Brie Gowen

Savor the Essence of Life

You Know Who Didn’t Use Their Past as an Excuse?

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I’ve taken care of the alcoholic patient who says, “I come by it naturally. Both of my parents drank.”

I’ve had the friend who said, “you don’t understand. My Dad left when I was a kid.”

Never realizing that I did understand. Can’t we all say in one way or another, me too.

I’ve had the women in my circle who feel powerless to life, as if what they’ve been dealt all along is all there is.

A young man born into poverty and gang-banging sees no way out of the hood.

A young girl from the trailer park doesn’t even try to do well in school. I mean, she’ll always be so-and-so’s kid, after all.

We believe in things like family tradition, genetics, predisposition, or karma, and while I believe something can “run in the family,” I’m also of the mind that my God is bigger.

We think our last name makes us who we are, or perhaps how we were raised. Yet anyone who has determined to become a different kind of parent than what raised them understands the power of change.

Things don’t have to be a certain way, just because that’s the way it’s always been. Anyone who has broken the chains of familial addiction, mental illness, and abuse can attest.

This morning my husband was reading the Old Testament (again), and as he’s prone to do, he spoke to me his observations as he read.

This morning he mused, “you know, it really doesn’t talk about Moses’s early life as an Egyptian.”

And he was right. It told the story of his sister placing him in the reed basket, how his mother was allowed to nurse him, and even how Pharaoh’s daughter named him. But then it skips to, “one day, after Moses had grown up…”

I answered my spouse, “that kinda proves that your past isn’t what defines you. It’s who God has you to become that matters.”

You see, Pharaoh’s daughter may have given Moses his name, but it was Mighty God who gave him a purpose. It was God who defined who he would be. He was to be the deliverer of his people from Egypt. It didn’t matter that he had been raised as an Egyptian. God had more for him.

I think what we forget in life is that God has more for us all, and even if we’re born as a Saul, Christ can meet us on a dusty road and make us a Paul. He can take an unwanted child and adopt them into His family. He can take a reject who has been called a loser and say, “no, you’re my beloved.”

We need to remember that in God’s story for us, perhaps some parts won’t be as noteworthy as we think. Our failures don’t have to follow us, and our mistakes don’t have to define us. Our family history doesn’t have to become our history, and the way things have always been can become no more.

A sinner can become a saint, an orphan, adopted, and the rejected redeemed. He can make all things new, and any thought that says otherwise is a flat out lie. Do you know who didn’t use their past as an excuse? Crack open the pages of your Bible and you’ll be overwhelmed by people who by the standards of the world would be all washed up, a lost cause, a regrettable faux pas. Joseph would have been an ex-con, or Peter a terrible friend. Rahab would have been labeled a dirty whore, or Mary, the mother of Jesus, an embarrassing teen mom. I’m certain that John the Baptist would have been at the weirdo table in the cafeteria, and David would never be able to hold his head up again in church on Sunday after that regrettable incident with Bathsheba.

I think it’s no coincidence that Moses’s high school yearbook it’s splashed throughout the beginning chapters of Exodus, or that a description of his name brand, Egyptian cotton duds aren’t dropped in the mix. It didn’t matter where he came from, but it did matter how God would use it for his good. In turn, it doesn’t matter what our unmentionable pages proclaim. It only matters what God is writing for our future, and how He can take us from an extra in Scene One, to a leading role in Act Three.

So, if your previous story is one you’d rather just forget, realize you’re in good company. God has a tendency to take the biggest misfits and make them masters, or to transform the cursed to blessed. He can raise the dead, so I’m certain He can pull any of us from the pit of our family story, whatever it may be. He says to the crippled, “walk,” and to the blind man, “see.” He can certainly edit our story for His glory. Just ask and see.

The Upper Room

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I’ve felt such a heaviness for the past few days, and I can’t for the life of me pinpoint why. I think that’s the worst part of it. To feel downtrodden even when from the outside in things look good. To be unable to name the reason for melancholy, it makes it all the more absurd. An unwelcome visitor to your happy home. I wonder if it will always be this way, while I exist in this body? Separated from joy that is so close I can taste it.

