Confession: I wrote all these posts primarily for me. I love that people read what I write, but if it was just me (and my Mom) reading them, it would be just as therapeutic and beneficial for me to get stuff out of my head and on to paper (or technically, into cyberspace, but it doesn’t sound as artsy).

I do hope that someone else will recognize their story in what I write. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve listened to a song or read a portion of a book or heard a movie quote that is telling my own story back to me. It’s like, “yeah, I feel that way. I would never have thought of putting it that way, but that’s me. That’s my story.”

As I was reminded tonight, God’s Word is the only writing that’s living and active. Other books may give you the nostalgic vibes if you revisit them after a number of years, but they’re basically the same. The Bible will hit differently as you get older with verses you may have read over multiple times almost screaming out at you because they’re telling your current story.

I believe the Bible has one meaning that the author, guided by the Holy Spirit, intended for his original readers. I also think that there can be several different applications that will change over the course of your lifetime from childhood to adulthood to old age.

Basically, your testimony is just you telling your story about who you were, how God met you and changed your life, and who you are now . . . or better yet, who you are becoming. A true testimony shouldn’t end with “and now that I know Jesus, everything is perfect and I am suddenly free of temptations and struggles.”

But as I continue to learn, the specifics of our stories may be different, but the themes are the same. The feelings are the same. When we share that part of our story that we swore we’d never tell a living soul, that’s when we find our own healing and someone listening will also find healing.

The point isn’t to tell your story perfectly, but to tell it. I think I heard once that something that is done imperfectly is better than the perfect that never actually gets done. A story or a song or a poem or a picture that’s messy and raw that goes out to the world is better than something that stays in your head because you think it’s not good enough.

Tell your story. No one else can tell it better than you. No one else has a story exactly like yours because it only happened to you. But other people need to hear their stories told through you. So tell it.

Side note: I may have to read (or listen to) this sooner rather than later.

To become real is to look a lot like Jesus. But how did Jesus look? Was there anything physically about Him that drew people to Him? Not really.

What was it? What draws us to Jesus even after all this time? Why is He so impactful that His name is still spoken more than any other name 2,000 years later — either in prayer or in cursing?

Because no one has ever loved us sacrificially like that. No one ever went through that much torture and shame and death for us. The one who deserved it least volunteered to take the place of the ones who deserved it most. And without Jesus, we still do.

It’s not the kind of love that affirms us as we are and leaves us in the mess we’re in, but the kind that makes us not just better, but brand new. The kind that transforms us into something like Jesus.

I want to be real like that. I want to be so used up at the end of my life that I might not look pretty but people can say that they have seen Jesus. If I ever get there, it won’t be due to my perfect faith or my super spiritual living or my holy countenance (all of which I seriously lack), but it will all be the grace of God that didn’t quit on me when I wanted to quit on God and everything else.

Lord, make me new. Lord, also make me real.

I don’t know whether this is funny or scary . . . or both, but I had my own little adventure tonight driving from downtown Franklin to Barnes and Noble.

When I turned on to Mallory Lane, I noticed that the intersection light was out. I believe at that point, you treat it like a four-way stop depending on who gets to the intersection first. At least that’s the way it’s theoretically supposed to go. In reality, it did not.

People had no idea what to do. Sometimes, they sat there. Sometimes, several cars from one side would go through, one after the other. Sometimes, it looked like they were playing the old arcade game Frogger with their cars. A few times, I thought I was about to witness an accident. Once, I came mighty close to being in one (that hopefully would not have been my fault).

It was that way for about 4 or 5 intersections. I didn’t see any police cars (but I did see one emergency vehicle). My nerves were getting frayed and I was ready to be off Mallory Lane.

But then the next intersection had lights, so all was well and I made it unscathed. People resumed normal driving (or at least less crazy driving).

My takeaways are that 1) people in general are dumb (and I can say that because I’m dumb about other stuff), 2) it didn’t take all that much to throw everybody into chaos, and 3) if the apocalypse does actually come in my lifetime, I hope I’m walking and not driving.

Maybe it’s a tiny foretaste of the book of Revelations. Or maybe it’s just we need better driver’s ed in high school. I don’t know. I keep thinking about those bombs that can wipe out all the electronic devices within a certain radius or people who can knock out the power grid and cause random chaos. I have read my Bible, and the last verses of the last chapter isn’t a big scary massive car wreck. It’s one where we’re invited to the biggest and best feast where all the best people will be there. And the best part is that Jesus is there.

But I know I’d rather not go there just yet, especially if it’s from a heart attack caused by the anxiety of driving with no working street lights. I’d rather go the more serene route and die in my sleep (and again hopefully not while driving a car).

I’m thankful to be at home with most of my sanity intact. I know I don’t want to go through anything like that again for a long, long time.

I saw something today that gave me all the feels. Even though I personally am not a parent, I was touched by the words I read, so grab a tissue before you read any further:

“From the moment you hold your baby in your arms you will never be the same
You might long for the person you were before
When you had freedom and time
And nothing in particular to worry about
You will know tiredness like you never knew it before
And days will run into days that are exactly the same
Full of feedings and burping
Nappy changes and crying
Whining and fighting
Naps or a lack of naps
It might seem like a never-ending cycle
But don’t forget….
There is a last time for everything
There will come a time when you will feed your baby for the very last time
They will fall asleep on you after a long day
And it will be the last time you ever hold your sleeping child
One day you will carry them on your hip then set them down
And never pick them up that way again
You will scrub their hair in the bath one night
And from that day on they will want to bathe alone
They will hold your hand to cross the road
Then never reach for it again
They will creep into your room at midnight for cuddles
And it will be the last night you ever wake to this
One afternoon you will sing ‘the wheels on the bus’ and do all the actions
Then never sing them that song again
They will kiss you goodbye at the school gate
The next day they will ask to walk to the gate alone
You will read a final bedtime story and wipe your last dirty face
They will run to you with arms raised for the very last time.
The thing is, you won’t even know it’s the last time
Until there are no more times. And even then, it will take you a while to realise.
So while you are living in these times, remember there are only so many of them and when they are gone, you will yearn for just one more day of them
For one last time.”

