My oldest and I were in Kansas City, staying in a way-out-of-our-budget hotel in downtown. Any traveling sports parents will know the kind, all I need to say is “play to stay.” If you are unfamiliar with the sort, tournaments (or showcases) will partner with a hotel chain, and your registration to play, is you must stay in the designated hotel. This particular tournament had booked up the affordable and relatively close hotels within minutes, leaving the us with hotels that leaned more towards “anniversary get away” vibes than ‘ball tournament with “stinky ball player” vibes. None the less, we went, knowing this would be the only big tournament we could swing that summer. I was pumped for some time one on one with my boy, as well as getting a chance to connect with some KC friends while we were in town for the long weekend.

The team advanced through the tournament, headed to the finals. We played the first game of the day, which meant warm ups and BP would be around 7 am. Our fancy hotel was 40 minutes away from the field, so a dad offered to take a carload of boys early. I accepted his offer, and used the morning to pack up our room with makeshift uniform washing stations, coolers of snacks and buckets of laundry. I had instructions to bring Gatorade and protein shakes for breakfast, as I would arrive just in time for the break before the game. The parking garage was the basement level. You know the kinds, with large concrete pillars and narrow spots, and a ceiling that feels awfully close to the roof of your SUV.

I got the last of many loads taken down, finagling the bags, swiping the key to open the door in and out, and already sweating like I had sat outside all day in July. I swiped in one last time, checked out and headed to the basement level with time to spare to grab our breakfast. As I head to the drivers side door I notice how close, or shall we say, over, the car next to me is. I barely squeezed in, put it in reverse and began to back out.

Quickly, I realize that any margin I lost to the left was impossible to correct as I had parked next to a concrete wall. The spot seemed perfect the night before when no one else was parked in the neighboring stall. “No big deal, I will just back straight up and make it a 20 point turn if I need to.”

Within seconds my rear and front sensors are going off, increasing my already rapid heartbeat. I am pretty sure I embarrassingly shouted “YEAH I KNOW I AM CLOSE!” to the car at one point. If I cranked slightly to the left I would swipe the car against the wall, the the right, the other car. I pulled in the mirrors and hoped in and out with each turn. The cars behind me were placed in such a way that I couldn’t back straight up and still have clearance to turn. I maneuvered for 30 minutes.

I was stuck. I needed help.

I turned the car off and ran to the elevator doors so I could ask for a staff member to stand outside my car and help be another set of eyes. The light turned red and rejected the swipe. Oh, that’s right, I checked out. I could feel tension and panic begin as I was loosing time, and the reality of how impossible it was to get out of the dangerous spot. I called the front desk, and they assured me there was no possible way to find the owner of the car pinching me in, I would have to just wait until they moved it. That could be minutes, that could be days. They told me they didn’t have anyone to send down at the time, as it was earlier than most day shifts began, but would call other departments. Then the comment I was dreadfully thinking, they said. “We don’t recommend vehicles your size park in the front of the garage, it’s best to park in the more open areas in the back or lower levels” I knew it, this was my fault.

Feeling stuck, helpless with a side of shame is not a cocktail any of us want to order. Yet, we can all imagine times were this is our reality.

I called my husband, the master of reverse, who has backed up large trailers with big construction vehicles with ease. Surely he had a magic trick I had not thought of. We facetimed the situation, and he agreed. There was no way out without damaging our car or someone else’s. Soon, a couple men in bike onesies came out of the hotel, and that quiet early morning didn’t seem so helpless. I showed them the situation and asked if they could spare a few minutes to help guide me. They declined as they kept walking and said they had to get to a ride soon. To make matters worse, they chuckled at me as they walked past and headed to their car, dismantling their bikes and airing up tires as they stood by the trunk. Due to the elevation of the garage, they were literally looking down at me, all while watching me back up, and back in. Over and over.

I’ve moved on to being stuck, helpless, with a side of shame, and being mocked.

Rattled beyond belief, I texted the team chat I had no idea when I would get out, and asked if a fellow mom could find something for my son to eat. I was too late. The game was starting and he was playing. Another blow.

I was mad at myself for not knowing better. I was mad at the other person who made it worse, heck I could blame it on them entirely if I wanted “If THEY had never even parked here….”

I was mad that the people who I paid to stay with wouldn’t send any one. I was mad my misfortune delighted the jerks who watched vs helped.

I was backed into a corner with literally no way out on my own. Those basement walls began to press in, and that dark ceiling was falling. I sat in my car and cried. I felt completely alone and mad. I had sat through 5 games where my son didn’t play, and finally he did and I wasn’t there. A million triggering scenarios played through my head. Fear is good at that.

A man was in my peripheral vision wandering around looking through the glass to the lobby elevators. I wondered if he was looking for me. Considering my current emotional state and the elevated anxiety I was in, I discounted that ANYONE was helpful any more in the world. Feeling stuck can do that to you, cause you to assume the world is out to get you. I just stayed sat down in the drivers seat as well as in my insecurity.

After several minutes passed, I felt this nudge in me to flag him down, against my pride, not to be made a fool again. Yet I was in no place to not try- I was DESPERATE.

He opens the door and said “I was told there was a woman who can’t get out her spot but I didn’t see anyone who looked in trouble.”

It was then that I realized my hiding delayed my deliverance.

He was dressed in a maintenance uniform. “I’m Dan,” he said as he wiped his hands on the rag tucked in his pocket and shook my hand. “Well miss, you are in a mess, huh? It may take a minute and lots of patience but we gonna get you out. Go ahead and turn your camera and sensors off and just roll that window down and listen to me.”

My wheels squeaked as Dan directed me inches at time, ensuring me I was ok although the mirrors made me feel dangerously close to damage. When I made that last crank of the wheel, he said “straighten her on out, you’re FREE!”

The halogen lights in the basement flickered on and off. My entire body temperature changed and I began to laugh uncontrollably. It was relief. It was a physical response to not only my adrenal system being entrapped but a spiritual revelation God had been teaching me over the years. Holy Spirit was dancing throughout that parking garage and I felt like a child in awe of a holiday parade. When I turned around to hop out and high five Dan, he was nowhere to be found. I leaned back in my seat and felt The Lord’s Father like heart for me, revealing a little something behind the curtain. You know when your mom or dad lets you in on something only they know? Yeah, I felt that.

I couldn’t help but begin to worship, shouting the lyrics to “Way maker” as loud as I could. I startled myself as I forgot my window was still down, and my voice echoed through the garage. As I climbed my way up the basement incline, those men who had laughed at me watched as I drove by. Now, I am not one to flippantly flip anyone off, (pun intended!) but I knew someone needed the bird. I saved my gesture for the devil and shouted “I bet your mom is proud!” as I drove by. Not my most mature move, But I was free and I had my authority back.

