​These wooden chairs with dark green legs and backs looked adorable in our first home in Atlanta with the forest green kitchen counters (I cannot believe I picked that color). When we moved to Oxford sixteen years ago, my mom helped me paint all of the green parts black to look snazzy at our new address with gray floors and black shelves.

​This week I’m painting them again. These chairs are lived in. I mean really lived in. Six people constantly coming and going equals approximately four billion meals and seventeen billion pushes in and out. These chairs are weathered, and not in a romantic Fixer Upper sense. In fact, I had no idea how beat up (and sticky) they were until I began their makeover. This time around I’m painting them white. First, they needed a major scrub down. Next, they needed about a dozen coats of paint. Let's just say I had to make several return trips to Ace Hardware. They are the exact same chairs that have been with us through a move, a PhD, career changes, four babies, a graduation, and hundreds of family meals and card games.
 
They are the same chairs, same height, weight, sturdiness, but these ol’ chairs now look like I just bought them at Pottery Barn. You guys, they’re gorgeous! I keep gazing at them. I am so pleased. Because—wow, they’ve been transformed.
 
This is exactly what Jesus does for us, flawlessly, perfectly. He takes all of those scratches, dents, and unidentified sticky stuff we accumulate by being humans going through life—our mistakes, our shame, our regrets, our pride, the things we joke about, but aren’t really funny, the things we would never even joke about, because there’s too much there—and scrubs them down, paints over them, making us look brand new. Just like my chairs didn’t achieve anything to deserve their makeover or do anything to become bright and white, we don’t do anything or earn our fixing upping either. All we have to do is come to Jesus, and say, “You are my Lord,” and He gets out His paintbrush. He does His thing and although we’re still us—same quirks, experiences, talents, and passions—we become bright and shiny and unbelievably pretty.
 
Therefore if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creature; the old things passed away; behold, new things have come. –2 Corinthians 5:17

​Then six years later, sixteen years later, or the very next day we’re a mess again. Because people spill stuff on our egos and on our dreams, and we allow it to stick, and we react. Because someone bumps us a bit hard and we retaliate or internalize. Because sometimes we want to be pushed in when we’re pulled out and sometimes we want to be pulled out when we’re pushed in, and we try to do things on our own, and end up banging ourselves up, because we do not trust God and His perfect plan.
 
And once again, the Master Carpenter, gets out His sandpaper and paint and fixes us up over and over again, restoring us to a beautiful sheen, taking us from items for this weekend’s garage sale to something fit for His throne room. He loves us that much.

Some of these fixes are easy—a quick touch up. Some of them are hard. It was way easier to paint the green legs black than to cover up all of that ebony-colored paint with bright white. But God doesn’t care. He carefully restores us, whatever it takes, coat after clean coat of grace.​

​When He’s cleaned us up, God keeps gazing at us, and He is so pleased, because with His love we have been transformed. If that’s how God sees us—brand new, showroom worthy—then shouldn’t we allow ourselves to see the refurbished version of ourselves, to see our true reflections, the incredible masterpieces God created us to be?

My daughters and I were getting ready for church the other morning. We pulled out our cute tanks and fun dresses from the backs of our closets, because Ohio had thawed and it was a lovely 75 degrees outside. But all of these adorable clothes created issues. Just like some of our choices, moods and decisions in life create unstable and undesirable scenarios.

​One by one the girls and I entered each other’s rooms asking, “Does this look alright?” “How’s the back?” “Is this too fill in the blank?” All the skinny straps and racer backs are darling on mannequins and hangers, but they require special camis, bras, and sweaters to stay stylish while maintaining some dignity. My girls and I enviously eyed the three guys in our family who simply pulled shirts over their heads and shorts around their waists while eating jellybeans.
 
We eventually made it out the door, but this getting dressed episode had happened one too many times. For a while I’d put off the work necessary to solve the problem. We’d find wardrobe solutions for the day, but then repeat the same struggle the next time my girls and I pulled out our cute summer styles. Enough was enough. After church I logged onto Target’s website and started filling my shopping cart. It’s no fun to spend your clothing allowance on undergarments, but it is a necessary investment to enjoy all of the adorable warm-weather fashions. There are other investments we need to make in our lives too, much more important ones.

​Because there are days when our lives don’t look quite right, don’t fit how they’re supposed to, make us feel uncomfortable. Some days we say too much or too little. Some days we’re grumpy and go off on the people we love most. Some days we’re tired and have a headache and withdraw and don’t do our best, because it’s hard. Some days we’re so focused on our agendas that we forget about the people around us, about what’s going on with them, what’s important to them. Some days we go along with the crowd—laugh at that joke, join in on the gossip, have one too many whatevers for our own good.
 
