Christmas is about Gifts?

When I was younger, I remember asking my mom why she didn’t get as many presents for Christmas as my sisters and I did. Her response was simply, “When you get older, Christmas is about your kids.” She didn’t say it with disdain or angst. She said it with a smile, as if to say, “You’ll see. One day you’ll feel the same way.”

And she was right. I have 4 kiddos and it never fails that every single Christmas, I would much rather watch their faces light up as they open their gifts then open even one gift of my own.

When I was thinking about this curious little part of parenthood, it made me think of just how amazing it is to be the giver of gifts. Yeah, it’s awesome to be the recipient. I LOVE getting gifts…especially ones that someone put time and thought into. Those are the absolute best. But, giving the gift has its perks, too.

Just go with me here. To give a gift requires planning. It requires paying attention to the receiver. What do they like? What makes them smile or laugh?

It requires an attitude of gratitude as you think about how the right gift can portray a message such as “Thank you for being in my life.”

Then, once the gift is picked out and wrapped up in bright, festive paper, you get to wait until the day arrives to give it to the other person. Oh, waiting is hard on any given day, but it’s WAY harder when you have something amazing to give away. Feelings of anticipation and excitement fill you up on the inside and beg to be released a few days early. But, no. That feeling signifies something so important to the gift-giving process.

It represents the love you have for the person that gets the gift. Tangible love.

So when the child or the mother or the husband finally gets their hands on the present you’ve been waiting for weeks to give them, you get to watch them experience a form of love . Their expressions are so worth it. Their reactions are priceless. It’s amazing how a gift can change sullen into cheerful and downcast into hopeful. That’s what love does.

This is what God foresaw when He decided to give us the most perfect gift ever in the form of His Son. He saw a world that desperately wanted to know love. Not just hear about love from a distance but actually feel it because they’ve experienced it first hand. This is what the manger means. It means we get to be the ones whose faces light up as we recognize that the Giver of love came just for us.

And our response is so natural and pure. There’s nothing fake about it. We, then, love someone else because He loved us first. He gave the first and best gift and we get to continue that legacy of giving until our very last breath. That, my friends, is why giving is a gift in itself.

Lord, let the cycle of love continue through me and my kids as we celebrate your birth this Christmas. It’s always been about love and will always be about love. I wouldn’t want it any other way. Clearly, you think so too. Thank you, Jesus. Amen

 

Hunger Pains and The Neglected Pen

When I started this blog in 2015, I wasn’t really looking for much of an audience. I was just looking for a place to find release. I needed to get the words out of me or they were going to silently consume me to the point of implosion. The thought of that outcome was too scary to even imagine. To be eaten by the very hunger that compelled me to write in the first place…how ironic would that have been?

So I wrote. I loved it and I loved the sense of being known as I carefully formed each phrase of thought.

But the past year came in like a flood and with that heavy rain came new growth opportunities that I never could have been able to anticipate. Good things have bloomed and I’m grateful for the downpour of blessings that have washed away yesterday’s old mindsets .

However, I stopped writing because I got caught up in the flow of the new. The refreshing rain gave me moments of tangible joy but that relentless ache started gnawing at my insides again. That familiar groaning that says, “Nothing else is going to satisfy your desire to write…except writing.”

So here I am at the end of a very full year and my soul is having hunger pains. My new experiences have drowned out my old restless ways. God knows I needed that baptism as a reminder of His amazing grace. But it’s not thirst for adventure that wakes me up at night anymore. It’s a longing for a recorded life.

What’s the point of living the dream if no one knows about it? Not for glory or glamour, no. For a chance to point to the One who brings wholeness as we allow our hunger and thirst to draw us closer to Him.

After all, a satisfied life means that we are to  live at the intersection of the external and the internal. Always. If we are drenched from the rain but our hearts are weak from starvation, we are still half-empty. If our inner being feasts on manna but our bones become brittle from neglect, then we waste away.

To be made whole is my greatest desire and to do that means I must respond to the hunger inside by documenting my thirst-driven life. So I choose to drink of His grace and I pray that my well lived stories ultimately reflect the Story Giver.

A Surrendered Heart

I lay me down

upon the table

not knowing what’s to come

 

All my hopes

and dreams combined

are fighting for a single crumb

 

 

Inside of me

they push and pull

’til answers are revealed

 

But secretly

they know the truth:

tomorrow’s fate is sealed

 

Not in the hunger

Nor in the thirst

But only when I surrender

 

To the maker

of this starving heart

So bent on becoming fatter

 

He wants my hopes

He wants my dreams

to reflect the One above

 

I won’t be free

from longing for more

until I feast on His goodness and love

 

So I bow my head

but I lift my hands

in an effort that brings me rest

 

And I recognize

with teary eyes

that His ways are always best.

