I’ve been wanting to write a blog on here for several weeks now, but every time that I’ve sat down, plugged in, and turned on Ludovico Einaudi - my favourite musical accompaniment - I find myself staring at the blank page on the screen and racking my brain for the words to fill it. Today, as I started this process again, I realised that I have been waiting for things to resolve before I tell you about them. I’ve been hoping that the testimony to my waiting would have surfaced in between my ‘writing sessions’ so I could give you the completed story. But so far those time periods have just been additions to my waiting season, and on paper my life is no further along than it was last week.Do you ever find yourself in that place of wanting the ‘picture perfect’ life, but instead feel like you’re living out a hand-me-down version? Do you cringe every time you’re asked, ‘So what are you up to at the moment?’ because you don’t like the sound of your answer? Do you find yourself, like me, in the midst of a waiting season once again?Welcome. It means so much to know I’m not alone.I realise that this could easily sound like I am very dissatisfied, or even miserable, with how my life looks like right now. That is truly not the case though. I actually love the simplicity of my days at the moment - getting to be present with my husband and community on a daily basis, saying yes to opportunities as they arise, having the space to dream, travel, and invest in others. But the thing is, I know there is more and that is what I am hungry for.I’m turning 30 at the end of this year and with that looming celebration has come a process of reevaluating my life so far. Truth be told, it looks a little different than I thought it would 10 years ago. Certain things that I had hoped for by now are still in my box of dreams, waiting to be realised, and others that I had never imagined could happen are now my day-to-day reality. Life is a funny thing and the time line we create to map it all out on rarely matches the way things end up being.The word waiting is defined as, ‘to look forward to eagerly; to continue as one is in expectation of; to be in readiness for’.‘To be in readiness for’ implies that we are still fully present in our current circumstances but our gaze is fixed on where we are heading. I am reminded of the image of a runner poised on their starting block, waiting for the sound of the starter gun to release them forward. Every sense is heightened to their present position, straining to receive every signal around them which will inform their every move and response, but they are obedient to only go when they are instructed to.In the midst of being ready for what is still to come, we must learn how to receive from the present.Recently, during a worship time at our church, the worship leader, Brianna Barnes, paused and said something that truly resonated with my heart, ‘God isn’t just at work when the mountain moves or the healing comes, he is at work the whole time that you are waiting.’ It is easy to write off a ‘waiting season’ as this excerpt of time that we just have to endure until the breakthrough comes - the new job, the dream home, the birth of a child, marrying your long-awaited spouse or finally being debt free - but this is not an empty time zone, rather it is full of revelation, gifts and understanding that we would never gain had everything been handed to us the moment we clicked our fingers. I know this isn’t easy. These words probably won’t make the longing in your heart any less real or desirable, but I do believe there is a gift for you today, right now. There is peace that will still your anxious thoughts and joy to strengthen your heart, there is hope that will breathe fresh fire in your bones and there is faith to steady your gaze once more on the vision before you.This season is not empty or barren; there is fruit still for your enjoy. You have not failed and your dreams are not a lost cause. Your adventure is just wilder than you had imagined!
What Happens When We Stop Comparing
Today is International Women's Day - a day to celebrate the social, economic, cultural and political achievement of the female gender. Truth is, we’ve made history. For centuries we’ve been told that we can’t. Religious and cultural language have been used to hold us back, force us down, keep us quiet and enslave us to our male counterparts when really it should have been used to free us, empower, release and restore us.Throughout history there have been those who stood up and helped steer the tide in the opposite direction, back to the way it was always intended to flow.Their desire for freedom was greater than their fear of being defeated. I’m reminded today of this history that I now stand on as I celebrate, post, like and share quotes, images and videos for #internationalwomensday. I will never know the struggles that my ancestors bore but I am forever thankful for their fight.‘Sisterhood’ didn’t just begin because someone came up with a cool word, pretty branding, and a definition that makes you want to join in. It began way before there was even a word to define. A group of sisters, female friends, who chose one another regardless of bloodline, and championed their hearts and their dreams. It began with choosing love over difference or fear, over comparison or misunderstanding, over judgement or hate.It’s hard though sometimes to love people even when we share the same gender and I’ve found that, as women, we can often find each other the hardest to embrace.Have you ever felt judged by another woman?Have you ever felt misunderstood or shut down? Not cool or pretty enough to be included? Have you ever compared yourself to another woman or had someone compare themselves to you?Have you ever felt hurt or betrayed by a friend that you trusted?Unfortunately, I think we would all answer ‘yes’ to at least one of those questions.I have definitely felt all of those things, and there are still times when an interaction with a woman who is meant to love me can leave me pained, but I no longer hold on to those wounding words or actions as a means to prevent me from loving, or hold me back from relationship. The cost of shutting down and shutting out is too high a price for me. Joy is found in the midst of relationship, so when we compare ourselves to our sisters we are in effect stealing one another’s joy and holding each other back from the fullness of freedom. Like the history makers before us, we can be ones who continue to say no to the abusive and controlling language of others - regardless of which gender it is flowing from.We can be ones who continue to turn the tide and build a sisterhood that is safe, restorative, loving and kind, that welcomes every woman regardless of her race or background or intelligence, and seeks above all to ‘do unto others as you would have them do unto you.’So today I feel reinvigorated to love my sisters well, to make space for them and really see them, to let go of records of wrongs and reconcile, to celebrate their differences, to champion their passions and cheerlead them on their journey, to be a voice of love and truth in their lives.As women we are not better than men but we are definitely equal, and when we unite we are unstoppable! [embed]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RTezIzJW1No[/embed]
