To the Momma of Little Ones

A few weeks ago, my son started stuttering. It came on sudden, so sudden I may have panicked and thought there was something seriously wrong and called the doctor. As it turns out, stutters are quite common at Jed’s age. It’s even common that they appear suddenly.  There is nothing wrong with my boy, it’s just a matter of his mind moving faster than his mouth can.

Here’s the thing about stutters. The best way to talk to my son is slow and clear (not obnoxiously slow, perhaps just slower this Californian tends to speak). The best way to deal with the stutter is to allow him to take his time to say what he wants to say, to complete his own thought himself. To hurry his words is to hurt him. To apply too much pressure to him to complete his words is to risk a lifetime of difficulty. To complete his thoughts for him is to stunt his growth.

Is it okay to admit that there are times when it takes everything in me to not rush him to the point of what he’s trying to say? Sometimes it’s hard to be slow, to stop and listen, and to listen well.

But the hurrying hurts. It pressures and it crushes. It binds up in fear. It lies and tells us accomplishments make us matter, make us enough. Hurry misses what is right in front of us. Hurry denies us the pleasure of the gifts of today. Hurry places greater value on the next thing rather than the now thing.

And that’s the thing about these small years, is it not?

The days are long and the work mundane. We do things like sit under children, like clean messes while another one is being made, like brave ten minutes of finger painting for a half-hour of clean up, like try to be healthy and take walks… while pushing a stroller, hollering at the one kid riding off down the street, and reminding the three year old to not pick someone else’s flowers or walk out in the street or to leave the roly-poly alone and to keep walking before sister gets too far ahead… (basically you move REALLY slowly through the neighborhood).

It’s slow work. It seems like small work.

I think it’s pretty normal to feel restless, to want to hurry it, hurry our kids through it, to feel like maybe you aren’t enough and maybe you need something else to show for who you are. Maybe it even feels like some of you is buried underneath the cheerio messes, the bottom-wiping, and the clothes-folding. Maybe you feel like your life is on hold and you wonder if it will ever move forward again.

I’ve mentioned this Indian proverb before: Children tie the feet of their mother.

And they do. And if you try to run through this season…try to do more than you are appointed to do in this season, you will feel yourself tearing against the taut rope of a momma’s and a child’s love, you will trip, you might even fall, and maybe even crush those little ones at your feet.

The best way to walk, and perhaps it’s the most unnatural way for a post-bra-burning western woman… Walk Slowly.

I think it’s important to recognize the season through which you are walking. I think it’s important to know that God works in seasons, and these small years… it is a season of seed planting.

You are doing the grueling work of tilling the hard ground of strong wills, of mine-mine-mine and me-me-me, and of temper-tantrums in public places.

You are planting the seeds of God’s love, self-worth, and hard-work. You are planting seeds in your kids that will one day bear fruit. And what you do now and how you do it… matters.

You are surrendering some of the dreams in your heart to the soil to lie dormant for a season, trusting that one day God will resurrect them from the ground.

I think it’s needful to be able to say with absolute certainty, “I am a mom” and to be able to stick a period at the end of the sentence. For those four words to reverberate inside of you with truth, that yes, there is absolutely more to you than being a mom, but being a mom is glorious and important and along with a handful of other things, what you are called to do.

I think there is something hard but freeing about walking slowly, realizing so many things can and will wait, and embracing with fullness this season.

We are moms. And right now, that’s enough.

By Grace,

Amanda Conquers


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One Good Simple Thing: Balsamic Honey Caramelized Onions

I have this cooking philosophy: sometimes all it takes is one special thing to take a basic meal to the next level.

These caramelized onions do that.

They are sweet, tangy, and have that caramelly flavor you can only get when you cook onion slices for a really long time.

And on that note: yes, these do take a long time. BUT (and this is a pretty great but) they are easy to make and you can make them in large batches to last you a few meals.

