Things August Taught Me

It's been a while! And I miss you all. So I thought I would put on my comfy jammie pants, sit down with my piece of chocolate and share all the things I've learned last month, some random and some profound, as though you were sitting here curled up on the couch with me, talking like friends. (By the way, all that means my writing is comfy too... i.e. barely edited.)

Okay, August, here's what you taught me:

1. This summer has been busy. I thought that those years when the little ones are just starting to walk and they are into everything were the busy years. You know, where you feel like you can't ever actually do anything because your toddler might climb up on a table, figure out the child safety lock lid on the Nyquil bottle and proceed to pour the entire bottle down their front all in the time it takes you to pee (not that I would know anything about this, ahem). Like so many other things related to parenting, I thought wrong. Right now, we are brimming on the "soccer years," you know, music theater lessons, midweek kids club at church, soccer practice, soccer games, friends, extra classes and I am now beginning to fully understand why moms of older kids refer to their cars as taxis. Yes. My kids are potty-trained and relatively independent when it comes to playing with toys and brushing teeth... but my kids keep me busy nevertheless. Parenting changes over the years, but I am not so sure it ever gets any less difficult or busy.

2. Somewhere in my mind I think I imagined kids went from eating like picky two year olds to ravenous teenagers sometime in their preteens. And here is yet another thing about parenthood I imagined incorrectly. I used to be able to plan my meals and do one big shopping trip a week. I don't know when it started happening, but it feels like everyday I am either going to the grocery store or talking about how I need to go to the grocery store. Budget aside, I cannot keep up with my kids' appetites. They eat SO much and SO many times a day. I want to ask if this is what the teen years look like, but I am fairly certain this is only a glimpse. *sigh*

3. Mike is rarely able to make it to church with us because of his work schedule. I have been seeking the Lord, desiring to a place where we can live out our faith before our kids, a place to share what life in Christ means to us, to grow and learn as a family. I came across this devotion. I loved how truth is not watered down but it's presented in a way my kids can grasp it and Mike and I can be spurred on in our faith too. I love how opportunity for discussion is woven through it and how there is a simple activity we can do (or not do) to further demonstrate the topic. I also love that it doesn't take too long (Hi. I have squirmy kids. You too?). Two weeks in a row we have managed to set aside one night for family night. We eat a good home-cooked meal. We look each other in the eyes and talk about life. We do a devotion. We pray. Then we eat dessert and some other family activity (movie, walk, board games, legos...) It's so simple, it only happens once a week, but it just means so much. Game. Changer.

4. At the end of July, I took the kids with me while I ran errands at Target. Petsmart was next door having pet adoption day. We call Petsmart the "free zoo" and I am not above bribing my kids to behave in Target with a trip to the "free zoo." This trip always comes with the following pep talk: "We are not getting anything. No pets are coming home with us. We can only stay so long, so when I say it's time to go, you don't cry, you say, 'Yes, mom'." On this particular trip though, I walked by another standard issue dog cage and saw a puppy with big brown eyes, ginormous ears, brindle coat and spotted feet. When I said "Hi," she nuzzled me and licked my hand. Maybe it was the fact that I was still grieving the miscarriage, maybe it was the ears and the puppy-dog eyes, but I threw my own peptalk aside. I couldn't leave without that puppy. We brought her home and named her Pepper. She has already chewed through every pair of shoes my son owns save but one pair I am currently guarding with my life. I gained another "child" to potty train, and, so help me, if she pees on my brand new carpet one more time, I will scream. If you would have told me that one day I would grow up and have a dog that would sleep in my kids' beds I would have told you, "That's impossible, I'm not much of a pet person." Somehow our hearts and our home have expanded and made room for this big-eared pepper-coated puppy. She's become apart of this family, and we kinda love her. Perhaps, what I have learned is that when you are grieving a loss, pet adoption day should be avoided at all cost... then again, perhaps, I learned exactly the opposite.

5. Minivans are magical. No really. Stow and go seating, two back rows so kids can be kept out of punch/pinch/poke/slap/tickle range from each other, doors that slide open at the push of a button and do not bang into another car when a rough-and-tumble three year old determines he is opening his own door and without help thankyouverymuch... They're magical, I tell ya. My car from college completely bit the dust a few weeks back and now I get to experience the magic for myself.

