Planting Seeds of Faith

I pulled my chartreuse wool sweater over my head, and started the car. It takes practically five minutes for my smallest to put his shoes on properly and just about the same amount of time for my windshield to defrost. We make it out the door just in the nick of time. I didn’t scream or yell at my kids , there was no panic attack on my part or my kids. We high five each other and blast my latest favorite praise song “In the Room” . The youngest walks into his class at school, the oldest and I head to Bible study where I’ll have some good adult discussion, and he will listen to an audio book while doing his 5th grade handwriting .

These days my mind is full and bursting. Hope is alive and well.

I can remember a time when it wasn’t. I remember days of darkness, night terrors, depression, grieving, wrestling with what felt like insanity, drastic weight gain and no matter what happened the scale would not go down.

But on the other side of it, I get why Proverbs says “ she laughs without fear of the future.” I used to be so perplexed by that part of Proverbs 31.

But, now? There’s a soft humor in looking back. A gentle giggle at the little “ Much Afraid “ that I was.

The one anchor that I can point to is my Savior.

Every other is just a small tool, but Jesus is the tool belt.

It wasn’t healthy supplements alone that got my body to start releasing her extra pounds she was hoarding. It wasn’t careful devotion and prayer checked off my to do list that cured my depression. It wasn’t “ doing all the right things”……. Although , doing “ the right things “ made an impact. No, the catalyst was a microscopic seed.

It started as a tiny little seed. A seed of faith that God IS who HE says He is.

Even when I couldn’t wrap my failing mental health around it , I had to decide that the God of the universe was right about every single thing. Right. Good. Loving. Friend of mine AND King of all eternity.

This seed of faith planted took me by surprise. As I reflect I realize that to be the “ good soil “ in the parable Jesus told, doesn’t mean that your life is perfect or without pain and suffering. No. To be good, receptive soil is to yield.

Yield to the way He picks the rocks out of my heart.

Yield to the churning as His Word plows through me and digs up ugly things hidden there.

Yield to the wedding. Letting God do whatever He has to , willingly makes us “ good soil “.

We are often so scared to hand over our entire being to the Lord. We laser focus on the precious things He might take away. Or we worry over the suffering we might experience.

But my friends, I promise you;

It is worth every valley of the shadow of death, to have Jesus by your side.

Who knows what kind of harvest I’ll see when the seeds planted during darkness have become mature? But, I can tell you this. There is value….. immense value in the planting, the growing and the harvest.

Wide Open Spaces

 Well, after a long absence on this space, there's a new beginning here.

Not on the horizon , but here , present in my life. God is the author of my life and He has turned the page. After 9 years as an army wife, we packed up our belongings and headed home. Home. A place to sink our roots down into. A place where we can actually dream and have vision for the future. A place to plant fruit trees. 

This post is several months in the making. As I lean into this new rhythm of life, I have waited for the words to come. I have always been a writer, and I knew that as soon as my brain would let me.. I would be able to capture the right words for this new chapter.

In the back ground of my mind, I hear the words to that country song "I Ain't Dead Yet", sung by Ashton Shepherd. 

My life's a lot different now. I've traded the neighborhoods, of military bases for five acres in a valley in Montana. Just down the road live my folks. My husband swapped a military uniform for a cowboy hat, facial hair, and I can't remember when his last haircut was. We do a lot of working together with my folks. Pop is the foreman of an incredible ranch that is just getting started. We are building a one of a kind family operated ranch where people can go and become educated in the subject of wild horses. My husband and I both are going through the certification process to be wild horse trainers. He's the top hand , and quickly becoming Pop's right hand man. My mother and I teach preschool,and homeschool my boys, and do the cooking. This kind of life requires everyone of us to pull together, and have each other's backs. 

I'm grateful for our time as a military family. Most of them were good years. We formed intense friendships with incredible people and I will cherish those forever.

But this life? This present? I wish I could convey the depth of peace, the height of inspiration, the satisfaction of accomplishment in a job well done .

It's not that ranch life is any better than military life, or that life is magically easier now as the wife of a veteran vs active duty. 

No my friend, all life is hard. We have to choose our hard.  If we are to survive life, and do so in a way that thrives, then we have to at some point adopt an attitude of appreciation for the present.

