Dec
15
2012
The Sugar Plum Fairy is being lifted dramatically into the air when she looks at me bright-eyed.
“I want to do that. I will practice hard.” This little 5 year old, whom I barely know, she bares her soul at this display of God-glory on stage before us. A dream is born. And I, who know so little about this child, am entrusted with a God-sized dream. Maybe just a dream for her child-heart and, yet, maybe one she will be called to complete.
I tell her she could do it with God’s help and I lift the camera from my lap to freeze the Sugar Plum Fairy mid-air without the aid of a flash.
* * *
In the car on the way over, while my daughters sucked thumbs in the back seat, she had told me all about how the boy dancers lift the girl dancers so high up. She told me how scary that was.
“But when I am a grown up ballerina, I won’t be scared. I will be brave.”
“Sweet girl, being brave doesn’t mean you aren’t scared. Being brave means you do it even though you’re scared.” I tell her in return. She shrugs my comment off saying she truly meant she wouldn’t be scared.
Yet hours later, balled up on my bed with the stomach flu, I can’t shrug it off.
Being brave means you do what God calls you to do, even though you’re scared.
* * *
Little girl dreams, like the one she shared with me, have never left my heart. Those rolls of film spent and the ink spot permanently smeared on my fingers, they’ve left indelible marks on my heart. The desire to create is sometimes overwhelming. A week ago I was asked to sum up this desire in two words by a fellow God-sized dreamer. The words came immediately. I am called to “Capture Joy”, to reflect that joy back to the One who gives all gifts.
So I pick up a pen, curled under a blanket with my body so weak with temporary pain I can hardly stand, and I do just that:
Capture the joy of a little girl’s childhood dream and the bravery of this one woman being called to pursue her dream even though she’s scared.
Dec
07
2012Dear Me at 16,
You kind of crack me up. You’re pretty quirky and have even worn two non-matching flowered items at the same time to school. Yet, you’re just like every other girl at the school. You want to be cute. You want to be liked. You wish folks would notice you.
You’re going to have a rough sort of year. Most of your friends freshman year either graduated or moved away. Your last remaining close friend will move away at the end of this school year and the start of the next. Heather makes you laugh. Love that. Enjoy it as often as you can. Eat her up. Listen to her stories. And speak the truth (but be gentle. Your 28 year old self still hasn’t mastered that… if you worked on it… maybe we’d be better at it by now?)
Stop wallowing in your own “pain.” You’re 16, and none of the issues you have are serious. They’re first world problems. Life is bigger than you. Yes, you’re depressed. Yes, things are hard. Yes, you need guidance. Yet none of that is an excuse to bury yourself in the prideful trap of self-pity. You were born for a purpose. You were placed in where you are for a purpose. You experienced some rough things for a purpose. Own it.
Go to church summer camp, and Governor’s School. You’re going to shirk a responsibility for that and not become a lifeguard at a job you were promised a year before: don’t feel guilty about it. At church summer camp, you’re going to be introduced to the truest love ever: the kind of Love that dies for you when you’re completely unworthy. You weren’t expecting that grace… after all, you’re the people pleasing good girl. Oh, but you’re going to need it. And it’s going to change you, but it’s going to take awhile. Sanctification is a long process.
Governor’s school. Oh, me, I wish you had worked harder. I wish you had dug deeper and drank lustily from all of those writing workshops. I wish you had found your voice… the one you sometimes see flick in and out on this humble blog. I wish you had done that work for me then. But, sweet Melissa, taste the failure of that summer. Taste it and be humbled, but know that it’s what will prepare you for college. You will be able to balance residential life and school because of that experience. You’ll need that balance to maintain a full scholarship.
Oh, and that conversation with your roommate. The one you judged for being that pretty skinny blond girl with everything going for her: remember that. She had the same deep struggles as you. It doesn’t matter how we live: our hearts have the same problems. We all need the same Savior. Remember that. Learn to preach truth now.
You’re going to make the Socastee Singers at the beginning of the next school year. You’re going to be the weakest musician in the group this year. That’s okay. Because this year, and the next will not be about the music for you (although that will be glorious!). That music is a guise for someone to invest in you. That teacher will grow you. Will challenge you. And by your senior year, he will have helped you grow into a facilitator-leader. That’s important. Even though it stretches you. But it’s a gift developed in you for the future. A college major, definitely. A group of women to study the world with, we’ll soon see?
You’re going to pick up a camera this year. It’s going to enamor you. Let it. Learn it well. You’ll make beauty with it to reflect true Beauty.
Forget about boys. You’re too young, sweet girl. Too naive. Too trustworthy. Too desperate. Spend these years filling yourself with the Lover. You’re really not going to. That’s okay. That time will come. But I do wish you’d have listened to me on this one. Your husband, he’s waiting for you. Saving his first kiss for you. He’s gentle. Kind. He makes you laugh. And he’s a total nerd (we both know how much you’re a sucker for nerds). He’s perfect for you: but he’s not the perfect lover. Never will be. Only Jesus is.
