• Category Archives 2020 Encouragement
  • When I Fail

    I’ve spent the last few weeks putting in many hours on a big project. It required learning many new systems and multi-step problem solving that eventually got me to a new newsletter platform and a publishable short story to give away to newsletter subscribers. After many bumps against frustration, last week I was up late reading through everything one last time before pushing the publish button to let the various puzzle pieces go live on social media and release my short story to the world.

    In that moment, after all the work I put in, I suddenly didn’t want to do it. Everything I’d done—all the newsletters, the story, and even the idea itself seemed utterly silly. After all, I’d literally written a story about a paper bag. Who would even like that?

    So I prayed the same prayer I pray every time I release a book. Lord, this is yours. You gave me the idea. I did all this work for You. Please bless it and get it to those who need to read it. And if I fail, it’s all Yours anyway.

    Now, I know that sounds kinda pretty, but what I actually do is shove it at God and tell Him, “Here it is. Take it!”

    I wish I could say that prayer extinguished all of my worries, and my strong faith prevailed. Instead, with my heart ridiculously pounding, I hurriedly pressed the buttons to put everything live before I lost my nerve. There was no going back now. When I finally went to bed, I actually woke my sleeping husband to tell him that I’d finished and I was sure it was all going to be a big flop. See, some faith!

    You see, this is not my first rodeo. I’ve flopped before. I’ve been extremely blessed with my writing, and I can’t say that any of my stories have been epic fails (knock on wood!). But there are many other instances in my life when I’ve earnestly believed that I was doing what God wanted me to do. But it didn’t work out at all. I can recite a long list of those moments. They seem to live perpetually in my head waiting to sashay through my mind whenever I get ready to jump. Hey, remember that time when… That didn’t work out at all… Maybe this one will be the same… But this time, everyone will know about it.

    Sometimes I even remind God of those times. Hey, Lord, remember that time when I crashed and burned… so, why was that?

    I’m not talking about the mistakes. I’m talking about the times when you think you’re doing the right thing, and it just doesn’t work out in any definition of success. You’ve prayed about something, the doors seem to be opening, you dare to dream that just maybe you’re about to step onto a magic carpet and be whisked up into success in both man’s and God’s eyes. But then, what actually happens is that you find you’re not on a magic carpet at all. Instead, it’s a plain, old, ugly rug. And it’s just been pulled out from under you, leaving you flat on your back with the wind knocked out of you.

    Hey, God, remember that time when you pulled the rug out from under me? So… why was that?

    Oh, how I’d love to know the why! Sometimes we get to see something good come out of our failures. I would say that most of the time we don’t. The why has to wait for heaven. And I suspect that when we finally get there, all those little whys won’t even matter. They’ll dissipate, becoming insignificant in the reality of all that we have ever longed for.

    I could fail. I could do everything right and still fail. And I may never know the reason why. That sounds like a pretty lousy deal. Why even bother? Why did I push the buttons to publish? Why do I keep putting one foot in front of the other even though experience tells me that I could be flat on my back with the next step?

    Because He owns it all. I gave it to Him. I gave Him my work. I gave Him my steps. I gave him my success and my failure. He owns the rug, and He is the one who chooses whether or not to pull it.

    As I was thinking through all of this before I fell asleep that night, I said another prayer. Lord, if I fail, please let me serve you better in spite of that failure. Then I stopped and corrected myself. No, when I fail, let me serve you better because of that failure.

    God doesn’t work in the “in spite of” He works in the “because.” I believe that every success and failure has a purpose even if I never know what that is. But if God can use those heartbreaks to draw me closer to Him and serve Him better, shouldn’t that be an adequate “because”?

    I think therein lies the challenge. When we fail, especially when we are sure we were doing everything right, it’s so tempting to be angry and shoot whys God’s direction. It’s a lot more difficult to draw closer to the one who pulled the rug and seek to love Him more. As Job says, “Though He slay me, yet I trust Him.” Job 13:15 Maybe that is the true gift of loss—recognizing that your faith exists regardless of your circumstances and that you will still trust God whatever may come your way. But it is a gift only given through tears.

    Notice also I said when, not if. It looks like I’m not going to fall flat with this project, but I’m not on the magic carpet either. Like most things, it’ll probably end up somewhere in between. I’ve already heard wonderful feedback on my paper bag story that has touched readers. While thousands haven’t read it, touching those that have is more than enough to call it success for me.

