Guest Author for Proverbs 31 Ministries!

Today, I have the amazing opportunity to be the guest author on Proverb 31 Ministry's Lynn Cowell's blog and YOU have the exciting opportunity to win a free copy of my book Putting Fairy Tales to Shame! 

Lynn loves helping women grow into wise moms so that they can grow wiser daughters. This post I wrote on Lynn's blog is geared toward moms -- so don't miss it! Learn how to unveil the definition of Real Love to your daughter! 

Ready? Go here to check it out!

Trades of Hope Styleboards

I made these styleboards for Trades of Hope, a company I co-founded that is creating sustainable businesses for families around the world! My favorite part about it all (in addition to our beautiful accessories!) is that everyone at Trades of Hope is showing Real Love to women around the world!

The Losing Win: Unmasking the Immature One

I really like listening to music written to bring God glory; however, my most favorite exception to "Christian music" are Paramore songs. Oh, they rock my world; and there's one particular line, after a bridge leading into the ending choruses, that sings, oh so profoundly, "why do we like to hurt so much?"

I hear those words and as I'm driving down the highway in a rush -- rushing, always rushing -- they catch me and bring me to a place of personal familiarity. I feel those words because I have, even if momentarily, been gratified by hurting someone else emotionally. I put them in their place, nodded at my job well done, to triumph over the matter at hand.

But the words that pierce and wound have a longevity stretching farther than the matter at hand. I wish I was the only one who did this. But we see the husband and wife who love each other on the inside speak loud, thoughtless words on the outside that quietly, thoughtfully hurt in the smallest places. Oh won't you tell me how can a man love a disrespectful woman? How can a woman possibly respect an unloving man? This is what my friends at Love & Respect call the Crazy Cycle.

But if she hurts him because she is already aching, and he hurts her because of his own pain, how will this cycle end?

The answer is our key to everything, the very song of salvation that our souls sing: sacrificial love. And, like Jesus, you know who is going to throw themselves in the fire as the sacrifice? The mature one. Emerson says it best when he says, "shaming or condemning your spouse for their immaturity is a reflection of your own maturity."

The immature one will use this post to try and change their spouse in order to be happy. The immature one isn't able to obey God's commands for the man to love and for the woman to respect. They will feel momentarily gratified by hurting, by "winning", by what was really their own losing. The immature one will sulk, complain, and groan about their own unhealth and sadness.

However, the mature one will read this in hopes to not change the spouse but change the current Crazy Cycle. They will obey their God. They will not enjoy hurting the other. They will not shame the other for being immature, nor will they say that they are "doing all these awesome things and loving" because they are "the mature one." The truly mature one will love and respect with a God-peace-filled, humble heart -- it is an art that doesn't come from caring about ones own needs, but caring about what the relationship needs to be happy and healthy. This maturity is only reaped from a soil that has been fulfilled by Jesus first.

Jesus is the reason why it's worth battling ourselves to be the mature one, why relationships are worth fighting for, why we know that it's never too late to discover and thrive in the real definition of love.

Learn more about the true definition of love in my book Putting Fairy Tales to Shame at www.ElisabethHuijskens.com

Putting Fairy Tales to Shame

I've been a lot quieter on here than I like the last year or so. I like blogging. But I've been working on a slightly bigger writing project this last year...

Drum roll, please!

Da da da daaaaa!

 

My book, Putting Fairy Tales to Shame, is now available for purchase!

I took my writing from cyber-space into print! If you've enjoyed my posts here for the last three years, you'll love this book published by Thomas Nelson's division, West Bow Press. In fact, a lot of this book consists of posts I originally scribbled here, but then expanded on.

Too many are walking around wounded and heartbroken because their view of what love is has been distorted. Learn how to have a relationship while making Jesus feel loved, how to heal and have a relationship free from baggage, and how to have an romantic relationship here with a love that puts fairy tales to shame.

You can go to www.elisabethhuijskens.com to learn more and buy!

Thank you so much to all of the people who have read my blog here through out the years. It all started here. You have blessed me.

No Love for Me, No Love for You

It's really hard to re-invent yourself.

For some reason, the notes sung off key are better remembered than those sung correctly.

