And Today Marks Twenty-Five Years of Life

[**Just a few days after drafting this post, my dad passed away unexpectedly and I forgot about having written it. Tonight as I read this post for the first time since then, it is so hard to trust the Lord's timing in all of this! But, I WILL wait on Him and hope in Him and trust Him and am SO thankful for this Truth, even in this hard season.]

Isn't it funny, how a quarter of the way into this thing, I am convinced I know less then I did when I first began. As I reflected on my post from a year ago, tears streamed heavy and thick. Honestly, that about sums up this past year of life over here.

Really, really hard. And really, really glorious.

James tells us about a joy we can choose through trials that produces a steadfastness within us. The Lord has been truly gracious to supply ample opportunities to practice this in my life this year, in ways I never would have asked for nor expected.
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So for a rambling snapshot of the year--

The new year began with a brokenness quite unlike any I had ever known, when the man who pursued me to the point of marriage chose to step away from the relationship quite unexpectedly. The pain and questions ran deep, and for months all I could muster up was a resounding, "And if not, the Lord is still good." It wasn't what I ever would have expected for my story, but Jesus has taught me to walk with Him in a way I hadn't before, and through that season He really has become more precious to me then my daily bread.

With the spring, sprung a new job! After two sweet and exhausting years of nannying for a dear family, I said my final goodbye as I transitioned into a job that God had been preparing me for for several years, long before it even became a "dream job" for me. A season of inviting others to partner with me in this new job both financially and prayerfully, brought the greatest joy of glimpsing the Kingdom come here on earth and deepened my faith. God provided quite boldly and allowed over sixty families & individuals to transition into this new role right alongside me!

The fall brought hundreds of new students to good 'ole Fayetteville from all the corners of the world and  now I got the great privilege of helping them transition into life here at the University of Arkansas while also casting vision for others to come join me and do likewise!

By far the absolute greatest joy of this twenty-fourth year of life has been getting to pour my life into these beloved students who have become very dear to me. As you can imagine leaving your family, friends, culture, language and all that is familiar behind and coming to a brand new place on your own can be so overwhelming. Our Monday night "Village" in the dorm and Thursday night "Supper and Seeking" at my house have become a refuge of sorts, where some of these friends can unload before one another and a Father many don't yet know--time I so cherish each week. I have learned more about God's heart through these who He's made dear to me and am so blessed to be entrusted by Him as an ambassador of reconciliation among them.

This year took me overseas again, this time to a Desert in Africa where a woman who had never heard of Jesus trusted in Him for the very first time. During that time, God solidified a desire He put in me years ago, to give my life to a group of people in this area of the world who have also never heard. Now, onto tackling the Arabic language this year!

My adopted family welcomed another miracle baby girl (and she is precious!) and next month the oldest of my "lil sisters" says "I do!" God's great grace and faithfulness has been on display so boldly in this family and I am humbled and grateful for the way He brought them into my life FOUR crazy years ago!

My own dad continues to fight his alcoholism as several serious health risks seem to be catching up to him. There's no communication between us these days, though we did have lunch when I was home this summer which further confirmed his inability to play a healthy role in my life right now. Last month (while in Africa) my grandpa passed away unexpectedly which has brought great pain for my sweet momma and our family. And even today, it's strange to think I won't be getting a phone call from him to celebrate. The sting of death lingers some, but we know those in Christ grieve as those with a greater hope.

I'm so thankful for my church body and how dear they continue to be to me. Getting to work between the church and a campus ministry has brought SO much learning this year, and I'm grateful. I'm blessed to do life with some amazing families and beloved friends. Tuesday nights have become my time of refuge, rejoicing, and realness before the Father and among some whom are more then just good friends--they are my people in this season and I praise God for them.
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Another year come and gone and now here I am twenty-five and Facebook just informed that this is the year the human body begins to die. The past few weeks of life have left me continually faced with that reality, as I groan inwardly waiting eagerly for that final adoption and redemption of this [dying] body!

Of course, hope that is seen is not hope. But, if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience. Truthfully, my patience is wearing down. So of course, going into this twenty-fifth year, the Lord says: WAIT.

Wait for me. Wait for the pain of your broken heart to ease. Wait for the morning to come after that sleepless night. Wait for the season of darkness and oppression to lift. Wait for God to provide. Wait for the fall semester to close and a new one to begin. Wait for Him to point out people of peace. Wait for dear friends to accept the Truth of the Gospel as you share. [yes, even week after week, month after month, year after year.] Wait for the man I have set apart just for you. [and don't settle because you are MINE.] Wait for the day of raising up babies that belong to you. Wait on your call to go overseas. Wait on my provision of community and heart-friends. Wait until the day you will fully know your belonging. Wait and you will see my face. Wait, for I am still good. Wait for full on redemption. Waiting, waiting, waiting.

Last year I shared God's promise found is Psalm 52, and I claimed it going into my twenty-fourth year of life.

8  But I am like a green olive tree

in the house of God.

I trust in the steadfast love of God

forever and ever.

9  I will thank you forever,

because you have done it.

I will wait for your name, for it is good,

in the presence of the godly.
                                   [Psalm 52]

Little did I know, He wasn't planning to use it the way I thought. But looking back now, I'm tearful over His faithfulness that even when I had no idea waiting would become such an enormous part of this year, I know I will WAIT for His name, for it is GOOD. So, I wait with eyes on what I don't yet see, the eternal, because I know this thing doesn't end with what I can see (and praise God for that, right?!) This doesn't end with me waiting forever. You and me--we're being prepared for an eternal weight of glory in fact.

