Brie Gowen

Savor the Essence of Life

No, I’m Not Buying a House

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I think everyone totally understood my vagabond lifestyle when I was traveling as a nurse, but now that I have decided to stick around an area more permanently, people just assume I’ll put down roots in a traditional sense. I mean, that’s what you’re supposed to do. Especially if you’re a middle-aged mom, wife, and working professional. For those reading this who are unfamiliar with my lifestyle, my family and I travel in an RV. The craziest part? We do it by choice.

When my husband, three daughters, and I were traveling across the country while I worked at different hospitals, I suppose it just made sense that we’d move place to place in our fifth wheel. It gave our children a greater sense of stability having the same bedroom wherever we went, and we had developed a “home is where you park it” kinda motto. But ever since I announced the decision to stop travel nursing and sign on as a staff (permanent) nurse at a specific hospital, I’ve gotten the same question over and over.

So, are y’all gonna buy a house now?

My answer is always the same, and though it may shock those who inquire, when I explain my reasoning, they get behind me with it. You see, I’m not buying a house. We’re going to keep living in our RV. That’s right, five people in 500 square feet, and nope, we’re not crazy.

If I’ve learned anything over the last few years, it’s that much of the life we create is out of habit rather than necessity. We choose the life we do because that’s the way it’s always been, or the way it’s supposed to be. Folks get married, get pregnant, buy a house, buy a bigger car, and subsequently buy bigger debt with their bigger “more successful” life. It’s as if happiness comes on the back of mortgages and car notes, or that contentment comes only by checking a certain box on the “I’m a grownup now” worksheet. Yet when we build a bigger, better life, it usually comes with not just a larger price tag, but also a truckload of stress. So, I guess you could say, we create our lifestyle, yet we also create our stress. Or much of it, anyway.

From our personal experience, we found the bigger lifestyle (as far as square footage and belongings go) created a bigger sense of urgency. I had more dusting and laundry. My husband had more yard work and “honey do” lists. We both certainly worked more. For us, it just seemed like the lifestyle that society had always told us would make us happy only made us more rushed and busy. Traveling in an RV wasn’t just a convenience for work, but rather a decision for future happiness. And boy, did it exceed our expectations.

We found that we could live happily in 1/4 the space we had become accustomed to in our prior, traditional lifestyle (let’s call it living in a sticks and bricks). Turns out we didn’t need even half of the stuff we sold or gave away when we downsized. It’s actually not just a way to cut down on material possessions and re-evaluate what’s important in life, but it’s also a great way to payoff debt! Cause debt is crippling, am I right?! When I tell people my monthly living expenses (in a popular and large metropolitan area) are $200 a month (yep, that includes my utilities), they’re usually like, “yeah, I think I’d stay in the RV too!”

The fact is, a happy life isn’t built on two stories and a white picket fence. It’s built around the ones you love. It’s not held together by how much you have, or even how it looks to those on the outside, but rather by the ties that bind you. For us, that’s time together, less time working, and more time enjoying ourselves. It’s less time running here and there, and more time simply enjoying life. It’s less stress and more smiles.

So, while our circumstances have changed, our priorities have not. We don’t stay in the RV for necessity with traveling, but simply because it’s worked so far. Why change anything? Will we buy a house in the future? Perhaps. But it will be small. This tiny life fits us just fine, and I’ll tell you a secret. Going small has given us big happiness.

Btw, this was our Christmas card one year

I Love My Children, But…

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I love my children, but they can turn any enjoyable outing into a miserable experience.

Like, why do we take them anywhere? Any amens from the choir out there?

I sat at the table of a German restaurant trying not to speak out loud the curse words that ran through my mind. Directed at my children. Sounds terrible, right?! But as I sent secret text messages to my spouse across the table, every GIF that popped up under the search “aggravated” seemed to fit. Yet it was more than aggravation. It was beyond mere frustration. It was the pot threatening to boil over, the kind of slow roll that only your own offspring could produce. They were exasperating.

They didn’t like the menu. It didn’t have macaroni, after all. Never mind that we had only chosen the restaurant to silence their whines of, “I’m starving! Can’t we find a place to eat already?!”

Never mind that they had grumbled the whole three or four blocks to the downtown area about being tired, chilly, or having sore feet. Never mind that I had brought jackets they forgot to get out of the truck, or comfy sneakers they had refused to change into.

I loved my children soooo much, but if I’m laying it all out for you… sometimes I want to kill them. Like, shaken child syndrome, kill them.

Why must they repeat the same phrase over and over, and yet over again, until I say, “oh yeah. Really? That’s interesting.”

“Hey, Mom. Watch this!”

*child performs some very minor, dance step/jump, or something

Crickets.

“Wow. That’s awesome,” I say.

I love my children soooo much, but dang, sometimes they are total brats. I look at them whining, fighting, complaining, and I want to know who raised these wild animals!

Oh.

Yeah.

Me.

Dang.

I love my children so much. Like, more than the air I breathe. I would die for them. When they’re sick, I want to take it all on myself. When they’re sleeping, I take photo after photo. I never want to forget! Oh, who am I kidding?! I take pictures of everything. Every day is a memory in the making, and I always want it on slow-mo so I can savor each smile, each giggle, and press into the pages of my heart every adorable, hilarious thing my four year old utters. So many days I wish I could freeze time, keeping them little forever.

But then, the rest of the time I am fantasizing about when they move out. Then my husband and I can go places and enjoy ourselves without complaints. No one will ask me to carry them. No one. No one will drink all my water, or eat all my food. No one will ask me for snacks right after I sit down, interrupt me with some mundane question right when I get on an important call, or turn the backseat of my vehicle into a garbage dump within 3.5 seconds of driving off the car lot.

