Fight For It

My life will change in the next month. Well really this year.

My first book, Shaken, releases February 4. The second book is due to the publisher at the same time. I should be moving and grooving. Should be making plans, dreaming big, marketing, promoting, and all around enjoying this crazy fun answer to prayer and success of my dream. And I am.

But I'm terrified. Self-doubt cripples my creativity. Time marches on, creating apathy. There just aren't enough hours in the day. And I just can't do it.

Man, that's the evil one. I have to fight. Fight because this is more than a dream. It's a calling. Fight because even if it impacts one, it is well worth it. Fight because others need to know that the Lord answers prayer in crazy ways beyond our imaginations. I couldn't have dreamed for this exact outcome. I must fight. And I'm reminded of the picture in Psalm 34 that the righteous are as bold as a lion.

Because of that, I will develop the heart of a warrior like the characters in my book. I will remember who I am, whose I am, and where this dream came from. I'll remember I'm not doing this alone. And I'll remember I have a whole team of loved ones fighting with me against discouragement and apathy.

Most of all, I'll remember that success in the world's eyes is not the standard of success in God's eyes. So, I'll fight to be faithful to that which He has called me to. Here's to my next great adventure!

Linking up with Five Minute Friday!

Five Minute Friday - Wings and Roots

Joining a flash mob of writers over at Lisa-Jo's for Five Minute Friday. Today's word?

FLY

It's a season of growing pains. Of feeling so uncomfortable in my own skin that I want to crawl out and escape and then realizing that's exactly what I have to do to be free.

My inclination is to run. To hop a plane and fly out of here to some exotic destination unknown where my only responsibility is exploring, adventure, discovery. To get deliciously lost on some back road or in a culture I've never been exposed to before.

But that's not my calling. My shoes have cement and the people around me stand strong. They refuse to let me run. Because running, flying, would be easy. Roots are tough and familiar all at once. And blooming from those roots, even tougher.

My book comes out in just over two months, and I'm terrified. And excited. And amazed. And...too many emotions to fully understand or identify. All I know is God is good. But that's my heart on the page, lined up for critic and friend to love or abuse in the most intimate way. It's a piece of me never seen before.

And with it, these growing pains tug me from my skin, push me to meet people I'd never consider, write from my heart, raw and real. And I'm learning to fly in the midst of a season of stretching.

Because vulnerability comes at the cost of losing our shell. And I'm learning to soar in the midst of my fear, becoming more me than ever. And I'm learning that the best part about this season is the ability to grow wings and soar while maintaining my roots, the core that makes me beautifully who God made me. No matter where I may fly, I know where to return if I ever begin to lose myself.

Five Minute Friday - Together

I've never accomplished a significant task on my own, and I've never experienced a significant moment without people dear to me nearby.

It's the moment a song we wrote as fourteen-year-olds becomes a song we can still sing together in our twenties and the coffee dates span years of acne and immaturity to young adulthood.

It's the people I learned to march in sync with. The ones who knew the bitterness of defeat and the sweetness of a state championship.


It's the crew who taught me to love and laugh and be at home in a west Texas town so foreign to my city roots.

It's the strangers who became family and taught me how to open my heart again. The ones who loved me at my worst and encouraged me back to my best.

It's the ladies who stuck out tough conversations, breakups, fights, and built solid friendships that we call COMMUNITY.

It's the team who serves by my side every Tuesday night, pushing me to be better, love well, be strong, and never shy away from the tough conversations.

It's the women walking a new stage of life with me now, never afraid to ask the tough questions that make me search my heart and lean into the Lord.

It's the team of mentors, professors, agents, and editors who believe in me and work to make my dream a reality to touch lives with my passion.

It's the family who's always been there and knows my heart well. The church family that raised me. The one that stands by me now.

My life is shaped by the beauty of people's influence. Life is better TOGETHER.

Linking up with a fun group of writers over at Lisa-Jo's.

Learning to Listen

My world is loud. My email constantly demands my attention - three different accounts for three different reasons. My job revolves around communication and social media, the deadly noise of an electronic culture.

