Maximize momentum for lasting change

And I am certain that God, who began the good work within you, will continue his work until it is finally finished on the day when Christ Jesus returns.

Philippians 1:6 (NLT)

     Today I can't stop thinking about this word and really more than that about the FEELING of momentum. Have you ever experienced it? 

     Maybe in an athletic or competitive event? 

     Or even in a day in which you started with a grateful heart and continued to express gratitude? 

     Or perhaps in a challenge you made for yourself...to pray or go to Bible study or stick to an exercise program? 

     The thing with momentum is that its beginnings have nothing to do with luck or chance, or possibly even desire. They have more to do with discipline. 

     The dictionary defines momentum as the force or speed of movement; impetus, as of a physical object or course of events. 

     But something can't begin moving on its own. 

     Have you ever wanted something really badly but did nothing to make it happen. Except maybe pray. 

     I prayed for a really long time for my body to heal. A lot of tears were shed in desperation. 

     But until I made a decision to ACT, nothing happened. Momentum requires ACTion. Action requires a decision. 

     My decision was that I would finally get "all in" about the clean eating and living I was professing. 

     As I did, I noticed some changes. At first they were small, and then when I reached out to start a nutrition program, the changes got dramatic and very quickly. I required two things for this to be successful: a decision to do it well (discipline) and faith it could help me. 

     With discipline and faith, I took action. With action came momentum. 

     Momentum is exciting, because that change I so desperately wanted was finally unfolding. I could feel it, and I could even see the inner healing on the outside of my body. 

     My faith grew even more. 

     But I never could have gotten there without action. Momentum requires force or speed to be initiated. 

     Dave Ramsey's Financial Peace University taught me discipline with money. You may be wondering what this has to do with momentum, but you see, I needed to experience that change is good and that discipline leads to transformation. Once I had discipline with my finances, I decided to read my Bible daily. Once I was reading my Bible daily, I decided to pray daily. My continued commitment to action built my faith as I saw momentum in each area of my life. It played out in my physical life as well. We began meal planning, which requires discipline, and I started running races. In each area, I continued because I saw the positive impacts these actions were having in my life. Those positive impacts were the momentum. Once I got started, nothing could stop me because the reward was tangible at that point. 

     In 2 Timothy 4:7, Paul writes, "I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith." 

     It wasn't easy for Paul, as he was thrown in prison and persecuted for his discipline. But his momentum was salvation, not only for himself but for others. He had GOOD NEWS to share and nothing was going to stand in the way of his calling to spread the gospel. 

     Likewise, our momentum doesn't come without some jarring bumps. We get to decide if the pebble in our path will derail us completely, or if we pick it up, toss it out and continue forward. A little perseverance can help build and grow momentum.  With continued faith and decisions to act daily on what we believe is good for us, we can be sure that the fight we fight for will be "good," the races will be finished even if they aren't won and our faith will be preserved even when shaken. 

     Today, I am determined to capitalize on momentum. To lean into it and to not let life's little bumps along the way stop the good thing that God has started. How about you? 

Disobedience: My hidden sin

     Do you ever feel like God is nudging you to do something, yet you are holding back? 
     There are some things in life I'm certain of, and one of those is that all God wants from me is obedience. My obedience, which looks far different than the obedience of His other children, is always a battle. I'm a stubborn control-freak of a child. True story.
     It's also a fact that being obedient to God helps me with so much more than my faith. It keeps my eyes on Him so as to not be bound by jealousy or bitterness. It keeps me squarely in His purpose for me alone. It helps me to see through His eyes, so I'm more apt to love and pray for other people and use my gifts for His glory. 
     Typically, being obedient to Him means I have little time to worry about the sins of others, criticize, judge or condemn. If I'm honest, doing what He tells me usually involves me working on my sins and purpose, so He can give me freedom to soar in my identity in Christ. 
     But there was this one thing He asked me to do four years ago that I stubbornly dig my heels in about every chance I get. 
     God made it clear to me that I am to share stories of myself and to do so authentically, using my voice through writing on this blog and other publications. Part of me loved this calling, because I have always had a deep passion for writing. But there was part of me holding back from the very beginning. 
    The authentically part. Because being authentic means being honest with yourself and exploring areas of the depth of your soul you may not really want to. Subjects that are dark and difficult. Parts of me I'd rather hide.
    I did not want to bring these into the light. So like most defiant children, I didn't. I wrote about what I wanted to write about and ignored the truths He laid out in front of me. 
     I cannot tell you how detrimental this was to my health and particularly how it affected not just my spiritual being but my physical and emotional selves, too. (See above. The parts about jealous, bitterness, love and gifts. Yep, I was regularly a hot mess of ugliness!)
     Not long ago I read an article about the hidden sins of Christians. Two of them stood out at me as if God Himself had gotten out His bright pink highlighter for my sake: hypocrisy and caring more about what other people think than what God thinks. 
     I have a real problem with hypocrisy, as you can tell. 
     You see, I was holding back complete obedience to God in my writing and blogging because I thought to do so would make me seem arrogant. I like to think of one of my spiritual strengths as humility. I like to serve, and I highly value those amazing servants who do so without much fanfare or praise, whose work is so far behind the scenes that maybe, just maybe, God is the only witness. I don't like being in the limelight; I never have. So to say that writing about my struggles — some that I've overcome and some that are sins I still wrestle with — would be outside my comfort zone is the understatement of the decade. My history in writing is to interview other people and write their stories, not to write my own. 
     There were other factors at play, too. 
     Fear of criticism and judgement, fear that others would view me as prideful, an unlikely expert for writing about the topics I'm called to write about. Not surprisingly, fear is the subject of an upcoming Mighty Strong Girls publication, and God was revealing to me through others' writing submissions how I was letting my fear rule me and keep me from obedience. 
     So I balked. Over and over, I let me fear trump my calling. 
     A few weeks ago, my pastor preached about Nehemiah and how God used Him to rebuild the temple as God wants to use us to rebuild our lives, His church and His kingdom. 
     It resonated with me, as God has recently been rebuilding my life, and I realized I was not walking in full with His beautiful purpose for me because of my disobedience. 
     I know my calling. That much is clear. But I'm distracted by other things that seem tempting. I'm distracted by fear and criticisms. 
     That sermon opened my eyes to the fact that I'm getting in my own way with my disobedience. I am blocking God from using me for the very purposes He designed me for!
     God never promised I wouldn't face criticism, so in a way, my fears are founded on fact. 
     But why do we think for one moment that to walk in His will as we walk toward our purpose that He will reward us by lavishing us with constant blessings. Jesus' disciples made sacrifices. They were mocked. They, too, had fears and doubts. 
     Fears have never been powerful enough to stop destiny! Take my fear of childbirth, for instance. I did it — three times, mind you — and lived to tell the tale. It's walking through and facing those fears that builds our faith and our testimony. 
     To bring our stories into the light...it's not about us anyway, especially when He calls us to do it. Even when we don't like the way He wants us to do it. Who am I to think I know better than Him the way in which I'm to do His work. 
     It is encouraging for me to remember that Nehemiah and Daniel and Jesus' disciples and David and even Jesus Himself were not immune to fears, temptations and doubts. However, they did not change the fact that these men had great work at hand for their lives, God's church and His kingdom. 
     So do I. 
     And so do you. 

