Marcy Pusey's Blog

Have you ever read something you’ve written and thought, Holy Heck, who wrote this? It’s so good? 

It’s a wonderful feeling. 

Okay, and it’s also a little intimidating. 

Yes, I can intimidate my own self. #MovingOn

As with anything I write, I labor for weeks in my own head about it. Collecting information, processing information, writing whole articles in my brain that aren’t quite ready for the page. Or are ready, but inconvenienced by my need to sleep, shower, or use the restroom. Ahem. 

I keep re-reading my own 2021 post on presence and I just can’t say it any better. So, I’m inviting Marcy of Jan 17, 2021 back to the stage. Which was literally only one blog post ago. Because that’s how blogging has gone this year. But I digress. 

Let me introduce you to Marcy of 01/21:

She’d been back in America for less than one month (after nearly nine years living in Germany). She was in a trauma fog, yet all of her mama bear survival instincts were fully engaged.

Just a couple of months before, her life as she knew it completely imploded. She and her children were abruptly sent back to California as a result of ongoing abuse in the home… abuse which had been in a kind of recovery but relapsed in big enough ways that her mission put her and the kids on a plane.

As a result of all the injury, her physical, emotional, and mental states felt like death. She hung on by the thread of her Savior who dropped an anchor of hope in her stormy sea. Accusations of an emotional affair, of not believing big enough in miracles, of not having enough faith to give the little bit of life she had left waged a brutal war against her peace-keeping and truth-abiding heart.

There was no earthly defense willing to keep her safe against an institution that claimed she was the sinner for asking for help. 

Marcy 01/21 is my hero. Some of the things she endured, and would yet endure, are incomprehensible. Yet she did it. She did it by the grace and kindness of God. 

She did it with the warm, welcoming, open arms of true love… not of a romantic partner, but of friends and family who’d been watching, praying, fearing, and championing across an ocean.  

They, with the arms and heart of Jesus, built a nest for her and her kids. She was safe for the first time in a long time. 

Well, mostly. There was much injury still yet to come, but now she had hands to hold. 

I’m so proud of her. 

I also wish I could go back and tell her what’s coming… more accusations, more Pharisees trying to parent her Christianity, more people telling her to be quiet: if you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all (what a silencing message for those dying in their pain), divorce, lawyers, and the lowest of lows she’d ever see in people she loved. 

But then, I’d take her by the shoulders and look her straight in the eyes and say,

But girl… you will rise above it. In the midst of everything, you will finally believe your worth, you will have the healthiest relationships you’ve ever known, you’ll BUILD A BUSINESS and you and the kids will be okay, YOU WILL BE OKAY, I swear. You will get certified in things, awarded for things, and swim as a mermaid. You’ll embrace your body, trauma-fat and all, as beautiful and a gift. You’ll lose your tolerance for mistreatment and your standards for healthy relationships will soar. You will hear from SO. MANY. PEOPLE. how your speaking out has saved their lives. You will find a healthy, Bible-believing, God-fearing, healthy church home. You will know God’s Word and heart better than you’ve ever known it. You will recognize mirrors from windows. Girl, you will NEVER. BE. ALONE. Like, literally, not for one second. And I know a great place when you need to be alone. I’ll go ahead and make the reservation.

I’d give her a HUGE hug, tell her THANK YOU, and weep all over her. She’d be… well, like most people who experience my feels: confused, excited, scared, wet from my tears… but I hope more than anything, assured and strengthened.      

So now, without further ado… here’s Marcy of Jan 17, 2021:

This year [2021], I’m bringing presence.

When this word first settled on me, I was sure it meant that my year would be spent in the tug-of-war of being present to the now, anchored in here, while my personality wiring (INFJ) [Oh yeah, we’d need to talk about that too] pulls me inside of myself and into the future. I was gritting my teeth to win the battle.

But then God showed me that it’s SO much more.

That presence is an invitation to enter HIS.

To live in the safety I keep hunting for, the love I keep longing for, and the identity I’ve finally claimed.

As I abide in His presence, I bring presence everywhere I go. It just comes. It flows from me into belonging and acceptance and not-aloneness to those around me.