Many times I look back and realize, I wasted years of my life obsessing over the "next thing". This new season is full of beginning. Each day another board is hammered into place, a new building is worked on, and inch by inch progress is made. If we obsess over the end result then we will never appreciate the journey. And we truly have to trust God that His timing is perfect. 

He brought me to this place for this season, and with open heart and hands, I gratefully enjoy it. 

Lately

Lately,

I’ve been laid up with an intense allergic reaction to the arrival of Spring in the south. Only for it to turn ugly and become a full on infection of the airways. I’m so thankful for amoxicillin , rest, and a quiet place to do so. When I say I’m really not a southern girl. I mean it. As we speak my ears are roaring with pain, because I dared to walk outside to my car. Thank you, Pollen.

I ran away with my family for Spring Break to the rolling hills and ridges of Serenity Ridge Farm . It’s not a joke that  the farm was named Serenity Ridge. That place is like a warm hug for your soul, and the love that you experience there is like a floodgate opened up. It’s the perfect place to hideaway from the world, and just think. Of course the only real picture I got from the trip was of the newest addition to the farm. The dog, Watson. Who is a perfect gentleman of a dog , very well mannered and quite loving. He’s also a collie, and it’s safe to say I’m in love with him. Granted not half so in love as his girl, ( my niece) or even the whole family at Serenity Ridge. Give them a follow on Instagram and enjoy watching the goings on at the farm.

If you feel like your world has gone crazy and upside down lately, you aren't alone.

Between the traumatic events and Nashville, Ft.Campbell, and significant change in my own personal life, circumstances can and do feel overwhelming.

I have no solutions, except that I know God is Sovereign. 

Looking ahead;

I finished up a few sewing projects , and as soon as my body is back to 100 percent , there will be a review on the patterns I used.

I’ll also be posting some recipes that we have tried, and some thoughts on our expectations of God are coming soon. 

For now , I’m gonna reach for my box of tissues, pop a cough drop in my mouth , and fight the urge to sleep while I homeschool my children. It’s very true that your body doesn’t work well when your gut health is off, and after several days on amoxicillin, my gut is proverbially screaming “What have you DONE to me!!!??”.

But, before I go ,I wanted to leave you with a smidgen of encouragement. 

A fortune cookie’s worth of truth , if you will. 

God is not a man that He should lie. What He has called you to, He will prepare you for. He is good all. The. Time. 

Steady my friends, life’s gonna get a little western, but God’s got this.

She taught me to worship. ♥️

Once upon a time I looked over at the woman raising her hands in congregational worship and I envied her.

Oh how the lyrics touched my soul, and the tears would stream down my face. But , I wouldn’t dare raise my hands.

I had heard too many preachers, and church people criticizing those “attention hogs”, rebuking them for disrupting the service. 

I couldn’t even fathom the freedom it must have felt to not only raise my soul, heart, but also my hand to God while the family of God praised Him. 

I longed for it. I grieved for it. When I saw women like the lady beside me in church, I never thought they looked prideful or boastful .

They seemed to be pouring themselves out to God, alone in a space where it was only them and the Father. I longed to go to that place. 

But, I was so bound in chains to the image of a perfect and reverently serious church lady that my hands stayed by my side. My fists were often clenched tight in pain, to remind myself “ don’t you dare raise your hand , it’s bad enough that you allow your face to be expressive during song.”

Every service in my early 20’s  was a tight rope of agony and joy. 

Joy , because I genuinely loved going to church, singing, and listening to the sermons. I lived for it. And agony because I was a perfectionist and a people pleaser of the worst degree. I had no clue how to discern between the Bible and man’s preferences. If I’m honest , once I did know the difference, I chose man’s preference over God’s Word. Simply because, man praised me for it. I lived for every compliment. I served for it, and would willingly torture my mind and personality so that my church surroundings would look at me and say “ Such a good girl!” .

How twisted my heart was! Eventually, I became extremely double minded. This is no way to live a life of faith. And it brought me to a broken place that morning envying the woman singing with a smile, abandoned to worship and hands raised. 

Eventually, I sat next to her in choir. 

Dear Lesa. She and I became fast friends. She saw the broken behavior of codependency, and lead me out of my twisted thinking by her example.

Over our time singing  together my fists were no longer clenched , and eventually I worshipped with my hands at my side , but the palms gently turned up. The FREEDOM I felt!!! 