And then it’s time to say, “Enough is enough!” and get back to Jesus, because He will tell us over and over again who He made us to be, how He’s packed us with potential, how He loves us for exactly who we truly are.
 
But we need to be intentional and invest in getting back to where we belong. Just like my daughters and I needed to assess the causes of our wardrobe malfunctions, we need to take a look at what’s causing us to wander from our true identities. And once we figure it out—by talking to trustworthy friends, reading the Bible, praying—we need to be ready to devote our time, energy and resources into getting back on track. 

​Just like I had to bite the bullet and use my credit card to buy bras with assorted backs and straps, sometimes we need to take the time to write a note, or call with an apology, or sit down face to face and explain what we meant or where we’re coming from. Sometimes we need to rethink who we’re sitting with and the places and ways we’re spending our time. Do we need more sleep? Less caffeine? More exercise? Less social media? Are these the people and places that help us be the best versions of ourselves? Or when we’re there or around them are the wrong parts of our personalities showing?
 
When life gets off-kilter, exposing the wrong parts of us, trending too low or too high or plain inappropriate, we need to step back and assess the situation. Where do we need to adjust our straps, invest time, money, resources into getting back in line with who we are and who we’re meant to be? It always starts with Jesus. He’s who made us in the first place. He’s the one who loves us more than we can imagine. When we look at ourselves as He sees us, we see who we can be, who we want to be, and then the effort to get back to our true reflections seems as simple as clicking “Add to Cart.”

​Thunderstorms were predicted all day, but I wanted to go for a walk. I checked the weather for the time with the lowest percentage chance of rain (35% at 8:00 AM). Around eight I peeked outside—not currently raining. This was my chance. I darted out the door and took a lovely walk on a pleasantly warm February morning without the slightest sprinkle. It doesn’t always work that way—thus me selecting my jacket with a hood and carrying an umbrella just in case—but without a plan, without a strategy it’s even harder to avoid the rain.

​And just like I have to plan and strategize to avoid rain, I have to plan and strategize how to avoid social comparisons. Because they’re everywhere, and just like thunderstorms we can’t avoid all of them, but we can plan around them, and protect ourselves against them.
 
What does that look like? For all of us it looks different, because we all have different comparisons that plague us.
 
There was a season a couple of years back when I had a book series release with a new imprint. It was crazy, awesome, exciting and exhausting. All of the authors were encouraged by our agents and our imprint to constantly be checking sales numbers. We ran a giveaway…did it increase sales? We held a Twitter party…how did that impact sales? Our books were featured on a blog hop…which books’ sales spiked on which days? And, I hate to admit, it wasn’t just the agents and publisher who got addicted to checking our sales numbers, I did too. And it was toxic. Because some days I would feel good about my writing, other days I would feel bad about my writing, and some days I would compare my writing to the other authors who I totally adored. Ick. Ick. And double ick.
 
Because my writing has nothing to do with sales numbers and everything to do with Jesus.  He is the one who gave me words, stories, ideas and opportunities. Jesus calls me to write, and so I write. I try and do my best. I turn over the rest to Him. And He will put the words and stories He gives me into the hands and hearts He needs them to be in. Whether one book was meant to touch just one person’s life in a profound way, or thousands of lives in small ways, He knows and He’ll make it happen. But that’s none of my business. I’m just called to write. For Him.
 

​So, I stopped. I no longer check sales numbers and rankings. They’re there on Amazon. I can peek at them right now if I want to, but I don’t want to. The only time I look is if I’m required to report the numbers for a new proposal or for taxes. This is a way I can intentionally avoid social comparisons.
 
How about you?
Throwing away your scale? Check, I’ve done that, too.
Resisting searching job opportunities when you’re already happy with your job—because it just shows you what everyone else is making, where they’re living, what their supposed job descriptions are.
 
Where do you tend to compare yourself that you can avoid?
Is there someone you need to unfollow on social media, because every time you see their posts you get a little jealous, or feel a little smaller? Is there a person you need to hang out with less, because every time you’re with them you wish you were more like them, or because they make you feel inadequate?
 
We can’t avoid all social comparisons. I’ll go to a meeting and the girl next to me will have the most gorgeous pair of boots, and I’ll second guess my own boots and covet hers. A mom at a basketball game will tell me about how she’s been spending a lot of time on Pinterest and cooking all these new, delicious meals for her family. And I’ll start wishing I had time to go on Pinterest, let alone cook new, delicious meals for my family, and end up feeling guilty that I don’t. When these things come up, there’s no way to avoid them, but we can protect ourselves against them. We need to put on our virtual hoods and put up our spiritual umbrellas. We need to go back to reminding ourselves who we are—that we are loved by God. That He doesn’t care about our boots or bruschetta. We need to take Paul’s words to the Corinthians to heart:

​We are each given specific gifts and talents and situations by God to glorify God. We’re not supposed to have the same sales numbers, job description, family room or menu as anyone else. We’re supposed to rock what we’ve got, and rock it for God’s glory.
 