We've forgotten the value of letters and phone calls, the connection that comes with face to face. We've forgotten how to have a conversation longer than 140 characters, and we sure don't remember the bond developed by vocally sharing the depth of our thoughts, our hearts.

I remember a crowded beach in California. Surfers rode the waves, entertainers lined up around the boardwalk, and this misplaced Texas girl walked with my group enjoying the show. About sunset, I found myself alone near the water, the waves roaring in to kiss the shore over and over. All other noise dissipated, and I truly listened.

I see my Creator in the waves and the ocean - His power, His gentle nature, His vastness, His beauty. And I can hear His still small voice in the waves that lap the sand, asking me to drown out the other noise and just listen. He speaks in the quiet moments. He answers when I truly surrender.

With no beach nearby, I'm learning to find my ocean moments in the roar of the big city. He speaks most when I commit to listen. And I'm tired of the noise. I'm sitting on the shore, listening to His voice whisper in the waves.

Linking up with other writers at Lisa-Jo's today!

Hiking Columbine Trail

Fall

The trail wound too close to the edge of the mountain. My foot kicked a pebble loose, and it skittered over the side. I avoided watching it's wake, scared to lean over. We were the back group in a crew of thirty, the others racing to the top.

My camera remained a ready friend in my hand, capturing every moment of the beauty. Mountains rose all around us, a tribute to the strength of my King. We rounded a corner into the most beautiful crag in the rock, full of flora and fauna, perfect for exploring.

That's when it hit. A raindrop. Then another and another. We heard the group ahead of us begin to yell as the sky blackened and lightening flashed. A mountain is not the safest location in a Colorado thunderstorm. Our leader came sprinting down the trail, the others in her wake. Water wound down the red mud, sliding beneath her feet.

"Get off the mountain. Get off the Mountain. Lord, get all these students off the mountain safely," I heard her whispered prayer as she whipped past me. My friends and I began to run, now more concerned with the lightening than the proximity of the edge. Water ran like a stream between my feet, and I began to laugh, a rough year of college bleeding off with the refreshment of a summer storm and the adventure of a Colorado mountain hike. As the potential of falling off the cliff increased with the deluge, I had no fear.

I fell more in love with Jesus in that storm.

"Let us acknowledge the Lord; let us press on to acknowledge Him. As surely as the sun rises, He will appear; He will come to us like the winter rains, like the spring rains that water the earth." Hosea 6:3

Linking up with other writers at Lisa-Jo's for Five Minute Friday.

Imagination Gone Wild

Linking up with other writer's at Lisa-Jo's today for today's word...

Imagine

I dream in color. Active imagination is an understatement for me. There are moments that I have to separate the daydreams from the memories. Each moment is vividly real to me...or could be.

When I write, the movie reel in my head comes to life on paper. The characters become people I can touch. I know their history, their names, their pain, and their joy. I imagine what it would be like to walk in their shoes.

I was that kid who found something creative in the tracks left by water drops on my car window. I see an analogy in a cotton field or a top hat in the clouds. I imagine God in a smock painting each sunset as it fades to black. I imagine the incredible possibilities and potential of some of my friends.

I imagine all the time. Too much. Not enough. I imagine someday and tomorrow. What could have been or what could be.

But the imagining becomes "what ifs" when not paired with His perfect plan. This crazy brain of mine came tailor made at the hands of the God who created all we see. I imagine what God can do, because I know He's bigger than my imaginings or my feelings or my plans. My guess is that my imaginings amuse Him at times, and He's just sitting up there saying, "Oh, sweetheart, I have something so much better in mind. Just you wait and see."

Bird's-Eye View

Joining with other writers at Lisa-Jo's today to talk about...

             View

My sight is limited from the airport terminal. The person in front of me sipping Starbucks as we wait to board the plane. The mom juggling a toddler, stroller, and too little sleep. My eyes burn from several nights spent talking, laughing, and finishing last minute wedding details for my friends' wedding. My brain is fuzzy, and all I know is I'm headed back.

Back to the big city, to my busy job, to a packed schedule, to more friends and family, to a pending move. My lungs constrict. Too much on too little sleep.