    However, not all of my efforts will always end well. It’s inevitable that sometime I’ll find myself looking up, gasping and wondering what just happened to my not-so-magic rug.

    When I fail, let me serve you better because of that failure. 

    And here I am again, finger hovering over the publish button on this article, wondering if it will fail but praying that God will use it to touch someone.

    To anyone else out there who is hoping to fly on a magic carpet but fearing you won’t even cross the room upright, make sure to turn around and look at who is holding the rug.

    And remember, you don’t need to ask  Him the why. Just ask Him for a because.

     

    P.S. If you haven’t yet read the free paper bag story I talked about in this post, please scroll down or click this link.

     


  • Who’s Got Dibs

    So, what are your kids doing for school this fall? It’s the burning, million-dollar question I’ve both asked and been asked over and over the last few weeks. I’ve weighed so many different options, done endless research, read countless articles, and changed my mind at least a dozen times. The short answer is that I have no clue.

    Everything is constantly changing. As soon as I make up my mind one direction, the rules of the game change, and now I have to decide between my new options. Do I send my kids to school with masks, do we do this hybrid schedule, do I opt for a distance learning model with the school district, do I sign up for a different online program, or do I throw everything out the window and do it all myself? Some people have strong opinions, and their opinions make sense and are entirely justified. However, I suspect that the silent majority of us are smack in the middle. We don’t know what to do and can’t figure out if we are coming or going.

    At one point during the last few weeks, I was sure we’d do the remote learning provided by the district. At another point, I decided that we’d just go back with whatever plan the schools had in place for in-person learning. At still another point, I was researching different online schools and the differences of each. Then there was the co-op plan where my sister and I brainstormed dividing schooling duties.  And then, there was the time I was pouring over the grade level standards for my kids’ different grades, looking at homeschool curriculum, and deciding how to do it all myself.

    Then there is the mask issue. Political? Not political? Effective? Ineffective? Harmful? Safe? I have no idea. I do know that I don’t want my kids to have to learn through a mask. But, I also don’t want them to go to school without one if that’s what they need to stay safe. Do we? Don’t we? Who do I listen to? Medical experts? Media? Politicians? Education experts? Facebook? You can pretty much find any “research” to support your view. The problem is that these articles and research often tout completely opposing “facts”!

    And friends. Will my kids’ friends be at school? I know some of them won’t. What if all of the “good kids” stay home? I have waking nightmares of seeing my shy 11-year-old wondering around outside without anyone. But then again, they’re not supposed to socialize, right? Best friends six feet apart?

    What’s all of this going to look like? What if it changes every few days and is a mosaic of complete chaos? Do I make a decision based on health or education? How do I know what will truly be best for my children and family? I want them to get to do the classes they want and have the best learning experience possible, yet I can’t handle it if the thought of one of the kids getting Covid and spreading it to the vulnerable people in our family.

    So, what are you doing? Are you sending your kid

    I. Don’t. Know. What. To. Do.

    It drives me crazy. I’ve felt an intense amount of stress and had migraines almost daily for the last month. This post is in no way meant to tell you what to do. I don’t even know what I think and feel. And, if you wait five minutes, I’m sure my plan will change. If you tell me your opinion and why you’re choosing a certain route, chances are good that I will completely agree with you. Then, if I talk to someone else an hour later, I will absolutely agree with them, even if they have a completely opposing view to yours from an hour ago. The weird thing is that I’m not lying to anyone. I’m being completely honest. In those moments, opposite opinions are completely true representations of how I feel.

    About a week and a half ago, I was praying through my stress, fears, and concerns. I say “praying” but that is really a very loose definition. In reality, I’d start to pray, but then my thoughts would get distracted and I’d forget who I was supposed to be talking to. Soon, I’d be back to worrying, weighing the different options and panicking because I didn’t know what to do.

    For me, faith wasn’t the issue. If I just knew what to put my faith in, I’d be okay. But I didn’t know whether to send my kids to school and have faith that God will keep them safe, or homeschool them and have faith that they would be okay, get what they need educationally and socially, and still be on the right track when the mess is finally over. What should I put my faith in?