And that causes a problem for Disciples who walk through the refining fire to be sanctified.

We see reality, truth, and other people through our own emotional lenses -- and that makes it very difficult to fulfill the call in 2 Corinthians, "regard no one according to the flesh".

Is the emotionally-wild girl, who quiets herself before her Lord to learn gentleness and self control, still an immature psycho? Even though her God-given emotions are being abused by her imprisoning flesh and destructive enemy, is she still a lost cause? Or is she not a woman for acknowledging her sin and willing to walk through the valley to change her heart?

How many days clean must an addict be before she has open arms extended to her? How many "I love you's" must the unfaithful whisper before a marriage is restored?

God knows the heart's yearning and progress and growth. He makes the creation new. He makes the old melt away.

I am at fault.
I have regarded some according to their flesh, because their flesh hurt me and they didn't deserve it to be over looked.

But "love in response to goodness isn't love, but simply a reward... and our relationship with God is not a matter of reward, but of love."

He re-invents me. And it doesn't take time, failures, and then more time with fewer failures for Him to see the newness. He knows me. He is the only one who sees me when I pray. He is the only one who feels my self-condemnation when I mess up. He is the only one who sees me for my soul and not my flesh.

After the bark-wood, the salty beads on His forehead, the inclined trudge, the weight, the pounding of nails -- somehow, to you, I am still regarded as the crazy girl. And you, well, I regard you as the one who hurts me. So, no love for me and no love for you.

But He doesn't see what we see. I am the creation of a fearful, wonderful woman. I am the creation of beauty, purposeful emotion, and fearlessness. (I didn't lose my humility. Humility is knowing who you are and feeling comfortable with it -- not denying your God-glorifying identity and gifts. Humility is always measuring yourself by the Infinite.) And you, you are priceless, to die for, made in strength, boldness; a masterpiece, an heir to the Heavenly realm.

I don't know if I know you. I don't know if you go to my church. I don't know if you are a man or woman. But I do know you have an infinite soul defined by God's love, acceptance, and the great value He placed on you.
And from here on, I will regard you in that way.

quote above from Steve Brown

It's Falling in Sheets and Sheets

It's 4pm and it's dark as night. I stand on the balcony, able to reach out and touch the sheet wall of rain. Instead, I stand and wonder how long it took me to notice the quickening of my heartbeat. It became evident, pulse-racingly evident, that I am alive. Fully alive.

A joy, a bliss, a pleasure sweeps me. Because You're standing here. And You, too, are very alive. You are as real and as tangible and as powerful as the breath-stealing thunder. Your love is here! I am here in Your love. Who am I to think that I could be skilled enough to escape Your love? Foolishness. It is falling right in front of my face, in sheets and sheets. I don't stretch out my hand to touch in pure reverence. I couldn't possible touch it, could I? Could I -- me? -- touch God's love? The electric pleasure in my pulse keeps me still. I am content, I am already overwhelmed!

It pours and rains and pours -- and it's for me. He is pouring out His love. He always has and does. I don't know why or how or for whom. I just know it's raining, and it's raining because He loves us. It's always because He loves.

Gentle Fearlessness

{I wrote this for a blog that I'm a writer for a few months ago. I felt called to put it here, too.}

I grew up most of my teenage life with acne blanketing my skin. As most have experienced or can at least imagine, this was a dictator of my self esteem for quite a while. You see, we’re told that this sinful world imprisons, and freedom is only obtained through a give from God. What we’re is not always explained is the sly and silent motion of that imprisoning process. Because of the make-up and Victoria Secret commercials, beauty became a box that one fits into with only a clear, stunning face.

I knew in my mind that our Creator only fabricates things of beauty and worth, but I searched for a way to know it in my heart. I wanted to harbor the truth of what made me beautiful in the eyes of God. I’m sure many of you have already had 1 Peter 3:3-5 come to mind. “Why didn’t she just read that verse and feel better?” That’s understandable, for it very clearly reads…

³ Your beauty should not come from outward adornment, such as elaborate hairstyles and the wearing of gold jewelry or fine clothes. ⁴ Rather, it should be that of your inner self, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is of great worth in God’s sight. ⁵ For this is the way the holy women of the past who put their hope in God used to adorn themselves.