Honest moment: these are what I make for special occasions and a few random weeks when I am feeling especially fabulous; not every week to always have on hand. (Ain't nobody got time for that ;))

For instance: I might use them for my husband's birthday dinner of top loin steak served with parmesan mashed potatoes and crisp asparagus... all topped with this candy for your savory food. 

Or maybe I use them for that special get-my-girlfriends together lunch. I make these onions, grilled chicken, and pesto-mayo the night before. The day of I pull out a fresh loaf of dutch crust bread, cut it length-wise, spread it with pesto-mayo, put sliced chicken breast, thick tomatoes, fresh mozzarella, arugula, and these onions on top, and cut into sandwich sizes. On that day, I spend very little time in the kitchen busying about and a whole lot of time enjoying the company of my friends (and eating sandwiches that taste very "grown-up"... because that's all a mom really wants after a week of pb&j).

The rest of those kind of weeks, I use the remainder of the onions to top a "build your own pizza night," make tastier sandwiches for my husband's lunch, throw into some pasta primavera, or make an omelette with whatever's still in the fridge plus these onions.

Okay. So I know it's just one simple little thing, but one good simple thing can totally change a meal.

I like simple... and Lord knows, I like good food. 

Bon Appetite!

Balsamic Honey Carmelized Onions

(click here for a handy printable version)

Ingredients:

2 large yellow onions

2 TBS of olive oil

2 TSP of honey

1 TSP of balsamic vinegar

Directions:

1. Halve onions and cut in thin slices.
2. Heat skillet on medium/medium high heat. Add oil. Spread around pan. Add onions. Cover and cook, stirring occasionally until they are limp, 10-15 minutes. Uncover, reduce heat to medium-low/low and cook until onions are golden brown and sweet, 35-45 minutes, stirring frequently. 
3. Turn heat up to medium, drizzle honey into pan and cook for another 2 minutes. Add balsamic vinegar and cook for an additional minute.
4. These may be used immediately or stored in fridge for a week to add to various dishes.

By Grace,
Amanda Conquers

When God Leads You Onward

At the very beginning of this year, God led us out of our home church.

There’s a very good chance, it’s one of the hardest things I’ve walked through. At least right now, it feels that way.  

I mean, it’s the church I went to right after I gave God all of my life. It’s where I learned how to follow Christ, how to do ministry. It’s where I met my husband, it’s where we dedicated our kids. It’s the place where I connected with so many of the people who have been pressed onto the pages of my life’s story.

About a year ago, my church had moved from the small town I was raised in to a larger city a half hour away and merged with another church. My husband and I felt like we were supposed to make the move. And while we could see God’s hand in it and how He blessed the church and the pastors, I struggled to see where I fit in it.

In looking back, I know God had us stay for a reason. In the aftermath of all the change in our lives, I found myself battling depression and insomnia. Our marriage was a struggle those first months adjusting to Mike becoming a cop. We needed the people who had been praying for us, supporting us, encouraging us for years and years to keep on doing that. I am so glad God had us stay through the move.

And then at the start of January, in the middle of praying and making the longings of my heart known, clear as crystal and quiet as a breeze, God said, “Okay, you can go now.”

I was stunned. I probably spewed a stream of questions at God, but He was quiet on all the details.

So when the next Sunday came, I visited a new church. And the next Sunday, and the next Sunday… and in setting out, I wanted to go back. I wanted normal and safe and to know which seats I could sit in and to have familiar faces saying hi. I didn’t want to let go of the relationships I considered most dear, the people who had been there on my worst days and my best days. How do you leave when you genuinely like and care about everyone? But I just knew, like knew knew, God was leading us on, and I was not to go back.

I had always imagined that when we left, there would be tearful goodbyes, meaningful thank-yous, and prayers for blessings in our new season—a send-off of sorts. But that's not how God works sometimes. And I find that hard.

Truth be told, right now, I dislike Sundays and getting two kids up for church and trying to navigate my way through kids check in, seat-finding, and small-talk with strangers. I have no idea where God wants us, but I get the distinct feeling He has us in transition, and we might be here for a while.

