I’ve always been drawn to excitement, adventure, newness, importance. I want to be a part of big things, and make big, beautiful waves with my little life. In Sunday School I was always taught that God had a big plan for my life. And so my little heart dreamed real big, like being the next mother Theresa, or carrying Jesus in my womb, or being a movie star. But what I didn’t quite understand is that Gods big plans often look pretty small and insignificant to us.
We search and search for that big plan for our lives we’ve heard so much about. But in reality, we’re already living it. Many of us won’t do a “big thing”. We won’t cure cancer, or become a well known vlogger, or be the chef at buckingham palace. And the truth is, If we end up in any of those places, chances are that isn’t the “big thing” in our lives anyway. Because the little things, those are really the big things.
As I sit here staring into the eyes of my rambunctious little toddler, I’m wondering about the big things. Last week I turned down the opportunity to audition for a play I desperately wanted to be a part of. But the timing felt wrong, so I didn’t. And that felt like a much bigger “thing” a much more fulfilling purpose then choosing to be home to put my baby to bed every night. But I know, those little things matter. The cuddles, the diaper changes, the many “I love you’s”, the hand holding while I’m trying to drive. Those are really big things.
Sometimes people tell me I should write a book. In fact, I have some beautiful people in my life that believe in my big dreams more than I do. But the truth is, I may write a book, I may not. I may become a known author like my dad, I may not. But I’m learning not to care so much about the outcome, the goal itself. The meat of our lives, the shaping of who we are, it’s all about the journey. The good the bad, it all somehow means something.
Yesterday I had three panic attacks. The day felt like a total flop. Yes I got some things done, but how am I making any kind of difference in anyone’s life, including my own, if I can’t even get through an allergist appointment without sweating though my sweater. But every panic attack is teaching me. It’s teaching me that I can mom even through really hard moments of anxiety. It’s teaching me to cling to Jesus because my moments feel out of control and scary. And it’s teaching me to slow down, to care for myself, to ask for help, to breathe deep. Important lessons that should not be ignored.
If you know me at all you know that I love David. David from the Bible that is. I love his story. Lowly shepherd boy, doing the dirty work. How boring to be a shepherd? How stressful to keep the wolves away from the sheep? How chaotic to herd all those fluffy little things exactly where he needed them to go. But guys, David became a king, and I’m sure you can guess how all of those mundane tasks translated into him ruling a nation. And yes, he might have kind of messed up a bit by having a dude killed so he could sleep with his wife. But the point is, he was just a human guy, being a shepherd, and God used that.
Okay, but we probably won’t end up ruling a nation or anything right? So what if we’re just a shepherd our entire life and it doesn’t amount to anything bigger? It always amounts to something bigger, we might just not always see the bigger or be acknowledged for it. Our lives have a ripple effect, causing shifts we know nothing about.
A few weeks ago our pastor spoke a bit about Mother Theresa. Now there’s someone who did something great, right? We can all see it, and secretly, we all want to live a life with that much purpose. But what struck me was what he said about her mother. She wasn’t extraordinary to the human eye, but she always welcomed people into her home. She told her daughter from a young age “never eat a mouthful without first sharing it with others”. That example she set for her daughter changed the world.
The little things matter, they really do. Because in the end, they really are the big things. So in the mundane day to day when it all feels like a jumbled mess, or when you’ve lapsed back into unhealthy coping skills, remember that it’s all important. It’s all about the journey. Maybe doing “nothing” is everything.
Today is a Down Day
/in Fear, PersonalToday is a down day.
Lilah didn’t take a nap which set off a chain of exhausting parenting moments. And all of a sudden I found myself in a place of “I can’t do this”.
I can’t redirect one more time, I can’t calmly tell her to stop hitting mommy, I can’t do any more laundry, I can’t organize any more infant stuff, I can’t clean any more goldfish from within the carpet.