    As soon as the thought left my mind, I got an answer.

    It’s not a question of what to put my faith in. It’s a question of Who! My faith is in God who created everything and is more than qualified to handle whatever may come. With my faith secure in His hands, none of the “whats” actually matter.

    With that thought, a lot of the pressure rolled off. No matter what happens, no matter what I choose, God is the one in control, not me. I will pray for wisdom and try to make the best possible decision, but I’m not going to mess things up more than God can fix them. Choosing one way will not be a sin. The Bible doesn’t list sending or not sending your kids to school during Covid as one of the highlights of the ten commandments. It is a choice. One that God is allowing me to make. Though it feels like I’m walking on a tightrope high over the ground and that I’ll fall with any wrong move, He’s got the safety net under me.

    I don’t know what we’ll do. Not for sure. And it’s not even restricted to school issues. There are big unknowns all over my life, as there are for everyone in this twilight zone. For today, I’ve decided which direction we’re head, but everything can change tomorrow. Today’s decision is not tomorrow’s, and I reserve the prerogative to change my mind multiple times in between days as well.

    But I do know Who is in all of my tomorrows. He’s already there. He has a plan even when I don’t. Whether we go to school or don’t… Whether we get Covid or don’t… Whether 2020 deals us another unbelievable hand… Whether tomorrow is sunny or stormy… We’re going to be okay. God’s already in our tomorrows and will make sure that all things (even the tough, yucky ones) work together for my family’s good, according to His purpose. And He’ll do the same for you.

    Yes, I still feel the stress. I still haven’t shaken the migraines. I still have a book due in about three weeks, and it isn’t writing itself. I still feel anxious every time I find out a parent I respect is making a decision that might differ from my own. I try to tell myself that just because what I do is different than what you do doesn’t mean that I’m right and you’re wrong. Nor does it mean that you’re right and I’m wrong. We’re both simply trying to make the best decisions for our families and circumstances, and neither one of us owns a crystal ball. So, I’ll pray for your decision as you try to sort out the wisest, safest, smartest, most responsible, best decision for your family, and you pray for mine. And if they don’t look the same, that’s okay.Maybe I’m taking door #1 and you’re choosing #5. Eventually, I believe that we’ll recognize the same Guide leading us different routes to the same destination.

    Despite the continued uncertainty, I feel a peacethat I didn’t feel before. Every time the stress closes in, I start to panic, not knowing what to do as I run the endless maze of trying to separate the good decisions from the bad ones.

    Then I feel God quietly whisper. Whatever your decision, whether it’s a good one or a bad one—I’ve got dibs.

     


  • Blessings

    I’d like to tell the story of someone who changed the world, and you probably don’t even know her name. She wasn’t famous, she didn’t make great achievements in science or politics, and when she passed away, most of the world never knew to feel bereft. Her name was Dorothy–probably one of thousands of Dorothys born in the 1920’s. But this Dorothy was my grandmother.

    She was the sweetest person I ever met. She was very intelligent, witty, and had a positive, optimistic personality, so much so that we called her a Pollyanna. The name fit. I never recall her ever saying a negative word about anyone, even if they truly deserved it! I remember once my mom asked Grandma her opinion on an outfit she was trying on. My mom didn’t think it looked very good, and it actually looked quite terrible. Before stating her opinion, Grandma paused and then said, rather hesitantly, “Well, I think it looks a little less than pretty.” And that was the most negative thing I ever heard her say.

    I won’t take the time to relate her many virtues, how she quietly cared for others, supported her minister husband, and made the best family meals. She wasn’t perfect, by any means, but she knew how to love, and she lived her faith in a quiet, but profound way that was perhaps most greatly exemplified in how she died.

    After my grandfather passed away, my grandmother went downhill. She developed Alzheimer’s. I had recently had my first child, so I had the privilege of keeping Grandma with me during the day. It was heartbreakingly difficult, and yet I call it a privilege because my Grandma had always cared and loved me so well. Her presence was such a source of comfort to me. I felt blessed that I now got to care for her. If you’ve ever had a loved one go through the process of Alzheimer’s, you know how excruciating and senseless it feels to have that person slip away. The way I was able to convince Grandma to stay with me during the day was to tell her I needed her help. Then, of course, she would come, eager to serve me. She would fold my laundry and match socks. The socks wouldn’t actually match, and we’d have the same conversations over-and-over. But the fact that she was able to “help me,” is something I will forever cherish.