Over the last year I have replayed this day, asking God to reveal more. Was Dan an angel? Were the men who stood and watched demons? Were they humans influenced by the like? Did the lights flash because the supernatural God demonstrated himself to me through this situation the way He guided the Israelites out of Egypt? Am I foolish to even compare the two experiences? I hope to unpack this the rest of my walk with Jesus, in fact, I hope to encounter Him more and more so that I can know more about this supernatural help we have in the Holy Spirit. Today, I know this experience has taught me these things I hope encourage you with today:

1. We will get stuck. If it’s not by our own choices, it will be by someone else’s.
   • There will be times where we will be backed in a corner with what seems like no way out. In a believers life, this will manifest strongly in our minds. Spiritual warfare will often not appear as creepy devils lurking about, but more like feeling helpless, with no way out. All we will notice is how alone we appear, how unfair it is, and how terrible everyone else is. Help seems like a waste. It feels like the only solution is to keep quiet and man up, or stay stuck. Satan loves to isolate and infuriate a man or woman of God to avoid activating the Holy Spirit.
2. We can choose to ask for guidance or damage ourselves or others going it alone.
   • It only takes one time of being hurt, shamed, or mocked for us to assume every church, therapist, and pastor isn’t going to help. We need to be patient with ourselves and others who are hesitant to ask for help. Going it alone was never God’s plan for us. Trying to do it alone can do just as much damage as focusing on those who aren’t willing to help. We just stay stuck.
3. Shame is an assignment to hide you from deliverance.
   • Dan was looking for me, but I was hiding. The devil will distract us from freedom. I wonder how many times he set out to delay God’s work in my life through distracting me with people or situations that sucked my time, energy and outlook. We get so angry with God that He isn’t helping us, yet we focus on situations and voices that remove us from seeing His help in our life.
4. Deliverance is not a one sized fits all process.
   • God may choose to remove the “other car” immediately, or he may choose to increase your patience and do it inch by inch. When working through pain, bondage or trauma with others, or our own, this is a good reminder for us as well. Deliverance may be a slow and steady work with a trusted set of spiritual eyes guiding us. Free is Free. May we be grace-filled with ourselves and others as we keep our eyes on Christ to guide.
5. God is asking us to turn down the noise, and stop relying on the world to navigate for us.
   • I couldn’t listen to Dan and have the sensors on. They would have drown out his voice. I couldn’t rely on cameras over a set of eyes. It’s impossible to be in the drivers seat and stand outside of the car. There are voices and perspectives that claim to be helping us, but in reality are keeping us stuck. The choice to turn some influences off or down in my life has been the hardest, yet most impactful on my spiritual growth.
   • The local church/ body of Christ are just as responsible to answer the call of a hurting world as pastors and leaders. If you are “mechanic” of the faith, don’t disqualify God’s ability to use you.

Whether I find myself stuck in spiritual corner or on the side of a responder, God powerfully used that moment in the parking garage. The Holy Spirit will continue to pump the brakes, and crank the wheel of our lives if we allow him the authority.

What about the kids? 

 Since we’ve began to share the news of our decision to build a retreat ministry in NC, there has been a consistent worry folks have, including us, leading to ask this question.

We get it, from the outside it is all sorts of crazy: we have great jobs here, family and amazing friends. This is the only place they’ve ever known. It’s the middle of the school year. You can imagine the shock hearing that our oldest is a senior, and we are not waiting for graduation to move, or leaving him here to finish the year at his current school. I even had a lady say to me, “Wow. I used to look up to you as parents, but this is really selfish.” Ouch. That one hurt.

As a recovering people pleaser, I prepared myself for the questioning, and worked out some fear of my own when we said yes to this calling. We often quote that “God’s ways are not our ways,” and that “God”s timing is perfect”, but how do we respond when His ways are really nothing like our ways and His timing appears to be way off? How do we respond then, in our own lives and in the lives of others?

We have worked hard over the last 17 years to create a safe and secure atmosphere for our children. Intentionally being hosts of hurt, not shutting down the process. We have messed several things up in our parenting journey, but this is one thing we feel pretty confident in: There is no better place to struggle, question, and mess up than in this house. Grace is our pace and if we can’t work through the toughest of issues in these four walls than we aren’t doing our job.

As the Father asked us to trust him fully in this, we asked Him as any child does who feels safe, “are you sure?” We would be lying if we said we haven’t asked God “am I going to screw up my kids?” I recalled this feeling, remembering myself as this little girl with strep throat looking to my mother holding the tube full of bubblegum pink amoxicillin, “Are you SURE that’s going to fix this?” doubting that liquid could tackle the wretchedness I felt. I questioned it, yet took it, because I knew I was safe to do both.

Safe to doubt…

So, one by one, we would sit with our children, no feeling off limits, no question unanswered, asking how they really felt about this. I will also admit that in these private conversations I probably reflected more doubt than confidence, with my own questions swirling in my head. Here is how the Father spoke through them to us:

“Let’s do it.”

“If it’s from Him, I want it too.”

“He’s created us for this, it’s what we have been waiting for.”

“So I have this idea of how to serve the guests, would it be ok if I helped too?”

My 13 year old daughter said this week, “the more time we waste doubting if this is the right time the more time we loose fulfilling our purpose.”  Talk about confirmation out of the mouths of babes.

My week has been one of the hardest spiritual battles I’ve ever encountered. I felt a deep sense of defeat and depression before my feet hit the ground. My children, the very ones we are all so worried about in this move, laid hands on me and began to pray for me. The darkness lifted and I felt the doubt and worry lift off my chest, as my teenagers prayed. They prayed for their parents the way we have trained them to pray.

As mom and dad- we work so hard to establish firm foundations and Godly courage in our children, but then doubt our own investment in their lives when we fear God’s plans ourselves. Things get real when you have to live out what you’ve taught them.

What if the very act of our obedience is their greatest gift? What if our trust and rest in the Lord’s plans proves that actions of faith speak louder than words? 

A job offer we can’t turn down…

God has shown us in His Word time and time again that the obedience of one generation produces the promises for the next.  That is still true today.

Waiting to begin the work, resulting in disobeying God’s call could be far more detrimental to their lives than moving in the middle of a school year.

What our kids need more than anything is parents who walk in obedience. During prayer last week, Adam felt God speaking to his heart in the way he needed to hear. “You’ve got the job. You have the job offer. Are you going to accept it or wait?” As someone who has earned their paycheck their entire life, and would only leave one job if a better offer was presented, this revelation shifted his entire perspective.