So when we can avoid comparisons, lets do it.
For all of us it’s different. But the storms of social comparisons will come. Let’s be intentional about sidestepping the storms when possible, and arming ourselves with the umbrella of truth that we were created to inspire awe so we can stay relatively dry when the rains starts falling.

​I have wobbly knees.
Who knew?

Apparently it’s genetic, but it wasn’t something I ever noticed like the hazel eyes from my mom or the extra large skull from my dad’s side (honestly, finding hats and headbands to fit my cranium is a struggle). But my left knee started failing me about a year ago. It would cramp and stiffen and felt like it didn’t want to bend. It was painful to go running, and I could no longer sit crisscross applesauce. I self-diagnosed. I figured I’d tweaked it running and took a month off exercise, which was a bummer, but seemingly sensible. I eased my way back in—walking instead of running, being more cautious during certain yoga poses, wearing a discarded knee brace I found in our closet. Someone suggested it was my running shoes, so I bought a new pair. A friend taught me how to frame my kneecap with kinesiology tape. I bought some and taped up. With all of these slight adjustments to my routine, my knee bent again. It was less sore. But every time I went for a run it would hold up its “on strike” sign later that evening.

​So, after a year I went to see a doctor. I got an X-ray and an MRI. He looked at the soles of my running shoes and stuck his thumb in the tender, achy spot on my knee. Great news. I don’t have a torn meniscus or arthritis or any other word ending in –is or –us. I don’t need surgery or shots. The diagnosis—my kneecaps wobble like crazy. So, every time I take a step my knees do a mini version of The Charleston, causing my kneecap to rub against my meniscus until it feels raw.
 
Solution—physical therapy. Retraining my legs to work different muscles. Strengthening my hips and glutes to do more work, to absorb the shock of each step that lands when I run, so my knees won’t take such a beating.

I can’t remember the first time I ran. And I certainly don’t remember it being something I had to learn how to do. I was small and my brother probably taunted, “Can’t catch me,” and I tore off after him. In my twenties after dancing all my life, I switched to running as a form of exercise, but I had to learn how—how to pace myself, how to breathe. I needed a running partner to get me going, teach me the ropes, and urge me on. But in those laps around the local park with my husband, I never considered my hips or glutes or knees in the process. It’s fascinating to me, that in my forties I’m learning how to run all over again.
 
But it’s the same way with my faith.

I don’t remember the first time I prayed or realized there was a God. For me, as a child, there just was One. I prayed, “Now I lay me down to sleep,” before bed and, “God is great, God is good,” before dinner. I believed God was the Creator of the world and that Jesus loved me, this I knew.
 
But throughout my life, I’ve injured my faith. I’ve tried to ignore problems, self diagnose, and do things on my own. At summer camp during an awkward junior high summer, I found God outside of the steeples and folded hands where I'd always seen Him. I felt Him in the warmth of a bonfire and in the exhiliration of riding a horse through trails in the woods, in gooey s'mores, and archery ranges. He was everywhere. I re-learned what it felt like to love God, to worship Him. Even though I’d always known God, this felt good and new and right.
 
But years passed and the world demanded I perform—that I achieve good grades, be accepted into a good school, look a certain way, and do certain things. And I believed it. As a result, my faith got rubbed raw by my wobbly self-confidence. No matter how much I achieved, no matter how hard I tried to fix my wounds of self doubt on my own, I didn’t feel loved or worthy or enough. This time God had to step in and heal me. I couldn’t mend the damage on my own. He introduced me to my future husband—a running partner, so to speak. With Brett at my side, showing me what love and acceptance looked like, I picked back up my Bible, started attending church again, and found friends who also valued their faith. With God’s (and Brett’s) help I retrained my faith muscles to find my value from Jesus. During this season I had to pace myself and learn how to breathe, but it helped me remember God loves me unconditionally, no matter how many deals I did or didn’t turn in, no matter how much money I did or didn’t make, or what brand of shoes I wore. And it changed things for me. In beautiful ways. I got married. I became a mother. I quit my day job and began writing.

You’re blessed when you’re content with just who you are—no more, no less. That’s the moment you find yourselves proud owners of everything that can’t be bought. —Matthew 5:5
 
With my physical therapy I am doing exercises to retrain my muscles, to change my gait, balance, and landings. My therapist said I’ll only need a few sessions with her, but I’ll need to maintain these exercises the rest of my life.
 
