One Word 365: In Which I Intimately Understand Rejoicing

I thought we had turned the corner on that first brilliantly sunny day of the new year. 

I thought surely God had given me the word rejoice for my yearly word just a day before for wonderfully obvious reasons.

On that New Year's Day, I was feeling remarkably better than I had in years. Just a few weeks prior, I had let go of a really toxic relationship and the guilt that accompanied it was replaced by peace. And on that first day of the new year, we discovered I was carrying our long-desired baby after having had our hearts broken by two miscarriages.

I wasn't naive enough to think the year would be without challenges. I knew adding a baby to the family would bring trials in itself

But I thought I really understood why God had given me that word, rejoice. Because, indeed, there was a lot to rejoice about. And a new baby would naturally have us rejoicing.

When we lost the third baby just shy of 12 weeks into pregnancy I just couldn't understand why God had given me that word.

I honestly thought that the birth of our little one was a central reason for our rejoicing. 

And it has been -- just not in ways I could have ever dreamed.

The day I birthed our tiny baby into my hands, I had to make a decision. 

I could sink under the heavy weight of grief. I could swim against the relentlessly smashing waves of sorrow and anxiety.

Or I could throw my hands up and cry out for rescue.

I threw my hands up, wildly waving them that day, asking Jesus himself to pull me out of the storm. 

And almost every day since, I've thrown my hands into the air in still-surrender.

It's looked nothing like a sweet surrender and everything like a flagging down of the mother ship. 

During the first few months of the storm especially, I  angsted over and lamented the darkness overhead.  As I was pulled through those days, a small boat tethered to the Rescue Ship, I was tempted to sever myself and just sink into the angry waters.

And on those days I felt the rope become increasingly taut ... until I actually found the rope had given way to being in the arms of the Rescuer. 

I asked Him who He was. Really. Who was this Rescuer who came in my distress? And what was His heart for me,  He who could have just as easily quieted the wind and waves. 

He who instead He stilled me. 

Over and over He spoke that verse about being still and knowing he was God to my heart in ways I couldn't understand until I finally began letting go of the busy, the expectations, letting the noise and other voices around me fade.

Have you ever tried to rescue someone who thought they were drowning? I have. My oldest son has been extremely cautious of water his whole life. He once went in over his head and when I got to him his thrashing, his movement made it all the more difficult for him to realize I had him and he was safe.

It wasn't until I began coming before Him in silence that I really began to relax and clearly see I was safe in His arms.

In those long stretched out days of silence and stillness, He began revealing himself to me in more intimate ways than I had ever known. I began entering into times of conversation, where I could hear His heart for me. At first it was harder to distinguish, but the more time I spent listening, the more I recognized it as clearly as I could hear my boys calling me from the opposite end of a busy park.

When I began hearing His voice regularly, and it always lines up with the Word I'll add, I began hearing His heart for me. He called me daughter clearly one evening as I drove home beneath blue skies and puffy pink clouds after a therapy session. 

After I realized the storm I'd been in was a product of sifting from the king of lies, I asked Him to call me by my new name just as he had done for Simon when he renamed him Peter after denying Christ three times.

And he called me His lovely bride. I wrote down the truths that communicated about both me and also Jesus.

In this I realized I am valuable and loved, worthwhile and captivating while He is everything I've ever dreamed the most ideal husband to be: strong and patient, valiant and just, loving and merciful. 

And I realized it beyond the song and dance I've known. 

I realized it intimately and deeply, like I was truly hearing the lyrics to parts of the song I'd always just hummed over but enjoyed before. 

There's more. Because with Him, there is always more but theres only so much time to write today. 

The clouds seem like they are breaking apart now. The sun keeps poking out and streaming through these days. Not only is my body healing from the stress and regaining the physical balance that began faultering after the miscarriage; my heart and my mind and even our marriage has also been getting healthier, stronger.

Healing has been slow but drenching. 

That, indeed, is a reason to rejoice. 

Seven months ago at the start of the year I would have thought that our word for the year was finally holding true.

And it is. 

But for reasons I never expected.

I rejoice today because the Rescuer of the storms is far more complex and personable than what I ever knew or understood

And His heart for me goes far deeper than any depths I could sink.

