You're Worth It...

"Your worth it" he said to me on the phone, explaining why he was leaving a two week, out of the country, missions trip early.  I don't know if anyone has ever told you you're worth it, but those of you who haven't, know how much it means, how much those three little words can mean to a heart. I've never been told that before.

  I miscarried at 8 weeks, four days before he was to come home from Oaxaca. "When your mom told me, I immediately knew I needed to come home and be with my family" my dad said. As he spoke, we stumbled all over each other's words, talking at the same time. Me crying, I could hear him yearning to be home with his family, wishing to hug me through the phone.

I hate tender moments like that. I know, hate is a strong word, that's what my mom says, but honestly, I hate them. I feel vulnerable and with vulnerability, at least in my mined, comes shame and embarrassment, being this open with my heart is hard for me. Before my son Dennon was born,he made me this beautiful bassinet, he's an amazing carpenter. It rocked back and forth and was breathtaking, it evoked so much emotion in me, that I couldn't speak.  There's something about a father, daughter moment, that pains me. Brings me so much joy and hurt at the same time.

 My daughter heart is healing. It's been healing since I was eleven. That's when my dad, left to Arizona, he left mom, he left Teka, our dog, he left our house, he left me. When my mom married Bill, it was a second chance to feel loved. Worthy. Important. Like a daughter. However, even though my heart said it wanted that, it also had convinced me that I was too old to have a daddy. Though Bill and I have grown closer and he's been such an important person in my healing, growth, devotion to Jesus, I still keep him a safe distance away from my heart.

That day on the phone with him, talking over each other, crying, laughing, yearning to hold each other, something broke. As I was relaying the conversation to my mom, I felt like a giggly teen, like my love was coming home to see me and I was so excited. It was an odd feeling for me, but just as I was thinking about it, I was reminded that that's how God feels for me. He's my love coming home from something we all thought was more important, and should be more important, than me, than this situation. He's jumping on a plane at the break of dawn to race home and embrace his love, to hold me in his arms, and tell me everything is going to be alright. It's a sappy love story, but this heart, this little eleven year old girl heart wasn't looking for prince charming, it was looking for daddy to save the day, and he was, just like in the movies, he was coming home.

The first day I realized I was going to be miscarrying this baby, I asked the Lord to comfort me, I told him that I needed to feel him holding me. To send himself to me and hold me close in this scary and devastating moment. I couldn't feel him and I was so hurt. As I hung up the phone with Bill, I was reminded of that moment. I knew God was there, but I couldn't feel him. I couldn't envision him there because my daughter heart was closed off, so he sent me Bill.  The daddy who got up and onto a bus at 4:00am for a 6 hr drive. Who flew all day across the country to arrive home to me at 12:00am, just to hold me close, to comfort me, to tell me everything is going to be okay.

My savior, he died on a cross for me and though, that should be all I need, he still understood my pain and sent me Bill to be an example of how far a father will go, to be with, rescue, comfort, the ones he loves.

A realization of fears...

I’ve realized this evening that my life has been a realization of fears. When I was little I was terrified of my parents getting a divorce, then one day a few weeks before Christmas when I was eleven, they did. I’ve always been terrified of losing a parent, scared of them dying. I would cry and stay up nights just thinking about it. As a teen I lost one of my “spiritual “ parents, a women I was proud to think of as my second mom, she died of breast cancer, I was by her side when she took her last breath.

Now here, I may be miscarrying this child, and in the midst of this fear coming to life I’ve realized I have no idea how to grieve. I’ve always hated it, ashamed of it. I want to scream, yell, throw things, and hit someone, curse, blame, and point fingers in anger.  I want to give into those childish reactions but every time I start to feel that way, I hear my good friend Jordi singing “Praise you in this storm”. I had her sing it in the pitch black one Wed. night to my Converse kids. It was a long time ago, but I can hear her clear as day, comforting my soul as I lay in bed ready to fight. I close my eyes to listen to her sing and I see myself standing in the middle of an abandoned street, naked , ( why am I naked, since, I don’t like being naked, when I’m naked ..ha!), with rain falling down on me. I know it means I’m vulnerable; I’m without my clothes to keep me dry, protect me from getting sick.  I realize that even if I feel naked in a rainfall, with no protection, God is there. I feel like this scene is supposed to remind me that though I feel abandoned out in this painful, cold, place, God hasn’t left me. I’m in this vulnerable position, not by anyone’s choice, but he’s still there. Between every rain drop, he’s there. Between every tear, he’s there. Between every cry out to the pitch dark, he’s there. He’s there in the melody of Jordi’s voice, soothing me back to him. He’s there even when I don’t voice my pain or anger to him, he’s there.