I don’t have the words to describe the way God is working on me, the way He is so near. I see how weak I am, the way I want to back out, Can I just go back to the way things were?!… but I also see a braveness rising up. Maybe I have to talk myself through anxiety and push back tears, but I go every Sunday, usually without my husband… and I go clinging to Jesus. I know my kids need to be there, they need to see that we value community, worship, and God. I know I need to learn how to trust, how to live in the in-between.

It seems like it isn’t really taught in church how to transition, how to leave. 

I was raised believing, though it was more implied than taught, that church-hopping was what people did who weren’t fully committed Christ-followers. People who left seemed shunned. There might have been reasons that were an “acceptable” reason to leave, but all I got was, just don’t leave. Somehow I missed that faith is always first an inward thing, a God-with-me, more than it was how I appeared or where I belonged. I thought spirituality could be measured by one’s level of plugged-in-ness, involved-ness, and how many times one showed up at the church each week. I didn’t realize spirituality could mean that God could call you out unto Himself in the still, quiet, unconnected, land of in-between.

I mean, think about all the stories in the Bible where people were in-between, waiting, connected only to God. Abraham’s journey to the land yet to be shown to him. The Israelites in the wilderness. David’s time of hiding from Saul. Elijah in seclusion being provided for by ravens. How about the passage in Hosea: “I will allure her, bring her out into the wilderness and speak kindly to her…” (2:14).

Sometimes God calls us out into the in-between.

But I do believe it’s always full of such purpose. Perhaps it’s so we can really know Him, know His character, know His voice. Perhaps it’s that the God who knows all and cares deeply longs to protect us from some unforeseen danger. Perhaps it’s that He longs to work some miracle, some kind of surprise. I am not sure what God is doing, but I do know it’s what God is asking of me. 

And really, that’s enough for me.  

So, right now, I am finding such value in this blogging community, my mom's group, and my good friends. Even in my "unconnectedness" I have found I am still connected to the body of Christ. Community comes in all forms. And it's so valuable.

I have found that because it is completely exhausting (and probably asking too much of me and the kids), it's okay to find a place to transition. We have been mostly going to a sweet little church until God directs us somewhere else, or tells us that's the place He wants to plant us.

I would love to know if you have ever walked through this? How was it difficult? How did God show Himself faithful? I’d love to hear from you. (Also, if this is something you are going through, I’d love to hear about it, in the comments or by email at amandaconquers at gmail dot com. Pray for each other?)

By Grace,

Amanda Conquers

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So I Married a Cop

I had once upon a time written down professions I did not want to marry into. I have to admit I was one of those girls who had a sheet of paper (okay, it was probably a good five pages long) of qualities I wanted in my future husband. I had a subsection for what I was not looking for. Amongst two other professions, I had scribbled the word COP.

It wasn’t that I didn’t value the profession. I just didn’t want all the struggles that I imagined went with the job. I knew it would be difficult. (Also, I was like 17, so give me a break).

Guess what?

I’m married to a cop.

I joke and say God tricked me because cop was nowhere on Mike’s radar when we got married.

Thing is, I had always thought I would marry a pastor.

When Mike and I first started seeing each other, I have journal pages full of my questions for God. God, he’s not a pastor. God, he doesn’t look anything like I thought he would. God, it’s Michael. Are you sure? Before the thought was even fully formed, I could hear the quiet voice of God, “Shhh. Trust me, Amanda.”

I did. And I fell in love. Madly. Deeply. Truly.

Truth be told, I thought God telling me to trust Him meant that He was going to change Mike, that Mike would have some kind of God-encounter and decide to go into full-time vocational ministry.

Through our times of lean finances, Mike did encounter God. And God faithfully led him into law enforcement.

I am not so sure God actually changed him though. Refined him, sure. Completely changed his gifts and talents, no.

But God did change me. He changed the way I see.