How To Work Less And Be More
I’m not normally one to follow the rules of writing an ‘end of the year/goals for a new one’ blog. I have often found new year’s resolutions making to be a grand way of setting myself up for failure. Even faith goals for a new year are vulnerable to make because it feels like it leaves too great a margin for disappointment.2017 has been a very different year for me though. Phillip and I have lost two babies and an apartment in the past 12 months, which definitely shattered a few dreams and goals, but it’s also sent us on a much deeper journey of healing and dream-making, including a three month ‘detox’ here in Chicago.My multi-talented husband booked the role of 'Billy Lawler' in 42nd Street, the musical, here in Chicago, so since October we have been based here and next week we’ll be packing our bags once more and moving back to New York City. As one chapter closes and a new one awaits, I find myself approaching it with a new focus, and a desire to not leave behind what I know I’ve gained in this season of rest.When I arrived in Chicago, I came with great plans of being the most productive and creative human while I was here, using my three months of not working to produce a new ‘masterpiece’. It was then greatly discouraging when I couldn’t even muster enough words and inspiration to write a blog post. I soon began to struggle with this need to produce something which would prove my time here to be worthwhile and not a waste.There’s a chant that the kids would shout on the school playground when I was growing up which went, “Time waster, time waster, time waster!” You would be the target of such a mantra if you dilly dallied for too long thinking about who you were going to pass the ball to in a game of football, or thought for longer than was deemed necessary in a game of tag. Now, as I head towards my thirtieth year, I still hear the playground shout whenever I feel like I’m taking too long in life at anything. That’s a lot of pressure you guys.Thank God my friends and community aren’t those kids in the school playground!I was sharing my frustrations with our friends Danny and Danielle back in November, half expecting that they might have ideas on how I could make my time here more productive, and instead found them encouraging me to take the pressure off myself and embrace this season as a time to rest. Danielle then recommended the book, 'Rest', by Alex Soojung-Kim Pang which talks about this concept of working from a rhythm of rest - ‘why you get more done when you work less.’Since that week, it’s like the pressure valve has been released and I have been able to let out the biggest “Ahhhhhhhhhhhh”.I don’t know about you, but sometimes it feels like just being alive is really hard work.I am not defined by what I do and neither are you. We are defined by who we are and that identity is only found in the one God who made us. When we know who we are, we can be who we are, and from that place we are truly able to create.However, if we are just doing, without first knowing how to be, we will eventually find ourselves burnt out and disillusioned.In his book ‘Rest’, Alex covers several “deliberate resting activities” that we can incorporate into our daily routines which both help to keep us healthy and stimulate creativity. In a chapter on napping, he says:
“As we move into a world and economy that seems to defy the constraints of geography and time, that operates globally and twenty-four/seven, we feel the need (or pressure) to work continuously, to ignore our own body’s clocks and push on even when our bodies are pleading to rest. But this is a mistake. Naps are powerful tools for recovering our energy and focus…
Even during his country’s most desperate hours, when he felt the fate of the nation and civilization hanging in the balance, Churchill found time for a nap.
We would be wise to ask if our days and our work are really more urgent.”
This made me chuckle when I read it as Churchill is somewhat of a hero in my household. He was instrumental in the ending of World War 2 and the defeat of Adolf Hitler, his accomplishments are world renown, and yet he knew his limitations and the importance of resting in order to attain victory.
2018 is barely 24 hours away and with it a heap of ‘destinations unknown’. I really have no idea what this next year will hold - it is an adventure waiting to unfold - but I am approaching it with a new confidence in who I am and a resolve to never again give in to the pressure to do, but to continue to learn how to be. What do your new beginnings look like?
When You Feel All The Feels
I’m not good at being alone.There have been countless times, including this morning, when Phillip has left the house for the day, and I have become like that child who has a breakdown when their mum drops them off at school for the first time. The day suddenly feels empty and all I want to do is crawl into bed and wait there until he returns. This is what today looked like. I was in that emotionally vulnerable state where everything felt like a big deal, and I was unapologetically ‘needy’.The truth though is that I’m a 28 year old woman who is a wife to the most amazing man. I get to pursue my passions every day. I write and speak and lead others around me. I am surrounded by family and community. I know who I am and whose I am. I am far from unloved and I am far from alone.It would seem that the loneliness I was feeling was actually a lie.When we start speaking truth, over ourselves or our situations, it’s amazing how quickly what we believe, and how we feel, shifts from negativity to tangible hope.My husband, Phillip, is very good at calling me out and calling me higher. He doesn't indulge my emotions but exhorts me to move above and beyond them. It’s also my choice as to whether or not I heed his advice and do what I know is best for me. I know that time by myself is not the worst thing, and actually is something that I need from time to time, but it’s up to me whether or not I utilize it for my benefit.This morning, as I sat feeling sorry for myself, the wiser part of me got the upper hand and I pulled out my Bible, to carry on with my study of Paul’s letters in the New Testament. This is what stood out to me:
‘May the blessings of divine grace and supernatural peace that flow from God our wonderful Father, and our Anointed Messiah, the Lord Jesus, be upon your lives.’