BRING. IT. ON.

This is my delight and joy… to both be known (in His presence) and know (by bringing His presence).

I am excited for this year.

I’m still in some of the most painful upheaval and life change I’ve ever experienced… but my vision has been cleared and I can see. And what I see isn’t just what’s in front of me, but the hope and promise of a loving Father.

I don’t know how you’re stepping into 2021, but I want you to know you are not alone. There is so much grace for the journey. So much love and mercy. Come as you are. I mean, if He can clean up this hot mess, He can clean anyone.

Right? A woman still recovering from the jet lag that upturned her world could still speak such life and hope into me. YES!!! “As I abide in His presence, I bring presence.”

She didn’t just say it; she did it. 

Marcy 01/21… you inspire me. You changed me in the best ways. Thank you for passing me the baton for 2022… what a hand-off. You ran an incredible race; you can rest now. 

With the baton in my hand, I look ahead to the next leg of the race. I can’t see beyond the curve in the road. I wish Marcy of 2023 could take me by the shoulders and say all the things… but I know she’s there, stronger than ever, healthier than ever, waiting on the finish line to run her race. Until then, I’ve got my people and MAN, they are BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE. 

I know that this year, God is calling me into spaces of release. This both terrifies me and swathes me in relief. There are a list of things I’m more than ready to release… and other things I’d really rather not. I imagine those are the things He and I will get to talk about this year. But who better to help me let go than the Lover of my Soul? Literally no one. 

I’ll keep bringing presence, I’ll stay Anchored to my Hope, Comforted by Peace, Fearless in truth, bursting with a New Song, as I Rest, Abide, and shine His Light.

Happy new year, friends. I’m cheering you on with everything I have.

I love you, LORD; you are my strength. The LORD is my rock, my fortress, and my savior; my God is my rock, in whom I find protection. He is my shield, the power that saves me, and my place of safety. I called on the LORD, who is worthy of praise, and he saved me from my enemies. -Psalm 18:1-3

The post Passing the Baton to 2022 appeared first on marcypusey.com.

I’ve pondered this post for some time. What can I say that would adequately describe my experience with 2020?

I entered 2020 with a level of optimism and hope. My sister was coming to visit us in Germany, her first trip to Europe. I had a women’s missionary retreat immediately after. I was set to be a speaker at an international conference in Slovenia. We were back home in Germany after a home assignment year, and while I didn’t quite know where I fit in the year-later dynamic of my community, I knew it would come.

2020 ended up being the year that I would truly need to “flee to Him for refuge” to cling to “great confidence as we hold to the hope that lies before us. This hope is a strong and trustworthy anchor for our souls. It leads us through the curtain into God’s inner sanctuary” (Hebrews 6:18b-19).

And boy… I had no idea the cost of entering God’s inner sanctuary. It’s free, yes! The curtain has parted and we can enter! By cost, I mean that as I flew into His courts for refuge from the 2020 storms, I suddenly could see my life in its contrast with His glory and purpose. 

I could see my brokenness. My dysfunctions. My filthy, sad rags. 

I could also see His smile. His welcoming embrace. His kind eyes. “Welcome daughter,” He said with words smooth like living water. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

2020 was a stripping of every comfort, every sense of reputation and title, every expectation. He took my dirty clothes, my desperately ragged sense of self, the lies that had been poured over my heart, mind, and spirit until I had integrated them as me… He took it all.

Very little of it had anything to do with Covid-19.

I needed His anchor, the strong and trustworthy anchor of my soul. A number of 2020 months felt like drowning. Like dying. My worthlessness, my smallness, and my insignificance were washed away and I was clothed with the peace, hope, and liberty befitting of the daughter of such a King. 

And it felt like death. It felt like life, and it felt like death. Like trying to breathe water as waves pound, relentless and without mercy. Yet all the while, those waves were like a rock tumbler… smoothing the edges the world had carved out of my weary soul. 

Stepping into 2020, I had no idea that the Anchor would literally save my life. That I would walk through the darkest night of the soul with the rope of His Spirit always wrapped around me. That in the clinging would come a stripping so drastic that I would step into 2021 raw and tender. But whole. 