Because from where I stand, on the arm of cop, I see a broken world. A world of prostitutes, meth addicts, mentally unstable, repeat DUI offenders, dysfunctional families, broken marriages, abusers and the abused, teenagers making stupid decisions. My husband works in a world where he’s called horrible names, where threats are made against his life simply because of the badge he wears, where he has to be alert and ready at all times. I see men (and women) whose every day is everyone else’s worst day, bearers of bad news, the first to hear the wails of a momma who’s lost her son, who witness the crumbled heap of man who’s lost his wife.

Cops are on the front lines.

Photo Credit

I have discovered that I am, in fact, married to a full-time vocational minister. Because in the midst of unspeakable tragedy, I can’t imagine there being a better person to have to pick up and carry someone’s devastation. Someone who could be more gentle. Someone who could be strong enough to not crumble under the weight of it. In the midst of the hopelessness and bad decisions, I can’t imagine a better cop car to be in the back of than the one my husband is driving. Someone who bears both Truth and Hope. In the midst of a fallen world, I can’t imagine a better person to carry the ministry of justice. Humble. Respectful. Strong.

(I am just a little proud of my husband.)

So I am thinking perhaps next time you are in are in the Chipotle lunch line and the cops walk in, tell them thank you (because like seriously… is it just me or is the Chipotle burrito the new donut?! HAHA) Maybe think of what cops face and pray for their lives, their families and their souls?

(Anybody else now have the Cops theme song in your head??  “bad boys, bad boys, whatcha gonna do, whatcha gonna do when they come for you…” If not, your welcome.)

I’m wondering how you view cops… in a positive or negative light?

I’d also love to know if anyone else that reads here has a LEO in your family? Let me know in the comments.

By Grace,

Amanda Conquers

I may be writing a little more on this subject. I don’t want to write for cop’s wives because like seriously, rookie here. That’s like getting parenting advice from the first-time pregnant girl whose read all the books; just stop. But I do want to write about the journey. Because truly, I am learning a lot here about things like prayer, spiritual warfare, and how to keep growing in love in your marriage when you are changing… and just simple things like what it’s like to be married to a cop.

What in the World Does It Mean to Be Blessed?

In about a week and a half, we will get the keys to our very first house.

I am so stinking excited, nervous for that very adult “m” word (mortgage), and just in awe of God’s blessings.

And it’s got me thinking of the journey that brought us here and wondering what exactly the word blessing means. Truthfully, it doesn’t feel quite right to say I am blessed because we are about to have our names printed on the deed of a house. I think sometimes we get this idea that “blessed” means easy, smooth, and abundant. Looking back, I can say that even in lack, I've been blessed.

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When Mike and I were first married, we found a sweet little duplex in one of the roughest neighborhoods in our town. I remember in the still of the mornings how I would walk through all 850 square feet of our first home thanking God for every inch of it. I declared that the faux wood-paneled wall made it a house with character. I saw the seeds other people sowed into our lives, that for some reason we seemed worth it. The hand-me-couch from our college group leaders, the garage sale table my father-in-law refinished for us surrounded by the dining chairs our pastors gave us, the kitchen cabinets full of wedding registry items. So. Much. Love.

Mike and I had our first arguments, our first adult discussions, we loved and we were newlyweds trying out our newly wedded bliss. Love grew in that house. The neighborhood, however, was probably not ideal. We saw gang fights, one night there was a shooting directly across the street, we lived down the street from a dealer. But Mike and I saw such purpose there. Kids began visiting our house, and we shared the kid's ministry candy we stashed in our garage along with the love of Jesus. We even took one of the gang members to church with us.  

After two and a half years of marriage and life in that duplex, our lives got shaken. At five months pregnant, my husband’s business went under. He couldn’t find steady work, so we made the decision to move in with my parents.

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The years at my parents were hard. There were weeks when I wasn’t sure we’d be able to buy diapers, weeks when people would slip money in our hands at church saying God told them to give it to us, weeks when Mike couldn’t find any work, weeks when random checks would appear in the mail. It was this strange mixture of hard knocks and supernatural provision.