If you’re a sweet, gentle, quiet woman – you may have felt much comfort from this verse. However, if you’re like me, you’re sitting there thinking, “Great, now where’s the beauty verse for the loud, blunt women?” I spent years with these verses being something I paid attention to only half-heartedly, I finally decided I needed to go deeper. My heart is to share with you what Jesus has walked me through.

There are Three Pillars of Womanhood that I believe God is trying to paint for us. When we allow our essence to stand on those pillars, we are living out God’s original purpose for us, perfectly beautiful in His eyes.

1)      Hope – Holy women put all of their hope in the Lord. We are called to not rely on our husbands, finding a husband, our appearance, or our own strength. Most of the people that society are captivated by are those who have known struggle, known defeat, but have still found a way to be triumphant in battle. As women following Christ, that banner we raise as we walk to the front lines should be the truth and promises from Jesus Christ. Many times this needs to be a concentrated effort. Prayer, re-reading His Word, and being still in His presence are all beneficial when trying to lift that banner high. 

2)      Fearlessness – When we have hope rooted in the soil, fearlessness can then begin to grow within us. Proverbs 31:25 says this about a beautiful woman, “²⁵ She is clothed with strength and dignity; she can laugh at the days to come.” This does not mean that she is under that impression that her life will lack hardships. She is not naive. In fact it implies that she aware in full that struggle is on the horizon; and yet all of her hope is deposited in Jesus, leaving her with nothing left to fear. Without fear entangling her in chains, she is free to go about her responsibilities, have confidence, and glorify God.

3)      Beauty – So often I thank Jesus for enjoying beauty. How much more lovely is it to serve someone who likes and creates beautiful things? I was humbled to realize that if He is the Creator of all we see, then beauty originates from who He is. He is beauty. He is light. He is art. He is color. We serve a God who makes everything of worth eternal. When He is passionate about something, He doesn’t hold back. He made our souls eternal, our relationship with Him eternal, and beauty eternal. Therefore, He adores beauty that won’t perish, more specifically, “the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit”. Oh how much more He cares about your heart than you outer appearance! (Praise God!) Here’s the good news for ladies like me! We don’t need to be quiet and flawless, but the workings of our heart, mind, and soul are to be at peace. Our stress and tendency to micromanage everything was created to be smoothed over with a gentle spirit. How is that spirit cultivated? Especially today with families, jobs, and confidence being eroded by this world? By putting our hope in the Lord, becoming fearless, and allowing that to shine through as our beauty. Make up and push up bras aren’t evil! But we give the enemy an upper hand when we allow those things to define our beauty. In reality, the airbrushed, magazine look is unattainable. However, we have a loving Savior who wants to unveil to us our strength, our beauty, and our specified function to reveal who He is to those around us.

Woman – who you are, and who I am – was the last thing He created when weaving this world together. He let His eyes meditate on all He had formed and said, “No, something is still missing. A different kind of strength than that of men, a fierceness, a peacefulness, a gentleness, a beauty is missing.” And then He fashioned something more beautiful than rolling hills, sunsets, and oceans – something to crown creation. That thing He created, was you. 

Vacation Words

the farm

Vacationing is hard for me to do.  Not striving to be productive is difficult.  Work follows me.  And when I’m actually not supposed to work, the silent nudging of my mental to-do list swells to something well resembling a panic attack.  I am the product of two entrepreneurs.  The plague of work being on my phone, on my computer has already consumed and created a slight, reoccurring twitch in my right eye at seventeen.

So, I’m thankful.  That I can be here, in a place that hasn’t changed since I was born.  I’m in a town where a newcomer wouldn’t understand my love for a place that has had the same jacuzzi on the side of the road for sale since I was four; and where Paddy’s Par Range (where, yes, I have actually played at) is bordering a grocery store parking lot.

I ate at Buccilli’s Pizza tonight, where nothing has changed besides its employed young adults.  The buffet (which has always been the reason for going there) has never changed. 2 soups, salad bar (with the same toppings), pizza, cheese sticks, and chocolate pudding (always the fave).  The only change I know of was about 6 years ago when they added Oreo pudding and cinnamon bread sticks. That was a little crazy for them.  To recover from the madness, there hasn’t been a variation since.