Philippians 1:2
I love that this starts with, may. There is no forced way with God. He doesn’t push an agenda on any of us, or back us into a corner to make us comply with His will. He just opens His arms and says, ‘may…’. May you, who are lonely and broken, hurting and in pain, lost and desiring family, may you find your home, your place of peace and belonging, your sanctuary, in Me. May you live a life marked by divine grace and supernatural peace.Most of the time, it’s our choice as to whether our life stays the way it is. We can continue feeling all the negative feels, or we can disrupt the pattern and change our trajectory. We are the gatekeepers to our day.I'm not gonna lie, I didn't suddenly move from singing ‘All by my self…’, to painting rainbows and showering the room in glitter, but my focus did begin to shift. I put on music that I love to sing along to, reminded myself of how surrounded by love I am, and began to write out what was going on in my heart. Writing, for me, is one of the most therapeutic activities I can engage in. It allows me the space to sift through my emotions, word by word, until I find the root of what's troubling me or gain the inspiration I need.Today, I just wanted to be around people, to feel the comfort of others, but in their absence I learnt, yet again, that my security is not found in who I'm next to, but in who I'm in. Community, friends and family are all important. We need them. But more vital, even than family, is being connected to the One who created family, who made each one of us, unique and different. Honestly, spending time connecting with God will do more for your heart than the biggest and best bear hug ever could. Trust me, I've tried both.So, may you shake off loneliness today and embrace the truth that you are seen, known and loved. May you find the time and space that your heart needs to connect with the One who made you. And may you encounter the divine grace and supernatural peace that He has for you, your family and your home.
Take A Day To Love Thyself
I had a realisation the other day, as I sat in the dining room at East One in Brooklyn, that I needed to learn the art of self care. This epiphany came after sobbing in the shower earlier that morning and deciding that I needed to rearrange my day, as I no longer had the emotional capacity to be present for those around me. I gathered myself together and headed out into the warm summer’s day, desiring to find a place where I could write, process my heart and drink a good cup of tea.As I walked down the street, still feeling the rawness of vulnerability, I realised it was lunchtime and I was hungry. The internal dialogue began as I chastised myself for not having eaten before I left the house. When out and about on my own, I don’t like to spend money on food for myself, as it feels like a waste, especially when I know the cupboards are full at home. In New York, you can spend the same amount on one meal as you would on a whole week’s food shop!One thought then became louder than the others, “You could take yourself out to lunch. You are worth taking to lunch. It’s ok.”This was a bit of a novel idea.I could go out to lunch, all by my self.The next thing I knew, I was being seated and served at one of Phillip and I’s favourite new spots. That was when I had my epiphany.I make my decisions, and orchestrate my days, around what other people need and want from me.Now, don’t get me wrong, it’s important to be there for others, to consider their needs and serve those around you, but your needs are also important. You deserve the time to be loved well and looked after. You are worthy of your own time and resources.I ended up spending most of that day by myself. Not in a negative, deeply introspective way, but simply taking the time to breathe, to listen to my heart, and not be rushed by any outside demands.I rested. I grieved. I healed.As I sat, cupping a great mug of English Breakfast tea, I read a verse from the Bible which refreshed my spirit in an instant.
“May God Himself, the Heavenly Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, release grace over you and impart total well-being into your lives.”
Ephesians 1:2 (The Passion Translation)
Some days are vulnerable. Our hearts get triggered by the smallest of things, and suddenly we realise that the wound we thought had been healing nicely, has suddenly been opened up again, and we need to take some space to tend to it, in order for greater healing to take place.It’s ok to say no sometimes, because that ‘no’ will allow room for a bigger ‘yes’ in the days that follow. And when you are able to say ‘yes’, it will be from a heart free of the entanglement of resentment, and full of the beauty that love brings.Just a few days following my teary, shower breakdown and solo date at East One, I was able to give of my time in the way that my heart had desired to do all along. I was able to hang out with my friend and play with her kids, without tears pricking the backs of my eyelids, or being made constantly aware of what I didn’t have. I was free to connect, to play, to listen and to love.So I have learnt all over again the importance of loving myself. My friend, may this also ring true for you today. You are worthy of your time. You are worthy of your love. That thing that you have deemed as unimportant, it matters. You matter, and on the other side of acknowledging that, and making space for your own heart, is freedom.[embed]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ojUrs28LeGM[/embed]
When Joy & Weeping Collide
I've been thinking a lot about joy recently. I mean, that's my name, so it’s kind of hard not to think about it. I hear it every day! Just because someone calls you something though, or gives you a name, doesn't always mean that that’s who you are or who you’ve become. You have to agree with what's being said, and partner with it, in order for it to become a reality. You have to choose.There’s a song that has become a regular on our church’s worship set list over the past nine months or so and there is a line in it that always gets me thinking,‘there’ll be a season for joy and weeping / in everything our God is faithful’. To be honest, every time I sing this, it feels a little uncomfortable for me. I'm fine with the joy bit, but weeping too? I'd rather pass on that thank you very much. I've been wondering though, do our days or seasons of shedding tears allow us to experience a deeper, potentially more precious encounter with joy?I love this quote by Brené Brown, author of ‘Daring Greatly’ and ‘Rising Strong’. She talks about this idea of leaning into joy rather than giving into the fear that something might go wrong, and therefore trying to diminish it. Joy is actually meant to be our strength and an element