I know I will cry. I know I will. It will be too quiet, and I’ll be so grateful for all the pictures we took, the places we went, and the fabulous memories we created. I know this, and I repeat it to myself every time I get a little foot in my back when they’re sleeping in my bed. I know that one day that king-sized bed will feel really empty. That’s the only reason they’re still there. I know they desire to please me. That’s why it’s always “hey, mom” and “look at me.” Even when I’m looking at her do the same thing I just watched her do thirty seconds prior. I know the reasons, and yes, it makes me feel good. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t make me a little twitchy, though. Just saying.

I love my children so much, but when I’m picking up the same mess for the eight millionth time, that day, yeah, I want to do a Calgon, take me away, one way ticket to anywhere else.

I love my children so much, but sometimes I don’t like them that much. They are rude, selfish, annoying little monsters, but they’re all mine. So you can’t call them any of that. Ever.

Because they’re loud, but they’re wonderful. They’re clingy, but they’re cuddly. They’re exasperating, but so darn cute. They’re awful, but they’re perfect. And they’re raucous, yet they’re my very best thing that I’ve ever made. They make me want to pull my hair out, but then they also make me beam with pride. They make me want to squeeze them to death! And then they make me want to squeeze them tight and never let them go. They make me cry in frustration, cry over my supposed failures, and cry over the love I have for them that my heart can’t possibly contain. It’s too much.

I love my children so much, but at the end of the day, I love to love them from the other room.

I love my children so much, but parenting is hard.

I love my children so much, and each day I pray for wisdom to help raise them into the young women God has in mind.

I love my children so much, but being a parent isn’t for the faint of heart.

I love my children so much, and I guess that’s enough for today.

The Pajama Lesson

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My nine year old got a few, new pairs of pajamas for Christmas. In fact, I asked people, when they inquired of me, to get them for her as a gift. Cause every kid loves clothes, right?! But seriously, she needed them, like, really bad needed them. So, boy, was I excited to see them rolling in at gift unwrapping time. One pair was especially adorable, and when she put them on they looked so cute I made one of those “ahhhh” sounds to emphasize my approval. She was grinning, too, so I assumed her stamp was given. She ran around all night, looking adorable in her striped, raccoon-icorn pj’s, but when bedtime came and she exited from the bathroom I was not prepared for her nighttime attire. There she was, smiling ear to ear, sporting her ratty, mismatched slumber wear. Do what?!

See, that’s why we had gotten her new pajamas, and I explained as much as I tucked her in the covers.

“These pajamas are super old,” I said. “I got you new ones so you don’t have to wear the same ones every night!”

Yes, she had worn them every night for as long as I could remember. They weren’t just her favorite; they were the only pair she’d wear. If she couldn’t find them, sometimes, it was a huge deal. She would search frantically for those ratty, worn-out pajamas. She did not think she could sleep without them.

“Why aren’t you wearing your new pajamas?” I asked.

She pulled at the thin, terry cloth fabric, covered in unicorns, and she answered, “cause they’re not comfy like these.”

She went on to explain in a variation of adjectives why her old ones were so stretchy, “bendy,” and easy to fall asleep in, and at that point I realized another reason she didn’t want to let them go.

Security.

See, for whatever reason, a year ago she began to fear going to sleep. Sure, a lot of children don’t like going to sleep, but my girl’s became a huge, irrational fear. She worried that she wouldn’t be able to fall asleep. Or she worried she wouldn’t stay asleep. It seems that at some point she woke up in the middle of the night, it was dark, and she got scared. And once the fear started, she couldn’t get past it to fall back asleep. She was immobilized from even going back to sleep, and after that she worried it would happen again. It didn’t matter that a year had gone by and she never had a problem again. She slept like a rock, but that didn’t mean as much in the face of fear.

At the beginning of her bedtime scare, we initiated a more solid routine. We did pajamas right at the time of sleep, we brushed teeth, we said our prayers, she watched a little bit of soothing, nature documentary with her dad to settle for the night. Before we realized it, this bedtime routine became a required ritual. She felt it necessary to hit each step. If I fell asleep (on my work nights) before her without praying for her, she would wake me up to pray. We explained that my prayers didn’t hold any more weight than her own, but she persisted that I had to be the one to pray with her. She spoke the same words in her prayer every night. The script, as much as the act of prayer, gave her comfort. I realized, after a year of wearing these pajamas every, single night (we laundered them regularly) she had built them into her much-needed routine. She felt like she needed those exact pajamas to sleep well.

I recognized that we all had our own pair of safety pajamas. And when I say pajamas, I don’t just mean pajamas. I mean that we all have routines, comfort zones, and certain people or things that make us feel secure. The bad part is those items in our life have no more power than some unicorn sleeping pants, but we give them a place of power when we allow them to keep us from moving forward into something better, or into the future God has for us.

How many women stay with an abusive man who has convinced her she cannot do better in life? I once spoke with a prostitute who remained under the thumb of her pimp because she felt that was the best she could do in life. She didn’t believe she deserved better.

How many men stay in a relationship where they are belittled and beat down?

How many of us stay in a job we hate? I can remember saying “better is the devil you know than the one you don’t.” I get it.

How many of us hate where we live, but are afraid to move somewhere new?

What about your career? I dreamed of being an actress on Broadway, but I let someone in my life convince me it wasn’t realistic to pursue, that I needed to go find a “real” job. So now, I just sing show-tunes to my intubated patients.