My faith therapy needs to be the same. Today I feel loved and full of purpose. But I need to constantly train my soul muscles to accept Jesus’ free grace, eliminating the need to legitimize my worth to anybody. I need to focus on how I go about my days, with what intent, for what purpose, for whose glory? I need to balance the things I want to check off my to-do list with the things God calls me to do. Every time I fall down, because I do, often, I need to land on Jesus—on His love, His forgiveness, His grace. It is a constant with me, but when I retrain my focus on Jesus and how much He loves me, He absorbs the shocks, bumps, pains, and challenges of my life and allows me to land softer with less wear and tear. He took the beating, so we don’t have to. Exercise your faith muscles today and allow him to soften your landings.
 
Are there any faith muscles you’re working on strengthening this year? I’d love to hear about it.

​I carry every ounce of stress that ever comes my way in my shoulders. It doesn’t matter if a car nearly hits me or if I forgot to email someone back or if I’m under a serious deadline—it all goes to my shoulders. And after days and weeks and months of every worry burrowing deep into my rotator cuffs, the muscles get tight and sore and oh so very tense. So, once or twice a year I splurge—I mean all out luxury—and get a massage. I pay someone to work out those knots in my shoulders. They rub and roll and dig into my tissue, literally kneading away all of those stresses one by one. Meanwhile this lovely calming music plays in the background, and the scent of fragrant candles wafts through the air. And by the end I feel all floppy, relaxed, and bendy like a giant jellyfish floating back to the parking lot. Ahhh.

​But afterwards… I’m still late to a meeting or a game, and I spill milk all over the counter or coffee all down my white shirt. I’ll still get a rejection from an editor, and feel like I don’t have enough time to get to all of the things that need to be done. So, one by one the stresses pile back on my shoulders. The massage is awesome, and offers me extreme peace and relaxation. But only temporarily.
 
We all crave peace. In the midst of our whirlwind lives, I find it critical to seek peace. Massages are one way. I’ll also go for a walk or read a book or sip some tea or take a yoga class or sit out on my back porch and watch the sun set. I love all of these activities, and they are all healing to me. But at some point the massage is over and so is the walk, it’s time to roll up my yoga mat, my teacup is empty, and the sun has set.

​Thankfully there is one type of peace that is eternal—the peace Jesus offers us. Jesus’s peace surpasses all understanding. He offers it to us daily. We just have to tap into it. Just like you need to tap into a maple tree to get its syrup. That means in the midst of chaos saying, “Jesus, please bring me peace. Please help me not snap at my family members, slow down even though I’m running late, not worry about tomorrow, because I trust that you have it under control.”
 
It’s really hard when all of the balls we’re juggling appear to be on fire. But that breath, that moment of asking, “I have a problem, and I need some help, Your help, God, Your peace,” makes all the difference. It might not get you there on time or help you ace the test, or win the game, but you’ll get where you’re headed in a better state of mind, less flustered and you’ll be less anxious while answering the questions or playing the game, which means you can be more focused on doing your best at the task at hand. 

​Jesus will dig into your tense spots and knead them out one by one with His absolute, pure, unconditional love. And the peace He offers is easier to attain than an appointment at a spa, lasts a lifetime, and is absolutely free of cost to you. He’s already paid your bill plus the tip.
 
Peace be with you.

​Like its name implies, the Lucky Day shelf at my library houses the Best Sellers you can never get your hands on, the you-hit-the-jackpot, but you only have 14 days to read it shelf. I’d just finished one book, and Private Paris jumped off the Lucky Day shelf at me, solely because of the word Paris. Also, I’d never read a James Patterson book. I know! He’s the highest paid author according to Forbes, has sold over 350 million books and holds the Guinness Book record for the most #1 best sellers ever. This was my chance to see what his writing was all about, and I grabbed it.

​I was reading along. Delicate croissants. Creamy café au laits. The Opera House. A dreamy café. Sigh. Chase scenes. Action. Very Jason Bourne. Perfect. A gruesome murder made me squeamish. I wondered if I should keep reading, because something about this felt polluted. But I bantered in my head. Okay, I can handle this. It’s still intriguing. It’s still Paris. And then I got to almost, but not quite, page 100. And Eek Zeke! Beyond disturbing, horrifying erotic photos are found as a clue to the mystery. I closed the book. I don’t care how many copies he’s sold, I don’t care how many times he’s topped the list, James Patterson, “No thank you.” You might love him. But this book wasn’t for me, and I knew it down deep. I could have kept reading. No one would have known. My kids. My husband. My friends. They wouldn’t have seen what I was reading. It wasn’t real. It was just fiction. I wasn’t doing these things. Just going along for a pleasure read. Right?
 