For a few days I’ve wanted to write something about the upper room. It’s been dancing on the periphery of my brain, waiting to be put down into words, yet unwilling to escape from the mental chamber keeping it captive. How could I speak of Heavenly things when my heart felt pushed into the dirty earth? Still feeling captive to my flesh, I knew I needed to write it anyway, if only to show myself I could.

I find it no coincidence that in Luke 22 Jesus plans the Passover meal venue, the upper room, and just prior to that, in Chapter 21, He says this.

Be careful, or your hearts will be weighed down with the anxieties of life, and that day will close on you suddenly like a trap.

It’s so easy to forget that there’s more for us than next month’s work schedule or a pending dental appointment for the children. Before you know it you’re focusing on the bank balance versus the pending bill stack, or you’re questioning the commitments you’ve plotted in your calendar. You find yourself worrying about the virus the household keeps passing around, or replaying that thing you said to so-and-so, that ridiculous comment you wish you could stuff back into your stupid, gaping mouth. We busy our thoughts with if it’s time to wash the linen, or what theme we should plan for the youngest child’s birthday party. We never once contemplate the upper room.

He has prepared a place. He’s gone ahead of us and made arrangements. A banquet is coming, the likes of which we have never seen, yet we busy ourselves with plans akin to dining at Burger King. The Lord is setting the table for a grand feast, and we are somehow content to catch the scraps of the world where we wait. We forget all about the upper room.

It’s like we have an invitation sitting on our bar. It’s mixed in with grocery store flyers, an exorbitant utility bill, and one of those card stock advertisements with a fake, brand new car key attached. It’s addressed in gold letters, sealed with a blood red stamp, and it’s just waiting to be opened. Each and every day we pass it by. It’s left unopened, forgotten, pushed to the bottom of a stack meant for the trash.

We pass it by in favor of our favorite Netflix series, or rushing to the kitchen table to argue angrily over homework, pressing a dry kiss and sideways hello to our spouse. Tired, worn thin and wore out. We pass the invitation for rest, and we pass it in favor of rush and hurry. We run towards the things of this world that are here today and gone tomorrow.

Have you noticed the things of this world bring us a heap of stress, yet we pursue them with vigor? We think, if only I can hit the deadline. If only I can pay this debt. I just gotta get the kids through school and get this mortgage paid down. Then, maybe things will settle down.

We’re always in eager anticipation, expecting a future of better things. We’re hoping in a time when we won’t struggle so much. We’re waiting for a time when we won’t be so tired, when finances won’t be so tight, or when raising kids will get easier. We cling to dreams of a brighter future with less stress and more bless. We trudge through our season, weary and wondering when we’ll find our better day. We pass by the dusty, forgotten invitation.

There has to be a better way! That’s what we say. It shouldn’t be this hard! We buy self help books, seek advice from a counselor, maybe even beg that lady on Oprah Winfrey’s channel to fix our life! We forget all about the upper room.

Here’s the secret. Here’s the thing we all forget. We don’t have to wait until the feast begins to partake of the hors d’oeuvres. He is preparing the banquet table, but until it’s time to be seated, we can remember that we already have a place set with our names on it. The best five star restaurant in NYC doesn’t compare, and even better, the worst dinner party we throw doesn’t matter. It all falls flat when set beside the upper room.

The invitation that awaits, it’s one that requires our RSVP, and by accepting our individual place of honor, we agree to walk out each day with an air of importance. We can pass through each day throwing off the anxiety of a fading world that falsely vies for our attention, and instead we can say, “I’m sorry, but I’m going to a party. I can’t be bothered by that at the moment. My mind is on the upper room.”

In my time of heaviness the past few days, I am reminded to hold tightly to my invitation. It promises a wonderful feast. I don’t have to falsely hope for better days here on earth. Instead I can know in my heart that better days will come. I can walk each moment, even as my flesh and heart may fail, in joy, knowing that I am a special guest, and a special seat waits for me. Nothing much matters compared to that. He’s preparing a place.

