Stephanie Erickson's Blog

I wasn’t going to do a motherhood post. Seems like there’s a lot of those anymore. Encouraging burnt-out stay-at-home moms, telling us that laundry, and spit-up, and sippy cups are God’s work too (and they are). I just didn’t really feel like I had anything to add. In fact, I saw a post in the mom’s group this morning about this exact topic. So. If it’s redundant, I apologize LOL.

Here’s the post in the mom’s group that totally stole my thunder. It’s good right? Dang it. LOL

But, it’s Mother’s Day so I plowed forward anyway, okay? What do you want from me?

My own journey to motherhood wasn’t easy. I was labeled infertile at 18, and tossed in a rare bleeding disorder in my early twenties. But my husband and I decided to try, because what harm could it do?

Well…the infertility thing is mentally taxing to say the least. That negative test every month is not only a disappointment, but it feels like a massive failure on your part as a woman. This very basic thing you should be able to do is out of reach, and it’s very hard to find God in that. But that’s probably a topic for another day. Listen, mommas with empty wombs, I see you.

Obviously, we got our miracle. And the one thing I can say about being a mom, is my kid is mine. And your blessed child that you want to strangle sometimes, and kiss into infinity others, is yours. They don’t need me telling you how to raise them. Are you having sleep training problems? Potty training (girl, I just said a prayer for you)? Meltdowns? Not eating their veggies so obviously malnutrition is just around the corner?

It may not feel like it, but you know what to do. And even if you don’t, even if you do nothing, and let your child cry it out, or wear a diaper for a little longer, or throw things, or eat mac and cheese for every meal, it’s 100% okay. Because you are doing what they need. You’re showing up. You. Not me. Not some guru in a book. You are what they need.

When you don’t feel like enough, when your stores are depleted, and you know in your heart of hearts that you’re failing, that’s the devil talking to you. Did you know that? Are you gonna listen to that crap? Are you gonna take that lying down?

Because, listen, Jesus says you are enough. You are:

“Fearfully and wonderfully made.” Psalm 139:14“God’s handiwork.” Ephesians 2:10“Your bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit.” 1 Corinthians 6:19“See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are.” 1 John 3:1

I love all of these because A. God doesn’t make mistakes. You may feel ill-equipped to care for this little fireball God gave you, but you’re not. To imply that you are ill-equipped implies God doesn’t know what He’s doing. And I know we (by we I mean I) would never do that, right? ::whistles innocently:: And B. That body you hate because it has stretch marks, and fat dimples you didn’t know were a thing, and aches in places you didn’t know you had? That’s a dang temple. That body created an entire person. You best start treating it like the house of worship it is. Again, possibly a topic for another blog. But. That fact remains. God made you. Nothing more, and certainly nothing less.

Let’s play a game. Let’s play out your worst-case scenario. Calm down, turn off your master alarms. It’s just a game. Let’s say you are ill-equipped and all the things that stupid voice whispers some days and shouts others. Sometimes what the devil tells us has just enough of a ring of truth to it, that it’s hard to turn away from him. Isn’t it? So, in this worst-case scenario, if we are ill-equipped to be moms, is that by design? If it’s not, why is this feeling of inadequacy so relatable? So unifying? Because maybe, just maybe, God wants us to lean in. God loves your baby just as much, if not more, than you.  And He wants to help. He doesn’t want you listening to the lies that are so loud sometimes. Like, why is that, God? You are all-powerful. Can ya turn the volume down on the devil every once in a while? Please and thank you.

Me and my favorite girls.

But I digress. I have an amazing mom, a blessing I am eternally grateful for. The older I get, the more of a blessing I see that to be. More and more I encounter someone who didn’t have the same experience, and that makes my heart hurt. Because my mom is my best friend, and an amazing ally in helping me with my own daughter. Her experience and insight are invaluable to me. Because my own little blessing is a bit of a spitfire that needs all hands on deck sometimes. And I love that my mom is ready at all times to dive into the dirty work. She was made for me. And I for her. She knows when I need her, and when to step back. And if she misjudges and makes a mistake, it’s okay. Because I make those too. Like all the dang time. And seeing her do it reminds this monster perfectionist that it really is okay. And momma’s, that’s what your kids are learning from you. Not that you suck and you’re a massive failure, but that it’s okay. That learning is eternal. And that you’re human.

Your kids have to learn everything from you. Including forgiveness. So if you made a mistake, congratulations! You just presented them with an opportunity to practice forgiveness! Pass Go and collect $200! If they didn’t learn it so well this time? Never fear! There will be another opportunity just around the corner, don’t you worry!

My daughter is eight. She knows I have a hot temper. She also knows I love her fiercely, and am proud of her every day. She knows I will be quick to apologize when I screw up, and she knows I expect the same from her. I know she will not remember her childhood the same way I do. I don’t think my mom remembers mine the way I do. I remember summer reading races (she always freaking won), and sewing, and braiding my hair and singing “You Are So Beautiful” when she was done, and looking me right in the eyes when she did it. I remember love. And whether or not a therapist would tell me that’s right, it’s what I remember. And I’ll be dog-gonned if that isn’t what your kids remember too. No matter how much you yelled today. Or how messy your house was. Or how many times in a row you fed them chicken nuggets. They’ll remember love, mommas. Because that’s what you have. And that’s all you need.

Did any of you guys do the D.A.R.E. program when you were kids? It was this drug education program for elementary students that taught kids about saying no to drugs. It had me believing I would have to say no kind of a lot. Like drugs were literally everywhere, at every turn, every kid had them, and wanted me to have them too.

I feel the same way about defending my faith. I read all these books and articles talking about arming yourself for when your faith is challenged, and what to say to those people. Like it’s going to happen at every turn. Every time I go to the store, or walk through a park, someone is going to leap out at me and ask me why I’m a Christian. And by God, I need to be ready with a thoughtful, but somehow not canned or previously prepared answer. Because there are souls on the line, can I get an amen? LOL.