Yes, it’s good that I’m a nurse, but what I’m saying is, how often do we miss out on the best life for us and our families because we’re afraid to change pajamas? You see what I mean? Sometimes it’s easier to stay stuck in a routine we don’t really love, and that routine becomes a crutch. In fact, it becomes an albatross, or a millstone around our neck. It holds us down from enjoying the new gift we’ve been given, and we miss out on the fact that the new stuff may fit us even better than we could have ever imagined.

Well, I will report that she’s still wearing those old, ratty pj’s. The new ones are sitting in her drawer, still, but I’m hopeful that we can show her the truth. The truth is, change is scary, but it also brings blessing. Allowing fear to keep us from stepping out into the new, it only hurts us in the long run. We all could use a reminder of that. So, here’s to a new year of new things, new changes, new courage, and new confidence. I hope we all can embrace the new.

How I Fell in Love With Nursing. Again.

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First love is easy, isn’t it? With stars in your eyes and a naive nature, you swing headfirst and heart-strong into the relationship. You have dreams for the future, the butterflies for excitement to spur you forward, and even a bit of healthy hesitancy to keep you honest. But somewhere between that first date (or shift in the case of nursing) and eventual broken expectations, you end up feeling betrayed. It’s nothing like you hoped it could be. You end up disappointed, likely broken-hearted, and sadly, if your experience was especially harsh, guarded and skeptical for any silver lining that might exist up ahead. Sound familiar?

A profession you can truly love isn’t that different from a romantic relationship. It’s something that gives your life a new purpose, a reason to hope, excitement, and the ability to get better at it as you go along. It’s the chance to think of someone other than yourself, but like any relationship, the one with your career can become strained. I’ve been in the medical field for 20 years now, and I think I’ve experienced every stage of the process. I mean, if Nursing was Dante’s Inferno, I probably transversed through every circle. Y’all, I fell out of love with it, and it took purposeful determination to make my way back into my partner’s good graces. At one point, I think I hated it. Just being brutally honest here.

That first year was something, am I right? Fear, panic, but somehow an exciting adrenaline rush, a pride that I’ve discovered you can’t let slip away. I was proud to be a nurse. I was proud of my vocation, and I was proud of the hard work it took to get me there. I was proud of that R, and of that N, and for a while no one could take that from me. But then came the bad apples. Damn, if they don’t ruin the barrel.

Somewhere between holding an elderly woman’s hand and double charting for the billionth time, my heart started to harden. Do you know the difference between a good nurse and a great nurse? I was always a good nurse. I took care of my patients, and I got the job done. I was honest (for the most part), and I did no harm (that I’m aware of). I smiled at my patients’ faces, and I even meant about 80% of what I said. This will sound so harsh to the layman, but my fellow nurses will understand. It’s not easy giving all of yourself with little to nothing in return. I mean, yeah, you get the paycheck, but that even seems paltry in the face of preventing death or giving up Christmas with your family. So, it becomes a job. A thing you do, day in and day out. I can even recall telling my husband I felt stuck. Lord, help me, I did. I could think of no other “job” where I could work 24 hours, yet get paid for forty hours, while maintaining the best benefits offered in our little city.

I ask again, do you know the difference between a good nurse and a great nurse? A good nurse gets the job done, but a great nurse loves the job they get to do. I guess I had to move from one to get to the other.

All I know is, I entered the field like a young, star-crossed lover, but about a decade into it, I wanted to breakup. I had become disillusioned, and it wasn’t what I thought it could be. Maybe I entered the career thinking I could make so many differences, but I wasn’t open to what could change in me. I became a woman focused on the obstacles before me, and blinded to any blessings scattered throughout. I wasn’t heartless, mind you; I still felt contentment when a patient told me how much my care had meant to them. But those Hallmark moments couldn’t outweigh the injustices I felt. I focused on every single hardship in my field, and I took personally each offense. I allowed the Negative Nancy’s to feed the fire of bitterness inside me, and I assumed every demanding patient canceled out the kind ones. There’s certainly that need for self-care, but I think I came to a place where it was almost always about me.

“Why is this so hard,” I asked, never contemplating for very long how it must be on the other side of the bed.

“What do they expect of me,” I would question angrily, without asking myself what I might give.

I saw my field only as a difficult endeavor, and seldom as a privilege. I carried the weight of a thousand martyrs, except I had forgotten the cause for which I gave myself. I was a good nurse, who did my job, but not a great nurse who loved the opportunity to do it. And I suppose that’s many of us. It’s not that we don’t enjoy what we do; it’s just that sometimes we hate it just as much. That sounds so terrible, when I type it out like that, but if you’ve never held a position where you don’t cry while cleaning the dead body of someone you just hugged that morning, then you may not understand. If you haven’t been punched, kicked, or called the worst of all swear words by someone you’re trying to help, then you won’t get it. If you haven’t cringed over calling someone in a position above you, knowing they will scream at you merely for doing your job, then this may seem like harsh words. If you haven’t felt the anxiety of trying to do the work of two people, while not making a mistake that could cost someone else’s life and your career, then you just won’t have a clue. It’s not easy to carry the weight of so much on tired shoulders, and for many who do, they end up angry and perhaps even resentful for a profession they once loved so much.

Back to the relationship bit, it’s as if the marriage is falling apart, and you don’t want a divorce, but you can’t look at his socks balled up on the floor another day or you might snap. I guess sometimes, when you realize you don’t love them like you used to, you have to take it back to the beginning. You have to remember the first time you saw them, that first date, or first, tender kiss. The spark is still there. You just gotta know how to stoke it.