    I remember how devastated my mom was to watch her sweet mother suffer and lose her memories. It made no sense. Why would God take away the mind of someone who had served Him wholeheartedly all of her life?  Though we didn’t recognize it at the time, I realize now the answer was that she wasn’t done serving.

    It reached the point that we were not able to care for Grandma full-time, and she went to live in a facility that specialized in memory care. One of God’s waiting rooms, as they are sometimes called. My mom visited her every day, often telling her that Grandpa was off fishing when she couldn’t remember that he was gone. This made Grandma happy to know that he was doing something he loved.

    The workers at the facility loved Grandma. Alzheimer’s never changed her sweet personality, and she was always wanting to help, even when she lost the ability to do so. One day, one of the nurses asked my mom what “make me a blessing” meant. My mom replied that it was the lyrics to a hymn. The nurse thought that was interesting and remarked that Grandma walked around the home softly saying the words “make me a blessing” over and over.

    This woman who was stuck in a locked facility, stuck in her own mind, and at the end of her journey was now speaking the words aloud that she’d prayed in her heart probably her whole life. She who had absolutely nothing and could do absolutely nothing still wanted, above all, to be a blessing to others. Though her mind and body failed her, her soul still reached out to her Savior.

    And He answered her prayer. Even in heaven’s waiting room, Grandma still had purpose in every breath she took. She was a light to those around her, her faith pointing to the Lord. Her muttered words spoke a testimony that would not have the same meaning if God had asked her to walk a different path. And her prayers! Oh, how I’m thankful for those prayers, and I don’t even know what they were! But I know she prayed. And I know I was loved and prayed for.

    Because of what is going on in the world today, many of us feel stuck. We are literally stuck at home and unable to serve God the way we would like. Our independence is gone, our loved ones unreachable, and our “purpose” put on hold. After all, how can we bless others from a proper “social distance”?

    If you can’t think of anything else to do, please do as my grandma did. Pray. There are no limits on prayer. Pray for your family, your friends, your country, and yourself. Pray that God will somehow make you a blessing. Though your mind and body may be weak, let your soul rise up and converse with the One who is not stuck in any way.

    When my Grandma passed away, I wrote a poem about her that included these two lines.

    She died and nothing changed.
    Because she lived nothing was ever the same.

    I will never know what impact Grandma truly had on the world. I do know the influence she had on my own life. I have evidence that she made a difference to her last breath when she stepped out of the waiting room and into heaven. And I have faith that the prayers she spoke are still before the Lord right now, her influence reaching into our circumstances today.

    While I knew of the hymn, “Make Me a Blessing,” I’m rather ashamed to say, I never looked up the actual lyrics until today. Those four simple words Grandma spoke had such influence today, at this moment, that when I looked up their full context, I started crying because it so fit what I felt and where we are. May this be my prayer, today, as it was my grandmother’s many years ago:

     

    1
    Out in the highways and byways of life,
    Many are weary and sad
    Carry the sunshine where darkness is rife,
    Making the sorrowing glad.

    (Refrain)
    Make me a blessing, make me a blessing,
    Out of my life may Jesus shine;
    Make me a blessing, O Savior, I pray,
    Make me a blessing to someone today

    2
    Tell the sweet story of Christ and His love,
    Tell of His pow’r to forgive;
    Others will trust Him if only you prove
    True, every moment you live.

    3
    Give as ‘twas given to you in your need,
    Love as the Master loved you;
    Be to the helpless a helper indeed,
    Unto your mission be true.

     

    I hope that at the end of my journey, I won’t leave the world the same as when I arrived, and that, like my Grandma, God will make me a blessing.


  • Great Expectations

     

    The other night I had an unsettling dream. It wasn’t a nightmare, and strange dreams that make no sense are familiar territory for me. But it still bothered me, and only later did I figure out why.

    I dreamed I was attending a baby shower. By nature, I’m an introvert, so large group settings are difficult for me and things I typically force myself to participate in. I didn’t want to go to the baby shower, but I felt like it was the right thing to do. I wanted to show my friend that I cared, and from personal experience, I know that simply being present speaks love. She probably wouldn’t remember what gift I gave, but at least she’d know that I attended.