For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal. [2 cor. 4:17-18]

 For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us. For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the sons of God. [Rom. 8:18-19]

But as for me, I will look to the Lord; I will wait for the God of my salvation; my God will hear me. Rejoice not over me, O my enemy; when I fall, I shall rise; when I sit in darkness, the Lord will be a light to me! [Micah 7:7-8]

Therefore, the Lord waits to be gracious to you, and therefore He exalts Himself to show mercy to you. For the Lord is a God of justice; blessed are all those who wait for Him. [Isa. 30:18]

I wait for the Lord, my soul waits, and in His word I hope. [ps. 130:5]

I believe that I shall look upon the goodness of the Lord in the land of the lving! Wait for the Lord; be strong, and let your heart take courage and wait for the Lord! [Ps. 27:13-14]

My prayer for this year--that His Word will continue to be alive and active and I will hunger for it more then anything else. Oh Lord, help me to be so fully satisfied in you as I wait, and please be my LIGHT in this season!

And a word of encouragement from Piper--"So take these truths and PREACH them to your mind until your heart sings with confidence that you are new and cared for."

On Level Ground & My Dad

I saw him this Christmas and it never became this big deal. It's been a couple years since we've stepped into a room together and I am not the same. He's been sober for awhile now and for that I do rejoice (after I question that this could really be true, of course).

A few people have asked lately, so I started to think about it.

I don't really think about him much anymore, my dad that is. Sometimes I will wonder about all the could haves and would haves long lost. I catch myself dreaming up the past all pretty and perfect. I stop myself  because it's a silly waste of a future, I think. And more often I dream of my wedding day, but it is never him there beside me.

And it's okay. 

God has made Himself known to me. We're walking this thing out and my eyes don't see Him so skewed any more. He has offered up a handful of faithful fatherly figures who take great intention with my life, and I know the love more today then I ever have. And I need it less. What grace, ya'll. What unfathomable grace. 

It's okay to be free, right? To not doubt or fear or condemn?

Because over these years, I pictured this dramatic slow-mo scene of me running into his arms. I think there were daisies too. And green grass. And the sun, the blue sky of course. But in reality, it was frigid and dark outside as I wondered up the sidewalk with an armload of presents. It was Christmas Eve and the whole fam was gathered. I didn't see him at first. And he didn't rush right in for an embrace.

I got situated and then made the rounds. I hugged him and he trailed behind much of the night, asking for glimpses into what has been my life and where it is headed. It got a bit frustrating at one point, so I plopped down between sisters on the couch and soaked it all up.

Here we are celebrating this God birthed into flesh and knowing Him more greatly then the father of my own flesh had indeed set me free. Glory to God alone, for He really has molded my heart to love and trust Him most. And in the process, He's put pieces once shattered back together. He has redeemed.  He still is!

This has just been a season of level ground concerning these daddy issues and I don't quite know what to do with it. The past decade or so has certainly been a roller coaster of mountains so high and valleys so deep. Straight and narrow suddenly doesn't seem nearly as enticing. 

Teach me your way, O Lord, and lead me on a level path.

That's been a life verse that's finally taking on flesh and I'm praying for joy to follow. He promises it will in Him. 

You make known to me the path of life; in your presence there is fullness of joy; at your right hand are pleasures forevermore. 

We wrestle in these completely unbearable (apart from that little detail of grace) and unfair circumstances, and we claim He is fighting and our faith becomes our eyes and its the hardest thing ever but we put one foot in front of the other and claim the victory. Some days thats enough. Others we wallow and wait and beg Jesus to show Himself and whisk us away already. These last years have brought majority of the latter.

Today, I am thankful for a Lord who redeems and repairs and makes me new--and for level ground.

And a brief side note---I am so incredibly thankful for and blessed by my brothers (and bro-in-law) who have sought after, confronted, directed, cared for and loved the heck outa our dad through these past several years. What a sweet blessing from the Lord that He would position these men to intercede for me and bear the brunt of the burden of our dad for me (and my sister) as I just needed time and space--and Jesus.

And by His grace, they actually showed me all three.

In Him alone is great joy found.

On My Dad Coming Home & Learning to See Eternal

My dad is in the same town as me. It's been years since I've found myself here and I thought I was ready. I thought wrong. 

He came back from rehab about four months too soon but it sounds like my brother knew it would happen about now. My sister calls to tell me he is back just a day into my trip back home. My best friend birthed two boys and this kind of love always leaves me speechless. The week has been a blur of baby bliss and gazing starry eyed into these itty bitty faces, so perhaps that's why it's taken so long to get here--to begin wrestling with this odd reality. 

My hometown is big, a cluster of dots packed tight on the map. My whole life, he has lived an episode of my favorite sitcom away--at least. This time, he decides to live a stone's throw from my mom's house. With a buddy of his. Who also happens to be an alcoholic. In good company, why not have a sip--or two?

They tell me he's changed. That he is not the same man we grew up with. That it is for real this time. 

I feel my heart grow harder with each roll of these eyes as these words callouss my ears.

I've heard it all before. I really have. Even a couple years ago he "got saved" and sobered up for nearly a year. I remember he would call me almost daily that year. One night he listened to me rant about my roommates. And then he asked me how he could pray for them--and for me? I remember the silence that followed because I never thought I'd hear those words. I never thought he would care about much of anything beyond himself--especially me. Especially Jesus. 

He called every night that week just to tell me he had prayed. He told me to remember God was working and to be patient and trust Him. Trust is hard girl, I remember him explaining, you just have to remember it's more then what we see with our eyes. 

At twnety-two years old trust is the hardest. 

In life in general:  I have no idea where I will be living, what I will be doing, or where my provision will come from in the weeks and months to come. 

This man is minutes from my life here in this town. So I hold my breath walking into the local breakfast place with a friend because I just don't know what will happen if I see him. I don't know if I will run and hide or cuss him out and slap him across the cheek. And I sort of want to do both. 

Trust was annihilated over and over again and I'm cracked. 

A friend asks me why I'm stressed when I call her whining. Perhaps this job loss and financial burden with a side of no clue what is next, what city to live in, where to sign a lease for the fall, or what obedience even means at this point, I tell her. "Courtney, that shouldn't be stressful--it should be exciting!" she tells me, "Are you trusting the Lord?"