As with every word I’ve ever been given, New Song, Hope, Comfort, Rest, Abide, Light, Fearless, and Peace, Anchor will join the row of banners that continue to remind, guide, and encourage me on the journey. Signs of remembrance of what I’ve overcome and the hope of what’s still before me.

That’s the dichotomy of 2020. 

It was devastating. Painful. Excruciating. There were days I was sure I wouldn’t survive. At times, it was lonely beyond belief (and I’m an introvert). 

But when I lift my eyes just above the pounding waves, and I follow the line of the anchor… I see the sun and feel its warmth. I see the faces of friends who held me up when the lies of my soul said I was alone. I can hardly write that sentence without weeping in gratitude.

I see every fear that would chase me down conquered at His command. Trembling before Him, submissive and weak. I see in the place of every stripped-away thing… something new and beautiful and better. In my own scrubbed-raw soul, I see light. LIGHT! A new day. I’m almost blinded by the brightness as He holds my hand and draws me into a land of promise. 

I’m shining too. 

You see, the cost of entering His sanctuary felt like dying. 

But it was living.

Living free, unhindered by the bags of lies I’d carried around as truth. 

2020 marked me. 

No really, I’m marked. 

This is the craziest cool story (for another time)… but a day before my most recent TEDx talk, this precious woman gave me an incredible gift. A tangible, visible, constant reminder of the hope that is steadfast and steady… the anchor of my soul. The next day I stood unnerved and fractured on a stage to talk about healing from traumatic experiences… and this mark grounded me. It reminds me of both what I’ve endured and the beauty that resulted.

There will be other storms. They will rock my world and I’ll probably feel like I’m dying again. 

But I will look down and remember.

So, here we go! 2021 has begun and, circumstantially, the world looks basically the same. We’re still in a global pandemic, important voices are still fighting for their place in the conversation, and the losses we’ve endured still impact us. 

This year, I’m bringing presence.

When this word first settled on me, I was sure it meant that my year would be spent in the tug-of-war of being present to the now, anchored in here, while my personality wiring (INFJ) pulls me inside of myself and into the future. I was gritting my teeth to win the battle. 

But then God showed me that it’s SO much more. 

That presence is an invitation to enter HIS. 

To live in the safety I keep hunting for, the love I keep longing for, and the identity I’ve finally claimed. 

As I abide in His presence, I bring presence everywhere I go. It just comes. It flows from me into belonging and acceptance and not-aloneness to those around me. 

BRING. IT. ON. 

This is my delight and joy… to both be known (in His presence) and know (by bringing His presence). 

I am excited for this year. 

I’m still in some of the most painful upheaval and life change I’ve ever experienced… but my vision has been cleared and I can see. And what I see isn’t just what’s in front of me, but the hope and promise of a loving Father. 

I don’t know how you’re stepping into 2021, but I want you to know you are not alone. There is so much grace for the journey. So much love and mercy. Come as you are. I mean, if He can clean up this hot mess, He can clean anyone. 

 

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

Psalm 16:11

The Lord is my shepherd; I have all that I need.

He lets me rest in green meadows; he leads me beside peaceful streams.

He renews my strength.

He guides me along right paths, bringing honor to his name.

Even when I walk through the darkest valley, I will not be afraid, for you are close beside me.

Your rod and your staff protect and comfort me.

You prepare a feast for me in the presence of my enemies.

You honor me by anointing my head with oil.

My cup overflows with blessings.

Surely your goodness and unfailing love will pursue me all the days of my life, and I will live in the house of the Lord forever.

Psalm 23:1-6

The post Anchored to His Presence appeared first on marcypusey.com.

I have been the child who yelled out the injustices of my upbringing to a closed-door—half hoping my parents heard what I really had to say, and half mortified that they might actually hear what I had to say.

The tables have turned.

I am now the parent on the other side of that door with a ranting child, loudly sharing opinions on fairness and right-parenting, proclaiming small-person authority to make the world right, at least in their own mind.

Thus, this post.

