Courage, Dear Heart

I got a tattoo.

Yes, me, Maggie. The girl who loves puppies and watching Parenthood on a Friday night. I got a tattoo. It may be the smallest tattoo known to mankind, but it is there and it is real. Sometimes I look down at it, and I rub my index finger across it as if to test that it’s still permanent. (It is.)

I have been wanting this tattoo for more than a year, often drawing it on my wrist to confirm that I like it. On multiple occasions, I was asked by people if my Sharpie doodle was a real tattoo. After months and months, I realized I still liked it and wanted to make it happen.

So after grocery shopping recently, I decided to pop into my local tattoo parlor. The tattoo artists told me they had plenty of availability that evening. Cash only, and we’ll see you tonight, they said. I headed back a few hours later with my sweet friend, Katie. (Thanks, Katie!) I was in and out in about 20 minutes. Needles don’t really scare me, and the process wasn’t painful. I practically blinked and it was over.

I walked out of the tattoo shop beaming and excited about my new ink. I did it. I was officially tatted UP.

My tattoo is three small dots on my inner wrist—representing the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, with me always.

The number three shows up a lot in the Bible. See faith, hope, and love, a series of three. The three times Paul pleaded for the thorn to be removed from his flesh. And, of course, Jesus’ rising from the dead on the third day. I’m also one of three kids. The tattoo is a reminder to me of all of these things, as well as a physical declaration of my identity.

Since getting tattooed, I’ve had four or five strangers notice it and ask me what it means. I’ve told them honestly: I’m a Christian and it’s for the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. So far everyone’s response has been, Oh that’s cool. Or, I really like it. Or, that’s awesome. None of these strangers are Believers. They might be replying like this simply because they’re surprised and don’t know what else to say. Or they might truly think it's cool. I believe a lot more people in this world are searching for God and the truth found in Jesus Christ than may outwardly admit it. 

These three dots remind me to be courageous.

I have no problem enduring a bit of pain from a needle. And I am happy to tell total strangers about my faith when they ask me about the tattoo. God’s given me the courage to do that. But the courage to abandon my desire to control and follow him wholeheartedly? That courage sometimes still alludes me. Sometimes I’d rather cling to my schedule, my plans, and my busyness than courageously surrender to Him. Okay, most of the time.

You feel me?

It takes courage to say no to my own plans and follow His. It takes courage to stop revering my favorite bloggers and start revering Him. It takes courage to pray for the drunk guy on the street when all I want to do is judge.

God keeps bringing up this idea of courage to me.

I sat on the subway last week while a young man preached the Gospel. As in the legitimate, John 3:16 Gospel. He spoke aloud to the whole train, clear as day, even when a woman rolled her eyes and said, “Alright, already! Oh my God.” He continued talking, explaining everything from Adam and Eve to our sin to Jesus’ dying and rising again. He put it all out there. That takes courage.

I just so happened to be listening to a sermon podcast on courage at the same time.

And when I went to counseling the same night, my counselor suggested I pray for courage.

Courage is a theme for me. Ever since I was a kid, I wanted to be courageous. I remember reading through the Harry Potter series, hoping I, too, would have been called a Gryffindor because of my bravery. I want to be bold and unafraid.

This blog is a product of that desire. I talk so often about bringing things into the light. I believe we were made to let others into our messes, and, even more so, to let God into them. He already knows all about it anyway—and still He loves us. So I strive to let Him work in the mess and refine my heart in the process.

Theologian John Piper writes,

"Christian courage is the willingness to say and do the right thing regardless of the earthly cost, because God promises to help you and save you on account of Christ. An act takes courage if it will likely be painful. The pain may be physical, as in war and rescue operations. Or the pain may be mental as in confrontation and controversy."

It will likely be painful. And probably more painful than the I’m-going-to-ink-three-dots-on-your-wrist sort of pain.

Right now, I’m in a season of my life where I need courage to press into the uncomfortable. God’s been doing a whole lot of healing in me, physically, mentally, and spiritually. He’s renewed me in so many ways. I’m not the same woman I was five, three, or even one year ago. I’ve talked openly about my struggle with an eating disorder—and God has brought significant healing into that area of my life! His work has been slow and gradual, but it has been persistent. Even when I’ve taken steps back, He has propelled me two steps forward. That is a huge praise.