Up to this point we felt it was best to have a large amount funded before we began to sow into the ministry in NC, so we continue to work traditional jobs until the Lord brings the funding. We knew this could takes weeks to months or years, so our obedience essentially was in the hands of others promoting us, vs doing the work because it pleased the Lord. We felt the burden with every letter we addressed. Every fold sown in fear, as we subconsciously prepared a resume disguised as a support letter. We were sowing in to thorny soil, just as Jesus taught in the parables of Matthew 13:22 “but the worries of this life and the deceitfulness of wealth choke the word making it unfruitful.”

What if it’s our soil?

In the traditional work setting, you would not wait for your new employer to give you 6 months advance pay before you accept the job. Yet here we were waiting on God to prove His time and His ways. He has answered prayers that we’ve asked for years, he’s flung doors wide open, and confirmed through uniting our family, speaking through scripture and providing Godly leaders and partners. He hand delivered the most beautiful job offer, where Adam and I can work side by side, doing what we are created to do: restoration.

Our children prayed over us as we printed and tossed hundreds of letters, feeling defeat and resistance in our souls. It just didn’t feel right, and it wasn’t. When it came to timing and funding, we switched back into our gears of bidding/ applying for jobs, vs walking in our calling. We confessed this to our kids, and said, “We have to redo this. It’s time to go all in and stop living in fear.” As they thanked God for answering our prayers, they praised Him for sending us for such a time as this. Adam and I wept at the kitchen table as our teenagers prayed with the faith we instilled in them, now receiving the very fruit of seeds we had sown. What are waiting for?

The timing was perfect. God is right on time. 

What if it all lined up the way we need it to?

If everything lined up perfectly, we had a fully funded account, kids were on summer break, we owned two vehicles, if the property was just a few hours away, if all the people were cheering our choices, it would require very little, if no faith. It would be like riding an escalator to the 4th floor. 

Our faith was created from years of battle, welded by the fire of our fervent prayer, built on the foundation of our marriage’s grace and redemption, and our desire for the gospel to come alive in our family. This faith has climbed those stairs, because this came from our suffering, produced perseverance, our character, and hope.

My oldest came to us several weeks ago, as he’s looking at colleges, and praying for a baseball scholarships. He said something that my soul is clinging to when my people pleasing addiction wants to well back up, “why would God give only a few of us opportunity? If he has something for you, he will have something for me.” 

What if God IS really good?

We sit together as a family and dream now, and hunger for the day to get out there and work. We are preparing our hearts for the difficulties that will certainly come. Grief that will accompany this move as well, but God shows us comfort not dread.  Adam and I, and our daughter will head out to NC after thanksgiving, utilizing the time with school still in session to prayerfully find schools for our kids. The boys will finish their semester, and join us after their finals. If needed, we will find jobs, but our belief is that the Lord will provide through others so that we can work on site full time.

We re-wrote those letters, Spirit filled, releasing the vision of The Reserve, vs listing the ways we hoped others would find us worthy of giving. We ditched that thinking, and sowed our seed into the good soil of Matthew 13:23, KNOWING that someone who hears will be abundantly blessed as resources flow through them on to this ministry. We prayed over every letter we sent out, asking God to hand pick the people he is going to use to sow into good soil with us. We are so excited now to see who God uses to flip the devils “what ifs” on their head!

Our “what if’s” no longer speak into fear. No more “what if we fail?” “What if we don’t make friends?” “What if money is tight?” “What if this screws up our kids?”

What if..

What if we see many families restored?

What if we get to be living testimonies to couples on the brink of divorce and tell them God is able?

What if we get to make the bed for the next great evangelist of our time?

What if we get to prepare dinner for a staff who will go back to stir the hearts of their city?

What if we are undercover soldiers, preparing the battle field for the Lord’s victory while others meet for counsel and worship? 

What if every painted surface of this property sparked conversation of Revelation 21:5, revealing God’s promises to make all things new? What if we build more than farm tables and aesthetically pleasing rooms? What if our family sees blessings beyond measure because we trusted our God’s perfect ways and timing?

What if. 

The other day our oldest was playing in baseball game. He is a catcher, so he often will chat with the home plate ump. Sometimes it’s just asking for clarity on a call, or asking how their day is going, or laughing about a blooper.

The ump commented about a player who’s body language and words were struggling. When our son replied, the ump revealed that he, as well as the other umpire were college coaches. “This is how we really find out who we want to talk to.” Our son came home blown away that during the entire game, unbeknownst to the teams, the umpires, who are often questioned, yelled at, or disrespected were the coaches scouting the game. When it comes to recruiting, this concept is quite genius. Anyone can look at a highlight reel on social media and look appealing, but how you behave on the field, the things muttered under your breath, or how you speak to the opponents, is what coaches really want to know.

It got us thinking as parents what we pour into. If our time, money, and energy is solely into the skills and not the character, how may we be hurting our children when we think we are helping them? How do we lead by example in our own behavior when we disagree with authority, leadership, or each other at home and in public? Could our behavior set them up for success when their futures are being determined? 

Our battle is not against flesh and blood as Ephesians 6:12 reminds us. When the urge is strong to loose your cool, remember this is not the battle we truly fight. The Lord knows our heart just as much as He hears our words. Our heavenly Father is not the only one listening. The enemy of our souls is ready to take our words, as ammo, to steal, kill and destroy our testimonies and freedom.

Knowing the coaches were the ones listening to the words on the field would have most likely changed the behavior had it been revealed 1st inning. As parents we know who is listening all the time. Our kids need us to be walking in integrity no matter who we think is listening.

How are we investing in our own spiritual training? What we pour into comes out on the field. Just as finely trained athlete will not falter under pressure, so will a Christian who dedicates their time to prayer, the Word, and their own shepherding of faith.

You never know when that example will help them in the game of life. May our hearts stay close to the one who holds our future in his hands, so that when opportunities from heaven arise, just like that undercover coach looking to hand out a scholarship, the Lord will find us ready to represent His team!

Words come easily for me in most instances. But what God did on the football field of Heights High School still hasn’t fully hit us. The words are coming, but until they fall into place, these photos from Taylor Hall are worth a thousand words. Gratitude overflows.

Revival is happening. You just have to let it begin in your heart. God is moving beyond our wildest dreams.

We are beyond thankful to Laurel Taylor, Heather Witworth, and the Tauntons for traveling to Kansas. Laurel, your gifts of worship broke loose the heavens. This woman is anointed, and we are forever thankful for her life and ministry.

Michael Church, thank you for your boldness and vulnerability in sharing with us.