And speaking of Jesus. Melissa Ann, he’s worth it. His gospel is worth it. Everything. Give yourself to it. It’s a purpose. A calling. And it’s beautiful. It’s beautiful to know without a doubt that you were put here for a reason (to glorify him), that when you fail He’s already taken care of that (oh how He loves!), and that He gives you gifts to show Him, share Him, and grow others in Him. Oh, invest yourself in seeking Him. And when you come out of those baptismal waters, don’t just give a shy smile. Oh, how I wish you’d have jumped up in victorious joy!
But in any case, 16 year old me, know that you’re neither too much nor too little for this world’s critics. Oh, Melissa, you’re perfectly made for the place you’re called to: even when it doesn’t feel that way.
Thanks for making me who I am. Love you.
Your 28 year old self.
Inspired by other Dear Me letters and Graceful
Dec
04
2012Dear Monica (and all of you other women out there who are my sisters in your own way),
I hate watching you grapple with beauty. I hate hearing you wish this part was smaller or less pimply or fuller or whatever you wish. I hate hearing you say these things because you are believing the first lie.
The lie that snake whispered in the very beginning: “Did God really say…”
God says you are:
“created in His own image.”
“fearfully and wonderfully made.”
And yet all you (and I) can sometimes hear are the lies in the media questioning those truths (Satan’s lies).
Beauty is smart.
Beauty is perfect.
Beauty is a perfect home.
Beauty is a full bust, a slender waist, and curvy but narrow hips.
Beauty is a soft manner.
Beauty is service.
Beauty is doing it yourself.
Beauty is a number on the scale.
Beauty is a hair color.
Can’t you hear it? The snake hissing in your ear, “Did God really say that you are beautiful and that you reflect Him? Oh, but those thighs, those hips, those ankles, those too short eyelashes! Did He really call you ‘very good’?”
God made you, Monica. Unique. With a specific purpose. A specific calling. And a beauty that no one else will have. Because you are you. The only you. (and as a mother of identical twins… yes, that beauty is even unique to each of them. What a strong case for the soul… that beauty so different even within the same DNA.)
Hold your head high. Listen for your calling. Create as your creator creates. When your appearance is criticized, hold your head high, look the offender in the eye and whisper the truth. “God created you beautiful and unique, friend. Why should my form and calling be any less unique than yours?”
I love you, sister. Love you just as you were made to be. The person then, now, and who you are becoming. Listen to the truth: you are God’s beloved.
Dec
01
2012
The girls and baby had just finished running around the house squealing with glow sticks. Derek was working late for two days in a row and I had my hands in the sink trying to conquer at least one pile of mess. I put the baby in bed when he came up and practically asked to go to sleep. We played peek-a-boo with his discarded pants on the changing table. His laughter sweet wonder deep in my soul.
Aeralind and Bronwyn rush to the bathroom to brush their teeth and use the potty. I pull down our Advent Journey. Dig out the Jesse tree ornament. Find a wrapped animal to add to their “barn” that they are slowly unwrapping.
We read the story about the fall. How the snake convinced Eve that God was holding back on her. The lie I still hear whispered today. I wonder what their little hearts are absorbing.
There are shrieks of delight as they unwrap the camel. They kiss him and tuck him in the barn for the night. And Bronwyn she carries the Jesse tree ornament to the tree. The one with the Snake and the Apple. She smiles and Aeralind joins her. I ask them what the other ornaments are.
“The stump with the branch. The earth. The snake and the apple.” Their tiny voices tell me. I wonder at how even in their little lives God is making way for the wonder of the gospel despite my shortcomings.
Nov
28
2012The gratitude journal, it falls missing one afternoon.
Lost.
Somewhere between the dashboard cubbie at the beach and the switch from the Corolla being my primary car to the Camry being mine.
Lost.
Satan uses my scatterbrainedness to stop the pen he hates so much from scrawling the Eucharisteo of the Lord’s Glory across the page. My heart wanders.
Lost.
Moment pass. The morning (probably the last) where the year old nursling falls asleep early in the morning snuggled right up to my side and we sleep for hours cuddled together. Aeralind’s hand so soft on my cheek asking me, “Please, Mama, can we go see the chickens.” while we’re at the farm. Bronwyn’s crazy “ballet” as Ruthie plays “Bless the Lord (10,000 reasons)” on the violin. Sedryn’s young voice whispering “All done” when the violin stopped and asking daddy for “mor” milk. Girls tucked around Mrs. Margaret lulled by the reading in her soft English accent. A surprise date dancing on a Tuesday night. These moments pass.
Lost.
Unrecorded.
Ingratitude.
No quiet thanks for those beautiful moments. No pen to count the ways He loves.
But redeemed (it’s my identity after all!). These moments here.
Joanna shares this song on Facebook (that place I love for the way God uses, yet hate for the way it allows us to wear masks), this challenge bringing me back full circle. “Don’t you want to thank someone?”
I pause. Turn again. Repent. Won’t you do the same with me? Pause… listen for a few minutes of Rest. (Or just don’t stop listening to it… over and over and over like I am doing to steady my wayward heart.)
Don’t you want to thank someone for this?
I know I want to. Join me?