Now it’s going to take some work on my end to continue God’s healing and restoration. He will do it, of this I am confident. But I must be a ready and willing participant. I can finally say I’m ready. I want to live wild and free, not tethered to anxiety, insecurity, or disordered thinking. Those thoughts will come and go, but I know they don’t control me anymore. I’ve tasted the sweet fruit of freedom, and I want more.

The book of Josuha contains my favorite word on courage:

“Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go. ”

— Joshua 1:9

I am going into the unknown. That’s scary and uncomfortable. For me, full freedom means kicking any old habits to the curb. Like an annoying ex-boyfriend who just won’t quit: They’ve got to go. Full freedom looks less like having a perfectly scheduled calendar and a five-year plan, and more like days full of space for Him to breath into. Full freedom starts where preconceived notions of what a good Christian life looks like end. And if I’m being honest (as I always want to do with you), full freedom for me means living with a few more pounds on me than I have right now. As a woman who is healthy, full, whole. A woman who values The Lord more than a particular dress size or the way her abs look. A woman who willingly walks as God designed her to, even if it’s scary, unfamiliar, or anxiety-provoking.

Because He looks at me—as He looks at you—and calls us good.

We have to trust in God's declaration and know it's truth that holds more weight than anything we're afraid of. It matters more than our feelings.

It’s going to take me significant courage to push through feelings of instability. What awaits me on the other side of the uncomfortableness and the unfamiliar is good and beautiful. Throughout my life, the things I’ve been most afraid of, whether that was rappelling, traveling internationally, or interning in New York City, ended up being the most worth it. Pushing through the fear was the best thing I could have done. The Lord was with me every step of the way.

He is in all of it. He is with us wherever we go.

Like the tattoo on my wrist, He is there no matter what. Nothing is too big or too small for Him to work in. We cannot scare Him away. As we continue to accept His love and His truth, His Spirit dwells within us. He’s not only a part of our lives, but He is truly the past, the present, and the future lives we live. Rest secure in that.

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If you want to talk more about Jesus Christ and faith and what-the-heck-is-all-this-stuff, shoot me a message. I love meeting new people, whether virtually or in person, and gabbing about life. 

And if you'd like to know more of my story, you can read my testimony here.

Truly, He makes beautiful things.

You Learn A Lot About Your Heart When You Don't Have A Closet

Last month marked my fifth move in New York City, and I’ve only lived here for a little more than three years. Moving is never a fun experience, but moving apartments in NYC is enough to make one run away and give up everything to live in a hut on the beach.

In New York City, apartments come and go every day—usually your best bet for finding one is a mere two weeks out. You can’t really plan, and you don’t have a lot of control over your options.

I felt sick with the stress of finding my latest place, affording movers, and coordinating the whole moving process. Moving is one of those things that makes me truly anxious.

I had been checking apartment listings every hour of every day. I was so afraid that I would miss something great and regret it later. My counselor suggested I take a step back. She reminded me that I was not going to be homeless. The Lord abundantly provided during all of my moves, and He was clearly working. My family would have a place for me should I need it, and I had plenty of community around me to support me in the process, too.

After talking to her, I set up filters and email notifications on a few apartment rental websites. Then I stopped checking and let the websites do the work for me.

Just as soon as I quit freaking out, my roommate (not me!) received an email listing for a great spot. She and I saw the place the first day it went on the market. That day was the same day the rental company lower the rent to be within our budget and removed the broker fee. My roomie and I applied that day, and the apartment was ours within forty-eight hours.

If that's not a God thing, I don't know what is.

The situation was yet another that showed me the value in letting go. Loosening up, relaxing the grip on my life, and giving God the space to enter in.

Try as we may, sometimes we just have to let go a little. Moving so often, and under such tenuous city circumstances, taught me to let go of my need to control everything, but in a broader sense it taught me to let go of other things in life that weren’t necessary. Moving has been a grand adventure in learning to simplify my life and let go of the rest.

Here’s the thing: We live in a world full of stuff. It’s tempting to want more and more. During my latest move, my roommate and I discovered we had three SodaStreams. Three! And our new apartment is a sixth-floor walkup. Without closets.