And then there are the things that just apply to me that feel just as hard. Things I feel I just can’t handle. This ferocious weight gain in pregnancy, the mood swings, the OCD thoughts launched into full force these last 9 months, the many moments of loneliness while at home by myself.
But hardest of all is knowing that it isn’t about to get easier. This next season I’m about to head into is an unknown. I’ve never been there before. And yet I know what postpartum feels like, how exhausting it is, how much a new little person takes out of me. I am about to do it all again and I am terrified.
Can I do it? Of course I can. I’ve made it through hard before. But it still looms over me like this massive dark cloud.
I can’t wait to meet my boy, hold him in my arms, snuggle my cheeks against his, but this post isn’t about all that beauty. It’s about the other stuff. The hard stuff. The unseen stuff. The things that have me down today.
Life is beautiful and it’s hard and both must be acknowledged.
Thankful and a Mess.
/in Faith, Identity, UncategorizedMy most vulnerable posts get the most social media attention by far, as do my writings. As humans we are drawn to humanity and in the same breath struggle to accept it. It’s the contradictions in life that keep us whole and balanced. But I’m not sure yet if that is widespread knowledge.
It still seems like a foreign concept that someone could be miserable and yet not on the edge of a mental breakdown. Or that someone could be joyful and yet drowning in sorrow. Or even still, that someone could be defeated yet motivated. But we navigate those waters every day. Maybe we don’t even realize it.
I always preface my “negative” feelings with the “acceptable” ones. For instance I might say: “I am so thankful, but I am also really emotionally tired”. Both are true, but one is more culturally acceptable, and so I fall into the trap of leading with that one so that I don’t look quite as messy.
But when did messy become such an undesirable thing? We wear shirts that say “bless this mess” and “hot mess express”, but underneath a trendy t-shirt are we willing to sit in the actual mess with someone else? Or do we just want to fast forward to the happy feelings and organized emotions. Is our goal to fix things or experience what needs to be experienced?
Being human is weird, and it’s hard, and if we’re really honest with ourselves it doesn’t make a lot of sense. I’m overwhelmed every day by my humanity, but I’m convinced it’s the very thing that brings me straight to the feet of Jesus. Actual Jesus. Not media Jesus. Not the Jesus of the modern evangelical church. Real Jesus. The one who gets what it means to be human and emphasizes loving ourselves and others IN THE MESS.
So basically messy is in right now, and so is joy. And both of them together? Well that’s just downright trending.
Love you guys, my messy readers.
Round 2
/in PersonalBy the grace of God; Eric, Lilah, and I will be welcoming a baby into our family in November. The last few months have been emotional and physically exhausting, but we are so very grateful and do not take this gift lightly.
In the spirit of full vulnerability, I want to share my initial reaction to my pregnancy:
Pregnant. The digital pee stick told me so. Well to be fair it told me “no” twice first. But, in the middle of a hectic morning, “pregnant” flashed across the teeny gray screen. My stomach leaped with excitement. Another one. More cute fingers and toes, sloppy kisses, and little baby snores. But quickly followed the dark thoughts that know how to steal my joy: more sleepless nights, postpartum emotions, breastfeeding, sickness, tantrums, not knowing what the hell I am doing. Can I even do this? Two? Can I even handle one? Actually, let’s be honest, can I even handle myself?
But this is what I know to be true, when I am uncertain of my own abilities:
We are so thankful for this adventure. And I will try to be as honest as I possibly can throughout.
Love to you all, my friends!
Lizz
The Place That Brought Me Back To Life.
/in Personal, UncategorizedI look at this picture, stare straight into the eyes of this woman, and I catch my breath. There was a time I hated the eyes that stared back at me, banged my head against the mirror in agony, shuddered at the thought of my future. My life is not perfect, but there is a strength and a hope that was never there before. I am thankful for my journey. So thankful.
Spring triggers the memory for me. The smell of new rain on the earth, bonfires, the feel of warm sun on my face. The most unlikely of places brought me back to life 12 years ago.
