Today death stings, but it won't always.

I feel such sadness. I feel such joy.

My heart wants to break, my heart wants to sing.

My dad always says "pain and happiness run on parallel tracks and often arrive at the same time." My heart feels this ,and then doesn't know what to feel.

Actually no, my heart knows what to feel but my mind often tries to tell my heart that it can't dwell on joy and pain simultaneously. I try to justify the pain while also avoiding the joy.

Jesus wept fully knowing eternity.

My heart is rooted in truth, that I know for sure. To allow my heart to be sad is not negating truth, but rather its allowing my heart to stay soft in order for the truth to stay firm. If I ignore the pain I allow what is a real emotion to go unaddressed. And in my experience pain left alone builds to bitterness, resentment and doubt. 

My sister put it beautifully.

"Having days to reflect on the pain is important. Taking time to remember the goodness of God in the midst of difficult moments is biblical."

Today I will not wallow, but I will lament. 

I will always remember to never forget. #13years #AHB

Grandpa

It has been a wish of mine for my grandpa to hold my baby in his arms and pray.

I love when my grandpa prays. It's like heaven bends down. His faith shines strong and mine grows.

Now he's with Jesus. No need for prayers.

I lament not hearing his spoken prayers over my life and those that would maybe belong to me. But then I was reminded that those prayers were already spoken. My grandpa prayed in faith. My grandpa prayed for me by name and and for my children, because God already knows their names (or if they'll ever even be).

What hope I have because of faith. Because of heaven. Because of prayers of years past to be fulfilled in years to come.

My heart finds comfort.

I'm sure that Jesus seated my grandpa right next to the heroes of old. Pretty sure he couldn't grow a beard, and he may not have slain a giant or seen walls fall, but my grandpa lived by faith and went to battle every single day on his knees.

Grandpa had the kind of faith that slays sin. The kind of faith that watches walls of bitterness crumble. The kind of faith that carries a man through life and straight into the presence of God.

xoxo, Grandpa, I miss you, but not forever.

New Year, New Goals

We ordered coffee. We plopped our backpacks on the ground. 
We settled in for our first Jessica + Anna Goal Chat. 

(her name isn't Jessica, it's just my nickname)

Jessie, her real name, asked lots of questions.  She pulled out her notebook and began to jot down my theme, dreams and plans or the lack of plan. I had already set goals for the new year and was on-track with systems to keep them. But two things stood out that were too overwhelming for me to tackle on my own.

Education.

Housing.

Formal education or self-education. For the last ten years I've had this question spinning through my brain. Several times I thought I would enroll in classes. I've done some research, but mostly it was overwhelming. I made college accounts and began to talk to people, applied for government aid and about submitted an application. This year was the closest I've been yet. But I just couldn't make the final step jsut yet.

I have wondered if it was just fear of the unknown, not wanting debt, the giving up of my schedule. I've tried to be open and not just pretend that it wasn't myself getting in the way of formal education. But I don't think it is. I will tackle the hard when I know it's my next step. I thrive in the discomfort of the unknown. This is different. 

So we came up with a plan. Formal education may be in my near future. It might not be. But regardless, I'm not standing still. I've got purposeful action steps that will lead me in the direction that I feel God has created me for.

I'm excited.

Mostly excited for more goal sessions with my favorite Jessica.

But also for the unknowns that I know God has a hold of. 

The Day Before 30

A couple of my almost-thirty-and-still-single thoughts.

Live, just live.  Dreams come and dreams go. Desires rage, disappointment comes. Choose to live.

Serving people is valuable, but not at the expense of your identity. Loving Jesus is always valuable, He is your identity.

You'll make mistakes.  Big ones. You'll cry yourself to sleep. Often. Let the tears fall.

At the end of the day, married or single, not a whole lot changes with my purpose.

Love God.  Love people. In that order.

Simple. Beautiful.

(I meant to post this on the day before I turned 30.  But it didn't happen, so here it is now)

Women in the Shadows

She can't spell, and she can't read, but she can cook and sew.  Her frail voice spoke disappointedly as she explained that she'd been pushed through school at a young age because she didn't learn like the other kids. Her tone changed to longing as she shared a desire to learn how to spell big words.
"I'm a fast learner" she declared, "and I'm a good memorizer.  That's the way I know some words.  And Anna, I taught myself how to crochet doilies by looking at the pictures."

My heart broke.