A week or so ago, one of my children was found in the midst of some natural consequences spawned by poor choices. This was evident to all, including my child. Knowing that this “suffering” was the result of personal decisions was not enough to prevent the rant. My child went to their room, closed the door, and loudly began to whine about the many years of injustice, “like that time that dad…” and “It’s just not fair that…”

Remember that mingled feeling of mortification and glee that your actual thoughts might be heard? They’d been heard.

I opened the door.

“Really? You’re in this situation because of ‘the time that Dad…’? Oh no. If you want to throw a fit, throw a fit that sounds like this: ‘AH Man! Why didn’t I listen to Mom this morning when she warned me about the choices I was making?! BLAST! Why did I rush through that chore and leave it a mess? I wouldn’t be here right now if I’d only…’ THAT’S the fit you should be throwing!”

Silence.

Mortification.

Glee?

I closed the door and stood outside silently.

This child began again. Softly. Not taking my advice on the responsibility-claiming fit that I’d suggested. I wanted to run in there, throw my own fit, and force this mind to grasp the concept! Take responsibility, learn from your mistakes, and MOVE ON! Don’t find ways to blame it on everyone else! But alas, I knew my approach would not help.

Then it struck me.

Gratitude.

I learned a year or so ago that your brain can not possibly be anxious and grateful at the same time. Those two emotions occur on opposite sides of our brain and fight each other for the oxygen they need to function. This is also true for worry and worship. Can’t do them at the same time. Essentially, when you choose to be grateful, you join the tug-of-war in your brain in a battle-winning kind of way. You help drag the oxygen away from the worrying part of your brain and being grateful becomes easier. Oh, believe me, the first seconds are a serious challenge- but the more oxygen that arrives, the easier gratitude will be.

All of this information came rushing back to me as I thought of my child- a child stuck in the ugly part of the brain. The only way I could effectively help this one get un-stuck would be to get ’em thinking gratefully.

I walked back in.

“Okay… you haven’t taken my advice on the kind of fit you should throw, right?” Shakes head. “Then I have a new assignment for you. I want you to write a list of fifty reasons that you are grateful for your dad. Let me know when you are done.”

Door closed.

No more ranting. No more raving. A heart changed. Gifts listed that my child is able to claim and name. Suddenly memories of a childhood not exclusively unjust (according to them) but fun trips, special outings, gifts, moments in time worth recapturing. And my child truly is grateful. SO grateful, that the paper is turned over and words are written that I wanted to hear from the beginning.

Gratitude.

It changes hearts. It changes minds. It changes lives.

Are there areas in your life that seem entirely bleak? Or other areas that cause in you the kind of worry and anxiety that lead to health or emotional disruptions?

Choose thankfulness.

And get your kids to choose thankfulness too!

*For a great book on how gratitude can change your life, read Ann Voskamp’s “1000 Gifts.”

The post Transformational Thanksgiving appeared first on marcypusey.com.

There is so little that is mine anymore.

Before having children, I owned all sorts of little things… knick-knacks, collections of all kinds, mementos that time-traveled me back to special moments.

Then they came.

Thrashing, flailing, playing. Being kids. Knocking down ceramic butterflies, plastic castles, and glass picture frames.

“Is nothing sacred?” I cried out to my husband, holding the shards of yet another accidental victim of childhood play.

Before children, I held things tightly. Grasped them in a claim that made them mine and my own. Slowly, those things began to fade away.

And in their place… people.

Them.

The importance and value of my little ones began to outshine any object I owned. I’d smile sadly at another lost trinket and think, “but you, child, are of more value than this item, though I thought I loved it. Is not worth contention or anger between us. I choose you.” And the shards found their way to the bottom of a bin and out of my heart.

To make the chasm between things and people even greater in our hearts and minds, we dedicated a year to purchasing ONLY used items… nothing new… to see how community could come together. How we could participate in the lives of others, and others in our lives, instead of rushing off to meet our own materialistic needs independently. And to discover what mattered enough to wait.  Then a second-year was dedicated to getting rid of half of everything we owned. 

My thoughts on broken items turned from sorrow to “Well, there’s one less thing to decide about! Closer to our 50% goal…”

But then all these years of learning to loosen my grasp, trade in things for lives, and content myself with relationships served a greater purpose. We were moving to Germany. We would not get rid of 50% of our things. We would get rid of 90% of all we owned and treasured.

