Beautifully Messy

My best friend and her kids came over for a play date yesterday, so I cleaned. As I was scrubbing the bathroom floor, I had to ask myself: "Why am I cleaning? Why do I care?"

After all, Chanelle knows that I am not Mrs. Clean. I'm aware that she knows me well enough to know that I could care less if there are a handful of crumbs left over on my table from breakfast or smudgy splotches on the windows from where my boys love to stand and press their faces against the glass.

Not only that, but she also lived with me for years and saw firsthand how I rarely even noticed if something was dusty and that I never owned a vacuum cleaner. She was the one who taught me how to do laundry our freshman year of college because I had forgotten my mom's tutorial. 

She knows me. So why did I care? Why did I scrub?

The best I can come up with is that I wanted her to think, "Wow, Gretchen really has this wife and mom thing down. She makes it look easy! She's a natural!"

Or....something like that. 

I wanted to appear to have it all together, so I could look like a rousing success story, an accomplished woman. 

All of this, for someone who knows me better than almost anyone. All of this, for someone who already knows I am a good wife and mother. All of this, for someone who I know does NOT care about my house because she just wants conversation with me and to watch our kids play together. 

The irony of this story lies in the fact that I totally forgot to clean up the basement, which is typically the messiest room of the house anyway. And where is the very first place the kids want to play?

The basement. Where the cushions are off the sofa from where Matt took his Sunday afternoon nap. Where cars and trains are strewn on the floor. Where old picture albums I had been paging through sit on top of a chair and our computer desk is covered with clothes we've been meaning to give away. The basement. 

I was thinking of all this today and again how silly it was. But more than the silly factor of it all, it hit me how this is exactly what we tend to do with ourselves. 

When we head out into the world, we neatly tuck everything into its proper place and scrub away the dirt so we glean with promise and minimize the things that others could criticize. But there lies below a basement where the mess dwells. 

The appearance seems just right, but look a little closer. There are pieces of ourselves that we hide away, whether through shame or guilt or embarrassment, that cannot stay hidden forever. We can gloss and floss ourselves to a sheeny perfection, but the mess remains. 

The insecurity. The anxiety. The sadness. The hurt. The loss. The anger. The questions. The doubt. The wound. 

When I read books or watch movies, there is something very off-putting to me when the protagonist is too perfect. I have read books before where I am actually rooting for the main character to fail a little bit. It is annoying to me when a fictional character handles every situation perfectly...especially in Christian books. 

My favorite all-time character is Anne Shirley. She is smart and passionate and savvy and strong. These are wonderful traits. She also has a quick temper and is kind of fruit loops sometimes. These are her messes. Anne Shirley is someone I can relate to because she is so beautifully messy. Give me a messy human over a perfect one any day (unless that perfect one is Jesus. Then give me Jesus).

I think this is one of the reasons I pursued counseling as a profession. I love peoples's messes. I long to tell them they are not alone in their messes but that there is help and hope and healing greater than they've ever dreamed. 

There is a Love that knows and loves every inch of our mess (even that part that tries to appear to have it all together).

All we need to do is to open wide our basement doors and give access to the mess.

And when it comes to others' messes, let's offer grace abundantly to give people some space to work through it. Let's give them so much grace that they know they don't have to have it all together.

While you're at it, be a gem and grab a broom to sweep up that cobweb in the corner.

Jonas' Birth Story

When Finn turned 1, I wrote down his birth story as a way of commemorating. I thought it would be fun to do the same for Jonas Rips. Two very different stories, two very different boys!

Even my pregnancy with Jonas was very different. Finn's was tough, a struggle through the entire third trimester.

Jonas was easy to have in my belly. It may have helped that I was finishing my graduate degree and completing my internship, so my mind was often focused on other things and I wasn't allowed to dwell on the fact that I was pregnant.

By the time I sat through a 3 hour graduation ceremony praying that I wouldn't need to pee, I only had a handful of weeks left to be pregnant.

The last couple weeks of pregnancy, my sister and her boys were in town. We spent those days keeping busy with them. Finn enjoys running around with his cousins more than just about anything, so we pooled it and parked it to our hearts content.

Jonas' birthdate was projected to be June 24th. About June 17th, I started having some irregular contractions and knew the time was getting close. Since Finn's delivery had been such an expected surprise (emergency c-section), I was very hopeful to have a successful VBAC: counting contractions, labor, pushing, the whole shebang.