We weren’t really a camping family. Sure, I ran around barefoot all summer and climbed trees like a monkey, but nothing that quite prepared me for this.
I arrived terrified beyond anything I’ve ever felt. The truck bumped along the gravel driveway for over a mile before grinding to a hault next to a brown ranch building. I went in the front door with only the clothes on my back, and came out ready for the next two months of my life. My hiking boots pinched my feet, and the cargo shorts they’d given me clashed terribly with my new yellow t-shirt. I climbed back into the truck, refusing what they called “the last supper”, a Big Mac and fries, before making our way slowly up the mountain to the drop off point.
We stopped at the edge of a thick forest, and the door opened beside me. My driver helped me out of the truck and clipped my pack to my back. Another man was waiting for me by the woods, ready to take me to what was next. I wanted to scream and cling to the bearded man who’d brought me here. I’d only known him for a few hours, but the sound of his truck driving away felt like deep abandonment.
The new man hiked in front of me as I stumbled along behind. My pack was too heavy for my small frame even though it had barely anything inside. By the time we arrived at the campsite, my hips had been rubbed raw.
Little did I know the hardships I’d experience over the next two months; the agony of missing family events, of finding out I would not be going home again, the physical pain I would overcome as I hiked through the Blue Ridge mountains. But deep suffering does something to us doesn’t it? When we are stripped of everything we find something underneath it all. We find grit we didn’t know was there. We find those many wonderful things God gave us as babes that we forgot were even there.
I struggle with suffering. I want it to go away. In fact, I spend much of my life subconsciously trying to avoid it. But when I stop and really consider, suffering is what grounds us. It grounds us to God, ourselves, each other, our humanity. Over the years has come this understanding that for us to fully live as we’ve been created to live, we must experience suffering. Our choice is how we to choose to navigate through the hard.
Trust me.
/in Faith, Hope, UncategorizedI’ve been wrestling with anxiety over something I can’t control.
There’s really no statement that better describes my life struggles. It always comes back to this need for the illusion of control, to know the outcome before it happens, to be prepared for every uncomfortable thing.
Anybody else? I hear a chorus of “Amen!” Out there. Because life is a series of events that we don’t see coming and cannot often prepare for. Some of those experiences are breathtakingly beautiful and others are much more difficult, steal our breath away, leave us feeling like the shell of who we thought we were. And while we can often find pieces of beauty in life’s difficulties, it doesn’t always make it that much easier. Maybe for a moment. Maybe we feel a deep peace in the midst of the darkness, but the pain still comes in waves.
So it makes sense that life feels scary at times. I sometimes feel so attacked by the “what-ifs” that I actually freeze for a few moments of time, unable to function for fear of all that could occur.
But recently a still strong voice has followed my anxious thoughts. “Trust me”, it says. I know it to be God’s voice, the certainty is not my own. For no matter how much I stir up on my quest for Jesus. No matter how frustrated I may become with the old traditions and ways of thinking. I believe in a good good God. One who walks with us through this journey of life. I don’t believe he saves us from pain, I think He respects us more than to shield us from heartache. And while it often feels confusing and scary to me to serve a God who allows (as I see it in my limited understanding) the pain of this world; Something deep within in me just knows it all makes sense somehow. “Trust me”, He says. “For the love, just cling to me as the world falls apart all around you, as it all seems so scary and daunting. Feel your feelings, feel your doubts, but somewhere deep inside that wrestling heart of yours, “just trust me”.”
Peace in Doubt and Fear-How?
/in Faith, Fear, UncategorizedIn the weeks since my interview on The Bible For Normal People aired, Ive gotten many questions about how I’ve accepted fear and doubt in my faith. To be clear, I haven’t reached some kind of Nirvana in my Christian faith where no longer struggle. But I have picked up some tools along the way to allow myself to question and doubt without fearing that I am somehow undoing my faith.
Those are the big three. The things I cling to as I walk my faith journey. Doubt is just uncertainty, and uncertainty leads to the desire to know, which ultimately leads to learning, which leads to wisdom. So doubt and fear, my friends, is such a wonderful gift.