And now I sit in a German home furnished by another. Very little is mine. Some things travel in a shipment to us… our last 10 percent. Holiday decor, family photos, clothes, and of course, books.

I suppose that means that about 0.5% of what I see belongs to me.

And I’m okay.

These last years of letting go have led me to such a place of freedom… even JOY in having less! Because what I have are the hearts, friendships, and smiles of my friends. Of my family.

People.

Whose hands I grasp as we walk this journey of life together.

Nothing else matters.

Nothing.

The post The Grasp that Counts appeared first on marcypusey.com.

In 2005, my husband and I woke up to the murder of his mother, Mary Ann Larsen-Pusey, by his father, Clinton Pusey, while we slept down the hall. 

It was a long hall. Long enough that Mary Ann sometimes called us from her mother-in-law suite rather than walk down it. We shared this home for a few months while we were all in transition: Us, into newly married life and them into newly retired life. They were packing their belongings and moving to Clinton’s native Colombia. 

That morning was a shock to us all, Clinton included. He has no memory of that morning, except for a few random, seemingly unimportant tasks he accomplished. 

As a writer at heart, I process my world through writing about it. Years of private entries fill my journals. My husband sent emails and letters to inquiring friends and family. And after some time, with some feedback from new friends, “old” friends, and a couple of family members, we realized we had a story that wasn’t meant to be selfishly hidden away. 

You see, we desperately love Clinton. And we have had to work through the grief, anger, loss, confusion, disappointment, fear, shock, resentment, and pain of losing two parents at once: one to death and the other to the criminal system. A journalist once asked us how we were doing so well. He had seen many tragedies and families break up, fall into addiction, and even commit suicide in hard such as ours. This made us realize that perhaps our grief journey was different. Perhaps, even amidst great suffering, there was hope.

And what if we could share this hope with others? And what if people could also find forgiveness, reconciliation, reunification, and joy after such heartache as we three have? Dare we hoard this gift to ourselves? 

Well, I tried. It’s a hard story to tell. It’s a scary story to tell. Not because of the details but because of the love we have for Clinton. A deep desire to see him free from harm. But as we researched, we found that a simple Google Search for either of their names led people to graphic news articles telling a superficial, surface-level version of our life story. A wife-killer ruled insane. 

But Jeremy’s dad is far, far more than this. 

What if we could add our voice to the digital conversation about who he is? It would mean detailing the truth of that morning, yes, but it would also mean detailing life leading up to that point and the marvel of life beyond. It would mean restoring dignity to a man worthy of the love and affection of his family simply because he is. 

Thus, we release our story of redemption into the world. Not that we can redeem, but that by God’s grace, He has wrapped all this pain into a story of glory, mercy, and compassion. Redemption. Beauty from ashes. Pain that has sharpened us into deeper, more connected people. 

So we invite you into our story. The painful, the hard, the grief… and the joy, the restoration, the recovery, and the sweet mercies that only God can unveil.

Purchase Your Copy Today

Ok. So I finished the book. All I can say is WOW. Wow, not just because I had no idea any of this stuff happened in your life, but also wow because your writing is wonderful. You really made me love Jeremy’s mother. All the scenes you show of her, her interaction with others, the bottle collecting, and all the quotes people provided. They all work together perfectly. Then the details about Jeremy’s father. Well, since my husband’s father suffered from dementia and I know how confused they can get, I could already relate to his issues. And by the end of the book, I forgave him too. I also like that I learned so much about you and Jeremy along the way. The more I get to know, the more I adore you. Kind hearts and lots of strength. Unfortunately, the Kindle version doesn’t show the newspaper articles so I missed out on those pages [they are in the print version]. But it didn’t matter. This book is very well written and although I had to cry during Chapter 19, “My House, My Crime Scene,” I didn’t feel that the book was overly depressing. You accomplished what I think you set out to do: To document a very sad story but to also offer uplifting moments and hope. So, although it sounds weird to say this since the story comes from your tragic experience, congrats on this book. For those who love true crime books, it will remind them behind a sensationalized story, there are real people who are hurting and trying to find their way through grief. For those who like inspirational or spiritual writing, it certainly covers that as well. And, maybe most of all, for all those who watched the news, those in your former neighborhood, anyone who knew your family, it sets the record straight and tells the truth. It was very brave of you to write this book and I admire your ability to open yourself up to the world (even if opening old wounds) in order to help others who might go through a similar experience.