It was in the small, one room restaurant that I realized how blessed I am to be home.  To have a home, especially having lived all over the world, who has known me in all stages of my life – not just the one I’m wrapped up in now.  She knew me before I skipped high school to go to college, before I was a worship leader, before I had two businesses.  I can be me here.  I can be the same me I was at 2, or 4, or 12, or whatever I want!  And that’s freeing.  So freeing that I can forget about the writing I “need” to do or the pictures I “need” to edit or the emails I “need” to send.  Clare, Michigan has been sweet to me; she deserves some sweet attention back.

I’ll leave with you with one of the first essays I wrote for DSC, about my home, written in 2009.  Whether it’s read or not, I need to wipe the dust off of it and bring it out – for no reason other than my sanity and for the sake of being free.

I could never see much while sitting in the back seat of that small car at night.  Only the outline of seasonal Christmas lights shaping the town's houses was visible.  Therefore, the feel of the dirt road passing beneath the vehicle was only enhanced.  The sound of turning tires kicking up stones would begin to sooth me to sleep as I would rest my head on the soft seat of the car.  Just as my heavy eyelids would reluctantly close, my body would be jolted by the transition of one dirt road to another.  That's when I knew, as Grandpa would turn onto Crawford Road, that we were almost there.  I eagerly searched out my window, my eyes straining to see through the darkness, behind the festive lights, for the house I had been to a hundred times before.  Multiple times I found myself in a wake of delight by believing that I had spotted the correct house through the black canopy.  Upon further inspection I would realize that I had, unfortunately, misinterpreted the features.  I wasn't disappointed, however.  I had played that game many times, and I knew we are approaching our destination.

            When Grandpa would begin to withdrawn his foot from the accelerator, I would finally see the correct house come into view.  The traditional Christmas lights were illuminating the front porch, reflecting red and green hues off the white snow.  The scene was like a picture on a postcard.  Snow had recently ceased to fall, laying in mounds, just begging to be stomped in vigorously.  The seasonal decorations were perfect to the degree of every properly placed pine needle in the door's wreath.  Faithfully, the prodigious, crimson barn stood statuesque in the background, as it has always been for decades before my birth.  The uncontainable joy from the realization that we had indeed arrived would erupt.  We had arrived at my grandparent's house, the Farm.

            Growing up, my parents and I lived in many places.  I was born in the Netherlands, and moved to Malaysia, New York, and California.  However, my grandparents' house in Clare, Michigan – affectionately titled the Farm – was always a consistent home in my life.  No matter where I had lived in the past, I could always walk into the beloved house and know it would be a familiar dwelling.  The living room would always greet me with its inviting cream couch, spacious windows revealing the descending, dancing snow, and fireplace, where warmth has caressed me for years.  I held to knowledge every creak the the hard wood floor hallway could make, and every way the door hinges would groan.  Loyally, there would always be a plate of cookies placed neatly on the rose colored counters, forbidden to be consumed until morning.

            After much urging on my mother's part, I would retreat to the bedroom, not only to demolish the temptation to steal a sugary snack, but because I held a sense of possession for that room since the beginning of my childhood, and I had missed it exceedingly.  A yellow, floral comforter would still cloth the bed.  Baskets of old toys would continue to patiently wait for a child to play with.  The wind chime I made years ago at Vacation Bible School could still be found hung on the bed's headboard.  The room would always be remarkably identical to how I had left it last.

            To this day, the Farm is and always will be a haven.  It will forever be there for me to run down the path through the bean fields, sled down the hills blanketed in snow, and frolic through the trees.  It's a place where I can always come to live fully, eat abundantly, sleep peacefully, and be surrounded by family.  I am not certain where my path will take me in the future.  I don't know where I'll live or travel to, and I don't know what I will become.  I do know, however, that no matter where I go or do, the Farm will always be there, welcoming me with Christmas lights, snow, and a home evermore.

Where the Searching Ends

It was just a whisper blown against my heart. An idea. More like a thought. It was about a month ago. God told me while I was meeting with another friend that He thought I would enjoy it if I read through Song of Solomon and wrote down everything that He claimed about me. My friend and I had been meeting and discussing Jesus' love for us, and growing in our ability to make Him feel our love towards Him. His love enables me to love, most importantly to love Him; so I wanted more.
Last week, I sat down in a gardened courtyard at school and listened to Him speak.
(I didn't even finish my list! And I only shared a few.) As women our searching for love ends here.