Children get sick and the truck needs new tires, but He’s preparing a place. I feel heavy, sometimes for no reason at all, but I am invited. The world could hate me, but I’d still be invited. Karen could roll her eyes in my direction, and the whole table could talk about me after I walk away. It doesn’t matter. My Father has set a place for me at His table. Bye, Felicia.

But seriously. All the ridiculous things that try to pull me away. The unimportant tasks that try to overwhelm me. The minuscule happenings that attempt to shake me. The inconveniences that mar my day, or the mistakes that make up my past… they can’t hold a candle to what lies ahead. The upper room.

Lord, when my mind wanders to places it doesn’t need to go, remind me of the upper room. When I place my hope in anything other than you, remind me of the upper room. When I’m hurting, remind me of the upper room. When I’m happy and everything is peachy, remind me of the upper room. When I put too much stock in this fast food life, remind me of the banquet you have lavishly prepared. May I never forget the invitation that requires my focus even now. Keep my thoughts always on the upper room. I know that at your table I will never thirst, and most importantly, I will be filled.

Three Things God Has Done for Me

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I was recently reading a devotional, and in it the author encouraged the reader to make a list of three things God has done in your life. Initially, I laughed to myself. Only three! I mean, God has done more in my life than I could possibly fit on paper. Even a whole notebook. He woke me up in the morning, gave me hot water to shower with, and who could forget about coffee?! Talk about the best invention ever! And that’s just the first hour of my day. How in the world I could just pick three, I didn’t know, but I felt led to try. As I quieted my mind, these three bullets came to me, and I thought I would share them with you.

1. He healed me. Ok, so I could start with how God miraculously healed me of epilepsy. How after a decade-long battle of neurologist visits, medications three times a day, abnormal EEG’s, and debilitating migraines, He took the disease completely, totally, and immediately from me. I could talk about that, but no, it’s more than just a seizure disorder.

I could tell you how He took the pain from my knees, the pain that had been there since my twenties, the messed up knees that a doctor had told me when I was twelve years old would eventually “go out on me.” I could tell you how I carried that curse and constant pain into my forties, but the day I asked for His healing, they never hurt me again. But this is about more than not needing a knee replacement after all.

I could testify to physical healing, of myself, and of my children. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that God isn’t limited to just one kind of healing. He certainly had healed my physical body, but He had also healed the rest of me. If I looked on the outside like I used to feel on the inside, I would resemble an old China doll. The lines of harsh reality had riddled my fragile shell like cracks in aged porcelain. One wrong move and I probably would have shattered to pieces. But God.

My life before the love of Christ was broken. Torn by the pain of rejection, I felt lacking. Twisted by the lies that I was only as good as the people who had left me in life, I felt worth little more than nothing. I felt empty. We’re not made to feel that way, and as such I wasted many years trying to fill myself with anything I could. Anything that would give me some substance, make me feel worthwhile. I sought the approval of man, and I numbed my pain with empty indulgence. I tried to be better, basing my worth on what I could achieve in life. It never felt like enough. It wasn’t until I found the love of Jesus that I could be healed from all the hurt this world had piled upon me.

He healed me from the pain of sin, and He gave me eternal life. He healed me from my past, and He gave me a future. He healed me from rejection, and He adopted me as His own. He healed me from the bondage of slavery, and He gave me real freedom to live life fully and joyfully.

2. He gave me a new identity. I have had several last names in my life. I had the one I was born with, and later, my adoptive dad’s last name. I had my first husband’s last name, and now I have my second husband’s name. I have held many titles in life, some of them I’d rather forget, but others that I’m proud to go by to this day. I love holding the role of wife, mother, nurse, and friend. I’m a writer, a Navy veteran, an encourager, and a singer at times. I’ve been known to be a goofball, a crybaby, and even an outcast. I have been labeled things that make me cringe, and I’ve been called names that made me cry. But do you know what all these things have in common?

They are meaningless.

