Brie Gowen

Savor the Essence of Life

I Finally Found Where I Fit In!

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I can recall receiving a specific message tailored just for me from a visiting prophet when I was twenty-one years old. His words were like a soothing balm, the proclamation I had always wanted in life, whether I realized it or not. He didn’t know me personally, yet the accuracy of his comments struck a chord with my misfit heart, and I have remembered them always.

He had spoken, “you feel like an outcast, like you’ve never fit in. But God wants you to know He has a place for you. You’ve always felt like a square peg, and God is saying He has a square hole in mind just for you.”

These encouraging words were just what I needed. I had always felt like an outsider in life. I was the girl in school who tried to hang out at the “cool kids’” lunch table, but had somehow never been able to take a seat there. I didn’t feel welcome.

As a child I was the new kid, from out West, with the weird accent. Totally tubular.

Or I was the sick kid. Epilepsy. Not a well-known condition in small-town U.S.A.

I was the adopted kid, never really fitting in with all the cousins. Treated differently by the grandparents even if they didn’t mean it to be that way.

I was the little girl who was so ordinary that her biological father had left town, never looking back at the daughter he rejected.

I was the quiet girl in school. Pretty, but odd. Puberty didn’t hit until I was seventeen, and I was the last cheerleader who still admitted to playing with Barbies or frogs.

In all the Howard Hughes’ films of the eighties, the outcasts and misfits at least had their own clique. Even The Nerds got their revenge.

But I didn’t fit in anywhere. I couldn’t find my group, and went through most of my young life trying way too hard to find my niche. A loner. Maybe even a loser.

I was born again at the age of 19. I can remember feeling such acceptance into God’s family, but it seemed short-lived. I’ll never say this was anyone’s fault but my own. I know my own perceptions are often to blame. It was probably the devil at work in my feelings, and perhaps in the actions of others as well. Regardless, I never felt like I fit into the Church. Most of my Christian peers had been raised in a deep faith, and I was still learning to read the Bible. I didn’t understand all the rules, of what was good, or what was definitely bad. I was on a learning curve when it came to taboos of the Christian walk, and those who corrected me were not usually gentle. Sadly, I have way too many instances of harsh correction by my “sisters” in faith, and I know I have healing still left from those encounters.

I had a past, but one thing I learned about people was, ones outside the church didn’t care about that stuff. They didn’t give a hoot about what I wore, if I watched an R rated movie, or if I had saved myself for marriage. It was much easier to get along with the people who skipped Sundays all together, and so began a season of being apart from God.

It makes me wonder, is backsliding the result of sinful influence outside the church, or is it perhaps the realization one haves that they’ll never be good enough to have a place at the table of religion?

Oh, but Grace. Great, great grace.

I have finally found my place. I have finally found where I fit. For awhile I thought the place that prophet spoke of over twenty years ago was a certain space. For years I wondered where God would move me, or what group of friends He would put in my path. Still corrupted by the ways of this world, and still scarred by past rejection, I still tried to make myself fit. I attempted to insert myself in this women’s group or that ministry opportunity. I allowed my belief system to be that of the majority to which I wanted to conform, knowing that to sit at the table, there are certain standards you must uphold, and certain opinions you must keep inside. The thing is, no matter how much I tried to mold myself into the Godly women I admired, the more unqualified I felt. I wasn’t the trendy mom, the crafty homeschooler, or the first hand up to volunteer for watching the nursery on Sunday. I didn’t like being busy, spinning plates, or overwhelming my schedule. Then I had this habit of seeing the best in others, trying to walk in the shoes of the “sinners,” and remembering far too easily the past I had previously mentioned. I wanted to give money to a guy on the street without worrying if he was going to spend it wisely! I wanted to believe that each time a drug addict ended up in my hospital bed, that they would stop using, and change their life. When others whispered about a short skirt on Sunday, I remembered a “church lady” making me leave a meeting because my t-shirt said the word “suck” on it.

My weird ideas have often left people confused. My fair treatment of those different than myself has made me unpopular in certain circles. In fact, the last year has found me ousted from the table of many of my Christian friends, simply for speaking topics not allowed for discussion. I guess we could call them “square peg” topics in the circular world of religion.

I felt so hurt. I felt the rejection all over again. Kindness was met with anger, and I trudged away licking my wounds. I guess sometimes you think you’ve found the place where God has you to fit in, only to discover you’ll never fit! We aren’t meant to fit in the pretty, round spaces this world provides. It turns out the edges have hidden rough spots, and you can get a face full of splinters, even as others have planks in their eyes.