Sorry, I couldn’t help it. I just find the whole defending my faith thing a bit overblown. In my entire life, I’ve only had to do it once. One time. And I’m sure there will be more, especially as I write more in the Christian vein, and expose myself to other people more and more. But that’s okay. For now, it’s happened once. In nearly thirty-eight years.

Now, that’s not to say you shouldn’t be prepared in some way. But, frankly if you’re deeply rooted in your faith, you won’t need to prepare. You’ll just be confident, and undefensive (totally a word Microsoft spell checker. Leave me alone.) when challenged. It will happen naturally, and you’ll be able to meet your challenger where they are.

Now, for clarification, I’d like to say that being told I’m going to hell happens more frequently than I care to admit. That’s different. That isn’t a challenge of my faith. It’s a declaration of fact for that other person.

When someone truly challenges your faith, they’re trying to get you to their side, whatever that may be. Or, at least talk you out of your beliefs. When someone straight up sends you to hell, that’s just condemnation right there. Ain’t nobody got time for that.

The one and only time in my life my faith was challenged, I wasn’t prepared for it at all. But in hind sight, I think I handled it well, given the circumstances. At the time, I felt like a total doofus. But you usually are at twenty-eight years old. Barely considered an adult, and definitely not feeling like an adult, I was wildly ill-equipped to defend anything, let alone my faith.

I wasn’t attending church regularly at the time. But, that doesn’t mean I wasn’t a believer. I’d just finished my first novel, The Blackout. It’s a terribly written fiction book about a solar flare that knocks out all the power everywhere. A husband and wife are on different sides of the country when it happens, and they have to find their way back to each other. I remember being quite proud of it at the time. And really, writing a novel is an accomplishment, so I suppose I should overlook what I didn’t know then that would’ve made the book better. LOL.

At any rate, I’d brought paperbacks to my writing group to give to the people who’d helped critique a few pages in the book’s early stages. One of them, an older gentleman that I respected deeply because of his life experience, how well traveled he was, and the fact that he was a lot smarter than me, read the acknowledgements at the back of the book, probably looking for his own name. No shame in that.

I’ve written over twenty-five fiction books so far. And in each one the acknowledgements start largely the same. My very first book was no different. It went:

“First, I would like to thank God. I know that sounds cheesy and cliché, but we’ve been given so many blessings lately I can’t help but feel awed and grateful.”

I went on to thank my husband, parents, team, friends, and yes the writer’s group. But I always start with God. With each book, I got a little more thoughtful about it, a little less awkward, but the sentiment is still there. Even from the beginning.

So, this huge, sixty-something bearded, British man opened my book and read that first paragraph and scoffed.

YES! I worked a Harry Potter image in!! #winning

“You really believe that?” he demanded.

“What?” I asked, like some dewy-eyed schoolgirl.

“That God gave you the words for this book? That somehow He is due credit for your hard work?”

It was then I remembered this man was an atheist. But not an angry atheist. Just an atheist. He liked debate and engage in intelligent, sometimes passionate, conversation. So, I held my ground.

“Yes, I do.” I’m pretty sure that’s all I said. He nodded his head and finished reading the dedication with nothing more to add. The others in the group shifted uncomfortably and someone found where the group was mentioned and they all whooped, lightening the mood considerably. And just like that, the moment was over. The one and only time in my whole life (so far) I had to defend my faith.

That night, I went home wondering what more I could’ve said. How I could’ve better handled the situation. I felt dumb, to be honest. “Yes, I do,” was all I could come up with to talk about the love of Jesus and how blessed I’d been to have the time, and resources to pursue a dream I’d had since I was in third grade? Idiot.

I could’ve said all that and more. But as time passes, I realize for that particular man, and that particular moment in front of a dozen other people, all older than me, all more experienced than me in nearly every aspect of life, “yes, I do” was enough. I’d stood my ground, and he respected that. I wasn’t going to change his mind, and he somehow knew he wouldn’t change mine. He had his beliefs, and I had mine. Because they were different didn’t mean we couldn’t show love toward each other through respectful conversation. And that was my biggest takeaway years later when I realized I hadn’t failed.

He’d challenged me, and I’d leaned on my faith to withstand his challenge. He knew what I believed, and if he thought about it later, that was on him. I’d done what I needed to do respectfully. I hadn’t made Jesus look bad (a massive accomplishment, thank you very much) by getting defensive, or arguing with my challenger. I’d accepted his words, and he’d accepted mine.

Respectful conversation is such a lost art nowadays. (Yes, I said nowadays, no I’m not eighty. Deal.) God forbid you disagree with someone’s opinion on a hot button issue. You obviously don’t support their life choices, and think they’re a monster so you can’t possibly be friends. Wait, what? Things escalate so quickly I can’t keep up. I have no idea what to say/do that won’t offend someone, so I often opt to say nothing. (As a side note, if you haven’t read Brant Hansen’s Unoffendable, I HIGHLY recommend it. Life-changing book right there.)

Anyway, I’ve gotten off topic. The point was, having a respectful exchange when you defend your faith is possible. If someone challenges you, there’s no need to get defensive. And there’s no need to feel like a failure if you didn’t change their mind. That isn’t your job. It’s His.

I’ve lost touch with my old writers group. Having a kid will do that to ya. Because of that, I have no idea if they even still meet, or how many of them are still able to go. The age gap was legit you guys. A lot of them had fifty or more years on me. But it was so cool to be around that much life, ya know? So many years lived in that room.

I don’t know if my British friend still goes, or if I impacted him in any way. He impacted me. And in the end, that’s probably just as good.

So, when someone asks me, “You really believe that?” I can proudly say, “Yes, I do.” And so should you.

*Have you ever had to defend your faith? How did it go? What advice would you give to your future self if you had to do it again? *

I just finished this book called The Midnight Library. It’s a secular fiction book about the space between life and death. It’s a very intriguing concept and I loved it. But I digress. What prompted me into the topic of regret, or regerts as the case may be for that one unfortunate tattoo, is that this book had an interesting take on them.