On the evening of June 20th, my sister and I planned to have a sister date night. We rented a cheesy movie, and carefully picked out our favorite junk foods to enjoy along with the movie. As we were walking around Lewis Drug shopping for these things, I kept having random pains in my lower gut. They weren't truly consistent yet, though.

We went back to my house, ate, and vegged to our cheesy chick flick. As the movie was on, I remember starting to time those random pains because they suddenly weren't feeling so random anymore. Some were about 7 minutes apart, some 11 minutes, some even 20 minutes apart. My hope was starting to kick in that THIS. WAS. IT!

When my sister left that evening, I rolled into bed with Matt and hoped that the anticipation would allow me some sleep. It did…kinda sorta…but not really.

I fell asleep on and off for about 4 hours, waking periodically to the tightening in my stomach. I began keeping mental track of how often the contractions were occurring. Just before 4 a.m., I moved out to the couch so I could more officially count how far apart my contractions were and how long they lasted.

At that point, my contractions were consistently 10ish minutes apart and lasting about a minute each. I knew that things were kicking into gear!! When Matt woke up about 7:30, I told him, "I think this is the day!"

He was much calmer this second time around, maybe because he knew we had time as we watched my contractions. Finn played and Matt packed a hospital bag, and I laid on the couch and continued to count my strengthening contractions. I called my OB/GYN to let her know labor was beginning and she asked me how far apart my contractions were.

When I told her they were about 5 minutes apart, she basically told me to get my big ole prego booty to the hospital. At this point, I was having to brace myself through some of the contractions and wasn't always able to keep moving during them. At this point, I still thought the whole "counting contractions" adventure was…….fun!

What was NOT fun was riding in a car while contracting. Before heading to the hospital, we had to drive across town to take Finn to my mom's house. By the time we made it to the hospital, I was getting a little nervous. We had been to the hospital a couple days earlier for a false alarm. The one thing I knew was that I did not want to get sent home again. I prayed and prayed that after these hours of contracting, that I would be dilated.

And I was!! To a 3!!

At this point, I was still relishing the excitement of it all. I loved being able to count my contractions and enjoy the anticipation. Although I had been up most of the night, I was not tired. I felt invigorated. Because Finn's emergency birth had been such a quick surprise in every way, the gradual building of this birth was beautiful and I was enjoying every moment.

We got checked into our room and settled in a bit. My mom arrived, and took her place beside me as resident hand squishier; her hand took a serious beating that day. For another hour or two, I labored the old-fashioned way. Contraction: pain. Break: rest.

This was when my exhaustion started creeping in. That, coupled with the fact that I hadn't eaten anything since dinner the night before (about 18 hours previously), meant that my body and my mind were tired. Just when I was reaching the point where I was about to scream through my next contraction, a lovely man entered the room. A lovely, lovely man named an anesthesiologist came into the room carrying a pretty, pretty needle.

It took about 5 minutes for my epidural drip to kick in, but even then it was only working on about half of my body. The other half still….well….hurt. After a few physical adjustments, the pretty, pretty needle's job was officially done.

I was able to get the rest and physical replenishment I needed. For the next couple of hours, I laid and watched "Wreck It Ralph" with my husband and my mom. I may have gotten a couple of brief naps.

Finally, at about 6:15, the nurse came in and said that I could begin pushing. I had briefly met the on-call OB, but from my understanding she wouldn't be present again until the big shebang. So like a good girl, I pushed when they told me to push and laid back to rest when I could. Because of the epidural's constant drip, it wasn't painful and I couldn't feel the contractions. As the time got closer, however, I could feel the baby moving downward inside of me. It was crazy awesome.

This is the part of the story that goes off the rails a little bit. According to the nurse, Jonas was beginning to crown. She still had me pushing. Little did she know, the OB was not currently available as she was assisting with two other births at the exact same time. But I pushed because she told me to push.

However, then Jonas obliged and he began to emerge. The nurse freaked out a bit and tried to hold him in with her hand. Seriously. She blocked a baby from being born. What?!?! After a few weird moments, she realized there was no option to wait for the OB and she delivered my sweet Jonas Rips. He was beautiful and perfect and so so amazing. He was mine and he was here!!!

THIS is the part of the story where the details get a little gory. This is your fair warning.

