Tag Archives: God

January 23, 2013 · 10:34 am

I am.

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Some days, everything just hurts.

I am tired and sensitive and easily offended.  I am sure I am a selfish wife and a lazy mother and a rubbish friend. And I feel too weak to carry all the weight this world asks us to bear.

On those days of hurt feelings and two-year-old temper tantrums, of ruined plans and crap weather, everything that’s broken in me cries out, “Who am I?”

And often, honestly, I hear my words hit the wall.

But on the days when I am quiet enough to catch it, if the TV is off and my phone is on silent and I really want to know the answer, I can hear Him say, “I will tell you.”

Because only He knows.  Only He has it written down – scrawled in steadfast, permanent ink.

Not wife or mother or friend.  Not artist, not writer, and certainly not try-hard, wannabe, failure.

Only daughter.  Only His.

And here I can let go.  And close the curtains.  And rest. In the knowledge that my shortfalls and my setbacks do not define me. My weakness has not changed what is written, what cannot be erased.

Who He says that I am.

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March 22, 2012 · 10:11 am

He sang this song first.

There’s a little song I sing to Adlai at bedtime, one I wrote just for him.

It’s nothing fancy, but it’s a song about the boy he is, and about the man I know he’ll grow up to be.

The last line goes like this:

“…you’re all I have wanted, my sweet little boy.”

And I sing it every night.

But last night I was singing it, and I thought, “You really are all I’ve wanted.”

And as I thought on that, I felt God say, “So are you.”

I’ve tried for a long time to understand what the Bible tells me – that God loves me like a child.

Like his own dear son.

And I don’t know if I ever could have understood it had I not held my own baby in my arms, and known that there is not one ounce of me that goes wanting – that needs him to be anything more than he is.

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September 24, 2010 · 1:22 pm

How to Rope an Englishman: Part Six

Need to catch up?  Read:

Part Un: Derek*

Part Deux: Getting It

Part Trois: Mrs. Adventure

Part Quatre: Back-Row Baptists

Part Cinq: Fat Stanley

Part Six: A Voice, but not a voice

The night Simon gave me his CD, Sara and I went to the pub and hung out with him and his housemates.  He bought me a drink and made me laugh, and I told him I really, really liked his music.

A few days later, we were with some friends a few blocks from my house, when I gathered my things up and said, “It’s getting late…I think I’ll head home.”

It was dark, but I was 21 and a bit braver/stupider than I am now.

“I’ll walk you,” Simon said.

“Oh…right…okay.  Cool.”

We put our coats on and made our way down the dark promenade, past the beach, round the corner, and down my road – which was really just an alleyway.  We talked the whole way, and when we got to my door, I asked Simon if he wanted to come in for a few minutes.

“…for a glass of water?”

“Yes, please.”

I got us both a glass, and we sat across from one another in my living room, taking gulps and swallowing loudly.

He asked me some questions about North Carolina, and laughed when I told him about the high school I went to where boys rode tractors to school and thousands of people showed up at Friday night football games.

“Sounds like a film,” he said.

“Hmm, maybe,” I answered.  “Except less glamorous, and more boring.”

We were quiet for a moment, and he took a long sip of water.

“You know,” he finally said.  “It’s weird how I don’t know a lot about your past, and you don’t know a lot about mine.  But I feel kind of…connected to you.”

“Yeah,” I nodded, looking nervously into my glass.

“Anyway,” he took a deep breath. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too.”

He stood up and handed me his glass.

“Thanks for the drink.  I should go home.  See you tomorrow at uni?”

“Yeah, definitely.  That’ll be good.”

I walked him to the door and leaned against the frame while he stepped out into the crisp October air.  I could see his breath in the alleyway against the light from a lamppost across the street.

“Thanks again, Faith.  See you later.”

“Alright, yeah.  See you.”

I watched him walk down the alley, back to where we had come from.  His black hair was shimmering with mist, and he was wearing the big camel-colored toggle coat he always wore then (and for two winters after).  He turned around one last time to flash another smile at me, and I smiled back.

It was then that I heard it.  A voice, but not a voice.  Maybe clearer than a voice.

“This is the one I have for you.”

Clear as day.

And I knew.

Just like that.

He turned the corner and disappeared into the night, and I closed the door and ran upstairs to my room, where I dropped to my knees and told God I heard.

Where I asked if it was true.