 

Bigger Picture Moments: Consider this Strength Shared

"Simon, Simon, Satan has asked to sift you like wheat. But I have prayed for you, Simon, that your faith may not fail. And when you have turned back, strengthen your brothers." Luke 22:31-32 

Grief has this way of making everything that was once black and white seem like a million shades of grey.

And grief upon grief upon grief has a way of making you question if colors even exist at all.

After we lost our baby in March, I fell into a deep funk I haven't been able to explain. The kind where I've questioned knowing even the most basic tenants of my own heart -- up versus down, the goodness of God, who I really am

and the most basic principles of the world I've known for the past almost eight years since marrying John -- am I really safe, what is solid ground anyway, on what am I standing?

People have asked me how I'm doing, and I just haven't had an answer other than "better every week."

Which has mostly been true.

Have you ever stood in front of the mirror and found yourself wondering who is staring back? Or into the eyes of those who know you best as they search your face for a even a glimmer of who you once were?

I know these long looks too well, and my family knows them, too.

And none of us, myself included, could put it into words what was happening. I haven't known how to describe it until just a few days ago when I read the verse above in a book a good friend reminded me to read. As I delved into the pages of Sifted by Rick Lawrence and he dove into those two small but mighty verses in Luke, I began to understand that this funk I've been perpetually stuck in since late March hasn't been just a funk.

It's been a sifting.

I've pretty much found myself shaken apart in more ways than I thought I could be shaken.

Lawrence describes sifting like this:

"It's the violent process of separating the useful from the unnecessary -- the crushing and sorting of something whole for the purpose of isolating its nourishing core from the trappings that guard it."

Well, um. yes. It's been scary. I've questioned God's goodness. I've wondered who I am. I've struggled to trust and even speak faithful words let alone live faith out.

During the past few months, I've been having to relearn what it means to hear the voice of Life whispering in my ear versus hearing the voice of lies echo throughout my mind. I've had my thoughts, my beliefs sifted.

I've cried out to God so often for Him to deliver me, to bring me back to my old self. 

And I've wondered why. Why, God, could I feel you here with me, whispering Life and Grace and Love into my ears but still not feel restored back to my normal self? Why did I still feel like a playing piece in a chess game who had been strategically moved into intense battle?

A few nights ago the answer I'd been searching for all but dropped into my lap when I read these words, a love letter to my heart.

"The point of our lives is not the pain -- we are not the pawns of a capricious deity or the collateral damage of an ancient metaphysical feud. We are prisoners -- freedom is our only hope and sifting is its currency."

I have been living life in various captivities -- entangled in fear and worry, enslaved to health and body and bound to what ifs and should haves.

The reason why I could feel God walking beside me through violence of this sifting and hear Him whispering truths to my heart all while feeling like I was being sifted to my very core has more to do with His heart for me to live in freedom than it has to do with the restoration of life as I once knew it.

God doesn't want to restore me to the person I was before the sifting began because then I would still be living entangled and enslaved.

And if the currency for freedom is sifting, then my heart has had to be sifted because God's heart for us is always freedom. And it's always truth. And it's always love. 

And

"God wants nothing to do with cheap imitations of love, and He recognizes {as we most often do not} that there are far worse things that can happen to us than the pain we fear so deeply."

Through this sifting, I've discovered more of God's heart for me. I've asked Him to call me by name, and explain to me who I really have been created to be.

Repeatedly, He's called me by name. First Hyacynth. Then Daughter. Then Lovely Bride, each displaying a deeper and deeper intimacy that I wouldn't have otherwise sought and known.

The seasons of hard suck. The pain hurts like hell. The colors have been dulled and faded. The grief has been heavy and pressing and almost crushing feeling.

And there's no 'but' that will follow that.

There's only an 'and'

an 'and' that says Jesus is there in it with us, calling us by name, showing us that we are more than who we once were, praying for us to persevere in our faith and making us into something new after some of the old scrap has been sifted away.

He's there painting over the gray, reviving the colors and reviving our hearts.

One Word 365: Off Balance {On Rejoicing}

There's this off-balance feeling that's been floating around inside my body since a few weeks after the miscarriage.

The irony is thick.

