Chasing Perfect

When we crave vision but get lost

August 18, 2017 By Heather

I believe we crave vision. It gnaws our souls and nudges our consciousness at all hours. I believe we crave it more than anything else. Right next to our thirst for love, relationships, and a tribe.

I have a crazy vision of writing full time. Inspiring, encouraging, women to dig deep under the mountains of laundry, exasperation, Legos, and work deadlines to embrace her core identity as God’s daughter — a warrior, a kingdom woman no less.

Right now my table is covered in mac and cheese. two week old flowers, word pictures scattered on napkins and pieces of paper and I’m staring at a world map I bought three years ago. Stretched out on a tan canvas, the earth laid flat in a whimsy green with the words, “Let’s Get Lost” scribbled on top.

Three years ago, I had just gotten back to the states after 24 days in the Philippines, touching down in Hawaii for 24 hours and a short layover in Tokyo before getting my nail beds filled with dirt and concrete as my team and I built house and rebuilt a church.

After I got back to the states, I walked down the aisle for our vow renewal. 15 years married and we wanted to say, I do, again with the wedding of our dreams. I remember being surrounded by friends and family, the sparkle and the shine of my dress catching the light, crystal lights, and my husband’s eyes as he held my hand leading me up the steps to the stage.

I thought I had a clear vision then, to build an amazing life filled with our kids, work and friends. I wanted all the good things life offered but I fell prey to the pressure of it all.

Let’s get lost and discover the world, let’s make remarkable legacy our careers. At the time I was a journalist relishing my opportunity to be a voice in our community. I loved the importance my badge held at press conferences and interviews. As I dove deeper into my career, I was promoted to launch our first high gloss magazine. Work became all of me. It pushed out my first dream and spider-webbed it’s way over every area of my life.

My budding career that demanded all of me. Three years brought new parenting and marriage challenges too. More than I could bear. The pressure mounted.

Numb is the best way to describe those years.

The weight of the years settled on me. It felt wrong to admit that I felt dark and hollow–only a shell of who I once was.

Life became one car pool lane, one interivew, one dinner to the next.

I blamed work, my kids, and my husband for my unhappiness.

At night I’d close my eyes remembering what it felt like when life was celebrated with friends gathered in our backyard or quiet moments on our porch swing. Cool summer air breathing on my skin. We would talk in hushed tones of our dreams while the kids caught fireflies.

I wanted my joy back

I wanted my passion back.

I wanted my dreams back.

I wanted my soul back.

Everything flat lined. Even my time alone with God.

Barely a pulse, all I could do was I sit there. I never opened my Bible or picked up my pen. All I could do was question.

We had put our house on the market and I spent my days painting, purging and packing. Somehow the emptier the house became, the more I could hear his voice.

You’re being sifted, refined. But I have prayed for you so that when you turn back, you will strengthen others.

I had succumbed to all that is good, all that is great in our lives but if we aren’t careful, it can become too much of a good thing, to the point of being so unhealthy.

We fill our lives with all these good things that parallel our vision, good things, like babies, celebrations, friends, soccer, swim lessons, accolades. But if we aren’t careful the pressure of carrying all these good things blinds and blocks our way.

But that’s the thing, if I wanted my vision back, the purpose of my life, I had to go to the One who weaved it into my spirit in the beginning; like Ann VosKamp says “When you go into heart failure — Sometimes, you can feel like you’re suddenly falling off a cliff—- and you’re really just falling into the arms of God.”

And then I heard him whisper, Do you trust me enough to let me remove the things that have taken my place?

Now days when I see that canvas, I remember that no matter how much I let lost, weary, or weighed down, he will come for me. The moment I said yes, he came for me.

Finally in the big grand picture, I see the world and I see me in it. A woman who’s starting over in her 30’s, looking perhaps a bit more worn that she wished but full of strength, hope, and the capacity to refine my days to align with the bigger picture. Strength to turn to my sisters and lift them up in the current of life. I now see a woman who has been through enough to know the value of the little things and that having it all or balancing it was a delusion.