Well, no. No, I'm not. It's too hard. I can't. I already failed. 

I knew I would be a disappointment and sure enough both mom and granny have had a few things to say. And as these crazy women in my life make manipulative threats left and right, these wounds fester and inflame as my trust issues ooze to the cement surface.

I'm here seeping through these cracks and I blame you, dad. I still stinkin' blame you. 

I look at you and I see the sword that pierced deepest when you stripped off my covering of white. I see you giving up and not finishing something you started. I see you saying all of the right things to make up for the studpid ones that you have done. I see you living with an alcoholic because your son warned you he couldn't house you if you came home early. But you didn't think that through, did you? You just ran on back with the lust of your flesh a guide in the night. Maybe you're still sober. I hope you are. But as I listen to him telling me how you've changed--how you are not the man we grew up with, I just remember trust is hard. 

I want to shake you. I want to give you a piece of my mind. You think you can deceive him the way you have me? Those are my thoughts at the moment, dad.

It's more then what we see with our eyes, right? Trust is hard, man.

As I sit back in the shadow watching this new daddy gaze into his newborn sons' eyes, I just think you never looked at me like that. Not really. Your eyes never saw into eternity. You never offered your life for mine. You lived yours and let it suck up bits of mine along the way.

And it is hard. I still see you like that. And I don't trust you. 

See, the chasm you erected has made me hard and cracked. So when life thickens the cracks,  I want to crumble. And I don't trust you and it makes it so darn hard to trust the Lord. And I am blinded by these eyes of mine. These eyes that are so fixated on the seen and temporal ways of this world.

So dad, when the time comes and I see you around this town and I don't fall into your arms in rejoicing, well, you just have to know--

Trust is learning to see with eternal eyes and mine are focusing, but I might just need some time. 

So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. 
For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.    
                                                                   -2 Corinthians 4:18

Seeing Fatherlessness From the Other Side

We lingered in the kitchen a bit longer then the rest. Just the three of us, me and these dads.

We had just stood up from praying, interceding on behalf of my friend who lost a baby and his brother in need of a job. We are the body, even here in this office. Even here in the middle of the business world, with all of it's bidding and deception and hunger and gain. I see the Bride getting ready—oh glorious day. And it's not all ugly, not like I thought.

He was filling up his coffee mug and he turned to us just a little more angled and his face took on a gaze, ever distant.

Pray for my kids please. I haven't seen them in two years. And I really miss them, but they don't want anything to do with me. 

The depth of his eyes shed tears untouched and pain that has yet to simmer away.

My heart does a little jump and I wonder about him now, the man behind the glasses. I didn't know the burden he bore. I didn't know about these kids of whom he spoke. I didn't know. I missed the pain and the anger and the regret. I lost sight of the bride inside the business.

I am still and listening and the other dad, he pipes in. Yeah, mine moved out a few months ago and I am just so frustrated with her. I want her to come back and yet I'm mad too. 

She moved out? I didn't even know until now, months into the turmoil. I am quiet. 

At least 75% of the girls in my life stand beside me in this fatherless generation—and there is hope in the Abba Father, the one who adopts even the fatherless, even the fathers.

But it is not often I give much thought to the dads that make us girls without earthly fathers. Until now. And maybe we change the focus from cleaning up the devastation of the fatherless one to preventing it in the first place?

Maybe, the fight for the fatherless generation starts with the father?

What do we do to engage the men of this generation in the battle? How do we enable them to recognize the battle that rages and the weight of their role in it?

We can’t change the past—but the future, well the future is me and you, it’s us. It’s our brothers and our nephews. It’s our husbands and fellow youth guys. It’s our grandsons and our sons. It's our co-workers. We are the bride and He is coming for us, soon I hope. This is where it changes. It matters.

Today my big sis found out she is having twin BOYS! She told me about the blessing it is, that she gets to raise up godly men, the weight and responsibility, but the gift. She get's it—she is fighting in her own way. Moms of boys, raise up godly men.

What does that look like for the rest of us? Us 20-something, single, fatherless women? The grandmas and moms? The wives and the sisters, just as broken and unsure as the rest of us?

I know that God is sovereign and perfect as my Father. But dang it, life sure would have been far less painful, far more right if I had a dad who loved the Lord and raised me up like a dad is called to in scripture. Granted, the past is the past and I am daily thankful for it, pain, sin, struggles and all because it led me straight into the arms of a perfect Daddy to whom I cry out Abba Father. I am thankful that He restores the years the locusts have stolen too—that He is doing that through my adopted dad even right now.

But would I wish my journey, my daddy issues, my hurt, my decisions, my rebellion, my struggle to submit and trust, my daddy hole upon the next generation of young women? Heck no.

James reminds us to be doers of the Word and not hearers only, deceiving ourselves.

So, ladies…what is our role?

On That One Time I Asked for a Dad {The Beginning}

A year.

That's how long I have been walking in this I really need a dad journey.

I know I am not alone and sometimes, I get the weird looks and secret phone calls revealed among concerned family members. And no, I am not in a cult. I figured it is time to share about my journey this year and I hope in doing so, we all find some hope in the perfect Father working through our earthly or adopted ones.

I was curious, what this fatherlessness issue is doing to this generation. I was shocked by what I found. Here are just a few stats that I want you to take in. I heard on the radio last night 60% of kids today are growing up without dads. That's more then half.

> 63% of teen suicides come from fatherless homes. That’s 5 times the national average.   {SOURCE: U.S. Dept of Health}

> 90% of all runaways and homeless children are from fatherless homes. That’s 32 times the national average.

