Category: Community (Page 1 of 2)

2011 was a tough year. I spent weeks in an ICU, we closed our business, short-sold our house, went months without income, moved our kids to a new school… the list goes on. So many stressors happened simultaneously. Everything we worked for was gone. It didn’t matter how careful or thoughtful we had been. I was embarrassed.

Our people never shamed us. They treated us with dignity even when meeting practical needs. Things would appear.. randomly, anonymously. Food. Gift cards. Someone paid our power bill. We tried to conceal our needs, but somehow they always knew. They taught me that community observes unspoken needs with respectful care, and responds accordingly.

Our nation was in a recession – the first for our generation of young adults. There were many travelers on our road. Each had their own unique griefs. Thank you for not judging mine.

The craziest thing about 2011 is that I mostly remember the good. Every smile, every laugh, every moment of peace was richer because it fought through miles of dirt to reach the sun. Who cares if we walked a lot because we couldn’t afford to do anything else. Those walks taught us how to breathe. And that’s how it goes. Almost systematically, each hard is somehow (miraculously?) overshadowed by good. Not stupid, hollow, fakely positive good. True good. It didn’t happen right away. It was instilled over time through things like space for grief, the healing balm of simple, hope that ‘hard’ wouldn’t last forever, and visibility of beauty-in-the-midst.

Our nation is facing another season of hard. We sense its presence but none of us knows its exact contents. It’s unfortunate that we’ve been polarized for so long. That social distancing can enhance social disparities. And that (at a time when we need each other the most) prevention tactics are so diverse. We were designed for community. We must find ways to bridge isolation. Bridge fear. Bridge differences. We are ALWAYS, ALWAYS stronger together.

You helped me survive 2011. Show me how to help you.

Laura

Zechariah 4:10 NLT

Do not despise these small beginnings, for the Lord rejoices to see the work begin.

Why do we fear small beginnings?   Maybe because of the uncertainty they bring.

What will I say to others when they ask what I’m doing?

In the words of Brené Brown, this is a shame gremlin for me.

These are the questions that nag at me when I’ve moved out of that dreaming space with God and into the everyday motion of walking out the dream:

Are we really going somewhere with this?

Did I really hear him on this?

Will this amount to anything?

But the real question for me is one of faith: Can I have the sustained patience and vision to invest small deposits of faithful action, believing God to multiply and take care of the rest?

On this journey of really allowing myself the space to dream with God, not letting anything hold me back from taking the next indicated step, I have seen my good Father cultivating new life in me: in deeper faith and in truer worship.

He is cultivating faith through my small beginnings, the deep conviction that progress is possible. As I turn back to his heart each day, he is showing me how to take small steps—even half and quarter steps—toward the dream he’s placed in me.

As a new mom of a ten-month-old boy, never have I understood how important small, patient steps toward a goal can be. The sum total of these small steps is beautiful because he walks with me, before and behind me, trailblazing, holding me up, and picking up the pieces I’ve dropped along the way.

Do you relate to this feeling? Have you ever seen God’s nearness more dramatically because the output of what he creates is so evidently beyond what you put in?

As a visionary for a new organization for women in leadership, I stand amazed. All I can give in this season are small deposits—one hour of writing while the baby naps. 15 minutes of reflection before sleep overtakes me. Webinars while I bounce the baby on one hip and stir the pot that boils over. And yet these small snatches of time are perfectly tailored to his purposes for me. They are just the insight and refreshment I need to do the next thing.

Do you need to hear this today? Do you need to hear that his provision perfectly matches your days?

I know I’ve needed to live out this lesson over the last year. And it has peppered my days of early motherhood with such hope and purpose and beauty. A legacy I hope to build for my children by saying yes to Jesus in every season. This season of greater limitations in time, energy, and attention span is leading me to greater worship when his sufficiency stands in stark contrast to my own limited resources.

Sisters, I am learning that our limitations lead us to worship him. They do not disqualify us from dreaming with him and stepping out in our dreams. Limitations can keep us in step with his spirit, relying on him, abiding in his wisdom and heart.

How good he is to use these loving limits to remove my pride again, so I can experience his magnitude. All I am is simple, fragile, limited. But I’m a daughter of the king. All I am is an earthen vessel with holes and cracks that spill and leak. But he overflows into me with water that is deep, complex, profound, never running dry.

I praise him for this journey.

-Sarah

Sarah Bond resides in Folsom, CA, with her husband, Scott, and son, Ethan. She loves forging new connections with women of all ages, especially by leading hikes, opening her home to neighbors and friends, and creating relationships that promote social justice and bring freedom in places of spiritual and physical captivity. Sarah’s background is in community development, life coaching, and human trafficking prevention. This January, she and her mom, Jan Kern, launched a new organization for women in leadership called  Voice of Courage. She loves to invite women of all ages to dream in new ways about what God is inviting them to walk out freely and powerfully as change makers.