We board the plane and zip down the runway, Missouri tipping beneath me from the window. I watch the green hills and trees, the Arch, and a weekend full of memories slip into the past as we climb higher. My view is no longer limited. It stretches before me, all the way back to Texas, and I breath a little easier.

It's the difference in my human, tired perspective and God's grand design, so intricate and finite in detail that I can't clearly see it until I rise above the everyday and catch a small glimpse of the master plan. Breath. Just breath. I remember God's got this from my bird's-eye view. He knows the plans He has for me (Romans 8:28). I settle back in my seat and relax as the morning sky scrolls past.

Five Minute Friday - Comfort

Joining with other writers at Lisa-Jo's today to talk about...

             Comfort

In the craziness, I seek a slice of normalcy - comfort in chaos. Something, anything familiar.

In college, it was curling up on my bed on a Saturday, cocooned by my pillows. FRIENDS, NCIS, or Saved by the Bell filling the silence.

As an adult, it's the familiarity of faces that have known me my whole life or the people who share in my victories and struggles every week. It's reading a book I have read a thousand times or enjoying a walk as the sun dips below the buildings and trees.

I seek that comfort deep inside. The contentment that comes from knowing who I am and Whose I am in the midst of a storm.

His arms hold me, His hand guides me, and the gentle pressure is enough to comfort in the midst of the unknown. In all the changes, He is consistent. 

Five Minute Friday - Brave

Joining with other writers at Lisa-Jo's today to talk about...

BRAVE

I visit a third world country for a week and call myself brave. What a misuse of the word. I return to my comfortable bed, good job, and three meals a day plus anything else I want, and I have truly missed the meaning of the word.

I share my faith with the waitress, leave a verse on the receipt, and call myself brave, while soldiers may now receive a court martial for sharing their faith. Believers in other countries must hide their Bibles for fear of jail time, and I'm too tired to read mine tonight.

I don't define this word. I've just Americanized it to pat myself on the back, but I've missed the mark completely.

It's that mom who gives the last bit of food to her toddler while she rocks him to sleep crying, all while she prays and trusts that somehow God will provide tomorrow.

It's the soldier who values truth over man's version of honor and believes eternal life outweighs a reprimand.

It's the believer in China who invites his neighbor to the church in his basement, knowing they risk imprisonment and death if that neighbor snitches.

We are losing our status as "land of the free" when tolerance is redefined as anything goes unless it's Christian, and "home of the brave" means we take a stand for what is right and true only when we feel like it or it suits our purpose.

God help us be brave if the time ever comes when they take our homes because we bear His name. I usually keep quiet over social media with all this political correctness. What good does it do for Christians who have never met to argue in this arena? But when sharing my faith is in jeopardy, silence is not brave. So I'll add my voice to the crowd, and pray that I'll be brave when it matters most.

Five Minute Friday - Friend

Joining with other writers at Lisa-Jo's today to talk about...

FRIENDS

There is a friend who sticks closer than a brother... 

I called to talk about her wedding plans, but she let me cry instead. Separated by miles and bound by memories, she's seen me at my worst and my best and loves me in spite of myself. I don't feel the need to sugar coat. I tell her exactly how I've been stupid. But I don't feel the need to be strong either. I can just be me. We finally talk about the wedding details, and my tears are now tears of joy that she found this amazing man, that she is incredible, that their wedding will honor the Lord, and that she asked me to be a small part of it.

I text her in my weak moments and when I am incredibly excited, this friend who knows my heart. She reminds me to be strong, that God's got this. This friend also separated by miles and bound by a summer of concerts and mountain climbs and late nights giggling and talking about some day. She's my backbone, the one who throws the red flags, the one who knows me, loves me, and speaks truth. She is a ray of sunshine, and the inspiration for one of my characters in my book.

Still another friend, a heart friend. College rivals and childhood friends, she is my chill buddy. We share memories marked in joy, friendship, laughter, tears, and music. Even when she isn't close by, a conversation over the phone or text closes the gap. She is constant. Honest yet gentle, she knows my heart and my history.