> 80% of rapists with anger problems come from fatherless homes. 14 times the national average.  {Justice and Behavior}

> 85% of children with behavioral problems come from fatherless homes. 20 times the national average.  {Center for Disease Control}

> 71% of all high school dropouts come from fatherless homes. 9 times the national average.  {National Principals Association Report}

> 75% of all adolescent patients in chemical abuse centers come from fatherless homes. 10 times the national average.   {Rainbow’s for all God’s Children}

> 85% of all youths in prison come from fatherless homes. 20 times the national average.   {U.S. Dept. of Justice}

6 out of 10. I cannot hear that, read these stats and remain quiet and content to deal with my daddy issues in silence. I don't know what it all looks like yet, I just know we are called to defend the weak and fatherless. {Ps. 82:3}

Let me preface this with—God is sovereign and perfect and completely in control. Thus, fatherless women who love the Lord can make it without a dad who knows Him—yet I see nothing but protection and safety and redemption in the story He has written in my life this year. Enough that I pray it offers hope to a fatherless generation.

Last fall, after watching my former roomie go through courtship and then marriage, the holy spirit flooded the depths of me with this desire for dad, this conviction that this whole thing isn't going to work how it should without such a need being met in my life first. Proof of how the south is meshing into my previously liberal perspective on relationships and quieting much of that. Yet, it is sweet and right. I actually don't believe in dating anymore {but that is another post entirely}. That said, the whole picture of dad and brothers on the porch with a rifle as this suitor approaches to ask dad's permission to get to know me—that makes sense to me. Until I began to realize that when you take out the dad—that picture can never be painted just right. Thus, began my journey.

60% of kids today are growing up without dads and I am not alone.

You know, we all are birthed with that daddy hole, the one only His love can fill. And when our earthly daddys fail to do so and we don't know our Heavenly One—well, this is the testimony of so many of us who have waded into the depths of darkness, searching for love in all the wrong places, only a matter of time before we can no longer hold the broken pieces together anymore. But then, then for those He has called comes the little glimpse—a light, a hope, a future, daddy love.

Yet by this point, we just can't receive it freely, because we don't understand that. 

Nothing is free—especially the love of a dad. Especially when men have hurt us, when our dads have fallen short time and time again. When the only dad we have ever known got swallowed up into his bottle of VO or walked out and never came back or worked his way up in the job world as we took our first steps and just forgot to look back—we all know the same pain, the same hunger.

We become comfortable with the hole that festers in depth with each passing year.

All I can do is laugh thinking back to the early days of this whole deal. I remember thinking—what in the world, God? Do I just stand outside Walmart and start asking any man over 50 wearing a cross if he can be my dad? It's not like I could go up to someone I know—they would look at me and run. I mean, I wouldn't blame them.

So, what do I do? Well I process...and talk to sisters I trust...and pray...and doubt...and talk some more. Then I begin to hear His voice through the words that begin to echo again and again. He is patient and I am thankful.

All I heard real clear was this—find 'a man of peace' in this body and tell him you are looking for a dad. After being in a discipleship program for two years at this point, it made sense that the director of the program might have some ideas of who could meet such a need in my life—and he just so happened to also be a member of this new body I had recently joined. I told a friend who told a closer friend who talked to him on my behalf. Okay, I couldn't do it myself—perhaps I am a chicken, but mostly I just felt straight-up crazy.

After the initial plea on my behalf came a month of silence. I took that as confirmation that I was indeed mentally lacking somewhere. At least I didn't know him, I thought to myself. Good thing I only see him from a distance. I don't have to fear facing him, didn't have to fear the look which probably crossed his face when the friend of a friend pleaded my case.

Then she calls, out of the clear blue as the idea had nearly lost all meaning in my life. She tells me they want to meet me. They want to talk about it. They want to know me. Who? I ask, caught off guard. K and M, you know the man of peace and his wife. Can you come? Yes, okay, I'll be there.

Part 2 to be continued...

On One of Those Moments

Around the time the sun began to fall over the trees he would tell me we were going on an adventure. I would grin from ear to ear, run to get my shoes on. Though there was little mystery in the destination of this adventure for me, I always loved that he made it into a big deal. Sometimes, I even pretended I didn't know where we were going. Mostly because he loved to surprise me. And I loved that he loved—that it meant he loved me.

Looking back, I guess the constant stream of alcohol flowing through his veins really did make this adventure new each time in his mind. But I remembered. But still, I loved it.

Windows down, hair streaming across my face. Cigarette in his hand, we were off. A quick stop at his gas station, the one where they called him boss and responded with yes Sir, a rarity in these northern parts. They respected him. Over-sized {jam-packed with sugar} slushy in my hand, our adventure continued.

Just up the road and a few turns later we would slow down. The curvy road weaved throughout thousands upon thousands of white headstones. We weren't here to see dead people. Or to cry over a lost loved one, though I did often see people doing so. The men (and women) buried across these grounds were all war heros, brought home here to be laid to rest. Sort of eerie, when you think of our adventure climaxing at a place full of dead people.

I don't often remember thinking that in my little girl mind though. I remember gazing across the sea of white rocks, always attentive with my head out the window as we crept along. Sun blazing closer and closer to the ground, a little more brilliant and beautiful with each tick of the clock. Then, just on the edge of the sea of white, coming out from the tress all attentive and hungry we would see one. Then two. Then a whole herd.

I loved when there were babies. "Look at that little one!" I would point my hand far out into the air as his foot would come down firm on the brake pedal. Courtney, do you remember what we call those? He would ask. "Oh yeah, they're fawns, right dad? Baby deer are fawns." Yes, that's right. "And those big ones with the horns—those are the dads right?" I would ask. Yes, those are the bucks. he replied.

Knowing the answer didn't change the fact that I loved hearing him tell me again. It didn't change the fact that I tasted his love for me in these moments. I was starving. A rare and spectacular glimpse into a life I longed to have—life with a daddy who took me on adventures just because. This daddy daughter experience breathed into the depths of my emptiness, this hunger for his affection that I still struggle to satisfy well into adulthood.