It was as if floodgates had opened. I no longer cared so much of what others were thinking. I focused on my Savior and sang my heart out.

Then one day we took a trip . Our church had a ladies retreat. During this time God used Lesa as she taught us a valuable lesson about our self righteousness and God’s grace. I still have the craft we made together that day.

Before we left the retreat, we made our way to the beach to enjoy it one last time. There, as the Pacific Northwest clouds gathered, and the waters crashed, Lesa and I sang “ Behold Our God” , and for the first time in genuine worship, without worry…. I lifted my free arm, and held it out to Jesus. 

Someone snapped a picture. One that I will always treasure. 

This morning, I stood beside my husband, and I raised my hands unapologetically as we sang .

Behold our God, seated on His throne

Come let us adore Him

Behold our King, nothing can compare

Come let us adore Him

The tears streamed down my face. I thought of Lesa. How she no longer sings in the choir at church with her expressive face and hands lifted. But rather, in the court of her Maker, face to face with her Redeemer, beholding her Yahweh, seated on His throne, adoring Him. 

I will miss my friend Lesa, but I will see her again. And we will behold our God together. 

Leave it all behind; Mando

 The apostle Paul said this  "I press on toward the goal for the reward of the upward calling of God in Messiah Yeshua. Therefore let all who are mature have this attitude; and if you have a different attitude in anything, this also God will reveal it to you." Phil.3:14-15

I'm sure there is a whole lot of context to this verse that a theologian would dig out better than I can. I am no theologian, or pastor, or any teacher. 

But I am a sharer. Sometimes an over sharer,but that's a discussion for another day.

I've recently started running. I started it as a way to gain victory over some mental hurdles that I needed to bust through. I found myself in a space that was constantly dealing with a barrage of terrorizing mental voices. Mostly from my past growing up, and some from the past 10 plus years as an adult navigating her many flaws. Something that is incredibly interesting to me, is the fact that I have avoided running my entire life. 

After a few remarks about my lack of sporting ability in the second grade from the coolest kid in class, I can remember deciding that I was cool enough, and didn't need to run. At all. 

I grew up with horses and figured that riding was something no one I knew could make fun of me for. In honesty I saw my classmates as a bunch of city kids, and just avoided their berating as much as possible. By not participating.

Growing up into my teen years I faced a heavy amount of anxiety, and I would walk it out. Or ride it out. And, that's what I did over and over. Into adulthood , I would often workout on an elliptical, and fancied myself as "running". I tried to run with a marathon runner, until I hurt my ankle and never asked her to coach me again. 

Then came a moment in my life, that I realized I had given up on too many things in my life. One of my failures was that I had let go of healthy discipline, and realized that I was killing myself mentally and physically. I couldn't shake the defeat in my head. I needed a win. I had been through the most fiery year of my life. And I thank God for the victory He gave during that year. But, now I am in a new year, and the above verse would beckon me and call me. 

Over and over the Holy Spirit would show me certain things He wanted me to pursue. For the sake of not blabbing my entire life on the internet, we will stick to the subject of running.

Running. God wanted me to start running?

No ellipticals. 

Honest to goodness feet pounding the ground and elbows back, head forward.

I tried every way I could to get around it.But, in the end I submitted to the Holy Spirit . I found a close friend that would be willing to train me, and I knew she would hold me accountable.

What followed was beginning training of form and small victories. I could tell that I had always associated running with bad memories, ridicule , or even trauma. Every time I started feeling that sharp  need to get air, those condemning voices would beat me up mentally. I am so thankful for my friend that looks beyond the physical and starts to preach to me . When I would reach that point of legs burning and gasping for air, my memories became evil demonic voices,and the fear would take over... but I wouldn't break my form. I would finish and cross that distance line that we had agreed to.

Until my first day of running on a trail. My friend picked me up and we set out on our warm up. Being out in nature makes me feel so alive, and I was thrilled to be away from all the cars and sounds of town. Our trail was a mixture of hills and turns, but I was so ready for  victory. Until I took a hill, and lost it. The form was gone, and I couldn't seem to pull myself together. I kept telling my friend "I can't do this, my body can't do this". She never once gave up on me, over and over she proclaimed truth with the voice of a lioness. To the outsider, it might have looked like  I was being pretty pathetic.  But, on the inside of my brain there was a war. And I had zero strength to fight it. The onslaught of evil thoughts seemed too much, and my friend fought in my stead. Identifying every weapon the Enemy was hurling my direction and telling me to fight it in Jesus Name. There was a point where I had almost given in to those thoughts of condemnation. 