Overcoming my late-in-life pregnancy fears

     So, I'm probably about to have blog-rrhea. There was so much I wanted to write while pregnant, and the truth is...I was terrified to put my thoughts into writing during those months. 
     It was one of the most fearful seasons of my life.
     Fear...
     ...I would lose the baby. 
     ...something serious was wrong with the baby. 
     ...of our home sale falling apart. 
     ...that putting my kids back in public school was the wrong decision. 
     ...we wouldn't be able to afford another child. 
     ...of every single symptomatic issue I had in pregnancy. (Yes, I spent a lot of time on Google. Then I admitted I had a problem, promised to stay off the Internet and relapsed after about 24 hours. I realize I have issues!)
     ...that if I talked about any of this, something dreadful would happen. 
     ...I would gain too much weight, not be able to lose the weight after the pregnancy.
     ...I would succumb to food addictions.  
     ...of giving birth naturally, which I was trying to commit myself to doing but even my efforts left me doubting I could. 
     ...God would hate me or punish me for so many fears and doubts. 
      ...of my fears. (My anxiety disorder seemed so under control until this....all of this. It was overwhelming!)
     So I didn't write them. Or speak them. 
     But they haunted me. 
     ...at every doctor's appointment. 
     ...with every snide comment about my age in pregnancy. 
     ...in every headline about a stillbirth or studies about the dangers of pregnancy "late in life." 
     ...during the day and into the night. 
     ...as I listened to a horrendous podcast about depression in pregnancy (1 in 3 women suffer, almost always in silence) and wondered if it was me the author was describing. 
     ...with all the insomnia bouts that returned with a vengeance in my third trimester. 
     I was so glad God was speaking to me during this time and reassuring me. But me, in Amy-the-persistent-worrier fashion, continued to doubt and question. For every worry or fear, I grasped onto the one person who could bring me peace and reassurance. I had to keep going back to Him time and time again because I had such a restless spirit. I think He probably had me right where He wanted me. But I couldn't help shake my feelings of inadequate faith. It was touch and go. 
     I wish I could say that I had a great support network. I definitely had friends who were checking in on me and a husband who was there to listen to all my insecurities. 
     But for every friend who was supportive, there were three people who were negative. Some were silently protesting. Others whispered behind my back. I felt every sting. We received comments like, "How could you be so stupid (to get pregnant at your age)?" "Do you know how this happens?" and my all-time favorite said right to my face, "You're f----ed." 
     Many of these comments came from so-called friends. 
     It was so hard to share our news, not knowing what the reaction would be from a world where the attitudes about a fetus fall more along the lines of a "clump of cells," rather than my precious daughter, a life, a creation of God's. 
     An older woman having a baby seemed foolish. Heck, even I was skeptical in the beginning. It certainly wasn't our plan. 
     But it was our prayer. It was just a prayer from seven years prior...long forgotten. 
     At least we'd forgotten. 
     But someone hadn't. That one person — all holy and almighty — didn't forget the cries of my heart. And deep down, I trusted His timing. He said no to my prayer then. But He said yes to my prayer in this chapter. 
     So I trusted in Him, while so many others disappointed. 
     Faith. But a shaky, insecure, immature faith, to be sure. 
     Still, a glorious story unfolded in spite of my fears when my beautiful baby entered the world. 

Our sweet daughter, born in God's timing as His plan unfolds for our lives.

     She came naturally. But not without trouble. Her positioning was wrong. Labor, which I thought would be fast and not nearly as painful for all my preparation, didn't deliver on those promises. 
     But I was reminded that God doesn't promise life will be easy. He simply promises He will walk through it with us. 
     The birthing plan I had, the techniques I had practiced and prayed upon did not work out like I had hoped. But the scriptures I had written out on notecards gave me the hope and reassurance I need. Just as His word and my relationship with Him carried me through each day of the pregnancy. 
     Indeed, I was never alone. And I knew, no matter what happened to me or the baby, He would help me through it. After all, this was His plan, unfolding in His timing in answer to a deep prayer of my heart. 

The long awaited sonogram didn't provide the answers we were hoping for!