When I read the Bible, though, I felt like I fit. When I read, re-read, meditated, and prayed over the words of Jesus, I felt totally at home. In His warm embrace I found my place, and in His love I found me.

I’m not in any way trying to lessen the importance of gathering with fellow believers. I truly belief that finding a church home, surrounded with brothers and sisters in Christ is much needed. Relationships are beneficial! The support, counsel, and correction of other believers is required in this confusing walk of life. So, don’t get me wrong, here. I’m not saying to throw out the baby with the bath water. But I am saying that some dirt and grime can get in the way sometimes.

Some people in this world find their place like the perfect glove. For others, they always feel like an outcast. I think it’s good to understand that if you don’t feel like you fit, you’re in good company. Jesus never fit in with the religious leaders of His day, either. People will misunderstand you, they will hurt you, or they’ll unknowingly (perhaps, knowingly) push you out. But at the table of the Father, there’s always a seat saved for you. Right next to Christ. It’s in His love we find our perfect place. It’s in His love that we finally fit in.

The First Step to a Good Relationship

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I’ve always been one of those gals who likes instructions. I figure most women do, and that’s why we’re a good partner for men. We have no problem following direction, which can be an asset to their ummm, lack of such. I joke, but seriously, relationships are a lot about teamwork. So, as a woman who loves a step-by-step guide, who’s married to a man who figures it out as he goes, we manage to meet in the middle of most things, creating a great balance for this complex thing called life. And since I’m the instruction manual kinda lady, I thought what better way to share some of the relationship knowledge I’ve gained through trial and error, than by giving you all an excellent first step. After all, it’s hard to make it to point C when you’ve neglected A, or even B.

I got the idea for this post this morning when I was reading the Bible. I came across a part when the Old Testament prophet Elijah said to the people, “How long will you waver between two opinions? If the LORD is God, follow him; but if Baal is God, follow him.”

I’m not trying to make being in a relationship akin to serving God (although, lessons are there), and I’m definitely not going to try and over-spiritualize the topic. But many times when I read the Bible it reminds me how it can impact each area of your life. This morning’s readings happened to remind me of a time that changed not only the course of my relationship with my now-husband, but also changed the course of my life. How could I not share that with you all?! It was my very own moment of discovering that if I believed in something, I needed to commit to it already.

It was the day before Valentine’s, approximately 12 years ago. First off, yes, I had waited until the last minute to buy my boyfriend a card. You see, things weren’t the greatest between us. I could blame it on so many things. I mean, I was freshly out of a marriage gone bad, with a husband who had left me. Rejection will make any girl feel afraid to open her heart to another man. I could blame it on my grief. My heart was still numb from the recent loss of my mother. I was living life in a fog, and I honestly don’t remember most days back in that timeframe. I probably drank too much, trying to numb my pain even further, and my fella certainly was no choir boy either. We both succumbed to our individual vices, two broken souls clinging to one another loosely, trying to figure out if we wanted the other person to help save us or not.

Point is, I could go on and on with all the many reasons why we weren’t in a fabulous place in our relationship, but for the purposes of this post, I’m just going to discuss the pivotal decision that started to change things for the better.

So, back to the Hallmark aisle. I love cards. Always have. It must be my love language or something. I’m a writer, after all. I love words. I love how you can take feelings and put them into words, and then gift those words. A card is an amazing way to say, “this! This is a piece of what I feel, and what you mean to me.”

So, there I was in my favorite place, and I had found the perfect Valentine’s Day card, despite waiting until the last minute to buy it. I read the words, knowing they were a perfect declaration of love, but it was some unwritten words that really shook me.

I can’t say I’ve ever heard the audible voice of God, and at the time I hardly heard the whisper of the Holy Spirit to my heart, but when it happened in the card aisle that day I had no doubt it was the voice of God speaking in my head.

“You need to mean it.”

Five words, out of the blue, that caused me to pause before placing the card in my basket, and that began a conviction in my heart. God knew I wasn’t 100 percent in this relationship. I was holding back, guarding my heart, and distrustful of moving forward. The act of purchasing the card for him was just lip service. I was saying “I love you,” but my actions were lacking. The card spun a lovely lyric of commitment, but my heart wasn’t in it. Not really.

Looking back, I wonder if my face in the card aisle reflected the shaking I was under at that moment. It was like I stood at a crossroads. I could keep giving a mediocre effort, kinda gliding through the relationship, indifferent to the eventual outcome, or I could go all in. Yeah, it was a gamble to give away my heart, but I knew I’d never achieve real happiness in a relationship without betting on us. I had all the right words to describe love. Now I just needed to want it and believe it.

