ENCOURAGE - EQUIP - EMPOWER
IT STARTS HERE.
Of all the things God is none of it matters as much to me as His faithfulness. If He is love, but not consistently love, He is less than perfect. If He is just but not always just, that is terrifying. If He gives grace but is not forever gracious, my relationship with Him will be based on fear and self-righteousness. In all these things, His faithfulness is the thread that binds them all together for His glory and our good.
When I first saw that the Fruit of the Spirit I was to write about was ‘kindness,’ I inwardly groaned. Kindness is such a generic word, like ‘nice.’ It gets used all the time, but it’s not specific. On the other hand, if it’s listed in the Fruit of the Spirit, it must be important. So over the last few weeks as I’ve pondered what to write about, I was reminded of the many times I have been the recipient of kindness and how it made all the difference in the world.
Love is one of those polarizing words. It can seem simple or complex. It can be obvious or evasive. It conjures up feelings of hurt or feelings of healing. It can be easily said or awkwardly unsaid. So how can a simple blog post attempt to grasp “love?” Well, it can’t, and I can’t. So I’ll just speak about what God says about love.
This past Memorial Day weekend marked 16 years since “the accident.” A horrific car accident that would change the trajectory of my life in a myriad of ways. Physically, spiritually, mentally, and relationally. Recovering in the hospital, the only change my mind could focus on centered on the changes to my body. Severe injuries sustained by my right leg led to the need for an above the knee amputation, and a few months down the line the addition of a prosthetic leg.
I’m about desperate for a visit. No one has come over to my house in what feels like forever. If you came over to my house, I’d let you choose one of my special teas, and I’d steep it in my glass teapot over my tea warmer and pour us each a cup. Then I’d tell you this story of what God did for me during the pandemic.
Before beginning my fellowship with International Justice Mission, I was a mental health therapist for seven years. Working with children who had behavior and mental health concerns, my roles included outpatient therapist, mobile therapist, behavior specialist consultant, and meetings facilitator. I had been trained in different evidence-based therapies. I was a professional.
May is Foster Care Awareness Month. There are almost 500,000 children nationwide in need of foster homes. The church is an integral part of this system. Many in the church are involved as foster parents, and others are on the sidelines supporting these families. I thought I could provide some insight on what it’s like to be a foster parent, as well as share what your role could be in the process.
Music, unlike anything else in my life, has always been a way for me to process and express emotions. As an 8 on the Enneagram and an ENTJ on Myers Briggs, (if you’re not familiar, basically I’m the heartless ruthless type. Kidding…or am I?) expressing my emotions doesn’t come easily, so music has been vital to me throughout life …
In matters of theology and science, I often consider myself “the dumb it down expert.” Give me something complex, and I’ll try to make it easy for you to understand. It’s National Mental Health Awareness Month, and so I want to bring this “expertise” to bear on a complicated concept that straddles both theology and science: depression.
This new season of life for all of us has brought an array of emotions. Some of us have been anxious with the unknowns of how long this quarantine will last. Some are frustrated at losing their senior year of high school or college. Some don’t know how to manage working from home and doing all the other tasks that include caring for an elderly loved one or teaching their children. There are job losses. Friends and family getting sick. This list is not exhaustive, but there is so much going on in our world right now.
She was skipping along, smiling, and searching for the moon. Before I could remind her to watch her step, her feet lost their place and the sidewalk reached up and ripped the skin from her knees. She howled. Using the sleeve of my hoodie, I wiped the blood from the legs of my tender-hearted three-year-old and held her tight.