    So I went to the shower, and it was unexpectedly packed with over a hundred people in close quarters. It was a great party, with everyone socializing and eating while I tried to smile in the right spots and pretend that I didn’t feel excruciatingly awkward.

    Then, I suddenly remembered something. We were on a “stay-at-home” order because of Covid-19! We weren’t supposed to be socializing or meeting in any kind of group! In fact, with that revelation, I was certain that every one of the hundred-plus people at that dream baby shower had Covid-19, and they would surely infect me! Then I would take it home and give it to my family, and it would be all my fault!

    I held my breath and tried to weave my way out of the room, trying to avoid contact and escape. Unfortunately, I never got the satisfaction of making it out of the room. Instead, I woke up.

    From the second I woke, every minute of my day crammed with multiple needs. Four children all trying to adjust to homeschooling in this crazy time equals pure chaos. I have a degree in Elementary Education, and yet I would rather teach thirty children in a classroom at a school than my own children at home in these circumstances. It’s hard. There’s no way around that fact.

    Also unfortunate–we were out of food and other necessities. I needed to venture out into the world, while my husband holed up in his office working and hoping the four kids wouldn’t actually bother him while I was gone. I gave each of the kids instructions on what they needed to work on, put an educational video in for my youngest, told my husband he was on-call, and hurried out, praying to get what we needed quickly

    I went to three stores looking for toilet paper (everyone’s crusade right now), finally finding success with a single package. At every store, there seemed to be different protocols. In some stores, social distancing was impossible with the cashier and with narrow aisles. Other stores had marks on the floor showing where you’re supposed to distance your cart, plexiglass between you and the checker, and still other rules and regulations on what you can and cannot buy and can and cannot do. And yet, even in the most regulated store, you cannot maintain six feet of separation in aisles that are barely six feet in width!

    Of course, shopping right now is stressful. You can never find exactly what you need. Still no flour, sugar, oatmeal, soap, and many other products I normally buy. I did the best I could, but further complicating matters was that it was my husband’s birthday. I wanted to make him a special dinner and a special dessert. However, we have three different, difficult, medically-necessary diets in our house, which makes such a feat as dinner and dessert complicated, especially with limited supplies.

    The whole time I shopped, I wondered how the kids were doing, if they were fighting or bothering Brian in his meetings, if I’d find what I needed to give him a special birthday, if I could manage to get every kid through the school work they were supposed to accomplish, if I was maintaining social distance, if I would ever manage to find toilet paper, if I was following all of these new, unwritten rules correctly, if I was getting everything so I didn’t need to come back to the store tomorrow, if I was spending too much money, if the massive mountain of laundry would every learn to fold itself, and if I could get my own work done while the kids were home. Worst of all, I worried that I would somehow manage to get infected with the virus while at three stores and then bring it home to my family.

    My last stop of the day was at my children’s school. My son’s teacher had said I could pick up a packet of work between certain hours. After arriving, I called the number she’d given in her instructions. The school was locked, but she’d said, when parents called, they could then let them in to pick up the packet. The school secretary let me in and returned to her station. Inside the vestibule, teachers had obviously left boxes of papers for pick-up, but I didn’t see a label with my son’s teacher or his name. Without further instructions, I wondered if I was supposed to go down to the classroom to pick it up. I started to walk that direction, but the secretary stopped me, asking if the packet wasn’t in the boxes. I said, no, but I could look to double check. While I returned, she called down to the classroom and told me the teacher would be right up with the work. I stood to the side to wait. The office area was actually very busy with multiple teachers working and talking. I hadn’t waited to the side very long before the secretary told me, “I’m not wanting to be rude, Amanda, but we really need you to wait outside. We’re just trying to keep everyone healthy and safe.” I immediately replied, “Of course! I completely understand,” and hurried outside.

    The packet was soon delivered, and I made it back to my car.

    I shut the door, put the packet on the seat next to me, and lost hold of my tears.

    I took deep breaths, feeling angry and frustrated with myself for losing the battle with my emotions. I didn’t even have a good reason to cry! I even felt guilty about it. After all, a lot of others had much more reason to cry than I did. But arguing with myself did nothing to stem the hot tears burning my eyes and sliding down my cheeks, even as I tried to dash them away and deny their existence.

