Our group this month was small.
Four ladies, including myself, gathered for two hours.


Praying for one another.
And this question: What are you learning about God and yourself right now?
It’s a heavy question on any day, but that day it landed with a thud in my heart.
As those around me began to share where they were, how He was calling their name, how they were leaning hard into Him, I couldn’t help but think:
What am I learning??

This long year has left me with only this: waiting is a never ending walk-a-thon to more waiting.


Then she said it


I know surrender. This entire journey, this thing called sanctification—surrender.
It’s not a new word. It’s not a novel idea or an earth-shattering concept.
However, it’s application in her life would send waves of uncertainty into my heart, waves that would last for days and plunge me to my knees often.
He is calling her to let go of her requests. He is asking her to walk in thanksgiving, gratitude, in the fullness of His presence. He is asking her to walk out His being enough—every day. Just Him. Not the things He gives, not the promises He fulfills, not the yeses. Just Him.

After they left, while I was scrubbing plates and wiping counters, there was a unsettling in my deep-down, in my soul, my ruminator.

A dissonance.

I was off.
I had answered the question in my own right.
It was an echo of every answer I’ve given to any heart question these last 12+ months:

Waiting. I’m learning to wait and to trust in the waiting.

But I’m not learning to wait. I’m not even learning to trust in the waiting. I’ve become angry in the waiting. I’m souring in the waiting. I’m not waiting to see Him. I’m not waiting to give glory to His name. I’m waiting for something.
A movement.
A yes.
A next step.
A thing.


I cried into my husband’s pillow then onto his shoulder in the days following the gathering, unable to identify the error of my waiting.
Inevitably, my sour began to show.

Conversations about new babies, upcoming ministry, celebrations and uncertainties were all tainted.
My outlook was acidic.
My words were bitter.

When given the chance to give thanks, I brushed off His provisions as nothing that I couldn’t have done myself. I gave Him lip service, paid tribute to Him, but my heart was rancid.
When given opportunity to share our journey, this leg of the race and His faithfulness, my words dripped with sarcasm, resentment, blindness to Him.

Repeatedly, I heard my voice say:
I just don’t understand how it’s going to work.
I don’t see how this is good.

Months of military training.
Uncertain job security.
Deployment whispers.
No home of our own.
No children.

Then I heard my heart:
Lord, how will I ever get what I want with these things staring at me?

You see it.
I saw it.

Arrogance. Pride. Sin.
I was Queen.
I sat on the throne.
He did my bidding.

Broken, my heart cried:
How did I become this?
How did I get here?
Is there forgiveness for usurping the King?


He revealed my ugliness, gently pulling back the blinders to reveal my sin in all its perversion.

Where am I?

You’ve forgotten me.
You’ve chosen you.

How do I fix it?
You don’t.
I redeem.
I pick you up.

See me.


I can’t undo the days my life shouted my arrogance instead of His glory. I can’t take the bitter taste away from those who saw it before I did.

Time only goes forward, and this is what I’m learning:
I can’t draw in the sand while I wait.
I can’t sit or relax.
I can’t wander, aimlessly asking questions that have no answer.
I can’t make my own plans.
I can’t build sand castles or store up treasure.
I cannot get comfortable.

I must engage daily.
I must stand, shield in hand, sword ready to fight.
I must walk a bit each day, even if it’s only a half-shuffle forward–deliberate, anti-flesh movement.
I must step into this minute with my eyes on Him, choosing Him, seeing Him.

The circumstances, the challenges, the things staring at me have not changed. They are still out there…waiting.
I’m done waiting.

Tab’s heart, wit and wisdom are things I miss daily.

A big fuss in a tiny package–she’s all the rage!

Dreaming and letting go from two ladies who love Him.

This. This is for my dearest friend, Julie…because I just can’t not laugh when I read this. Every time.

Preparing my heart for Mother’s Day:

A wonderful gift for those we love who first loved us.

The struggle so many of my beloved friends are walking through, walking into or anticipating.

Because I desperately needed this reminder.