Moving so often really forced me to think about my approach to life. When something suddenly becomes an extra five pounds that must be boxed, carried up six-plus flights of stairs, and stowed in a 900-square-foot space, you really start to examine what it adds to your life.

So I have to ask myself: “Can I find pleasure in a simple glass of tap water and avoid the clunky, costly presence of a 21st-century bubble infuser?”

Yes. Yes, I can.

It’s a lesson in moving, but it’s a lesson in life just the same.

Quality over quantity—that simple lesson has helped me redefine my life overall. I don’t have time to go to every event or see every friend, colleague, or former classmate who comes into town. I make time for the friends who also make time for me—the people I know will bring me life by being around them. When I’m seeing fewer people overall, I allow the relationships I do have to grow stronger, and our time together becomes that much higher quality.

Even more than quality over quantity, I'm learning what true quality really is. True quality means faith and provisions from God. You can't buy that kind of quality. I'm starting to understand why Jesus told us not store up for myself treasures on earth. Earthly treasures are just things. Just things. They are replaceable. As fun or as pretty as they might be, they don't add to my existence.

“But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moths and vermin do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”

— Matthew 6:20-21

Moving to an apartment without closets revealed all the junk I'd been storing up—not just in my closet (and under my bed and in random drawers) but in my heart. It's so easy to store things away, never really addressing them until they're forced to the surface. If I can hide it under the bed, then it doesn't really exist.  

Let me tell you: Cleaning out the closet is good.

Clear out the junk. Organize the mess. Put everything on display and bring it into the light.

Your heart—and your apartment—will be happier when you do.

Oh, and those moving woes I had? Definitely #firstworldproblems. I live and work in the most expensive city in the country. I’m grateful to be able to make a living here in the Big Apple. These moves have shown me that I don’t need to control and plan out everything in my life. For a planner like me, it’s hard to come to grips with the fact that I can’t look for an apartment until the month before I need to move. But there’s such value in being able to let go and trust that everything will work out. It might not look the way you envisioned in your head, but it will work out according to His greater plan. This I know to be true.

Even when I think I’m not going to land an apartment, or not be able to afford moving fees, or not be able to find a roommate, I am pleasantly surprised with ample provision. When I think I can’t get rid of something because someday I’ll want it, I always find that isn’t the case. I’m happy to be free of it, and I can focus more on the things I have that I love. Being intentional about my approach to life and things makes me that much more thankful for it all.

Home is where the heart is. My apartment is my oasis. I rely on good food, good friends, and good music filling the space to make it feel like home. Lots of decorations and knickknacks no longer have a place in my space. They take up room, they’re hard to pack and move, and they ultimately end up collecting dust. Buying fresh flowers on the street after work or picking up a candle from the sale section at Marshalls are two indulgences that make my apartment cozy and comfortable. The rest of my focus is on the peace of my home and love of those I have in it.

I would never have chosen to move five times in the past three and a half years, but looking back on it, I’m grateful for the changes. I’ve learned to not sweat the small stuff and to give up the things I don’t truly need. To let go of control and surrender to Him. Now I understand that at the end of the day, possessions aren’t what makes a house a home. People, experiences, and the presence of God are. My life is so much fuller because of it.

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If you want to talk more about Jesus Christ and faith and what-the-heck-is-all-this-stuff, shoot me a message. I love meeting new people, whether virtually or in person, and gabbing about life. 

And if you'd like to know more of my story, you can read my testimony here.

Truly, He makes beautiful things.

Dear Future Daughter

Dear daughter,

Today is May 11, 2016. I’m sipping my tea, writing to you from my desk in New York City. Yes, The Big Apple; I’ve lived here for three and a half years now. I am 26 years old. I’m not engaged or married, but I write this letter looking toward a future with you in it.

I don’t know when or where I am going to meet you. I don’t know when I’m going to give this to you. What I do know are a few things to be true about you. Things that will never change, no matter the circumstances.

You are, quite simply, a gift.

You make me happier than I ever thought could be. I wondered about you for years and years. Now you’re here, and I don’t know how I lived my life without you.

I spent a long time—too much time—wrestling with fear and doubt, with voices in my head that made me feel unworthy. I listened to those statements. I heard lies that I wasn’t worthy because I wasn’t enough—successful enough, smart enough, pretty enough, good enough. I had my heart broken and discarded. I felt alone, and I didn’t love the woman I was.