Life has been off balance in general and this physical manifestation of the feeling seems to be a reminder to continually reorder my mind's priorities and our life priorities, too. As badly as I want my life ordered right, I want my physical body in balance, too.

I want to be able to stand tall and walk straight without feeling like I'm on a slightly wavy sea boat; this desire for normalcy in all the facets of life keeps my mind spinning with thoughts -- how do I make it all normal?

Frustration mounts tenfold when despite numerous doctors' visits, everyone says everything looks normal despite my not feeling normal. You know, I'm glad it's all normal, but ... that leaves me feeling like a detective who's been constantly searching for clues and trying to put all of the pieces together. It's been taking up a good bulk of my thought life and even conversation with John and, of course, time spent at the doctors.

A few weekends ago when I visited Michelle, I'd been mulling over taking on a fast but hadn't thought of anything that seemed appropriate. We found my much-needed fast through conversations about our meager attempts at controlling our lives ...  for me, I knew I needed to abstain from reading health-related articles, books, posts, papers, etc for 30 days. For the past 20 days, I've been avoiding overloading my brain with all of this information ... and I simply cannot believe how much health information I've been consuming daily.

When something other than Christ's way of life becomes the focus, it's no wonder everything feels off balance.

After that clicked I realized I'd been clenching my fists trying to grasp control of the wrong things -- I cannot control how quickly my body rebalances no matter how much I read about the workings of the body, but I can through His strength control the thoughts that come through my mind.

Because while God gives our bodies the awesome ability to heal and we can do our parts in treating them the way {I think} He intended -- rooted in the rhythms of creation {more on this later} -- He has given me the ability to take all thoughts captive to Christ.

He has given me the choice to think on all things pure, right, noble, lovely, true, excellent, praiseworthy {Philippians 4:4-6}.

He has given me a choice to rejoice even when life seems anything but joyful.

I've sat in these thoughts for weeks now asking myself why He would command us to take captive our thoughts, think on what is true and right and lovely and rejoice always. Why is there so much more in the Bible about caring for our minds and hearts?

And what I've come back to is the thought that so often our bodies go the way of our minds.

So often our thoughts are what really lead us to the fullness of life.

Slowly, daily

I surrender at least some of my thoughts to Christ's way.

Slowly, daily

I try to make the choice to rejoice

at least some of hours I spend awake.

And slowly, daily,

balance, beyond the physical, restores. 

Life After Miscarriage: Seeking and Stuffing

No matter what it seems beforehand, there are no answers to be found half way through a container of ice cream, no matter how far the digging.

It didn't stop me from trying, though, last night after my heart felt like it dropped from its rightful place in my chest and onto the floor, a weeping mess of angry tears following closely.

This week I had to schedule an ultrasound for next week  -- part of post-operation check up -- and that was pretty much the last clipping of the final string from which my weeping heart had been hanging.

This week, I should have have been nearing 20 weeks of pregnancy.

This week, we should have been taking a longer glimpse during an ultrasound to find out whether the baby was a boy or girl ... not staring into the empty open space of my baby's former home.

I've never said "should" before because I've been busy clinging tightly to the thought that only what should happen happens.

It's not true.

Mothers aren't supposed to lose their babies to death before their babies are born.

Babies aren't supposed to die.

Bodies aren't supposed to go wonky after giving birth or ever.

Mothers shouldn't have post-partum depression ever let alone after miscarriages.

Bombs aren't supposed to go off at marathon finish lines and claim little lives and sever limbs and leave people fighting for their lives.

Earthquakes aren't supposed to shake the ground on which we're standing until we fall to our knees wondering if solid ground is a myth we've taken as truth our whole lives.

This world, these people, this very heart -- it's not supposed to be broken; it wasn't meant to be that way.

And I'm angry.

I'm angry that deception ever had the opportunity to slither into our hearts.

I'm angry that we ever bit off more than we could chew of the most tempting and destructive of fruits.

I'm angry that my heart falls off its strings when I feel like I'm being battered from every direction, an unlucky piñata at the hands of a most strategic and skilled batter and that I pick up a box of ice cream and go digging for answers there

when my heart knows that where I'm digging just melts and gives way.