that we can pull from in times of hardship. It is cultivated by gratitude and becomes something that we practice; a way of life.I can relate to this idea very tangibly, purely from walking through the last ten months of my life. As many of you will know, my husband and I experienced two miscarriages within six months of one another. Following the first one at Christmas of last year, I felt no joy, but I also expressed no gratitude. I couldn't find much, if anything, to be thankful for in the weeks that followed, and wallowed in my sorrow quite determinedly.A friend of mine pointed out to me this week though, the importance of the names that we chose to give to both of the babies that we miscarried. Our first, we named Promise Joy and our second is Victor Peace. She gave attention to the fact that in naming them both in this way, we were also depositing seeds of hope and truth in those moments. I didn't feel joy in losing Promise Joy, but I did feel that was an important part of who he/she was. Since losing them and sharing our story with others, we have experienced a deeper joy and peace than we have known before.A few months following losing Promise Joy, as Phillip and I held a pregnancy stick in hand, with the ➕ for life clear to see, we felt joy, but there was probably also an element of foreboding joy, a fear that this life would be taken from us also. I practiced gratitude but maybe I also left room for fear, so I wouldn't be taken so completely by surprise if tragedy should strike again.We miscarried two months later and once more grief came knocking, but this time I found myself being able to recognize what I did still have, what I hadn't lost. I gave thanks every day for my husband who is more than enough for me, whatever turmoil might be happening. Every day someone new would reach out, with a token or word of love and comfort, and again I found myself pouring out thanks to those around me. I had no bone to pick with God, but instead I felt thankful that the author of life cares for every being, whether here on earth or on the other side of eternity. I found myself being able to laugh freely in a time where much had been lost. Weeping gave way to joy and joy lead me home.So I think maybe the lyrics of that song aren't so crazy and doomed after all. Joy can be present in the midst of weeping when we make way for it with gratitude. Joy is emotional and it is also something that we can choose to stay in, to be joyful, regardless of whether we find ourselves laughing or crying.My name is Joy, it's who I go by and who I’m called, but Joy is also who I choose to be.[embed]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O8hhr1Oz0iw[/embed]
Love That Leaves You Better
“Hey guys, so how does everyone feel about this for a Facebook post? ‘I found my ex girlfriend (and her husband) in New York?!’” Will’s animated, Australian accent accompanied the question as we walked along the High Line.Phillip and I both laughed loudly. “Ha! Perfect!”This is a recipe for a potentially weird day - myself, my husband and my ex-boyfriend from ten years ago, all walking the High Line in New York together. There aren’t many people I know who have been able to comfortably maintain relationship with someone that they have dated in the past, and yet it is possible.Bethel Church in Redding, California have coined a phrase that I absolutely love, “the goal is to always leave a person better than you found them”. As I walked through Manhattan with Phillip and Will, catching up on the last few years and enjoying the magnificent sites of the city, I witnessed the embodiment of this mantra.Will and I dated ten years ago but before we ever held hands, we were friends, and after it ended we ensured that our friendship did not. That's not to say that it was always easy, navigating through it all, but last week I realized just how much better I was for knowing him. He truly had left me better than when he found me.Following our afternoon of New York sightseeing under a blazing hot sky, we met up with Will’s mum, Kirsten, and enjoyed another mini reunion. Again, potentially awkward, but in reality not at all. Here is revealed the difference between those who know how to love and those who don’t. Kirsten embraced Phillip like one of her own and honoured him as a man and as my husband. She held the power in that moment to make things uncomfortable for Phillip, as she met him for the first time, but instead I watched her extend love and a desire to get to know him.How often have we belittled someone with a passing comment or hostile body language, simply because we’ve felt threatened by their position? I know I have.‘Above all, have fervent and unfailing love for one another, because love covers a multitude of sins, it overlooks unkindness and unselfishly seeks the best for others.’ 1 Peter 4:8; The BibleLove is a choice and when we choose to live in it, it covers everything; it changes everything. And love always leaves you better than when it found you. We have the ability, every single day, to leave others better than when we found them. We don't even need to know their name but simply responding to another human with grace and dignity, infuses their world with this most holy of expressions - love.The other character in this story is Phillip, my amazing partner for life. His desire to honour Will and make room for him is one that blew me away and, if I'm honest, I don't think I’d have found so easy to do if the tables had been reversed. Our history, experiences, past relationships and perspectives are all part of the mosaic that make us beautiful, but they can also be that which holds us back and prevents us from encounters of a greater kind. Phillip’s willingness to engage with parts of my history made room for healing, new friendships and restored relationships.This is what takes place when we allow love to change, mold and lead us. We become a source of praise to those around us. We begin to radiate with love! The Greek word for radiate is ‘endoxos’ which means, ‘gorgeous, honourable, esteemed, splendid, infused with glory.’ Stop for a second and think about that. When you allow your life to be transformed by love, you in turn gain the description of someone who is gorgeous, honourable, esteemed, splendid and infused with glory. Wow! This is the kind of person I want to be. This is the kind of impact I want to have on my relationships and world around me.So thank you Will, for leaving me better than you found me. Thank you Kirsten for being a mother whose love is fierce but also oh, so kind to those you encounter. Thank you Phillip for never failing to show me what love truly looks like. And thank you God, for being the source of such pure, beautiful, glorious love that we get to abide in every day.