I recall sitting in a computer class taking a critical care course, and I was digging it. Us Critical Care folks, we love all that medical stuff! Sitting there, I knew I loved the knowledge. I loved the dynamics. I loved the process. I loved the people. I loved making a difference in people’s lives. I loved nursing. I did. It was time to act like it.

Back when my husband and I were just dating, I remember we had been off again, on again, at one point. I had found out some stuff, and each of us had been idiots. We loved each other, we knew that, but we were kinda just coasting along, existing as a couple. Like, maybe involved, but not committed entirely to the future of it. Well, anyway, I remember standing in the card aisle on Valentine’s and I had found the perfect, mushy card for him, when suddenly God smacked me upside the head.

It was like, God said, “Brie, if you’re going to give that to him, you need to mean it.”

And I was like, dang, you’re right. I love him. I really do. We can work through this.

And we did. Every day since our relationship got better, and even now, each day is better than the last. I guess, I had to come to a place in my nursing career that was similar. I loved it, but I had to start acting like it. I had to do more than just show up. I had to get invested. I couldn’t focus on my husband’s faults, any more than I could deny my own. And I couldn’t selfishly fixate on what nursing took out of me. I had to start giving of myself more. I had to see through clear eyes. If you focus on a stain, that’s all you see. What you should look at is the fact that the fabric is still good. It can be washed. Nursing was still good. I think my vision of it had just become tainted.

My career truly began to change when I focused on the opportunity to provide care, the privilege of meeting people at their darkest hour, and leading them back into the light. I threw off sympathy and instead embraced empathy. I put myself in my patient’s shoes. Heck, even the administrators’ shoes. I saw my occupation as the ministry it was, my chance to care for the hurting, and to help those in need. I didn’t face the relationship with what I could gain, but what I could give. I didn’t focus on what wrong was being done to me, but rather what good I could sow into it. Y’all, I fell in love all over again, and it wasn’t because the object of my affection was perfect, but because it gave me purpose, passion, and a sense of fulfillment. Was it still hard, at times? Yes! But beyond that it was good. In fact, it was great. And then I realized, I was great too.

It’s Okay if All You Want is To Be Still

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This morning my mind was running circuits and trailing tangents as it usually does when I’m trying to wake up amidst the shower steam. Basically I go between praying and personal thoughts for my day. Sometimes I’ll go over a previous event, as if thinking it through amongst honestly muttered prayers will lend needed clarity to my thoughts. One of the things that ran through my mind this morning was the previous afternoon in an orientation class. At one point the presenter had asked us a question.

He had questioned, “what is your goal for yourself in the next five years?”

I know, this is a common question. We’re taught throughout life that for successful living we need to have a five year plan. I get that. We’re encouraged to make goals, and then to chase them. We’re instructed to make a plan, plot out the course to achieving it, and to let nothing stop you in that pursuit.

Somewhere between mentally revisiting that round table discussion and washing my face, I found myself repeating the 23rd Psalm. This was one of the scriptures that I frequently prayed over myself and my day before going to work, but this morning I paused close to the beginning. I had been stopped in my tracks by the words “you lead me beside still waters,” and in that moment of silent reflection I felt the Lord say something to me.

It’s ok if all you want is to be still.

I needed that encouragement. You see, yesterday I had very boldly and honestly given my lack of planning for the next five years. I mean, I was the first to speak, but as the same question was answered all around the table, I realized mine was an anomaly. Everyone had a plan, laid out, goal oriented, with their professional development in mind. Most wanted to further their education, moving to the next step in being a better them. And that was great. It just wasn’t where I was at currently. It’s not that I wasn’t constantly learning and growing; I definitely am. It’s simply that I felt peace with where I was at the moment, and I had no stringent requirement of myself to plan out my next steps.

At the time I had said, “I’m 42 years old. I’ve been in nursing for twenty years, and I’m at a place in my life right now where I’m completely dependent on the Lord. I go where He leads me. He led me here, and I feel like He wants me to stay here. Will I be here in a year? I have no idea. I take each day as it comes, and I trust the Lord for each one.”

You could have heard a pin drop. I’m sure, for many, my words sounded crazy, but I had also come to a place in life where that didn’t bother me either. It’s not that I found people who made plans to be lacking in faith. Not at all! In fact, I’m a planner by nature, and I think it’s prudent and wise. It’s just not the season I am in. For the past two years I have based where I worked and lived on the doors God opened and the ones He closed. To do that I had to completely surrender to the unknown. It wasn’t easy, but it strengthened my faith and walk with Christ in a way I could have never imagined. And just because I’ve taken a permanent, steady job, it doesn’t mean I’m going to stop following His lead.

I think that sometimes our continuous, perfectly laid out plans can distance us from God. I know, for me, planning my course gave me a sense of control, and that comforted me. What I’ve learned, though, is that perfectly laid out steps and a five year plan won’t bring me the contentment I desire or the success I need for a happy life. Self improvement is good, but without working on the inside too, even well laid plans will fall flat.

As I thought over the previous discussion in the classroom, this morning in the shower, I think I had a moment where I questioned myself. When God calls you to be different, it’s hard not to feel a little weird. But when I felt the Lord impress to me the freedom to be in a season of stillness, it calmed my spirit. I thought back to something else from the previous day. In reading scripture I had been especially drawn to the familiar story in the Bible of Mary and her sister Martha. Martha ran around hurriedly making preparations, but Mary sat at the feet of Jesus enjoying His presence. I don’t think one sister is better than the other, but I do believe there are times in our life to be a Martha, yet also times to be a Mary. Jesus doesn’t require our sacrifice, but He does call us to relationship.