That season of my life was difficult, painful, sad. It included many ups and downs. I didn’t know how I’d make it out of the darkness. A family of my own seemed like such a silly desire when I couldn’t seem to take care of myself. I wasn’t sure if I would ever have you. So I put that dream on a shelf, tucked away and collecting dust without much hope for a future.

“The Lord is not slow to fulfill his promise as some count slowness, but is patient toward you, not wishing that any should perish, but that all should reach repentance.”

— 2 Peter 3:9

But I want to tell you today that that season ended. The cold, dark winter melted away, and the world felt a little more like springtime. I began to blossom. I began to hope. I found faith in a God who never really left me, who continually called me back to Him. He watched over me all those years; He was writing my story in the most beautiful way. He gave me a new life that I might one day share that life with you.

Soon enough, the darkness dissipated, the depression diminished, and my anxieties started to fade. The Light of Christ came in, slowly but surely illuminating my world once again.

And I took that dream off the shelf.

I dreamt of you, daughter. I dreamt of your big, bright eyes; your curly hair; your sweet smile and infectious laugh. I dreamt of your tender heart, your wisdom beyond your years, and your generous spirit. I dreamt of the radiant beauty that stemmed from deep down in your soul.

I dreamt of how I would speak to you, teach you, care for you. The more I dreamt of you, the more I began to love myself. Because dreaming of you helped me think of the woman I was designed to be: wholehearted and full of grace. I thought about how I would care for you and point you back to the Father. I will never lie to you, or say that you are unworthy. I will never tell you that you need to be smarter, be prettier, be better, be more. I can promise you that. So why would I listen to those lies myself? Dreaming of you meant I started talking back to the lies, answering them with truth. I filled the space with God and with you.

“Jesus said to him, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.”

— John 14:6

I dreamt that you, too, would stand firmly in the Light.

I know there will be times when you experience your own hardship on this earth. The world might try to hurt you. It might even try to break you down. You’re going to fall and feel weak. You’re going to fail. But when you accept Christ, you have steadfast strength and courage within you. That’s the Holy Spirit.

“For “everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved.””

— Romans 10:13

Stand firm in who you are. Remember the things that really matter in this life. Remember that your identity is secure in our great God. Set your heart on all that sheds light.

Your dad and I cherish you more than anything. We praise God for your existence. We know you are fearfully and wonderfully made (Psalm 139). You are lovely in all your imperfections. You are gifted uniquely and with great purpose—nothing about you is a mistake. From your head to your toes, you are created in the image of God (Genesis 1:27).

We are here for you no matter what. You encourage us and make us better people just by being you. I’m so honored to call you mine. I admire you and look at you with more joy than I ever knew possible.

I want you to know one more truth, daughter: Christ’s perfect love casts out all fear (1 John 4:18). He loves us so deeply—so flawlessly—that He enables us to love you in return. I strive to reflect His love to you each day so that you, too, know He’s calling you into His arms, guiding you and protecting you every step of the way.

I love you, sweet girl.

Mom

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If you want to talk more about Jesus Christ and faith and what-the-heck-is-all-this-stuff, shoot me a message. I love meeting new people, whether virtually or in person, and gabbing about life. 

And if you'd like to know more of my story, you can read my testimony here.

Truly, He makes beautiful things.

Giving Up Is A Very Good Thing

The best vacation of my life ended one week ago. After nine wonderful days in Ireland, my body is finally re-adjusted to the Eastern timezone, and I’ve had a few days to reflect on the time that was.

I loved spending time with relatives, and I loved my lack of phone service. I didn’t check my work email at all. I checked my personal email maybe twice. I sent a few iMessages and made two FaceTime calls, but that was it. I disconnected as best as I could. So while I had a jam-packed trip with plenty to do and plenty of people to see, I actually felt like I had a chance to breathe for the first time in a long time.

I could finally exhale.

I could relax. I had a break from real life, and with 3,000 miles between me and NYC, I could more easily see how gosh-darn hectic my life in the city really is.

I believe that right now New York City is precisely where God has me. He uses us where we are, with what we have, regardless of where that puts us on the map. Our God is not in the accidents business; He knows what He’s doing. I see Him doing big things here, within my church, my community, my apartment, and even this blog.