Yes, my baby boy was here and he was healthy. I still had my epidural drip in so I was not feeling anything yet. However, I was still in stirrup city. Several nurses shuffled in and out and each one took a concerned look at…..that area. When the midwife came in to check me over, I think she sat and stared at…that area….for a few minutes with a concerned look on her face. Finally someone communicated to me that I had torn fairly badly. Jonas had apparently had his arm up over his eyes during birth and it created one big ouchie. Well, at least I couldn't feel it, right?!

After a brief examination and more concerned looks, the midwife informed me that she didn't feel qualified to stitch a tear of that magnitude. Because of that, I had to wait for the OB. The OB that hadn't delivered my baby and who I still hadn't even seen since our first meeting. Since the nurse thought that the doctor would be coming in shortly, she turned off my epidural drip.

From that moment forward, I moved my feet at least once a minute, trying to see if I was gaining any more feeling back on my bottom half. I was petrified that I would regain feeling in my lower half before the doctor came to stitch me back up.

I waited and waited….moving my feet…still in stirrup city. I was still exposed to anyone who walked in the room. I was shaking due to the physical shock and loss of blood. After about half an hour, my mom got MAD. She started muttering that she had never seen anything like this and asked for a blanket for me at least. After being briefly denied, they finally covered me up a bit. I laid there with my anxiety building that the epidural would wear off.

About 1 hour and ten minutes after Jonas was born, the OB finally made her way to my room, frantic and stressed. It took her about 45 minutes to stitch me up and while she stitched, she actually opened up to me about her rough night and how stressed she had been. I had compassion on her for sure…she couldn't help that 3 women had gone into labor at the same time. I was just tired and so desperately wanted her to be done so that I could snuggle with my baby and welcome family in to meet him.

She finished and scooted off to her next duty. Lastly, the nurse on duty told me that I needed to use the bathroom before they could move me to my maternity room. I shuffled along beside her and sat on the toilet. Suddenly, I began feeling very light-headed. Having fainted before, I knew the symptoms and told her that I thought I was going to faint. She had me hang my head upside down.

The next thing I knew, I was waking up blurry-eyed back in my bed. I had fainted, due to the blood loss and lack of food in my system.

Could I seriously just hold my baby now, please?

Finally finally finally, I got to just hold my sweet boy and welcome other family members in. My stepdad brought me McDonald's and it was maybe one of the best meals of my life.

Finn met his baby brother and was so very sweet to him. That was a moment that I will never forget. Suddenly, Finny Matt seemed SO BIG, as though he had grown immensely in the few hours since we had last seen him.

There were still some bumps in the road during the remainder of our stay at Sanford. Although I did have one excellent  nurse that made me feel taken care of for the first time. I suddenly had a new realization for the vital importance of a nurse's job. I knew what having a poor nurse felt like, and I knew what having a fabulous nurse felt like. Nurses - please know: your job is so, so important and valuable!

Full recovery from labor took a good month. It was probably 3 months before I didn't feel any pain. But I had such a wonderful support system that stepped in just when they were needed and stepped back out the moment they knew I was ready.

Yes, I have two boys with two very different birth stories. Both stories involve some dramatic moments and lengthy recovery, but each time I received an amazingly precious gift to hold in my arms.

Sign me up for #3! Are you ready, Matthew?!

A Daddy's Day Post

Growing up, I was never super gung ho about Father's Day.

I mean, it was fine.

I would get a card and make sure I told my dad that I loved him. I think I bought a gift a time or two.

My dad just never seemed very into celebrations…which takes some of the fun out of celebrating.

I loved my dad, but there wasn't always a desire to celebrate him.

My mom, on the other hand, was the queen of celebrations. Because of this, as well as her stellar care of us that went above and beyond what was required, us kids would often get my mom a card on Father's Day as well.

I say all of this to explain why it is a big deal that I am really looking forward to CELEBRATING Father's Day tomorrow.

Matt is a father worth celebrating.

He is a father who rocks Finn nearly every night before bed, all while singing the exact same 3 songs (in the exact same order) that Finn insists upon.

He is a father who gets Finn to brush his teeth by laughing, which gets Finn to brush even longer and harder, if only to make daddy laugh some more.

He is a father who has cleaned and scrubbed pukey sheets and held feverish boys.

He is a father who will stop while mowing the lawn just to catch a frog so that Finn can play with it.

He is a father who goes out of his way to stop and get "superhero" juice.

He is a father who drops what he is doing to help walk us out to the car after church so that we know that he is there for us even when others are wanting his attention.

He is a father who will sit on the floor and foster imagination by telling elaborate superhero stories.