But the words we read etch grooves in our brains. The stories remain. Think of how many times you’ve read something, and it pops in your head later to share with a friend—an interesting article, an inspirational quote. This story was NOT something I wanted resurfacing in my mind. And if you’re a huge Patterson fan, that’s cool. I’m not judging. I just knew this book crossed a personal boundary that made me feel uncomfortable. I knew it earlier on. I sensed it was coming. I should have stopped sooner. Sounds like a lot of temptations from my teen years. I knew under my skin it was wrong. I thought about putting an end to antics, but maybe kept going a little too long. There comes a point of no return. And this time, I wasn’t going to cross it.
 
Fast-forward a day or two to the doctor’s office for annual physicals. When scheduling our usual doc was unavailable, but the receptionist had said, “You’re in luck. We have appointments available with our newest physician.” So we’d taken them. As my child was on the table and the “new-to-the-practice” pediatrician was checking their abdomen he said, “You don’t mind if I look at their privates?”
 
Time stopped. It was one of those moments, when you’re caught off guard, and you’re not sure if you heard someone right, and you get a little warning signal, that something is off, and as a result, you’re not quite sure how to respond. I mean this guy was a doctor. But I didn’t know him. And at our last three or four rounds of physicals I’m certain this hadn’t been part of protocol. Some parents would be cool with this—with a trusted doctor, if it was part of their annual routine. But it wasn’t, and I wasn’t. Something in my gut told me it was not okay. I wondered if I said, “No!” Would he think I meant, “No, I don’t mind”? If I said, “Yes,” would he mistake it for giving permission?

​Time stopped. It was one of those moments, when you’re caught off guard, and you’re not sure if you heard someone right, and you get a little warning signal, that something is off, and as a result, you’re not quite sure how to respond. I mean this guy was a doctor. But I didn’t know him. And at our last three or four rounds of physicals I’m certain this hadn’t been part of protocol. Some parents would be cool with this—with a trusted doctor, if it was part of their annual routine. But it wasn’t, and I wasn’t. Something in my gut told me it was not okay. I wondered if I said, “No!” Would he think I meant, “No, I don’t mind”? If I said, “Yes,” would he mistake it for giving permission?
 
It was the exact same feeling I’ve had before. In high school they called it peer pressure. “You don’t mind if we sneak out of your house to meet these cute guys? We’ll just stay out a little longer, okay? You’re cool if we leave the game early to grab a couple of beers? We don’t have to tell your parents, right?” They’re questions, but not really. More like statements with a question mark tagged on the end at the last minute. What do I say? How do I react? To my friends? To my teammates? To my ride home? No, I don’t want that to happen. Yes it bothers me. How will I get home if I say, “no”?
 
“Yes, I mind,” I blurted to the doc.
“Well, oh, well,” he stammered, his hand still on my child, “I really recommend this at a well check up.”
I’d said, “no”, but he was pushing back. Who said peer pressure ends when you graduate?
“No thank you,” I chirped, louder this time.
 
Is anyone asking you to do something that makes you uncomfortable? That sends a strange glob to your stomach, makes your throat itch? It could be something perfectly fine for someone else. It could have been okay for you on another day or in another season or for a different one of your children, but your internal radar tells you something is amiss. It might even be labeled as “you’re in luck” but you still know it is wrong.

​And when that happens, you have a voice, you have a right, you are allowed to say, “no.” In fact, God encourages us to stand up for what’s right, and not fall for the ways of this world.
 
We use our powerful God-tools for smashing warped philosophies, tearing down barriers erected against the truth of God, fitting every loose thought and emotion and impulse into the structure of life shaped by Christ. Our tools are ready at hand for clearing the ground of every obstruction and building lives of obedience into maturity.
2 Corinthians 10:4-6 MSG
 
Everyday we are faced with choices. And we need to think through our decisions. Often we get some time to think them over. We know what the seniors do at the first Cross Country meet each year. We know a certain person will push our buttons when we see them. We’ve seen what happens at the after hour party at our annual conference. We’ve heard about the initiation process for newbies. When we know, we owe it to ourselves to be prepared with a response, with an action plan. We can be proactive about our decisions.
 
Other times choices pounce at us, jump from behind the corner when we weren’t expecting them. And then what? And then we need to quickly process if doing this thing is good, is acting that way just, is going that place right? And if the answer is “no”, then that needs to be our answer too. Even when it’s hard to say it. Even when people might judge us or scorn us or laugh at us or roll their eyes at us or not invite us next time or look us over for the promotion.
 
Whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. Philippians 4:8
 
God gave us a voice and He wants us to use it. Stand up for what you believe in, so your true reflection can shine.
 

​The other day I wanted to wear my white jeans. I went to my closet but couldn’t find them. I started flipping through piles, digging through shelves, and even asked my daughter if maybe, she’d borrowed my white jeans. When she said, “no,” and I still couldn’t find them I got a little frenzied, and in desperation may or may not have thrown all of my jeans on the floor.
 
Later, calmer, as I refolded my jeans and lined them back on my shelf, I shook my head, because I clearly have too many pairs of jeans. And the thing is if you have too much of something, it weighs you down, gets in your way, and makes it harder to do the things you were made to do.
 
Too many pairs of jeans meant not being able to find the pair I was looking for. Which were a waste of time and a source of unnecessary stress.
Too much ice cream too fast gives me a brain freeze. Too much sun burns my skin. Too much caffeine makes me jittery. Too many things scheduled into my day stresses me out as I try to do it all and get there on time. But there are more dangerous things too, aren’t there? Too much spending can cause financial strain and debt. Too much time with the wrong people and we can start to lose sense of our true selves.

​My heap o’ jeans led to a good old closet cleansing. Yes, all of this excess in the picture—bags upon bags—came out in one day (and I hadn’t even touched three of my kids’ drawers yet). All of this stuff was hampering ease of finding things, decisions about what to wear, making it difficult to shut drawers. It was time to purge. These items can now go where they can do some good – old goalie jerseys to the local soccer program, outgrown school uniforms to younger kids at the school, and clothes we just don’t need to the local community charity. Of course, when I start to get rid of excess it just opens my eyes to how much of it I have, and how much more I need to clean out. But it’s not just my closets that need cleared out.
 
Is there any excess baggage you’re carrying around? Too many late nights leaving you exhausted? Too many texts from someone who belittles you making you feel small and desperate? Too many episodes of Friends leaving you unproductive? Too many hours stressing about the same job/relationship/fill-in-the-blank over and over again instead of handing it over to God? Too much time on social media making you brain-dead? I know a lot of people focus on spring-cleaning, but there’s no time like the present to get rid of whatever is bogging you down.

​When I get rid of excess, I pare down closer to the core of who I am, my true essence, my true reflection. When I purge the things cluttering my life and heart there is less in the way of who God created me to be, and more time and space for me to just be His child.
 
What about you? What excess do you need to get rid of in your life?

​When I’m at the beach I wear these heinous shoes all day, every day. They are the dorkiest item of apparel I own, but I wouldn’t even consider walking through the sand without them.
 
As soon as my feet hit the boardwalk leading from the condo to the beach, my family parts like the Red Sea, and I take off sprinting past them, sometimes with the pool bag flapping at my side, until I am ankle deep in ocean. I look ridiculous. I know I do. I look like I’m being chased by a Land Shark. People probably joke at dinner about the crazy lady they saw running by herself onto the beach, speculating about what motivated me to act like a maniac. But I do not care.
 
See, I’m allergic to fire ants, and not just like “achoo” or “dang I got a rash” but like” jab me with my Epipen and rush me to the hospital ASAP.” So to avoid these little buggers who live in hot, sandy places, I cover my feet and keep them in the wet sand where the ants are less likely to bite. And it is worth the ugly shoes and the strange antics to stay safe. Every single step of the way.

​I’m sure there are many other things I do that seem strange or counter cultural to someone observing, but I do them for self-preservation. You probably do too. At dessert while out to eat with some girlfriends recently, one friend offered another friend a bite of her brownie. She answered, “No thanks. It looks so good, but I’d have to pay for it for a week.” She is gluten free and knows the wheat in baked goods attacks her body. The bite of rich, chocolaty brownie, although oh so yummy, just isn’t worth it for her. I have another girlfriend who needs her sleep. NEEDS IT. Like no one else I’ve ever met. She wakes up, takes her kids to school in the mornings and goes back to bed for another hour or so every school day. As a result every minute she’s awake she is more energetic, more productive, and happier. It is what she needs to be healthy and in a good place. And so no matter what everyone else does or thinks she should do, she deliberately gets her sleep.
 
It’s not always convenient to do the thing that’s best for you. But it’s essential to do it anyway.
 
The most significant thing I do each day to keep me grounded, safe, full of joy, and in the right frame of mind is to read the Bible. Most mornings I am on the fly—attempting to sneak a jog in before it’s sweltering hot, trying to get one of my kids on time to an early morning soccer game, hoping to get a bit of writing in before the rest of my family wakes up. And then there are the days when I am just sooo sleepy. But regardless of how handy or opportune, deliberately starting my day in the Word keeps me anchored to who I am.