The concept was, parallel universes in which you could live an infinite number of lives with an infinite number of outcomes. Which left very little space for regret. And that got me thinking, what is the purpose of regret, really?

Regret is nothing more than a romanticized fantasy of what could have been. Right? I wish I hadn’t broken up with him. We’d be so happy together, I just know it. Or I wish I’d taken that job opportunity. It was so perfect. Or I wish I hadn’t been so harsh. They didn’t deserve that. Or I wish I’d jumped at the chance to travel before we had kids. We’d have made the best memories. Or I wish we’d fostered before we got too old. What an impact we could’ve made. On and on and on. The list of regrets could make a mighty tome indeed. But to what end?

Do we ever act on these regrets? Make a change? Sometimes. But more often than not, our biggest regrets just fester. They make us sad. And make us think this parallel version of us would have a more glorious life. But is that really the case?

Follow one of your regrets to the end. I wish I’d taken that job opportunity. How do you picture it? Are you happy? Are there absolutely no problems in your life at all because of this amazing job? Are you gone a lot because it’s demanding? Or are you home more so you have time with your family, but you have less money? Do you get along with everyone you work with? Are you good at it right off the bat? There are literally no struggles at all? Do you see how unrealistic this is?

No job is perfect. Even mine. I love writing. It’s been my passion since third grade. Editing on the other hand. My mom likes to remind me that I threw my papers away rather than edit them when I was a kid. I feel this in a big way, 9-year-old me. Editing is part of the process. It’s something I do because I love the rest. My job is not a fantasy. It has ups and downs. Failures – so many failures – and successes. It’s messy, and wonderful, and a heck of a lot of hard work.

I think it’s worth it, which is why it isn’t on my regrets. I definitely have things about it I wish I’d done differently. Things I’ve learned along the way. But now I’m better equipped to do this job.

Which brings me back to my question. What is the purpose of regret? Personally, I think it’s another weapon of the enemy. Because with regret, comes guilt. And with guilt, comes sadness. And with sadness, comes that dungeon of sadness. Remember that Rose is Rose comic? Dating myself here, I know. But Rose builds an emotional dungeon that she almost takes shelter in. Hers is built by resentment, but I think it works for depression too. Depression is isolating. It’s something we work at, brick by brick until we feel like we can’t overcome it. We can’t get out.

Regret adds bricks to our dungeon, making it impossible to see the reality of what our choices would have been. He isn’t perfect. Neither is that job. Or that golden opportunity. Every choice has a consequence. Even the ones that look “perfect.” And regret assumes they don’t, which just isn’t rational.

In Phillipians 4:8 we are told to think about “whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable — if anything is excellent or praiseworthy — think about such things.” (NIV) Does regret match any of these definitions? Do I really need to answer this?

Because regret is so far from the things Paul is telling us to think about, I have to believe it’s from the enemy. At best, it’s a distraction. It keeps us inward focused, which is the opposite of what we should be in order to be happy. Listen, my mind is a chaotic place. I don’t like to be there for too long. Or I start adding bricks to the dungeon, ya know? But if I keep my thoughts on other people, on Jesus, heck, even on this blog and the slight panic of what I’m going to write for next week ::awkward laugh::. What? That never happens. I have it all together. ::second awkward laugh:: ANYWAY, if I keep my thoughts outside myself, it’s easier to be thankful. And where there is gratitude, there is no room for regret.

Consider this: Your life without regret. How does that feel? Impossible? Freeing? Scary? Happy? I’m going to say something shocking right now. Get ready. Here it comes. There is literally no reason you can’t have a life without regret. Peace is yours for the taking. Life isn’t a solo sprint after all. It’s team race, and Jesus is running it with you. You literally can’t lose. All you have to do is let go of your regret, and tag Him in.

If you see regret for what it is, a tool of the enemy to get your eyes off Jesus, it might just be easier to let go. Try it, and see what you think? What have you got to lose? (Um, besides this immense weight on your shoulders? Sorry, I’ll leave you to it now. Just try it. Hey Mikey, you might like it.)

**As an aside: I understand that for some people, regret may be a tool of self-punishment. When you believe you don’t deserve happiness, it’s much easier to dwell in regret. For this kind of abusive mentality, I can only urge you seek far more educated and qualified help than this blog. Because you do deserve happiness. Joy is yours for the taking. But no one can take those bricks off the dungeon for you. So, get help. Please.

**FULL DISCLOSURE**

I wrote this blog years ago and never published it because…well…I don’t look so good in it. But, it’s important to be transparent. Even 148 weeks later according to Instagram. So, here you go.

So, I’m currently reading Bob Goff’s Everybody Always. (Look for the review soon!) Bob (yes, I feel we are on a first name basis, despite the fact we haven’t met. He gave me his phone number after all, it’s in the back of the book, and you only share that kind of thing with friends, right?) asserts that we are commanded to love EVERYONE. And he’s right. We are. The bible says time and again to LOVE each other, even your enemies. And that doesn’t mean the easy people, hence enemies. That means the ones who are creepy, the ones who are annoying, the ones who are scary…everyone.

So the question that’s been circling in my head since I started the book a few days ago is…what happens when we fail? Bob talks a lot about loving homeless people and drug addicts and your neighbors, no matter how irritating they are. But for me, the ones who are hard to love are strangers. The ones you only see for a blip of your day. Those people at the store who take the last box of Apple Jacks when your mouth was just watering for it. The one who crashes into you while you’re walking because they expected you to move out of the way, even after you made eye contact because you don’t matter to them one lick. Basically, the rude people.

Now, everyone who knows me knows I am your champion until you start with me. Then, I’m the finisher. My tongue is sharper than Crocodile Dundee’s machete, so believe me when I say, if you start, I will finish. Once, a boy in my class tried to bully me, and I told him his hair looked like a maxi pad with wings and channels (he had a very deep part and had gelled his hair so it flipped out. It was sort of stylish at the time, but man did I nail that zinger). He was humiliated. My entire seventh grade class (clearly a time when a maxi pad was a horrible thing to be compared to) laughed as he did his walk of shame away. My tongue only got sharper as I got older.