He is a father who lets Finn sit on his lap nearly every morning as he drinks his coffee and gives him the coveted egg from his breakfast sandwich.

He is a father who doesn't shy away from a poopy diaper.

He is a father who cares enough to discipline his sons and teach them right from wrong. He leads by example, yet corrects when needed.

Maybe most importantly, he is a father who loves his boys' mother. They will know how to be amazing husbands someday by watching and learning how their daddy does it. He values and prioritizes us, and lets us all know that we are special to him.

Fathers like these are rare, a true gift. I am so thankful that my sons have a father that they can look up to and trust his leading.

These things are not to be taken lightly, no matter how menial they may seem.

By watching their daddy, Finn and Jonas will know how to love others well, how to be men of integrity, and how to live a life that glorifies God most of all.

In many ways, I feel like God is restoring the lost relationship that I had with my father by giving me a front row seat to watch Matt father our boys.

God doesn't skimp on blessings, after all.

No Mo Mean Girls

Girls. Girls can be so tough, so hard on each other.

When I was in elementary school, I was a part of a mean girls clique. It was a group of 8-9 girls; some days you were "in" and some days you were "out". Power plays and manipulation were the name of the game and it was always a passive aggressive battle to not be the lowest girl on the totem pole. The lowest girl sat alone while the others talked about her. The lowest girl played by herself at recess, just praying that the others would include her. The lowest girl went home at the end of the day with a pit in her stomach. 

It was miserable. Even when you were at the top or middle of the group, it was miserable. 

I was so insecure in these 'friendships' that when I arrived at my very first day of middle school, I walked right past a group of them as they congregated near the building's front door. Since they were all already together, I was petrified that I was on the "outs" with them, so I walked right on by my best friends. 

For a shy, timid, and nervous 11 year old girl, there isn't much more intimidating than a group of mean girls. 

Save for one more bad experience, I was extremely blessed to go on to find good female friendships. I found the absolute best friends of my life in high school and college and after, one in particular who is more like a sister to me than just a friend.

These ladies renewed my faith in girls. They showed me grace and beauty and kindness. They showed me relationship. 

Granted, I still met girls who seriously intimidated me. 

Usually, the girls who intimated me were unusually beautiful, or exceptionally talented, or unflinchingly confident. I always felt like they had something that I didn't. 

I remember one time in particular, I was on a missions trip and was grouped together with this gorgeous girl who was a few years younger than me. My first instinct was to turn away from her. She hadn't done a single thing to me, yet I wanted to shun her. For nothing. 

Fortunately, wisdom prevailed. I felt something in my spirit beckon me to befriend her, to pursue relationship. I am so thankful that I listened to that voice because she became the person I was closest to on the trip, almost like a little sister. 

She was still amazingly beautiful, but I came to know so much more about her by moving towards her, rather than away from her. I gained a lovely friendship by kicking intimidation in the shins. 

Sometimes, I still have to kick intimidation in the shins. Women make the most incredible friends, but honestly? They can also still terrify me sometimes. 

Other women are so beautiful, kind, caring. They are impeccable mothers and generous wives. They have talent seeping from their pores and God delights in using those talents. 

It is amazing to see!

But sometimes, when we view other women from a distance, intimidation can loom large. When that distance is crossed and the mountains of intimidation are conquered, relationship blossoms. 

I meet with an excellent group of young women on Wednesday evenings. I love these times together because each one of these women are so different and unique. They are sensitive and tough. They are honest and kind. They are beautiful and they are merciful enough to laugh at my lame jokes. 

I have been amazed over the last few weeks to see how God is forging friendships between these women who are each so different. I feel privileged and thankful to be a part of it.

It all makes me excited, quite honestly! There is something here:

Something important, something Biblical, something beautiful.

This all stirs passion in me, and I have been studying it. Here's what I have found.

"It is absolutely clear that God has called you to a free life. Just make sure that you don't use this freedom as an excuse to do whatever you want to do and destroy your freedom. Rather, use your freedom to serve one another in love; that's how freedom grows. For everything we know about God's Word is summed up in a single sentence: Love others as you love yourself. That's an act of true freedom. If you bite and ravage each other, watch out - in no time at all you will be annihilating each other, and where will your precious freedom be then? My counsel is this: Live freely, animated and motivated by God's Spirit. Then you won't feed the compulsions of selfishness. For there is a sinful self-interest in us that is at odds with a free spirit, just as the free spirit is incompatible with selfishness. These two ways are antithetical, so that you cannot live at times one way and at times another way according to how you feel on any given day." Galatians 5:13-20

There is freedom here - true freedom! No more chains binding us with envy or insecurity. When we reach out to other women in kindness and love, we are doing our part to break down the walls that rise between us when we size each other up and compare ourselves against each other.