Anonymous message

A Little Redemption in the Here and Now: We don’t often hear about homicides unless they’re exceptional by virtue of the number of victims or perhaps the brutality of the crime. Even less frequently do we hear of how the survivors continue with their lives and search for some sort of resolution. Marcy Pusey gives us a glimpse into the life after homicide, with all the attendant pain, memory attacks, and doubts. It’s hard to read about a man unraveling just enough to commit an atrocity and its effects on his immediate family, but to see how by staying open to God’s healing and redemption rather than chasing the mirage of security, the tantalizing but unattainable certitude of “never again,” Marcy and her family were able to find closure not in punishment and revenge, but love and redemption. It is inspirational to see a family transformed and a man regained, if not to complete health and restoration, at least to dignity and love. If you’ve experienced a homicide in your family, some of the descriptions of what happened, while not gratuitously graphic, might still make you uncomfortable. Even for those like me who have never had to deal with such an event, imagining the event is unsettling. But there’s power and hope in that: if Marcy and her family could rise from the ashes, with God’s help, the so can others. And perhaps, so can we, as a society: learning to forgive and re-embrace even the worst of sinners and thus reframing the debate about homicides that seems to have run aground on the shoals of quick fixes. Despite the heavy topic, “While We Slept” is indeed a book of hope and redemption worth reading for anyone who has ever stopped and wondered why anyone would kill and what could be done about it.

Stephan Stucklin

“Wow! A Story of Forgiveness: While We Slept is proof that God is good and forgiveness is real. Marcy writes her family’s story in such a way that draws you in, with delicate strength and dignity. I had a hard time putting it down. Even though the topic is difficult to digest, it is one of the best books I have ever had the opportunity to read. She introduces her family, including her father-in-law, and his relationship with his son, Jeremy, and, all of his extended family with so much love, kindness, and unity, even with the tragic events that led up to writing this book. There is so much family division in this world, and the sweet way that Marcy shares the Pusey’s story is evidence that forgiveness and restoration are possible, even in the worst situation. I would recommend While We Slept because, while it is a documentary on the events in the Pusey family’s life, it is also written in the way of great storytellers and keep the reader involved and wanting more.

Jonalyn Young

This Should Be A Movie! I was skeptical when someone told me about this book. I love true crime and memoirs…but I was doubtful the forgiveness part of this story would seem believable. I was wrong! Great story and once you read it, you will totally see how real and honest they are about how they could forgive. It all makes sense. I think a studio should make the whole thing into a movie!

Nancy

The post While We Slept: Finding Hope and Healing After Homicide—A Memoir appeared first on marcypusey.com.

Hey friends! Today I’m bringing a special guest to you, my special readers! Karen Ferreira is an illustrator, award-winning creative director and owner of GetYourBookIllustrations. She helps self-publishing authors get amazing, affordable illustrations. She has spent many hours learning about self-publishing and enjoys helping others succeed in this field. In fact, she’s one of my newest … Continue reading "How to Make Your Book Appealing for Children and Adults and Full of Heart"

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At the end of each year, as the days darken early and everything seems to slow down to reflect, celebrate, honor, and gear up for a new year, I find myself nearly begging God for a word to carry as my banner as I march forward.  Some years I fight the word, some years I … Continue reading "The Anchor of our Souls"

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At the end of each year, as the days darken early and everything seems to slow down to reflect, celebrate, honor, and gear up for a new year, I find myself nearly begging God for a word to carry as my banner as I march forward.  Some years I fight the word, some years I plead for it… and then there was this year. In October, months before it was even on my mind to need a new one, He dropped it on me. Over and over.  “But Lord,” I wanted to say, “I’m still working on Peace. Remember that word I didn’t want that You gave me anyway? Yeah, still working on staying in it.”  Even so, He continued to whisper this new theme. A theme that, really, has been there all along.  It’s been there sure and steady, foundational to every word before it: Peace, Fearless, New Song, Hope, Comfort, Rest, Abide, and Light. None of these life compasses would have meant a thing without it.  In fact, Hebrews 6:18b-19 says:

Therefore, we who have fled to Him for refuge can have great confidence as we hold to the hope that lies before us. This hope is a strong and trustworthy anchor for our souls. It leads us through the curtain into God’s inner sanctuary.