      I wasn't prepared for this. 
     Well, maybe a little. 
     A week before I stood staring with my jaw drooping to the floor, positive pregnancy test in hand, we finally made a decision to move forward with adoption. In an all-new way. All four of us decided we were equipped to handle a baby. We could logistically do it. We were mentally and emotionally prepared. We would go through classes and become a foster family to a newborn. It was settled. 
     And then the unthinkable happened. Six weeks shy of my 41st birthday I discovered that the two missed periods weren't symptomatic of pre-menapause. Or some fluke.
     Immediately, my doctor sprung into action. Blood test in the next three hours. Immediate appointment. She even came in at 8 a.m. on the first morning of her week off to see me. 
     Because. Because of my age, I am HIGH RISK. 
     Frankly, it seemed like more hype than necessary. I just ran a 10-mile race — seven more miles than I'd ever ran consecutively before 2014. I was down 22 pounds and feeling better than I did when I was in my 20s! I felt WAY more healthy than I did in my early pregnancies with the other two. 
     Didn't matter. Statistically speaking, I have a higher rate of complications. So does the baby. 
     Speaking of the baby's risks, I had taken prednisone in early December for a freaky outbreak of poison oak or ivy that was all over my arm and face. It was not a super high dose, but it wasn't a low dose either. 
     My doctor looked at the dates and decided rather than send me to a neonatal specialist, she would check closely for birth defects at our sonogram at 20 weeks. Specifically she mentioned mid-line birth defects of the heart, spine and possible cleft lip/palate. 
     That day came on Monday, and I was certain beyond a shadow of a doubt that God was going to show up and the results would indicate what a perfect baby I was carrying. That He would give me peace and comfort that the medicine hadn't done damage. 
     I should have known better. 
     She was wiggly and uncooperative. She spun to put her back to the "camera" and there were no good images to be had of her heart, lower spine or face. Everything else they could see just fine, especially the fact that she is a SHE. Except the places where we wanted reassurance. 
     I was angry. Because a few weeks earlier I had read a study that sonogram technology has been linked to autism/ADHD/neurological issues. I decided on the spot that we wouldn't do another one. So God HAD to show up. Right? Ugh! So why had he abandoned me?
     We had a wonderful chat with our doctor, who was honest and admitted there are risks doing another sonogram. She didn't do all the recommended sonograms on her own pregnancy. She supported our decision after she had already told us that everything they could see on the images suggested that this baby is very, very healthy. So am I and so is the pregnancy. 
     Dan and I have peace in that if there is a defect, we live in a community with the very best doctors and medical resources. Our girl will be fine. We will be fine. Even if everything isn't perfect. 
     Life is really never perfect anyhow. It's a little broken. And a little messy. And a little unpredictable. And a lot challenging. 
     Which is why we (especially me!) NEED God. That's where I should have known better. Each time I make a step of faith, I find myself in an imperfect spot. In other words, just because I trusted God and He helped me through a situation doesn't mean He's done with me. 
     Instead, there's another step I must take. Sometimes a bigger one or a harder one than the last. It's simple really. If I didn't need Him, I might let go. But He isn't letting me. This sonogram result is really a gift, reminding me that no matter how smart technology is and no matter how much I think I can handle something on my own, I'm really hopeless and helpless without Him by my side. 
     As I worked through my anger with Him for not providing this reassurance, this answer to prayer, I realized sometimes He's answering even bigger prayers of ours. I would never want to be estranged from Him, especially in my hardest hours. Especially as I continue to be bombarded with information — like statistics about stillborn babies born to older moms — and people's insane opinions that we're too old (and consequently stupid) to "let" this happen. (For the record, we had two types of infertility but just went on a super foods diet and cleanse with an amazing company!) 
     I have a confession to make, and it's hard for me to make it. Because it shows how vulnerable and untrusting and hard-hearted I am. These comments and stories and statistics have made me detached. Fear of losing the baby has made me less engaged in this pregnancy. Less excited. Less hopeful. Sadly, I realized today that a detached mom is never a good mom. 
     A baby is ALWAYS a blessing. I realized if the baby doesn't live a day outside the womb, it's still my job (and my greatest privilege) to be the best mom I can be until the point that I'm no longer a mom to this girl or my other children. 
     So I made a decision that I will begin bonding with this sweet, active girl right now. Just like my amazing son, who has been reading stories and books to the baby since before she could read. Yes, I think I will have faith like his. Faith like a child. 

New Year, New YOU!

     Well, that's a deceiving title. I don't know if there will be a NEW YOU in 2015, but I do know there will be a NEW ME!
     I love fresh starts, do-overs, blank pages. I am a writer, after all, and there's nothing more inspiring than a new page to start a new story. I've been thinking a lot about my New Year's post, mostly because last year I was in Sierra Leone and coming off of one of the worst years in my life. I didn't write a New Year's post. I was in a not-so-good place. 2013 was a crappy year — one I KNEW I didn't want to repeat. 
     Yet, I was afraid to write down a thing. Because, you see, 2013 started on a very positive note. And it just got worse and worse until it ended in what seemed like an abyss of darkness. I could hardly bear the thought of writing out goals and starting out a positive note when so much "could" go wrong. 
     So I started out wrong. I cried at my annual doctor appointment in January, and I moped around in self pity for a few months. I became my own worst enemy. I didn't mean to; it just kind of happened gradually.
     Then I decided that if I wanted God to answer my prayers, I better use the brain He gave me to make better choices. 
     He made it clear before I began that it all hinged on one thing. Get over the pity party. God reminded me that He loved me in the miserable, pathetic place where I was living, and before I did anything, I better love the girl in the mirror. Because He did. And so did my husband. It was time for my most important choice of all. LOVE MYSELF JUST AS I AM, NO STRINGS ATTACHED, KNOWING SHE MIGHT NEVER CHANGE A BIT. 
     Just like that, I did. A few months into what appeared to be the crappy start to another crappy year, I set my goal. My one goal. 
     In April/May, I decided I was going to take the best care of myself that I humanly could and make the best choices I was financially and practically able to make to be the healthiest me. After all, I am charged with taking care of the body God gave me, the one He calls His temple. I was so used to taking care of everyone else first that it was a big adjustment, but I didn't want to miss another holiday. I had spent Halloween in bed in 2013 because it happened to be one of the 3-6 days a month that I was so sick I couldn't function.
     2014 was a mixed year. There were challenges, still, like there had been the year before. But I learned so much, mostly that while the bad years suck, they are the ones where I grow the most. The bad times are when I find myself learning more about myself and realizing just how faithful God is, as crazy as that sounds. He speaks more and more when I am hurting, sad and desperate. And that part is actually good, and my growth is also worth celebrating. 
     It also helps me remember that the accomplishments and memories during these times are that much better. 
     In 2014, I had insomnia, but I wrote a book. I had pain, but I found Isagenix. I was hurt by people I loved, but God proved He's all I'll ever need. I spent many days in bed sick, but the chains of illness were broke forever. I felt shadows of depression and then learned the way to true JOY through my Savior.
     I COULD focus on all the crappy things that happened. Or I can chose to see all the wonderful things God did in the midst of the muck and mire. That's just how good He is, that He does care very much about our hurting and suffering. Amazing character growth can come through it, and He certainly cares about that. But mostly He just wants us to cling to Him.
     Some people say we shouldn't relive the past, but I learned a lot last year, so I'd like to take those lessons forward!
     Things I did in 2014 that I want to repeat in 2015: 
     1. Fuel my body with health foods. Isagenix was by FAR the best thing in my year. I kept trying and trying and failing with better and organic foods. Nothing even came close. I'm so grateful for the healthy products I'm putting in my and my family members' bodies — and in my baby's body.
     2. More spas. I'm so thankful for my friend Jan and the spa she did for me. This has been a fabulous tool to show the LOVE of Jesus to girls and moms in a world that sees Jesus as punitive and monstrous.
     3. Write a book. I have the idea and concept for another one, and I'm praying God will show me how to publish the first one! Maybe it's just to my blog, or maybe just to the women and girls who go through the spa. I'd love for Him to show me the way.
     