 
So before I pull my covers off, I reach under my bed, pull out my Bible and my journal and see what God has in store for me for the day at hand. My morning time with my Bible:

• keeps me from comparing myself to others
• reminds me not to worry
• gives me courage
• renews my strength and energy
• helps me avoid feeling misunderstood
• reassures me I am loved and that I am never alone

 
There’s nothing like the written Word of God for showing you the way to salvation through faith in Christ Jesus. Every part of Scripture is God-breathed and useful one way or another—showing us truth, exposing our rebellion, correcting our mistakes, training us to live God’s way. Through the Word we are put together and shaped up for the tasks God has for us. 2 Timothy 3:16-17 MSG
 
Just like my awful pink beach shoes keep me safe from seemingly harmless insects that are life-threatening to me, beginning my day immersed in the Word of God protects me against seemingly innocent insults, rejections, comments, stresses and tensions, and reminds me I am wholly and completely loved and accepted, just as I am. And this reward is so fulfilling that I am always glad I woke up early, took the time, or waited to get started on something else. Always.
 
How about you? What seemingly countercultural or inconvenient things do you do to keep yourself grounded, safe, happy and shining your true reflection?

You may have noticed there was no True Reflections blog last week. I missed you all, but I was taking a break. I was resting. When was the last time you rested?
 
I mean really rested. For more than five minutes? When was the last time you turned off your phone, sat, gazed, breathed, and didn’t look at the clock for hours on end?
 
“When could I possibly,” you ask? I ask myself that sometimes, too—like all the times. This weekend our calendar includes dinner with friends, eleven soccer games (three of which are out of town), a graduation, church, a wedding, a visit with my mom, and a team meeting. It is physically impossible for us to get to all of these things.
But we’ll try.
And then we’ll be full and happy and connected and stimulated and… exhausted! I think for most of us in today’s world, this is a typical snapshot of a day-in-the-life.
 
And I am so grateful this is my life, because I love my friends, kids, and family. But it is impossible to maintain this kind of momentum. I didn’t even mention the fact that we should try to squeeze in eating, bathing, and sleeping somewhere in the mix. So how do we find rest in the midst of mayhem (awesome mayhem, but mayhem none the less)?

We have to be intentional.
We need to schedule down time just as intentionally as we plan workouts or conference calls. There are two kinds of rest that we need to make time for:

1. Breathing room—margin in our day to day, time between meetings, to sit and have conversations, to avoid driving like a maniac and being late to everything
2. Sabbath—actual time “off” to process and decompress all of the time “on”

 
Both are critical to our mental and physical wellbeing, but it is the latter that I’m talking about here. The get away from it all, put your phone away too (crazy, I know but so freeing), let your brain and all the thoughts in it, your heart rate and your body s-l-o-w down.
 
Remember, God created Sabbath. He wasn’t exhausted when He created the world, He is God, so it didn’t tax or stress Him. At all. But when He was done, God invented the day off to teach us that all good work needs to be followed by rest. God’s creation of Sabbath was just as important as His creation of land and sea, animals and plants. He knew what we sometimes forget—without rest, we can’t process all the great stuff that happens during the busy times.
 
By the seventh day God had finished his work.
On the seventh day He rested from all his work.
God blessed the seventh day. He made it a Holy Day
Because on that day he rested from his work, All the creating God had done. Genesis 2: 2-4
 
As Priscilla Shirer says in her book, Breathe, “In the midst of a universe that cannot exist for a second without constant motion, God transcended the order of nature. He stopped. He rested. And He prescribes the same for you and me.”

My husband and I just got back from one of these brilliantly, spectacular slow downs. We escaped to my mom’s place in the mountains for a couple of days while my incredible mother stayed with our kiddos. In the mountains it’s next to impossible to get a signal. There’s no cable. There’s not even a coffee shop (don’t panic, we packed our Nespresso). However there are breath-taking mountains, a still lake, winding walking trails, the sound of birds singing, and Brett and I had each other. We spent our time walking and talking, sharing, reading the Bible, watching Nicholas Sparks movies, cooking delicious food, listening to a great sermon series, and just staring out at the view.
 
And in this time and space my husband and I exhaled. Together, we exchanged stories that in our whirl and swirl of daily life had never surfaced. We shared hopes and aspirations. We listened to and worked out each other’s issues, stresses, concerns. And we took time by ourselves, too. I journaled about where I’ve been this past year and where I’m headed. I made plans, jotted down goals, dreamed.
 