Wade, Justin, Jaxon, Dakota, Jenna, Thank you for leading us in worship. Your time and gifts changed lives.

Taylor thank you for leading the sound and tech team. WE couldn’t do it without you.

Barry, the man with keys, thank you for being Isaiah 22:22 for this event. We needed a building engineer and we got a brother.

Young lives, Young Life, Kansas FCA, thank you for plugging in and connecting the body.

Jack, thank you for documenting the night with your gift of videography.

Ruth and Denise, Barry “Rolling smoke” thank you for feeding the crew. SO MUCH GOOD FOOD.

Intercessors, prayer warriors near and far: HE HEARD YOUR PRAYERS.

Freedom Church, thank you for praying, investing, and supporting this vision. WE thank GOD for a church that equips and sends out.

Christa, our friend and coach, our cheerleader from afar, but close in spirit, your proclamation in 1999 was for us, and we didn’t even know it.

Maggie, Tiana, Miranda, Willie, Ken, thank you for joining Adam and I in testifying of healing on cardboard.

Flip, thank your for believing in ALL students. Hope is alive!

To the 55 Circuit Riders who showed up unexpectedly fresh off of THE SEND, you broke through and shifted the atmosphere with your passion.

To the parents, staff, teachers and ministers who came to stand the ground with us – your praise and prayers confirmed our call to keep believing for 21:5. It gave the light back to the dark ground.

To Gen Z- you are the hope and future of our country. Keep declaring war on the enemy with your praise and radical faith. May we never stop supporting and pouring into our youth!

Taylor Hall, these photos are our stones of remembrance, thank you.

He used painting so beautifully to show me that He can restore ANYTHING, and now it’s time that I tell the story.”

Abbe Doll

I can still see the estate sale sign across the street. I had been contemplating a dresser for the boys, as I had recently moved them into the same room. Our little girl was getting older and we desperately needed more space. “I wonder if they have any cheap dressers?” I thought as I looked out the window and bounced a fussy baby on my hip. Life had been anything but easy that spring. It felt like I was barely able to breathe some days. Most moms of little ones understand this greatly. So I loaded all three of them in the wagon and pulled them across the street. There was a chipped, well loved mid-century modern dresser in the garage. $40 taped on the top. I threatened the boys to stay in that wagon and strapped the baby across my chest. “Excuse me sir, I see tomorrow is half off day, would you consider $20 on this dresser now?” He looks annoyed that I have the kids. Scans the wagon and scans me fumbling my loose change in my hands. “Uhhh. Well, Only if you take it now. If you need to get it tomorrow, it’s full price. Twenty bucks and it’s yours. Oh. And you got to provide your own help. We don’t load for you.” He scans back at the 5 and 3 year old in the wagon and the baby in the carrier and pompously chuckles as he extends his hand for payment.

What he didn’t know about me was that day: I was in need of much more than a dresser.

I was yearning for a purpose and an outlet. This idea of refinishing furniture excited me. I had weathered one of the hardest seasons my young adult life had ever faced. A project to channel all that energy was exactly what I needed. So I told the kids to hold on. I slid the baby in the carrier, pulled the cord tightly on my waist, and I pushed that dresser out of the garage, and pulled the wagon behind.

Pusssssshhhhhhhed. Screeched. Pulled. Pussssssshhhhheeeedddddd. Screeeeeeched. Pulled. The older men working the estate sale just stood there watching. In disbelief. I pushed that dresser all the way back to my house, with 2 little boys cheering the whole way.

Later that night my husband handed me an orbital sander to start taking off the old beat up finish. The kids were in bed and I had the garage to myself. The more I sanded the more release I felt. All the frustration and fear I had been holding came out in tears into the saw dust. The next day I couldn’t wait for nap time so I could get back out to that dresser. I rolled on the first coat of primer in bright white. My heart stopped in the way one’s heart does when it beholds something marvelous. The dresser was far from finished or even beautiful. But the transformation was breath-taking. I heard the scripture recite in my spirit, “Behold, I am making all things new” (Revelation 21:5).

I knew this phase of my life was in the stripping down, the sanding raw, so the Lord could restore in me a new purpose. And so my furniture refinishing business began. It grew into a little corner of a store, then my own store, then soon a studio and a store only open once a month as the demand was high. As life continued to change and trials continued to come, I would grasp for that paint brush again, hoping that the makeover of furniture would remind me yet again that God was able to turn whatever difficult situation I had around.

Different struggles, and opportunities have come and gone the last 11 years since that estate sale dresser. A business has grown, failed, rebuilt, and struggled over the years. Each time I attempt something new, it either isn’t the right fit, or something falls apart. I go back to that paint brush. My body over the years has also felt the effects of sanding, painting, sealing, and hauling. With every job, I would work a week and be in bed for two. But I couldn’t let it go, because it was connected to this purpose and visual of what God spoke to me that day I broke in the garage.

This February, I was in the basement finishing a room full of cabinet doors. My joints ached, and I felt my spirit slip back into old bondage. My husband Adam, came home, and sat on the stairs and quietly said “it’s not working any more, you can’t keep doing this. It’s not worth it.” He said what I knew was true but the fear of what was next crippled me. We sat on the floor together, and I felt this pride I had carried with me since that day I had to prove to the estate sale man “I COULD DO IT,” melt into the Father’s hands. It was never me who could do it. It was always God. And when I made it ABOUT ME, the work was work. It was a work/suffer cycle. When it was about Him, and his heart for the people I could talk to, love on, or use their furniture as an example of his redeeming power: The work flourished.

When I opened my little boutique store, it wasn’t just about the cute local wares made by women, or the painted furniture or curated antiques. It was about the women. The women who would sell and the women who would gather. We at one event the fire marshal even had to limit who could come in at one time. So we had a literal revolving door.

I was floored looking out over the parking lot, as not a one was angry. They just laughed and chatted. We began having bands come out and play worship songs in the breeze way as we sensed God was creating a community in the middle of our city. It was what most folks in retail would call a miracle crowd. I knew it was just a longing for community. Pretty displays and collected vignettes were no longer awe worthy to me, it was the large group of girls standing in front of them, face to face, reconnecting since high school or moms day out. The laughter of remembering a familiar face. The tears as someone lost a loved one and found an item that reminded them of her, and a fellow shopper would comfort. Two strangers embracing and connecting in grief.

It was the husbands who would come and share how cool it was to see their wives love thrifted or repurposed wares, and how she started delighting in her things at home.