     "New" goals for the new year:
     4. Spend more quality time with family. Homeschooling and working from home means we're constantly in each others' hair, but it doesn't mean we spend "quality" time together. I want to be more intentional with my family! This will be more important than ever with baby No. 3 on the way this summer.
     5. Build my Isagenix business. By the grace of God, our products are paid for, so that's HUGE and I'm grateful for it. But we do need a car because Dan can't fit four in his truck. I have specific financial goals, and I'm praying that Isagenix is the answer because not only does it help us, but the nutrition is freeing so many of my loved ones from food addictions and enabling them to eat healthier than ever before! My specific goals are to buy an inexpensive used car by May and have an income of $500 a month over and above for myself. By the end of the year, my goal is $5,000 a month. Sound crazy? I'm totally motivated to help my friends Rick and Paula Miller — missionaries who lost a lot of funding and need to get back home to Sierra Leone as soon as possible. I'm trusting God to make the impossible possible! Having more money to give is another one of the best things about Isagenix!! 
     6. Sell our house and downsize our mortgage. This goes along with No. 5. If we can shave $500 off our mortgage, it will allow us to afford baby no. 3 AND have more to give!

     Things I did in 2014 I hope to never do again: 
     7. Obsess over homeschool. I'm attending the conference and finding a more managable online school for the next school year. All this planning, grading and curriculum design is NOT my thing!
     8. Keep my house meticulous. That means our house needs to sell and soon. I don't like living in a museum state, chasing dust bunnies and getting OCD about crumbs on the floor. I'd like to move on to things that matter!
    9. Overcommit. I am learning boundaries and more about this two-letter word NO. It might require loads of therapy, but I hear using this word can be done! 
    10. Spend a week in a beach house with extended family. Thanks for the memories! A repeat is not necessary. I actually just threw this in because it's funny. It really wasn't that bad. There was a beach after all. Did I mention the beach was LOADED with the stinkiest seaweed, interspersed with six-foot mounds of seaweed? It was like a metaphor for how we felt sharing that space. I'm kidding. We loved every minute of it. There are seaweed sculptures — and photos — to prove it.  

   

Why I gave up coffee

I started a new journey to better health about six months ago after another emotional meeting with my physician, but I hesitated to write about it as I began because I wasn't exactly sure about what I was doing and whether it was "right."

What I've learned in this short time frame is significant, but mostly I realized it was time to start looking at issues so objectively. The reality is if I want to keep drinking coffee, I can find dozens of articles with claims supporting the benefits of coffee. I needed to find and do what was best for me, and I needed to get off the fence about some issues that could be beneficial to my health and extend myself grace on others.

As such, many women I know are struggling for answers to complicated and painful health issues. I hope by writing about what has worked for me, it might be of use to someone! But mostly, I think we need to recognize that not everyone's body is the same. Our struggles certainly aren't the same, but our need for better health, better nutrition and inspiration is the tie that binds us! I hope to provide good, accurate information to fulfill all three of those needs. 

The very first step I took long before I made any other decisions was prompted by some studies my husband was reading about coffee -- one of my favorite beverages. Actually, it was all I drank outside of water.

But then Dan discovered coffee was specifically linked to endometriosis, the most debilitating of my conditions that had me at the end of my rope and desperate for anything that would help me avoid surgery.

I'm not one to take someone's word for it (I blame the reporter in me...pray for my husband!), so I did some digging of my own. Here's what I found:

According to researchers at the Harvard School of Public Health, women who have two or more cups of caffeinated coffee (or four cans of cola) per day were found to be twice as likely to develop endometriosis as other women.

Not only that, by caffeine was linked to worsening fibromyalgia symptoms by interrupting healthy sleep patterns (I had recently been suffering from insomnia) which is a big factor in minimizing the painful symptoms of fibromyalia, according to a Norwegian study published in the journal Arthritis & Rheumatism.

Why stop there? Web MD says if used excessively, caffeine can be too stimulating and cause anxiety, sleep problems, muscle twitching, or abdominal pain. I have suffered from anxiety and problems caused from it since I was a child. I was recently caught in sleeplessness that was doing a number on my mind, not to mention my body. And I've suffered from abdominal pain since giving birth to my second child.

It seemed rather conclusive. Coffee was not my friend, even though I am rather fond of it! 

Initially I switched to very diluted green tea, which I noticed right off the bat leaves a much thicker, harder to remove residue in my coffee pot. It made me a bit concerned about what it was doing to my insides, and I've never fully researched the benefits of green tea. I've only heard people say that green tea is "good for you." I have no idea if that's true. Eventually I got off the green tea, but I'll write about that later. 

The one health problem I worried about most in giving up coffee was my migraines, which were leaving me in bed at least one and up to three days a month. With a migraine, I cannot read, talk or even watch television. Not exactly how I want to spend my time. 

I had always assumed that coffee was "good" for my headaches. 

According to Web MD, that is true. Caffeine is a common ingredient in many prescription and over-the-counter headache medications. Caffeine additives make pain relievers 40 percent  more effective in treating headaches. Caffeine also helps the body absorb headache drugs more quickly, bringing faster relief. By adding caffeine and, in turn, taking less medication, you can reduce the risk for potential side effects and possible drug addiction.