Fear in Faith.
/in Faith, FearI feel vulnerable, afraid, unsure. Am I doing it wrong? Am I searching too much, learning too much?
For years now I have been exploring my faith on many different levels. And I don’t just mean, tearing through my bible with a highlighter. I mean studying other religions, following the lives of people whose beliefs differ from mine, pushing myself into corners that are uncomfortable for me.
This morning as I lay in bed with a book in my lap, I realize that I am terrified. I thought I’d already done it-already entered into the scariness or doubt, seeking, not knowing- and yet I am finding myself in yet another layer of seeking God. One that feels entirely new to me. I feel like a vulnerable lamb in the middle of a forest.
We know faith is scary, right? It’s believing what we cannot see and cannot fully know. But even more than that, the exploration of faith, of God, of our own humanity, is so incredibly scary. And to be honest, I don’t really want to know anything else. I don’t want to explore anymore, I don’t want to know myself better, know God better. I’m just exhausted. Terrified. I could really just throw a temper tantrum about it all.
But something in me is bigger than all of that fear. This desire to know God so deeply that it pours out of my very energy. And in order to do that, I MUST journey, ask questions, doubt, meditate, swim in the unknown. It’s the only way.
I hate this feeling. This feeling of falling through the air. I’m a control freak, a perfectionist. This goes against everything that keeps me sane. But I don’t want to sit in a bubble of comfortability. I want more. We are called to more.
Make the LEAP.
/in Hope, IdentityFor 16 months I attended an all girls boarding school. It was so damn hard, but I crushed it. As I was preparing to graduate and go out into the world, back into the chaos, I completed two action plans, assignments to help me set my mind on what is to come. I stumbled across them today as I attempted to navigate the great abyss that is my computer desktop. 18 year old me, so long ago, and yet in an instant it all comes flooding back.
As I get ready to leave SRA I take away the ability to feel my emotions, but not let them overwhelm me. I have the motivation to complete my schoolwork on time and I have more confidence in my ability to do the work well. I am very well aware of my creativity and have confidence enough in my creative abilities to pursue what I love to do in college and probably even beyond that. I eat now to strengthen my body, and I run because I love how my muscles feel when I do. I am aware of my body and what it feels like when I dance or run or play a sport. I look in the mirror without cringing and usually I smile at myself. Things with my family are still pretty rough, but I have learned that I can’t change my family and also from that I have to accept them the way they are. Honesty is the best policy, even if it’s hard and even if someone else lets what I have to say hurt them. Relationships are still hard for me. Although, I have worked on being honest despite what others think and working on not using other people to validate my self worth. I like to lead, but sometimes take charge when I don’t need to. I’ve found my voice and am using it to stand up for myself and to just say what I need to say. I’ve also learned that life goes on until you die and that things just aren’t perfect, I’ll be making mistakes, learning and working my whole life.
Emotionally, I’ve found emotions that I never let myself have, like happiness and excitement. I’ve been able to see my intelligence as something enjoyable, not just a useful thing during the school year. I have found my creativity and use it to do really relaxing things, like paint on a sheet and get all messy or even just coloring in a coloring book. I’ve also taken to reading children’s books to myself which helps me connect with the little Elizabeth inside and also helps me to relax. Well, like I said above, when I dance and run I like how I can feel every inch of my body filled with energy. I love the way it feels. Corny, but it’s almost magical how I feel like i’m floating; once the adrenaline starts flowing my muscles just relax. Really though, I’ve learned that there’s no magic wand in life. Yeah, sometimes things feel magical, but life isn’t a fairy tale. I have to work for what I want. That concept is magic in itself.