"Since this is the kind of life we have chosen, the life of the Spirit, let us make sure that we do not just hold it as an idea in our heads or a sentiment in our hearts, but work out its implications in every detail of our lives. That means we will not compare ourselves with each other as if one of us were better and another worse. We have far more interesting things to do with our lives. Each of us is an original." Galatians 5:25-26

There is no doubt in my mind that this is the way that God intends for us to live. It is no secret that women often compare themselves to other women, and relationships can already be so fragile. But when we spend time building each other up rather than critiquing or criticizing or comparing, those relational bonds get stronger and God gets the glory. This is the good way.

"Make a careful exploration of who you are and the work you have been given, and then sink yourself into that. Don't be impressed with yourself. Don't compare yourself with others. Each of you must take responsibility for doing the creative best you can with your own life." Galatians 6:4-5

It was kind of crazy to me when I began to study this topic, just how often the Bible instructs to not compare ourselves with others. When Paul wrote these instructions, he knew what a minefield comparison can be. When we compare, there are two end results: it makes us feel better about ourselves because we see how much better we have it than another, or it makes us envious that another has so much more.

"So since we find ourselves fashioned into all these excellently formed and marvelously functioning parts in Christ's body, let's just go ahead and be what we were made to be, without enviously or pridefully comparing ourselves with each other, or trying to be something we aren't." Romans 12:6

Are either of these results really how we want to be? Prideful. Envious. Two sides of one coin. "Let's just go ahead and be what we were made to be"!!!

"Love from the center of who you are; don't fake it. Run for dear life from evil; hold on for dear life to good. Be good friends who love deeply; practice playing second fiddle." Romans 12:9-10

How do we not compare? By doing those things. Be authentic. Do good. Love deeply. Put others first.

"So where does that leave you when you criticize a brother? And where does that leave you when you condescend to a sister? I'd say it leaves you looking pretty silly - or worse. Eventually, we're all going to end up kneeling side by side in the place of judgment, facing God. Your critical and condescending ways aren't going to improve your position one bit. Read it for yourself in Scripture: 'As I live and breath,' God says, 'every knee will bow before me; Every tongue will tell the honest truth that I and only I am God.' So tend to your knitting. You've got your hands full just taking care of your own life before God." Romans 14:10-12

This is a beautiful reminder that we are all on the same side. When we waste time looking at others, it is ultimately attention that we are not giving God. Ladies, look at God! Isn't He amazing?! Doesn't He deserve our whole attention?!

Yes. Yes, He does.

"God's kingdom isn't a matter of what you put in you stomach for goodness' sake. It's what God does with your life as he sets it right, puts it together, and completes it with joy. Your task is to single-mindedly serve Christ. Do that and you'll kill two birds with one stone: please the God above you and proving your worth to the people around you. So let's agree to use all our energy in getting along with each other. Help others with encouraging words; don't drag them down by finding fault." Romans 14:17-19

When you see another woman looking lovely, by all means TELL HER!
When you see a gifting on a woman's life, don't envy it but BLESS IT! God's got you, friend. He will NOT hold out on you.
When you see someone you think is an excellent mother or wife, SPEAK IT! She may not hear it that often and you could have just given her a gift of renewed purpose.

Our words are so powerful. How will other women know we think they are amazing, if we don't tell them?!?!

"I want you to think about how all this makes you more significant, not less. A body isn't just a single part blown up into something huge. It's all the different-but-similar parts arranged and functioning together. If Foot said, 'I'm not elegant like Hand, embellished with rings; I guess I don't belong to this body,' would that make it so? If Ear said, 'I'm not beautiful like Eye, limpid and expressive; I don't deserve a place on the head,' would you want to remove it from the body? If the body was all eye, how could it hear? If all ear, how could it smell? As it is, we see that God has carefully placed each part of the body right where he wanted it. But I also want you to think about how this keeps your significance from getting blown up into self-importance. For no matter how significant you are, it is only because of what you are a part of." 1 Corinthians 12:14-20

This is really what it all comes down to, isn't it? We all want to be significant. We all want to matter.