Family Dinners, Adoption & A New Home
A couple of weeks ago I sat around a full family dinner table and thought about how thankful I was for this moment. Finley, our friend’s beautiful daughter, had suggested that we all go around the table and share a highlight from the day with one another. Mine was definitely this.I grew up in a big family and it would be a given that every evening we would sit around the dinner table together to eat. When I was born, our family was a comfortable size of four, but by the time I left home we had grown to be eight. If I’m honest, I’m not sure that I always appreciated the virtues of being from a larger family home. I would get embarrassed when we went on outings or holidays together, our large number causing coos and comments. I would walk ten paces behind everyone, to hopefully make it seem like I wasn’t with them. No matter what we did, or where we were, people always seemed to notice and unwanted attention would be drawn our way.Oh, what a difference a few years make! Now, I couldn’t be prouder of my family and would give anything to gather them all together right now for a dinner.In the past few years I feel like I’ve uncovered one of life’s greatest secrets: the beauty of family.When I look at the tribe I was born into, for all of our faults and quirks, I couldn’t be more thankful or more blessed. One of the beautiful things about family is that it is forever expanding and, as long as our doors and hearts remain open, we will remain surrounded.For the past couple of months, I have been working with a beautiful young lady who has recently exited the sex industry. She is making huge strides to see her life turned around and it is an honour to be a witness to it. A week ago I was invited to her church service and found myself in the basement of an old church building with about ten other folk, all recovering addicts. The pastor lead us in singing several hymns from an old hymnal, accompanied by a middle-aged keyboardist who plonked away next to him. No one was singing in tune, or in the right key, because no one could really quite hear how it was meant to be sung, however it was one of the most precious worship times I have ever experienced. The room was flooded with so much truth, honesty, simplicity and humility that it transcended the need for a vocal coach and working P.A system. It was truly an offering poured out from grateful hearts.After giving space for everyone to greet each other with hugs and hellos and seat ourselves in metal folding chairs, the Pastor launched into his topic for the sermon - the importance of family dinners. We each received hand outs on the benefits of such a tradition as he schooled us on why this wasn’t just a good idea, but a Biblical one.[embed]https://thefamilydinnerproject.org/about-us/benefits-of-family-dinners/[/embed]My heart swelled as he talked and unpacked the simple yet powerful concept of sharing food together. I have seen firsthand the fruit that comes from these regular times, but I also know how easily it can be pushed aside or overlooked. Afterwards, as I walked out of the building with my friend, we chatted about the service and she divulged how her family had never eaten together and now both her parents and brother have passed away. I turned to her and said she was welcome to join Phillip and I for family dinner anytime.“Really?!” Her face lit up as she responded to my invitation; the image of innocent childlikeness as this orphan heart found a home.“Really.”The phrase ‘family dinner’ can conjure up all sorts of images and scenarios for different people, not all of which are positive. We can easily view it as a ‘cookie cutter’ picture of the happy middle class, a luxury afforded in the 1950’s but absent in our technologically driven culture where Facebook has become the new dinner table. Family, however, never goes out of fashion and when we choose to gather around one of our primary needs, such as food, we create a space for connection, intimacy and growth.Family need not be contained by a bloodline, but can be enlarged with the simplest of phrases: "you are welcome".When Phillip and I decided to make New York City our home, we began investing in relationships around us and adopting them as our NYC family unit. In return, we found others doing the same for us, drawing us into their own circles and communities. As I sat around the dinner table with Finley, her parents and grandparents, I found myself in the physical embodiment of what it means to choose someone and make them your own.If you find yourself lacking a family right now, I encourage you, open up your dinner table and welcome some people to gather around it. If you already have the seat at someone else's, may you continue to invest there and welcome others to join you. If you are the one whose door is always open may your home be blessed by how you choose to love. Wherever you are in this season, know that there is always room for you; there is always room for one more.[embed]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sIK_DocajFs[/embed]
Grief, Homelessness and Overwhelming Love
I have never cried in the shower as much as I have in the last few weeks. I have also never been so overwhelmed by love from those around me. This evening, as I stood beneath the warm stream of water, my face crumpled, releasing a sob from my lips. As quickly as it came however, the tears stopped and I felt strangely fine, confident in the love that I knew was surrounding me.It struck me that it is actually possible to be shockingly ok despite your circumstances. For those of you who have been following my story and blogs, you’ll know that at the beginning of this year my husband, Phillip, and I miscarried our first baby, Promise Joy, at 9 weeks gestation. It was a devastating way to begin 2017 but on Easter Sunday we were thrilled to find out that I was once again pregnant. The news felt like nothing but a miraculous sign, a testimony of God’s goodness, to find out on the day that many Christians call ‘Resurrection Sunday’. It’s a day where we celebrate new life and Phillip and I quickly embraced this little one growing in my womb.As all couples do who find parenthood approaching, we began making plans to ready ourselves for our baby’s arrival. Doctors appointments were scheduled, travel plans were rearranged and the search for a new apartment began. In a matter of a couple of weeks, an opportunity to sublet a great place in our favourite neighbourhood opened up. Excitedly, we made plans and within a month had moved into our new home. That week alone will forever be a testimony of the power and beauty of true community as over fifteen of our friends helped us pack up, move, clean and redecorate. I was pregnant with a fractured foot (I dramatically rolled my ankle whilst watching Miss Saigon on Broadway) and needed