I see doubt as my biggest challenge after SRA. When I doubt who I am then everything just falls apart from there. I also think that isolating will be a big challenge because it’s still a lot easier for me to not tell people how i’m feeling or what I’m thinking especially when I’m at home with my family. Keeping commitments has been really hard for me recently and I think it will continue to be a challenge. Especially the little commitments are hard, like going out to dinner, or attending a graduation party. When I don’t keep my commitments I start to feel bad about myself, but I also hurt other people and sometimes even lose their trust in me to be there when I say I will. I still tend to be pretty judgmental, especially of guys, which is one of the ways I avoid intimacy. It’s like an automatic reaction when I meet someone or I feel like we’re getting closer. When I get depressed then I spiral down from there, which goes along with the isolating kinda. As I write this I feel like there are a whole lot of challenges after I leave SRA. Some of them I probably don’t even know about yet. I’ll have to take them as they come.
When I’m faced with challenges I know that I have my friends from SRA. I can call them anytime and they’ll talk to me and help me see things from another perspective. They’re just great girls and a really great resource. I like to have a lot of inspiration around my room. My contract is on my mirror, my bulletin board is motivational and I really like quotes so I try to put things like that around so that I see them and they remind of who I am and all that I’m capable of accomplishing. Depression is more like a signal really. It tells me that there’s something that I’m not sharing, not addressing, that I’m holding back. I think mostly, it will be about using my resources; the people I trust in my life, and what I’ve learned.
I had no idea what would what was in store for me. The harsh lessons learned in college, the emotional turmoil as I began to realize that the therapeutic work I had done didn’t even begin to scratch the surface of what I needed to face. But then again, I also had no idea how I would TRIUMPH! And never in a million years would I have been able to imagine the life that I have now, the person that I have become, and the many things that I have learned over the last 10 years. Cheers to you, my brave 18 year old self.
When Doing Nothing is Everything.
/in Faith, IdentityI’ve always been drawn to excitement, adventure, newness, importance. I want to be a part of big things, and make big, beautiful waves with my little life. In Sunday School I was always taught that God had a big plan for my life. And so my little heart dreamed real big, like being the next mother Theresa, or carrying Jesus in my womb, or being a movie star. But what I didn’t quite understand is that Gods big plans often look pretty small and insignificant to us.
We search and search for that big plan for our lives we’ve heard so much about. But in reality, we’re already living it. Many of us won’t do a “big thing”. We won’t cure cancer, or become a well known vlogger, or be the chef at buckingham palace. And the truth is, If we end up in any of those places, chances are that isn’t the “big thing” in our lives anyway. Because the little things, those are really the big things.
As I sit here staring into the eyes of my rambunctious little toddler, I’m wondering about the big things. Last week I turned down the opportunity to audition for a play I desperately wanted to be a part of. But the timing felt wrong, so I didn’t. And that felt like a much bigger “thing” a much more fulfilling purpose then choosing to be home to put my baby to bed every night. But I know, those little things matter. The cuddles, the diaper changes, the many “I love you’s”, the hand holding while I’m trying to drive. Those are really big things.
Sometimes people tell me I should write a book. In fact, I have some beautiful people in my life that believe in my big dreams more than I do. But the truth is, I may write a book, I may not. I may become a known author like my dad, I may not. But I’m learning not to care so much about the outcome, the goal itself. The meat of our lives, the shaping of who we are, it’s all about the journey. The good the bad, it all somehow means something.
Yesterday I had three panic attacks. The day felt like a total flop. Yes I got some things done, but how am I making any kind of difference in anyone’s life, including my own, if I can’t even get through an allergist appointment without sweating though my sweater. But every panic attack is teaching me. It’s teaching me that I can mom even through really hard moments of anxiety. It’s teaching me to cling to Jesus because my moments feel out of control and scary. And it’s teaching me to slow down, to care for myself, to ask for help, to breathe deep. Important lessons that should not be ignored.