 

Photo Credit: Jamie Street

Power in Motherhood: The Way She Sees Things

Selected to be a part of Tribe magazine’s short story compilation on The Power in Motherhood, I wanted to show my youngest daughter’s strength and tenacity through a simple metaphor. I used a flower in all its innocent beauty to highlight the raw delicacy and grace of my little firecracker. Come on over to Tribe Magazine and check it out! I am among 12 amazing writers who also talk about motherhood in their very own unique and thoughtful ways.

(Photo credit: Martin Vorel )

“She is here and now. This moment is her strength because she is planted right in the deep, dark soil of it.”

Dreams of the Heart

At my women’s Bible study this week, a word was spoken during worship to encourage the weary. It was simply this:

“God doesn’t care about your comfort, He cares about your well-being. “

As soon as I heard it, I grabbed hold of it with both hands. I knew that there was some deep truth in that phrase for me to search out. It sounded remarkably like another phrase that was spoken to me by a mentor during a dark season of my life:

“God is more concerned about your heart than your happiness.”

Both of these words were meant to encourage and challenge me. They definitely didn’t make me feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside. In fact, they stung my pride just a little bit. And I was reminded of King David from the Bible who was called a man after God’s own heart as a young boy yet had to wait about twenty more years to walk in the promise of Kingship over Israel.

He already had the promise but his heart wasn’t capable of carrying the weight of its fulfillment just yet.

That resonates with me. I feel like I’ve been stuck forever in the waiting room of my life when it comes to dream fulfillment. One step forward, two steps back, until I fall over into the chair of discomfort and discontentment.

My heart and my mind wonder: Did you really put that dream in my heart when I was 16, God?

Much like David, I have been fighting battles with lions and bears in the wilderness. Goliath’s of all shapes and sizes have come against me during this time of waiting. Saul’s have come after me with evil plans and many times I’ve just wanted to find a cave and hide away.

But I have had to believe that “Surely God is my help; the Lord is the one who sustains me.” (Psalm 54:4)

I have had to trust that God is helping me fight each and every battle with the intent of preparing my heart for what He has called me to do in the future. That each time I’m blindsided by pain, my purpose is being refined through God’s sustaining love.

I now see, if given the opportunity as a young woman, I would have chosen to go after dreams based upon my personal comfort  And comfort can be downright fatal to the health of one’s soul.

“For the eyes of the Lord range throughout the earth to strengthen those whose hearts are fully committed to Him.” (2 Chronicles 16:9)

A committed heart doesn’t come from an easy life. How can you tell if I’m committed if I’ve never had anything threaten my happiness? Commitment comes only after we have made a choice to stick with someone through all that may come our way.

A devoted heart doesn’t happen overnight.

If I had been given the opportunity to fulfill my dreams at 16, I would have wavered in my faith because my heart wasn’t strong enough to carry them yet. Years of discomfort and disappointment have come my way while I’ve been waiting. But, my heart has learned contentment and faithfulness because of the delay.

And if my dreams match the condition of my heart, I want to position myself under the waterfall of His love as much as possible. Comfort comes from Him when my faith is stagnant, but it never causes me to stop pursuing something greater than myself.

A healthy heart is my calling. And Jesus is the only doctor that can make that dream come true.

Sit and Stare: A Grace Story

Hi friends! Today, Jamie Sumner from The Mom Gene  has contributed the first guest Grace Story on Grace for the Wasted Space! I’m so excited to have a piece of her story here because she writes about something that we can all relate to: Perspective. She tells of hope found in the middle of a hard season that may not ever change this side of heaven. However, the thing she focuses on is prayer despite the circumstances that she wishes were a little bit different. And that is where the truth is not only found but where it resonates with each of our hearts. The waiting and hoping doesn’t necessarily change things, but the praying, well, it always does. Even if the only thing that it changes is the person praying. Welcome Jamie by leaving her an encouraging comment and then go check her out at her beautiful blog: The Mom Gene.

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Sit and Stare

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13 All these people were still living by faith when they died. They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance. And they admitted they were aliens and strangers on earth. 14 People who say such things show that they are looking for a country of their own. 15 If they had been thinking of the country they had left, they would have had the opportunity to return. 16 Instead, they were longing for a better country—a heavenly one.