The thing is, this world is full of broken, hurting people. When we started our relationship, we were certainly both those things. We had more baggage than a bellhop, but the only way to start unloading it all is to admit it’s there, and then make the decision to do something about it.

A relationship requires give and take. It takes teamwork. It takes both parties willing to work. And the first step to happiness in a relationship is deciding to put in the work. Not halfway, but 100 percent.

Heck, I’ve known people who get married with it on the edge of their thoughts, “this probably isn’t gonna work. Just like all my other relationships didn’t work.”

Well, of course it’s not going to work. Why is the percentage of marriages lower today than thirty years ago? People don’t want to make that commitment. They want a test drive. Let’s just live together and see what happens. There’s no money back guarantee with relationships, and we can’t treat them like there is.

The first step to creating a happy relationship is deciding you can be happy. It’s understanding you deserve happiness. It’s making the commitment to believe in yourself, and to believe in the other person. It’s the decision to actually try and be a better partner. It’s the choice we all make to lay down pride and selflessly serve the person we’re saying we love. Also known as, not just saying the words, but showing them with everything we have.

If you find yourself currently gliding through a tumultuous dating game, ask yourself those words. “Do you mean it?” Are you willing to put in the work? Stand at the crossroads and decide to either go all in or stop pretending just because you kinda crave companionship. Any relationship takes all that both people have to offer. If you’re not ready to give all you got, it may be time to take a step back and see why that is. It’s not fair to the other person if you’re not willing to mean the words inside the card that you’re buying.

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.

I Don’t Identify as a Woman

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I’ve heard this in the media a lot lately, and last night as I sat slightly uncomfortable in a huge gathering of women, I felt it.

I don’t identify as a woman.

As hard as I have tried over the years, especially in high school, and as much as I may want it to be different, I just don’t feel it. I don’t. I don’t guess I’ve ever identified as a woman.

A couple of weeks ago I sat in church and they announced an upcoming Women’s Conference. The video made it look very appealing, but there was that large part of me that was like, “nah. I’m good.”

See, I’m not really a joiner, especially where women are concerned. I don’t fit in, I never have, and many years ago I stopped trying. I just wasn’t like them. I couldn’t get into the whole “girls’ night out,” and I didn’t trust ladies any further than I could throw them. Which isn’t far. Because even if they’re little, I’m really weak. But I digress. The point is, well, I’m going to be very honest here. I don’t like females.

Ok, I love being a woman. I love having daughters. But somewhere between being the new kid in third grade and being the butt of a bully’s angst in high school, I decided I could take it or leave it where female friendships were concerned. Actually, leave it. Definitely leave it.

The thing is, God has really been dealing with me. He’s been teaching me new things over the past couple of years, stretching me, and taking me to new levels of trust with Him. Selling all my possessions and moving my family of five 800 miles away from all our extended family and friends? No problem. Taking on a job with zero insurance or paid time off? Easy peasy. That same travel position having no security of employment and income or knowledge of where the next job would come from? Bring it on! But stepping out of my turtle shell of introversion? I’m sure that wasn’t the voice of God.

So when I heard about the Women’s Conference I was of two minds. One said, go, but the other said hide.

“Oh, man. I work a shift at the hospital that day. Too bad,” I thought, with little upset.

But dang it. Still that feeling nagged me to go.

“Okay, God,” I prayed. “I’ll try and see if I can get off work. If you really want me to go, make it work.”

I challenged Him, and of course, He challenged me right back. I got the day off easily, no matter how much I told my boss, “I know this is last minute, so it’s ok if you can’t…”

Despite my dislike of most women, because let’s be honest, we’ve all lived through our own version of the Mean Girls movie, I do have a handful of trusted women in my life. It just so happened that most of them were my immediate family, and the rest were a thousand miles away. Undeterred, I went ahead to the conference alone, the Holy Spirit my plus one, and I asked God to use it for my growth.

Immediately upon arriving I realized there were women everywhere. I didn’t know any of them and I really didn’t like crowds, but I checked in with a smile and went to find a seat. I found a back row with a few open spots, settled into one, then was kindly asked to move over so a group of friends could sit next to their friends. I moved into the one empty seat, directly behind a large column blocking my view of the stage. I got up quickly and repeated this same sidestep seat swap another time before finally finding a vacant spot where a group of women were kind enough to let me linger.