I happened to be in a season of life where my ability to be still positively impacted my relationship with the Lord. I had made many plans in my life, but currently I resided in a place where I desired Him to direct my steps. Some called my life “living by the seat of my pants,” but I preferred to consider it sitting at the feet of Jesus, listening intently as He taught.

God Calls Us to Be Uncomfortable

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I walked towards the door after depositing a goodby kiss on my husband’s lips, and I turned at his words.

“I’ll be praying for you,” he said.

I stood there smiling, wearing a long sleeved shirt with my church’s logo, so that I might be more easily identifiable, and I replied to him.

I said softly, “This is way outside my wheelhouse, you know?”

“I know,” he replied. “Be careful.”

And as I waved farewell, walking to our truck, a phrase came into my mind.

God calls us to be uncomfortable.

Those words seemed to adequately describe my feelings as I cranked my vehicle and set the GPS towards a hospital I had never been to before. You see, despite my nervousness over the upcoming visit, I felt a deep desire to move forward. It’s as if my spirit and flesh were at odds, but my spirit was successfully leading this venture.

The previous week I had seen something on Facebook asking for prayers for a woman. We see stuff like that all the time, am I right? We’re quick to comment, “praying,” even if nine times out of ten we forget to actually intercede at all for the aforementioned individual. We keep on scrolling, or a child calls our name. Maybe the phone rings, the doorbell chimes, or a captivating commercial comes on the TV. Regardless, for whatever reason, we fall short of our intentions to pray. But that’s not what happened here.

No, instead I felt an immediate connection with this unknown, not even pictured woman, and I was quick to not only type a commitment to pray, yet also begin praying in faith right that moment. I felt a keen kinship with this hospitalized lady, and I wrote out what my heart believed. I shared that I had received miraculous healing from the same condition, and that I was believing the same healing for her.

Later that night at church they prayed for her again, and I felt so strongly that I needed to go and pray with her. I wanted to bring this up with my pastor, but I also wanted to let the thought go. See, I can be introverted in a lot of ways. I am not good at speaking with people I’ve never met (except when I’m at my patient’s bedside), and I also have a tendency to worry if I’m coming off as a complete and total moron. So, there’s that.

I thought about it all night after the service, but I held myself back from sharing my desire with anyone. It’s like I mentioned before, the spirit versus flesh. The fact was I felt like God was telling me to go see this woman and lay hands on her in a prayer of healing. Just like had been done for me. But the human side of me wanted to crawl back into my comfortable hole. Or at least go sit on my couch reading a good book. It’s also the part that tells me I’m not really hearing from God.

As we drove home my husband said suddenly (and out of nowhere), “you know, if you feel like you need to go see that woman and pray with her, I’ll watch the kids.”

Bless him. And there it was. I answered back quietly, “I do.”

I thought, how hard can it be to pray for a woman in a coma? At least she won’t think I’m a weirdo. But what about her family?

I decided to take the first step and contact my pastor and his wife to see if they thought it was a good idea, and to check with the family to see if they minded some stranger, kind of odd, middle aged woman showing up to place hands on their loved one. No, that’s not weird (insert sigh).

God calls us to be uncomfortable, though. So many of us desire to be used by God, but then we say “well, except for that, Lord.” I’m reminded of the part in the Bible where some men wanted to follow Jesus, and He was like, well, come on! But one guy had to go bury his family member. Another had to go tell his loved ones goodbye. It’s like, all these guys had excuses, and we can be that way too. We want to serve the Lord, but we also want to remain comfortable. I mean, we’ll go on a week long mission trip to a third world country, but how many of us would sell everything and stay if God asked us to? We’d most likely come up with some reason why that wasn’t plausible and couldn’t possibly be the Lord’s will for our lives. I’m convinced that God has so much in mind for our lives and His kingdom, but we’re too busy to hear Him or too attached to our own little comfortable world to let go and let Him lead us into the unknown. I realized I couldn’t let that happen with this situation.

With their schedule and my work schedule, it took a couple of days, and by the time I was able to go see her she was awake and talking. That caused me some mild anxiety, I ain’t gonna lie. When I caught myself on the way there rehearsing what I might say I stopped myself immediately.

I prayed, “Lord, I know man makes many plans, but it’s your direction that prevails. I’m not gonna rehearse this. I just want you to speak through me and work through me to bless this lady.”

I did allow myself to look her up on Facebook, so at least I wouldn’t barge in on some other total stranger, and I felt light and charged as I headed for the elevator. I won’t go into all the details of our visit, but it was wonderful. It was emotional, spiritually charged, and simply amazing. We all were blessed by the experience, and I felt like the Lord impressed to me that healing had taken place.

As I got back in my truck for the long ride home a song came on the radio. The chorus repeated a section of scripture that I had spoken as I prayed for this new friend and sister in Christ. I had not planned to speak that scripture ahead of time, but as I prayed it came out. And as the same words emitted from my radio speaker, I smiled. I felt like that was God’s way of telling me I had spoken with His spirit in me, not just my desires.

I suppose the whole point of me sharing this part of my life is to impart that when we can step out of our box and do something uncomfortable that God is asking us to do, He will bless the obedience. And I think it doesn’t just bless the one who steps out, but others as well. I believe He has so much glory He can manifest through us, but we must be willing to boldly and unabashedly walk where He leads. I did something outside my wheelhouse today, but I feel so blessed by it all. Where God guides, His Spirit proceeds, and His majesty extends beyond what we could ever imagine.