He is sick with love for me (2:5)
I am His love, His beautiful one, His beloved (2:10)
I am His (2;16)
I am altogether beautiful (4:7)
I captivate His heart at the glance of my eyes (4:9)
I am a locked garden (4:12)
We're friends (5:16)
I am as awesome as an army (6:4)
I am as beautiful as the moon and as bright as the sun (6:10)
His desire is for me (7:10)

There is so much more to unveil than the mere 10 verses I shared. We are declared beautiful and loved and treasured over and over and over. It's repetitive, He wants us to know it.

My Bible verse is probably different from yours. Flip to Song of Solomon and let Him reveal to your heart who you are, and how He loves you. Use my list as a template and fill in the lines with what He tells you. Hold on to your hearts, ladies, it's a deep, sensitive, romantic time with the Man who loves you perfectly.

A Gentle, Quiet Spirit

I'm high-strung.
I'm dangerously passionate.
I'm a whirl-wind.
I'm quick to speak.
I'm a spreading wildfire when injustice is evident.

But today, I'm learning peace. I'm learning quiet. I'm learning strength.
For I've unveiled that I'm not stronger than the meek and mild.
I'm not better by trying to drive down those who threat, mask true identities, and force themselves to the top.
Instead, I'm quick and loud and powerful because that's all I'm capable of doing.
Instead, I'm too weak to be peaceful.
And I don't know how the peaceful do it.
How they stand ground without effort.
How they let it be.
How they hold their tongue.
They are so strong.
And I'm weak.
What people see as strength makes me the weakest person I know.
I can't handle who I am.
I don't have the strength to control these bones and this soul.
But I'm learning. I'm trying to be stronger.
I'm exercising the muscles in my mouth that locks it shut.
I'm unclenching the heart chambers that allow patients to exude.
I'm widening my ears to hear silence in the noise.
I'm enslaving my soul to trust who He is.
It's not a cage, but a freedom.
That's peace.
1Peter3:4

Small

I like people who realize the intenseness of their smallness.
People who watch the night sky, eager for the countless lights to shame them back to the depths.
People who like not knowing it all, for it means there's plenty excitement to unveil.
People who think, hope, praise with an open mind, having a personal relationship with the cliché "nothing is impossible".
People who know because of their insignificant smallness, their pride and image is, in fact, not important at all.
People who yearn to stay broken, humble, and low; to maintain a better view of the Lover of their soul.
I'm looking for the things, places, and faces that make me feel small. That's where I'll entangle my roots into the ground.

Together at Last

She flung herself onto Him, wrapping her arms around His neck.  Though He never spoke the words, with their faces close, and eyes closed, the words "I am all you need," radiated off of Him.

Together at last.

As they opened their eyes, smiles broke out across two overwhelmingly joyful faces.  "I thought this day would never come," she spoke in quiet excitment.  Releasing their embrace, He twirled her around saying, "I've been waiting for this moment since the day you were born."

She could feel as her eyes dance, "Really?"

With His charming smirk, He pretended to think about it for a second and answered, "Well, no.  Actually, I have been waiting to be with you since I made the moon.  Since the first time I rose flaming colors of gold, blue, and purple with the sun in the morning.  Since I let the words, 'It is finished' get caught up in the wind on the day of My death."

He wiped the two tears streaming down her face with the side of His gentle, strong thumb.  She couldn't fathom the reality of being here with Him.  The One she had loved to irrevocably before this moment, the One she had lived her small life for, the One that covered her in a love that wasn't found anywhere else.

The pure happiness overwhelmed Him as well as He took her back into His arms -- just as He did throughout her whole life on earth without her knowing.

The longing they had for each other during the wait made this moment difficult to take in, but it was very real.  Their love for each other was very real.

And now, they were together at last.