    As I sat there arguing with myself and wondering why I was crying, I finally realized the reason. I wasn’t upset with the school secretary. I think she is amazing, and I absolutely applaud and agree with any effort aimed at keeping people safe in these crazy times. I didn’t mind standing outside at all. I would have gladly done that from the very beginning had I known that was the procedure I needed to follow.

    And that’s why I was upset.

    Expectations.

    I didn’t know what to expect when I stepped foot in the school, just like I didn’t know what to expect in any building I’d visited that day. Every place had different rules, procedures, and expectations. You might get people smiling and handing you your receipt across a distance of three feet, or you might get someone stepping out of a building before you reached it and telling you to “halt!” And it isn’t just the stores. In no part of life do I now know what to expect.

    What were my expectations for Spring 2020? I expected to watch my boys play baseball and play piano at their recital. I expected them to go to school and help them with their projects as they finished their grade levels with success. I expected to get to see my son play the lead role of Aladdin in his school’s drama production. I expected to watch my daughter dance ballet in her recital. I expected to watch my boys do their music recital and festival that they’d spent months preparing for. I expected to spend time with my mom and my sisters and see my new  baby niece. I expected to continue two years of work and get to vote on new high school for my community. I expected to get out of town in our new trailer. I expected a big RV trip that we had spent a year planning with my parents and in-laws. I expected to go to the store and find toilet paper and other necessities. I expected to finish writing three books by June. I expected to be able to do something special for my husband’s birthday. I expected to go into a school and not have to wait outside.

    The basic problem is that from minute to minute, to day, to week, to month, to however long we are faced with this crisis, I do not know what to expect. And nobody else does either. Nobody expected this virus to change everything. Nobody expected its impact on the economy. Nobody expected to lose their job, face illness, or lose loved ones to tragedy. And nobody in any store, schools, or house in the entire country has any more idea than I do of what all this is supposed to look like. None of us has experienced this before, and we’re all just making it up as it goes along.

    And somehow, my core fear is that in my effort of trying to do all of the right things and go to the “baby showers,” I’ll turn around and realize I’ve somehow done the wrong thing. I’ve screwed everything up, violated some rule that I didn’t even know about, not prepared the way I should, and maybe even put the ones I love at risk.

    I suspect that I’m not the only one who feels this way. We’ve all had our expectations completely dashed, and in return, we are not permitted any expectations whatsoever. You won’t know what to expect when going into any building. You won’t know what tomorrow will bring. You won’t know how long this will last. You won’t know if and when we’ll get back to normal.

    You won’t know if on the same day you cry alone in your car, you’ll be making that birthday dinner only to have the house start shaking in a 6.5 earthquake, the likes of which hasn’t happened in 37 years. (Yes, that did happen.)

    All you can hope is that this is not the “new normal.” There is nothing normal about it. And if sometimes, you need to sit in your car and cry over everything and nothing, then go right ahead. May my story give you permission to grasp hold of one last, very real expectation: you are not alone.

    You are not alone in how you feel, and you are not alone in your present circumstances. In all of those, seconds, moments, days, and weeks that I mentioned, not a single one of them exists outside of God’s control. While I’ve lost all expectations in my circumstances, there are still some expectations that will not disappoint.

    I can expect God to love me and my family. I can expect that He will never leave me. I can expect that He is good and that even the yucky stuff will be for my benefit. I can expect that He has a plan and already sees the end. I can expect that the God who made it all has not forgotten us and is fully qualified to carry us through. And I can expect that He sees every tear I cry, knows how difficult things are, and will give me His strength to make it through the next moments.

    What if I could let go of my expectations for myself and cling to my expectations for God instead? It sounds crazy, but even as all of my other expectations have dissolved, I still manage to have some rigorous, unrealistic expectations for myself. I struggle with realizing it’s okay to not do everything right. It’s okay to grieve and feel angry. It’s okay if the kids don’t get all the schoolwork done and the house is a disaster. It’s okay to cry when you really don’t know the reason.

    Lord, help me to expect less of me and more of You!

    And if, you just so happen to find yourself sobbing in your car one day because it’s all just such a mess, please know that God is there to catch every one of your tears. And also, take a look around. I’m probably in a social-distanced car crying, too.