Where He stamped it onto my heart – a deep imprint for me to come back to over the coming days, weeks, months, while I waited for the man I was falling in love with to realize he loved me too.

_________________

Part Sept: Hurry Up and Wait

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August 9, 2009 · 11:12 am

I’ll be doing my best…

I’m taking a few days off from blogging/twittering/general internet-ing in favor of some more inward pursuits. I’ll be writing/praying/reading, and hopefully being refreshed and renewed. While I’m gone, if you’d like to have a wee look through some old entries, I took the liberty of picking out a few of my favorites.

What do you want to read about?

Squishy Baby Jesus?

Jealousy and Facebook?

Hope in the Face of Chaos? (or this one)

Trusting God with Someone You Love?

Homesickness?

Letting Go of Anger?

Jealousy and Creativity?

…I’ll see you soon.

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July 9, 2009 · 12:59 pm

Where you lead, I will follow

Since moving out of our little bungalow at the beginning of June, we’ve been staying with my parents in their big white farm house in rural North Carolina.  

We’ve got the upstairs all to ourselves, and lately, when I wake up in the mornings, Simon is nowhere to be found.  He runs or cycles just about every day of the week, so I always assume that’s where he is…except, the past few days, I’ve found this in my big sister’s old room…

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I confess, there are times when I roll my eyes at the messes left for me to clean up – and I think he’d say the same thing about me – but how can I be angry at the mess left by a man seeking desperately for the answers to all our questions?  The result of a tireless quest to lead his wife somewhere, instead of stumbling along beside her, clueless.

Talk about leading by example.

Seeing the evidence of my husband’s dedication to our sweet, sweet Lord negates any need for reprimanding words about my need to spend more time in prayer, in study.  

I am inspired.

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June 30, 2009 · 3:43 pm

Sweet, sweet home.

For nearly a year, I’ve been waiting.  

Waiting for it to have been a year since we left England, so that we could go back, shamelessly.  Desperate.  Homesick for a place that, by all normal definitions, is not my home.  If we could just wait a year, we could say we really tried.  That we gave America a fair chance – that magic number: One Year – and it just wasn’t for us.

I missed the trains, the bakeries and the Saturday markets.  I missed our house group, our church, our tiny little flat that was once a Post Office.  Our life there had been perfect.  That’s what I told myself.  

I interviewed the owner of a well-known restaurant in Chapel Hill before Christmas, and she told me she’d moved here from New York for love, and that it had taken five years for it to feel like home; for her to let go of the notion that she was just visiting, and would return to her city any day.  

I felt sick.

And so, when we went to England on June 3, I was prepared to scope out London neighborhoods and job opportunities.  Simon even had an interview.  

But we had only been there a few days when we started to realize that we didn’t want to slot back into our old life.  Things are different now.  We’re different.

2008 was, quite possibly, the worst year of my life.  Because of bureaucratic nonsense, I was separated from my husband for four months, and forced to celebrate our one-year wedding anniversary during a weekend jaunt back to England.  My faith suffered.  My health suffered.  Anxiety and depression assaulted me at every turn.  

But it’s not America’s fault.  And maybe that’s why we need to be here now, to see that God is good to us on both sides of the world.  To see that home has become something new.  It is not the town where Simon grew up, or our 500 square-foot flat, or my parents’ white farm house.

Home, for now, stands alone.  It is independent of a city or street – it is the cloud of love, of friendship, of community, where we make our life together.

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April 30, 2009 · 11:08 am

Excerpts from my journal

Scarborough, England

September 11, 2003

Just before I left the US in August to study in England, a good friend of mine confessed his love for me (I’ve changed his name for privacy’s sake). 

My heart is confused about David.  I love him, but I find myself trying to force feelings that I just don’t have.  I need to stop, and to trust the fire will be ignited in me if that’s the case, and if not, well, then, we’ll just see…

It just doesn’t make sense that this wonderful man would be in my life , and I just wouldn’t be in love with him.

I just wonder what else is out there…

September 23, 2003

I can’t go to sleep yet.  I just had such a fun time with Graham, Hazel, and Simon – people I met at church on Sunday.  They invited me over for “tea” (which is supper).  Graham made spaghetti bolognese, and garlic bread (which was basically just buttered toast), and we had jell-o (“jelly”) for dessert, and ice cream.  So funny.