I cried and yelled and swore Friday night, my husband sitting next to me in bed, listening to me list my grievances; he listened carefully, looked me in the eye, anger blazing bright and told me what I need to hear:

"You're right. It's not supposed to be this way."

He didn't tell me to pray harder.

Or read more of my Bible.

Or seek Jesus better.

Or stop crying and just have more faith

So I raged on until the storm inside quieted for the night.

But I woke with it raging again yesterday and a little today, and it started to dawn on me that I think I skipped this part of the grieving process -- the letting myself feel and express and say and voice my outrage before I accepted the calm that seemed to come so quickly and easily in just recognizing that God is God {and I am not}.

So by the time I had pizza and wine and conversation with my brain twin Saturday afternoon, I was ready for the words I didn't know she'd share.

"It's OK to be angry. It's OK to be pissed off. What happened sucks."

I like peace. I crave calm. I mean, I felt like the word "rejoice" was my word for this year. I want for joy and gratitude and I long to live in those spaces and places, and I think I longed for those so much during the turmoil of finding out about our baby having died and giving birth and then having an emergency d and c that I began seeking that calm and peace and joy and gratitude before I ever expressed the other emotions that come

when something happens to that heart that the heart was never intended to bear.

In seeking, I stuffed down deep inside me the grief that needed to escape so I could move forward.

So I'm letting it all unravel, slowly and trusting that in the meantime

His grace is and will be sufficient to carry me through the day-by-days that seem so daunting right now.

Pregnancy: 11 Weeks

I feel like a bad pop song lately.

I'm hot then I'm cold, yes then no, up and then down, in and then out.

You get the picture.

There are mornings when it feels like my body is starting to make the slow switch toward feeling better, but then I have days like Thursday and Friday where I'm crying on the couch and the thought of food makes me want to gag; and, thus, I'm reminded I've still got a few more weeks before I level out, if this pregnancy follows the other two.

My body has been craving fats lately, so with the green light on some food sensitivity tests to reintroduce dairy back into my diet, I carefully dove into indulging in full-cream ice creams while on vacation in Florida ... but now this week, after three weeks of eating dairy, I'm pretty certain I need to cut it out again. The tough part is that I'm really limited on easy, non-dairy fats because more than it dislikes dairy, my body really abhors coconuts {thankfully, coconut oil is ok} and avocados of all things. Super bummer.

I keep telling myself when I feel better, I'll jump into the world of making my own almond milk and almond ice cream, but every time I head for the kitchen to create I collapse in a winded pity party of exhaustion.

Actually, every time I head to the kitchen to do any sort of meal prep, I am deterred by the reality of tiredness and a plethora of food and smell aversions.

If I sound complainy, I'm not coming off right. I'm so thankful for this opportunity to be carrying our long-desired third {fourth? fifth? I don't know what number to call this one.} baby. Like really. Beyond thankful. It's just like with every other life change and blessing, there comes trial. This is my trial -- feeding my family and myself well while being really limited in the cooking and baking department.

The other trial I face daily is to adhere to my life verse and my word for the year -- rejoice.

My life verse is Philippians 4:4-9

"Rejoice in the Lord always! Again, I say rejoice! Let your gentleness be apparent to all. The Lord is near.
Do not be anxious about anything. Instead in prayer and petition and with thanksgiving make your requests known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.
Finally, 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. Whatever you have learned or received or heard from me, or seen in me—put it into practice. And the God of peace will be with you."

It's a tall order, isn't it?

To rejoice always {nauseas, exhausted, nervous}.

To not be anxious.

To think only on what is true, pure, lovely.

But the promise of the order -- peace that surpasses all understanding -- is an incredible one.

One that energizes me to take my thoughts and shape them toward my God who is good. One that inspires me to abandon the what-if thinking of worry and embrace instead prayer and petition and thanksgiving.

One that makes rejoicing possible in the midst of waiting.

Waiting.

Today, I woke up snuggled next to a small body who began began getting ill around 4 a.m. I've been next to him in bed ever since, tending to his needs and trying to give him comfort.

John and I were scheduled to go in to my midwife's office so we could try and pick up the baby's heartbeat via doppler; we've yet to see or hear it.

That won't be happening today, though. Not with my sick little one needing mommy and daddy.