Now, particularly since I had my daughter and subsequent near death experience (I’ll explain that in another post), I’ve softened a bit. But probably not enough. Case in point, what happened to me yesterday.

A man in a huge Ford F6750 or whatever it was almost hit me in the parking lot of Pier One, while I was walking. All 100 lbs of me is going to be like a mosquito on that man’s grill. He slammed on his brakes, while I crossed completely legally by the way, and then proceeded to inch up on me. Now, this irritated me. I don’t care for being threatened in any way. So, of course I slowed my pace. He inched up on me until he was about a step and a half to my left. I swear, my head barely cleared his hood. Not sure how he could even see if I was out of the way to be honest. Once I was clear of him, I made a poor choice. I flipped him off. He crossed some invisible line only I could see, and I wanted him to know. Then, and only then, did he come to a complete stop, roll down his window and screamed obscenities at me. So, I answered by flipping him off again, and screaming my own colorful obscenities in return. In front of God and everyone, literally. That should’ve made me feel better, right? I sure showed him. He sped off, screeching his tires in the parking lot, while a car in the opposite direction kept a good distance from both of us, and rightfully so.

But it didn’t make me feel better. Immediately I thought of Bob’s book. And how I hadn’t shown that man love. I hadn’t let him see God’s face through me. I’d failed. Miserably. I was embarrassed and ashamed. Had he wronged me? Yes, he threatened me with his big truck, because where he had to be was more important than where I had to be and he couldn’t spare five seconds to let me cross in peace. But here was an opportunity for me to take the high road, and instead I joined him in his impatience and added anger to the mix, instead of bringing his face up to the light. Now, if I’d just smiled at him, instead of engaging him, would he have been like “oh my that girl is amazing, she must be a Christian, please show me the light of Jesus right now?” No. He most definitely would not have done that. This isn’t an episode of Touched by an Angel. But, I would’ve broken the anger cycle. And that’s the win in this situation. There is too much anger in this world, and yesterday I spread it instead of squashing it.

So what could I do? Obviously the only reasonable thing, which was: Have massive anxiety about it for most of the night, leaving me cranky and sleep deprived the following day. I’m betting that man didn’t give me another thought after he sped out of that parking lot. But I thought about him. Which just made me more upset.

That brings us to today. I was out with some friends, getting a treat at my FAVORITE ice cream shop, Kilwins (shout out to Kilwins! Bob, if by some miracle you are reading this, get you some Kilwins, man. My treat if you come to Florida.) We saw a very striking woman walking into the shop as I was walking out. Now, I’m a firm believer in compliments. I think they mean something, especially coming from a stranger who owes you nothing. And this woman nailed her look that day. She was about 70 or 75, totally coordinated, right down to her purse, scarf, and tasteful jewelry. So, I said something.

“Wow! You just look awesome today! Very stylish. Well done.”

Now, I’d stopped doing this as frequently because I come on a bit strong and some people find that off putting. I’m very loud for my size. And I could tell that I’d startled her a bit with my WOW. But I plowed ahead because, well I was committed. And I’m glad I did.

She was delighted. Her face lit up, and she thanked me for my kind words. We parted ways quickly and my friends and I walked on. The whole thing took about four seconds. But I could tell I’d impacted her day. She would think about what I’d said long after we were gone. And it wouldn’t be in the anxiety-ridden keep you awake at night kind of way. It would be the huge, delighted smile she was wearing kind of way.

So where does this leave me? I’m a bit of a score keeper, so you’d say I was even right? Epic fail yesterday, win today, right? Well…

First, God doesn’t keep score. If He did, we’d all be Losers with a capital L. Because I don’t know about you, but I suck at this whole love one and other, embodiment of Christ thing, let’s be honest. So, score one for us, since God isn’t keeping score? Apparently, I can’t stop.

Second, what I did today isn’t exactly what Bob is talking about. That woman was safe. She was easy to love. She was approachable. I’d say I got a base hit today, not a home run. Base hit is still better than a strike out, but this perfectionist wants that point for the home team.

For some of you, doing what I did would be scary, and for you, it would’ve been a home run. Those introverts out there are all probably going OMG you did what to a complete stranger? And for you, I’d encourage you to try it. It’s very fun to make someone smile. And if they just look at you like an extra eye just popped out of your forehead, that can be kinda funny too. So at least one of you is smiling by the end. But for me, I’m a bit of an extravert, so this isn’t a stretch.

What is a stretch is praying for someone who’s wronged me. Someone who screamed obscenities at me in public. And when I say praying for them, I don’t mean, “Please God, change his heart so he isn’t such an a-hole anymore.” I mean “Please Lord, bless him and his family abundantly. If he is struggling now, ease that. Bring joy to his life.” And mean it. Actually mean it. Then, forgiving him for the perceived wrong. Because in most chance encounters with strangers the wrong is nothing more than that: Perceived.

I have no idea why that guy was in such a hurry yesterday, and why what he was doing was so much more important than what I was doing. How life and death could it be? For heaven’s sake we were in the Pier One parking lot, not the hospital. But still, something in his life shortened his fuse, and I allowed him to shorten mine. If I was love, as Bob says we all should be, I believe I would’ve responded differently to him. I may have hurried to get out of his way, and wished him well. Something like that would’ve made for nothing more than a passing encounter in my day. I wouldn’t have given that man a second thought. But here I am, more than 1500 words later about him…and how I failed him.

The thing about failure is, I hate it. No, that’s not the thing; that’s the thing about me. The thing about failure is, God will give me another chance. And another one after that. And another and another and another. According to Bob, God isn’t shaking his head in disappointment when we fail. He’s holding his arms open, waiting for us to get back up and keep walking toward Him. I did that today. It was a baby step, but I did it. Tomorrow, I hope I can take another step, even if it’s just a shuffle. Because, while I want people to know I’m moving toward Him, more importantly, no matter what anyone thinks of me after spending about ten seconds or less with me, today, I moved towards Him. And you should too.