all the help that I could get!We’d unpacked our first few boxes, made the living room look somewhat presentable and were awaiting the arrival of my Aunt and Uncle from England, when I saw the dreaded colour of scarlet red in the toilet bowl after having used it. In a flash, the trauma of our first miscarriage flooded my mind as I walked into the living room to tell my darling husband. Over the next 24 hours, I began cramping and the bleeding increased. I spent the next morning curled up in bed watching back to back episodes of American Crime and silently willing my body to peace. I knew what was happening but that deep part of me that’s geared to faith, that believes in the impossible and in a God of miracles, held out that everything might just be ok. On the afternoon of Tuesday, June 6th, Phillip and I made our way uptown to the Children and Babies Hospital for our first trimester scan. As a child or young adult, I had never imagined myself in a position where I would miscarry a baby, let alone be on the brink of miscarrying a second, but that is exactly where we found ourselves that afternoon. As the transducer moved over my stomach, images started to appear on the screen next to us and we saw the clear picture of our baby, Victor Peace. The room was silent a part from the sound of clicks as the sonographer took screen shots of my womb. Then the monitor showed the rhythm of our baby’s heartbeat - it was a solid flat line. I felt my heart crash into my shoes. The sonographer didn’t say anything but told us she was going to bring the doctor in to talk about my results. I could already feel myself giving way to devastation as I went to the bathroom and wiped the cold gel from my stomach. Within minutes we were rejoined by both the doctor and the nurse who gently informed us that our baby no longer had a heartbeat and I was experiencing a miscarriage. I burst into uncontrollable sobs as the truth, which I had been hoping against hope was a lie, was confirmed to me.As I sit recounting the sorrow of that moment, it would be easy for me to focus on our loss, our grief and the injustice of experiencing losing another baby, but that would deny the beauty and grace that we also encountered that day and in the weeks to follow. My Aunt and Uncle returned home after a full day of being tourists, armed with our favourite pizza from Dumbo, Brooklyn and hugs that only parents seem able to give. Dear friends of our’s, who we were meant to be having dinner with that night, Brian and Donna, brought a meal to us instead, along with a huge bouquet of beautiful roses and a welcome mat for our new home. One of Phillip’s best friends and a colleague from 'Hello, Dolly!', Nathan, came over carrying Phillip’s favourite cocktail and proceeded to make drinks for us all evening. Our church community had been praying throughout and sent food, flowers and loving messages in the days that followed. It was one of the most beautifully vulnerable evenings that I have yet experienced, summed up perfectly in the words of my Aunt Shirley, “Joy, it is both a birth and a death, so let us know what you need because it is no small thing.”Some people would call it ‘a silver lining’, others would use the word ‘blessing’ or ‘a great coincidence’, but the word that keeps coming back to me is, ‘grace’. That evening I felt the grace of God as we were surrounded and radically loved on by family. Neither Phillip nor I felt alone or unloved but we actually experienced joy in the midst of our mourning. I curled into the couch as cramps took over my body, flanked on one side by my husband and the other by my Aunt and Uncle, laughing along with the banter and stories and blinking away the tears that filled my eyes at the juxtaposition of life and death in that moment.Over the next couple of weeks, we were completely overwhelmed by an outpouring of love and support from our family, friends and community. For the first week, our apartment took on the appearance of a high-end florist as bouquets arrived from colleagues on Broadway, friends in our church community and family back in England. The cast and producers of ‘Hello, Dolly!’ loved on us extravagantly, sending gift cards and a food basket full of goodies. When you live in a city that neither of you is from, you create family from the community that you build there and you only realise the strength of that, and how valued you are, when you find yourself in need. During the week following the miscarriage, the sublet agreement that we had moved into began to fall apart. Within a few days it transpired that the couple who were renting to us did not actually have permission from the landlord to do so and so suddenly, we were being forced out of the home that we’d begun to build. In the space of three weeks, we lost our baby and our house.Here’s where it gets really beautiful though. In the midst of losing so much in such a small space of time; in the midst of emotional breakdowns, exhaustion and Netflix binging; in the midst of confusion and anger there was a ‘but suddenly, God’. That’s what we like to call those moments of breakthrough, of momentary relief or total wins. It was all going in one direction but then God suddenly altered the course and brought our heads back above water. Without even having to ask, we were invited to come and lodge with close friends, Bob and Mavis, in their home in Brooklyn where they have created such an atmosphere of peace and love that you immediately feel the sting of your troubles melting away. It took us about 30 seconds to make a decision to cut our losses, pack our belongings up into storage and move to Carroll Gardens. Now Phillip and I find ourselves in an unexpected season of adventure where, as Natasha Bedingfield sings, “the rest is still unwritten”.We have lost much but we have also gained greatly.There’s a song that I have been playing a lot this week called ‘So Much Grace’ by Jonathan David Helser and Melissa Helser. The chorus simply sings that line over and over again, ‘there’s so much grace, so much grace’. Maybe you find yourself in a season similar to us, where it feels like you are losing a lot and much is being taken from you. I want to encourage you with these words, there is so much grace for you, your situation, your family and your heart. This isn’t the end of your dreams but merely a part of the journey to them. You are not alone in your grief but I believe God wants to overwhelm you with His love through those around you, to provide for your needs and lavish you with gifts beyond your understanding.[embed]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A1ivt7cw_qI[/embed]None of these things make sense to me. I don't understand why we have lost two babies. I don’t know why we ended up homeless or why it’s taking so long for my foot to heal, but I do know that life has suddenly been dramatically simplified for Phillip and I and we are finding such truth in the words of Paul from the Bible:“For I have learned to be content regardless of my circumstances.”Philippians 4:11
