Category Archive: Stories & Reflections

Who Am I?


Running late to a doctor’s appointment, I still had a folder’s worth of new patient information to fill out. A personality quirk of mine is that I enjoy filling out forms, so I was buzzing along at a breakneck pace, answering questions that had obvious answers, until I hit the one that always throws me for a loop. Occupation. My pen hovered above the form, hesitant at even knowing the correct answer. Birthdate, spouse, medication amounts. Those things all have concrete answers, but this one? What did I feel like saying today?

Photographer. No, I’ve reduced my photography work back to the very infrequent photoshoot and am now shooting for the sheer pleasure of it because…

Student. Is taking one class per semester a reason to fill in the blank with this word? I mean, it is a graduate program so it takes up a substantial part of my thinking power each day, but no, this doesn’t work…

Writer. Nah. Writing, too, is now simply for fun. Or for school. But it’s not a paid endeavor. Hmm, are there any paid endeavors for me right now? No, I actually pay people to teach me stuff.

Church volunteer. Probably the truest description of my days, but it feels awfully weird to put that on a form for the doctor’s office.


Those four little letters put together do not make me feel awesome about life if I am honest. When I am dropping off a 7th grader for a large portion of the day, dare I call myself a Stay At Home Mom? It brings to mind bon bons and The Price is Right. Being a woman of leisure who buys only the cutest in athletic clothing, but rarely uses it to work out. It’s perusing Target more times than makes sense, being a lady who lunches, taking luxurious naps after all that exhausting work of shopping and eating.

Uh, wait a minute. I do take naps. Scratch that last one. I also really enjoy lunches. And Target. Okay, whatever.

My fight with the SAHM term is a real one because I find it to be reductionistic. The only word I really love out of the four is “mom.” I’m not really a “stay at home” person and now that I think of it, I might be a very strong-willed adult because, DON’T TELL ME TO STAY AT HOME THANKYOUVERYMUCH. Still, I feel like it reduces me to something I am not, to less than what I aspire to, to less than what I actually do and produce each day. So I will take back the SAHM label and explain a few things about it.

Choosing to stay at home with Livia when she arrived was the greatest pleasure in terms of choices. Before she came, I dreamed of becoming a mother and I was dreamy about what my life might look like as a parent. I could not wait for the gift of a child, and I anticipated our adventures with excitement. It was absolutely what I wanted to do with my life and I was eager to quit working in order to be home full time. Though real life was a thousand times harder than my idealistic dreams, every time I considered going back into paid employment I reaffirmed my desire to parent Livia instead. I felt completely confident in my choice to feed her each meal of her day, to be the one to hold her hands while she learned to walk, to listen to her babbles and then words and then lengthy conversations. It wasn’t that my job was easy—no, the monotonous “at home” work of baby-rearing can be brain-numbing at times and then utterly exhausting at others. Rather, it’s what I wanted to do. I did not want for Livia to spend much time in a daycare; I wanted to be the adult around her for a majority of her waking hours.

The truth is this: I still want to be the adult around her for the majority of her waking hours.

For numerous reasons, it’s important that Livia is educated by other adults, but when she is not at school, I still want to be the person closest to her. I can feel the years squeezing away from us now. Everyone has said these teenage years fly by, and so far they are right. I feel hugely sentimental about my time with Livia—at least when I’m reflecting upon it while she’s away from me. It’s easy to feel the warmth of parenting when we’re in good moments—reading together, cuddling, talking talking talking, driving around town—and much harder when we rub up against personality differences or hard, stressful days. But still, I choose this kid. I’ve got one kid, and that one is enormously special to me.

So there it is. My pen hovers over the line, I curse the way “occupation” hitches me up, and then I quickly scribble “SAHM” and this time I think I threw in a “/student” to make me feel better about the direction of my life. Will anyone at the office even care who or what I am? Will their eyes rest on that line for more than 2 seconds before moving on to type insurance information into their desktop computer? I doubt it. My existential crisis means nothing to them, and so much to me.