It's why I want to continue to invest and root myself in this place, as I have been doing the past three years, for the amount of time I have left here—however long that may be. But the relief I felt and the weight that was lifted off of me by a little more than a week in Ireland is a clear sign that I need to cultivate more rest in my regular rhythms of life in New York.

My relatives in Ireland live life more simply. I recognize this is partly because they live in a more rural area than I do. Yet ultimately, they know what’s important: family, friends, faith. They cook together and spend hours gathered together, eating the freshest farm-to-table food you’ve ever tasted, drinking cups upon cups of Barry’s tea, and telling stories that will make you laugh until your side hurts.

That’s not to say they don’t work. In fact, the Irish work very hard. They have their day jobs and still many come home to tend to their livestock and farms at night. A major difference I noticed between their lives and mine is that they leave work at work. Each home is a little oasis. They don’t have their phones, tablets, and computers out all the time. They're aren't glued to their screens. (Unless they’re 15 years old and using Snapchat.) They were present. So I was present, too.   

I am working on being more in tune to the current moment and living a simpler life in New York. I pray each activity I do is life-giving and allows me to become more like Christ. I want to start focusing on the activities that help me grow into a more Godly woman, and the activities that I truly enjoy, not the ones that I think I have to do in order to look accomplished or to be accepted. I will spend my time with friends who I love, and who love me in return. Friends who challenge me and call me out when I need it. Friends who encourage me and who I can in turn speak truth to.

If there’s anything else Ireland taught me, it’s how to give up control. Letting go of control was what my week in the countryside was all about. I had to surrender my wants and my plans—to my family, my hosts, the weather, the travel. I had to be flexible and adapt. People say never give up, but in reality giving up can be a very good thing. And what do you know? Letting go lets me enjoy the present, too. (Those Irish sure know what they're doing.)

Unpredictability and shattered plans are two of my least favorite things. So, yes, there were certainly times in Ireland when I wasn’t as flexible as I wished I would have been. I remember a Sunday night when my sister and I were hungry and couldn’t find a place open for dinner after 5 p.m. I became, ahem, hangry. How could nothing be open? I resolved myself to trail mix and a Guinness. But my dad, being the logical one (thanks Dad!), asked our hotel concierge if there was any food left in the kitchen—within minutes, he arrived with freshly made sandwiches for my sister and me. Problem solved. I didn’t need to control the situation or figure out the perfect solution. It all worked out.

I didn’t plan out my itinerary, or my social calendar, or even my blog posts while in Ireland. For 90 percent of the time, I went with the flow—and it was good.

I let other people take the wheel (figuratively and literally, no way am I driving on the left side of the road). I let people pick out the restaurants and coffee shops and attractions.

Relinquishing my control was healthy and provided the opportunity to be aware, to enjoy the now.

From where I stand today, I am the exact same woman I was before going on vacation—except I feel brighter and refreshed. I didn’t lose myself. My experience was probably the opposite. I gained clear perspective and freedom, something I set out to do at the beginning of this year. I think God wants the same thing for each of us, to give up. Give up our worries, our fears, our concerns. Give over our hopes and our dreams. I have a hard time doing that. It requires a great deal of courage, and a whole lot of trust to know that having His hand in control is way better than my own.

The Lord is continuing to show me the fruits of surrender, the fruits of letting go. He did so with my new apartment, with my new relationship, and now with Ireland. He’s helping me to loosen my grip and enjoy all He has provided for me in this very moment.

Giving up means I can let go of the things that end up controlling me. My life looks simpler, and my day-to-day includes more rest, more restoration, more presence in the present. I can let go and let God.

I’m going to need you to check in with me on this, though, okay? I can guarantee situations will crop up that test my new-found ease and trust. Your prayers for continued surrender are always appreciated.

My own prayer as of late is short but sweet:

God, don’t give me what I want but give me Your best.

I’m giving up to get His best, to be fully engaged in the life He's given me right now, and I am more than okay with that.

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If you want to talk more about Jesus Christ and faith and what-the-heck-is-all-this-stuff, shoot me a message. I love meeting new people, whether virtually or in person, and gabbing about life. 

And if you'd like to know more of my story, you can read my testimony here.

Truly, He makes beautiful things.