But what I learned recently was that even though I no longer drink caffeine, it still works quite effectively if I have a headache. In fact, it may work better. 

I had a migraine just a few weeks ago, after giving up all caffeine and making lots of other changes. Ibuprofen wasn't working, and I didn't have my migraine medicine with me. I was on my way to a date night with my husband to see a Cardinals game, and I really, really did not want a migraine to interfere. 

We stopped at a gas station and I bought a 12-ounce can of Coke. I drank it fast with a second dose of ibuprofen. Since I never drink caffeine, I think it definitely made the caffeine more effective. Headache was gone within minutes! 

I did have a three-day headache when I stopped drinking green tea, and it was a pretty rough three days, but I combined it with a 30-day cleanse. By day four of the cleanse, I felt so much better. 

More on the cleanse coming up in another blog post....

Equipping the called

     We posted a few photos from one of our Mighty Strong Girls board events on Facebook, and immediately we had requests from women who wanted to be part of it. 
     Because it looked fun? 
     Because we were enjoying each other's company? 
     I'm not sure. I hope they could see that Christ was at the center. 
     When we meet, often we pray, worship and praise the Lord together. But we also have fun and truly deeply love one another. 

     It kind of reminds me of a sorority, except that I know virtually nothing about sororities. It's just that from the outside, it looks like a blast. We all have a sense of belonging, and a common identity. 

     It's funny, I always criticized my college boyfriend for joining a fraternity, saying he was essentially buying his friends. 

    Perhaps I was jealous. I've never felt like I make friends easily. Does anyone? I feel like I've been betrayed more times than not and made friends with someone just in time for us to be separated geographically. 

     I didn't feel like I fit in during my high school years. Most of my friends partied and slept around, even cheating on their boyfriends. I felt lonely and isolated. 

     I met my best friends in college, but I made so many bad choices then that I'm not sure many would recognize me now. I was the wild party girl. OK, I wasn't that wild, but I did lots of drinking and made many mistakes. Friendships there come naturally, especially over shared sin. 
    What I've struggled the most with is adult friendships, which have always seemed so forced and fake. 

     Until now. Until Mighty Strong Girls. 

     In a way, the friendships in Mighty Strong Girls are random, much like the members in a sorority. In a way, they aren't random at all. 

     I didn't choose these women. Not a single one of them. And truth be told, if I were picking women for the board of Mighty Strong Girls, I am not entirely sure they would make my lineup. I hope that doesn't offend them, because I'm almost certain none of them expected God's vision for this ministry to come through me. Yet each of us was called to be a part of Mighty Strong Girls in a strong way by the Lord. We are an unlikely, unsuspecting group of mismatched misfits. 

     That's why we are all so perfect together. Maybe you've heard the saying that God doesn't call the equipped, He equips the called. That's the process we are in right now.

     And that's the mystery and glory of God's great plan. He created each one of us unique, and He made us each with a purpose. A purpose that was predetermined. He knows. That's why this very random group came together. He had already called each of us to do a specific thing. As His vision became clear, and each of these women learned about or met me, God showed us His plans. He united us. He picked us. 

     Leaning on Him and stretching our faith isn't always easy. It isn't always fun. Every now and then a new mom or girl tries to be part of it and doesn't stay long, because it takes discipline, humility and authenticity. All of those are difficult, and the truth is, it took me most of my life to begin to understand and practice these three things. I'm still struggling with them! But with God's help, it's been so rewarding. 

     I believe another part of His great plan is to show us how to handle all the complications of female friendship so that we can more effectively inspire and educate our target audience we serve: girls 12-20. 

     He is equipping the called. Sometimes it feels like He's doing it with fire or pressure, but other times, it's freeing to know we can grow in trust and faith with Christ at the center. We know we'll never be perfect, but we are inspired to keep trying. We know He's transforming us into gold and diamonds -- just like He wants to do for all of His chosen princesses. 
     If you are interested in starting a Mighty Strong Connections group or hosting one, let us know. We'd be glad to help, and our curriculum is FREE on our website at www.mightystronggirls.com. 

Answering the call to pray

     God has really been speaking to me lately about prayer. 
    If you are skeptical that God actually speaks to people, be reassured that when we take the time to draw close to Him, He absolutely does! But it requires a committed relationship, and as you grow closer, His faithfulness is absolutely breathtaking. Not long ago, I believed that ordinary people did not hear from God, but prayer was the breakthrough that increased my faith. 
     I have always cherished prayer. It's not just a "thing" I do now and then but an open pattern of communication between me and the Lord. Lately, He's been bringing a new message about prayer to me. 
     Get on your knees. 
     Stay in prayer until you have peace. 
     Rest in me. 
     The sermons at church, my daily Bible reading and just about everything I come across is used by God to deliver the message to me that He wants me to REST in the power of prayer. 
     As if that wasn't enough, one my prayer partners/intercessors sends these quotes to me with no knowledge of the things God is speaking to me: 
     "I have so much to do that I spend several hours in prayer before I am able to do it." ~ John Wesley

     "Prayer is the greatest power that God has put into the hands for service -- at least I find it so. But, the dynamic lies that way to advance the kingdom." ~ Mary Slessor