Oh, and grab Bob’s book while you’re at it. It’s good, and if nothing else, it’ll make you laugh.

I’ve been asked to write about this topic before, and I always dismiss it. I don’t really know what to say about it, and I’m past it for the most part. But this week, someone I follow on Facebook posted a video about her church hurt and it got a lot of very mixed reviews because of some inflammatory things she said.

It got me thinking. One of my best friends says hurt people, hurt people. That was true here I think, although I don’t believe she intended to hurt anyone at all. The comments section was littered with carnage though. The hurt was plain, regardless of her intention.

If we are to be the body of Christ, the church should be filled with hurt people, should it not? That new Matthew West song (talk about an earworm) claims “church should be more like a hospital,” healing the spiritually unwell. I like this idea. But, it stands to reason that if hurt people, hurt people, why am I surprised when the church hurts me?

Expectation, that’s why. Oh expectation. You’re a real piece of work, you know that? Bring expectation to just about anything and you’re in for a rough ride. Bring it to prayer though, and that’s called faith. Remember the story about the town that was experiencing a drought, so they agreed to meet and pray for rain? All their voices together would surely reach the kingdom of heaven. But only one small boy brought an umbrella. Expectation.

When it gets hairy is when an unmet expectation comes to play. Relationships. Work. Plans. Church. This is cringy and messy, right? I told you what I need, and still you don’t do it. Logical conclusion: You don’t love me. Unmet expectation. I worked harder than anyone else, and still I didn’t get the promotion. Logical conclusion: I’m not good enough. Unmet expectation. I was so excited for my trip to Disney and then COVID. Logical conclusion: My life will never be the same. Unmet expectation. Church is supposed to be a safe place where I won’t be judged by anyone. Logical conclusion: I’m not welcome at any church, God doesn’t love me. Unmet expectation.

While the first part of all these statements is true, the lies are born from the unmet expectation. The hurt. That’s where we get into dangerous territory, where the enemy lives.

Church Is Run By Sinners

Church ultimately is run by humans. Flawed creatures. Sinners. So why am I surprised when they sin? I’m not perfect. Far from it in fact. I’m terrible. I’m mouthy, resentful, and sarcastic. But when I go to church, I expect people to just know that about me, and be kind. It’s church for heaven’s sake. Why is this hard? Because I’m not the only sinner on campus that’s why.

Let’s look at the parking lot for a hot second, shall we?  We are all jazzed from the amazing teaching we just listened to. Like Robert Madu just spoke, and we are PUMPED. (Seriously though, if you haven’t heard this guy, go! He is amazing. Look him up on Instagram. Do it, I’ll wait.) But something happens when we get to our cars, right? Like the enemy is sitting in the passenger seat waiting for us, since he isn’t invited inside and all, and he whispers things in our ears. We need to get out of here ASAP because the in-laws are waiting to have brunch. She just cut you off, how dare that Karen do that. And aggression takes over not ten minutes after you swore your life was changed by the powerful Word you’d just heard. We’re human. That’s the long and short of it.

Perhaps a better illustration is needed. For those of you who haven’t read my testimony, I’ll try to summarize. I have been hurt by the church kindof a lot. I seem to attract these holier than thou people who feel compelled to “save” my heathen soul. It’s funny now, but it wasn’t then. Not at all. I was told in front of about 40 other teens that I would sit in Jesus’ electric chair and he would laugh while I burned. A few years later, I was told I’m not Godly enough (I don’t really know what that means, not that I know what Jesus’ electric chair is either). And most recently I was told the school I sent my daughter to wasn’t Christian enough and that I was making a mistake. Cue the well who do you think you are talk.

Never in my life had I been part of a church community. People talked about loving church, but I couldn’t imagine it. I seem to attract the worst people in the church. It’s uncanny. It’s probably because I’m terrible but whatever. LOL.

Until. I met a woman at my daughter’s baby music class. She was different than me. She was very nice, and I wanted to be her friend. But she kept inviting me to a Bible study with her. I didn’t have a church home then, nor had I been to a Bible study before. So when she pushed, I was like whoa, slow your roll lady. Our kids play together, and I like you a lot, but I don’t need saving. I’m good. The memories of being told I was going to hell in front of a strange youth group came back, and I was OUT. Hard pass crazy Christian lady. After literally eighteen months of badgering, I relented. You have to admire her persistence. And the first year of the study was good. In fact, I got my inspiration for one of my trilogies from it. The second year wasn’t as good. The ladies talked about how one of their daughters told a friend she was going to hell because she didn’t believe, and they straight up laughed. I was soooo uncomfortable. Later the leader called me and asked me what was up because I’d stopped coming, and I was honest with her. I told her that was me. I was the one they were all laughing at. And I failed to see how someone going to hell was funny. It just didn’t sit right. She was crushed, and asked me to come back. I didn’t that year. I probably should’ve, but I didn’t. The next year was when I was told the school I was sending Grace to wasn’t Christian enough, and I knew that particular study had served its purpose, and it was past time to move on. I still had my friend. And that’s what mattered.

It was the first time the church hurt me, and I didn’t run from it at large. I moved simply moved on. (Cue fanfare for my growth! WOO!)

Fast forward, and I started my own study with some very dear friends. Women who offer a safe space to ask outlandish questions, of which I have many. They’ll tell you. And they don’t act tired of answering them, and for that I’m grateful. Is there still hurt? Of course there is. It’s a group of women that meets weekly. What do you expect? Women are the worst! But also, women are the best. And real, godly women forgive quickly.

There’s Always Room to Grow

Does that mean I’m a real godly woman? BAHAHA. No. I can hold a grudge with the best of them. Especially if you hurt one of the women in my group. I told you I was good with a knife on Call of Duty right? Don’t make me feel stabby.

All that means is there’s room for growth. A lot of room for growth. Someone who hurt you at church is telling you something. Which I know is ridiculous to try and remember in the moment, but stay with me. Maybe they’re saying that church (or Bible study) isn’t for you, and they just pointed that out. Thank them and move on. Take it to the next level by praying for them while you’re at it. I haven’t beaten the level I’m on yet, so I can’t comment on that particular next level, but I will cheer you on when you get there for sure!