Walls

If you've ever watched a woman in pain, there's usually a similar scene always painted. When an embrace of comfort is offered, usually by a man, we fight it. We punch and shove and push and resist. We've been hurt before. We're stronger. We're over comers. We're here for, not ourselves, but others. This is done relentlessly.
Almost relentlessly.
Because there's always a breaking point. A point where the water is putting too much pressure on our walls. And a crack crawls through the stone. Our head falls on his shoulder. We try to hold up the walls, but the break grows, and the water flows in. Finally, we release on the only thing that resembles strength or a sturdy foundation. The water reaches our eyes. We fall, and suddenly... We're soft. We're tender hearted. We're usable, vulnerable, teachable.
This is where we're beautiful. This is where we were created for. This is where Jesus sweeps in and caresses our hearts. This is what no other man can offer. This is healing. This is surrender. This is hope. This is humility. This is love.

Waiting

Some Joplin jazz played while the AC's air made the room even colder than the chill that came from our conversation.  I crossed my legs, and took another sip of my carmel frappuccino; never letting my eyes revert from hers across the small circle table, as she let her soul spill from the deepest chambers within, out of her mouth, to me.

"I imagine a heart of glass being dropped onto a large mirror.  And after it shatters, and the pieces scatter, I see my reflection staring back tup at me.  It was my heart, and me who broke it.  The moment I believed him, I did the heart breaking myself."

Soaking it in, I sat straighter at the edge of my chair.  

She continued, "I settled, gave my heart to someone else because I was impatient.  I didn't wait.  Not for him."

The air shifted.  The AC turned off.  I was intrigued, "Who's that?"

"Him," she stated matter-a-factly, "The man who worships like David, is wise like Solomon, and brave like Jonathan.  The man who is obedient to God like Abraham and has faith like Joshua.  He who has Jesus as his closets friend, like Peter.  He who is willing to endure suffering to chase God and spread the gospel like Paul."

"I'm still waiting for him too..." I replied.  "I have found a man, however," I said as hope cast over her eyes, "who has given me flowers everyday -- along with fields, oceans, and sunrises.  I've found a man who deeply believes that I couldn't be more beautiful, and doesn't want to defile my purity.  I've found a man who died in following God wholeheartedly with bravery.  I've found a man stronger than anyone I have ever seen before, with a strength that cannot be beaten even by the grave.  I've found a man who has always loved me, and me alone, genuinely.  I've found a man who is relentlessly pursuing me, even while knowing the dark shadows of my heart.  I've found a man who has been waiting for me, ever so patiently and selflessly, since the day I was born; hoping with his whole being that I would one day fully love Him in return."

He's waiting for you too. 

The Crime of the Good Girl

They're a rare breed these days, with rosy cheeks and a killer smile. You'll find them reading their Bibles, teaching the Sunday school classes, &/or playing on the worship team. You can recognize one by their very put together outfits, mascara coated lashes, and the purity ring on their left ring finger. Their facebook profiles are lavished with verses, they are usually intelligent, and Christian music fills their cars when they turn the key in the ignition.

My name is Elisabeth, and I'm a good girl.

I am a part of a small, quiet society of young women who are overall labeled as good ("adj., morally excellent; virtuous; pious"). Some people respond differently than others upon meeting a good girl. There are those who exclaim, "if only my child would grow up to be a girl like you!"; and then there are times we hear someone sneer under a breath, "Oh... she has the clean version of this song." All the while, we know the truths about ourselves: we're hardly good at all. Some of us fight with our families, or harbor an attitude, or listen to secular music. Then you have me, who does all of the above -- sometimes all at once.

Our real crime, however, occurs after we slip up. Maybe it's rare, but when we get caught up in this world and sin, really trip up behind our "good girl" label -- our worlds fall apart. Guilt consumes us, tears shower our faces, and our hearts break. We cry out apologizing again and again to Jesus. We think of those whom we let down. We worry about the hypocrisy of our label.

The crime is found in our anxiety about our slip up. The Bible says to repent and to ask for forgiveness. But it also says that we were set free by Jesus Christ for the sake of freedom, not because we wore our "good" label long enough. The crime is found in the laws that we create and plug into our lives. We do not get into Heaven by our works, but by our hearts. The crime is found in the forgetting that Jesus knew our sins when they were poured out onto Him while He hung on the cross, and that He still pursues our hearts daily.