Then these words echoed in my head. "This is why you're unlovable. All you ever do is give up and no one  truly loves you."

For some reason that  sentence searing across my brain,  caused me to open my palms, and breathlessly start to sing. 

I lift my eyes to heaven and remember I am loved

I lift these weary hands and let my Father pick me up

More than answers, more than healing, God your presence is enough

I lift my eyes to heaven and remember this is where my help comes from

My elbows pointed back. I started lifting my toes. My breathing became less shallow. My form was beginning to take shape as a runner and not someone who was giving up.

I could see the truck now and by God's strength I was going to make it to the truck without breaking my form. The whole way my friend encouraged me. She shouted the truth at me, because she could see how hard I was fighting. Once we reached the truck she wouldn't let me collapse. We walked it off. I felt like all my pain, and mental battles were being crunched into a cube, like in a trash compactor, and it was stuck in the pit of my stomach. I opened my arms wide. Not caring who saw me. With a fire in my lungs, I breathed out the lyrics.... I'm no longer a slave to fear!!!!

I noticed we were making our way to a grassy park beside some water, and I knew I needed to run to it. I told my friend.."I need to run to that spot." She said "lets do it". I ran, I ran so fast. I had to get to the pavilion and I knew I needed to worship there. I needed to be rid of the irrational fear of running. I needed victory over this stronghold in my mind.

After a sweet few moments of worship, we walked back to the truck. The sign next to the park where I gave it all to God, and commanded the fear to leave in Jesus Name said MANDO.

My friend was curious so she looked it up, and showed me the definition on her phone. 

COMMAND. 

We laughed. The laugh of victory. The kind of laugh that is unbothered and at perfect peace. 

And I walked away in victory. Victory may not always come in sweeping, grand gestures. It helps to have friends that see past the physical and will call your timid heart to courage. 

The truths I take from this experience are overwhelming and have lasting effects.

I'll always remember the day that irrational fear almost won, but because of the power of Jesus, I was able to command it to leave. 

And I left it behind me. 

Like Paul, I press on.

Leaving behind the fear and failure, that let's be honest had nothing to do with my ability to run. It had everything to do with my worthiness to be loved. 

But, I know Who loves me. I know Who gives the victory. I know Who called me, by name. 

It's through Him, because of Him, and by Him that I can leave it all behind. 

The Lord Bless you and keep you,

Laurie

Art work does not belong to me. I found this on Pinterest, and thought it so applicable.

Welcome

 This wouldn't be the first blog post that I've ever written.

Blogging has been a fantastic form of self expression for writers , for many,many years.

Surely , there were the years I spent pouring myself unwisely out for the internet to read my deepest thoughts. Ahhh, the teenage angst and dramatics that was displayed!  Then, were the years of my shabby blog, that mimicked an online scrapbook. Then came the transition to the  years when I was new to being a military wife. 

Finally , for many,many years I left blogging untouched. Content was I, to write in small paragraphs on instagram. All these years shaping my writing style , subjects, and ability; I knew I would one day return to writing extensively . That day is today.

So, let me introduce myself.

I'm Laurie. 

Nobody of great distinction. The most important thing you , dear reader need to know, is that throughout the years the only identity marker that REALLY belongs over me, is that I belong to Jesus.

As the title of this blog alludes to , I would call myself a person of messy faith.

Not a person of little faith, but still a human that is not perfect and refuses to pretend to be.

I'm a student of faith. In the sense that I have a burning curiosity in my heart to know God on a much deeper level than I did last year, last month, or even yesterday.  Yes, I ask big questions. Big questions of God,and faith practices. I'm like a thirsty woman in a desert,and the only answers that ever seem to actually satisfy that thirst are the answers I find in the Word of God.

In far less important matters; I'm a lover of a good cup of herbal tea. I love to sew, and cook. I actually enjoy things that are aesthetically pleasing. I'm a designer by nature , and enjoy a myriad of creative  outlets. 

And here, in this corner of the internet is where I express those things I hold dear. So if you feel anything when the page loads and as you browse the various articles I write here, I hope you feel as if you're having a cup of tea with a good friend. 

May the Lord bless you and keep you,

Laurie