6. The car I just mentioned that died... it died the same week I was pulling together my homeschool stuff for the year, the same week I was knee-deep in ribbon and doilies and L M Montgomery quotes for my sister's bridal shower that week, when, between homeschool curriculum and a bridal shower, it felt like I was all of a sudden hemorrhaging money and had zero time to car shop or have the what-is-best-for-our-family-and-budget talk with my husband... Is it just me, or do cars always die those weeks?

7. We are into our fourth week of homeschool. This year, I decided to establish a good routine. I now wake up, make coffee and a good breakfast, I eat my breakfast away from the kids (well, most mornings anyways), and read my Bible and pray. Homeschool only starts when Momma is caffeinated and fed, spiritually and physically. This has been a game changer. For whatever reason, last year I just couldn't find my groove, at least not consistently. This year, I am placing the greatest value in my priorities on inviting Jesus into my day and starting well. I am also placing value on routine and homeschooling and it's meant being consistent and saying no to some things I wish I could say yes to. But you know, I am loving homeschool this year...LOVING it. My kids are loving homeschool this year. It just kinda feels like I am doing exactly what God is asking me to do in this season.

Favorites from my kitchen last month:
PW’s Sloppy Joes. Confession: I had never eaten a sloppy joe in my whole life till my sister tried this recipe and swore it was amazing. It is yummy, easy and kid-friendly, which is pretty much the trifold holy grail of family cooking. I make it without any tabasco and pepper flakes because I have spicy-food-hating kids, but I definitely add those in after the munchkins are served. I do not hate spicy food.
Cooking Light’s Jerk Chicken and Stuffed Mini Bell peppers. Another confession: I love this recipe's homemade jerk, it's worth the time to chop and blend those ingredients. BUT between homeschool and my husband's schedule requiring an early dinner, I just don't have that time right now. I have been using a McCormick Jerk seasoning mix and a tub of chive cream cheese spread with a little sour cream and cilantro mixed in. We eat the chicken, the peppers, and a heap of broccoli and our tummies feel warm and happy and guiltfree... with about 15 minutes of work. Hallelujah.


I am hoping to get the chance to sit down with you all again. I feel chock-full of words and encouragement. Until then, would you share with me one thing you learned in the month of August? Or maybe share a recipe you've been into? I'd love to hear from you! (I'd also love some fresh dinner ideas **wink wink**)



By Grace,
Amanda Conquers

The Thing About Fire

I wanted to get away. I needed to get away. 

My husband saw this, and took me to the foot of Sierra-Nevadas for a short retreat.

I was eager to hike something, anything. So before we even checked into our room, we found a nearby trail.

When we stepped out of our car doors, it felt like we were walking into a furnace. It was hot. 105 degrees. We took our last long drink of water and headed to the trail. We just planned to do a quick hike so it didn’t seem necessary to carry anything.

As we walked and the trail led downward, I came across an astonishing tree, beautiful and a little bit strange in a place that was all conifers and manzanitas, rocks and red earth. The madrone. It stood twisting toward the sun, relishing the heat. The sun scorched its bark so that it curled away from the tree like ribbon on a perfect birthday package. It shed layers of black bark, then red, revealing a silvery-green underlayer that was smooth and glassy like butter touching heat.

I found one perfect ringlet. A curly-cued piece of red bark that looked like it could have been a curl off Shirley Temple’s head. I wondered at it. How and why? Such a strange piece of beauty.

We walked on from the stunning madrone and found that the grade kept getting steeper and steeper. The trail was full of loose rocks, and our knees hurt from the steadying.

I kept waiting for this moment: a grand vista, a majestic waterfall, something that made the hike seem worthwhile. It never happened though. The trail ended at a crowded watering hole. It might have been pretty if every rock formation and inch of water wasn’t covered with loud people and floatation devices.  We headed back up the trail disappointed.

Now, one of the unchangeable laws of hiking is that if at some point you walk down, you will eventually have to walk back up. Another one of those laws is that downhill is always much easier than uphill. (Can I get an amen?!)

Sometimes I tell people, “I am a delicate flower. I just wilt in the sun.” I say this with a southern belle accent, eyelids fluttering, full of jest… but it’s true. As I climbed back up that hill, I had a moment. My heart seemed to have relocated to my throat, I could feel it pounding making my airways feel small and tight. My saliva got thick. I felt like I couldn’t get enough air into my lungs. Panic rose in my heart. Then little black stars in my eyes’ peripheral appeared, the kind you see when black out is imminent.