A New Perspective For a New Year

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If I’ve learned anything this year it’s that my perspective of my situations have more of an impact than I realized. Even as you walk through the pouring rain, you can curse the sky that you don’t have an umbrella, or you can laugh as you jump in muddy puddles, being grateful you aren’t trudging through a season of drought. I discovered a new love for my career, and I realized the impact I can have on the lives of others through my work. Instead of focusing on the difficulties inherent in my vocation, I chose to highlight the opportunities to change the world one life at a time. Perhaps it sounds a little corny, but I stopped looking at the small nuisances of life in general. And instead I began looking at the bigger picture. I learned how to view life more regularly through a kingdom perspective. It changed everything.

This morning I read a verse in Psalms that really struck my spirit.

Psalm 143:10

Teach me to do your will, for you are my God; may your good Spirit lead me on level ground.

The level ground part. That’s what struck me. How often in life do we all feel like we’re living an uphill battle? We struggle and strive to get ahead, to reach this place of fulfillment, and we often times feel as if we’re trying to paddle upstream. I think about the trout that swim up waterfalls to find their mate, and while it makes for fascinating television on the Discovery channel, I don’t think we are called the same as fish are. I don’t believe God has it for us to (always) swim upstream through life. I think He desires to place our feet on level ground.

Back to the whole “kingdom” mindset, I believe this is one practice that helps us remain on the straight path, incline excluded. I believe that as we focus on our life with a kingdom perspective, we won’t feel like we’re on a treadmill that keeps increasing the grade until we’re thrown off the back-end onto our butts. But how does one get a kingdom mindset?

Yes, there are many problems in this life that will be like a Mt. Everest we must climb, but there’s also the fact that we encounter mounds of sand that we see as insurmountable. The thing about sand is it’s here today, but gone tomorrow. The waves take it out to sea. If we can look at the sand castles and know they’re fleeting, we’re more able to focus on the lasting castles in God’s kingdom. What I mean is this. You can actually categorize things in your life into two categories.

Does it impact your eternity? Yes or no. Those two answers, while simple in nature, can cut down on much of the stress we experience in life. And while I know life isn’t black and white, for the most part you can absolutely take an eternal perspective on most problems. I recently told a friend, “if you keep beating your head against the wall where you are, struggling to make things work, then perhaps God has something different in mind for you.”

This comes back to the fact that God doesn’t have for us to fight and fight to enjoy this life. As we follow His will, He places us on level ground. Things just seem more in line when you’re following what God has for you, and if you’re confused as to what that is, go back to seeing things through an eternal perspective.

Are you fighting tooth and nail to climb the corporate ladder, spending more time away from family than at home? Ask yourself why. If it’s to grow wealth you can’t take with you, then consider that relationships with your spouse and children might be more beneficial. People say all the time they’re working all that overtime for their family, but most of the time it’s really for vacations, more financial security, or stuff (sand).

Are you angry at someone for wronging you? How does what they did impact your eternity? Nothing can separate you from Christ. But your unforgiveness can make you feel distant from the Lord. It also negatively impacts the object of your anger.

We have a tendency in this world to place too much importance on things that in no way affect God’s kingdom, and that’s fine to a degree. I mean, I really like tacos, and I know those have little to do with Heaven (although I secretly believe they’ll be there). What I’m saying is, God wants us to enjoy this life and the things that bring us happiness, but the problem comes when we place too much importance on those things.

So often we’re on uneven ground in life because we’re chasing the world and its pleasures. So often we feel it’s an uphill climb because we’re being drawn towards the idols we’ve placed (replaced God with) on the mountaintop. God’s will for you will never lead you to embrace so tightly things that take your eyes off Him. His good spirit will lead us to even ground.

My goal for this year, just like the year before, is to shift my focus from the fleeting things of this world to His face. My goal is to release worries over the things that don’t matter, and to focus more on the things that do. It’s to seek His word so that He can lead me to level ground. No uphill battles here, unless God’s leading me there.

A Word From the Lord For the New Year

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You have to walk into this new year as if it’s a new season of life. You can’t allow what went down this past year to predict or influence what’s coming up. You’re not your past, nor your prior mistakes. You’re not how people have treated you or who they’ve tried to define you as. You are a child of God, and as part of your inheritance your Heavenly Father is delivering you a fresh start for this year. In this season allow Him to define who you are, to provide what you need, and to guide you through it all.

2 Corinthians 5:17

Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here!

In this new season, I want you to take your eyes off your circumstances and place them on Jesus. Don’t look to the left or to the right. Don’t be distracted by the size of the battle. Instead remember who you fight for. Your God controls every battlefield. The One who controls the wind and the waves, He will fight for you. He will provide for you. You don’t have to do it alone this new year. He is making the way and providing all you need.

Isaiah 43:18-19

Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the desert.

Just because you can’t see a change coming, that doesn’t mean it’s not happening. The Lord wants you to live your best life, in Him, this year. To do this He needs your total surrender and commitment. Don’t seek a solution. Seek His face. Dive into the truths of His Word. Press onward trusting God and the promises found for you in scripture. It’s okay if you haven’t sought Him in the past for your life. Seek Him now. Begin living each day for Christ, and He will lead you to new heights with Him this year.

Phillipians 3:13

Brothers and sisters, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead.

God is not disappointed in you. He rejoices over you with singing. You are His child, and He loves you dearly. Nothing is unknown to Him! Before He even formed you in your mother’s womb He knew the mistakes you would make and the problems you would face. He is calling to you now to come to Him, despite your faults, and to trust that He has a plan for your life. Yes, you! His plans are for your good future. He loves you that much.

Jeremiah 29:11

For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.