     So I decide that in addition to my daily Bible and devotion readings in the morning, I need to increase my prayer. My goal is 30 minutes every morning, and I don't exactly set a watch. I simply pray over every person who is on my heart and mind. And to make sure I'm not overlooking anything, I began writing down the people/issues I am praying over and at least some of my prayer in a journal. 
     It may sound like a lot of work, but it's not! I've done this on and off before, but for the first time, I have a dedicated prayer journal. 
     And get this. I'm on day three, and He is answering prayers! It's absolutely amazing to see Him at work so mightily. 
     Here's one example: On day one, I prayed for someone to help me with Mighty Strong Girls work, specifically managing the blog, and on day two, a woman emailed me about this very subject! I asked her, and she (in prayer) accepted!
     I know not every prayer is going to be answered yes, and some are much more complicated than that. In fact, the prayers I have for Mighty Strong Girls aren't always yes/no prayers. Our whole board and a team of prayer warriors is praying daily for discernment, timing, favor, justice and wisdom over this ministry. Yes, we believe God answers our prayers. Of course the blog would keep on going without a manager, but God has a purpose and a plan that involves how He's called me and Sarah, and because we both sought Him, His purposes can be fulfilled and the blog will be that much better. Simply because we said yes to prayer. We'd love it if you would join the Mighty Strong Girls team in prayers...we covet prayer!
    I can also -- in just three days -- see signs of God's fingerprints in relationships, signs that He wants to heal not just physical ailments but also our brokenness. In fact, I'm praying specifically for my children to become more respectful. My daughter was put to the test yesterday, and more prayers were answered!
     If you enjoy prayer, I invite you to meet me here and pray with me on the blog. If you have a prayer request, leave it in the comments, and I'll add it to my list. A 30-minute investment in prayer can produce so much fruit in our lives! 
     Here is an excerpt from my written prayer this morning:
     Lord, your answer to prayer is fueling my faith and lighting it on fire! What a blessing...I praise you, the author and perfecter of life and love. Help strengthen me for your mission to bring depression and other tough issues to light -- boldly with truth and for the sake of the gospel. Give me a heart that meditates on gladness, goodness, and gratitude. Thank you for your faithfulness and all the good things you give us to meditate on for your glory! Keep my eyes ahead -- not to the left or right -- but firmly fixed on Jesus and what you're calling me to do. Amen. 

Devote yourselves to prayer, being watchful and thankful. 
Colossians 4:2

Confessing my survival mode

     I have a confession. I am apparently a tad bit fearful of change. Anxious. It makes me nervous. My palms are sweating as I begin to think about it.  
     The worst part is admitting this. Confession of this sort is kind of a big deal, and I'd rather hold onto this little shameful secret. I live most of my life pretending I'm carefree, and well, that's a lie. 
     So I'm admitting to you today that I am uptight. And I don't like change. Strange, huh? From a woman who puts together a one-woman mission trip to Africa in four weeks? I do LIKE adventures and though I do struggle sometimes, I am pretty decent at being obedient. Unfortunately, neither of those facts changes the truth that I have some real struggle with change. 
     It's important for me to work through these feelings right now because we are getting ready to list our home for sale. It's a process that started over a year ago when the I sensed God was urging me to, "Get ready for a move." 
     After joining a new church earlier this year, I thought for sure God's message was just about moving to a new church. That process was painful, difficult and challenging. God and I wrestled through emotions and my disobedience as I wanted so much to hold on to something God wanted me to let go of. Finally, after hearing clearly where God wanted me and my family to worship, I started getting content. I could ease into this. I was just getting comfortable. 
     Until our family was hit with a financial reality check. The little pie chart that Dave Ramsey uses for financial budgets was off-balance. We were spending too much of our income (er, uh, my husband's income) on housing. Two years of me with virtually no income had caught up with our family.
     It was time to reassess God's message. 
     Fortunately it was an easy decision to make. We NEED to move. We aren't living practically. We aren't living obediently. And we aren't able to do all the other things God is calling us to do with so much of our monthly income wrapped up in a mortgage payment. 
     The hard part is the preparation. Getting the house ready when one room is still in the process of renovation is a frustrating proposition. And our schedules are nightmares. But little by little, we are making strides, and hopefully in two or three weeks, there will be a for-sale sign up in our front yard. 
     As we walk through these steps, it occurs to me that I may be giving up more than just a home. I went from no worries to amped up anxiety like a car revving an engine. We don't need to live in our small community because I am homeschooling. That will help us find the best house for our budget. 
     This means more changes than just our dwelling. It may mean a new community. It may mean giving up the church I just joined that I love so much. It will mean new neighbors and friends, and possibly living an hour away from the best friends I've ever had in my entire life. 
     And, well, (GULP) that kind of change feels uncomfortable. It makes me think I should worry just a little. Even though I know I shouldn't. Even though I know that I should and I do trust God entirely. Even though I know it will all work out for our good and His glory. It doesn't stop my flesh from feeling fleshly things....like the stress of change. 
     Yes, I know that I know about the spiritual stuff. I know this is where I get to CHOOSE to have peace. But I thought you should know that even though I know, and even though it's the freedom I am privileged to experience because of the cross, I still must take it up with God daily. 
     Every day, I have to start with a prayer. I call it my survival mode. It's how I will make it from here to there. It's how I get from despair to joy and from chaos to peace. And sometimes, truth be told, I am in survival mode all day long, calling on God and drawing near because the human part of me still wants to freak out about the possibilities of the impending changes. 
     I needed to out myself, because it seems my family is virtually ready to do it anyway. They know I worry, as my mother is a worrier and her mother before her. Oddly enough, the sermons at my church have been focused on the sin of anxiety. So I'm dealing with it. I'm keenly aware, and I've got my eyes fixed upon Jesus, who heals and restores. He is my ultimate survival mode. 