My legs went weak, and I let my husband steady me with his arms.

And then I cried.

First, it was just a few tears that I quickly wiped away. Then the tears flowed, too many, too fast to stop them from sliding down my neck. My shoulders crumbled as though I had been carrying a sack of cement that I just let tumble off my back. I was trying not to cry, but I just couldn’t help it.

Mike pulled me away from his chest just slightly so he could try to read what was wrong on my face.

I was worried he thought I was a big sissy-la-la girl. “I’m not crying because I am hot and miserable. I mean I am hot and miserable, and I feel like I can’t do this, but it’s not why I am crying.” It all came out in jumbled sobs. I am not even sure Mike understood what I said. “It’s just… I’m crying because…” I stopped short. I couldn’t get it out.

Mike gave me this gentle look. “I know, Amanda. It’s why we are up here.”

We took a lot of stops on the hike back to the car. I drew deep breaths, slowed my racing heart, and I cried… a lot.

This miscarriage, it’s made me angry beyond words. When I sit in church and hear songs of God’s awesomeness, I can feel the rift in my heart. 

I think of Abraham walking Isaac up the mountain. God asked Abraham to do the inconceivable. I wonder at the questions that might have burned in Abraham’s mind and how he kept putting one foot in front of the other. I wonder if he felt anger as he gathered stones, then sticks, then bound Isaac’s hands and feet. Did he want to scream at God?: “You promised this son! He is my blessing and my miracle and you want him back?! I thought you gave him to me with the promise of descendants as numerous as the stars. How are you going to pull that one off, God?!”

When you read it in the Bible, it only indicates that Abraham obeyed.

The passage repeats this phrase twice: "So the two walked on together." Two together, just walking on. The Promise and the Promised side by side. I can't fathom the bravery and the trust in each step Abraham took. He didn't tell Isaac to go back or to hide, Abraham just kept walking forward knowing he was headed to the place where he would lay Isaac down. You read it, and you just know, Abraham would have followed God anywhere.

I struggle with that kind of trust.

I walked up a mountain and cried because life is hard and our refinement comes in the scorch of fire. I really am a big sissy-la-la, and I want it easy. And I certainly don’t want to lose.

Eventually that hike led us back by the madrone tree. I knew it was that tree by the perfect curly-cue. The piece of wonder and gratitude that I marked when it was easy was the same marker that pointed to home when it was hard. I think of Ann and 1000 Gifts, yes, the counting of gifts always points us Home.

I discovered in researching the madrone that they actually thrive in fire. Their wood is hardy and slow-burning. The conifer overstory is cleared out for a season, giving the madrone time to revel in unadulterated sunshine. Their seeds take root and flourish in the aftermath of fire. A madrone is so desperate for sunshine that they twist their way upward, rarely a perfect vertical, desiring to live in the most amount of sunshine as possible. They even can sacrifice a shaded branch... just so the tree gets the most sun. I think God wants us like the madrone. Desperate Son-seekers, coming out of fire better, stonger, reproductive, giving God everything. And God, He is able to work miracles even in the scorching heat, turning our dark layers into something beautiful… something that one could stop and marvel at and mark the way to Home.

Before Abraham departed from his servants, he told them, “I am going to the mountain to worship.” That word strikes me. Worship. He could have said anything else: rock-collecting, nature-observing, father-son bonding… Abraham said worship.

Abraham obeyed waiting for the moment when God would redeem the hardest, bravest, craziest thing he had ever done. Worship chooses God over understanding. Worship trusts God. Worship walks into the unknown with fear and trembling, one foot in front of the other, grasping the hand of Jesus.

With knife in the air, a clinched and fearful son bound before Abraham, and the realization sinking in that God really does demand everything (EVERYthing), God stops Abraham and points him to the bleating ram caught in the thicket. At the 11^th hour and right on time, God revealed His plan for abundant redemption.

Abraham marks the place. If he’d had a smartphone, he would have taken a poetic picture of a smoking altar and hashtagged it: #GodProvides.

There are places in my life marked where God has revealed Himself. They are my madrone tree curly-cues; so perfect and timely that one could only describe them as abundant. My husband’s job—Redeemer. A place to live—Good Provider. The times He’s closed doors and opened doors—Loving Shepherd. The times when I held my tongue and God moved on my behalf—Just Judge.

The pain of these miscarriages? Well, I am walking one foot in front of the other carrying them to the altar.