At that moment I felt so alone in that big crowd. I watched women laughing and socializing with one another. I smiled brightly, watching, waiting, hoping for someone I could try and engage, but still I felt like an outsider. I had always felt that way. I had never fit in. I had always been the weirdo, the one other women talked about when I walked away. It had taken me years, decades even, to stop trying to fit in. I had finally, at forty, come to a place in my life where I was happy with how God made me, I wasn’t going to try and change for anyone, and I didn’t care what anyone thought! Ha. I felt peace with me. So why was God upsetting the balance?! Why push me to (I shudder) hang out with others.

The preacher was no better! He had said something six months or so ago that started this thorn in my side. It’s like he had been staring straight at me when he said God wanted us loving others, building relationships, and stepping out of our comfort zone. He deflated my balloon of intimate introversion, going so far as to say it wasn’t of God. Well, crap.

Next thing I knew God kept building on that, putting desires in me to join Outreach teams and small groups. All things that were outside of my wheelhouse. My safety net, my equally shy and shut-in spouse, he was no help. In an out of character for him fashion, he readily agreed to my suggestions of “getting involved.”

As I sat in that church last night, my wounded flesh wanted to scream, “I don’t belong here!” That bullied, flat-chested, anorexic teenager in me wanted to dwell on having no one to sit by or being ignored and pushed aside.

Instead I spoke in a whisper, “not today, satan.”

Y’all, I’ve never identified as a woman in that, I’m not like most. I have been hurt, and I’ve been pushed into my warm cocoon. I’ve made my circle so small that it no longer has room for God to work in my life the things He needs to work. So, He’s been calling me out of my circle of safety. He’s been calling me to step out and (gulp) make friends. Female ones! I’ve never identified as a woman in that I haven’t been able to enjoy or relate to the value of female friendships that other women seem to revel in. I feel God calling me to different ministries, but it seems you have to actually be around other people for that to work. Sigh.

It’s comical sometimes the things God can do to bring you where He wants you to be. Especially when you ask Him for it. He can make a borderline hoarder (I’m talking about myself, by the way) sell all their stuff, and take a scared girl (in a forty-two year old body) out of her shell. So, I’m open to that.

I haven’t ever been able to identify as a woman (not like other women, anyway), and even now it’s hard for me. But I see God moving. I see Him changing my heart. I see Him chiseling away the walls I’ve built. So last night I may have sat on the sidewalk alone, eating my nachos, praying someone would come talk to me, but I also made my way over to a group of ladies I knew, carrying a dessert, and starting a conversation like a bonafide normal person. I even hugged a few women and signed up for a ladies group.

I haven’t always been able to identify as a woman, but I do know that I’m God’s girl. And I’m starting to see all the sisters before me that He’s placing in my path.

What God Would Say to the Woman Who’s Not Enough

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Most of us women, at one time or another, feel as if we’re not enough, like we’re lacking some fundamental trait that will magically transform us into the women we wish to be. Not a patient enough mother, or perhaps you’re a wife who suffers to serve. We desire to be that mighty woman of God, to get it right at least every now and again. A fight with our spouse, or a harsh, thoughtless word screamed in frustration at our children prove to us where we have fallen short once again. If only we could be the kind of friend our girlfriends need, or have the time and energy to volunteer at church. If only we could keep the kitchen clean, laundry basket empty, or keep up with our graying roots like other moms seem to do.

We see our Facebook friends dressing trendy, our Instagram idols redecorating their homes. The lady next door doesn’t have trash falling out of the backseat of her minivan, and the mom of four at church, her kids are always so well behaved! A condescending look at the grocery store, the well-intentioned yet hurtful advice from an older woman at church, and the thoughtless comment from your husband all cement the idea that you need to step it up. You need to change, improve, work on you!

Wash your face, wipe your eyes, and work on you! Make time for yourself, yet cherish time with your children, time that is fleeting, and that you’re constantly reminded passes too quickly. How does that work?!

You’ll miss this, they say, all while taking afternoon naps themselves that you can’t personally enjoy.

So you strive to do better. You endeavor to be a Proverbs 31 woman, even though you feel like a Prozac 24/7 kinda gal. If you feel depressed you must not be godly enough, so back to the drawing board for you. Watch your weight, exercise, pray, repeat. Count backwards from ten, take your vitamins, and drink more water. Go out with your girlfriends, read a book, take time for yourself. Stay attractive for your spouse, serve him in love, and give him the affection you yourself feel like you’re lacking. Be in the mood, even if you’re not. Meal prep, crockpot, freezer meals. Keto, Paleo, Weight Watchers, Hello Fresh. So much advice, yet so little time. I don’t know about you, but I just want to not be tired anymore, and to wake up without a sore neck and back. Also, why am I anxious about nothing at all?!