Abel, Enoch, Noah, Abraham, Sarah, Isaac, Jacob. Paul lists them all and their faithful deeds like an exemplary contact list before he gets to this aside. Whenever I read this passage, I feel it in my chest, that balloon expansion as each one performs the necessary act of faith and then receives the reward. Abel offers the best sacrifice. Noah builds the boat and sees the rainbow. Sarah waits decades and has a baby. But Cain murders Abel and Noah must start from scratch on the new boggy earth and Sarah dies before she sees substantial proof of the patriarchal branch leading to the future Israelite nation. They listen to God and receive a blessing, but it is the smaller blessing. A slice of the pie.

I could read up to verse thirteen and stop there. Put a period to the happy ending. There’s so much good there. But if I’m begrudgingly honest, the rest is the best. It’s the whole pie. It’s the land we were built for where these tiny stories fit together to make a better scene. I prayed over my infertility and was blessed with Charlie and Jonas and Cora, but we also got cerebral palsy and a wheelchair and twins who must push behind rather than run beside their big brother. Big blessings with bigger wishes yet unmet.

The alien heart in me aches for the place where the three will run together. I want to see it with my own eyes. I want to hug them all while they stand on their own, heights not marked by braces or standers or stools. But I will try to be satisfied today knowing we will.

The thing that keeps me praying in this world is that there is another one. If this was all there is I think I might not be able to see my way past all the unfulfilled desires and the unfairness.

I might only see the wheelchair and not the boy. I might only feel the fear for my children’s future in what looks like a scarier and darker world than the fluffy one from which I hatched. But that’s not the full picture. It’s like the impressionists with their dots. You stand with your nose too close and it looks a jumbled mess. You take a few steps back and it’s a lady, a boat, a lake, a masterpiece.

I’m really trying to let these verses elicit hope rather than frustration. It does not always work. But it’s never going to work if I don’t practice. You don’t speed-walk through the museum. You sit and stare and let all that wide thinking and talent settle over you. You read every signpost steering you on to the next. You assess each piece from every angle, because each approach is different. And then you go back and visit again on another day in another mood and see even more and leave hoping that some of it rubbed off on you.

Website: http://mom-gene.com
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Choosing to Really See (An Empower Up Project Story)

I was blessed to write a piece for The Empower Up Project yesterday. For those of you who don’t know, this amazing community/website “was created to provide ALL women with a platform where we can help each other grow, succeed and collaborate.” It was founded by the awesome Kim Albano, a leadership and development consultant doing the work of lifting women up and helping them go after their dreams. I am honored to play a little part in her vision of empowerment with a grace story that I wrote in view of my sister’s joy-filled perspective on life despite her daily struggle with the effects of breast cancer.

For those of you who are new to Grace for the Wasted Space and don’t know my sister’s story, check it out here. For those of you who need some light shed on your dark path right now, come on over to The Empower Up Project and see what I learned while watching my sister go through the greatest battle of her short life. Maybe you know someone that needs a little hope in this season. Maybe you need some?

I’ll leave you with this heartfelt quote from my piece and hope it resonates with you:

“We don’t have to say much to understand each other’s hearts. The seagulls squawking over a child’s sandy snack in the distance say what we’re both thinking: There’s just not enough to go around, is there? Or so it would seem. There are too many unfulfilled needs to be met. Too many broken hearts to be mended. Too many desperately lost to be saved. “

When Goodbye is Better than Hello (Grace Story #1)

I remember the last conversation I had with my dad like it was yesterday. He was in the hospital for complications that arose from his long battle with brain tumors. He and I had a few moments together alone and the silence was deafening as we thought of ways to ignore the obvious. He mentioned how hard it all was and that it was only getting increasingly difficult each day. Our conversation was short and bittersweet as we held hands and focused on using words that mattered. I don’t remember everything that was said, but I do remember the Bible verse that he pointed me to as our conversation ended.

“For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain.”- Philippians 1:21

I thought I understood this verse until I was faced with the exact representation of what it actually means. My dad, a devoted follower of Jesus, was dying too young. And I, his naïve daughter, couldn’t believe that dying could actually be better than living. Until that moment.

Over the next few days his condition worsened and word got out among my dad’s piano students, colleagues, friends, and family that he was in the hospital. To count the number of people that came to visit and tell him of his impact on their lives would be far from accurate because there were so many. His life truly had been a life set apart for Christ with a farther reach then he will ever know. He couldn’t say thank you or offer anything in return those last few hours. All he could do was receive the love being poured out on him by the lives that were forever changed because of his Jesus centered calling.