I am waiting for God to reveal His plan for abundant redemption.

By Grace,

Amanda Conquers


Bible Reference: The story of Abraham can be found in Genesis 22.

The Post I Didn't Want to Write {On Trust, Loss, and Walking Deep Waters}

Photo Credit

I was hoping this was going to be the post where I got to tell you my exciting news.

Instead I am writing because this is the best way for me to process hard, because we are on this journey in which we need the encouragement of each other, and because even though my words have pain woven through them, God is writing a message on my heart that maybe you need to hear too.

I am writing because I was pregnant. The pregnancy was found to be not viable (which means somewhere along the way, life stopped forming.)

I had no idea that you could get through five and a half weeks of nausea and smell aversions and all the other body changes in that first trimester… that you could be utterly surprised and have no clue how you got pregnant, that you could cry both tears of joy and fear of change, that you could get excited and dream up names and tell family and friends… and all the while life not be there.

I am raw, angry, hurt and sad.

This baby, it may have surprised us, but it was so very wanted.

After I had gone in for my first prenatal appointment and they couldn’t find the heartbeat, they had told me it could just be too early. But I was worried. I told God, “I just can’t lose. Oh, God, please. I just can’t lose again.” After three losses, two this year, another just felt like too much.

After a formal sonogram and a devastating conversation with my doctor, here I am, loss number four, third within a year. I feel broken, like somewhere along the way the words failure got written across my uterus. Who gets pregnant three times in the same year all while preventing pregnancy and loses all three? It doesn’t seem fair. I’ve always wanted to leave room for God to have His way in my life. I might have in my rational mind thought it wasn’t time for a baby, but I still welcomed the idea of a surprise. But loss?

I have to admit that in my heart of hearts, that deep and fragile part that doesn’t understand and thinks I deserve an explanation, I don’t ever want to be pregnant again. Never. Because I don’t ever want to lose again. 

But here’s the thing. Sometimes we tell God anything. “You can do anything with me, God.” That “anything” might not just be hard, it might cost. And the cost might feel like more than you can bear. It might mean you are the vessel in which He places life, or at least the potential of life for a painfully short time. It might mean God leads you on a journey that is completely different from what you imagined. It might mean that what your heart desires must be hard fought. It might mean you suffer, and it might mean you don’t get an explanation. It might even feel meaningless.

Hebrews 10:39 has been a favorite verse of mine for a long time. It is the final statement that the writer makes before launching into a discussion of faith full of examples of men and women whom God used in mighty ways. Men and women who lost. Men and women who still chose to trust God. Men and women who saw the divine and the miraculous just beyond the tip of their own fingers.

“We are not of those who shrink back.”

We are not of those who live in fear. We are not of those who choose to close their hands to God’s blessings because the blessings might come through pain. We are not of those who stop trusting because we don’t understand. We are not of those who refuse to allow God access to anything and everything because it might hurt.

So here’s me saying: I am angry and hurt and so very afraid to lose again. But I will not shrink back. I will grieve. And then I will rise.

I will choose to trust.

I am reminded that I made this phrase my prayer for the year: “Trust without border.”

And here I am, in a place without border, without understanding. I am walking deep waters. Oh, they seem so deep. But God promises: “When you pass through the waters, I will be with you. And through the rivers, they will not overflow you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned. For I am the Lord Your God” (Isaiah 43:2-3). In deep waters, we learn trust.

I look at Addy and Jed with fresh eyes. Because life is so very precious and fragile. When it comes hard fought and through much pain, you savor it, you suck the marrow out of it. You count the moments for joy. And you know deep down, it’s all worth it.  I think of that scripture “Who for the joy set before Him, endured…” (Hebrews 12:2). Yes. And we were worth it even in all the free will variables in which we might turn our backs on Him who loves us and paid dearly for the chance. And that thing you hope for might just come through suffering—through enduring—but that doesn’t mean it’s not worthwhile.

I didn’t realize hope could require such bravery. I didn’t realize you could hold onto to hope while losing. But I am clinging to hope. Because, friends, yes, this girl does so much desire another baby and a big, loud family. And while I am afraid to lose, I shall be brave enough to hope.

By Grace,

Amanda Conquers

Finding Spiritual Whitespace: A Review and a Giveaway

A few months ago, I noticed that my favorite (in)courage writer, Bonnie Gray, had a book coming out and had asked for people to sign up to be a part of the launch team. I usually don’t do that kind of stuff because I just don’t have the ability to make too many commitments right now.