It didn’t have to be new. It just needed purpose. And God repurposed my heart in many ways at that store. When I sat on the basement floor crying 11 years later, grieving that store, the painting, and design business, I felt incredible release. The painting and retail business had served such a powerful roll in my life and in the ministry God had been calling me to since my teen years. It’s roll in the whole picture was accomplished, and accomplished well, but it was finished. I was trying to revive a dead thing every time I picked it back up hoping it would come alive again.

There was constantly a struggle when I would attempt to do this the last few years. From projects mysteriously going VERY WRONG (like wood warping so bad it bent a 5 in wood screw!) to paint peeling off in sheets on cabinets that had been properly primed, to jobs taking months longer than anticipated. I was working countless hours yet we struggled to keep up. Not to mention horrible autoimmune flares and joints that would swell double their size. I couldn’t hold my toothbrush at the end of the day without pain. Our kids would struggle. Their was contention during every project. My marriage seemed rocky and old wounds felt bumped every time I did a big project. Have you wanted to do something really good like having friends over for dinner but then your family is hiding from you as you become the dictator of cleaning house world war 3? Or those times when you are skipping along happily in your day and ram your toe into the door and “BLEEEEP!” comes flying out of your mouth.? Yeah- kind of like that. It was always with the intent to provide but some how ended with someone cursing. 🙂

There WAS NO FRUIT. But I kept trying to drag this dead thing around with me and wondered why everything was STINKING.

Every job had a common goal: Restoration.

Earlier this year, while I was finishing the above mentioned cabinet job, we were also preparing for a little class on parenting in the digital age. At the time, we believed it to be something to serve the folks in our church and share some ideas on how to do screens in the home. As we prepared, we quickly realized that this was a little bigger than we envisioned. But God’s plan for it was way cooler than we had thought. Our Church caught the vision and promoted and helped us put on a full blown morning conference for parents. Parent’s came from all over the area. Grandparents and teachers came. As Adam and I prepared, we felt such a sense of renewal. Even though he was pulling long days on construction sights and I was clawing my way out of a long painting job, we would prepare for this conference as a new fresh energy would flow.

Our family would sit around the table and share ideas. Our kids pulled their friends into it asking them to share how they struggle with screens. One conversation even started with “what advice would you give parents on how to decrease gaming time?’ Their answers blew us away.

“Wow, we have to share this with parents. ” We thought.

The night before the conference one of our Pastors dropped off 800 pages they graciously printed to be 3 hole punched and attached in folders. I had made a 10 page resource packet to share with those in attendance. There was no way I could get them done and sleep and rehearse. My youngest two said “we got you mom” and got to work. In 1 hour the two of them had hole punched and bound 80 resource packets. With no arguing or complaining. You parents out there know what a miracle this is.

My oldest teen son was willing to sit on a teen panel and share his struggle with cell phones when we foolishly handed it over in 7th grade, The intent was him needing to get ahold of us after practice. The mistake was handing over the entire internet to his back pocket. We know parents need tech. We can’t do much without it. We also know many families are just like us: great kids, great friends, and then find themselves in a dark world we didn’t know was out there. We made a lot of mistakes, but with time, and God’s grace, are now seeing the benefit of hitting the brakes and restarting with tech in our home.

It was a humbling and at times terrifying message to present. But when it was done. WE SAW FRUIT. Our family was behind it. Our kids were on board and serving the mission. Our church was willing to hand over the mic and promote it. They prayed and poured out vision over us. Our friends cheered and showed up. Teachers and school counselors flooded our phones afterwards saying “every parent needs to hear this message.” The feedback was blowing us away.

As I have been wrestling with what it is the Lord has next for me, especially as a job and in desperate need of work, I know one thing to be so true. I cannot pick back up a dead thing, and that every job I have ever loved- from painting, to retail, to selling clothes online, to doing events at a school, to designing or decorating, has had one thing in common: It was always about the people. My heart was created to gather people, to give them hope and a purpose, and to use my story to thwart the attack of the enemy AGAINST FAMILIES. We have seen the freeing power of screens in our home, how could we keep this good news to ourselves? Our kids knew it, we knew it. This was God’s plan. Share hope for families.

Furniture was always a visual aide. Retail was always a visual aid. Decorating was always a visual aid. God has faithfully used every phase of my adult life to point me back to his heart for us. God is speaking so powerfully to me that now my life, my story telling- is my job. I am the visual aid. He used painting so beautifully to show me that he can restore ANYTHING, and now it’s time that I tell the story.

I want to reflect the good news and hope He has for families, for women, and for kids who are longing for purpose. The artist is ready to get to restoring the canvases of our hearts, we just need to lay them down.

We are so excited to announce 21:5 Ministries! The vision of 21:5 Ministries is encouraging families to live faithfully redeemed lives online and off. It will be the non-profit that houses many presentations, and our stories of redemption.

-Parenting presentations: “Heads Up!” -helping parents of all ages navigate the digital age.

-Marriage ministry: Sharing our story of hope and redemption.

-Women’s ministry: Sharing the hope of restoration through the lens of 11 years in furniture repurposing.

As we develop this ministry, we need your support. Creating curriculum and programs for secular and Christian groups will take time. Spending time in counsel and finding professional partners to aid families coming out of screen addiction also is priority for our time. This will launch as a 100% support based ministry. We would love to talk to your churches and ministries as this grows.

I also want to say thank you to every person who has supported our small business along the way. We know that the community we have had for the last 11 years is a true gift of God, that He will use to launch this ministry.

Would you be willing to give to this ministry by a financial donation? We are trusting God for full provision for Abbe to be in ministry full time. Adam intends to speak at our parenting conferences, and keep his full time job as Abbe navigates the bookings, writing, and discipling part of the ministry. In the recent weeks, we have also sensed a call to homeschool our daughter. God is so perfect in his timing with this as well.

If you would like more information on Heads Up Parenting ministry- or to inquire about speaking engagements- contact me at 215ministry@gmail.com

To Him be all the glory and may we see a new generation of families who glorify God in our homes over screens!

An Unexpected Application.

I’ve been under the weather for quite some time, and have been hiding out in my room attempting to keep the germs to myself. Today I thankfully had an appetite and energy to go grab a little lunch. I grabbed a ball cap to conceal 4 days of bed head as I glanced in the mirror with a shrug . I was fearful to look around the house… you mamas out there probably know why, you never know what cleaning or laundry is awaiting you after you’ve been ill. I have selfishly said many times…

“Why is it if I don’t do it, it never gets done?!” I have to embarrassingly admit, I expected to be disappointed and defeated on my first day up and at ’em. My attitude was anything but joyful.  I was annoyed before I even found something to be annoyed with. I decided to forgo the main part of the house for now and go straight outside.  As I stepped out, quickly locked the door with my head down in hopes no neighbors were close to see my disheveled appearance, as well as hoping to remain antisocial, I kept my gaze directly towards the ground avoiding any potential eye contact.