You know what, maybe they’re hurt. Maybe you remind them of a sibling that made poor choices, and they don’t want to be hurt again, so they push you away. Maybe it’s something else entirely. It doesn’t really matter. The only thing that does matter is your reaction to it.

It took me decades to move past my church hurt, and find a place where I feel welcome and almost excited to go. So you won’t get judgement from me if you’re in that place where you’ve written off church completely. Been there. It’s cool.

Bottom line is to move out of that space eventually. God tells us to be in community with each other (Psalm 133:1 among others). You can’t do that if you hate the church. Sorry. I tried it. And you are welcome to as well. Let me know how it goes for you! That wasn’t supposed to be snarky. I really do want to know.

Consider starting small. A four-person bible study. Or even an online study where you don’t have to see anyone at all.  I know Bob Goff is doing one in April on his new book Dream Big. There are tons out there. That’ll help you get back in the word, and hear what others are going through. It’s a baby step toward community.

Once you’re comfortable, stretch yourself. Find a church. And don’t get discouraged if you don’t enjoy the first one. Don’t be like, well I tried, but they were speaking in tongues and doing other stuff that made me super uncomfortable so I’m out. Nope. Keep looking. Find a place you can be excited about. It’s out there, I promise. Man we must have gone to thirty churches before I found one I liked. And liked might be generous for the first few months. Tolerated is better. My husband could be comfortable just about anywhere because his expectations of the church are different. He was raised in that “church” culture. He doesn’t hang so much on it like I did/do. And if that’s you, kudos! All I’m trying to say is there are a lot of churches. If you keep looking, you’ll find some friendly faces, I promise.

And when you do find a place, manage your expectations. Church is full of hurt people, as it should be. Keep that in mind as you venture forth. And, should you get comfortable, so comfortable in fact that you hurt someone, remember who you were, and fix it. Please. Don’t make the person you hurt be the more mature Christian. Cuz that ain’t cool.

Both sides of the hurt cycle can, and should, stop with you. And if you think you don’t have the strength to do it, you’re right! LOL. Jesus does though. Tag Him in, and watch what He can do. You won’t regret it. Get excited about the amazing people He’s about to bring into your life. Because I gotta say, my people are pretty great, and were worth the journey to find them. And you need to find your own. I’m not sharing mine.

*If you’ve been hurt, let me apologize. I’ve been there, and I’m deeply sorry you’re there too. You don’t deserve it. Your feelings are valid. Let’s talk about it. Reach out to me. I want to help without agenda.*

Today is Palm Sunday! A day when Jesus triumphantly returned to Jerusalem and the people rejoiced. They proclaimed “Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord” (Luke 19:38). They were so excited! And why wouldn’t they be? They had huge expectations for their King.

But their expectations didn’t line up with what Jesus had planned. And in less than a week, they hung Him out to dry for it. Literally. Could we be any more human? LOL It’s like they were all Good Cop/Bad Cop from the Lego Movie. Sweet and helpful one minute, and 1000% Bad Cop the next.

Problem is, they’d waited so long for their salvation to come, they’d built up what they thought it would be. They had so many rules for their heavenly salvation, they had no idea that was in jeopardy. They weren’t looking for a spiritual savior. They were looking for a worldly savior. A Messiah who would save them from their earthly troubles. But Jesus doesn’t ever promise this world will be without troubles. In fact, He says quite the opposite (John 16:3).

I’ve talked about Expectation before, how it is the killer of all things, especially relationships. But this is shifting sand, isn’t it? Because we are told to pray expectantly, aren’t we? That we’ll never see a miracle if we aren’t looking for it. So…what gives, Jesus?

These people prayed for a savior, You showed up, how could they NOT rejoice? The problem isn’t in their rejoicing though. It’s in their devastation as the week went on. As He didn’t do what they decided He should.

Whew. Been there. I’ve railed at Jesus more times than I can count. I’m a bit bratty by nature. I can own that. I’m also pretty transparent. If I don’t like something you’re doing, you’ll know about it pretty quickly. I’m the same with Jesus. I have no problem telling Him to straighten up and fly right because this situation blows. I think He takes it in stride.

2020 was filled with unmet expectation, wasn’t it? My husband was slated to upgrade in October of 2020. It meant our debt would be paid off by January 2021, and we could have a down payment for a larger home saved up by 2022. Then, COVID-19 hit, and he was off for 8 months. All prospects of upgrade were out the window, and instead of paying off our debt, it grew exponentially. It was pretty disappointing to be honest. 2020 dawned with possibilities, and each one of them was crushed under the ugly foot of the Rona.

But, in all the let downs, we have a lot to be grateful for from 2020. Dan didn’t lose his job (which was a distinct possibility for about 6 months, thanks Rona no one likes you). Dan was home more than he ever has been, and he got to be part of moments like Grace learning to ride her bike on two wheels, and Night Shift – a weekly field trip he and Grace took after dark to search for creatures, and card games, and virtual school (Lord Jesus, please do not ever bring virtual school upon our heads again, we learned to be grateful for regular school I promise), and bedtime, and all the small moments. It was so wonderful, I was sad when he went back to work in January. Except for the whole we need money thing. Ya know. That. It was nice to have another set of hands.  It was even nicer to have someone to go through all that with. Someone who was home.

Look how gracious I make myself look. Like all of 2020 I appreciated having my husband home, and it was sunshine and roses, and we barely noticed when his upgrade didn’t come. BAHAHA. ::wipes tear:: Oh, I kill myself. No, we panicked. There were days we were so untrusting of Jesus, we looked for work. Jesus made promises to prosper us and not to harm us, just like He did to the people in Jerusalem, and they didn’t trust Him to keep them, so they turned their backs on Him.

I can relate to this in a big way. Everyone loves to judge the people of Jerusalem. But I get it. I feel you guys. Unmet expectations are a tough pill to swallow. And Lord knows I don’t do it gracefully. I choke, and gasp, and rage, and claw. But it never does any good. My reaction doesn’t change my circumstance. And neither did theirs.