For the Beauty of the Earth, For the Joy of Human Love


I stepped outside to my back deck this morning to soak up some sunshine and warm up from the air conditioning inside. It’s my private little oasis, a bit of a secret garden now as our Rose of Sharon bushes have lost their minds and grown into gargantuan shapes. They are blooming—fabulous purple trumpets open up into pink blooms that feed everything from bumblebees to hummingbirds to hummingbird moths. The roses—hibiscus really—cover one corner and a healthy green maple towers over me on the other side. In between are succulents and cherry tomatoes, sedum and a butterfly bush and a few pots of herbs. And in between those items are WEBS. It is spider season, my friends, and I was only slightly ashamed of letting my small dog take down the first few for me with his clueless waltz onto the deck. I left the webs alone that were situated in corners away from my seat in the sun. From my viewpoint I watched them in the spiders in their homes, now a bit more wobbly in the morning, and hoped they’d catch all manner of little critters. All around me buzzed this incredible world. My deck. My sweet oasis in the sun. Though I’ve just returned from a lodge with a fabulous long deck overlooking apple trees and a deeply shaded wood, I have this privilege of coming home to a vibrant scene all my own.

There’s not a thing around us that wasn’t made, fashioned, orchestrated by our Creator God. From the spider’s ability to build intricate webs to the unfolding of the tiny flowers that face the sun on my front steps, creation has been designed by God. He put all the scientific forces into play, and when I open my eyes and really look, I see how fabulous this world is. What’s even more stunning to me is that God made human beings and that he considers them more important than these little bits of flora and fauna I’ve been enjoying this morning.

When I look at your heavens, the work of your fingers,
the moon and the starts, which you have set in place,
what is man that you are mindful of him,
and the son of man that you care for him?
You have made them a little lower than the angels
and crowned them with glory and honor.
You made them rulers over the works of your hands;
you put everything under their feet:
all flocks and herds, and the animals of the wild,
the birds in the sky, and the fish in the sea,
all that swim the paths of the seas. 
Lord, our Lord,
how majestic is your name in all the earth!

– from Psalm 8

A group of teens from church just returned from a trip to Guatemala. And though I’m sure they were surrounded by impressive scenery on their travels, they left the comforts of home for people, for the LOVE of people. God honors this work and wants us pouring out our lives for people. If he esteemed us so much, crowning us with honor and glory simply because we’re made in His image, then surely we need to mimic that. We need to care. On Sunday I was so impressed by the hearts of the girls who shared their thoughts about the Guatemala trip. Sure, this was their mountaintop experience (something many of us growing up in the church experienced after going to youth camps) but it was a significant one because God taught them something through it all. He graciously showed him how much He loves his people and that it’s worth giving up your money, your time, your security to care for others.

Just as there are women, men, and children in Guatemala who reflect the character of God, they are also here in Lincoln, Nebraska. They are in your town. As wealthy as we are here in America, we cannot be blinded to the hungry, the hurting, the lonely, the sick. If you’re a Christian, then you are called to love your brothers and sisters wherever God has placed you. Never be lulled into thinking that everyone around you is fine, that everyone in your city is fed, clothed, and nourished. It’s our job to care for others. Let’s continue to see people as the glorious creatures they are—creatures made in the image of God and esteemed by Him. Continue working for their good and by doing so you serve God.

Job, Essential Oils, and the Art of Listening


I composed the rant in my head as I drove through the rain-splattered streets of Lincoln this morning. I AM OFFENDED, I wanted to cry. I am tired of being offended! And to let you all know just how strongly I feel on the topic, I was prepared to write a post explaining my position and drawing a line in the sand so you know precisely where I stand on this VERY crucial subject of… essential oils. Oh yes, I had a title and everything: The Luxury of Essential Oils.

But then more happened. The ache I’ve been feeling in my soul—the restlessness, the sadness, the weight and burden—was comforted as I listened to my very own words that I gave to a friend yesterday: Read Job.

I’ve read Job before. I have various themes—important ones—in mind and I cherish the book. But you see, the word of God is active. As stagnant as we know books to be, the Bible is not that book. It’s alive and powerful, it has the ability to cut right through your spirit and bring godly truths to mind. What was true when it was written so many years ago is still true now. You have to have spiritual eyes to see the spiritual truths, but if you are listening, the word of God will always speak. And it did so this morning.