As writer, speaker, and creator of UpcycledJane.com, Bekah adores connecting with women, students, and parents. She has published over 20 articles on parenting, inspiration, and faith, contributed for Orange County Register, and guest writes for Yellow Conference.   Bekah is passionate about encouraging women to find their identity and freedom in Jesus, to live intentionally, and to celebrate their created selves .When she’s not playing with her two sons or hubby of eleven years, you’ll find her at the beach, reading, baking, or rearranging furniture. Bekah shares with a relaxed, storytelling style, as if you were sitting on her couch and catching up as old friends.  

“Gosh, every life-changing lesson I learned when things were going perfect,” said NO ONE EVER.

Creative businesses are oftentimes birthed from personal pain.

My own father’s death was an invitation to live in awareness of God speaking through simple, tangible, everyday experiences.

We learn most from our mistakes, from our failures, from pain and suffering and black bruises.

Yet there is something in our human nature that wants us to avoid failure at any cost.

Just hurry up and fix it.
Get happy.
Move on. Get over it.
Try harder.

I’m afraid we have it backwards, friends.

My biggest failures have actually paved way to more authenticity, more freedom, more of an eternal perspective, and less of an emphasis on what I do. I can feel my shoulders release as I write.

Failure, I’ve come to applaud you, and I trust there is a nuggety lesson waiting to be learned when we next meet.

Would you agree? Have your biggest lessons been birthed from easy street or mistakes?

All weekend I’ve been saturated in the truth that beauty from hardship is beauty appreciated.

Maybe it was in the swing my hubby built- hours of sawing, measuring, and white-washing. The four of us donned floppy gloves and varnished the heck out of it, only to discover the white paint had dried gross yellow, which made our poor swing look like our dog had lifted his leg on every square inch. And that made us sad. Clear varnish = Big. YELLOW. Mistake.

Sure we failed. But only temporarily.

The next day while Bry was at a meeting, the boys and I painted one coat of WHITE, very NON-YELLOW chalk paint, then two. We cranked jazz music and brushed our hearts out.  Painting is like gardening- it offers much time to get lost in the sky, in one’s thoughts, in the peace at the gradual process.

I thought about so-called failings in my past, the times I hadn’t been able to pull it together because of massive transitions. I thought about when we’d lived at my folks with a toddler and a newborn as we experienced every major life transition AT THE SAME TIME.
Because that’s how we roll.
As if we’d planned it.

You know what would be fun? If we lumped all these crazy changes together. Yea! Let’s short sale a home and look for a place to live. And while we’re at it, let’s process a job change, and shifting communities and churches and friends. And what the heck- let’s throw TWO YOUNG CHILDREN in the mix to make it really fun. And maybe I’ll shower once in a while. And did I mention we were living at my parent’s home through all of this? (bless their hearts).

Cue situational depression and a small-ish dose of IN.SAN.I.TY!

It was not how our life was supposed to be. It was an epic fail, or so we’d questioned.

Time offers perspective that one can’t typically see in a fog of suffering.

Hindsight sheds grace rays on the sweet reality that those hard months- and yes, they were beyond hard- were pivotal to the memories our oldest has of living with his grandparents. When Tanner lost his grandpa at 4 years old, those months spent with them are what stand out in his mind. Even now.

Failure isn’t always what it seems. Suffering and pain and mistakes are pinpricks in the bigger scheme of yellow varnished slats.

When we stand back, we see with brave clarity that those marks of perceived shortcomings, were, in fact, opportunities to be human.

To be imperfect.
To extend compassion and grace for others that are hitting their heads against the wall wondering when gray clouds will lift.

There’s a beautiful truth in journeying much, failing often, and appreciating the realness today brings.

And today I say with whole-hearted confidence, When I’ve failed, when I’ve suffered, when I’ve experienced pain and shortcomings and mistakes, is when I’ve GROWN the most.

And with failure, an awareness of beauty like never before.

-Bekah Pogue, Upcycled Jane.  

Be on the lookout for Bekah’s FIRST BOOK to be released at the end of the year!!!   You can also subscribe to her blog at www.upcycledjane.com.    

The illusion that everyone has a long list of thankfuls just waiting to be shared disappeared a long time ago.

If your heart squeezes when the calendar marches deeper into November I want you to hear loud and clear that you are not alone.

And, you’re not a scrooge just because you might admit that the holidays are tough. I believe there are countless people in your shoes, and, more importantly, I believe that God understands your conflicted emotion. He recognizes (and cares!) about the fact that you:

• Miss your loved one(s). He wants to catch your tears and meet you in the loneliness and confusion of experiencing holidays without them.

• Worry about your financial state and wonder how in the world you’ll be able to pay for Christmas.

• Lose sleep picturing the first holiday your kids will spend somewhere else.