But I felt compelled.

I knew this book on rest was the song Christ had been writing on my heart for the past year. After striving and struggling and trying to prove my value, rest is a message I am passionate about.

And then I started reading it. Because rest seems like this nice topic, right? Take a vacation, go for a hike, sip a cappuccino, read a book, be comfortable in your own skin. God loves you enough to let you rest. But this book hurts.

Because escape isn’t really rest. God doesn’t love us so small that He would just let us take escapes from our brokenness. God loves us so big that He wants to make us whole.

And that is rest. It’s digging beneath the things that we crowd our life with to try to look okay, to seem important, to wave at the rest of the world so we can be seen. It’s picking up broken pieces and giving them to God to make whole again. It’s knowing God’s loves us as is and that we are His work of art.

Bonnie opens up with us the pain in her past, the struggle in her present with PTSD, and what God has been teaching her about rest in this journey. This book is beautiful. It is also painful. And it breathes grace.

I don’t want to share Bonnie’s story, you are just going to have to grab a copy and read it for yourself, but I can tell you that while my own beginnings are so very different, this book has been so healing.

Practically, this book is easy to read. She weaves her story through all the non-fiction truth and revelation that, for this girl who struggles with reading non-fiction but delights in stories, it is easy to want to keep reading (I even have to admit to skipping ahead to see how things turn out, because I totally cheat like that with fiction). It’s also hard to read because it demands that you look into your own heart and see the brokenness Christ is longing to make whole in you. The chapters are small and at the end of each chapter is a time for reflection. This book is already perfect for a small group study and is meant to be gone through slowly—praying, reflecting, talking to a friend after each chapter.                     

I thought I would leave you with one of my most re-read highlights from the book: “In graphic design, whitespace is a key element to the aesthetic quality of a composition. The more fine art a composition is, the more whitespace you will find. The more commercial the piece, the more text and images you’ll find crowded in. The purpose is no longer beauty. It is commercialization… Whitespace is extravagance… Whitespace says we are someone special. It says we are fine art in God’s eyes” (67-68 of Spiritual Whitespace).

And you dear friend? You are a piece of fine art, created in the image of God.

Rest.

You can grab your own copy of this book HERE.

You can find Bonnie Gray HERE in the middle of a 21 day series on Rest. Her blog is beautiful and a favorite of mine.

Since I loved this book so well, I really wanted the chance to give one away to you, dear reader. {Of course if you just can't wait, buy the book now, and, if you win, give the winning copy away.} To enter, just log in to the rafflecopter using facebook or your email address and follow the prompts. The winner will be selected at random using the handy dandy rafflecopter gadget. As a head’s up, I will be contacting the winner and asking for a mailing address to send the prize to. Of course this is not shared or used for any other purpose (and is discarded after the prize is sent).

By Grace,

Amanda Conquers

(Disclaimer: I received a copy of this book in exchange for my review. The opinions here are entirely my own)

a Rafflecopter giveaway

In Which I Struggle With Anxiety and Find Rest

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Last year, my husband who knows me well could see me struggling and told me he didn’t want me to lead anything in ministry.

I knew he was right even though I didn’t really like it.

And then the opportunity to lead presented itself. Perhaps it was the desire to have a clearly defined place in my world that seemed flipped upside down. Perhaps after years of leading bible studies, and internships, and children’s ministries, I just missed doing the work of the ministry. Perhaps, I struggled with pride and in my deepest heart of hearts, no matter how right I might have known my husband to be, I wanted to prove him wrong.   

Whatever it was, I chose to take the position.

{And okay, I did sit down with my husband first. He listened to my heart, told me he didn’t think it was a good idea, but that if I really thought I was ready, he would support me.}

I was to be the home groups’ coordinator. I made a video announcement, I recruited hosts and facilitators, I had a plan and a vision, I shared my heart for it in front of the church.

One week before the launch date, I felt crippled beneath anxiety and panic. It was the final push before the start. And.I.could.not.do.it.

Anxiety is like this: Imagine you have someone actively hunting your life. You are on the run. You operate under a heightened sense of awareness, every sound, every change in the atmosphere, a sign you’ve been exposed. You struggle with sleep because it’s when you are most vulnerable to attack. And now imagine this isn’t true. There is no need to be ready to fight or flight at any given moment. And you know it, but your body doesn’t. And so, panic is just under your skin ready to erupt into a fit of heart-racing, rapid-breathing fight for your life. Sleep eludes you. Shame and embarrassment are your prizes. 