In the midst of all my life’s “tragedies” he is still good. How is he good? Well, for one, I’m still breathing. And if we do lose this little baby, whose heartbeat was so strong but a week ago, he’ll still be good. How will he be? To be honest, I don’t know, I can’t answer that right now and may not be able to until I see that little baby again in his arms in heaven.  However, my unknowing, doesn’t waver my belief that he is good, because in a world full of tragedies, he redeemed the grief I gave birth to, my mom remarried an amazing man. He stepped in, loved me as a father should and created a bond with my broken daughter heart. When Jacqueline died, she left, leaving a path full of changing histories in people’s hearts, she made a difference.

I know that there will be more fears realized in my life and probably some I didn’t even know scared me, and though each one will present another feeling of an abandoned road, I know I’ll learn more about myself and be able to teach my son one day all those things I learned. Don’t get me wrong, I’d rather trade in those tragedies in an instant, I’m not one to say “I’ll take the painful road so I can become a better person”.  No thanks! But since I’m here anyway, I might as well learn how to breath in the storm, how to be in the storm, how to lean on His strength in the storm. So that one day, when the fears my son has, are being realized, he’ll stand in the rain and remember that God is good. God is love. And God will never leave him on that abandoned road in the rain, no matter how convinced he is of it.  Maybe in those moments, he’ll hear me singing to him “I am your beloved”, nd the truth  of God’s love will continue to be taught, to his children, and so forth.

Letting go of the myths

The other the day I was heading to dinner with some friends, about 5 minutes into the drive they started comparing themselves to each other and who had the worse, cellulite, fat, back, etc. It was interesting; I began to float off into my own thoughts and remembered recently hanging out with a group of my male friends. When they get together they too did a little comparing of their own, but it was about who was cooler, better, bigger…haha It amazed me that these women were going on and on about how inept they were, their insecurities and such. I wondered if we are “supposed” to not like ourselves. I stayed very quiet in the back and almost felt shunned for not having anything bad to say about myself. Sure, I’d like to be as thin as Reese Witherspoon or have Halle Berry’s boobs, but those are my own thoughts they don’t really make it into public conversation.


I begin to wonder if we are teaching other young women in our generation to dislike themselves because that’s the norm. My mom says some women do it so the girl next to them goes “Oh no, you’re so pretty, so thin…” This kind of talking can’t be good for those around us.  John always told me how much he hated when his male friends talked bad about their girlfriends or wives; he said it always made them look stupid. I think it’s the same for women who talk horribly about themselves and their bodies.  Now don’t get me wrong, girl talk is needed a little pouting about this and that, I think that’s normal and sometimes we have to talk about our struggles with our weight, breasts, etc. but to bash ourselves, well, it’s not healthy.


I remember at one women’s get together my friend Nadine asked “how come you’re not in your 6 inch shoes”. I replied “fat people shouldn’t wear heels”. She gave me this sad look and said “don’t ever talk about yourself like that, it’s not pretty. I always teach my girls to let go of those myths they create for themselves, you should too.” That comment she made, still sticks with me. She’s right, there is no law about fat people and high heels, heck, I’ve got killer legs and to be honest, they look even more killer in a pair of six inch patent leather stilettos. We limit ourselves, on purpose, almost like when a fat person walks in a room and makes a fat joke. The underlining agenda being:  “Hey, I know I’m fat, you know I’m fat, maybe if I make this joke so you know I know, you won’t make fun of me.” I’ve seen people do that and it breaks my heart, they are setting an example of hatred for themselves. As I sat in the backseat waiting for them to ask me what my worse body part was, I thought, I’ll answer “well, sure I could lose some weight but hey, I think I’m pretty awesome. I like myself.”


I believe it’s important to like yourself even with the extra 5 pounds, the freckles, the one breast smaller than the other, whatever your insecurity may be, it’s important to love it. Being best friends with that cellulite on your hips is not easy, especially during swim suit season, but does that cellulite rule your life? Does it tell you you’re not worth it, your ugly? Let go of the myths you create…besides, who can even notice that cellulite with your beautiful smile lighting up a room.  Nadine was right, talking about yourself and your body as if it’s your #1 enemy is ugly. So put a little pretty in your life and let’s encourage ourselves and other women we talk with, to discuss how beautiful they are, let’s uplift others because we all know the world is doing a good job on its own of keeping us down!