This can be the year you lay down worry. This can be the year to tell anxiety that it’s gotta go. This can be the year that you stop trying in your own power, and that you start allowing God to take control. How do you do this?!

Start simply by asking Him to take control of your new year ahead. Then follow by seeking Him consistently in each new day. When you wake, speak to Him. Even if you don’t hear Him answering back! He loved you first. Now it’s your turn, and when you love someone you talk to them. Build a relationship by talking regularly with the Lord. Tell Him your fears, your hopes, your dreams, your worries, and your gratefulness.

As you seek the Lord in conversation and relationship you will feel more comfortable to place your trust in Him.

Grab the Bible. Read some every day! Even if you can’t understand it all at first. Ask your Father to reveal His truth for your life through scripture. Seek and you will find. Knock and He will answer. Commit to seeking Him through His Word. Then watch your life change.

When you have a problem, seek the Lord. Speak to Him about it. Pray for His guidance, and read the Bible for your answer. When you have a worry, hand it over to Him by bringing it to Him in prayerful conversation. Tell your Abba Father that you can’t fix it, but you believe He can. Believe it, and then watch what He does.

Celebrate your small victories with Him. Write them down. Tell Him thank you. Focus on the positive things in your life, and pray about the rest. Speak life into your day. Speak scripture out loud. Speak positive about yourself. You’re not old, fat, or bad at your job. You’re a child of the Most High God, created in His image to do great things for His kingdom. He fashioned you according to His will, so be excited for the life He has destined for you as you seek that will.

Trust Him this new year to take you to new heights with Him and in your life. Seek and you will find. You were made for so much more than this. Step into the New Year with a passion for His purposes for you!

Proverbs 3:5-6

Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight.

A Letter to the Woman Who Wants a Better Husband

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To Desperately Praying Wives Everywhere,

Marriage isn’t what you imagined it to be, huh? I get it.

I remember being a young woman, daydreaming about building a family with the perfect guy. Maybe you too imagined how the Christmas cards would look, matching red pajamas, and beaming babies. Or you pictured sitting at the large, mahogany dining table together, sweet smiles, grateful bellies, an aura of well-earned pride over the most tender potroast ever. Sitting in the den, cuddled on the couch together, the doting children at your feet, a blazing fire crackling.

You didn’t ever see yourself screaming as you set up the auto-timer on your camera, “I said look this way! Smile or so help me, God!”

As your hurriedly tell your honey goodnight, taking your turn to tuck in exhausted kids at the end of another monotonous day, you realize, life is nothing like romance novels.

“It’s your turn,” you grumble to your spouse, in reference to the sink full of stained Corelle (the only dishes the children don’t consistently break), the aftermath of being a short-order cook for picky eaters.

Did anyone even say, thank you?!

It’s hardly ever movie night. No, it’s crying over homework right up until bedtime. It’s envying your partner as he dozes off in his recliner.

He could sleep through a tsunami!

It’s picking up the same mess, waiting in the car line at the elementary school. It’s taking off work for another doctor appointment, or leaving early to make the soccer game. It’s packing lunches, scraping together a fast meal, and telling your husband, “not tonight, hon. I feel all bloated.”

All you know is, it’s nothing like you imagined at all. You wanted a regular date night. Not a peck on the cheek as you scurry past one another on a rushed Monday morning.

“Do you know where I put my keys, dear?!” He says.

Sometimes you feel like no one could find their own butt if you didn’t tell them where God put it!

The next thing you know you’re angry about towels in the floor and balled up socks under the couch.

Does anyone know there’s a thing called a laundry basket?!

You find yourself easily annoyed over tiny nuisances.

Like, why does he put all his crap on the mantle?! It’s not his personal junk table!

Why is it every time you go in the bathroom, the hand towel is on the floor?!

You end up feeling like you. Do. Everything. Like, if you didn’t hold this family together, the whole thing would spin out of control. You work, pick up the children, make supper, clean house, help with homework, give baths, read bedtime stories, say prayers. Then it starts all over again the next day!

Maybe if he could just carry his fair share of the load!

Your marriage becomes more like a competition, and you are certain you bear the heavier burden. You keep a scorecard instead of a prayer journal. You allow one bitter thought to lead into another. A mound of discontent forms, threatening to topple and crush you both.

You become short-tempered, easily perturbed, getting snippy before you can even stop yourself. He responds back with anger, and then the silent treatment ensues.

This isn’t the way it’s supposed to be.

So, I’m going to offer you some advice, my friend, something I learned through much trial and error. I’m going to tell you how to get a better husband.

Are you ready?

Wait for it…

The way to get a better husband is to become a better wife.

What?! I know what you’re thinking. He’s the one that needs to change, right? He needs to help more around the house, be a better listener, hang out with the kids more!

Well, this might be an unpopular opinion, but I think the best bet for a better marriage is to take the focus off what your partner is doing wrong, and instead focus on what you can do better. Your nagging and obvious discontent can change very little, but your persistent prayer can change a lot. I’ve found that the more I seek to serve my spouse, the more he serves me in return. You can change no man, but the Lord has softened more hearts than you can count. Seek the Lord often, and follow scripture for the kind of wife that pleases God. Everything we do in this life should be to His glory and service, and therefore my marriage is my ministry. I strive to show my spouse love like Jesus would do, and I’ve found that since I began this work, my marriage has been abundantly blessed.

My spouse serves me in love, and neither of us waste time on what the other isn’t doing. Our relationship is a partnership, but we don’t bother with keeping score. Instead of ensuring it’s an equal 50/50 relationship, we simply give 100% of ourselves to the marriage. It’s not a contest, it’s a team, and we don’t bother with whose turn it is to sprint. We just keep pace together.