Amazingly, when my life wasn’t so noisy—and I just don’t mean actual noise, but the noise of busyness and distraction—I could hear more clearly. I could hear my husband more crisply. Without the clutter in my brain, I could hear God’s voice reminding me how much He loves me, how much peace He offers, how He’s got my life safely guarded in His hands. When I’m too busy, it’s harder to find time to hear His voice. But in the stillness it surrounded me. And it reminded me of my true reflection, that I am a daughter of Christ.
 
It’s summertime folks. And that can mean trips and camps and conferences and getting caught up on all the things we don’t get to during the other parts of the year. But it is also a time where it may be easier to carve out some space to just be. Whether you take one personal day or a handful of vacation days, I urge you to find a beautiful spot—a rooftop, a dock, a field of wildflowers, a beach, a park bench with a peaceful view—and sit and unplug and rest and unwind and breathe and listen. Take time off. You don't just deserve it. You need it. It's part of what God created you to do. And if you're worried about what will happen to all of the items on your to do list while you're taking time off, I promise, God has them under control. He's got you covered. I also promise you will not regret resting.
 
Do you have any plans to unwind this summer? I’d love to hear about them in the comments section below.

While grabbing an apple in the kitchen to fight off a mid-day stomach growl, I heard an erratic banging from the dining room. I peeked around the corner to spy a large black bird flapping his wings and flying straight toward one of the windows--crash—hitting it so hard, he fell back to the ground in a feathered heap. Was he dead? How long had he been down here? How in the world did a bird get in our house?
 
The bird quickly answered my first question—he was not dead—by rearranging his body, raising his wings and aiming straight toward another window, only to repeat the whole crashing and crumpling scene. A close-up wild bird is very different than gazing at one flittering through the trees. He appeared so much gawkier, louder, and infinitely crazier. My instinct was to get him OUT! But he was like a lunatic, also probably severely concussed, so I avoided his hysterical flapping (I did not want him plummeting into me) by ducking through the hallway to open the front door. I swung the wooden door in and the storm door out, sliding the catch so it would stay open, all while talking to the bird as if it were a toddler, “Come on bird. Here’s the door. You can go outside now. Here you go.” But where did he go? He was nowhere in sight.
 
I followed my ears to the clatter of colliding and flapping in the living room. He must have snuck in this room, like one of those secret passageways in Clue—where you can go straight from the Conservatory to the Lounge even though they’re on opposite ends of the game board. He had tricks up his feathered sleeves, and he was now head-banging against the window in his new room. When he fell to the floor. Again. I rushed past him to open the back door leading to our screened-in porch “Alright, bird. Come on out to the porch. I’ll get this door open for you too, or the front door’s still an option. Either one works for me.” 

I got the screen door open and finally remembered to breathe as he soared onto the porch. Brilliant. Until he crashed straight into one of the screens. I now know the origin of the word “birdbrain”. I closed off the porch, so he couldn’t get back in the house, and kept talking to him while shooing him time after time in the direction of the exit. After several crash and burns, he flew outside. I slammed and latched the door behind him.
 
Finally free of the problem of having a large bird flopping around my home, I pondered how he ever got so misplaced that he ended up here, that he thought he wanted to be in our house instead of out in the open where he belonged? How did he get so confused, distracted that he couldn’t distinguish glass or screens from air, from wide-open spaces? I considered how the more exhausted and anxious he got, the more he seemed to spin out of control.
 
But I do it too. Do you? Do you ever run into the same wall time and time again? Trying to do it all by yourself, ignoring the voice coaching you out to freedom

Instead of embracing the trees and sky where God has placed you, do you ever seek something you’re not suited for, somewhere unbecoming of the beautiful being God created you to be? Have you ever banged your head on the glass thinking it might be a way out, crashed into a screen when you’ve flown a little too high or too low?
 
Like that bird, we all get off track sometimes, misplaced, confused about where we want to be, where we should be, what is truly important. We find ourselves someplace we never imagined, and we can get trapped there. Appearances, brands, numbers on the scale, on test results, on the scoreboard, or in our checkbooks distract us. We get tired and stressed, which confuses us and we start making bad, frantic decisions. But how do we get back on track, back to our true selves, our true reflections?
 
It’s easy, if we’re willing to take a deep breath, get our bearings and listen. God is opening doors and windows giving us fresh opportunities and new chances, shooing us to the openings, to the ways out of bad situations and into wide-open spaces. He’s talking to us saying, “Look over here!” We just need to listen.
 
And when we pull ourselves out of our heaps and fly to the beautiful places He’s providing for us, we can stop feeling scared, lost, overwhelmed, or incapable, and spread our beautiful wings and soar as He designed us to do.

Christ has set us free to live a free life. So take your stand! Never again let anyone put a harness of slavery on you. Galatians 5:1