Saving The World From My Sofa
The doctor’s report came back this week with a prognosis of a further 6-8 weeks of recovery time needed for my fractured foot. That is a long time, especially in the life of a New Yorker! I genuinely thought I would be able to take off this hefty boot after two or three weeks of wearing it, so to find out otherwise was a bit of a shock.Those of you that know me well will know that I’m a bit of a doer. I’m not very good at sitting still for too long, unless it’s to partake in a marathon of watching 24. Having time off of work to recuperate is not the worst idea in the world but it becomes a lot less fun when you can’t do anything.For example, today I had an afternoon trip planned to go and spend time with a lady that I am supporting through Treasures NYC and BFAM. I was all ready to go when I suddenly received a resounding ‘no’ from my husband, to be quickly backed up by our neighbor who happened to pop in and see us at that exact moment. I was outnumbered. Their argument was that it would be too much traveling and walking on my foot and, in order for it to heal quickly, I needed to stop doing just that. Fair point. So I took my shoe off and returned to the couch to reorganize my day.The two hour planned commute turned into a two hour Skype session as I listened to this lady’s story and coached her through the next step options in her restoration journey. What I had considered to be a less than ideal scenario turned into a really positive meeting with an outcome full of hope.I wrote the title of this blog with a little giggle to myself and a cheeky grin. In reality, I am not saving the world from the comfort of my sofa. In all truth, it is not my job or responsibility to even try and do so. I leave that in the more than capable hands of the Big Man Upstairs. I can, however, be a part of seeing this world changed and people’s lives impacted by the beauty of liberty.We all have limitations but those limits need not prevent us from accessing our greatness.Currently my physical health is one of those limiting factors for me right now. It takes me double the amount of time to do everything due to my penguin-like hobble, and I don't have the same capacity to do what I am so used to doing. That can feel like being in handcuffs (or maybe foot cuffs in my case) or it can be an opportunity to use your creativity and push past the ‘I can’ts’. Really the only thing that is actually going to hold me back is how I think and what I allow my mind to focus on.There's a great song by Israel Houghton called ‘Take the Limits Off’ where he declares an end to limits and boundaries so that our territory can increase. Maybe your feeling held back in certain areas of your life, maybe your dreams feel like they have hand cuffs on, or maybe your heart has become discouraged because you constantly feel like ‘you can’t’. I would encourage you to join in with Israel and take the limits off!https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G5gMiYGG5AEI haven’t changed the whole world yet from my sofa but I have been able to make a difference and, to me, that’s a start.
Why It Pays To Rest
I write this from the very comfortable setting of our New York apartment, stretched out on our dark brown couch with my right foot elevated by a pile of squishy cushions. Phillip has just made a pot of tea and there is a peaceful stillness over the place as we both take space to focus.A few days ago was date night in the Attmore household and Phillip and I went to see Miss Saigon on Broadway, an amazing and tragic show telling the story of a Vietnamese girl, who had been forced to work as a prostitute, and fell in love with an American G.I, getting pregnant by him before he returns to America. We were taking our seats just as the show was about to start, the overture filling the room from the pit, when I missed my footing and rolled my ankle really badly. The first half of the show was fairly agonizing for me as my foot throbbed from what I knew was more than just a twisted ankle. During the interval, my dear husband went on the hunt for an ice pack and for the second act my foot was bandaged in a homemade compress of ice and Phillip’s scarf.Now, four days and one Urgent Care visit later and I have settled into the roll of patient in our household. It turns out that I managed to incur a hairline fracture to my right foot so have been forced into a life of sofa sitting until it heals.In some ways it’s not the worst thing that could have happened to me, I get a break from doing laundry for a bit and haven’t even had to make my own cup of tea since as Phillip has been taking such good care of me! Some of my closet friends have even jokingly rejoiced over my injury as it has forced me to completely stop and rest, a task that has always been a little bit of a challenge for me.Rest.Living in a city like New York, rest can often be equated with laziness, as the currency of our society is productivity with a required outcome of success. But rest is actually space, a reprieve from our labours, stresses and work; it is relief or freedom, especially from anything that wearies, troubles or disturbs. It can look like a moment away from the desk at work, a good nights rest or a week away in the country, but rest is an opportunity for your body and mind to restore themselves from the onslaught of life.We often treat the idea of taking a break as a luxury rather than a necessity, something that we require every day, not only to function, but to thrive. When we carve out the time each day to rest, relax and breathe, we are giving permission for a moment of restoration.The biblical meaning of the word ‘restoration’ is to receive back more than has been lost to the point where the final state is greater than the original condition. The main point is that someone or something is improved beyond measure.Apparently, after a hairline fracture has healed, the bone is even stronger than it was before the injury took place. I find this to be true in lots of ways in life. When a part of us becomes broken - body, mind, heart or spirit - and we take the proper time to heal from our wounds, that part of us carries a strength that wasn’t present prior to the trauma. Giving yourself the space to rest and restore actually makes room for an upgrade, an improvement beyond measure.So I encourage you, from my suede sofa of comfort, take the time to rest today and not just for one day, but every day. Make room for daily restoration and I believe you’ll find strength abounding like never before!
When Miscarriage Entered Our Marriage
The rhythm of a heartbeat is the most beautiful sound and evidence of life.