Graham loves to tell stories, and he gets so excited you can barely understand what he’s saying.  Simon is funny.  Quieter, but when he talks, it’s witty…I’d like to hang out with him again; maybe without Graham, so we could talk more. Simon asked if I was doing anything tomorrow night, but I am going to see Carmen with Jessy at the the theatre.  Maybe later.  I’ll email him tomorrow.

I had a good conversation with Mom today.  She said I’ll know when I meet the One, and that David being “perfect” for me isn’t enough…

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April 17, 2009 · 2:49 pm

Closing in

And now this song is stuck in my head, but that’s not a bad thing.  At all.  I love her.

Just two and a half more days left as the editor of skirt! Magazine and it’s all very surreal.  I’m so busy planning our first birthday party (ironically.  Wait – is it ironic?  Let me consult my dictionary…and not Alanis Morissette, who, although well-meaning, got the whole ironic thing terribly wrong, misinforming an entire generation), writing stories for Carolina Bride, and finishing up the last issue of skirt!, that I’ve thus far neglected necessary things like cleaning out my desk, gathering my clips and tear sheets for my portfolio, and  recording all my contacts.

I’m looking forward to Tuesday, now, when this will all be over and I can breathe a great big sigh of relief.  When something’s coming to an end – even if it’s something really good – it often gets to the point where you’re just ready for that end to come so you can move on to the next thing.

There are so many things I need to get on with in preparation for the next season of life, and for you faithful people who so graciously read Great Smitten, be on the lookout for a switchover to a new url – greatsmitten.com – a new design (wee!), and some new features.

Thank you for the prayers, emails, comments, and encouragement.  In a time when I could so easily be discouraged and feel insecure about my skills, God has really been showering encouragement on me through people around me, and it only confirms what I suspected: He is at work, and has gone ahead of us, preparing the way.

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April 14, 2009 · 2:25 pm

Now what?

When I shut down my facebook 6 weeks ago, I was nervous.  My blood pressure spiked and I broke into a cold sweat as I hit the “deactivate” button.

This past Sunday, Easter day, my younger sister said, “So, are you going to get back on facebook today?”

“HUH?”

I wasn’t even thinking about it, and that made me feel good.  It turns out that some of the things I feel like I can’t live without don’t enrich my life as much as I sometimes think they do.  I’m going through a time now of really seeking God’s will about how to use my blog, my Twitter feed, my facebook, for His glory.  I’m excited about what I learn, and about sharing that with you.

So yeah, I am back on facebook now, and you can be my friend if you want to.  But I’m going to take it easy for a while, and maybe only check it every other day or so, just to keep myself under control, and from diving back in the way I dove back into coffee after the Great Caffeine Fast of 2007 (she says, as she pours her third cup).

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April 10, 2009 · 7:00 am

Pedal to the metal

fog-road

The day after I was laid off, I got up in the morning like normal, and got in my car to drive to work – although this time a bit less motivated than I had been before.  I did what I always do: turned on the radio, and scanned the stations, looking for 98.1.  It’s the Fayetteville station, but I always listen to it because  Bob and Sheri make me laugh.  I can usually pick them up loud and clear from my house, and sometimes start to lose the signal just as I’m turning into the parking deck at work.

But this morning, for some reason, I just couldn’t find them.  My radio refused to stop on 98.1.  And so, reeling from the shock of the day before and feeling a bit introspective, I resolved to drive in silence and submit to what I imagined was God’s attempt to get me to talk to Him on the way in, instead of laughing at my favorite talk show.

I prayed as I drove down Business 70, asking God to be with me today, to continue to close the doors that should be closed, and guide me as I went on from here; to provide for me and Simon, and help me to continue to be peaceful about the changes happening.  

When I use the exit from Business 70 onto the 70 bypass that leads to the Interstate, it takes me over a bridge that descends onto the highway and spits me out into the 70 mph traffic.  This morning, as I drove across the bridge and headed down onto the bypass, it dropped me into the deepest fog I’ve ever seen.  I could only see 5 yards in front of me, and yet I barreled on, my foot on the gas, 70 mph into the great unknown.  I couldn’t see where I was going, but I knew the road would unfold in front of me.  I couldn’t see it, but I trusted it to be there.

And then, something like a voice, but not a voice, said, “This is what you do now.  You can only see a few feet in front of you, but you keep going, full speed ahead, and you trust.”

Sometimes the fog’s so thick I can’t see a damn thing.  But He told me to go, so I’m putting the pedal to the metal, and I’m watching as the road unfolds before me, just like He promised me it would.

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