When I step back, I see the lesson learned from being worn and weary. I see that my identity isn’t in the name of motherhood, marriage, or career. It rests squarely on who I am with God and in God. That’s how I got my life back, my passion, my dreams, and my joy.

When I talk to other women, I see the wearniess on their shoulders, the hollowness in their souls and the thirst in their eyes.

I hear them say:

I want my joy back

I want my passion back.

I want my dreams back.

I want my soul back.

I want my life back.

And then I ask them about the vision he gave them, I prod them to ask the ultimate question, “If this happens, what will you do? If that happens, will you trust him?” And then I point to my canvas and I tell them.

“You have have lost your way, but he will come for you, all you have to do is ask.”

Live Brave

July 4, 2017 By Heather

I’m not brave. I lack courage. I’m what my husband affectionately calls “high strung” because I can rattle off extreme scenarios to any situation as when we bought our son a pocket knife for his 9th birthday.

I question this scary rite of passage because obviously he could stab himself or his sisters or get stitches.

I’m 36 years old, and I freak if Google maps doesn’t work on my phone when I’m traveling. I sleep with a light in hotel rooms and sometimes I cry when I fail to get my to-do list completed. I’m afraid of pastries because when I bake, they catch on fire.

I’ve never jumped out of a plane (but a group of friends plan to change that this summer) and I avoid roller coasters and even the Ferris wheel because I am not a fan of heights. Some people live off the adrenaline rush, I, however, live off a checked-off to-do list and coffee. For the love of coffee!

But my friends think I’m brave because I’m committed to doing the scariest thing on the planet.

I’m learning how to live authentically. The bravest thing I’ve ever done was let go of being what everyone expected me to be and embraced who God meant ME to be.

Living authentically scares the hell out of anyone because it means being the real you, no walls, no social graces, no masks. It’s those turning-point moments when you know that it matters what your answer is. It’s a matter of being true to yourself.

I’m letting go of all the things I thought made me Heather. It’s not my career, not my failures, not how my children perform or the size of my dress pants. It’s not the size of my home or how many hours I volunteer.

A friend taught me that. My neighor Pauline has been a friend for the last 11 years. We raised our kids together with only the street separating our homes–the kids ran back forth between our houses for years.

When the world expected me to hold it together while I questioned motherhood, my career, my marriage and even my identity, she told me: “I don’t expect you to have it together. I expect you to be you. Take off the mask, be brave and keep going.”

Over the years, we collect bits and pieces of ourselves through life lessons, mistakes, success and what others speak over us. We lose the heart because sometimes it’s like confetti falling at a party — we can barely catch a glimpse of the real reflection.

In fact, being brave feels messy. What makes us brave is this: Being brave isn’t about conquering fear. It’s taking a step in spite of the fear. Being brave is taking a risk to smile at another person and say, “What? You too?” Being brave is inviting another person into your mess instead of hiding.

I believe being brave begets bravery. The beauty of it is when we have the privilege of holding another person’s hand — when we invite someone in, like Pauline, because we can be braver together.

She taught me to take that first step, to push harder, to live more honestly, to listen intensely and get my hands dirty. She made me examine my choices and opened my eyes to what was in the mirror. She taught me to flourish in the face of fear over cups of coffee, hiding from the kids so we could talk more than five seconds without being interrupted.

I wonder what would happen if we all chose to put down our masks and open the door to the walls we’ve built around our lives? Would others catch the spark? Would this world be just a little safer?

It’s a risk. Don’t let anyone tell you differently. Re-orienting your life around what you believe about yourself in His eyes and what it means to be truly human but being brave together is worth it. It means we get to try again if we fall. Together.

As for my son, he’s gotten a sliced fingers and my youngest is now begging for her own pocket knife and leatherman (Both must be the color purple) for her 9th birthday.