I know, I’ve already done hope (and for any of you who know me well, it’s become a life theme, not just for 2016) clearly God knew it would be the anchor of every word written of my life story. See what I did there?  Yes, the anchor’s name is Hope. And Hope’s name is Jesus. The One who tore the curtain so that I could be daughter.

In Him and through faith in Him we may enter God’s presence with boldness and confidence.

-Ephesians 3:12

 

Let us then approach the throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need.

-Hebrews 4:16

 

Therefore, brothers and sisters, since we have confidence to enter the Most Holy Place by the blood of Jesus, by a new and living way opened for us through the curtain, that is, his body, and since we have a great priest over the house of God, let us draw near to God with a sincere heart and with the full assurance that faith brings, having our hearts sprinkled to cleanse us from a guilty conscience and having our bodies washed with pure water. Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for he who promised is faithful.

-Hebrews 10: 19-23

The Anchor of my soul

THIS is my anchor. He is my anchor.  Yes, Him dropping the word anchor on me makes me think, What storms are You preparing me for, Lord? Yet, even as I start the question, I know that He’s been my anchor in every calm and every storm before today. And He’ll ground me, guard me, protect me in every storm and every calm hereafter. The word simply reveals what has been and what will continue to be. Here’s the cool thing about anchors:

Ships sometimes need to idle and remain out at sea, so they anchor. The anchor holds the ship to keep it from drifting off course during the waiting period.Sometimes ships anchor temporarily so those onboard can swim, explore, fish, play.Ships might anchor to keep sturdy in uncomfortable circumstances.Ships anchor to hold out through a storm, especially if getting to shore is out of the question. Sailors hunker down and wait out the rough weather, trusting their boat will still be on course and they will survive.

One sailor said, “Nothing is worse than being stuck on a boat in high winds for 48 hours or 60 hours [and] not having anchor faith. To reduce fear and be able to sleep at night, you want to know that you have an anchor that will keep you safe” (Sailing Britican). Well, friends, I’m here to tell you that my anchor is the safest one out there. He is trustworthy. I have Anchor Faith. Oh Lord, help me to have Anchor Faith!

Heading into 2020

As we head into 2020, I’m prepared to carry on in the abiding Shalom of last year, armed with the strong and trustworthy anchor of my soul.  A prophetic word was prayed over me this last year.

The prayer warrior said as she prayed, “I see a rope around you… and God is holding the rope. No matter where you go or what you do, you are secure in His grip. You can let go and trust Him. You can hold to His promises, that even as obstacles come, He has hold of you.” This was in July… months before God would begin speaking the actual word anchor in my spirit.

As anchor began to grip me, this prayer returned to me. He was already sowing the truth that I am held, secure, safe, and covered. Ironically, I was asked to join our worship team for the Sunday before Christmas. There was a new-to-me song on the list: Christ the Sure and Steady Anchor. Naturally, I chuckled. God, you’re good.

As I reflect on 2019 and peace, I see that He really did give us peace in multiple forms. Peace, at last, within the walls of our home. Peace in our marriage. Peace from various obstacles that are now resolved. But He also gave us this peace-which-transcends-understanding in circumstances unresolved. Wayward loved ones whose lives we sadly watch derail. The failing health of friends and family, even the passing into Glory of one sweet former foster child, Mayra. Storms around us which we can’t control. Lying lips, slandering tongues, sparks which light forests afire… peace. Insecurities, doubts, questions… peace. Fear, temptation, selfishness… peace. Peace which doesn’t make sense. Supernatural peace. Always available. Peace that He, as our anchor, will keep us on course, regardless of the calm or the storm.  [image error]

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