery restless. Do you know what I mean?!”

“Yes!” he said. “I know exactly what you mean!”

I proceeded to tell him about the past few days and that after the boys had left for soccer that day, I sat down on the hardwood floor, leaned my back against the wall and just acknowledged the way the floor felt beneath me and the wall behind me. It was solid and definite. There was no argument about it’s existence. Anyone could see that it was there.

There are times when nothing in this life gives that assurance.

As I glanced up through the windows of our front door, it took me back to December 2007. I was 7 months pregnant with our youngest and our 1 year old was in respiratory distress at Children’s Hospital. After the third day in the hospital, I came home to take a shower in my own bathroom and attempt to rest. After walking through the door that chilly December day, I collapsed in a pile in this same spot, looked out through the windows of this same door, at a grey winter sky, and wept.

When I say that I was weeping, I mean, it was so far beyond the ugly cry. It was with my entire body…shaking violently. I didn’t care that snot was mixing with tears and running into my mouth and down my face or that my cheek was pressed to the hard floor. All I could pray between sobs was, “Help me God. Please help me. I have no control over my child’s health…or this growing baby in my belly…or my daughter’s anxiety about pretty much everything. I’m so weary. You’re going to have to help me…please.”

This time, almost 4 years later, I closed my eyes and said, “Lord, I want to know you more than just better. I want to know you intimately. I want to seek you with perseverance and determination. I long for the continuous assurance of your presence. My spirit has a hunger like I have never known.”

My dad’s response was, “This is a really good thing.”

“WHAT?!”, I said. “How can this be good?! I feel like I’m going to implode! It feels as if my spirit cannot be contained any longer by this imperfect shell encasing it. I’m not even sure I know how to pray. Most of the time I either say the Lord’s Prayer or something along the lines of , ‘God, thank you. Thank you. Thank you for being so good to someone as undeserving as I. Amen.’”

SIDE NOTE: It really helps that my dad is a life coach. (a.k.a. An expert at not only talking people off the ledge, but giving them clear direction once they reach safe ground.)
I had not quite reached my ledge, but I was inching closer by the hour.

The summary of his advice to me was this…

The desire to seek spiritual nourishment is from God. It doesn’t have any negative connotations.

He put this longing in us from conception…a hole of sorts. Some people don’t recognize it or rather, they choose to fill it with other things. But it is never satisfied and seems to grow larger the longer it goes unfilled.

There is only one thing that can fill up that hole. (This is where you insert that perfectly timed answer. “I know, I know…God.) Of course that’s true, but there is so much more to God than the fact that He fills a void.

As a follower of Christ, the deeper we go, the feeling sometimes is, the less we know… the farther away the finish line looks. This is not a bad thing. We will never know everything there is to know about God until we get to heaven and maybe not even then!

Find a place to be quiet. Relish the silence. Even if it’s for 30 seconds and wait for God’s voice. You don’t have to say the perfectly scripted prayer. You don’t have to go down your checklist of sins or wants or anything else. Simply, be present and listen.

Henri Nouwen wrote, “The real “work” of prayer is to become silent and listen to the voice that says good things about me. To gently push aside and silence the many voices that question my goodness and to trust that I will hear the voice of blessing…that demands real effort.”

In the words of Mother Teresa, “Before you speak, it is necessary for you to listen, for God speaks in the silence of the heart. Give yourself fully to God. He will use you to accomplish great things on the condition that you believe much more in His love than in your own weakness.”

Here’s the deal…I have 3 very active children, a husband who I adore, a job, along with a multitude of other things that justify me never taking the time to find a quiet place and listen for the voice that completes me. It’s a choice.

Today, I choose to take the time out needed, however much life allows, close my eyes, unclinch my fists and open my palms to the heavens (the explanation for that is another post all together) and bask in the silence while just being in His presence.

Is it difficult for you to be still, much less quiet?
No matter what stage of life you’re in, we will always have restless times that

prayerfully will only last moments instead of hours or days.

How do you combat those times of restlessness in your own skin?