Jagged and unrefined

June 29, 2017 By Heather

I feel it most when sand runs through my fingers and the water rushes to the shore only to run back out again. I breathe deep and let the words run through me to form sentences which frame stories. It untethers my word-weaving-soul.

I open my eyes and think how God must’ve felt the same way as he formed our world from nothing.

This is my gift—to write little things and big things, like the sun sinking into the earth, community, God and hurts alike.

Lately sentences have been hard to form. Stories—empty. Pages—blank. Ink—dry. Mainly because I can’t see myself, I’ve lost my purpose and can’t see how He is shaping me.

At least until a friend dragged me to the dump one weekend. Standing in 88 degree heat with baseball cap on my head and a hot latte in my hand—I stood in the midst of her story unfolding.

She spends her afternoons rummaging through tall piles of abandoned pieces of wood. Pallets, old barn wood and construction boxes.

To her, a pile of wood standing two stories high isn’t junk. She sees what I can’t see.

An old barn panel waiting to be dressed in paint and stain of a red dressed girl swinging into the sunset. An old pallet waiting to be Pottery Barn table. She sees the future for jagged pieces of decaying wood, dead and lifeless to become a canvas for arrows, flowers, and bold words.

I’m her adopted sister and sacarcasm runs deep as she sweats in the sun making fun of my latte. I banter back about sunburns and better things to do than being at the freakin’ dump, and the fact she loves the smell of the garbage baking in the sun.

To her—it’s a treasure trove of things waiting for new life.

She crawled around the pile until her trained eye spotted a piece ready to be refined. She found old barn wood, jagged and full of splinters. A discarded pallet.

“Now this is worth the trip,” she quips as she grabs her crow bar and hammer; eager to pull rusty nails from it’s flesh. Sweat trickles down my back as I question her sanity and the value of wood I think is perfect for a bonfire.

Then it hits me. I hear Him whisper, “This is the process, daughter. To be plucked from the mess, refined in my Word and sanded into the future I have for you.” You haven’t lost your way, you haven’t lost your gift–you’re being refined.”

We like to think we’ve already arrived but reality tells us differently. Pride pushes up splinters when He offers to sand it down. Insecurity splits us pieces when God says, “I can mend it.”

As I watched Cindy pry nails and boards apart to be shaped into something new, I wondered how many of us are willing to be laid bare on His table?

Are we willing to go through the process as he puts on His gloves and gets to work, cutting off pieces of our lives that no longer fit. He nails us into place all the while leaving His fingerprints all over His creation.

I see it in every one of Cindy’s pieces of art. But the question is this: Are you willing to be refined? Are you willing to wade through the process to see what His tomorrow brings?

Sometimes the best gifts come in the worst packaging

May 23, 2017 By Heather

Sometimes the best gifts come in the worst packages.
At least, that was the message a woman who I had never met whispered into my ear as I snot-nosed cried into her jean jacket.
She had to turn off her mic so the crowd couldn’t hear me bawl.

And I was embarassed.

My outfit, manicured nails, and poise—all of it gone, drenched in tears and snot.

What woman doesn’t want to completely lose it in front of her church crowd?

I came to the retreat purely because Kim (the Pastor’s wife) asked if I would help greet.

And really who says, “No,” to the Pastor’s wife, right?
But this woman invited to speak–her message was mine; only I didn’t know it until she began to unpack every detail and weave her past into my present.

She had delivered a message about the night her world changed, when her husband became paralyzed; but with a twist, her worst nightmare became the gift she never expected.

My circumstaces were much less dramatic, but left me feeling suckerpunched as I gasped for air standing in the aftermath.

In less than a month my world had been tossed, shaken, and sifted much like Dorothy’s house in the Wizard of Oz. By the time the dust settled every inch of my life had changed.
I would be putting my house on the market—the home I brought my newborn babies to.
I would be saying good-bye to a career I adored.
I would be finding a new school for my son.
I would be finding additional help for my daughter.
I would be learning how to make my marriage work with a globe trotter.
But this is what happens when you say “Anything,” to God. This is what happens when you look at your life and ask if this is all there really is—build a good career, buy the dream home, have the kids, and marry the guy.