Waiting.

We continue to wait

in patience

in gratitude

in trust.

There is peace in that but that's pretty much been a hallmark of this entire pregnancy --waiting,

I knew this was going to be a growing time in the most physical sense of the word. But I had no idea quite how stretching carrying a child after miscarriages would actually be.

Bigger Picture Moments: To Rejoice

I've cautiously celebrated the new blessing I'm carrying in my body.

But fear has restrained my excitement; it's been hard to live this year's word -- it's been hard to rejoice.

I speak carefully about the future because I know nothing is guaranteed.

Nothing except one thing: God's goodness. God's goodness doesn't waver.

"For the LORD is good and his love endures forever; his faithfulness continues through all generations." Psalm 100:5 

The past few weeks I've been muddling through what I say I believe and what I actually believe -- beliefs versus ideals, you could say. I say I believe in God's goodness no matter my circumstances.

And if that's true, I've asked myself, shouldn't I trust Him no matter my circumstance?

Shouldn't I rejoice right now without abandon because I trust in His goodness?

To rejoice is to trust in God's goodness no matter what happens -- simply just because God is good.

In these thoughts, I've been drawn to the fact that not only is He good and His goodness central to His character but that he's also a merciful Father who wants to love us well and give us good gifts.

“Which of you, if your son asks for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a snake? If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!" Matthew 7:9-11

I just have to trust Him.

And when I trust, my heart easily rejoices in His love.

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Five-Minute Friday: Opportunity

Yesterday I sat atop a long table in my midwife's bright office, bared my arm and gave a vial of blood for testing -- our meek human attempt at measuring the progress of the miracle of life freshly sown into my body.

{I'd give much more than a vial for you, little love, just so we're clear.}

There are options if my body is having a hard time supporting the huge need for progesterone -- something I struggled with when I was sick and lost two babies a year ago and a little more.

But I am healed {in more than one way}. And as I give blood I remember I have been bought with His.

So we're thankful, oh love, are we thankful.

And believing, love, oh, are we believing that we are just crossing Ts and dotting Is and that the Gardener has already taken care to sew this seed and He will sustain it -- that God has healed my body and given it the ability to conceive and nourish and grow through His power.

But, nonetheless, we are parents, and so we go and test and wait because we'd never want to neglect a little life, no matter how small, how tiny.

Today we have the opportunity

to wait well

and rejoice

or sit in fear and what if.

And today I choose

to wait well on test results

because I know what I'm really waiting on.

And He is mighty, able and good.

Thinking, That's All: Battle

They are snuggled up together on the couch watching tv when I leave the room to make breakfast.

By the time I crack egg number two and hear it sizzle in the pan, they are limbs tangled together in a mess of argument and movement.

It drives me crazy. But in all honesty, I'm not so different.

My boys tumble in and out of brotherhood all day long like I wrestle between faith and flesh from the moment I rise until I fall asleep.

I rejoice one moment in who God is and give thanks that He never changes.

And in the next breathe I succumb to fearful thoughts that drive me back to my knees, reminding myself again that the God in whom I have peace and faith and trust is more than worthy of each.

He is faithful and good and just. No matter what.

He will be good and faithful and just in 2013 just as He was good and faithful and just in 2012.

All day, lately especially, I wrestle back and forth reminding myself not to just read my life verse but live it.

"Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near.
Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.
Finally, brothers and sisters, 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. Whatever you have learned or received or heard from me, or seen in me—put it into practice. And the God of peace will be with you." Philippians 4:4-9 

I live in the tangles of flesh and faith and watch it unfold visibly in front of me and even through the craziness so I'm filled with love for these boys.

And I'm reminded that the Father, who is worthy of my rejoicing always, can handle me in my messiness.

I'm reminded that He loves me more than I love the boys who turbulently bounce back and forth between brotherly love and strife all day long.

And that my life is blessed simply because He loves me.

Rejoice: A Seedling Sown

I woke up to sunlight streaming in through our front windows on New Year's Day, bright and beautiful and warm.

And if I didn't know by the chill of cold feet and frost on the windows or date on the newly flipped calendar, I would have thought it summer by only looks.