They remained persecuted by Rome, AND murdered Jesus. Talk about a bad day. This is like Suez Canal messed up.

The only thing that does change, is my peace. On the odd occasion when I have calmly accepted a course correction, as my husband would call it, it’s been amazing. A non-event really. A moment in my life that wasn’t laser focused on the chaos, but instead the joyful moments of the every day. It’s restorative. But it isn’t natural for me. So I work at it. All the dang time. It’s hard work, but in the one day out of 365 I get it right, it’s so worth it. I go to bed without laying awake worrying, and for me, that’s a massive win all by itself.

So, on this Palm Sunday, I choose joy. But not because I expect Jesus to solve all my problems. Because He solved the biggest problem.

So, I’m feeling a bit adrift. Anyone else? It’s Lent. I should be super connected to Jesus, and understand His purpose for me, right? LOL. Maybe. But I don’t.

See, I wrote this book last year that I wanted to publish. I took it to a women’s writing conference. Presented it. But rather than discuss the book, we talked about my social media presence, and how if I wanted to sell it, I had to up my numbers. And that kinda burst my bubble a bit. Because I am very concerned about the book, its content, and whether or not I’m saying the right thing. That’s what I wanted to talk about. I don’t care about my social media presence. Obviously, based on how inconsistent I am LOL. I care about not driving someone away from Jesus by being too crass.

So, my book sat. And sat. And I did nothing with it. Then, I joined Compel, a writing group for Christian writers, mostly women, hoping to find a mentor. Someone to guide me. But I haven’t found that. I’ve found courses about publishing, which I already have a pretty firm handle on, and encouraging posts on Facebook, but that’s about it.

In desperation, I emailed another author and radio personality that I respect deeply. I poorly crafted a letter asking her to take a look at my book. She hasn’t answered. Naturally. I didn’t expect her to, particularly after I thought of all the brilliant things I should have said after I hit send. But I’m left, well, adrift.

What do you do when you’re adrift? How do you find your mooring again? No, that wasn’t hypothetical. I’m legit asking LOL.

God’s people were seemingly left adrift multiple times in the Bible. They wandered in the wilderness for 40 years. Noah literally drifted for 40 days. (Coincidence in the numbers? You’d have to ask a scholar, which I am definitely not.)

And in hindsight, there’s a lesson to be gained from their wandering. That God was always with them. That though their faith waivered, God didn’t. He always had a purpose. And boy do I long to know what that is in the moment.

Yeah, I have attitude with God just like this. I get you, Simon.

I’m like Simon, in The Chosen. Have you guys watched that? Amazing show. But, like Simon, I have no chill. I want to be in on everything. I want to help. I want to get my hands dirty right here, right now. And when things don’t go well, there’s that no chill again. So maybe this season is about learning to chill. But, to my credit, I have been doing that since October so…

Lots of good Christian people (again, I don’t pretend to call myself this) will say if you’re close to Jesus, you are never lost. He is with you. He leaves the 99 to chase you. But what happens to the 99 while He’s doing that?

Because I haven’t wandered away from Him. I’m still here. But it seems like He’s gone silent with what He wants from me. A way has not been made. I’ve asked for help, and none has come. So now what? Abandon the project completely? I don’t love that idea. Publish it on my own, blindly, without the guidance of someone wiser, who’s been through it before? Don’t love that either. There’s too much at stake. It isn’t like when I published fiction and learned from my mistakes. Mistakes here could have a rather lasting impact.

So, this is what I’m doing. I’m whining online because I don’t know what else to do. I’m not one of those people that hears the voice of God guiding me. In fact, I don’t feel His peace when I pray. I’m a very anxious person. There is always something to worry about, can I get an amen from my fellow anxiety folks? LOL. No, maybe not. That’s probably blasphemy of some kind.

That’s not to say I don’t see His blessings everywhere. When the person in front of me is texting and driving and crosses over the center line, completely into oncoming traffic, and doesn’t get hit, I thank Jesus loudly. (Guys, don’t text and drive. That happened in town, not on the highway. With two different cars. It would’ve been bad. God is good.) When I see my daughter joyfully nailing a new dive, I thank God for her coach, and the team that helped her find her passion. When I’m snuggling with my dog, I thank God for him, because our other two are gone and I miss them terribly which makes me even more grateful for the time I have with Nacho.

And why isn’t that enough? That’s a great question, let’s go to commercial. Whew, so glad I didn’t have to answer tha—oh you’re still here. Gratitude is enough. Or, it should be. But I’m needy. Are you? And right now, it isn’t what I think I need. I’d like some firm direction. A clear command. Those people who get clear commands and disobey, I want to shake you. YOU GOT CLEAR DIRECTION! Like Jonah. Dude. Man up and just go to Nineveh. Make it work! But alas, that’s not who we humans are.

I know I need help with this project. I felt called to write the book, and now I need help bringing it to life. I don’t know about you, but I hate asking for help. Seems like when I do, I can easily feel like a burden, even if that wasn’t at ALL intended. Because I hate needing help. It makes me feel weak. But we were never meant to be solitary. And in fact, when I took that spiritual gifts test, mine is the gift of helps. I LOVE helping others. So why is it hard to ask for help? Because I’m weird. LOL. Because I’m controlling, and when I need help, I’m declaring I’m not in control. I can own that. Sound familiar?

We are to “carry each other’s burdens,” Galatians 6:2. That doesn’t mean I carry mine, and yours. It means we share. I don’t love this idea. Why would you share with me once you’ve seen my weaknesses?

Because, we’re the same. Because together, we are stronger. Because we are to “outdo one another with showing honor,” Romans 12:10. And I do love a good competition. But in order to get my turn at the game, I have to let you help.

So, I’m learning to receive. I’m bad at it. But when I ask for help and none comes, I despair. And I’m working on that too.

What do you need help with? Do you find it hard to ask for help? Is there something I can do? Distract me from my own waywardness, won’t you? LOL.