I opened the pages of my Bible to Job and the scene was laid before me. You’ve got Job and his wife and all his children right there on earth and they all really enjoyed one another. They feasted and celebrated. Job’s sons and daughters and families liked to be together, to drink wine and spend time in each other’s presence. Life was good, the family was prosperous. Happy times. And then you’ve got another scene presented, only this one is in the heavenly realms. The curtains are pulled back on a picture we humans are simply not privy to and it kind of astounded me. (Sidenote: our daughter has had unsavory dreams lately, so we’ve been talking a lot about the spiritual realm over the last few days. Do ghosts exist as we think of them? I’m not sure, but I do know that angels and demons are at play all the time; this the bible is quite clear about. Followers of Jesus are on the winning side ultimately, but there is always a spiritual battle waging around us.) As it turns out, angels have meetings with God! WHAT. I don’t know if these are like your once-a-week staff meetings or if it’s more like a yearly gathering of the angelic army, but it happens. In Job we’re told it happens. And what’s even crazier is that Satan can just show up. So he does. He shows up and he talks with God in his conniving destructive way. But it’s important to know that Satan is bound by God, ruled by God’s authority, and it’s only by God’s permission that Satan can do any work whatsoever.

Satan is allowed to attack Job. And within a few verses Job is reduced to a mess of a man. He has lost all his wealth. His children have perished. His body is covered, head to toe, with sores and his soul is in utter despair.

He does not curse God.

Instead he worships. He is facedown in the dirt, reduced to mere shreds of the life he enjoyed moments before, and he blesses the name of the Lord.

The book continues and is an utterly fascinating tale of beloved friends with misguided words, Job’s grief and despair, and the God who sustains life from the first of days to the last. It’s a book worthy of your time.

So… essential oils? Well, I’ve lost my fire on the topic. But here is what I long for, friends. I long for the ability to dialogue about things we might feel strongly convicted about. As I walk into Job’s life and start seeing what God allowed to happen to him, and as I begin to read the kind-but-dead-wrong words of his friends, I think it’s important that we listen to one another’s stories. We need more of that, don’t we? When a sister is struggling, will you simply sit silently with her in the ashes for a week as Job’s friend’s did? When she says she’s in pain—emotional or physical—will you hold off from recommending an oil to cure her ills? Will you pause and simply hear what’s going on and will you pray for her?

Today we are so quick to judge. We’re so quick to want to proclaim ourselves as Remedies, Healers, and Wizards. We’re sure that we know the right candidate, the right health care options, and the right oils to make that pain go away. We’re fast to make assumptions. We know for sure that guy reached for the gun instead of holding his hands up. We’re the Judge and the Jury. We’re so wise that we’re the Legislative, Executive and Judicial branches wrapped into one.

Or maybe not.

Last night before bed I jabbed two needles into my thighs and administered a drug I hope will allow me to walk without too much discomfort. Will you sit with me in my story? Will you come watch and see what God is doing with me and will you encourage me to proclaim “blessed be the Lord”? I hope so. And I hope I will come sit with you as you swath yourself with lemon oil and perhaps touch your toes with a poultice made from healing herbs in your back garden. Let’s sit together. Let’s love one another and sit together and praise God with whatever strength we can muster.

19 Years


Jeremy and I walked into the party—together—and within minutes three women that had watched me grow up had asked me if we were dating. I don’t remember exactly what I told them, but I insisted that we weren’t. Earlier in the day our church’s College & Career group was painting part of the basement of Covenant Presbyterian Church, and Jeremy had overheard me talking about the gathering later that day. He kindly offered to go with me, you know, if I wanted him to. To be honest, the entire falling-in-love thing that was happening was so foreign to me that I didn’t know what to think of it all. But I wasn’t lying to my friends at church. We weren’t dating at that party! However I’m pretty sure we were by the end of the night.

I laugh now thinking of the events of Fall and Winter 1996. The main event being Jeremy. While I remember hints and flashes of my first semester at UNL, I very much remember that all my extracurricular activities involved leading youth group. Which meant lots and lots and lots of time alongside Mr. Tredway. Every week involved one plan night and one youth group night. And then there were all these events where Jeremy mysteriously ended up by my side. Fall Fest. Nursery Duty. Afternoons at the park. Little did I know that I had him at “hello” and that he was already smitten.

I think about the night of the party that we went to together-but-not-together. [Sidenote: 2017 Jeremy is singing in his office right now; it’s distracting me from 1996 Jeremy.] I remember going to a friend’s house where they were watching Fargo and we caught the ending. Jeremy then told me he was enamored with me as we were driving down Highway 2, and in the next breath told me he’d be going to Covenant Seminary and encouraged me to follow my interest of going to Covenant College. My brain was stuck on “enamored” and did that mean what I thought it meant? There was a conversation with my dad to lay out reassurances and intentions, the seven-year age gap between us being an issue to address. There was a 19th birthday party where Jeremy pretty much told my family he loved me, though really it was Mom’s Freudian slip that set up that perfect situation. There was hugging in the snow at the Lied Center and then months of making this fella wait to kiss me.