But the ground is clearly frozen beneath a hard layer of snow and bright blue January skies and the tiniest of buds won't pop through the soil until March. And most of the harvest won't be reaped until late summer.

I can't see the harvest yet; I don't know what it will look like. But I know God is good, and I know harvest comes, and I know seasons change. He gives fruit in season.

On the first of January, the sun was a burning, blazing reminder that the day will come when warmth returns -- that the harvest season will come.

I woke up to sunlight streaming through our front windows on New Year's Day, bright and beautiful and warm

and two clearly pink lines coloring the white background of a pregnancy test, confirmation that a seed has been sown deep inside my body late this fall.

And on the first day of January, those pink lines coupled with the sun, shining and bright, sparkled in hope that the day will come when warmth returns -- that the harvest season will come.

A reminder that seed sown routinely results in fruit gathered from the soil

and

the womb.

So we rejoice!

We celebrate the Gardener; we celebrate the seed.

And we believe in the goodness of a Gardener

who gifts us fruit in season.

Beyond Resolutions: Rejoice! {#OneWord365}

For me, 2012 was particularly heavy.

{She types as she giggles at the use of the word heavy, recalling the famous "Back to the Future" line from Dr. Brown: "There's that word again. 'Heavy.' Why are things so heavy in the future? Is there a problem with the Earth's gravitational pull?"}

And I had a sneaking suspicion it would be at the end of 2011 when I felt the overwhelming conviction to pick the word patience as my word for 2012, though I desperately wanted to pick any other word that would signify light and fluffy.

{Also: no one picks "puppies and rainbows" as their word for the year, so there is that.}

At the end of 2012, though, I see how patience permeated our entire year:

Patience in Healing 

Patience in Waiting for a baby 

Patience in Mothering 

Patience with myself 

Patience with grief 

Patience in marriage

And though John joked with me that I'd have to own it again this year if I couldn't get a handle of waiting well, I knew that was NOT what God was whispering to me heart.

In fact, during the past week, I've known a lot of what God wasn't whispering to me, but I was having such a hard time nailing down which word He was speaking to my heart as I pondered peace, joy, abide and grace without really totally feeling any of them in my core.

It was only after two hours of quiet time today that my 2013 emerged.

And when it did -- goosebumps, friends. Goosebumps.

I was reading what has become my life verse in Philippians 4 out of The Message Bible when it struck me:

"Celebrate God all day, every day. I mean, revel in him! Make it as clear as you can to all you meet that you’re on their side, working with them and not against them. Help them see that the Master is about to arrive. He could show up any minute! Don’t fret or worry.  

Instead of worrying, pray. Let petitions and praises shape your worries into prayers, letting God know your concerns. Before you know it, a sense of God’s wholeness, everything coming together for good, will come and settle you down. It’s wonderful what happens when Christ displaces worry at the center of your life.  

Summing it all up, friends, I’d say you’ll do best by filling your minds and meditating on things true, noble, reputable, authentic, compelling, gracious—the best, not the worst; the beautiful, not the ugly; things to praise, not things to curse. Put into practice what you learned from me, what you heard and saw and realized. Do that, and God, who makes everything work together, will work you into his most excellent harmonies."

Celebrate. Revel.

Normally, in this life verse of mine, I key in on the part about not worrying but instead through praying and thanksgiving making my requests known to God.

And, honestly, I still love that part.

But this celebrate, this reveling stood out to me this read around.

So I started digging into the word and found rejoice, and I dug even deeper and found the greek word, chairos, translates closely to "calm cheer."

When I prayed and asked God what gift I could best give Him, my family and myself this coming year after a long, growing, character-building year, this word of rejoice, this "calm cheer" seemed perfect.

When I think of rejoice I think of joy wrapped in peace, hope and harmony.

And when I think of what I hope will fill our hearts and overflow from our lips in 2013, I can't think anything better than joy wrapped peace, hope and harmony -- in the good times and in the inevitable challenges. 

Welcome, 2013, I'm so glad you're here.

But even more-so, welcome, spirit of rejoicing; we're so glad you'll be joining us.

Visual prayer by Michelle. Contact her to do your word for 2013!

2012 Patience

2011 Being

I'm joining with a group of writers to go beyond making resolutions and instead picking a word to live by during the coming year!