As I reflect on the six year anniversary of his death today, I am reminded of what those last words to me really meant. It’s so simple, isn’t it? We have a choice each day to live for a purpose far beyond ourselves. As my dad’s hospital bed was surrounded by people until the very end, I, too, should aim to reach as many people (if not more) for the great cause of Christ. There is no reason to live a self-centered life when there are so many that desperately need the love that only Jesus can give. God used my dad’s fun and kind personality to draw people into His one-of-a-kind love and He wants to use me too.

The thing that I’m left to ponder is the dying part. We get to represent Christ from a limited standpoint while on this earth. But we get to experience Christ in the most intimate way possible once we leave this earth. My dad understood this. And, even though it’s hard for me to live without him, I know that I, too, being a follower of Christ, will enjoy this truth one day as well. We are never without hope- even in the wake of death.

God’s grace always shows up when we aren’t looking for it. That solemn day, my dad was the chosen deliverer of grace to a broken girl who had no idea just how much she needed it. Amazing.

Time For a New Name!

Hey friends! I woke up bright and early on this rainy Saturday morning because my sleepy mind was overtaken by a powerful word: RENAME.

It occurred to me after much deliberation between my tired limbs and my overactive imagination that I should get up and ponder this direction. After sitting here at my computer for about an hour questioning what this means, I felt God tell me that my blog for the past year and a half (My Wandering Heart Song) needs a more inclusive element to it.

I love the things that have poured out of me through the use of this creative space and I will always have those writings available to read. However, I feel like I am moving into more of a communal space and out of the self-exploration arena. I am still learning about myself and will never stop this adventure called introspection but I want my blog to be more about we and less about me.

So, this blog has now been renamed to Grace For the Wasted Space. I’ve added some new images and an updated description as well. It’s more of a community really. And guess what? I want to include you in my new and improved site! The focus from now on is going to be on storytelling. Women telling their stories of unlikely hope amidst pain, testimonies of rock solid faith overpowering fear, and tales of dreams fulfilled because of saying yes after years of saying no. Grace Stories I like to call them.

Do you want to help me get the ball rolling as we enter this new territory? I need your Grace Stories. We all have one, ya know? A time when our lives were halted by a Force greater than ourselves and realigned to the purpose planted deep inside our hearts.

If you’d like to be a part of the renaming process this blog is undergoing, then shoot me an email with your Grace Story. It doesn’t have to be perfect but I’d like it to be heartfelt and vulnerable as I’ve learned that these are the most impactful types of stories. The point, my dear friends, is to awaken the Grace Story that may be sleeping inside of someone else and cause them to pay attention to it. In their awakening, they just might look to the Giver of grace for a reminder of how he has woven their story of sadness into one of joy for the sake of another desperate soul.

Let’s start a chain reaction of grace, shall we? Email me at hisgraceisenough5@gmail.com with your beautiful words. Thanks in advance!

Photo Credit: free stock pro

Let’s Get Our Hands Dirty, Church!

Photo Credit: Camilla Damasio

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I know, I know…where have I been? (Cue mysterious background music.)

Let’s see… first of all, I’ve been finishing up my last semester of college. By the way, I graduate in May with my Criminal Justice degree! Woo hoo! It’s been hectic and time consuming to say the least.

I’ve also been settling in to our new home in Texas. It’s been fun but exhausting since I have a preschooler running around at my feet every second of the day. #onetiredmama

Where else have I been? Oh yeah, I’ve been involved in an amazing local chapter of a global non profit organization called The A21 Campaign and I’m loving it! The local chapter is called The Freedom Chasers and we go around to different churches, schools, events, etc… to raise awareness on human trafficking through informative talks, fundraisers, and community involvement. You might recognize the organization’s name because I wrote about their Walk for Freedom last year in which I participated.

In that same vein, I am writing to you today from the perspective of two young girls who got caught up in the seedy world that is sexual exploitation. Their stories are fictional but the details are based on real stories that I’ve read about or actually encountered. I would greatly appreciate your views and shares of this piece as it is just another tool to raise awareness among our friends and acquaintances on the horrors of human trafficking.

Click on the quote to go to the post and thank you so much for reading! ❤

Our world is experiencing a love drought of epidemic proportions these days. Elicit billboards with sexy imagery line the highways in anticipation of men wanting a pleasure break from their long and lonely drives. Women (and even girls) get caught up in the industry of temporary satisfaction in search of the seemingly elusive concept called love. They are on the receiving end of an unwanted demonstration of imposter love that reveals itself through association and expectation. Someone lied to them and led them to believe that they had to work for it. And the only thing that is going to stop their accidental pursuit of unhealthy love is a purposeful response of healthy love.