These memories are only the beginning. In the almost 22 years since we began to be a “we” there’s been miles of life lived. In the past few days we’ve been saying with disbelief, “Can you believe we’ve been married 19 years already?” It seems impossible in some moments and very possible in others. From the dreamy head-in-the-clouds feelings to the love we share today, it’s been a crazy road. We’ve survived our fiery first years of marriage, great temptations, and heartaches galore. We’ve witnessed sin and forgiveness on scales we couldn’t have imagined and the scars we bear have become testaments to a very big God whose grace and gentle care knows no bounds. We’ve built up a marriage we thought we wanted only to see it torn down and replaced with a firm foundation in Christ. As two polar opposite personality types who once couldn’t answer the question, “What DO you two have in common?” we now enjoy a life that has exploded outside the bounds of what was once thought comfortable and enjoyable. We have this amazing privilege of being better together, of exploring the world from very different viewpoints only to encourage the other to becoming stronger in areas of strength as well as weakness. Though not quick enough, we are quicker to both ask for forgiveness and to give it. Aside from the natural skinniness of our twenties, I don’t believe there’s anything we’d go back in time to reclaim because the way we feel about each other today is infinitely superior to the budding love we knew back in 1996.

I experience my world through feelings, and as a Feeler, I’ve had these gloriously wonderful moments recently where I look at Jeremy and Livia and praise God thinking, “My life is so beautiful! How is this my life?!” And because I am a Feeler sometimes it’ll only take one more step of discomfort before I remember the hard parts, too. There are always hard parts.

I couldn’t have explained to 1996 Rebecca what 2017 Rebecca would be thinking and feeling and seeing and learning. It’s all been a journey best taken day by day. The grace that was afforded to me—to us—was a daily grace. And for that we are thankful and we are humbled.

Jeremy Tredway, I’m so grateful for our lives together. God is good. Happy 19, my love.

December 20


Earlier today I was ready for the DPP to be over. Like… Okay, we’ve had twenty days and I am done. There are no more things to shoot. If I have to shoot a closeup of my toaster then I am beyond all saving. I saw the light vanishing on the western horizon and went to grab my camera thinking I could salvage something from the Christmas lights hanging in the dining room. I took my shots and moved on to another task. And then the sun began to set. And crazy vibrant colors filled the sky. I caught it, and my heart just filled with the beauty from my back deck.

I’m finding that our march towards December 25 feels just like the DPP. I’m kind of slogging towards it. My semester ended last week and I feel fairly worn out in body and spirit. I want to rally but my pep is low. Still, there are these moments of amazing glory like what I experienced in the sunset tonight. I found such a moment reading the story of Jesus’ birth in the Gospel of Luke this morning. After a semester of studying the world of the New Testament, Luke’s words jumped at me from the page.

We read about shepherds so often at Christmastime, but this morning I tried to imagine the scene in more detail. First one angel visits the shepherds and the glory of the Lord was intense! The humble shepherds were afraid, as is frequently noted in the Bible when a human comes face to face with these supernatural beings. What happened next must have absolutely shattered their minds. A whole host of angels lights up the sky and praises God with these words, “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace among those with whom he is pleased!” (Luke 2:14). Angels are made to praise God, and for a brief moment those shepherds are privy to what hardly any human has seen. They witness the worship of the Almighty God by the ones who are allowed to worship Him day and night, always. No wonder the shepherds then head over to Bethlehem fast to see this Savior! What a sight to witness.

We’re made to worship. Sometimes we get a little drum of worship in our hearts, a little stirring that makes us feel small. For me, it’s the Tunnel Walk just before a Husker game—there’s nothing like seeing that in person and feeling the amazing excitement from the crowd. It’s overwhelming. At other times I feel that sense of worship during a really good concert. My heart and mind both swell with joy. I can sense that same joy, only a thousand times greater and more powerful, when the shepherds personally witness all those angels worshipping God in the skies that day. Every week when we sing songs of worship to our Creator at church, we join with those angels, and all the saints that come before us and behind us, in worship of the One most deserving it.