God knows that. He isn't blind to our battle for significance.

But that's the beautiful thing about God's sovereignty. He knows how much we can handle. He knows what gifts to bless us with in order to reach those who need them. He also knows when not to gift when it may cause pride and pull you away from Him who really matters.

It all truly comes down to a matter of trusting God. Do we trust that He loves us (John 3:16)? Do we trust that He wants to give us good things (Psalm 84:11)? Do we trust that He is good (Psalm 100:5)? Do we trust that He works all things for good (Romans 8:28)? Do we trust that He has a plan (Jeremiah 29:11)?

He is absolutely trustworthy, but do you trust Him?

Then throw your energy into loving and encouraging, building up people and tearing down walls.

After all, if we have not love, we have nothing (1 Corinthians 13:2).

My Secret Identity

Before I was ever even conceived, my mom prayed for me. She prayed for one more daughter, one who would look cute in braids and whom she could name Gretchen. Gretchen was a name laid on my mom's heart before I ever existed.

In the Bible, especially in the Old Testament, a person's given name was their identity. A name was bestowed with thoughtfulness and heritage. When a child was named, it was sometimes a descriptor of the child at birth but most often a prophecy about what the child would become. 

Genesis 25 tells of the naming of Esau and Jacob. Esau, so named because he was "red and hairy" at birth. Jacob, so named because he came out "grasping" at his brother's heel.

Ruth 1 describes the agony of Naomi, who after great tragedy purposefully changed her name from Naomi ("pleasant") to Mara ("bitter").

1 Samuel 1 tells how Hannah, after praying for a child for years, named her sweet child Samuel ("heard of God").

There are dozens of other examples.

Names give identity.

During the formative years of my life, I found my identity by being a part of a big, church-going family.  We were the Swansons, ya'll! We were always at church, or at least that's what it felt like.

Mom played the piano and Dad played the organ and we all sang.

I was the youngest, so I was endeared as the baby of the family. I was Little Sister and Youngest Daughter and I belonged. My mom had prayed to God specifically for me and I knew I was wanted and cherished.

And then, to some extent, my family fell apart.

My parents divorced. We moved houses again. We changed churches. Mom started working longer hours so that we had food in the pantry. Mom got remarried. My brother passed away. My other siblings moved away.

We were no longer infallible. We were destructible.

Largely because of that, my identity suffered. The who I had been vanished. With the changes in my world, I found unhealthy ways to deal with my emotions and I uncovered parts of myself that I did not like so very much. I had attitude for days and rolling my eyes was my signature move. I snapped at people a lot when I felt out of control. I was angry.

Seemingly suddenly, I was identifying only with the negative parts of myself: Selfish. Brat. Dramatic. I no longer felt like the beloved, cherished, desired daughter and sister.

I lived under the shadow of those words: Selfish. Brat. Dramatic. I believed them about myself, because they felt true. I aligned myself with those words, and because of that I felt stifling shame.

Until…

God began teaching me about my name. I've blogged about it before, so I don't need to rehash. Long story short,

Gretchen means pearl. 

Pearls don't start out as much, just a simple grain of sand in a shell. Through irritation, a pearl is formed.

I may have began as a grain of sand, but through irritation, God could turn me into a pearl.

Something beautiful, something beloved.

Suddenly, I could identify with something positive about myself.

However, lately I have been struggling with feelings of insecurity that I thought had long ago been faced and dealt with. For the past few months, just when I think I've found a firm footing when it comes to how I feel about myself, the terrain shifts again and I'm flailing.

I was praying about my frustration and asking God what in the world was going on with me. Where did my confidence go? Where did my confidence IN HIM go?

And ever so gently, one question came to my mind:

"In what are you finding your identity?"

So I did some digging.

Sometimes I feel like I find my identity through my family - Mother. Wife. Sister. Daughter. 
Sometimes I feel like I find my identity through my life's calling - Counselor. Pastor's Wife. Worshiper. 
Sometimes I feel like I find my identity through my personality traits - Sensitive. Dramatic. Sarcastic. 

As honorable and true as those things are, when they are the only ways I identify myself, I am  basically begging to feel insecure.

Because each of those things are insecure. They are fallible and shakeable.

For instance…

It is true that I will always be a sister, but the picture of what that means changes far too often for me to define myself by it.
It is true that I will always be a worshiper, but if I lose my voice tomorrow it would change the way that I worship and my identity could suffer.
It is true that I will always be sensitive, but I've seen enough episodes of "Grey's Anatomy" to know that even that can be affected by a tiny tumor on the brain.