Being a woman is hard, but working to be the woman you think you should be is even harder. It’s not easy being everything for everyone, yet still feeling like you’re not enough. Not good enough, pretty enough, young enough, thin enough, strong enough, happy enough. You’re not everyone’s cup of tea, sure, but maybe you just want to be the cup you yourself could enjoy. You want to be the mother your children deserve, the wife your husband desires, and the woman God needs you to be. Why is it so hard?!

Well, take a breath and listen. This is what God would say to you today.

Stop! Don’t work on you. Work on knowing me better. Stop striving to be the “mighty woman of God” you think you should be, and instead simply rest in who I have created you to be.

I don’t want you to be like her. I created you to be you. The things you see as flaws, I put those there. I thoughtfully formed your crooked nose and short legs. And even the flaws that the world has harshly placed upon you, I can work with those too. Don’t doubt what I can do.

The world will say you are not enough. Even my other children will tell you that is so. Satan will whisper lies so stealthy you will think they are truth, but I promise you this. You can only find my truth in my Word. If it’s not in the Bible, then it’s not for you to believe.

Stop seeking self-improvement, and instead seek my face. Spend time with me. Pour over my truths in scripture, and let that truth flood your soul. Allow it to take over your thoughts so that when lies from the enemy come, because they will, you can overpower them with who I say you are.

Stop working on being better, and start being better in me. Remember that my strength is in your weakness, that you have been made perfect in me, that I am in you, and you are in me. Together, there is no lack. There is always enough.

You are what I say you are, and you are enough. You can rest in my perfect peace, knowing the plans I have for you, plans for a wonderful future.

Stop fighting battles I have already won. Stop waging war on yourself. I take it personally. I created the stars in the sky, ones you cannot even see, ones that shine so fiercely they are blinding up close, but you are still my most precious creation. Just as you are. Stop trying to alter my design.

Stop planning to do better, and simply follow my path I have laid out for you. You cannot see it for your own anxieties of becoming lost. When you feel lost, go back to my map. Read the words there in red. They tell you the way.

Stop working on being a better you, and focus on residing in me. I am your safe place. I can block out the whispers that say you’re not enough. There’s nothing wrong with desiring to be a better you, except when you begin to think you alone hold the key to change. Only I can change hearts, and only in me will you find the completeness you desire. Stop trying to be everything, and rest in the fact that I already am. In me you have fullness of life. In me, you are already enough.

Is It Just Being a Woman, Or What?!

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Today I feel great. More than great, actually. I’ve smiled enough today that the corners of my mouth are sore, but I’m definitely not complaining. It’s nice to come out the other side of a dry spell. I guess that’s what I’ll call it. I’m talking about that barren place of your emotions where you feel empty, where you feel as if you resemble the desert floor when it hasn’t rained in a long time. Dry, open, weeping, even without tears. You’re even too empty to cry.

Last week I experienced a span of days where I awoke feeling downtrodden. In the mornings I would even awake with my heart racing, trying to remember the dreams that had kept my subconscious spinning, the ones that must have had some purpose if they left me feeling so anxious and coming apart. Through the day I would worry on simple issues, the nonexistent problems that I somehow tried to make matter more. I would imagine trouble when it shouldn’t even be a thought, and I guess what bothers me the most about that is it’s the total opposite of who God has created me to be.

One of my down days I actually sat by the pool with a book, my adoring husband beside me, and my darling children playing before me. My life was surreal, spectacular, amazing. So I couldn’t for the life of me understand why I felt so bothered. As I prayed for an answer I felt one come.

This is how I am answering your prayers.

Over the past year especially I had asked God for more of Himself. I wanted to draw closer in my walk with the Lord. I wanted to be used by Him. I wanted Him to rid me of everything that wasn’t in line with that. So it occurred to me that Him allowing me to feel the temporary, intermittent emotions of anxiety was for sure a way to increase my dependence on Him. It wasn’t that I felt He caused these feelings. No. They definitely were not of God or what He intended for my life. Instead they were the side effects of a sinful, fallen world. So while He had all authority and power to break the chains of anxiety and rid me of the spirit of depression, I also saw how allowing these things to touch me drew me into closer dependence and trust on Him. His power was indeed made perfect in my weakness.