 One step, two quick steps and “hold on! What’s that?” Something appeared in the middle of the dirt and mulch.

I found this little fairy house constructed in the corner of the front flower bed. The yard and flower beds look so dreary in the winter, missing all the green and blooms. They collect all the dead leaves and broken branches as well this time of year. But this little sanctuary in the dirt was the most delightful my flower bed has ever been. Not only was it intricately constructed, but the message penned in chalk brought so much warmth to my heart. “ALL fairies welcome”

The items used were not purchased at a hobby store. They lacked sparkle and color. But it was pure magic. It was the heart of the little home maker that made me stop in my tracks and marvel. I discovered that my daughter made this on a day she was really struggling with her own anxieties. In efforts to chase her joy back down while the enemy was coming to steal it from her, she looked down and found everything she needed to start making something beautiful out of the rocks. 

I found my tension lessen and my pace slow down as I took it all in. A smile pinched my cheeks so tightly, I noticed I was squinting! I lost sight of the bad day I assumed awaited me today, and all the dread that accompanied my negative self talk. My thoughts were replaced with curiosity and joy. It was tiny, so very easy to miss. But once I got ahold of what it really was, I saw the enormity of it’s lesson.. My tired body felt completely energized and light. 

A couple weeks ago, our Pastor preached on “Defiant Faith.” Paul reminded us that there is no way the enemy can win the battle for a believer’s soul, so we goes for the one thing he can steal:  our joy. He passionately reminded us how the greatest weapon we have  in a series of discouraging events and difficulties, just as James 1 details, is the joy produced by defiant faith.  This kind of faith sees the sticks (the hard people who have rough edges), the dirt (the shame and guilt Satan wants you to hold on to), the rocks (the heavy burdens of financial weight, a circumstance that is too big and heavy to bear), the spiky seed pods (those bombs that come out of no where, those sharp debilitating moments that cripple you the minute you get your feet on the ground), this kind of faith looks at these things in the eye and says “You don’t get to take me down today.” This kind of faith doesn’t run from the trial because you know who is in control. You know who ultimately wins. It’s not the circumstances that create joy… keep reading, this is when it all clicked.

I don’t find being given a handful of rocks and prickly mulch something I would necessarily want or ask for, the same way I would not ask for sickness or relational struggles. No way! I’ll pass, right?! 

What if what I think I need to make a situation better,  I actually have in front of me? Would the atmosphere where I am at change if I chase the joy in this situation? Not waiting for or wishing for better circumstances, but looking at what is right here in front of me and see it for what could come of it?

The joy isn’t a result of the hard things you’ve been given, the joy is in knowing what will be made out of it!

Abbe Doll

I sat and looked at that precious house knowing that it was only that beautiful because of the hard things it was made out of! The joy isn’t a result of the hard things you’ve been given, the joy is in knowing what will be made out of it! I recalled jotting down a phrase our pastor also said, “I refuse to be impressed by the devil and his works.”

I wasn’t expecting today to be so impressed with mulch, sticks, rocks and those dreadful spiked pods, but the way God used the vessel of my little fairy house maker to bring JOY into this lackluster part of the yard, resulted in me not only being impressed, but filled with JOY.

He used her difficult situation, when her spirit was urging her hands to create, all while knowing days later what she chose to create during her hard moment would pull me out of my own hard moment as well. When we intentionally look at our situation with awe and wonder of what God could make out of it, He not only creates something unexpectedly wonderful, but will bring unexpected joy to all who you welcome in, fairies and all. 🙂 

My daughter didn’t make this days ago with the intention to hopefully impress me today. She made it out of chasing joy in the midst of her anxiety. The result: a defeated enemy of anxiety, a new atmosphere of beauty, and her joy strengthening and renewing mine (and perhaps anyone else who sees it.)  No matter what hard things you are working with right now in your life, YOU are the vehicle that God can create beauty with. He doesn’t need a new set of materials or circumstances, just a defiant faith and a refusal to be consumed with the joy stealing negativity surrounding you. Heck if he could change my whole day with those tiny sticks and scraps, imagine what he could do with your day. I asked myself these questions:

What would happen to those around me if I remember that my joy is my strength? Paul also reminded us that there is a seduction to victimization and bad news. That saying “misery loves company” has much truth to it. 

I want to pass along this encouragement from that message that came to life through that tiny little house that I could have missed today. 

“If you are sick, surround yourself with stories of healing. If you’re defeated, listen to the testimonies of victory. The stories stir your faith and change your perspective on the elements around you. “

Chase the beauty. Use what this difficult season has offered you and be amazed at how  Joy comes back. I don’t know what that looks like for any of you reading this today, but I bet you do. And if you can’t quite find it today, you’re welcome to marvel at the fairy house too, all are welcome.

Can I be real for a second? I want to speak to the souls who aren’t feeling reflective, nor powerfully resolute. I want to talk to the white-knuckles who aren’t feeling a sense of relief for a New Year because your time around the sun has proved that dates on a calendar don’t change somethings. Fresh starts sound glorious and refreshing but not really practical for your daily battles.

January 1st doesn’t change the diagnosis. January 1st doesn’t make the child with special needs less in demand of your time and energy.  January 1st didn’t heal the marriage that was shattered, or make your hard work in healing less necessary. January 1st isn’t canceling the debts that haunted you on December 31st, and it for sure isn’t putting extra money in the bank. January 1st doesn’t rid the pull and ache of addiction. A resolution on a paper or post doesn’t rewire a brain that has become dependent on a substance, whether it’s sugar or alcohol, shopping or social media just because the clock struck 12. January 1st doesn’t bring back the loved one or speed up the grief process. January 1st doesn’t make the cold less colder or the dark less darker.

If I am speaking to you, you may agree it intensifies the cold and the darkness because the world around you is shouting celebration when you feel anything but, and because you are not organically warmer or brighter this week, shame is now sitting in this place with you. 

January 1st isn’t changing the relationship you once had or the pain the abandonment carved in your thinking. Words of the year like “Trust” “Growth” “Change” trigger a pain in you that makes you feel anything but renewed. It’s the trust that was broken. It’s the growth that made the loss deeper, and it’s all the change you’ve already encountered the last 365 days that makes the thought of changing one more thing too much to bear. 
If you aren’t on the “New year, New You” list, I would like to welcome you to your new fan club. Welcome to hearing me proclaim to you that you are worthy of celebrating on February, July or October. Life doesn’t always allow many slow moments to overhaul your pantry nonetheless reflect on your health goals and personal mantras. Your grief and healing isn’t defined by a calendar year and you definitely hold the weight of each day as a success because each day is it’s own countdown to done. 