Today I get a small glimpse of glory in a sunset, but one day I’m gonna get the real deal and I’ll be joining those angels for all eternity. Slogging through the present, even as I move towards something as great at Christmas Day, I’m reminded that I’m made for something much greater.

The Mayor Has Left the Building




Today was my dad’s last day at Chick-fil-A as he’s moving back into a position in his chosen field. Though based on the comments I’ve received from friends and strangers alike, you may have thought hospitality was his field! Anyone who has been around Dad in a hospital environment or church nursery knows that he’s the Chief Baby Whisperer. He’ll grab your baby and willingly walk the halls while you worship or run to the restroom or, say, eat your chicken sandwich in peace for a minute. It’s been a joy to watch my dad’s smile light up the restaurant and I’ve heard time and time again that he’s shown grace to parents and children alike within that space. I’ve heard of his sweet care for a little one with Down’s Syndrome and of his humility in cleaning up those common-yet-unfortunate playplace pee accidents. Many of my girlfriends have met and hugged my dad at Chick-fil-A and another friend, upon meeting my mom and learning the Mayor was my dad, looked at me and said, “Now you completely make sense!” (which was perhaps the greatest compliment I’ve ever received).

So as David Lawton moves back to the realm of nursing, we all suspect that his care and hospitality will simply move locations. I’ve learned so many things from my dad, but perhaps most important is knowing that his heart, which loves God first, reflects that love to others wherever he serves. May God bless this new journey, Dad! We’re proud of you.

Pumpkins, Leaves & the Memories of a Season


I march into autumn convinced that summer is the best season, but find my senses being wooed by a few cool breezes, the vibrant shades of leaves falling to the ground, and weekly Husker football games. I don’t want to be happy as the days grow shorter and my beloved and warm sunshine veers to the south. But fall charms me anyhow and sooner or later I submit to its loveliness.

Something else comes at me in the fall though, and it’s October, the bittersweet October. More and more women are beginning to talk about pregnancy and infant loss this month, which is, fittingly enough I suppose, the month I miscarried ten years ago now. My body remembers before my mind remembers, and even when I recall that October was when I miscarried, I don’t * feel* like it should be a big deal. It was ten years ago. And honestly, it means different things to me now because life looks very different now.

Ten years ago Livia was two. Jeremy and I were within the first eight years of marriage. Our family was young and we were going to grow.

In 2016, Livia is in middle school. Jeremy and I have been married for 18 years and our family is not going to grow. At least in traditional, expected terms it will not.

I’ve played the “What If” game a little bit this fall. What if that baby was alive? She (let’s call this baby a “she”) would be nine. Livia would have a sister and we would have a second child who was permanently ours. It’s a strange but sweet thought, an alternate reality that doesn’t demand much time or consideration, but it’s interesting nonetheless.

We still miss that baby. She was a little fetus with a heart that we heard beating in ultrasounds. We wonder what this child will look like in glory someday. Will unborn babies look like babies or adults? Is there a cutoff for getting that new glorified body or does every human fertilized egg get one? For now it’s all a mystery to us—from the missing to the heavenly existence.

I came across this small write-up of my miscarriage experience and letter to Baby that I contributed to A Musing Maralee and it all still holds true. That trip to Arizona still reminds me of being newly pregnant, picking out pumpkins still reminds me of the twinge of morning sickness I had ten years ago, and Fall Fest at Zion Church still reminds me the one where I was grieving, but not grieving alone.

I carry that child with me every fall. I think my very cells will not let me forget her. I think about all the women around me who carry memories in their cells as well, memories that brush them with sadness and joy and guilt and pain as the seasons come and go. This is life, the bitter and the sweet, the memories that combine smiles with tears.

Where shall I go from your Spirit?
Or where shall I flee from your presence?
If I ascend to heaven, you are there!
If I made my bed in Sheol, you are there!
If I take the wings of the morning
and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea,
even there your hand shall lead me,
and your right hand shall hold me.
If I say, “Surely the darkness shall cover me,
and the light about me be night,”
even the darkness is not dark to you;
the night is bright as the day,
for darkness is as light with you.

For you formed my inward parts;
you knitted me together in my mother’s womb.
I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.
Wonderful are your works;
my soul knows it very well.
My frame was not hidden from you,
when I was made in secret,
intricately woven in the depths of the earth.
Your eyes saw my unformed substance;
in your book were written, every one of them,
the days that were formed for me,
when as yet there was none of them.