If you know me at all you know that I love David. David from the Bible that is. I love his story. Lowly shepherd boy, doing the dirty work. How boring to be a shepherd? How stressful to keep the wolves away from the sheep? How chaotic to herd all those fluffy little things exactly where he needed them to go. But guys, David became a king, and I’m sure you can guess how all of those mundane tasks translated into him ruling a nation. And yes, he might have kind of messed up a bit by having a dude killed so he could sleep with his wife. But the point is, he was just a human guy, being a shepherd, and God used that.
Okay, but we probably won’t end up ruling a nation or anything right? So what if we’re just a shepherd our entire life and it doesn’t amount to anything bigger? It always amounts to something bigger, we might just not always see the bigger or be acknowledged for it. Our lives have a ripple effect, causing shifts we know nothing about.
A few weeks ago our pastor spoke a bit about Mother Theresa. Now there’s someone who did something great, right? We can all see it, and secretly, we all want to live a life with that much purpose. But what struck me was what he said about her mother. She wasn’t extraordinary to the human eye, but she always welcomed people into her home. She told her daughter from a young age “never eat a mouthful without first sharing it with others”. That example she set for her daughter changed the world.
The little things matter, they really do. Because in the end, they really are the big things. So in the mundane day to day when it all feels like a jumbled mess, or when you’ve lapsed back into unhealthy coping skills, remember that it’s all important. It’s all about the journey. Maybe doing “nothing” is everything.
Why We Do Hard Things.
/in Faith, Fear, Hope, UncategorizedI’ve wondered for as long as I can remember: Why do we have to endure hard things? Why can’t life be just a little bit fluffier, easier? Is it really necessary to suffer? I don’t presume to have all the answers, but through the years I have realized one thing: hard things are so necessary.
Yesterday Eric, Lilah, and I flew to Florida. No big deal right?
WRONG!
I hate to fly. I hate everything about it: the teetering above the clouds in a metal contraption, being stuck next to strangers in a small space, not being able to move around with ease, tiny cramped bathrooms. I’m a claustrophobic control freak. You do the math. Flying is not for me. And in case you don’t really believe it’s all that bad, I once got out of my seat during take off and demanded that the stewardess land the plane immediately (and no that wasn’t yesterday, I was 16 at the time).
This wasn’t necessarily a trip that I HAD to go on. It was a three day work trip for Eric, so it might seem a little odd that I would want to take my neurotic self and teething 16 month old to tag along. But something inside me knew I had to do it.
I knew it would be really really hard. I knew that I might have a million panic attacks, and maybe barely get through it. I knew it might be miserable. And deep down inside I just wasn’t so sure I could handle it. Especially with a baby. And I’ve been challenging myself to push back against those lies that I won’t make it through hard things. So here we are, in Florida. Yesterday felt like a nightmare, but we did it. We boarded that bare bones, possibly made of tin foil, aviation contraption, and we lived to tell the tale (I’m nothing if not dramatic FYI).
But why the hard stuff, right? Why the pain, the suffering, the adversity? If God was really good, wouldn’t He/She lighten things up a bit? There can’t really be a point to all this madness. Listen, I’m not going to get into the black hole question that is “why is there suffering”. But I think it’s important to note that without suffering we would be empty shells. The hard things are what teach us who we are, and who God is.
Anyone who really knows me knows that I believe in a complete correlation between knowing and loving ourselves, and knowing and loving our God. They work in tandem. And how do we really learn about ourselves and our God? By journeying through life’s ups and downs and realizing that we will make it, that God is with us.
Please hear me, I am not suggesting that this is in anyway easy. As someone who struggles with anxiety, depression, and has been an empath my entire life, I pray daily for “easy”. I still don’t want the hard. But when I take a deep breath and dig down deep, I know that it is the key to so much of what I am searching for in my restless soul.
What can you do today to embrace the hard? Can you let yourself feel sad, heartbroken, disappointed, angry, and still leave your hands open to what it is teaching? Can you take a deep breath and lean in, knowing that it might be the hardest thing, but you can do it. We will be more empathetic, more whole, more in tune with ourselves, more in tune with God and the world around us, because we have chosen to press into the hard.
Much love you on this journey my friends.