Her healing was complete in Christ

     I have discovered over the years that while I sometimes feel like the queen of “TMI” (too much information), it is often my fear of talking about life in real ways that isolates me and keeps me from receiving all God wants for me.
      Not only that, but it separates me from others instead of uniting us. Because our stories are the explanations for why we stumble, the reasons we sometimes succeed, and why we may appear the way we do to others around us.
      Until we understand what motivates another human being, we cannot be united.
      It is time, if there ever was another, to be authentic, genuine and transparent. That is the heart of Mighty Strong Girls —to shed light on all things the enemy would have us keep hidden shamefully in the dark.
      So here’s a couple reveal-all truths about me: I have five plantar warts on my feet — two on one foot and three on another. Not that big of a deal, you may think. They have been there since my last pregnancy — 10 years ago! They have been frozen twice at my dermatologist‘s office, and I have tried every medical and alternative treatment at my disposal to no avail. In the meantime, both of my children have gotten the virus and developed warts that were easily treated and cured. I sooooo want a pedicure, but I’m plagued by embarrassment and shame.
      Here’s the second TMI: I struggle frequently with severe, sometimes debilitating pain caused by endometriosis, a disorder of migrating ovarian tissue that —in my case — has attached itself to my bowels and other organs. I find myself often clenching my teeth through the pain, fearful of lashing out at others around me as it takes every bit of emotional energy and mental strength — not to mention the grace of God and a plethora of prayers — to prevent the “outer me” from being a reflection of the turmoil and angst I feel on my inside.
      When there is something about your body that seems odd, pain-filled, unusual or untreatable, it begins to transform how you feel about yourself. A few warts can make a middle-aged mom quite self-conscious; the pain of my disorder can make me feel all-around ugly.
      It makes me identify just a little with the unnamed sick woman in the Bible. She had been bleeding for 12 years. She was suffering, and doctors could do nothing, as her condition grew worse instead of better.
      Do you know anyone who has been through such a trial? Have you? I cannot fathom her fear and pain, but in her faith, she sought out a different type of healing.
      I do not think it was a desperate manuveur, though I imagine her life was lived in a state of desperation. She had heard the stories of Jesus — this Son of God, Son of Man who performed miracles, who was healing the sick and lame, exorcising demons and walking on water.
      She must have known without a shadow of a doubt that He was capable of doing what no mere human could and stop the bleeding once and for all. It probably took an extraordinary effort in those days to get close the Him, as crowds of thousands followed Him everywhere He went.
      She did not have a friend in His ministry or influential contacts (I imagine she was lonely, as often those with long-term medical issues are rejected and discarded by society at large), so she would have to take her bleeding, aching body and make her way to Him. She was not planning a face-to-face meeting; she probably did not feel worthy of taking up any of Jesus’ precious time, as I imagine most everyone else didn‘t treat her as valuable so even in her faith, she likely doubted He would either!

      Still, she thought to herself that all she really needed was to touch the hem of his cloak. So she pressed in. She pressed in to the crowds and pressed in to get close enough, and she reached out.
      The bleeding stopped and instantly the sick woman was no longer defined by the malfunctioning body she lived inside. The chains were broken; she was free. It must have felt absolutely indescribably incredible. But this was not a feeling exclusive to her. Just as instantly as she touched the fabric on Jesus‘s cloak, He felt her healing, too.
      Can you imagine? Our healing is not something we alone feel. It is not an isolated celebration. Not only does the Lord know when we are healed, he feels and experiences it alongside us! Isn’t that exciting!
      Jesus knew His power had been utilized even in the midst of a sea of bodies bumping and knocking into Him like waves. Even the bewildered disciples asked Him how He could single out one person touching Him in the wild crowd. But Jesus wants to acknowledge her, not because He does not know. He simply is inviting her to share her testimony. So He waits.
      Finally the woman — now defined by her wholeness and not her unhealthiness — acknowledges, fearful of God, trembling at the feet of Jesus and confessing that it was her.   She is a woman who knew the fear of God. She is aware of his almighty power, that He is God of the universe who can do great and wonderful things.
      She had been shunned and dismissed — the kind of patient who keeps relentlessly pursuing medical care for the same symptoms. Doctors were probably patient initially,
determined to find a cure, to get to the bottom of her mysterious bleeding. But after 12 years, I wonder how many of those experts remained resolute in finding a cause for her
hurting. Who, I wonder, remained by her side at all for all those years as her health continued on a downward spiral?
      She schemed and succeeded. She seized the wonderful power of God through the vessel of Jesus and His healing touch. Now Jesus wanted her to share what she had done. In fact, Luke’s version of the story says she tells her story “in the presence of all the people.”
      Don’t you think that’s why He asked, so that she would share her testimony of her wholistic healing? It wasn’t just about the physical. I believe Jesus wanted her to understand the whole healing that had taken place just then — emotionally, she now knew true love; mentally, she was freed from the torment of physical pain and the sadness of social isolation; and spiritually, she had no doubt of her Savior, as she entered a personal, intimate relationship with the Son of God.
      Jesus wanted her to verbalize her story — not for His sake. For the crowd to hear, for her to know, for you to understand the mysterious, amazing power of God and what He desires to do in our lives because of His great love for us when we simply fear him and have faith.
      “Daughter, your faith has healed you. Go in peace and be freed from your suffering,” Jesus says to the woman in Mark 5:34.
      His healing starts with trust and faith. To open myself up for physical healing through expert care, I must connect with the master Healer spiritually, to be available for the miraculous, to trust in a healing power not entirely available in my physician’s office.
      To fully heal means I must be willing to change, open to something radical, much like the woman who had seen all the doctors and done all the “normal” things. I must also be open to sharing, willing to tell others, available to testify to the power of Jesus.
      My Savior desires for me to be authentic, honest, real, transparent and available to share His truth. This is what heals, but it is also what unites. It is what bonds us and saves us.
      We invite you, dear readers and sisters in Christ, to open your mind and heart to the stories and ideas as you take a journey on with Mighty Strong Girls to transform.
      The first step to change begins on the inside; it is a LIFELONG ENDEAVOR with everlasting consequences.

     Mighty Strong Girls is evolving — now filled with more girls' stories, more advice from girls to girls, a FREE small group study guide, and growth opportunities and challenges in wholistic health. You can now buy a copy online at http://mightystronggirls.com/the-magazine.html

This year's swimsuit shopping shocked me!

Something new happened when I went shopping for a bathing suit this year. It was unexpected and shocking. 

First, I found several on the rack that I sincerely liked — and not because of the label language that goes something like this: "flattering on all figures" or "pattern that disguises tummies" or "perfect for post maternity (and moms who had babies 10 years ago and still can't get the weight off)."

 

So I stepped in the dressing room with an armful of suits and something new: optimism. Oh, two something news. I also brought an accomplice.

 

I pulled on a bathing suit top first. It tied around the neck and the midriff, with a mostly open back. There were four layers of ruffles down the front. It was black and white and bright pink with lots of polka dots. It was very happy and fun. So much so that I had taken two tops of similar styles with me into the dressing room. 

“Oooo, mom, I love it. It looks so good on you!” said my enthusiastic 11-year-old daughter after she secured the ties in the back.

Normally a suit like this would have specific “triggers” for self loathing: the low cut that might show off a mole I don’t like, the general wide exposure of the back that could reveal the folds of skin on my “fat back.” 