-Psalm 139:7-16

Renewed Day by Day


This morning I helplessly watched my daughter trip and fall on the stairs leading to school. I was pulling away from the curb, amidst the sea of SUVs and children in crosswalks and as I turned back I saw her slip and go down. Far from a moment where you maliciously laugh at someone’s fall, I felt like abandoning my car in the middle of the street and leaping out to scoop her up.

That’s what we moms excel at, right? Scooping up and cuddling and protecting?

I find myself operating at higher-than-normal anxiety levels lately. I’m responsible for a variety of different things and I can feel my mind skipping on details like an old record player with a damaged record. That’s pretty typical of anxious minds, they skip and get stuck and then speed up, only speeding up helps nothing. If I focus for a few moments and make sense of just one of the thoughts in my head, I see this: my daughter is getting older.

I’m the first in line to declare how awesome it is to have a child mature. It’s an amazing thing to watch her grow and learn and change in a multitude of ways. I am SO proud of this kid. But the brain-record began skipping a bit yesterday after I heard her belting out lyrics to a favorite song and the line, “I wanna feel your touch” came from her 11-year-old lips.

It was startling, that’s for sure. It was nothing racy or concerning really, but wow, hearing that line from my precious daughter’s mouth was a bit jarring! People, WE ARE NOT FAR OFF FROM THIS NEW REALITY. Someone hold me!

Letting her grow. Protecting her eyes for now and working to reach her heart. Not being able to pick her up when she falls. I cannot do these things well on my own. It occurred to me this morning, as I watched our principal trot over to make sure Liv was fine, as I watched her walk without any trouble into the school building, as I reassured myself that she couldn’t do so if she was injured, I realized how much I need my mind renewed to the truths found in the Bible. It’s a *daily* thing.

On my own, without renewal to God’s promises, I’m a skipping record. My brain can’t touch down, it spins and spins over all the details I’m worried about, all the people I’m thinking about, all the things I’ve said I would do. But none of it can take root and turn into anything beautiful as long as I’m not settled in God’s word.

I think of 2 Corinthians 2:16-18 that encourages me to take heart. Outwardly life may look one way, but inwardly we can be renewed day by day in Christ. It gives me an eternal perspective and reminds me that God is in control.

Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the LORD your God is with you wherever you go. — Joshua 1:9

Yes! This is the power of our God. The God of Moses, the God of Joshua. Who can tear down walls with shouts of praise? Our God. Who cares about you much more than the lilies of the field or the little birds that sing on your back porches as spring approaches? Our God. Who will pick you up off the steps time and time again, even as you trip and stumble and try to rescue yourself but are ultimately helpless? Yes, our God. He is mighty to save. And he loves you. And me. This is the message I need to hear day after day. My memory is short. My brain, it skips. Lord, renew us. Amen.

Unemployed, in Greenland?


I read about a high school classmate’s successes the other day. It only took a few minutes—and yeah, a few Google searches—before the deprecating voices crept in.

This guy? He’s got his doctorate. He’s teaching and writing and researching and influencing how many scores of people in his field. And what am I doing?

It’s that last question that takes me down a really unhelpful and discouraging path. The path is littered with other questions, each rating my lack of measurable success and making me feel smaller and smaller. Where are the books you’ve planned to write? How about the children’s book you were going to photograph? The graduate degrees? The office with your title on the door? “Are you still unemployed?”

That last one wasn’t my own. I was on an insurance call not so long ago. It had been a really productive morning, I was cruising through life, getting it done left and right, and the question brought me to a screeching halt. “Are you still unemployed?” Well dang. Now that you say it… I guess so.

I let my self-worth, in that moment, be defined by the word “unemployed.” Three syllables of condemnation—to my ears, at least. I stopped and considered it and realized, Holy cow, I AM unemployed! My mind raced through all the ways I felt employed, thankyouverymuch. Sure, I take in a very small amount of money through my photography business at the moment. But money’s all we’re talking about here, right? If she had asked, “Do you work?” I could’ve explained the thousands of things I do on a daily basis and it would’ve added up to all kinds of labor the world sees as employable labor. I DO STUFF, lady. But what I really wanted to say was: I am worthwhile.