Exactly six days before the launch, with meetings to have, details to nail down, phone calls to make… I found myself smack dab in the middle of one of the worst battles with anxiety I have ever had. I think if I was car, I would have been a car on the side of the road, with my tires blown, fumes coming out from under the hood, my timing belt off, and my engine fallen out some 200 yards back. This was not a patch job: you know pray, ask some of your closest to pray and keep going. Oh. No.

I was a mess.

Confessing that I could not carry those small groups to completion was one of the hardest and most humbling things I have ever done. Sharing the reason why was even harder: I was that broken, the struggle was that deep, and this supposedly seasoned leader/Christian was barely treading water. I wish I had the foresight to know that I couldn’t do it (I wish I had trusted that my husband did have that God-given foresight.)

After I sent that email, heartfelt and broken, I waited for a response. A prayer. Someone to tell me I was okay… that it was okay.

But no one did.

The only way I knew anyone had received my email was that the secretary called asking for my notes. I sat for a month with silence. They could have been angry. They could have been praying for me. I didn’t know. I only had God and His Words to comfort me.

Looking back, I am grateful for the silence no matter how it hurt. I had this unhealthy need for approval, this fear of failure. I got this chance to hear God’s heart for me without the competition of a person’s approval. I found that He could love me even when I failed miserably, even when I deserved judgment. Truly there is one voice from Whom we need to hear, “You are okay.” Only one voice that truly satisfies that deep inner longing for approval. God—Our Father.

I found myself like that banged up guy on the side of the road (Luke 10:30-35), overlooked by those who should have cared, and taken in by Jesus himself. The Best Neighbor. He bandaged my wounds and let me stay and rest—to take all the time I needed (and still need) to be made whole.

Truth is, God had been asking me to rest for a while. But I didn’t want to because it meant facing pain and brokenness. It meant stopping, slowing down. It meant coming face to face with this sinking fear I have always had that maybe God doesn’t really love me. That maybe my worth was in what I did rather than who I am, and, if I stopped doing, no one would see me.

My approval-hunt had led me to squeeze out the very last bit I could offer. And when I had nothing left, I found He was more than enough. And that He loved me still and He loved me big.

Tomorrow, I’ll be back talking a little more about this rest journey and reviewing a beautiful book and rest resource. I like it so well, I really want the chance to give it away to one of you, dear readers. Say it with me: Giveaway!

{You can click on over HERE now to read the Finding Spiritual Whitespace review AND to ENTER the GIVEAWAY)

By Grace,

Amanda Conquers


Sharing in this lovely community:

If You've Ever Felt Your Dreams Crush Against Disappointment (Part 2)

This is that continuation I promised from the last blog post I did. You know, two weeks later than planned. ;)

We were sitting outside the hospital cafeteria in the sunshine, the air uncommonly sticky for California. My husband and I were trying to keep busy, to do something besides think and feel. My eyes were swollen, evidence that I was not as collected or as calm as I might have looked sitting there skimming through my phone.

Just fifteen minutes prior, I watched my almost-three-year old get wheeled towards the operating room. And even though it was a minor outpatient procedure, I am not so sure any procedure feels like a minor amount of weight on a momma’s heart.  

It made me think of how when us kids would talk of leaving home or of grand global adventures, my mom would wrap us up in her arms and with both laughter and sadness in her eyes she would declare, “Oh, no. I don’t think I can let you do that. My apron strings just don’t reach that far.”

The gorilla-sized tears and the ache in my stomach seemed to indicate that my apron strings didn’t reach operating rooms. The nurse had told me not to worry, that Jed was in good hands. But the truth is, I wanted Jed in my hands.

While we were sitting, waiting, Mike was listening to an interview of Jim Caviezel on accepting the role of Jesus in the Passion of the Christ. I wasn’t paying much attention. I may have even thought to myself what a random thing to listen to at this exact moment. Wasn’t that a decade ago?

But then Jim Caviezel said something that settled on my ears and demanded my attention.

“We all want resurrection; nobody wants suffering.”

Five minutes later, my husband got a call from the doctor. He asked for us to return to the room.

Somehow Mike instinctively knew to go without me. He insisted that I stay and that he would call me if I was needed. I sat attempting to write about Caviezel’s truth nugget, but really all I could think about was Jed.