I discovered that selfishness is the saboteur of marriage. When we focus on who we think is giving more (which is usually ourselves), we become blinded by lies from the enemy. Seeds of discontent are sown, we forgo forgiveness, and grace is a goner. But if we can let go of the things that aren’t important, instead focusing on the love we share, we can calmly and clearly see our spouse’s heart for us.

So, if you’re that desperately praying wife, beating your head against the wall for how to make your man be a better husband, perhaps the answer isn’t found in him. Perhaps it’s found in you. I know it’s found in Jesus.

Start today. Begin to see your marriage as a ministry to the Lord. Serve your spouse like you’re serving Jesus, and watch as the Lord begins to bless your life. Surrender your spouse to God, and you just do you. The Lord will sort out the rest. You’ll see.

Signed,

A Passionately Praying Wife Whose Prayers Were Answered

What a Dog Taught Me About God

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I am currently the owner of the most adorable, tan and white Chihuahua/Jack Russell mix. Yep, it’s a dog, and I’m not a dog person. Or rather, I didn’t use to be. I was more of a cat gal, but hadn’t even owned a feline in almost a decade. I mean, who has time to sweep up all that hair?! But I think God gave me this dog to humble me, to show me that I had absolutely no idea what I was talking about.

You see, I was one of those people who didn’t understand terms like “fur baby.” I didn’t get what all the fuss was about. I rolled my eyes when people talked like a baby to their pup, and dressing them up? Forget about it. I mean, it’s not like I was an animal hater or something. I just could take them or leave them. And I certainly couldn’t understand people who “loved” their pets. They did know it was “just a dog,” right?!

Yep, that’s what I used to say. Oh, my gosh, it’s just a dog. It’s not a human child, for goodness sake. I think I even got offended over how people could ignore the homeless and support abortion, but get bent out of shape when you left a dog outside.

Point being, I never saw myself really loving a pet. But then Lizzie happened.

Y’all, this dog. This morning I was walking into the kitchen with her to take her outside. I never did anything before coffee, but letting my little doggie outside for her morning constitutional had taken precedence over the past year. As we headed towards the door I spoke to her, with full intention that she understood, and my tone was one of syrupy sweetness. Just before I opened the door she looked up at me with her precious, chocolate eyes, and I couldn’t help but melt at her gaze. It was one of true adoration, and as I looked back at this tiny dog who thought I had hung the moon and stars, I realized I absolutely and totally loved this dog.

It caught me off guard a bit. I mean, I knew she was adorable and my little “cutie, patootie, sweet baby,” but it really hit me at that moment that I held deep affection for this animal. Something I never imagined possible.

As I looked at her tiny, puppy face smiling up at me I felt like God spoke to my heart, “it’s because she loved you first.”

Lizzie was a free, little girl we found on Craigslist, and it was divine appointment the way it all worked out. We had been looking for a small dog for our daughters for about a month, and we’d been coming up empty handed time and time again. Initially, Craigslist had only garnered me sexual propositions and scams instead of a dog. Every shelter we visited only had large breeds on the days we went, and each one we found online that we thought was going to work out, never did. Our daughters were absolutely smitten by a tiny, blue chihuahua we found at a pet store, but were quickly disappointed when the $4,000 price tag made it a resounding no! Our middle child had even decided on a name for that blue, pet store pup. Lizzie.

As we had left the pet store in silent disappointment I had the sudden urge to try Craigslist again. I searched “chihuahua puppy,” and the first listing that popped up in my area was the cutest tan and white girl. I texted the number available, not expecting much in return, and the guy on the other end responded back right away. A soldier being deployed overseas, he just wanted a good home for his dog’s new pups, and he happened to be just down the road from the out-of-the-way pet store we had ventured upon. Within 15 minutes she was ours. We had a 45 minute commute back home, and as we drove along I realized I had not asked him her name.

Imagine my surprise when I texted him one last time asking for her name and he replied back, “we’ve just been calling her Lizzie.”

As I looked lovingly at her this morning it’s that trip back home with her that first night that came to my mind. She had been so frightened. She was so small, and I’d never felt a dog shake so strongly. She shivered from head to toe, and I could feel her tiny heart hammering through her chest. She had been seven months old, at the time, and I remembered empathizing how scary going to a new home must be.

I had taken her in my lap and held her close, whispering reassurances. Finally she had laid her long, thin neck across my arm, and there she surrendered. It was then and there that we bonded. I soothed her, and I became mom. It had grown from there. She decided she loved me the most, and she had spent every day since letting me know just how much. When God had spoken to me about that darn dog in the kitchen this morning, I had realized the significance. There’s that verse in 1 John that says, “we love because he first loved us,” and I chuckled to realize I couldn’t help but love this dog because she loved me so much. She had loved me first.

When I came home from work, Lizzie was the first to run to the door. She was always the most excited. She was always in my lap if sitting and attached to my heels if up, slept at my feet, and I told my husband last week, “I think that dog loves me even more than you do (which was saying a lot).”

I remember when I first became a mother that the Lord would speak so many truths to me through my young children, and especially during such a frazzled season of life, He had spoken His special love for me through those babies. He still does, but I think now He’s added a fur-child as another vessel through which He can reveal new things. Who’d have thought?! He’s shown me to never be so proud that I assume through what medium He may work. That dog has shown me that God can show His love in more ways than I ever imagined. Yep, I stand corrected. I get it now, the whole loving a dog thing, and I’m grateful for the gift He gave our family with this little dog.