They are meaningless when held alongside my identity in Christ. Often times in life we can falsely build our worth and self esteem on the titles we possess or roles we play. We think we’re what our last name is, what job we perform, or how well we perform it. We assume we’re what we do, the mistakes we’ve made, or even the things we’ve failed to achieve. We fall to lies that we’re held back by who our family is, genetics, our financial circumstances, where we live, the way it’s always been, or our lot in life. We never reach the potential God has for us because we believe in a false identity. The identity of this world.

When I came to know the Lord, I realized my true identity was in Him. I was His child. I was created in His image, with a destiny in mind. I was forethought, artfully designed, on purpose, with each detail precisely constructed in love. I was worth dying for, and I was worth pursuing. I was a child of the King, protected, holy, worthy, righteous, and redeemed. I was His. I was not alone. I was loved.

3. He gave me a purpose beyond myself. Once I found myself healed and whole, loved and set free, I felt an urgency to share this miraculous happening. It’s like, if you suddenly had the best cup of coffee in your life. It would be all you could talk about. You’d make sure your spouse, your best friend, and all your coworkers knew how to find this divine cup of joe. This is where I found myself.

Each day, as my spirit draws closer to the Lord, I become more certain of the plans He has for me. Knowing my identity in Him, I am able to throw off the minuscule concerns of this world that have no eternal perspective. I am able to shed the busyness, the ridiculous distractions that vie for my attention, and in essence, pull me further from His truth. I think that’s the first step to finding God’s purpose for your life. You have to be able to let go of all that entangles you, trying to take first chair over His kingdom.

As you can release the treasures of this world, and can begin building eternal equity instead, you can find true purpose. You can find true peace. True joy, even.

When you can let go of the things of this world, the titles and roles that you think complete you, and instead find real fulfillment through your heritage and the inheritance of your Heavenly Father, you will discover your true path in life. Consider this world a practice run. The real thing is what awaits us.

When I realized this profound, yet simple truth, I found purpose. I found a purpose beyond myself and my front yard. I found a way to be full, to the brim, and an understanding that because of Him, I am never lacking. And in this fullness of life, I make each day about pouring out that love on others. The more I give, the more I get. I never realized that before.

So, now I would encourage you. Sit down, clear your mind, and ask yourself, “what has God done for me?” You might just discover along the way, what you can do for Him.

The Only Love That Makes Sense

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I was listening to the radio this morning on the way to work, and as the singer’s lyrics rang out, I chuckled to myself at how true his words were.

He had sang, “it’s the kind of love that doesn’t make sense.”

And it certainly didn’t make sense how emotional I had been just twenty minutes before when listening to another song. A love song. My commute had started with a song about surrender, about handing my life to God so that He could make it into something beautiful. As I drove down the dark, deserted portion of turnpike, I had raised one hand in the air in agreement, and the act, thought, whatever, as the words poured through the speaker and into my heart, had caused me to weep uncontrollably.

Such love. That was what brought me to tears. Such peace at having my Heavenly Father direct my steps. That’s what had caused my emotional outpouring. I couldn’t help but bawl at such a wonderful love, and the fact that this relationship alone could rock me so severely made no sense, from a worldly point of you. I mean, I adored my children more than the air I breathed, but it took an intense event surrounding their lives to make my eyes leak at the corner. And I loved my husband more than words could express, yet even my immense affection for him did not impact me like the love of my Savior did. When I opened myself to the fact of what Jesus had done for me over 2,000 years ago, but also what He continues to do each and every day, I. Was. Wrecked. A total blubber-mess of gratitude and joy.

Sadly, I knew that for many people my response to thoughts of love for the Lord didn’t make sense, but as a woman who had suffered through the anxiety of trying to do life on my own, or the frustration of desperately seeking acceptance elsewhere, it made perfect sense. In fact, it was the only love that made any sense!

My husband is a wonderful husband, but the best thing I ever did for our marriage was understand that he couldn’t be my personal Mr. Fixit. He couldn’t save me, heal me, or love me perfectly. He just couldn’t. Human hearts are built longing for a perfect love, and the only surefire cure for the human condition is Jesus.

