Song suggestion for your read: Fireflies by Stephan Moccio
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This April, I’ve spent more time in the writer’s chair than I have in a long while. I went to church and I felt safe to worship for the first time in years. I started teaching writing and photography again. I ordered a notebook for picture-journaling.1 I ate s’mores Pop-Tarts.
To some, this might seem like a list of commonplace (good!) things but nothing to raise a ruckus over. To me, they line up like ebenezer after ebenezer all testifying of how God has helped me get to where I am.
“Afterward, Samuel took a stone and set it upright between Mizpah and Shen. He named it Ebenezer, explaining, "The Lord has helped us to this point." “ - 1 Samuel 7:12
It’s strange to come out of a hard season. When you’re fully immersed in it, you’re consumed with just keeping your head above water. You can’t see beyond the next hour and grit your teeth to even get through that. You keep going because its your only choice. You feed yourself. You try to sleep. You show up to therapy.
You pray and walk the dog and be a mom and a wife and then, the weirdest thing happens: you heal.
You don’t notice it at first. For me at least, it’s never been instantaneous. It’s not until months after shifting out of survival mode when a quiet thought floats into my head, “Oh. I’m doing things I couldn’t this time last year. And I’m not overwhelmed. I just feel like…myself. When did that happen?”
This month, I organized our entire laundry room. I’ve kept the laundry caught up for weeks since. I did a workout on more days than I didn’t. I navigated a tough relational circumstance during a flare up of PMDD2 and wasn't devasted and bedridden. I homeschooled two kids. I kept the house clean.
Again, to most people these seem like normal everyday happenings. But if you’ve ever had to heal from how the invisible wound of trauma hijacks your brain, you know how important it is to experience the “normal” victories.
This is me taking time to celebrate them; to raise the ebenezers I can bring myself back to whenever the brokenness of the world attempts to make me forget what God has already done.
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The words are coming easier now. There were whole months when I’d sit down to write, day after day, and the page would remain blank or scattered with incoherent thoughts. My creativity was hollowed out from invisible pain and I wanted to give it up (in some ways I did). I questioned whether I’d ever write consistently again but, here we are. The Redemptive gives me a place to practice this and for that I'm grateful. I don’t know where God will take it but I’m excited to find out.
More than ever, this space has become the best home for my creative work—both writing and photography. Sure, I show up here and there but taking my thoughts and tethering them to the page with my fingertips is how God is anchoring me to His story. Writing feels like putting my hands out to touch the part I have within it, to tell my heart, “See? this is real. He’s here.”. I love how The Redemptive allows me to invite you to do the same.
The world needs more women telling their stories to proclaim the active presence of God at work in their lives. We need the front-line dispatches from where you’re at. What’s the view like from there? What questions are you bringing to the mat and wrestling with? Can you articulate what you’re feeling and, if not, can you tell us a story in an attempt to give it a name?
You don’t have to have all the answers, we just want stories that make us feel less alone. Tell them.
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In my last therapy session, my therapist kept pointing out all signs of health I’m showing. We made plans to meet even less often than we already have been. There was a time not too long ago where I had to meet every week, no question. I was in a crisis storm and I couldn’t navigate it alone. Jesus used therapy to guide me out. I’m breathing easier now than I have in years.
I sometimes sit here looking over our little Kentucky valley and think, what if? What if God brings an unexpected harvest from these word-seeds on the screen? What if being faithful here where the visibility and returns are small doesn’t lead to an “abundant” life on earth but a more abundant relationship with Jesus Christ?
April brought a return of cold temperatures but she’s leaving us with the gift of hills resuscitated back to green and blooming trees to wave us into May. Everywhere I look, I see Jesus bringing dead things back to life. And nature is waking up too.
It makes me wonder: maybe my best days aren’t behind or before but wherever God is with me.
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if you’re curious about what ‘picture-journaling’ is and how to do it, I'm sharing all the details in my exclusive series for paid subscribers (sent out every Monday) Get a sneak peek here.
PMDD is much more serious form of premenstrual syndrome. It’s classified as a chronic illness and one I was diagnosed with two years ago. I’ve since been able find ways to better manage my symptoms but it’s been a long, lonely road. You can read more about the condition here.
"We don't have to have all the answers, we just want stories that make us feel less alone." I needed this reminder. I loved this letter. Thank you for sharing your ebenezers. There is so much power in the ordinary.
“maybe my best days aren’t behind or before but wherever God is with me.” THIS.