The hard truth is that even though we think we are defining ourselves with honorable, amazing, God-given things, when we find our whole identity through our relationships, or callings, or personality traits, we are aligning ourselves with things that are inconsistent or shakeable.

Like when I was a child and felt my identity completely wrapped within my family.

Families and life callings and personality traits fail us.

God cannot. Christ cannot.

When we find our identity in Him, we find an identity that cannot be shaken by circumstances.

Take a second and really think about that. We have an eternal security!!!!

This is exciting stuff here, folks.

When our identity is wrapped in God, we know that we are His. We belong.

When we know that we are His, we know that we are:

- His children (1 John 3:1, Hebrews 12:7, Galatians 3:26, Ephesians 5:1, Ephesians 1:4-5)
- Called (1 Peter 5:10, 1 Corinthians 7:17)
- Never alone or abandoned (Hebrews 13:5)
- Holy (Hebrews 10:10, Colossians 1:22)
- Saved (1 Thessalonians 5:9-10, Romans 10:9)
- Called to peace (Colossians 3:15)
- Provided for (Philippians 4:19, 2 Corinthians 9:8)
- A work in progress (Philippians 2:12-13, Philippians 3:12-14)
- Light (Ephesians 3:8)
- Family (Ephesians 2:19)
- Forgiven (Ephesians 1:7-8)
- Free (Galatians 5:1, 2 Corinthians 3:17)
- Heirs (Galatians 4:6-7)
- A new creation (2 Corinthians 5:17)
- Comforted (2 Corinthians 1:1-5)
- Loved ones (Hosea 2:23)
- More than conquerors (Romans 8:37)
- Known (Romans 8:26-27, Psalm 139)

And there is more…so much more!!

Find security in Him and watch all insecurity fall away.

"Lord, thank you.
I am not the mistakes I have made.
I am not the plans I have failed.
I am not the wrongs I have done.
I am not forgotten.
I am not abandoned.
I am not alone.
Because you say to the lost: come.
You say to the unlikely: beloved.
You say to the battle weary: rest.
In a hard and beautiful world, Your grade is the only pillowed relief for my tired soul.
To rest in Your making all things new."

- Ann Voskamp

Brown the Color and New Kids on the Block

The other day I was coloring with Finn. I was using the color brown, and all of a sudden I started to feel a titch sorry for for brown.

Brown is nobody's favorite color. People usually don't clamor to have brown colored rooms or bikes or cars or clothes.

Brown is the color of mud. And baskets. And poo.

It's just not fair. Brown should be someone's favorite color.

Brown is just brown. Lonely, muddy old brown.

It reminded me of when I was 9 years old and, like most little girls my age, The New Kids on the Block were where it was at.

Those smooth moves, those silky prepubescent voices, those boyish good looks!

When my friends and I would giggle around our sleeping bags and practice the dance to "(You've Got The) Right Stuff", we would talk about which member was our favorite. During these conversations, I would respond with "Danny".

I lied.

Danny was nobody's favorite, so I actually felt a little bit bad for the guy. In the picture above, he is far left in the top one and far right in the bottom one. Danny wasn't the best singer or the best dancer. He wasn't the cutest. He couldn't even pseudo-rap like Donnie. And, let's be honest, when he got older he kind of started to look like a mobster hit man.

I tried and tried to no avail to like Danny. I tried because Danny should be liked…..by somebody!

But nope. I couldn't force it. I really liked Jordan, just like 50% of other girls my age.

Similarly, last spring when I graduated with my masters degree in School Counseling, I knew that I should be looking for full-time school counseling jobs. After all, its crazy to get a masters degree and then……..not immediately use it. Right? Right? Who does that?

I did that. Unabashedly, really. I did that. I knew that more than anything, if our family could afford it, I wanted to stay home with our boys.

However, even though I knew that's what our family wanted, I felt a little "less than" for not doing what the rest of my friends and classmates were doing - nailing down jobs. There were some tears and anxiety as I wrestled with what I felt called to do versus what I felt I should do.

I have been dealing with the question of should lately in my relationship with God. Although I have a close relationship with God, doubt tends to rear its ugly head in my mind when things stop making sense. When things don't go the way they should go, I question why.

My rule following, paint-by-numbers self likes order and loathes chaos.