5-4-3-2-1…. The baby is asleep. Breath. 

5-4-3-2-1…. I put my clothes on and brushed my teeth. No one saw but me and that was big. Change.

5-4-3-2-1…. I let her/him hold my hand. Someday we will kiss again, but this moment was more trust than I thought I’d see again. Trust. 

5-4-3-2-1… I thought of you, and I didn’t break into tears. Your memory kept me alive today. Growth.

5-4-3-2-1… I paid one bill. There are more but this one is done. Wealth. 

5-4-3-2-1… I see the sun, and I am still alive. This pain did not swallow me whole last night. Purpose.

 
You, you are not behind. You are not lazy. You are not unintentional or unmotivated. You are alive. Fully breathing and fighting. Your days are measured by the celebration of overcoming not the calendar. Your experience on this earth has shaped you and made you become so much more than a list of intent. You have been given life to see the child make the small milestones you prayed for last year. God is holding the pieces of your marriage in his hands so you can let go. Your creator has the needle and thread hemming you in, and one day you will see it all pulled together. Your grief is deep because you loved so deep and that can’t be defined by hours or minutes, and certainly not years. Your pull to numb isn’t gone on January 2nd, because dear friend you didn’t become addicted in one day. Keep digging to find that broken place in your soul and doing the hard work to rewire your defaults. And that body of yours that feels too round or frail or pale or bumpy… it is your vehicle and January 1st isn’t the manual. So look up from the posts and pages who are trying to steer YOU, and grab ahold of the truth that says YOU are created for glory. Let those whom have the margin to overhaul life right now have all the words and resolutions. They have a different set of minutes than you right now, and we can love them and their minutes and still not be in that camp . Your minutes haven’t changed from yesterday’s, and you have not failed because reflecting and renewing isn’t in your vernacular right now. I’m proud of you, and oh my, if you only knew how delighted God was in your daily choice to not give up. To you my friends- Happy Every Day. 

I like to collect old things. But not just any old things. They speak to me. Good chance you’ve seen something so random that sparked something in your soul that at the moment made absolutely no sense but, You. Had. To. Have. It.

I get you. I am talking full on emotional response to something so precious that I have to take it home with me. Be it a garage or estate sale, thrift store or antique mall. My instagram feed is full of accounts of collectors with cupboards full of vintage pyrex, santa mugs or antique needlework. Even if the item collected isn’t my choice of interest, the proud display and glorious order of finds that I am sure has taken years and care to collect sparks more joy than a clean Marie Kondo closet.

My personal collecting began with a vintage handmade apron with pleats, cross stitching and airy linen red and white gingham. It was so darling, and in a “FREE” bin at a garage sale. I scooped it up and pictured it hanging on a hook some day in my grown up kitchen. I had no idea as highschooler why I was so drawn to it.

As the years have passed, I totally get it now. Browsing antique malls and thrift stores soon became a pastime I adored. Feeling transported to other times, and seeing items that had well worn edges was like a warm hug. From time to time a little apron would appear, and I would marvel at it’s craftmanship. These weren’t mass produced at Target or ordered in bulk on Amazon. They were sewn with care by the woman who would wear it. With pockets at just the right distance from her hip, each apron slightly different from the next. Some were lined with ricrac and others with ruffles. Some were petite with just enough fabric to save a dress from stove splatter and some were full coverage for those deep clean days. But they all had something in common, a delight and beauty in homemaking. The careful attention to detail, the color and pattern reflecting the maker. I can almost see that some of them were talented cooks and bakers while some were more graceful hostesses. Some have been washed for decades and some are still crisp from starch. I imagine their stories. How many toddler tears they probably wiped. How many of them were lifted up to wipe their own tears and hold their faces while they felt the same emotions I do some days. Overwhelmed with the great task of providing for your family. (Dinner time comes way too early most days, am I right?) I see time worn hands with arthritic swollen knuckles, golden wedding ring sliding backwards, gently looping the strings into a bow as she pulls it taught. She gets up and prepares a meal for one, as she Is widowed and her children have gone, but she values herself to get up and take care of her own body and soul. She is worthy of care, as the years marched on. It’s the stories that made me want to collect.

As I moved into adult hood, collecting has been something that I never envisioned myself doing, but here I am, giddy about a vintage metal tray, an ironstone pitcher or creamer, a blue and white china plate, or a beautifully pieced quilt. They all have different characteristics that I love, but the common thread is the story my mind’s eye sees when I find it hiding in the thrift store shelf or estate sale table. My collection probably won’t bring any value or monetary fruit to my children when they have to sort through my collections some day, but that’s not why I collect. I collect because of what each piece that speaks to me represents.

Psalms 56:8 tells us that our Heavenly Father is a collector too. “You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded them in your book.” Now why on earth would the creator of the world want to collect our tears? He needs nothing. The wind and waves obey Him. But here He is, with a jar full of our tears. The collector isn’t storing up these tears because they will give him financial gain or prove to be a wise investment later, He collects them because of the story, the person, the cause of the tears they represent. Those tear producing moments are precious to Him. It sparks a love and adoration in the Father’s heart that is worth scooping up, taking note of, and holding near to His heart. The chances of many of the original owners of the aprons and dishes I have still being here are slim, as they were no longer needed or desired by those who were responsible for the estate. Unlike these things we love here on earth, the tears of our brokenness, or grief, our great joy and tears of laughter, are so incredibly valuable to God, He chooses to collect them. He sees a value in our stories that others never will. When our trials or breakthroughs may be old news to those around us, that moment and all those feelings we felt since then are still near to the Father’s heart. Not forgotten. Not dismissed.

Stored.

Collected.

Recorded.

When I think the tears I have shed are so adored, far beyond what I can imagine, I am even more in love with the Collector.

My oldest son is obsessed with baseball. He knows all the stats, he follows all the teams, he could tell you who plays what position and how fast the PO’s throw. We have found baseball is a great source of motivation because the threat of not getting to play will drive him to do that last chore or page of homework when he has no desire left for the mundane.

This kid has also grown what seems like 12 inches and hundreds of pounds over the last year (ok, that is an exaggeration, but any boy moms out there understand what this feels like in the teen years. Seriously though, how do they get so big so fast?) He is a catcher. He’s loved that position since little league, and has been committed to being the best he can be, and with that comes expensive gear that needs to grow with him. His last gear is several years old and let’s be honest, doesn’t cut it when he’s catching kids who can throw in the high 80’s-90’s. New gear was worth the investment. So he set out to work odd jobs and throw that hard earned cash in a “gear jar.” The set he had his eye was around $500. This is was no drop in the bucket for him, or for his folks. Mowing, raking, mulching, and moving consumed his free time. He is also an avid fisherman, so the temptation to by tackle was almost to much to bear, but he powered through, because the need for gear trumped anything else.