Spouses will let you down, friends will fail you. Children will frustrate you, and even your best pal will hurt your feelings. People will judge your performance, and they’ll falsely base your personal worth on what you do or the mistakes you make. These are the kind of common actions that create phrases like “love hurts,” but in all reality it’s the world that hurts. It’s sin that hurts. Love, in essence, in its purest form, the fact that God is love, this kind of love will never hurt us. Our running from it will hurt us, but there’s healing, total and complete, in surrendering to the perfect love we were created to enjoy.

The bottom line is that anything we pursue in this life, be it person or substance, to fill the void in our soul, it will fall short. It will be like the love you have for tacos. It’s pretty awesome, but it won’t save a life or build a future. Not even the best tacos. My spouse is the bee’s knees, but I don’t put the weight of perfection or filling my soul on his shoulders. He would collapse, and I’d end up dissatisfied. But, when I can realize that by falling fully for the only love that makes sense (the love of Christ), I am more able to healthily and happily invest in my other relationships. I can share that perfect love with them, and together we can all be content.

How to Receive God’s Promises in Your Battle

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I’m going to tell you a story you may or may not be familiar with, and then I’m going to tell you exactly how you can apply the lesson to your own life. This story is about a man from the Old Testament called Joshua. I’ll bet you remember him. He’s the guy who marched around the wall of Jericho seven times, shouting loudly as God caused it to fall to the ground. But that’s not the only battle he led. He actually faced many armies on his way towards the land God had promised to Israel. The Book of Joshua is full of so many gems, so I’ll simply pass along one that really stuck out to me today. It’s good news we all can use as we face our own battles in the journey to God’s promises for us.

Following Jericho, God told Joshua of the next step. He wanted him to go take the land of Ai. I love that with every command of impending war, God tells Joshua, “do not be afraid.” That’s something we all need reminded of numerous times, not just in battle, but on the daily as we face the challenges of life. So, I like how God continues to tell Joshua not to be afraid, to be courageous, as He reminds him that the Lord God is always with him, as He is with us.

Anyway, back to Ai. God starts by telling Joshua not to be afraid, and then He delivers His promise. He tells Joshua that they will win this battle, that God Himself will deliver Ai into the Israelites’ hands. Good news, right? There’s so many times I feel (hear) God’s promises to me. He tells me that He’ll provide for my family, that He will direct our paths. Sometimes His promises are just general in nature, but other times more specific. Like when He promised provision for our sabbatical back home in Mississippi. I think we all face battles on the daily, and whether by reading the Bible, praying, or talking with a Godly mentor, we receive promises from the Lord that we don’t have to fear what we’re facing, because we don’t face it alone.

It was the same for Joshua. He knew the direction God was leading him, and he knew God promised His favor in the battle. I have had instances where I’m reading The Word, and I feel a promise from the Lord delivered to my heart. I feel so good in that moment. So confident. But the next day, when I’m trying to walk out that promise, it’s a little harder. I think that’s why God commanded to Joshua what He did next.

Joshua 8:18 (NIV)

Then the LORD said to Joshua, “Hold out toward Ai the javelin that is in your hand, for into your hand I will deliver the city.” So Joshua held out toward the city the javelin that was in his hand.

God had promised the conquer of Ai, but as Joshua points his javelin towards the city, he is not only commanding his army to battle, he is also walking in faith. He is following the instruction of the Lord faithfully, and he is showing in a physical sense the inner trust his heart holds. He’s pointing in a certain direction, but he’s also making the proclamation (for all to see) that he is headed that way because God commanded it. He is not afraid, and his javelin shows it.

We move to a new city, or we take that intimidating promotion. We accept the position leadership gives us, or we agree to help out in a field we’re not fully confident in. Whether it’s coaching little league, teaching Sunday school, leading a team, or persevering through a difficult season of marriage, we walk forward in faith the things God places in our lives. We walk with confidence into the unknown because He tells us not to fear. We hold up our own javelins, even with arms trembling, and we step out, in faith. Or we should, rather.

For the sake of the lesson, let’s say we’ve all pointed our javelin with confidence (albeit shaky) towards our specific promise land. What’s next?