Several months ago, I woke up one morning, burned out, feeling as though this life wasn’t all it was supposed to be.

I was feeling empty and hollow. I started making careless mistakes and missing appointments. The dream was a dreadful empty machine.

I was using all of my gifts, all of my abilties, dreaming, living, creating, doing. I breathed my career and I lived for my kids, going to bed at 2 a.m. and waking at 6 a.m. just to do it all over again.
Burn Out.
There had to be more.
That’s when I prayed, “Lord, something needs to change, I want to change, use me.”

Here’s the thing, we grow up dreaming of the white picket fence, prince charming and cute kids all the while saying “Jesus, yes of course I love you more than anything but please don’t touch this area of my life. In fact bless it this way…”

But then he smiles while thinking, “Many are the plans in the mind of man, but my purpose will prevail.”

And then He says, “Are you sure? Because I have something much better for you.”

And he whispers:
“Do you love me enough to go where I send you? Do you love me enough to give me your dreams while I give you a new purpose?”

And that’s how I found myself sobbing in front more than one hundred women when the speaker cupped my face, wiped my tears and said,
“There’s no shame in what you’re doing. There’s no shame in going where you’re called.”

It turns out BURN OUT is one of such gifts. And it’s like that for most gifts wrapped in ugly packaging.

Loneliness—a chance to seek Him.
Labor—a child.
Mistakes—a chance to grow.
Burn Out—a chance to start fresh.
The Manger, The Cross and The Tomb—Jesus and Salvation.
Yes…sometimes even the ugliest of circumstances, the ugliest of packages has something beautiful within.

I don’t know what path you’re walking but I want to take you in my arms, cup your face and tell you “Face it with fresh eyes, His eyes. Chances are—you just might find the gift within.”

Red Sea Road

April 30, 2017 By Heather

She sat with tears in her eyes, holding my attention and apologizing for something that happened eight years ago.
Gratitude poured forth from my soul, soothing a wound I didn’t know was there as we talked about the hard roads she and I had traversed alone—something I often call Red Sea Roads.
These are the paths that are tough, rocky and lonely. These are the roads we walk with saturating grace of each step and it carries the good and the hard and the mess and the chaos.
Often when my kids are faced with a struggle, I tell them they have some walking to do but their God is with them.
They can visualize their Creator dividing the red sea in half and the Israelites putting one faithful step in front of the other. I’ve walked many of my own red sea roads, this friendship was one of them.
Eight years ago, my friend and I exchanged awkward smiles. Newly married, she moved to Kearney and our paths crossed on hot summer days at the playgrounds, church and MOPS.
We both learned we had the exact same due date for her third child and my fourth.
But then she got the word I had lost my baby as her pregnancy continued to flourish. I reached out for tentative play dates but the calls went unanswered. Recently, we met for a news story and then bonded on common grounds of a healthier lifestyles and marriage.
“I wish we had become better friends sooner,” I said around a mouthful of chicken and avocado salad. She winced, “Me too. I think I owe you an apology. When I heard you had lost Alex, I didn’t know what to say. But now that I’ve experienced the same kind of loss, I wished I hadn’t let the awkwardness of what I felt get in the way. It was safer to stay on middle ground.”
And there it was, tears in her eyes, her hardest truth spilling over a bread bowl of tomato bisque.
It can be hard to share what’s real but feeling alone is even harder on either road.
The middle ground is where we like to be. It’s safe, the path is wide open, steady and stable—because the alternative is un-chartered territory, walking where we never expected.
But that’s the power of friendship. That’s the power of women, if we can’t find common ground, we make our own path to each other. And in this middle place of working through something, of traversing along this road—in the space between moving courageously and waiting to reach the destination, you’ll get there, even if it’s eight years later.