Her voice cracked on the phone.  She was found wandering in the rain and taken to a psychiatric hospital.  She had no where to go, she was alone, desperately longing to hear a familiar voice.  20 years addicted to heroine, now 20+ years clean.  Her eyes were shining several months before as she shared her story of how God rescued her from addiction - but choices have consequences, and we aren't given the opportunity rewind our story.

Tears began to fall.

She has a record, fair or unfair it's hard to tell, but it'll haunt her for the rest of her life.  Two pet dogs provide sanity as she juggles limited funds, insecure housing and constant scrutiny from every landlord, every application.  Her climbing credit score would now plummet due to unforeseen world events, a lengthened eviction and, as some would say, "plain bad luck."  But she's a fighter and won't give up.  A warm home is a luxury this woman is determined to find for herself.

I dry tears and dig deep into my soul.

These women won't give up.  They won't back down.  Sure, they won't make the history books.  They won't be known by anyone but creditors, social workers and beloved pets.  But these women will strive every day of their lives for a better existence.  An existence combined with failure, poor choices, strength, courage and a remarkable drive to never surrender to defeat.

Oh the lessons I can learn from these women living in the shadows.  Lessons I could learn it I take the time to sit down and listen to their stories, to walk alongside of them.  We learn best when we learn from each other.  When we lay aside differences, opinions and pasts, and listen to understand, to connect, to learn.

Some struggle through poor past decisions, a hard childhood, a string of circumstances I don't understand.  But when I open my eyes to see and my ears to hear, I find remarkable women I'm blessed to know.  And I'm lucky to learn from them.

Tangled Curls

Her hands twisted in her lap as she stared at the short curls that frizzed around her wide eyes. Uncertainty was evident.
An 11th grade girl was seated in the salon's beauty seat, a place where she clearly felt out of place.

I'd place her mid-twenties, the second figure in the mirror.
Gorgeous black curls swept up in a stylish mohawk ensured my onlooking eyes; this hairstylist knew exactly what to do.  She was a goddess - reigning secure in her ability to transform the wary figure before her.

She wasn't working magic; merely uncovering the beauty that lay beneath the build-up.

Skilled hands gently combed through the short tangles.  A soft voice asked questions and received answers that probably made her insides curl tighter than the hair in her hands. Curls were her specialty, this was obvious.  Not only did she know how to trim, wash and style them in the salon, but she knew just how they should be cared for on a regular basis.  Little by little she gave tips and insight.  The girl in the chair listened well.  Daily changes would need to take place, new habits formed, and although the appointment wasn't finished yet, she was soaking in every word.

Uneasiness washed away faster than the chemicals that coated each dark strand.  Fear was replaced with confidence.  Her curls needn't be a source of out-of-control confusion, but an expression of individuality.

I sat in the chair next to hers.  My own curls, though very different, had also gone through a transformation in this salon.  My own hair habits had needed change and skilled hands and a kind voice instructed me, only two short years before.

But as I sat, waiting for the red color to seep into my hair I couldn't help but think.

How often is beauty waiting just beneath the surface of a tangled life and poor choices?
Every life is beautiful, every soul in need of love - and a little kindness and patience.

Don't Stop the Tears

I rolled over and buried my face into the pillow.

I told myself I had no reason to cry.  I began a pep talk to myself on how lucky I am and that I should just shrug and be grateful.

And then I felt the presence of Jesus.  I don't pretend to hear God's audible voice.  And I won't try and put words in His mouth.  But my heart sensed His love and my thoughts interpreted them this way...

Anna, it's OK to cry.  Your heart is feeling, the very thing it was made to do.  Your life is good, but let the tears fall.  You want to belong, you want to feel important, you long to be needed and affirmed.  You want your life to have purpose, you desire to just love people and see their lives restored.

But what if Jesus is asking you to come away with Him?  To rest in His enough-ness and His completeness?  To not feel the thrill of your success, but rather the satisfaction of His presence.
What if all He wants from you is your raw and real heart. 

The heart that feels deeply.  The heart that gets confused.  The heart that leaps for joy at the sight of a sunflower or field of wildflowers.  The heart that gets overcome with jealousy and envy.  The heart that longs to please Him, but fails time after time again.  The heart overcast in shame, but also the one that revels in grace.  Yes, the heart that belongs to Anna.

Jesus wants my heart.

I laid there on my bed feeling alone, but it was different now.
All the pretenses, all the striving, all the pride... let the tears carry it all away.

My heart is slowing breaking.

"But a broken and contrite heart He will not despise." Psalm 51

When I am broken, then I am made whole. 
And every time my heart cracks, I pray it looks a little more like Jesus.