Mike came back after the longest ten minutes. While prepping Jed for surgery, the doctor discovered something else that needed surgery… something that was more important and pressing than the original procedure for which we had scheduled Jed.

So, in total, my baby got three procedures done in one surgery. Three incisions, three bandages, three wounds from which to recover.

{In case you’ve been counting, that third one was a minor one that they asked if they could do when we first arrived, and another story altogether.}

I felt grateful that we had taken him in and that Jed was being spared from a much bigger problem later on all because of this doctor’s keen eye.

I wanted Jed better. But I didn’t want him to suffer.

But even my momma heart knew that I had to let him go, that the better meant the suffering.

Because it’s true: “We all want resurrection; [but] nobody wants suffering.”

I don’t fully understand suffering. I have a really long list of questions for God about suffering that begin with the word “Why.”

But Christ, he suffered. Lashings, beatings, thorns scraping skull, nails like railroad spikes into wrists and feet, and then he died. And when the stench of death would have just began to take him, when hope would have seemed lost, when resignation would have held Christ’s followers… Jesus resurrected.

Like the barley kernel at the back drop of the story of Ruth: cut down, trampled under the feet of donkeys, and crushed under stones, and just when the barley kernel might have felt like it’s purpose was done for, like it was crushed beyond recognition, the harvester threw it into the air and a beautiful usable kernel fell to the ground to be carried off to the mill for flour.

Because God plants beautiful purposes in chaffy human hearts.

It is through trials and pain and times that feel hopeless that separate the kernel of purpose from the human shell it lies in. And God doesn’t abandon us in our hardest times, he is waiting for that separation of chaff and dream, of human and spirit so that He can raise back up to life. Crushing and raising up are both important processes and equally dependent upon the other. Crushing seems cruel without the raising up; raising up is pointless without the crushing.

Perhaps, we would like to think that our holiness is wrapped up in substance of our ideals, our dreams. I remembered being a rosy-cheeked newlywed full of “holy” dreams, of two sharing the gospel together, of raising children, of a house that could be full of God’s love. But our holiness is something that comes about in the refining fire of when our reality and our dreams don’t match. Holiness is wrought in the struggle, in the surrender, in the telling God that I choose Him over all of it, even over my best-intentioned dreams. That I want Him and all of Him and there isn’t a thing here in this life that could possibly compare to the goodness of simply knowing Him. That He is God and I am woman and while I don’t understand His ways, surely I can choose to accept that I won’t comprehend them but that I can TRUST Him.

This is probably not the most fun material to read. The truth is, it’s not just suffering that proceeds resurrection; it’s death that proceeds resurrection. And this is hard. It’s hard to listen to, and it’s a thousand times harder to walk through. But I can say when you surrender, lay that dream on the altar, I do believe I can echo Paul with absolute certainty: God is exceedingly and abundantly able to do above and beyond all that you ask or think…. And that no human heart can conceive the things God has prepared for those who love Him. (Ephesian 3:20 & 1 Corinthians 2:9)

Amen.

By Grace,

Amanda Conquers

If You've Ever Felt Your Dreams Crush Against Disappointment (Part 1)

I think it was hot. I sat on the porch swing watching my baby girl put two hands on the cement and one diaper butt into the air. She steadied herself in her newfound independence. One chunky-thighed leg in front of the other and she was wobble-walking towards me. 

Contentment was full in my heart. And then the phone rang.

I could hear it in Mike’s voice. Discouragement. Shame. “Amanda. I—um—I’ve been separated. I couldn’t pass the test.”

I can’t remember what I said. I probably offered some kind of encouragement, asked a few questions, told him we would get through it. I do remember what I did when I got off the phone. I wept.

Life had looked bright. A year prior my husband had lost his job and struggled to find steady work. And then he stumbled into law enforcement. He was one of seven chosen out of well over a hundred applicants to be put through police academy. He was paid, he had benefits, and he was doing well in his studies. It seemed like the pain of losing had found its purpose in this opportunity. Mike thought he had stumbled into his calling. And then, three weeks shy of graduation, he hit one too many cones on the emergency driving course. Just like that, he was out.

Before coming home, Mike drove himself to the men who had always encouraged him, always pointed him to God. There he heard these words: “Truth be told, Michael, I never saw you as a cop.”

Though those words were spoken as comfort, I think they crushed my husband.