I remember once when Addy was all fresh and new, and we set out to the baby store. I stood in the baby girls’ section fingering the clothes.  I had ten spare dollars, and I wanted just one outfit amid everyone else’s generosity that would claim her as my kid. I knew she was a baby and wouldn’t remember, but buying her something with my own money just seemed to matter so much. It was like an outfit had the ability to wrap her up in the security I longed to give her. I couldn’t give her big, ridiculous bows to match every outfit or push her around in a fancy jogging stroller, but maybe one romper could say to my daughter, “I love you so very much, and I promise to take care of you.”

During that season, the hardest thing I learned was the humbling that comes when you just can’t. But friends, God still did. There were a few periods there where I am convinced without the generosity of family (church included), we would have been living in our car, sleeping in a shelter on the cold nights. There in my parents’ house, we had a warm room with a walk-in closet that we turned into a nursery stocked with so much love from our friends and family. Mike had all the space in the world to find exactly what it is he is supposed to be doing with his life. We even got a few mini-vacations thanks to God-promptings on willing hearts. When I sit back and think of all God gave us when we couldn’t ourselves…. Just big, beautiful, grateful… tears.

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After two years at my parents, my husband began working in pest control. It wasn’t enough for us to afford rent and groceries in a normal situation, but somehow God still provided. Our church offered us the small studio apartment located right above the church. It had once housed the stinky intern boys (one of whom I married) and was more recently an office. It had a tiny kitchen and a tiny bathroom and only 400 square feet total, but it was ours. I called that place my New York City apartment adventure in my own small town.

I remember once walking down the stairs and being greeted by one of the staff pastors. I had told him I wasn’t feeling well, to which he asked, “Oh, are you pregnant?”

I looked at that man like he was crazy, “What? Do you seriously think I would bring a second baby into that small space?!”

God immediately checked my heart with a quiet whisper, “Amanda, you don’t trust me?”

Mike and I both wanted another baby so badly, but we were afraid to even talk about it. Standing there, at the base of my stairs, I knew I was caught. I didn’t trust God. Not really. Not even after all God had led us through. I had pride and somehow in all of God’s provisions, I wanted the control back, I wanted to not feel the judgment from people when all I had to show from my 5 years of marriage was a life lived on the generosity of others. (Ouch—that’s a tough one to admit)

Mike and I began praying, and we knew God was wanting to grow our family and asking us to trust Him. It seemed ludicrous to bring another baby into our small studio with our tiny finances, to knowingly bring a baby in on government aid. We chose to trust God anyways.

Two months later, I became pregnant. One month after that positive pregnancy test, Mike got a much higher paid job in pest control. One month after that, one of my former student’s parents put their condo up for rent. They let us move right in, deposit to be paid when we were able. It was technically a one bedroom condo, but it came with a bonus room for Addy and a huge walk-in closet that doubled as a nursery. By the time Jed was born, we were no longer on straight government aid, but a program we had to pay into to receive medical benefits.

Both of our babies had their nurseries in our walk-in closet.

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I quote AnnVoskamp’s line often: “Sometimes we only see God in rearview mirrors.”

Some of what Mike and I walked through seemed difficult at the time. But this isn’t a sob story. This is a story of God’s faithfulness. This is a story of learning to trust.

God was with us in the ghetto. He was with us when we lived with my parents. He was with us in the tiny studio. Perhaps by some standard, we experienced lack. But I know the secret, if God is with you, you are never without. I think of what I have learned, experienced, seen… surely there is so much value in the maturing, so much value in the knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that I am dearly loved by my God.

Really, it isn’t the house that makes me blessed, or dreams coming true, or picking out paint colors.  It’s getting to walk with God, it’s seeing His faithfulness played out in my own life. I am not just now blessed, I’ve been blessed from the moment I gave God my life.

By Grace,

Amanda Conquers


Linking up with this lovely community:

Let's Be Audacious?

Last week I got to visit my nephew for the first time in all his squishy-cheeked, sweet-smelling, 6-week newness. It made my heart so happy to get to see my six-foot-three brother (who may have farted on my head a time or two in our youth, I’m just saying) be a dad.