I remember the days of old; I meditate on all that you have done. I ponder the works of your hands. I stretch out my hands to you; my soul thirsts for you like parched land. Ps. 143:5-6

Last night, we were driving along in the big white van, headed home from a goodbye party of a close friend and her hubby. Little voices in the back began to cry out, "A buck daddy, theres a buck! There's another one!" As the car slowed to a stop and began backing up, the boys climbed over the rows of seats to get to the front, real close to daddy, up in his lap, pointing out the open window, pure bliss in their eyes. For a good ten minutes or so, we sat there, in the middle of the gravel road, watching this huge herd of deer. The little voices overwhelmed in excitement, surely still talking about how many bucks, fawns and does they saw in a single night even as their heads met the pillow.

Watching these little ones hunger for this moment with their dad and the deer awoke that little girl in me too. Upon reaching the safety of home, I ventured out into the darkening field and wept.

I think there is a legitimate and appropriate grieving that takes place when we lose something—something we were created to need, at that. This time, the tears weren't so painful or so personal. They weren't as angry. They didn't lead into hours or days of introspection. They were simply little girl longings, teenage emptiness unfulfilled, and adult needs finally being met by incredible grace, dripping down my cheeks.

The Lord watches over the sojourners; he upholds the widow and the fatherless, but the way of the wicked he brings to ruin. -Ps. 146:9


As the tears fade, the Truth rushes in. Grace a-flowing. So, even while I grieve a whole lot of daddy daughter moments lost, I also rejoice in this sweet memory of watching deer. I rejoice in watching these little ones making this memory for the first time tonight. I rejoice that at the same time they will never have to grieve these moments lost, mine are being restored. Unfathomable grace. As the tears drain cups of the messiness of my past, relentless mercy washes new like a flood, and sitting crouched in the itchy grass, darkness abounding I lift my eyes to hills from where my help does come, from the Maker of heaven and earth.

Sometimes, life is so messy we forget to look for the deer. So for today, grace is simply slowing down to count the bucks and thank Him for it.


Blessed be the Lord, my rock, who trains my hands for war, and my fingers for battle; he is my steadfast love and my fortress, my stronghold and my deliverer, my shield and he in whom I take refuge, who subdues peoples under me. -Ps. 144:1-2

A Father's Day Post: I Am His, Not Yours

Yesterday was Father's Day. It was a hard day for me, seeing as my dad continues to choose to live in sin and abdicate his role in my life, and in my siblings' lives. I am blessed beyond measure to see God's provision in providing my adopted dad Kevin and several other spiritual fathers in my life through my brothers and Anthony. Even in the brokenness, I am blessed. 

This was written earlier last week, after my dad made some poor choices which hurt our family deeply. 

I don't even know who you are anymore, aside from the man that conceived me?

Truth be told, it is God's grace in both of our lives, yours and mine, that I do not live in the same city as you. Without miles to calm the raging storm inside, I would right now be knocking your door down. I keep going to my phone to call you, not even sure what I will say. But then I pause and remember—my  passionate and wrath-filled words will not help you. Neither would my grace and mercy if the Spirit suddenly birthed it inside of me to give. The only help for you I do not have to offer. None of us kids do. There is truly only one Helper for you, dad. I weep at the thought of life apart from Him—I weep for you, I weep for the hopelessness that I know all too well.


My flesh is exploding with more anger then I have ever experienced towards you. Part of it might be righteous, but most of it is just hurt, deep brokenness that I would never know apart from your decisions. Decisions that continue to destroy any joy I ever experienced with you. I want to  hate you for that. To swear to myself and anyone willing to listen that you will never so much as hear my voice as long as you live. But then I remember that He works all things together for the good of those who love Him, those who have been called according to His purpose. And today, it is for my good that I get to experience this brokenness, this brokenness that is a result of your sin. Praise God that not even your sin can thwart His perfect and sovereign plan for my life—whether wounded or bound up, I am His not yours. 

You have done some stupid things over the years, dad. But honestly I never thought you were capable of this. I don't know why I would limit your ability to fall short apart from Christ, but somehow I think I still believed there is just a little good in each of us, a morality perhaps, even apart from Him who called us out. But today I realize that is a lie—the enemy hates that it just came out too. For ALL have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God. No one is righteous, no, not one. Not me, not you.

Sin always takes you further then you want to go, keeps you longer then you want to stay, and costs you more then you are willing to pay. 

Dad, sin has taken you further, kept you longer, and cost you more. You may not realize it yet, or you may just continue on because of it—either way, the consequence of sin is unchanging. It is death. 

Do you know how deeply your sin is wounding your kids? And now even down another generation, your sin is seeping through unto your grandchildren, cursing their names. I can tell you one thing, us kids have thrown a whole lot of grace your way over the years, but when it comes to my nieces and nephews you will find no grace from me. It stops with me—with my brothers and sister. You will not rob from our children all you have taken from us. In God's grace I beg that they will never experience the pain, that they will not bear the scars of your choices as we do. And I will fight for them—all of us will. Dad, out of love we will choose them—every time. That is not a choice I would choose to have to make, but it seems you have indeed chosen it for me—for yourself I suppose.


So though your heart is not mine to judge, you can rest assured until there is true repentance in your life, until you run the opposite direction of the sin that continues to enslave you. The result of sin is death. In making the choice to continue to live in sin, to continue living as a slave to your flesh over the Spirit, you have abdicated your role in my life, in my future children's lives as a result. Death. There is little hope in death. Little hope in being removed completely from the generations which you birthed. Little hope under the curse.

For the wage of sin is death...

There is good news, dad. I know it is all sounding pretty hopeless right now, but yes even for you there is hope, dad. There is one, one who died on a cross so that even though you deserve nothing but death, you have a choice to make. Because of the one who died on that cross, you have been offered a gift. The thing about a gift is, that no one can force you to accept it. I can mail you a gift, my intention is giving it you to keep, but you have to walk to the mailbox and chose to take it, you have to chose to open it, and even then you have to chose to accept it. Its a choice though. You can choose to mail it back to me. The choice is yours completely—I won't force you to keep the gift.