At my Wednesday night Bible study, the teacher made an out-of-left-field observation that I’ve been thinking about ever since. Basically he said that we can’t really define the word grace because it’s really not a natural human virtue.

At first, I thought about all those neat little acrostic ditties like grace is God’s Riches at Christ’s Expense. I also remembered grace as unmerited favor. But the more I thought, the more I realized that those don’t so much define grace as describe it.

We can’t really define it because it’s so much beyond us. It’s a God thing, and like so much about God, it goes beyond our capacity to understand or categorize or define.

We understand concepts like karma because they are man-made. We came up with the idea that if you do something bad, something bad happens to you. Basically, you get what you deserve — end of story.

But we can’t define grace because it defies our logic. Why would we celebrate not getting what we deserve? Why would we cheer for something we didn’t earn?

I know for me the more I understand what I really do deserve and not what I think I’ve earned, the more I love grace. The more I realize that I’m not good — that no one but God is good — and that what I’ve earned and deserve is death and hell, the more I know I don’t deserve grace but crave it just the same.

I see that when a lot of people talk about karma, they want it for someone else. I don’t want anyone else to get karma because I know I don’t want it for myself. I know deep down what karma would bring me (if karma were even real), so I choose grace for myself and for everybody else. I want grace for you because I need grace for me.

Grace is what got me out of bed in the morning. Grace is what got me through another day. Grace is what will lay my head upon the pillow tonight. And yes, that amazing grace will one day lead me home.

I saw this today and it may have completely changed how I will look at ministering to those who are grieving:

“I saw this letter today- as a funeral directors son, I have been around this for years. This is some of the best advice I have ever seen.

‘Hey there, Thanks for writing. I’m really glad your friend has you in her life.

I get it. Grief is a funny thing. It’s the time in our life when we most need help, and also the time when asking for help is so hard. Not because we are ashamed to ask for help, although that happens sometimes too. But mostly because our brain just sort of shuts down.

When my Dad died, I looked functional. But I wasn’t OK. Not at all. And when the news got out, the ton of people flooding me with calls, texts, and DM’s was overwhelming. I really couldn’t function. I sat on the swing in our yard and just stared into space. People called and asked what they could do to help. I had no idea.

‘Well, anything you need at all, let me know, OK?’

‘OK’.

They hung up. I stared into space some more.

I had no idea what to do. What I needed. I didn’t even know what to ask for.

Then a friend sent a text. This friend had met Dad once but didn’t really know him. But still, she knew I was hurting. I saw who it was and almost put the phone down without reading the text, but I saw the message and it stopped me:

Will you be home at 8:30 tonight?

What’s weird is this friend lives 12 hours away from me.

Yes, I replied.

‘K.’

10 minutes later, she said, ‘Instacart will be there at 8:30. Open the door for them.’

‘What?’

‘Grief Groceries.!!’

When Instacart showed up, they put two large bags of groceries on my porch. Frozen pizzas. Ice cream. Oreo cookies. Tinned soup. Stouffer’s lasagna. A gallon of milk. Like that. Things I could heat up if I needed a meal, or pig out on if I needed fat and sugar. Sometimes, you just need to eat half a box of Oreos.

Notice she didn’t ask if I needed any food. I would have said no. She just asked if I would be home.

Grief groceries.

Another friend, who lives out of town, asked Renee to name a restaurant near our house where we like to eat. There is a local chain near our house that is sort of a deli. When we eat supper there, we spend about $25. Renee told her the name of the place.

An hour later, there was a gift card in my inbox for $250. Yes, that is a lot of money, and I understand not everyone can do that. But the wonderful thing was that because it was enough for multiple meals, we didn’t try to save it for “the right time”. We ate there that night, and take out from there several times a week for the next month on nights when I just didn’t have the spoons to cook.

Both of those gift-givers knew something I didn’t know – that when you are grieving, you don’t want to make decisions. No, that’s not quite it: You can’t make decisions. You hit decision fatigue really fast.

So, I guess what I’m saying is, don’t ask grieving people to make big choices or decisions. ‘How can I help’ is a big choice. But ‘Can I take the kids this afternoon so you can have some time to yourself?’ is a much smaller one. ‘Will you be home tonight?’ is a small choice. ‘What restaurant do you like?’ is a small decision. Just showing up to cut their grass because you noticed it needed cutting is loads better than asking, ‘Do you want me to cut the grass?’ Or, ‘I’m going to Target. What can I get you while I’m there?’ is better than ‘Can I run any errands for you?’

It won’t always be like this. If you stick around, eventually they will surface and ways to be helpful will make themselves known. But in the first few days, especially, it helps to remove as many decisions from their plate as you can!”

Original Words from: Hugh Hollowell Jr.”

I’d also add my personal favorite: I need coffee, because without it, I’m basically a two-year old whose blankie is in the washing machine.

But yeah, coffee is good.

Sometimes, a picture is truly worth 1,000 words. In this case, I just want to add a few more. Those verses from 1 Thessalonians 5 seem to sum it up very nicely:

“Never stop praying. Be thankful in all circumstances, for this is God’s will for you who belong to Christ Jesus” (1 Thessalonians 5:17-18, NLT).