August rolls around and he finally has enough. We go to the bank to open the checking account. All his work tucked in an envelope, he hands over to the bank. It was in there long enough to get online and type that new debit card number in. The fruit of his labor was on it’s way, and it had a tracking number.

He copy and pasted that number and refreshed it multiple times a day. It was due to arrive on a Saturday, and he made sure that someone was going to be home, because he wasn’t about to let that big box get stolen. It was his, and he wasn’t going to stop watching and waiting until he was suited up in that new gear.

Saturday rolls around and the location seemed to be stalled. How in the world was it going to end up on our porch when it hadn’t seemed to move in the last 3 days? Then the notification came.

“We are sorry, there has been a delay with your order.”

I felt for him, knowing how frustrating it is when something you have worked hard for and so excited for gets delayed. It is even more frustrating when it’s progression is out of your hands completely, and the momentum seems to have come to a screeching halt. The package was due the next day, and it didn’t show. He vented, “I did my part! They have my money, and now they have my gear. What if someone else has it? That’s not right! That was meant for me! Why is it taking so long?“

We dug through customer service and find the product and shipping guarantees. We call the one we entrusted all those dollars with, the manufacturer. The manufacturer’s words gave us hope. Even though it was delayed, he was going to have his gear. It just wasn’t when he expected. They ensured us if this tracking number never produced the gear, there would be a replacement. What was promised to him would show up, it may just require a new means of delivery.

After speaking with them, they had our trust, even when we didn’t have the box in front of us. Manufacturers who will back up their promises, even if it means loss on their end, are worthy of waiting on. It gives those waiting confidence.

Maybe you are finding yourself knocking down the door of prayer day in and day out, waiting for that fruit of your labor. You’ve put in the work, you’ve counted the costs, and you are so weary of the wait.

Maybe you saw your promise around the bend, and now it feels like someone else got that thing you paid for. The thought of all those unseen sacrifices and suffering you have endured were going to be rewarded, and now it seems as if your neighbor, a person at work, your spouse, your best friend, or even your enemies are getting the package you have been tracking for months. You don’t even want to call the manufacturer, it’s too painful. How can you trust someone who doesn’t show up when you thought they would?

1 John 5:14 says that we have this confidence, that our God, our incredible creator and manufacturer when we come to him, HEARS US. His word describes how He created us, fully understanding how we would fall short of His love and glory time and time again, yet He already had a guarantee in place, Jesus. You can’t ask for a better hope than knowing the one who made you, had a guarantee for your future in place before you even breathed air.

A shift happens when we really know the one who made us, also hears us, and backs his promises up with His son and His word. Life can bring far deeper disappointments than delayed packages. We can know in our heads that God won’t waste our suffering, but our hearts will keep hitting refresh, hoping that we can see the end to the hurt, and somehow these delays in our joy will show up when the path we are on is not moving. What if God is waiting on us to come to directly to him, instead of watching the old tracking number sit stagnant? What if our manufacturer is ready to do something NEW and send it on a totally different route than the way we have been trying most of our days? Oh how this changes things for you and I! His plan for us has never changed, he just wants our focus to get off the things that are no longer working and back on the phone with one who can and will set things in motion again!

“You can’t ask for a better hope than knowing the one who made you, had a guarantee for your future in place before you even breathed air.”

He puts his money where his mouth is. He was willing to take the greatest loss to make sure we have the promise of hope when things don’t go the way we had hoped. He is good on His word. A creator who would risk so greatly to make sure we not only get heard, but we get the reward too. And unlike my son’s lost gear, that he paid the price for, as believers we get this amazing gift of life, compliments of the manufacturer He doesn’t owe us anything, yet he sends us good gifts and allows us to bear fruit through our faith. We find ourselves in seasons filled with gratitude and willingness to trust him, until something totally out of our control seemingly halts our momentum.

Oh how I understand the wait. I am familiar with avoiding the one who has the ultimate say, because I don’t trust his guarantee. But somehow you and I are called “Blessed.” Even in our waiting. Even in our fear that the promise and the fruit may not be coming, when we go to the one who can change the trajectory of our lives.

“Blessed is the one who perseveres under trial because, having stood the test, that person will receive the crown of life that the Lord has promised those who love him. ” James 1:12 NIV

That catchers gear took almost another two weeks. It grew harder to wait, but despair didn’t win because he trusted the manufacturer. Watching this unfold raked up some dry soil in my own soul that I had given up on, and if I am honest, was avoiding contacting my manufacturer on. I am thankful that when the dry seasons seem to not yield any fruit, that it doesn’t mean something isn’t happening underground we can’t see yet.

We keep tracking. We keep checking in with the manufacturer, longing for it’s arrival. We keep praying and asking for fruit. We keep looking for it. We trust the manufacturer while waiting, not wondering IF the promise of fruit will show up, but WHEN it will. We can trust the the God of the Old Testament who says that when we seek him with all our hearts, and soul- we will find him (Deuteronomy 4:29) and the God of the New Testament that promises us when we humble ourselves under God’s mighty power, at the right time, he will lift you up.

Soon, that promise will show up on the doorstep of your life. He didn’t give your promise to someone else. It’s not lost. It isn’t over. It is coming. Rejoice knowing that your waiting is producing something only a creator who would risk it all on your behalf, knows exactly when and where your fruit will breakthrough.

Keep investing your faith, keep pushing through the mundane, and the doing the hard things. Don’t grow weary friend, in doing good. Just like my son who longed for that gear to show up, we can not forfeit all that God has done in us, and around us just because the thing we longed for hasn’t happened yet. In due time, Galatians 6:9 says that a harvest will come. It would have been heartbreaking for me to see my son give up when that package didn’t show that Saturday, or even when it still wasn’t there weeks later.

In my waiting I am missing out on another chance to produce fruit, when trusting our Father knows and sees what is happening behind the scenes. His promise and guarantee isn’t thwarted by those who are against us, or the curve balls life is throwing in our routes. Rejoice when those around you receive blessings, knowing that the plan He has for you cannot be stolen or given away. Our God is a manufacturer of infinite resources. He just keeps giving.

Keep calling on your manufacturer, looking to him for the updated tracking on your healing, your plans, and your calling. There is fruit growing now, even in your waiting.