Jesus is like that too. He is not going to force you to accept the gift He has provided for you in His death on that cross.


Did you know that when you accept Him as Lord and Savior, He casts your sin as far as the east is from the west? Did you know that He remembers your transgressions no more? Did you know that there is nothing you have ever done or could ever do that His grace cannot cover? Did you know that He restores the years the locusts have stolen? Did you know that He no longer sees your sin, but He simply sees the blood of Jesus when He looks at you? Did you know that He forgives you? Yes dad, even YOU! Not just some of the things you have done, but EVERY SINGLE SIN, He forgives you. Did you know that He makes all things new—yes, dad, even you. He will make you new! Did you know that He chose you for a purpose? Did you know that He is slow to anger, abounding in love for you? Did you know that He shows compassion to those who fear Him? Did you know that He will not despise a broken and contrite heart? Did you know that He will fight for you, dad, that you only have to be still? Did you know that He already reigns in victory? Did you know that He has numbered every hair on your head? Did you know that He actually cares about you, that He loves you deeply? Dad, did you know?


It is a choice to take the gift, a choice to place your faith in it. A choice I wish I could make for you, but cannot.


...But the free gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord. {Rom. 6:23}

Do you have any idea of this gift you have been offered?? Oh, I wish you could just get a taste, just a glimpse of His grace and mercy, of His love for you. It will mess you up, dad. Yes, I think I will start praying for you to be so messed up—for your life to continue to crumble beneath you. That way, when your feeble knees give out and you have no one standing beside you, that in that moment as you finally lift your drooping head, you will see His glory alone. It'll wreck ya, dad.


All I know to do is to grieve this loss until I can no longer. To let those close to me into the inner place, that they might speak the Spirit to life within me, when I don't have to words to utter. To not sleep  on my anger and hurt. To wake up and praise Jesus' name for allowing me to be broken. To testify to His goodness in spite of it all, in spite of how deep my wounds. To protect the next generation from the pain—however the Spirit would lead. To know Him right where I am at—to be okay in this place. To praise Him for the wounding and praise Him when He binds me up. To trust Him because nothing else makes sense. And eventually, to pray for you dad.


Thats all I know to do. Thankful that in the pain, yes even here, He is still enough. 

For the Fatherless

Did you grow up with a man to whom you cannot even grant the title father? When you think about the deep hurts and heartaches of your life, do you see the man whose genes and curse you bear?

Do you know that you are not alone? Actually wherever you are today…out to dinner, at a movie, standing in line at Walmart—half of the women around you can speak the same story. Coming from that place myself, let me tell you there is hope and freedom—only in Christ Jesus.

I often write about my daddy issues like over HERE, over HERE, over HERE and over HERE. Mostly because I think too many girls know the horrific pain, apart from the transformational hope. The church fails to meet the need, more often then acknowledging it. But men and women who fear the Lord—there is an overwhelming need of daughters without dads. And I guarantee they are sitting next to you in the pew every week.  

When I was a little girl, my dad did not protect me. When I was a young girl, my dad hurt me. When I was a teenage girl, my dad taught me I could not trust men. As a woman today, I am a mess!

Since knowing Him, God has strategically surrounded me with men who fear Him—and love me as He does. Yet the wounds from my past run deep, infection spreading to many areas of life, areas which I am yet to fully identify. I suppose He had the plan all along—He knew I needed gentleness and the flipping of the calendar in the way fatherly figures would pursue me. But then, at the age of twenty-one, He decided it was time for me to actually live beneath the very authority from which I have spent a lifetime running.

I just have to laugh. Laugh until I cry is more like it.

I watch the way he serves his wife, the way he disciplines his children because his love for them drives him to action. I watch him work hard to provide for his family, then come home and raise his boys while holding his girls’ hearts all at once. I notice the way he pursues his woman, honoring her in his thought and deed. I know that he fears the Lord more then anything else, and this is the only authority in his life. I know that by the grace of God in his life alone, he is different from the man whose genes I carry. So why is it so incredibly hard to believe it?

As I begin to see my heavenly Daddy through the lens of my spiritual one, the enemy continues prowling at the door, a roaring lion, ready to attack.

He tells me not to allow this adopted dad into my life. Fearful, my heart still jumps in my chest when he gives me a side-hug goodnight along with the rest of his daughters. I get so mad at myself too. I often think to myself—how could you, in your great power and love, still allow me to crumble in the consequences of decisions that were not even mine? Daddy, will you ever heal my brokenness?

Yet little do I notice, as the weeks and months pass, in the process of being made new, with great patience the way this spiritual mom and dad love me and protect me and counsel me is piercing through the stone in my heart. Sometimes I find myself wanting a hug goodnight. Though I often expect to be hurt upon making myself vulnerable as I hesitate to reveal my sin, fears, insecurities—he doesn’t hurt me. Actually, he often unloads the weight from my weary soul. That scares me too---is this also God’s desire in my life? Often times I find myself quiet, fearful of saying too much, requiring too much attention. When I do speak though, he is attentive and seems interested, even in the silly little things that don’t require deep conversation. Sometimes, I really just want to listen to him—to gather around the table and talk about the day, about life, about anything.

The Lord is like a Father to His children, tender and compassionate to those who fear him. Ps. 103:13

I am learning that so often I still see the Lord through this lens of my earthly dad. I know that He is not him, but I can’t help it. My adopted dad—he is wrecking all of that. Just by allowing me to come beneath his authority and his home, day after day he is peeling back layer upon layer of hurt, deception, and a perverted view of my Heavenly Daddy. As I begin to trust him little by little, my trust in and desire to proclaim the love of Christ is changing my world. I am in awe of God’s grace in my life that he would choose me, allow me for this season of time to draw closer to Himself, to the true and undefiled Him, through relationship with this father he has provided in His grace alone, for me. Even as I soak in this picture, I know my heavenly Father’s love so intimately, more so then before.