Women of God are called to freedom, to be beautiful, spiritual, adventurous, strong, loving beings -- despite any perversion, shameful act, or addiction. We are free of any chains, assumptions, expectations, and labels. We are invited to enter an overwhelmingly grand love story with Jesus, filled with passion, joy, and victory.

My name is Elisabeth, and I am set free.

So are you.

An Inspiration

The AC hummed while pens all around the room skidded across paper. The assignment: the typical, yet ever asked "What do you want to be when you grow up?". She felt her green plaid skirt pushing against her stomach as the question floated through her mind. Suddenly and promptly, she straightened her spine, took hold of her pen, and scribed "Photographer" on the white, blue-lined paper. She stared at the word written in black ink for a couple heartbeats. Then, her eyes fell under it, to the 27 empty blue lines. Without another thought, she crumpled the paper into her palm and put it in the corner of her desk. New paper, new word. "A Mother." True, but we need something more. And then there were two paper spheres in the corner. Again. She scribed "Writer." No. No, no, no. More, deeper, truer. The desk's corner then had a party of three.

The chair constantly reminded her that it was made of plastic as it dug into her back. What do you want to be? Then the word came to mind, flew in, and took hold of her. She couldn't position the pen in her hand, couldn't bring it down to paper fast enough. After loops and swirls, dotted "I"s and crossed "T"s, the answer laid -- almost stood on her paper. "An Inspiration." She knew, then, why she loved to sing, read, capture, create; to talk, share, and learn. "I want to be a voice," she wrote, "a voice that comes out of silence. A voice of reason that doesn't sound reasonable because it doesn't sound normal at all." She wrote and she wrote and she wrote. The wet ink clung to the side of her hand as she filled one line and then the next. "I want to be a woman who knows defeat, and who overcomes it. I want to be a woman who shines with the victory that comes from her Jesus. I want to be a conqueror, an endurer, a difference. I want to be a beauty -- not from my hair or eyes or mouth, but from a determination, a Spirit, and a knowledge that I am capable of change because of the One who changed my heart so completely and irrevocably. I want to be an inspiration."

And she was.

Ladies, This is an Appeal

I think we're doing something wrong. Actually, I know we're doing a lot wrong. We know what we want, we know our way of getting it, and yet the execution of the plan doesn't unfold the way we had envisioned. We're not as high maintenance as people think! Our hearts aren't as complicated as made out to be. Hormones don't help our case, but I think we can agree that the needs of our hearts are few.

Here's the deal: We're walking around with broken hearts. And I know I'm not the only one who knows that it's not necessary and is avoidable. (I know, it sounds like some kind of female-code-blasphemy to imagine.)

We all know how much faster we mature than guys. We know. It's not a secret. And I find that as we follow Jesus and are in the Word, we slowly but surely learn what a Godly relationship is supposed to look like. And we want it. We want that husband that multiple authors of the Bible wrote about. So we look for that in the guys around us. This is where problems fly in like grenades, and with a rumbling explosion our hearts break. Now, I'm not picking on young men, they certainly make life... colorful. But they simply, for the most part, aren't where we are. (On the plus side, they kill bugs and are about 30% stronger than us.) Simply put, a lot of them aren't ready to want to be our Biblical hero husbands, and a lot of them simply don't have what we're searching for. YET. They're growing a few steps behind at this age. They catch up though, Jesus told me.

Now, here's the part you don't want to hear: We're growing still too. I resisted this for a while. I knew everything already, of course. But after we accept this, I find that so much more fulfillment and freedom will be found. The job of a guy's spiritual growth is in the hands of our God and their parents. We can't change em, ladies. And we're not supposed to. It's a humbling blessing if we do, but if we focused on planting ourselves in Christ and blossoming there, our hearts will be filled and comforted beyond the level any man could accomplish.

Trying to impress him with drugs, drinking, or sexual knowledge won't get him to love you forever. Experience in the sheets won't make him respect you more. If Cinderella could get her Prince Charming without taking her dress off, so can you. Swearing, listening to "cool" music, or taking him back after mistakes won't guarantee you a ring on that finger. If anything, you can count on them starting to talk to someone else after you give them all that at this point in their maturity.