Excuse me, Stephanie. I don’t know about you, but I am not on a first-name basis with the enemy thank you very much. Ok, before you get your good Christian panties in a wad, let’s talk about this.

The devil would never call you by your name. He calls you by your sins.

The other day in church, my pastor mentioned something in passing that wasn’t even part of the main message, but I got stuck on it. He said the devil would never call you by your name. He calls you by your sins. The things you are most ashamed of. Until they become your identity.

Immediately I was like, what? No way. I’m not answering to my sins. But think about it. Addict. Adulterer. Gambler. Liar. Alcoholic.

Labels some people wear like armor. Shields against the things life throws at you. Or maybe a disguise. Camouflage so you can hide in plain sight. We cover ourselves in these words so people know what to expect from us. I’m a mother. I’m a writer. I’m a wife. I’m a Christian. I’m funny. I’m unyielding. I’m resentful. I’m short. Pile them on, one after another until people no longer have to decide for themselves who you are. You’ve already told them. And not one of them is I. Am. Loved.

Because, while I know that’s true, it’s an afterthought. Something so obvious I don’t think about it. I think more about how I hate what I said to my daughter the other night, and how those harsh words might shape her. I. Am. Loved. Sure, but what about how I flipped that guy off who cut in front of me? Geeze that was dumb. Which quickly becomes I’m dumb. And now the enemy is talking again. I. Am. Loved. And every time I hear it, there’s another argument against it. Why am I arguing with God? LOL that’s a whole nother discussion. And yes, a whole nother is a completely acceptable term. Why am I so certain He’s mistaken, and I know better? Do I trust Him? (No. Not always. Sinful. Remember?) And the enemy sees this. And enjoys using it.

Here’s the thing about these labels the enemy calls you. They’re true. (Ouch). Which is why he says them with a smile when he whispers them in the night. When he yells them at you while you sit in a ball on the shower floor with your hands over your face. When he says them over and over and over while you walk to work, make dinner, work out.

It’s why it works. It’s why you turn towards him when he calls. But you know what you’re really doing when that happens? Turning away from Jesus. The one who loves you. See, they both know you. Which is why the enemy is so good at getting you to get your eyes off Jesus. They both care about what happens to your soul. But only one wants what’s best for you. And the other wants what’s best for him. Do you know the difference in their voices?

One is maddeningly quiet, the other maddeningly loud. One will help you heal, the other wants you to live in your pain. One uses conviction, the other uses guilt.

See, the problem with labels we wear, is they become our identity. Even Christian can be used as a weapon of the enemy. How can you call yourself a Christian when you just gossiped about that woman? When you just passed by that homeless person with a sneer? When you aborted your baby? When you voted for this candidate, or that one? See how slippery this slope gets? Didn’t take me long did it?

The only label you can safely wear, is love. You are loved. Don’t believe me? Open your Bible.

Romans 8:35-39Ephesians 8:18-19Psalm 36: 5-71 John 3:1Romans 5:8Proverbs 3:11-12Psalm 31:7Lamentations 3:20-23

The Bible tells you this over and over again (these verses are just a few examples, there are hundreds about God’s love for His people), because God knows we are forgetful. We are insecure. Easily swayed away from Him, and the warmth of His love.

The enemy is cunning. And when he doesn’t lie to us, it’s even more difficult not to listen.

But, it’s important to remember, God would not hurt us. Conviction is different from guilt. Read that again. I’ll wait. Got it? I know I’ve talked about this before, but when labels are involved it’s important to circle back to this. Conviction is a healthy reminder that growth is needed. Guilt is pain and sorrow. Nothing more, nothing less. It isn’t meant to better you, or anyone around you. It is meant to capture you. To keep you where you are, and keep your eyes on your sin, instead of Jesus.

I think that’s the best way to tell who’s talking to you. Listen, I’m not one of those blessed people who hears the voice of God. I can pretty much tell who’s talking to me when I start spiraling into my dungeon of doom. But, even still, it can be helpful to stop the spiral, to get up off the shower floor, if you realize it. If you make a conscious effort to question your thoughts, rather than just listen to them and believe the labels. Take every thought captive as Paul says. (2 Cor 10:5). Want to know more about this, how Paul does it, and if it works? Check out Jennie Allen’s book Get Out of Your Head. A must read for spiralers like me.

Basically, anything that doesn’t hold up to the promises of God, isn’t from Him. Simple as that. While you may be an addict, if you are wallowing in shame about it, that’s the devil wanting to keep you there. The things of your past, are nothing more than that. Grow from them. Use them to show God’s love to others in this hurting world. Show people the difference between guilt and conviction. Most importantly, shed your labels, even if you wear them with pride. You answer to one name, and one name only. Loved.

Something new, something old!

I am so excited to announce I have two new novellas (25,000 words each), written within the world of Unseen AND USA Today Bestselling author Karpov Kinrade’s Vampire Girl!!

It was so much fun to write within the world of Unseen again.  I know a lot of my readers have been clamoring for a long time for me to write more within that world. When Karpov Kinrade approached me about taking part in a Kindle Worlds project, I thought it would be a perfect opportunity to reenter the world of Unseen. This time, I got to add supernatural characters to the mix — Vampires, anyone?  If you’re familiar with my writing, you know I haven’t written vampire stories before.  This added a fun and unique opportunity for me!

Both Unknown and Unbroken are now available and I’d love to have you read them for me and let me know what you think!

Special thanks to Karpov Kinrade for the invitation and Kindle Worlds for publishing these fantastic stories!!

Unknown | Unbroken

Dragged deep into the depths of the unknown

Mia Day has lived among the Unseen her whole life. Her mother is the most famous mind reader who has ever lived, but Mia is special in her own right. She’s the only telekinetic in the department’s existence.

But that doesn’t help when her best friend Violet goes missing and two mysterious men Mia is unable to read show up. The situation unravels quickly when the men turn their attention to her. Despite her best efforts, she is dragged deep into the depths of the unknown.

     

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