There is power in the way I am becoming aware of the perversion which the enemy has built up over the years, in the way I have consistently, subconsciously, sometimes unknowingly known and related to my Heavenly Daddy through the lens of my earthly one

So, here I am an adult woman, with this adopted dad who protects me, who loves the hurt right out of me, who is restoring trust. I sit and write as the tears flow, seeing the Father’s faithfulness in spite of me overwhelms.  

I do not understand the process. All I know is that you don’t get from point A to point Z in a day—in a year. This season, I am working on point A to point B. And that is about all I can handle. Which of course, the LORD knows—and never will He give you or me more then we can handle, yet always He will provide a way out for us to stand up beneath. That is GOOD NEWS. Hello GRACE, oh how my dependency is in you. I will submit to the PROCESS!!


Ask the Lord will provide you a spiritual dad to fill in the gap. Pursue it. Practice submitting to the authority of a God-fearing couple. It is so freeing, even for a control-freak like me! Do life with them. There is only so much us fatherless women can learn from a book. Ask that God would reveal areas which your view of Him is not accurate. Trust that He is the perfect Father--He will never fail you or forsake you. Stand on guard against the enemy. Praise the King, that He has overcome the world!! Rest in the process...little by little, all in His grace and patience. 

27“I will send my terror ahead of you and throw into confusion every nation you encounter. I will make all your enemies turn their backs and run. 28I will send the hornet ahead of you to drive the Hivites, Canaanites and Hittites out of your way. 29But I will not drive them out in a single year, because the land would become desolate and the wild animals too numerous for you. 30Little by little I will drive them out before you, until you have increased enough to take possession of the land.

                                                                                             Exodus 23:27-30

Dads, where are you??

We are a generation of young women crying out for our dads. The more time I spend with young girls, the angrier I become. Their stories of loneliness and insecurity, of abuse and neglect, of feeling void inside, of never learning how to do certain things, of never having discipline, of the fears they have as they approach adulthood and marriage. As these girls passionately preach to me about their desire for wealth, self-sufficiency, and a noteworthy career my heart breaks inside. Such things will not last! Will the generational curse ever stop?

They want to challenge this picture of a biblical marriage…of the roles a man and woman should play. They have grown up in a society that tells them they can be anything they want; they can have it all—they can be just as smart, powerful, respected, and renown as any man. They don’t have to sit at home with the kids all day, wash the dishes, or have dinner on the table when their husband walks through the door. They refuse to be his slave. Oh no, they can be so much more then THAT. Such tasks are so belittling. 

These young women think that submission to a man in marriage is from the olden days—no one does that anymore. Several of these girls think ‘I won’t have to submit if I am just as good as he is.’ They reason that there are two people in a marriage, so why should they have to be the ones to always sacrifice their dreams and desires for their husband? No one should have more power—we must be equal. They explain to me how they could never stay home all day with the kids—why couldn’t their husband do that? “What if I wanted to be the one to come home to dinner on the table after a hard days work,” they ponder aloud. The opportunities are endless.

Where are you dads?

I don’t know what the Lord is trying to show me; I don’t understand His timing. But every single conversation I have had with teenage girls lately consistently comes back to this underlying cry for a father, whether they realize it or not. It is so, the cry of my heart as well.

I feel as if I am beating up against brick wall, over and over. This generation of young women has made up its mind; submitting to one’s husband, sacrificing a career for a family, dying to self to love another human being like Christ, signing a covenant before the Lord that divorce is not an option—these are not priorities for them…period.

Dads where are you?

Lord, I thank you that you are the PERFECT FATHER. As I am coming to a deeper understanding of imperfections and let-downs in life, I TRUST that even when my earthly dad fails me, even when my spiritual dads let me down…that you REMAIN—the Perfect Father who will never leave or forsake me. Praise to you that I know where you are—and that you protect me like a big, strong daddy should.

Oh Lord, I praise you for the convictions you have so engrained into my heart. Thank you for strengthening me to remain steadfast in those convictions—even when opposition surrounds. I pray that you will teach me to soften my words that I may be a sweet aroma to those around me, those who may not share the same ideas about dating, marriage and motherhood—Lord use my past, use the work you are doing in my heart…may my voice be firm and steadfast, yet gentle and wise. Lord, I will not settle—I will remain faithful to the hope to which you have called me in Christ Jesus. Thank you for surrounding me with women (and their husbands) who share similar convictions and are living them out—thank you for placing women in my life to teach me and challenge me. You are ever faithful to complete the good work you began. (Phil. 1:6)

Testimony Tuesday: The Alcohol Debate

Lately, it continues to come up. In random conversation...in my thoughts…in my time on my knees. Perhaps it is my upcoming birthday into adulthood or maybe it’s just time to tackle it. Either way, it is frustrating beyond belief—and not something I ever thought would become such a burden.

Growing up, there was always alcohol around me. Both of my parents have battled alcoholism much of my life—and it is very much still a battle today. When I think about what alcohol has represented to me, nothing good ever comes to mind. In fact, some of the most painful memories of my childhood stem from consequences of this ugly addiction.

Anger. Fighting. Abuse. Neglect. Drunkenness. Partying. Sleeping around. Pornography. Fear. Forgetfulness. Numbness. Risk. Depression. Addiction. Pain. So much pain. These are what alcohol has always (and partially continues to) represent to me. I have seen the misery in both of my parents eyes—the wild eyes, the blank stare, the hopeless gaze. It is all too real, even today. I refuse to be enslaved to it—my children will not suffer the consequences of such an addiction in my life—ever.

I see this two ways. Coming from generations of alcoholics on both sides of my family, it would only make sense that it could easily consume my life as well. I know how sin works. I am surrendered to Christ—I know alcoholism is not the life I am pursuing—for that reason, is it airing on the side of legalism for me to abstain from alcohol all together? Would it cause non-believers to stumble if I stood firm in my pledge thus far to not drink at all?