So, what would this one stumbling but striving Christian teenage girl do? Keep your body in your clothes, and let some Scripture out. You'll weed out the losers from the winners in no time. Otherwise, it will be hard to do, and your heart will break more times than necessary. Most of us know guys are our weakness, and don't believe for a second that just because we're young Satan won't use that against, ya sister.

Unfortunately, Prince Charming doesn't ride up on a white horse when we sing enchantingly like in fairy tales. They're not that easy to find, especially today. But they're out there. When we follow Jesus, people who also want to live for Him, want a Godly relationship, and seek love forever will come into your life -- in God's perfect timing. And maybe, if you're lucky, one will even ride in on a white horse.

Those Days

I want to be 16 forever. Even when I squeeze my eyes shut and clench my fists, willing for everything around me to stop, for some wild reason the world keeps spinning.

I was babysitting my cousins yesterday. It was raining. Naturally, I figured I’d turn on a movie for them. Suddenly, five year old Lucas yelled while running outside, “Let’s dance in the rain, Lizzie!” That’s what I want. I want to dance in the rain and not worry about the Earth that's rotating under me. I want to be free, have my hair wave behind me, and do nothing. I didn’t realize how much I missed being annoyed by wet blades of grass sticking to my feet.

I’m going to look at a college to finish my degree at next week. Not a big deal. Except, oh wait!, it’s in Georgia. GEORGIA. My home, my church, my friends, my life is in Florida. I’m praying that I’ll hate it when I get there. The scary thing is, I’m fairly certain I won’t. This college has “Elisabeth” written all over it. I have that feeling that Jesus is leading me there, that feeling that people beg for in their lives. Yeah, it’s tearing me to pieces.

Today, I’m in Michigan, on my grandparent’s farm in the one of the smallest of towns. It’s been my home since before I could walk. It’s the perfect time to be here, before I have to start thinking like an adult. This place has always accepted me as I am. Through all the houses and states and countries I’ve lived in, through all the stages of my life, God has blessed me so much through this place. My days have been filled with peace here. It’s been those reading-and-writing-for-pleasure-rather-than-for-a-professor days. Those having-time-to-give-myself-a-manicure-in-a-comfy-chair days. And those being-able-to-do-nothing-as-long-as-you’re-doing-it-with-family days.

It is here I see that Jesus is taking care of me. Even though I’ll inevitably be 17 in five short months, even though I’m (for some crazy reason) looking to live in the mountains of Georgia, He’s taking care of me.

Whatever my lot, Thou has taught me to say, it is well, it is well with my soul.

She Lets Her Hair Down

I picked up my sister from gymnastics the other day. I got there fifteen minutes early to watch her run, jump, and fly through the air. As I weaved through the gym moms to find a seat, she yelled "Sissy!" across the gymnasium. Sure enough, there she was in her leopard print leotard, waving her hands fanatically. I hadn't showered, wore no make up, and was wearing mom jeans (mom jeans: n. high, loose jeans), and yet she was willing to advertise our relationship. She loves and adores without shame or condition.

The girls had to do an exercise in 15 seconds and as hard as she tried, Mia did it in 20 and needed to do it a second time. I could tell she was holding in tears. I know how badly that competitive 10 year old wanted success, and I know how crushed she was when she didn't reach it. She puts her whole heart into everything she does, not afraid of heartache.

On the way home we chewed gum and sang our favorite songs. I knew she was in Heaven. Corinne Bailey's song "Put Your Records On" sounded from the speakers. I told her that that song reminded me of her because of when Corinne sings about having a pretty afro hair do, just like Mia's. In reality, that song reminds me of her because of the theme about letting your hair down and loving life. My sister lives her days true to who she is and without fear. She keeps no walls or masks up. Mia lives with her hair down.

I found I have a few things to learn from her.

My eyes flew open at 2:03 am this morning. I laid in the silent darkness for a good 30 minutes before going downstairs and turning on my computer. That's when I saw it, the words on the screen, "Massive mudslide between Petionville and Rou Frere, homes buried with people inside. First corpse found minutes ago."

A chill ran down my back as my heart began to weigh a thousand pounds. And I did the only thing I could do, and that's get on my knees. They could use your prayers too.