The battle, of course!

Y’all. Have you ever been in the middle of a battle, and it feels like a ten year war? Like, there is no end in sight. Even if you know a victory is supposed to be coming, your faith can falter when faced with continued hardship. When I read about the battle with Ai, I was convinced it lasted longer than five minutes. I mean, the strategy was really cool. They lured their enemy out to the middle of nowhere, attacked the vulnerable city in the enemy’s absence, then turned around from their fake retreat to surprise the over-confident Ai in an ambush of epic proportion. It was awesome, but I don’t think it was speedy. I’m pretty sure it took some time. I would imagine there were moments where Joshua (in his humanness) worried about his soldiers. He probably cringed as the plan played out, perhaps mental fingers covering his hesitant eyes while they prepared to take the land of their enemy.

Joshua 8:25-26 (NIV)

25 Twelve thousand men and women fell that day—all the people of Ai. 26 For Joshua did not draw back the hand that held out his javelin until he had destroyed[a] all who lived in Ai.

The battle had continued, the enemy had been mighty, the way uncertain, the victory not yet complete, but do you know what Joshua had not done, despite the odds? He had not drawn back his hand. He held the javelin, pointed in the direction of God’s promise, until the war was won.

He had walked in faith, but more importantly, he had continued to walk in faith even as the battle waged on. So many times we find ourselves in situations that seem endless, the victory too far away to see. We get discouraged, and we don’t want to keep going. Our arms get tired. Our fears crowd in. We begin our battle in confidence, but it’s easy to draw back our hand when the going gets tough. We don’t hold out until the battle is complete. We draw back, and in doing so, we miss the promise of victory that God had in mind.

If you find yourself in a tough situation today, I would encourage you to hold out your javelin in faith. Point it towards the promise of victory that God gives. Don’t pull back your hand when the battle drags on, but instead hold steady in faith until God declares it done. Don’t miss the victory He has promised in your life. Don’t draw back your hand until the end.

When I Realized I’d Never Be Enough

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I’d like to think that after forty-two years of transversing this life, I wouldn’t give a hoot what people think of me. And for the most part, I typically don’t. I mean, I’m certainly not the young, flat-chested teen I used to be, trying my best to fit in with the kids at the cool table. Heck, I’m not even the harried woman I was in my thirties who replayed every single conversation, encounter, or confrontation for at least the next 48 hours, hoping I could change my reaction. Like that old cigarette ad used to say, I’ve come a long way, baby, but this week showed me I still had a ways to go.

I wonder, will I ever be enough? For others, or even, more importantly, for myself? I’m not sure.

The past year I felt I had finally entered into a more confident season of life. I counted myself as a seasoned professional, an asset to my coworkers, a dependable part of the team. Even though it still seemed shocking to me to have so many years under my belt, I finally felt like I could walk confidently in my role as a seasoned, experienced nurse. Yet as I’ve found myself waking into new roles and responsibilities this year, I’ve felt lacking. I’ve had moments where I thought, “I must look like a total moron!” And I’ve worried more in the past few weeks about my performance in one area than I have in two years of traveling to unknown and unfamiliar hospital settings across the country.

As I saw myself moving towards the specific ministry callings God was leading me into, I realized I was being distracted by the voices. You know the ones I’m talking about. The voices that always tell you what you are not.

You don’t know enough to do this.

You aren’t equipped for this.

You don’t have the ability to carry this out like it deserves.

The voices say, “you’re not enough.”

They tell little lies. That subsequently sound like they could be true.

They think you’re an idiot for what you said.

You sound so full of yourself!

You know they’re just humoring you, right?

I even found myself questioning my relationships with family. People that I am incredibly comfortable with, I suddenly began questioning my interactions with them. I didn’t think I was a good sister, or sensitive enough to the needs of others.

He hates you, probably.

Yeah, she’s not texting back because you made her mad.

It’s the same voices that make you feel like you don’t belong, like an outcast, like relationships aren’t for you.