Isn't he just perfection? :)

I didn’t just drive down south to see my nephew; although I do admit this auntie would not have needed another reason to make that long drive.  About eight months ago, I was contacted to speak at a mom’s group. After praying about it, I said yes.

I was so excited for the opportunity. I had once upon a time dreamed of speaking and encouraging women. Over the years, as I have been fully embracing this role as a mom, wife, and daughter of God and realizing that really is enough, I had let that dream go. And here was this opportunity plopped in my lap and a green light from God and my husband to do it. I was so excited.

And then the date got closer.

And I got so (SO!) nervous.

As my car made its way to Los Angeles, my stomach made its way to my throat. I thought of how the last time I spoke in front of my church’s women’s group I completely blanked out (and I do mean completely). I thought of how this was my very first time as a guest speaker and just how clueless I felt. I thought all the ways I could misspeak, offend, or embarrass myself.

With my stomach in knots and panic just beneath this skin, I sought out a phrase that had been stuck in my head for the last two weeks. Perhaps it would be in my Bible? I googled the phrase and found it in my Bible. Have you ever felt Scripture hit you like the dawn over the horizon? Like all of a sudden you could clearly see the truth that had somehow been hiding in the dark? Yeah. This was one of those moments.

“I, even I, am He who comforts you. Who are you that you fear mere mortals, human beings who are but grass, that you forget the Lord your Maker… that you live in constant terror every day… I have put My words in your mouth and covered you with the shadow of My hand-- I who set the heavens in place, who laid the foundations of the earth, and who say to Zion, 'You are My people'” (Isaiah 51:12-13, 16).

Deep down, I was afraid God would abandon me, that I would stand up there trembling and the words wouldn’t form. I was afraid of failure and rejection and a room full of blank stares. There in Isaiah is this promise God makes to be with me and this blunt reminder to not give into the fear of man.

I am pretty sure those are the two big fears we all face when we are contemplating stepping out in faith. Abandonment and failure. That if we make that big move, open our mouths to share Jesus, make some life-altering decision… God will suddenly vanish, it will all go terribly wrong and we will become the subject of gossip. I think sometimes we care way too much what people will think.

When I look back over my life, the best moments were the ones when I walked bravely into the unknown having to just trust that God would be there. Can you think back to your moments like that? I’m thinking of my summer as an intern in inner-city LA, walking down the aisle to promise the whole of my life to one man, the moment I became a momma, the conversation with a stranger that somehow led to salvation... So much uncertainty, but moments lit up by the surety of God’s presence.

Sometimes we can do really brave things.

I think sometimes we forget just how present and awesome God is and how little it matters who we are. Fear makes us forget.

I once heard faith compared to jumping off a cliff. You don’t have to know God’s going to catch you. Faith isn’t in the knowing what’s on the other side, faith is in the action and the sheer amount of audacity it takes to jump.

Those crazy brave things boil down to an invitation, followed an action, and both are laced together with a whole lot of trust.

I want to be an audacious woman. I don’t want to forget what God has done. I want to be a woman who jumps when God invites her to. I want to know just how big God is. You too?

I’m wondering, maybe we could encourage each other right here and now with our stories of those crazy brave times and how God showed up? Would you share one of your moments with us in the comments? I'd love to hear from you.

By the way, that guest speaking thing? It went so good, one of those "only God" moments. I doubt I could find the words to describe the peace of God that was upon me. I can’t tell you how it was received, but I left knowing I had said everything God had wanted me to say. Also, that mom’s group was full of beautiful, warm women. I felt like I was amongst friends. :)

By Grace,

Amanda Conquers

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How an Anomaly Can Be a Thing of Beauty: A Letter to My Daughter

Dear Addy,

Yesterday, we went to a vascular anomalies clinic for the birthmark on your shoulder.

In the hallway, while we were checking in, you began singing and twirling. “My name is Addy, and I am so beautiful. My name is Addy, and I am so beautiful.”