Those were the reject-worthy features I was specifically looking for, but here’s what was unexpected. I didn’t see them, the negative things. The mole. The rolls. Maybe they were there, maybe not. All I saw was a pretty phenomenal looking middle-age woman in a bathing suit that flattered her figure. 

“Wow,” I replied. “I love it, too! Well, I guess I’ll try on the others to see if I like any of them.”

Normally, that would be a bad idea. If you’ve ever shopped for a swimming suit, I’m pretty sure this is a golden rule. If you find one that you like — even the slightest bit — you stop trying on suits immediately and buy it. The odds of further swimming suit shopping success are stunted at best. To keep trying them on is an invitation for disappointment.

It had been two years since I graced the dressing room with a bathing suit. I typically shop at a large department store with a huge selection and a range of reasonable prices. I would not mind paying more for a suit that made me look more fit than I am. In the past, I might have even considered taking out a loan for one that could erase 20 years. 

I would drag a dozen suits illegally (six item limit and all….as if you really want to make the walk of shame to the discard rack that many times!) to the dressing room. What kind of lighting is this, I would wonder, as I pulled off my clothing and contemplated the frumpy, stretched and pocked thighs and belly appearing before me. 

Well, it must be a combination of the lighting and this cheap mirror, I would think, because there’s no way I really look like that. Do I???? 

So after the first 12 discards and the walk of shame, I would creep back into a different dressing room — the one in the back where the flickering fluorescent light is, a gamble that a shadow or six might improve things — my shoulders sagging a bit more than the time before. 

As I would suck in my stomach and fight with myself about the fact that I am now one size away from the plus sizes — how did that happen? — I would pray that this one would be THE ONE.

 

A match made in heaven. 

 

A God-ordained suit that would make me look like I didn’t just down a pantry of Doritos and glazed donuts washed down with a monster-size fountain soda.  (I don't really eat those things...I just have a figure that indicates that I do.)

Please, God, please! 

 

Make this torture end. 

 

I manage to get by most days with a decent self-respecting confidence, and this feeling is uncomfortable. I KNOW I am more valuable than the way I look in a bathing suit, but is it too much to ask for you to ordain a bathing suit for me that will make me feel good about myself while swimming, too? 

So here I am, two years later, loving one suit and trying on two more. 

The second one is tricky. It’s adorable — bright pink and polka dots — but it’s hard to tug on. It’s a size too small. It fits, but the fight of putting it on isn’t worth it. I set it aside. If they have it a size up, I know I’ll buy this one, too. 

And my daughter, she loves it! She’s gushing about not just the suits but how great they look on me. I could do this all day. This happiness and pleasure in a dressing room is unheard of...I think I heard the clerks discussing whether to have security on backup in case I was delusional, on the verge of breakdown and putting the whole store at risk.

It’s about this point I realize that I had not showered yet today. We worked at a garage sale all morning, and I had no makeup on. Can you believe it? I was shopping for a bathing suit with no makeup on, with hairy armpits. Unheard of! The giddy factor just raised two notches, and I could definitely hear murmurs of disbelief on the other side of the door.

I’m grabbing the third suit at this point. It’s floral print with a style that is reminiscent of the 1950s. I absolutely love this suit, so I’m praying God will make this a match, too! Why not? Things are going so well.

I pull up the straps of the one-piece, and my daughter is in love with it. I spin and look. Wow! I look like Marilyn Monroe. Curvy and carefree and cute as a button. 

I step out of the dressing room, my shoulders back, my neck stretched high, my chin up. I meet up with my husband and son. 

“You’re never going to believe this,” I say, still reeling from the shock myself. “but I love every suit I tried on. This never happens. So which one do you like?” 

I hold them up and he picks the pink polka dot. I go to the rack and grab the next size up. Unfortunately, it was mislabeled and I had to return it. I ended up getting the Marilyn Monroe number. I love how it makes me feel. 

I spend the next several days reflecting on this experience. What changed in two years? 

Initially, I attribute it to the fact that I had my daughter there, cheering me on, telling me how fabulous I looked in every single suit. I must admit, that was nice. I think I will bring her next time. She saw me the way I should have seen myself, and it was a good check and balance. I believe she helped me see past the self criticism, as I always choose my adjectives wisely around her when it comes to the way I see myself. 

Here’s the kicker, though. I was shopping at Wal-mart. I would normally never consider buying a bathing suit at Wal-mart. The dressing room was a mess. The lighting and mirror had to be way less flattering than anything I had ever been exposed to in a suit. 

Aside from her comments, I was giddy about how nice I looked in the suits. I think mostly what happened was a shift in my perspective — a transformation that began on the inside two years ago that made me look at my physical self in a whole new way. 

I cannot be absolutely sure, but I am fairly certain I am bigger and weigh more than I did two years ago. 

I’m learning to love myself — even without makeup. Even the stretch marks. The ones my husband has loved since they day they became part of me — somewhere in the sixth or seventh month of my second pregnancy. Badges of honor, he called them. Rewards for being able to be the mother of my son, the miracle conception. Well worth it to wear them the rest of this life. 

Easy for him to say. 

Turns out it was easy for me to say, too, but simply harder to believe. My baby will turn 10 this summer, and I can FINALLY just now in this moment at age 40 agree that I love them when I look at them. It’s true…I LOVE my stretch marks. 

It’s funny when I mentioned them the other day, my husband insisted I didn’t have any. He applauded them 10 years ago and forgot them in the time that’s lapsed since. He doesn’t see them anymore. Or at least he doesn’t label them. They are simply a part of me like any other part. 

Why do we loathe a process of change that is God-ordained. My physical beauty is SUPPOSED to fade — or droop, depending on your perspective. Stretch marks, spider veins, wrinkles, grey hair…they are all part of life and aging. If God created us, and this is natural aging, then it is GOOD! Why on earth would we ever presume to criticize the work of a holy, loving God?

What is even better than how I look in this moment is the transformation of realizing the truth in this. What I love most about my swimming suit experience isn't that I loved what I saw, it's that I loved what I FELT. The emotional part was exhilarating!

2 Corinthians 4:16 says “So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day.” 

Praise be to God for the transformation that is the renewal of my inner self who sees what God sees: True beauty!