Last week I felt like I was running on empty. I wonder sometimes if it’s just being a woman. Or maybe it’s being a working mom. But other times I realize it’s just part of the human condition. Throughout my brief episode of unhappiness I did persist in joy. Did I feel joyful?! No, not really, but under the surface of my visceral emotions flowed a steady stream of certainty. It was the joy of knowing the Lord held me, even if I couldn’t feel it. It was the river of the Holy Spirit, my faith in Him. So many times when I felt hopeless in my emotions I would simply repeat the same phrases to Jesus.

I trust you.

I love you.

Help me.

Slowly I climbed out of the pit, and I am certain the rope thrown to me was divinely woven in patient love. Though I couldn’t see the way out I never let go of that rope, and He never let go of me. I am reminded of the familiar Psalm, Weeping may tarry for the night, but joy comes with the morning.

Thank you, Lord, that my joy is here, it has never left, and it never will.

A Letter For the Broken Woman

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Dear Friend,

You are not the mistakes you have made.

You’re a child of God.

You are not how you were raised, or even the rejected child whose father left her.

You are a child of ABBA Father, and He will never leave you.

You are not the broken relationships you’ve been through. You’re not divorce, heartache, or loss.

You are a mended women, a heart healed by God. Even if you don’t feel it.

You are not your failures.

You are redeemed.

You are not the lost job, missed opportunity, or empty bank account.

You are a child of the One who wishes to prosper you, not to cause you harm.

You’re not the imperfect features, unwanted weight gained, or knobby knees. You’re not the split ends, wrinkles, or even the chin hairs.

You are beautiful in His sight. You’re the heart He put inside you. The creation He lovingly stitched within your mother’s womb.

You’re not the things you cannot do, the tasks you can’t complete, or the lists you can’t check off as done.

You are so much more that what you can succeed in or finish!

You are not simply what the mirror reflects, what others project, or what the world claims you are.

You are the Spirit that lives within you.

Everything about this world will tell you that what you do is what makes you who you are. Therefore your failures make you a failure. Your imperfections make you imperfect. Your rejections and hurt make you a vessel of pain. This viewpoint will make you think you don’t have a choice in the matter, that it’s just how it is. That emptiness or bad luck is your lot in life. While this train of thought is prevalent and almost comfortable because of its familiarity, it’s a lie.

Your character lies in Christ. As a child of God you are His, His inheritance belongs to you. You are a princess, a daughter of the king. Perfectly imperfect, but made blameless, flawless, and beautiful because of His spirit that resides within you. And that, my friend, is the only View that matters. His.

Congrats my beautiful friend. Walk in your inheritance with your head held high.

What Women Can Do That Men Cannot

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My husband walked in the door with a smile after having taken our middle child to an appointment, and I was just turning off the water at the kitchen sink. As it made a gurgling sound going down the drain I dried my hands on a striped towel and deposited a kiss on my husband’s lips.

“Hey babe!” I said, then I leaned against the counter nonchalant.

He walked into the tidy living room to lay down his phone, but quickly returned with incredulous eyes.

“How did you get so much done with the baby here?” He asked in surprise. “Has she been upstairs this whole time?”

I heard the tiny feet overhead that sounded like a trampling elephant.

“No,” I answered. “She just now went up there.”

Then I proceeded to share how I had given her and her sister a bath, dressed her, and fed them. I explained about kissing booboos and giving attention while also loading the washing machine and dishwasher.

“I guess I’m just good at multitasking,” I answered.

He nodded agreement, but his facial expression still radiated awe.

I smiled satisfied.

There’s a lot of things I feel like I’m pretty good at. I feel like I’m an above average nurse for my patients, and I like to think I’m a good friend and sister when people need me. I’m a decent writer, and I even learned I have some valuable leadership skills when I started my own business a couple of years ago. Despite feeling many days like I’m a failure at motherhood, when my kids run to me excitedly with love in their eyes after I get home from work, I realize I’m a good mom. My husband tells me I’m a great wife, and his silence as he scarfs down supper tells me I’m a skilled cook. Of all the many hats I wear I realize one thing holds them all in harmony. My superhero strength of multitasking. All women have it, I think. It’s like it’s coded specifically into our DNA.

Recently my husband has been able to spend more time home with our children. He’s gotten more involved in their homeschooling and the day-to-day business that is running a house. I think he’s always known my job at home was a full one, but I’m not sure he realized just how difficult it can be to get it all done. The fact is, you don’t. You just do what you can. Recently I was at work at the hospital and I received a text from him.