The only place I felt like I was achieving my goals was in my own home, and the comfort of being a good wife and mother kept me steady. Yet I was struggling in my other life roles. I felt convicted of my over-the-top concerns, and I questioned if I was putting the desire to please man above the Lord. So, I told myself, “I am good enough for God.”

But y’all, that didn’t help much with the fact that I felt lacking in areas of life that deserved more of me. Or that I felt deserved more of me. Because we are all our own worst enemy, am I right?

This morning the Lord got honest with me, and you know how we all need that hard truth hammered home sometimes!

I felt like God said, “Brie, you are not enough. You’ll never be enough.”

Gosh, He was right. As good as I tried to be, I wasn’t Mary Poppins. I’d never be practically perfect in every way. I couldn’t measure up to my own expectations or even that of the world around me, and there was something freeing about admitting that. Saying to myself, “yep, you’ll never be enough.” You see, it was a relief because of what the Lord whispered next.

He said, “but Jesus. He is enough.”

I could not measure up, but through Him I could step up. I could step into all the things God has for me. Alone, I definitely wasn’t enough to fill the shoes He had laid down, but with Him I could still walk confidently, walk forward, walk in peace.

I’d never be enough, but Jesus? Well, He had already paid more than enough for me for all eternity.

Praise Him in the Storm

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You’re not like shifting shadows.

I spoke, eyes closed, but the warm sun of Florida winter lighting up the world beyond my shielded lids.

You are so good. Always good.

I believed the words I prayed, and I found that the more I spoke them in truth, the better I felt. The still, small voice that had whispered to my heart to praise Him had been correct.

Even when the circumstances seem bad, you are good.

The peace that covered me now, as heartfelt words poured from my lips and my hands raised in worship, had not been there even minutes before. I don’t really know how I had felt. Not good. Not bad. Aloof? Surreal? I had tried to articulate my feelings to a friend, but ended up backspacing and erasing the text before I hit send. It was hard to describe. I felt disconnected from the truth that always kept me so steady.

I never doubt your goodness.

Yet I had. I mean, for a moment anyway. How else could I explain my sadness, my tears, my longing to be there. Even though I knew the very Spirit of God stood in for me.

My flesh may fail, but my heart trusts in you always.

It’s like the praise was bringing me back to the truth. The disconnect I had felt; was it my flesh trying to control an uncontrollable situation?

All your ways are good.

I had been so proud of my faith earlier in the morning. My dad had gone for a simple procedure, and upon hearing its cancellation I had praised God that it had been delayed. His reasons always had purpose. I rejoiced that the trip to the emergency room (800 miles from me) was just a precaution, the super fast heart rate a passing thing. My daddy would be fine.

I trust all your ways.

It’s like that, it seems. Carrying faith is easy when circumstances are good, but it gets heavier when they are not. When I heard words like “heart attack” and “open heart surgery” it was like an unwelcome dinner guest, one I certainly wasn’t expecting.

Help me, Lord.

I knew far too much about the subject. Having worked in surgical intensive care recovering open heart surgery patients for eight years, I knew how common this procedure was. No problem. But then I also knew the complications that could arise. Oh, dear. I had cried in the slime aisle at Walmart as my husband stroked my hair and held me tight.

Help my daddy, Jesus.

Ever since the tears had fallen and the worry had crept in, I had felt off. It reminded me a bit of how a head cold will make you feel. There, but not really present. Lights on, but only halfway home. I had texted friends, I had added him to prayer lists, and I had called my most trusted loved ones to listen. Still, I had felt afraid.

You control all things.

Every word of praise and truth I spoke brought me closer to the Father, and it also took me farther from the confusion and anxiety I had felt lost in. Like a thick fog it had covered me, but His light led me out of the darkness of the circumstances before me.

No matter what, you work all things for our good.

Even in the midst of bad news, uncertain circumstances, and concern for my dad’s health, the truth of God was unchanging, and by speaking that truth aloud in praise I had brought my worried, fretful-daughter mind into line with His mercies and goodness.

My trust is in you.

I had just needed to remind myself of that.

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

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.

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.