There is another part of me that fears if I started, I couldn’t (or wouldn’t want) to stop. There is this thought in my head that like so many other addictions I have struggled with, my ‘all or nothing’ mindset could hinder the fruit of self-control in my life when it comes to alcohol. While this is legitimate, I don’t want to live enslaved to fear—or enslaved to the generational curse of alcoholism or the consequences of it which have already and may continue to rear their ugly head in my life, as a result of others’ decisions.  

I do not ever want my life to represent any of those words I associate with alcohol. But does that mean the curse is broken through Christ in me by abstaining from it all together or does that mean the curse is broken by the display of self-control while drinking? Do I take a firm stance in drinking nothing at all—or do I drink while refusing to go all the way to drunkenness? Am I being legalistic—or just straight up foolish? Is one worse then the other--or can I avoid both all together?

The battle wars on in my heart and mind, as I approach the day where the pain of my childhood clashes with the decisions of adulthood—oh, glorious day.

So whether you eat or drink or whatever you do, do it all for the glory of God.

-1 Corinthians 10:31  

Breaking the Curse

Last night I got to go spend some time with my precious brother and sister-in-law and my lil nephew. I love getting to go spend time with them…it doesn’t happen often enough!! I really wasn’t expecting anything but sweet time to catch up with my sister and to play with the little man. Of course, the Lord loves to use unrepentant moments such as these to teach me.

I have learned a lot about generational curses and generational sin over the past few years. When I look at the line from which I come, there are a good handful of addictions, behaviors, and mind-sets that have been passed down for many generations. Alcoholism. Divorce. Materialism. Financial issues. Anger. Abuse. Disease. Depression. Control Issues. Perfectionism. Abandonment. These are just a few. I have spent hours upon hours boldly proclaiming the name of JESUS over these issues over the past several years. In fact, this was one of the very first concepts I learned during my time at Mercy Ministries—the importance of breaking generational patterns in the name of Jesus Christ.

As time has passed the reality of the war being waged has only amplified day after day. After spending six months in a dating relationship over this past year, I think I was even further awakened to the gravity of the war going on when it comes to these generational sins. There were several times when I was in that relationship that I found myself doing some of the things I swore I would never ever imitate from my parents relationship. Then of course, there is just the paralyzing fear that no matter how much I pray, no matter how many generational sins I triumph over by speaking the name of Jesus, that no matter how different my husband is from my dad, no matter how different I am as a mom one day, that no matter how powerful the name of Christ is to break those curses that I will still remain enslaved to some of them—that I pass these generations of baggage on down to my own precious kids one day. I honestly think that is one of my greatest fears—that I would fail as a wife, mother and believer in that way.  

But tonight, tonight the Lord gave me a precious and unmistakable glimpse into a scene only He could create. Tonight some of those fears and doubts were silenced forever. Tonight I saw the chains loosed on the floor…the prison doors wide open…the ashes forming something beautiful. Tonight I heard those millions of prayers offered up to the Heavens hovering so near. Tonight I felt the gentle hand of God himself mold my heart together a little tighter, healing the brokenness. Tonight I witnessed a miracle. Tonight, the scene that played out before me was impossible apart from the chain-breaking, infinite, sovereign, unchanging, transforming, sin-shattering name of Jesus Christ. All I know is that only by His gracious power and infinite mercies can such generational sin shatter before my very eyes.

As I stood, leaning on the countertop, I watched my brother hold my little nephew close to his chest. They sat on the couch together, Jacob finally content—all he needed was to just be in his daddy’s lap. A little while later they got up and my brother took Jacob downstairs to play. As they were walking down the stairs, my sister just started laughing as she was glancing in their direction. As I looked up to see what she was snickering about I couldn’t help but smile—and in that moment the Lord spoke ever so clearly to me that this was just a little glimpse into how HE is the perfect Father and HE will break generations of sin. Tonight, through my brother, He showed me a real-life, tangible picture of His ability to do so—like a seal, a promise, a reminder really—of His faithfulness and ability to lavish the same redemption and freedom upon my life and my family’s lives one day.

 Here was my big brother, just hours after confessing to me his own hurts and heartaches and frustration with our dad lately (as a result of generational sin), but here he was carrying his own son down the steps to go play, not even realizing that they were dressed exactly the same…work out shorts and a grey t-shirt with the sleeves cut off. His kiddo is not even two yet and he already wants to be just like his daddy. As I watch Ryan interact with his son, I don’t see the hurt he has from his relationship with our dad—I don’t see the bitterness—I don’t see the unforgiveness—I don’t see one speck of conditional love. My precious nephew already wants to be just like his daddy because my brother loves his son with the love of Christ. I know this because if he relied on himself, he could never love Jacob freely—the generational curses would continue through that inability to love like Jesus. Seeing the boys, matching outfits and all, walking downstairs to play was such a testimony to the powerful name of Jesus Christ. Through Him, the battle over generational sins has already been WON!

All I could do was laugh—laughing at the preciousness of that moment, laughing at the irony of it all, laughing in the face of the enemy, who so desperately desires to see my brother fall into the same curses as our dad. Last night I learned that sometimes you just have to laugh—God’s faithfulness is just beyond words. 

Thank you, big brother for dying to yourself—your hurts, bitterness, heartaches, wounds from the past—and allowing the love of Jesus Christ to radiate through you and your imperfections to just wholeheartedly love that precious boy who is so incredibly blessed to call you daddy. You have shown me that this is real—generational sins that have been passed down through our family for centuries ARE broken in the name of Jesus Christ, in spite of our sinfulness and our failures—He is STILL BIGGER and MORE ABLE.

He redeems and He transforms, He renews and HE restores! 

“But if they confess their iniquity and THE INIQUITY OF THEIR FATHERS, with their unfaithfulness in which they were unfaithful to Me, and that they also have walked contrary to Me … then I will remember My covenant with Jacob, and My covenant with Isaac and My covenant with Abraham I will remember …” (Leviticus 26:40, 42)