I will do my best to fill your shoes around here today, but you may have to bear with me since it’s kind of new to me still. You are my best friend, lover, and partner in this wonderful life God has given us and I just want you to know you are very appreciated by me ?

His words proved to me that he saw me, he saw how hard I worked around the house, and he acknowledged that he couldn’t do it like me. So many times women want to be able to do all the things that men can do, but in that they lose sight of all the things they can do that men cannot. Women have unique talents that set them apart, multitasking being a big one. We are usually, natural nurturers, and we hold a compassion level and emotional connection with others that cannot be compared. We see problems and the world around us from a wise and distinctive perspective, and we’re typically excellent planners and solvers. For me, it’s nice to be able to work outside of the home, but it’s also wonderful to be appreciated for the work I do at home. I’m blessed my husband sees my success in both arenas.

He may not ever be able to multitask around the home like I do, and that’s ok. I wouldn’t want him to be like me because then he wouldn’t be the special man he is. Some things women just do better than men, and it’s ok to be proud of that. We as women should be proud of who we are as human beings. We are definitely fearfully and wonderfully made!

The Most Important Thing Women Need to Know to Be Happy

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Consider this a public service announcement from the square peg.

If you’re one of those former homecoming queens who looks back on your high school existence with stars in your eyes then I’m happy for you, but that’s not me. Or rather it wasn’t me. I was probably the girl standing on the sidelines looking longingly at the crown, just wishing to touch the skirts of high school royalty. Just being honest. I wasn’t happy with me, and I looked to others to validate my feelings of worth. I never quite fit in. I didn’t have a clique. I was a cheerleader, but simply because I tried so hard to find my niche. I was smart, but didn’t really fit in with the brainy girls. I was in all the clubs, but never quite found myself in the realm of popularity. In actuality I was the outcast, the girl always trying really hard to fit in, but somehow always falling short. That was high school in a nutshell for me, and it was utterly exhausting. 

As I grew older I became more comfortable in my own skin. I started to see my peculiar character traits for what they were. They were me. Those crazy quirks were what made me, me, and I was totally cool with that. Yet sometimes that young, insecure girl still waited in the wings, longing for acceptance amongst her female peers. And though I saw her less and less since I had entered my thirties, occasionally when I found myself around a group of women I floundered along as I searched for my particular rhythm that made me who I was meant to be, not who I thought I should be. 

Recently I spent a week around women I work with, and though I’ve become way more comfortable in my own skin since I was a teenager, there’s something about spending time in the company of other females that leaves me feeling as if I’m lacking. I wouldn’t even say it’s due to any action on their part. It’s just my insecurities. It’s my longing to be well-liked. Am I the only woman like this? Am I the only woman who wishes she wasn’t quite so weird?!

Somehow when I hang out around a bunch of women for an extended period of time I always end up feeling like I’m back in high school. It’s like cheerleading camp all over again, and the cool, pretty girls have short-sheeted my bed again. One is telling me to put on some makeup already, and another is rolling her eyes behind my back while simultaneously trying to be nice to me since her mom is making her. In those moments of realization that, “yes, Brie, you’re still a square peg,” I have to talk myself off the ledge of insecurity and remind myself of what really matters. 

God made me exactly as I am. 

So while I do think a lot of my longing for acceptance is due to my upbringing, past rejections in life, and more nurture than nature, for the most part my personality is what it is because God made me to be me. I am a square peg, but then again, God designed me with the perfect square hole in mind. He created me overly sensitive so I might better empathize with my fellow man. He made me not quite like the rest so I could stand apart and better visualize the world around me. I may not fit into this world, but whoever said that’s a bad thing? The important part is this. 

I am made in His image. 

Genesis 1:27

So God created man in his own image, in the image of God he created him; male and female he created them.

Whenever I feel less, because sometimes I will, it’s best to remember in whose image I am created. 

Although I am more comfortable with myself, and I do love being me, I’m also human. And sometimes I’ll feel like I’m not enough. In those moments I am best reminded of my heritage. I am best reminded for whom and after whom I was designed. 

Whenever I feel like I’m not good enough, smart enough, successful enough, or even enough. 


Whenever I think I’m a failure as a mother, a failure as a wife, a failure as a nurse, a failure as a friend, or even a failure as a Christian. 

When I feel unworthy, unlovable, or even expendable. 

When I feel like I don’t fit in, I don’t measure up, and there’s no way I can even keep up. 

I am made in His image. 

And that is more than good enough for me. 