I had a conversation with a friend today where I learned how many birthday parties her kids go to each year. I can count on three fingers how many parties my child has been invited to in the last 12 months. I wasn’t grieved by the comparison because I know that my kiddo has a small friend set, but I paused internally and wondered if I should spend time being grieved by this. In the end, I think I’ve landed on a sweet understanding and it’s that birthday parties in grade school are equal to lines of resume earned by your 20th high school reunion. You can use these things to measure success, but—and this is a big but—you should not.

Friends matter. Degrees matter. Job titles and books and salaries actually do matter. But they are not ultimate things. They do not get to define a person. They are not what gives you value.

You are born valuable. Made in the image of an Almighty God, you are not worthy because of what you do, you are worthy because He made you. And He loves you. This love story has been around a long time, it was set in motion before the world began. It involves a Creator who is far more than a disinterested party somewhere in the universe. He made man special and he made man to be in relationship with him.

My takeaway is that I have a choice about how I spend my time. I want to put money and accolades in their rightful place. I want to use my gifts to serve the world around me—and sometimes that looks the way it looks today where I have this privilege to be UNEMPLOYED and yet not care because being unemployed does not define me. Whether I have three friends or fifteen, I want to love well. Whether I’ve written one blog post or five top-selling novels, I want to write well. Whether I volunteer for the PTO or for making church coffee, whether I am awesome at folding laundry or barely keeping us in clean clothes, whether I take my neighbor cookies or serve at the City Mission, I want to work with my whole heart. And I want to work from a place of worthiness; not because my work defines me, but because I am already safe and whole and loved by God.

**Blog title taken from the one of the most quotable movies ever, and one of only two VHS movies in our possession when we moved from Oregon to Nebraska in the summer before 7th grade. Do you know it?

Being Exposed, Finding Mercy


I had this trajectory in mind for my life, one where I’d gradually get wiser and more mature and more self-sufficient over time. I assumed that I’d age and develop all these great traits and that I’d need people less. Because, you know, I would have so much to offer people—and somehow that seemed to go hand-in-hand with being a pillar of self-sufficiency.

What I’ve discovered is that, yes, it’s true that maturity can come with more life experiences. And if one pays attention to those life experiences, there certainly can be wisdom gained. But it is absolutely not true that wisdom and maturity go hand in hand with independence. In fact, the opposite is true. In the Christian life, age and maturity leads to greater humility and dependence—first on Christ and second on people.

I first noticed my incredible need for others when we stepped into the world of foster care. We were thrust so far outside our comfort zones that I knew the only way we’d survive would be with the help of those around us. More than the hand-me-down clothing and more than the toys dropped on our front doorstep, we needed prayer. The spiritual truth of our fostering reality was that we were incredibly weak as we served children. In fact, I don’t know that we’ve ever felt weaker. Suddenly juggling the needs of foster children—and the many unknowns—we were also managing all the normal job, household and parenting duties as before. The need for others to pray, asking God for sustenance, felt huge to me. Somehow I knew deep down that I would need to ask for a lot, and thus I immediately set up a support circle who would pray when I asked them to.

A remarkable thing happens when people pray, and I can’t really explain it entirely because it still seems so mysterious to me. God listens. He engages, he dialogues, he answers. And in turn I’m drawn to see his hand of mercy in a new way. But when a need for prayer is opened up to an entire group of people, guess who else sees God’s gracious care? All those people. Together we’re drawn closer due to our communal neediness.

It feels really vulnerable to be the one asking for prayer. Sometimes I feel like a big burden when I ask those closest to me to pray for me. When everyone prayed for our foster kids, it felt easier on my pride because it wasn’t for me! How nice, right? If you know anything about my physical woes, then you know that I’ve had to ask for prayer time and time and time again. And if a large season of time goes by where I’m not asking, it’s because I’m not telling you something. That’s how many physical needs I’ve got going on—I need a lot of prayer. Each time I email a group of friends, it takes a huge dose of humility to press the send button. Deep breath in of need, deep breath out of pride. And in that need, God shows up. He shows up in the words of friends preaching the gospel to me yet again. He shows up in the acts of mercy shown to me by loved ones. He shows up in ways of healing that I’d never choose or imagine.

The trajectory of life isn’t one where I am full of so much strength and goodness that I never have needs. Rather, the trajectory includes my humility, which forces my knee to bow to God’s greatness and requires me to acknowledge the great depth of need I have in all realms. In this I get to see that God is good, all the time; all the time, God is good. And what a beautiful thing it is to see that goodness! I am sustained by his mercy.