How precious are these who never leave, who allow me to invest in their lives, all the while investing in mine. They define the word FRIEND.

Five Minute Friday - After

On Friday's, I join with others over at Lisa-Jo's to write purely for the love of the craft. Today's word?

AFTER

There are only a few times in my life where I have wondered, "What comes next?"

I don't want to wish my life away. My word for this year is SAVOR, and I truly want to savor every moment. But somehow, I am swept away, wondering.

What comes AFTER this?

It's the taste of the unknown. Once this crazy work season is over, once the edits are finished, once I can breathe...then what?

And I just don't know.

And I don't know that I need to. After is an unwrapped gift, beautiful, new, and bursting with possibilities. And somehow it's mine. The Lord has wrapped it just for me. I can't open it yet, but I wonder and I wait with anticipation. His gifts are never shoddy, never second hand. They are tailor made for the recipient.

After is my world of possibilities - a white water rafting trip, my best friend's wedding, summer days at the pool, a new book, new people to meet.

There's something new about spring. There's something crazy about this season. And there's something exciting about the unknown of AFTER. Here's to this adventure and the one to come...

Five Minute Friday - Broken

It's time for Five Minute Friday where a flash mob of writers join to write purely for the joy of it and then share our thoughts over at Lisa-Jo's.

I think I'm broken.

No. I know I am.

I'm a people-pleaser, a mess of insecurities stitched together with good intentions. I can't sleep at night because I'm constantly thinking of what all has to be done. I over-commit and sometimes under-deliver. I don't have the right words. I pretend to be tough when I'm falling apart inside. I struggle with entitlement and pride.

I have Christmas decorations that have been on my floor since December. My clothes are piled on my sister's bed, transforming it into a second closet. I'm a neat freak who is too tired to care.

I give in too easily, sometimes sacrificing what I want for the sake of peace. Some nights I would rather stay in and watch a movie than go out with friends. I suffer from a massive fear of failure, of not being good enough. I like to speed and constantly pray I won't get caught...while maintaining my pace. And even now, I feel this post is a little too vulnerable, too raw.

But I can't leave it there. Neither can I brag about my strengths or "attractive qualities." I didn't come by them honestly. Like Michelangelo's David, I'm a scarred piece of marble in need of refinement.

He picks me up daily. Humbles me through those around me. He steadies me when my brain feels like mush. He inspires me when I have nothing left to spit out on the page. He reminds me...constantly....that He's holding me. He has a plan.

My mess is His message. My brokenness is His beautiful canvas. So I boast in it. I'm a perfectionist who needs the artistic strokes of the master Creator to turn me into a masterpiece. Slowly, but surely, He is molding me. Refining every rough edge. Pulling me out of the fire and sticking me back in again because He can't quite see His image yet.

But one day, this broken woman will gleam. I just have a few spots left at the moment.

Five Minute Friday - Remember

I remember the smell of coffee every morning.

The gentle cadence of Rachel and Ashley's morning chat and the shuffle of pages as they read their Bibles in the breaking sun.

Brittany's bright laughter that filled the apartment the moment she woke up.

I remember the groggy feeling of too little sleep induced by a night that made me smile for all the right reasons.

The crisp feel of the summer Colorado morning inducing frustration from this Texas girl who believes wearing a sweater in the summer, no matter what the time of day, is a crime.

I remember the laughter filled drive to Focus, the thrill of an unfamiliar day cased in the familiarity of home away from home.

I remember every hand signal for the Signs games that took place in the middle of class, the winks, and smothered smiles, the carry over of a night that bled into morning.

I remember the rush of conversation as we debated worldviews, abortion, truth, and everything in between.

The pen smudge on my hand told the story of hours of furious notes.

I remember the Sh'ma, the unfamiliar taste of Hebrew on my tongue and the heart connection to my Savior who said this every morning as a boy over 2,000 years ago.

I remember the brokenness and beauty of that summer, and I cling in the moments when uncertainty clouds in. I remember a sunrise that brought healing and strangers that turned into friends. I remember that all things work for the good of those who love God.

I remember, and I am strong.