I was struck by the perfection of that moment. There we were in a clinic that is keeping an eye on this “anomaly,” and there you are singing about who you are.

My name is Addy.

Addy—Adelaide—which means noble princess. Daughter of the King.

And I am so beautiful.

And you. are. beautiful.

Addy, taking you into that clinic, watching the doctors and surgeons poke at you, measure your hemangioma, talk about all the options you could have one day, hurt my heart for you. I wanted to shoo the doctors away, remind you of how wonderful you are, that there is nothing wrong with you. You see, I worry one day you will take all the words that might be spoken to you and tuck them away in your sensitive heart. I worry those words will speak to you, define you, make you think you are less-than, or that you will think you need to cover up who you are and who you were made to be.

I worry because I think of the words that I tucked into my young heart, I think of how I felt unnoticed and ugly. I allowed it all to speak to me, to define me. In high school, the popular boys called me “rat girl.” And then, almost overnight, I filled out a C-cup and those same boys wanted to date me. I translated the new found attention to mean that my figure was the only thing that made me worth something. I thought that if I could just keep a schedule full of dates, the emptiness I felt would be filled. I thought it would make me worth something. I only felt dirty and used. And believe me, that does not make you feel valuable.

Even after Jesus came in and began to heal my heart, I still struggled to see my worth. Instead of looking for my worth in men, I tried proving it. I worked so hard in college to get straight A’s, I filled my calendar with meetings and events for good causes, and I led a thriving children’s ministry. And still, I looked and found there were people who were better than me, prettier than me, more together, more blessed. I discovered I was an insecure woman full of jealousy who constantly compared herself to other women.

Comparison, jealousy and insecurity are just symptoms of a sickness. The sickness: fear. Fear that you aren’t enough, that you aren’t really loved.

And while we seek to heal this fear in the approval of others, the only antidote to this fear-sickness is the perfect love of God. (1 John 4:18) Why? Because you were made for His delight. And if my momma-heart is any indication of God’s heart, daughter, you bring Him so much delight.

I think of this scripture:
“But we have this treasure [light] in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us” (2 Corinthians 4:7). 

Whoever heard of a clay pot shining from within? Only by God’s power. Daughter, we might want to think it’s the shiny, dressed-up glass vases that shine the brightest, but it’s the miracle of a clay pot shining that is marvelous to behold. It’s the girl that makes this crazy faith leap to believe that all she is, is all God wants. It’s the girl that chooses to give all glory to God… who allows Him to fill the empty places and bridge the short-comings. It’s the girl who knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that there is nothing that she can do to make God love her more, and there is nothing she can do to make God love her less. It is the girl that knows she is preapproved.

And when you were singing in the hallway of the doctor’s office, yes, I do believe you knew you were pre-approved. “My name is Addy, and I am so beautiful.”

I pray you keep singing. I pray this knowing is stamped on you that no matter where you go, you have God's approval. I pray you know that you are His child. I pray that you would rise in fearlessness and be exactly the woman God imagined you would be when He formed you in my womb.

I wish I could somehow show you exactly what I see in you, Addy. The sensitivity, the beauty, the sense of wonder and delight, the way you live in timelessness, the way you dance and sing. The way you encourage and prod onward, the way you are a noticer. You live slowly and drink deeply. You know how to block out everything around you for whatever or whoever is right in front of you.

Addy, I want you to hear this: Do you know why I think that mark is beautiful? Because at some point, Addy, you are going to have to trust that you are beautiful in spite… that God loves you no matter what. You are going to have to let God fill that space in you… and what could possibly be more beautiful than you, Addy, full of the light of God?

Your name is Addy, and you are so beautiful.

I love to the moon and back, with all my heart, no matter what.

Momma

I was inspired to write this letter by Jennifer Dukes Lee (one of my absolute favorite bloggers to read) and the new book she has coming out April 1^st. I am really looking forward to this book all about approval-seeking and love idols. It’s certainly a struggle I know well.  

And, yep, sharing this in the #TellHisStory community at Jennifer's place.