Why Women Let Anxiety Win

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I can’t count on my fingers and toes how many times my husband has said, “but does that really matter,” or something similar. That man is like a calm shelter in my crashing storm of anxiety, and so many times I wish I could be more like that. But the fact remains, I am not. 

My female brain is a tasking one, and when I sit still there’s often times a little voice that shouts out from the recesses of my mind, what are you doing?!

What about the laundry? Nobody will have clean underwear!

Look at that dust! No one will keep this house clean but you. 

You should spend time reading to your kindergartener. Her growing vocabulary is your responsibly, you know. 

You need to make time for a date night  with your spouse. Keeping the flame alive is your job as the wife. 

Have you texted encouraging scripture to your girlfriend today? You know she’s going through a tough time. 

You missed Bible Study last week. Don’t miss it this week. They need you there. 

And on, and on, and on. 

I imagine when my husband sits down on the couch there is only one thing on his mind. 

This feels nice, Ben. You deserve this after a long, hard week at work. 

And while I’d agree with his relaxed mindset in that he does deserve the break, I wonder why I don’t give myself the same consideration. Why do I expect more of myself than anyone else. After all, the kids don’t care about matching socks and making certain the sofa cushions aren’t askew (which is my constant, fruitless battle).

I recently commented after my husband came home, “I’m sorry I haven’t gotten the girls’ summer clothes put away yet,” as I sheepishly eyed the precarious pile in our living room chair. 

And he replied, “why are sorry? Who cares? Not me. It’s not a big deal, you know.”

I realized it wasn’t to him, and maybe even if it was important to me, did I give it excess merit because I felt I owed more to those around me? My husband didn’t mind piles of clothes marring our den, and the children probably didn’t even notice. What was it about a woman that did?!

It seems that women are doers, and we hold ourselves to a higher standard than anyone else. We want a respectable job, a clean home, well-dressed, good-mannered children, and a body that doesn’t look like we birthed babies from it. We want everything just so, with i’s dotted and t’s crossed. We like our boxes checked and our to-do’s crossed out. And when one of the above gets off kilter we get a little twitchy. I personally get a little witchy, or even another descriptive that rhymes. 

I worry about time and schedules, and getting things done. I become anxious over what is in essence not a big deal at all. It builds into frustration and typically falls into anger, which leads to regret and the awful but expected, “I’m a bad mom rap.” I fall asleep praying I can do better in the morning, not remembering the fact that I did pretty good. 

I assume I accomplish nothing when in fact I complete so much, and in my efforts to do more than is even reasonable I neglect the truth about what I achieve on a daily basis. And the only person who suffers from this is me. Cause at the end of the day the children are playing, my husband’s relaxing, and I’m still trying to tie up loose ends. 

Today as I swept toast crumbs covered in peanut butter off my kitchen table into my hand, and for a moment my mind started to see red over the mess, I was jolted quickly into a calm. Instead of the typical anxiety over if I’d have enough time to finish our homeschool lesson, pick up the babysitter for an evening away from home, and change out three children’s seasonal wardrobes, I just let it all go. I let it all go for a second as a voice inside my head whispered, you got a pretty good life you know.”

And I did. That was the thing. My life was amazing. It was abundant and full, and how I chose to decipher that fullness was completely up to me. I could consider it as stress, or I could count it all as a gift. A goodness gracious gift of an abundant life. What’s so stressful about that, really?

So I don’t weigh what I did before I had the baby.

Who cares? I have an amazing baby!

So my house is a cluttered, chaotic monster puking up doll parts and mix-matched socks.

Does it really matter? It’s busting at the seams with love!

I cannot complete a single thing. Ever!

One day I will look around my pristine, dust-free house and be totally bored. 

As a woman I can often times become anxious over things that do not matter in the grand scheme. That’s not to say men don’t become anxious also, as my husband holds his own concerns and worries running a business and providing for his family, but as constant movers and multitaskers women can become overly anxious about issues beyond our control. As sensitive, emotional creatures we can worry too much about what others think. As caretakers and nurturers we can give too much of ourselves towards people pleasing. And we are consumed by anxiety, worry, and stress. 

The only solution I have found for this is the kind of blasé faire attitude that usually annoys me about men. Just being honest. But if I can take that indifferent attitude and make it more carefree I’m getting somewhere. If I can remind myself to ask at every turn, is this really important? To ask myself honestly, is this really worth me getting upset about? I mean, my life is pretty awesome. 

Then perhaps I won’t let anxiety win. Perhaps I’ll even go sit on the couch, ignore the pile of laundry, and say, This feels nice, Brie . You deserve this after a long, hard week at work.