Most people don't live long in this world before realizing that things often don't go the way that they should.

Parents don't stay married. Loved ones pass away far too young. Children get scarred and abused by adults who are abused and scarred. Sickness. Poverty. Depression. The list goes on.

We ask, "God…why?"

Why is just a fancy should. It's a should with a top hat on.

But when we "should" God, we quickly become bitter. We trust our instincts more than His promises.

Moreover, when we place our "shoulds" above His sovereignty, anger arises in our hearts.

The underlying issue in "shoulding" God is doubting His love. It is doubting that is heart is good toward us. It's forgetting that He promised to never leave or forsake us and to always provide what we need.

Although it feels as though we are simplifying things when we expect them to turn out a certain way, that is a mirage.

Job 38:1-2 "And now, finally, God answered Job from the eye of a violent storm. He said: 'Why do you confuse the issue? Why do you talk without knowing what you are talking about?"

There is nothing more simple than just this: TRUST. GOD.

No more, no less. Trust His plans and His heart and His promises and His love and His sovereignty.

So this is something that I am working on. I am working on throwing away the shoulds for good. After all, our life circumstances do not always need to make sense.

Helen Keller once said, "Life is either a daring adventure or nothing."

That Helen was a smart cookie. She knew that we truly come alive when we let go of the reins of our lives and relax into the breeze of the unexpected.

I am going to stop "shoulding" myself to meet standards that I was never meant to.

I am going to stop "shoulding" God and actively choose to trust Him…..even more so when circumstances don't make sense.

I have fallen often enough into the gracious love of God that I know it will always be enough.

I may never learn to love the chaotic dance of life, but I can fall even more in love with He who orchestrates the steps.

Romans 8:15 says, "This resurrection life you received from God is not a timid, grave-tending life. It's adventurously expectant, greeting God with a childlike 'What's next, Papa?'" (MSG)

Dog Toys

A few days ago, I was cleaning, Jonas was sleeping, and Finn was playing. It was exciting times at the Fjerkenstad household!

Like many people, we keep our cleaning supplies underneath our kitchen sink. When I moved to clean the bathroom, I left the door to said cabinet open. Normally it is child lock protected and dutifully shut every time. I guess I got a little lazy.

Finn's curiosity got the better of him and he started digging through a treasure trove of cleaning bottles and Target bags.

Suddenly, I heard him proclaim, "Mommy! There's toys in here!"

I peeked my head around from the bathroom and said, "There aren't any toys in there, Finn."

"Yes there are!!!" he urged me.

Then it dawned on me: we used to keep chew toys for our dog underneath the sink…Eureka!

I said to my funny boy, "Finn, if there are toys down there, believe me - you don't want them."

"I do…" he insisted.

As this conversation continued, I thought of the oodles of toys that Finn already had in his possession. Already, our living room was overflowing with superheroes, Little People, and Legos.

Yet Finn was searching for more. Even worse, there was inflection in his words that suggested that we were holding out on him.

"Sweet boy," I said again, "Trust me you don't want anything under there." With that, I closed the cabinet and somewhere in the back of my mind, I made a mental note to clean and purge under our sink.

However, as I continued my cleaning spree, it dawned on me that sometimes we treat God our Father that same way.

We ignore the bounty before us and are in a continuous search for more…..More…..MORE!!!!!

There is a continuous aching in us that is forever longing for something more.

C.S. Lewis once said, "If I find in myself desires which nothing in this world can satisfy, the only logical explanation is that I was made for another world."

Until we are in our forever home of heaven, we will always be aching for something.

And because of that aching, we often point the finger at God and question His authority and His goodness to us.

We believe that He is holding out on us. If He were truly our provider and our sustainer, then surely we wouldn't feel this constant longing.

All the while, He is showing us all of the amazing gifts we have already received.

Love. Breath. Sunsets. Nature. Beauty. Laughter. Emotion. Intellect. Spiritual gifts. Love…again (it's so important I had to put it twice!)

Romans 8:31-32 says, "What, then, shall we say in response to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare His own Son, but gave Him up for us all - how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things?"

Look around and be encouraged.

God is not holding out on us. He has given us everything.

In other words, there is no need to dig around for a glimpse of dog toys when you have superheroes and Little People in front of you.

Trust Him - He knows what you need and He will never withhold any good thing from you.

"For the Lord God is our sun and our shield. He gives us grace and glory. The Lord will withhold no good thing from those who do what is right." Psalm 84:11