I cried for Mike. For his dreams that felt lost. For how he must have felt like maybe he was less of a man for all the hard blows that seemed to keep him from a good job. I felt that deep hurt from so much hope dashed and that unshakable question word: Why? Why!? Oh God, Why?! I wept for how the future was so uncertain. I wept for the way our dreams of children and a home to raise them in seemed impossible.

Our dreams died that day.

A few years later, Mike was still talking about law enforcement. I told him to try one more time. I could sense the worry in him, worry that he would again fail. This time, he worked full-time while going to academy full-time. He was dad to two children, husband to this wife, full-time student and pest control expert. And somehow after over nine months of a crazy juggling act, he graduated at the top of his class. He received an award for perfect attendance. 

At the end of the ceremony, they read off one award--integrity befitting an officer--the recipient chosen by peers and instructors. When they said my husband’s name, I wept. Because there it was, what I always knew to be true, what Michael had doubted and questioned and struggled against-- yes, we see it, you are a man of character. You are fit to be a cop.

You’d think at some point it would have been smooth sailing, but sometimes our dreams are something we actively fight for, something we have to keep God’s promises stuck to… and we have to be crazy enough to believe He means what He promises, no matter the setbacks.

While Mike was in the hiring process, he was removed from his favorite department’s list for an integrity issue. He was discouraged, he wondered if he would ever realize this cop-dream, but instead of just letting it go and hoping another department would hire him, he challenged it. He submitted letters with his integrity award attached. He put on his nicest suit, pushed his tie to his neck, and met with the hiring captain. That captain gave him another chance.

If you read here you know, Mike's been working at that department for a year and a half. And, yep, it's the same department he worked at five years ago when his dreams felt crushed beyond hope.

I think of Ruth in the Bible. It's probably my favorite story.

Ruth—who must have dreamed of children, of a home full of love and of growing old with a husband—in one fell swoop, she loses her husband and everything she dreamed with him.

And then Ruth does something bold. Truth be told, I have no clue why she does it. She clings to this God she did not know and follows her mother-in-law back to Bethlehem… when she could have just started over. Perhaps, she knew she couldn’t go back, that you can never really go back, you can only move forward. Perhaps, she just wanted know this God--this God woven into the roots of her husband and his people.

Whatever the reason, Ruth arrives in Bethlehem—which means house of bread—as sickle met barley stalk. She goes to Boaz’s field to glean the grain dropped in the harvest, and there she finds favor. At Naomi’s encouragement, Ruth goes into the threshing floor on the night of the winnowing, when barley had been crushed and then raised into the air so chaff and kernel could separate. Ruth lay herself at the feet of Boaz.

Ruth—of crushed dreams—lying on the threshing floor.

And Boaz—he raises her up and promises to see her redeemed.

As I sit in a house that I never thought we could have and send my husband off to a job he never thought he could have, I marvel at this God we serve.

We serve a God who, when hope was all but lost, raised His Son from the dead. A God who saw Ruth and redeemed her brokenness. A God who lifted her up, breathed life into her long dead dreams, redeemed her long-passed husband’s name, and gave her a rich inheritance in Bethlehem.

God raises the dead to life.

The God who made the dormant seed to erupt from the dark confines of soil, knows how to resurrect dreams from disappointments. He can raise the dreams that seem impossible, the ones that maybe you are throwing your fist in the air crying at God over, the ones that sit in the pit of your stomach and leave a hole in your heart, the ones that make you ache.

He is the God of resurrection.

I don’t know what devastation you face. What dreams you are holding onto. What dreams have died. I am standing here heavy-hearted knowing there is someone who needs this message; knowing that as some of my dreams I dare not even commit to print lie waiting, I need this message too. I am reminding us that God is faithful. That sometimes dreams get crushed, but we serve a God who knows how to bring them back to life. I am standing here with you, brother or sister, praying for you, crazy enough to believe that God can and will redeem what seems lost.

By Grace,

Amanda Conquers

I think*** I will be back tomorrow (or Monday) with a continuation of this post, because I have so much more to say on this. But truth be told, we've just moved and we’ve had another major change happen in our life unexpectedly, so I can’t promise. You will love me anyways, right? And maybe keep us in your prayers? Thanks, friends.

Also, is it okay to mention, that if you want to make sure you never miss a post, the best way to do that is to subscribe to this blog’s email list? It is only used to send you posts. I never share your email address and it is super easy to unsubscribe. Just click-->HERE.


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