• Feel the weight of expectations from others and pressure from yourself. You dread letting people down (again).  [Dear one, to Him you will always be ENOUGH]

• Want to feel closer to your extended family or in-laws but can’t seem to see through the maze of complications to make it happen in time for Thanksgiving.

• Don’t like shopping or crowds. You want to be in a good mood, but the busyness and craziness have a way of bringing you down.

• Anticipate the stress of a ‘too full’ calendar or sadness over a ‘too empty’ calendar.

Please don’t dismiss these emotions. Beloved, our Good Dad wants to meet you in the center of them.

Allow honesty in your relationship with yourself and with God – He can handle it!

Oh how I wish we could hold hand through November and December to the fresh breeze of new beginnings that is January.

Since I can’t hold your hand, I want to share a few things that have been helpful for people. As you read this list please remember:

1) Everyone one is different – consider only things that might work for YOU.

2) Try one, try several, or try something else. But, by all means, do not add more pressure to yourself!!

Just pick one that feels doable for today.

Okay, here we go…

• Grief requires more time and energy than feels natural or permissible. Practice permission.

• Whose voice do you have on repeat? Is it truth? Is it kind? If not, consider ways to offset it.

• Thankfulness is a discipline. Train your heart to focus on even the smallest, honest point of gratitude. Then, watch the miraculous as that tiny point grows into something significant.

• Look at your calendar and say: “You have no power over me.” I’m serious. Repeat it until you believe it. And then use your developing voice to make choices about your calendar.

• You do not have to do things the same way you did them last year. It is OK to make adjustments.

• Are your media choices (social or otherwise) negatively impacting your heart? If so, consider modifications for the season?

• If there’s a 99% chance that you’ll leave a particular gathering feeling tense and irritable, then consider what you can plan around it to decompress.

• How do you best connect with God? Are you making time for that?

If you’re not sure how to begin to change, or if the change you know you need to make feels like too much please do yourself a favor –

close your eyes for a moment and just breathe

It’s truly a God-gift how something as simple as a deep breath can calm our nerves.

Breathe, my friend. Just…. breathe.

Laura

I have a soft spot in my heart for those of you out there that are weathering one of life’s storms. I am passionate about making sure you know you are not alone because weathering a storm is tough enough, weathering it alone is just plain horrible. When I reflect upon the storms of my life {and the mud they create} I become filled with gratitude for the sojourners of this faith… dear brothers and sisters that have cared for me as I practiced endurance. Practiced perseverance. Practiced surrender.

I believe there is something sacred about sharing the ground of trial with another. I sometimes need to be reminded how sacred it is to be invited into that space where incredible pain takes place. When a person pulls back the curtain to reveal the mud in their life, the mess that a storm created,  it’s hard to slow down and show respect and care for the sacred ground opportunity. It’s much easier to diagnose the situation and prescribe theology.

There’s nothing wrong with solid theology. In fact, we highly value it. We need it.

But often people in the mud know they’re in the mud. Often they even know the theology about how to overcome the mud.

The truth is…the mud is not the issue at all.

The issue is their broken heart. A heart that is deeply hurting; covered in fear and weeping wounds. A heart too broken to stand {at least for a time}.

They really don’t need someone to stand on solid ground and tell them how to climb out of the mud.

Instead they need someone to get right down in the mud with them. I need this when I am in that place, and  I want my muddy friends to know they can lean on me as well.  I will stay in the mud with them until they’re ready to regain their footing.

I want that front row seat to watch God’s glory in their lives, in spite of the mud, blind me with goodness.

But…if I want to see that glory revealed, I have to be willing to listen and not be uncomfortable with the mess. I have to be willing to do nothing but sit. Wait. Encourage but not prescribe. Whether it is by the hospital bed, across the Starbucks table, or through the phone call…

What if we were people who weren’t afraid of sitting in mud with our friends?

What if we weren’t afraid of chemo side effects or divorce tidal waves?

What if slandered reputations didn’t make us avert our eyes, and financially ruined people didn’t cause us to ignore our phones?

What if we never again murmured  that God wouldn’t give our friends more than they can handle…but instead remind them they never ever have to handle this alone. That Jesus IS there to handle it for them and that we will sit and pray and wait until He does.

What if we chose to just sit with people…not to enable bad habits and spiritual lethargy, but to enable healing. Having been one broken and without strength, I am so thankful for the Jesus-reflectors in my life who sat in the mud with me. Who haven’t been afraid of the mess, of the broken in me. The ones who have been witnesses to my sorrow. In my pain, I needed people to look into my soul, tell me they recognize my wounds and that they have scars on their souls too. They have muddy spots in their story, and they overcame the mud.

Jesus wasn’t afraid of people’s broken places. He sat in the mud with those He loved. Let’s be a Church that’s not afraid of people’s  messes and wrap our arms around them, mud and all.

-Kallie