We all know that movie scene where the hero/heroine lies seemingly dead and all breath is bated as we await the moment where the love interest checks their pulse for the faintest sign of life. There is nothing quite like the feeling of resting your head on a loved one’s chest and hearing the steady assurance that all is well within them, a sense of safety sinking deep within you. Wherever the heart beats there is life and wherever there is life there is beauty to be celebrated.
On Saturday December 17th, 2016, my husband and I heard the loud and startling sound of our first baby’s heartbeat. It was startling because it was the first moment when everything truly felt real. Up until that moment the only evidence of our pregnancy that we had was the word ‘pregnant’ printed loud and clear on the digital pregnancy test at home, the blood test results from the doctor and my raging hormones and ravenous appetite.
Now, in a small 3D ultrasound clinic in East L.A., we could actually see and hear our baby for the first time. I grasped Phillip’s hand in mine, a sense of unease still fairly close to the surface. I had been bleeding for four days now and I was anxious to know why. The technician gently encouraged us to go to the local hospital and undergo thorough testing to determine fully what was going on and sent us off with a new parents gift box and pictures of the ultrasound showing our tiny human growing inside of me. Within an hour I was being admitted into the E.R at LAC+USC Medical Center, put into one of those sexy hospital gowns that always flap open and show your bum and having an I.V inserted into my hand. For the next several hours I underwent all of the thrilling examinations you can possibly imagine are required when looking after pregnant women, and soon forgot to be embarrassed about who was looking where. Then, when they were all over, I sat with Phillip and we waited for the results to come in. I was wearing my wedding flip flops that day and I sat staring at the silver glitter of my straps as they caught the light, lost in thought over our first year and a half of marriage.
Eventually my name was called and we stepped out of the waiting room to consult with our doctor. The results were positive but also fairly inconclusive; everything had come back looking good and normal. The baby was fine, positioned in the right place and had a strong heartbeat. There was no reason, that they could find, as to why I was bleeding so we were sent home with instructions to rest and see what the next few days brought.I think we both felt relieved, definitely exhausted, but also somewhat victorious. We had arrived at the hospital doors unsure of what was happening and, although we were leaving in some ways none the wiser, we at least knew that our baby was alive and well. In our minds, Baby Attmore was going nowhere.
As we waited for Phillip’s Mom to come and collect us from the hospital, we played Skip-bo and thanked God for keeping our baby safe.
On Monday morning I awakened with what felt like the kind of cramps I would occasionally experience during a period. I was scared of partnering with the wrong belief system, therefore encouraging a negative outcome, so I calmly told Phillip what I was experiencing and carried on getting ready for the day, trying to push away the fear and warning bells that each cramp triggered. We were going to a memorial service for a dear friend’s mom an hour’s drive away and so, in the company of a good friend, we made our way there filling the car with prayers as we went.
I’ve been to several memorial services and funerals over the years, some of which have carried the heavy weight of sorrow over them and others that have managed to gather people together in celebration of life, amidst the tears of loss. This service felt like a homecoming; an honouring of a woman who had lived and loved well. For the majority of the time, I sat with my hands on my stomach silently praying that my baby would live and not die, bravely trying to believe that everything was ok and attempting to ignore the dreaded signs my body was making.
A couple of times I slipped out and made my way to the ladies room, interceding with every part of me for the life within. Phillip joined me both times and together we stood in the bathroom stall declaring life in the face of all the odds, uncertain if what we were seeing and experiencing was what we were so desperate for it not to be.
Looking back, I see this moment as one of the most beautiful and vulnerable moments of my life. We were both so heart-wrenchingly desperate for a miracle, stood in that bathroom stall, Phillip’s hands on my womb, holding each other and praying for life. I watched a father emerge from my husband in that ladies’ bathroom and, regardless of the outcome, a father he will always remain.
Beauty can always be found, even in the midst of the darkest brokenness.
I passed a blood clot and Phillip and I stared into the toilet bowl. Was that our child? Did that contain the precious heartbeat that had stilled our own only two days ago? I hesitated then pressed down on the handle and watched it all flush away. Surely not, surely everything was okay and all we had witnessed was simply that, a blood clot. Surely I would know if I had just watched a life wash away.
We rejoined the memorial service and stood at the back, holding one another, as it came to a close with an old hymn about dancing on the streets of heaven. Phillip gathered a small group of our faith-filled friends who were present and, as people milled around feasting on the buffet and chatting in small groups, they prayed life over me and our baby, speaking out against fear and encouraging our spirits with truth. After several minutes I felt joy returning to my heart, I felt victorious! Even after everything that we had just seen and the turmoil my body had been experiencing, I had a deep sense of victory. It had been a close call but we had come out triumphant, Baby Attmore was safe.
Another week went by and the bleeding continued but by Christmas Day it had all but stopped. We hadn’t been back to the hospital since as, due to not having health insurance coverage in L.A, we decided to wait until we were back in NYC where we could see our doctor. I also felt that whatever had happened on that Monday wouldn’t be changed by waiting an extra week so we remained in a faith-filled limbo as 2017 began, believing that all would be well but not having any concrete evidence that that was true.
January 10th was a cold and snowy one and Phillip and I gingerly made our way uptown for our first doctor’s appointment since being in the L.A hospital. We were both pretty quiet and reserved, I think we knew deep down what today’s results would be. I sat on the examination table, my stomach exposed as our lovely doctor searched for sound that would assure us all that Baby Attmore was well. The minutes ticked by in painful silence, the only noise being heard was that of my own heart.
I redressed and joined Phillip and the doctor for several minutes of consultation where she carefully and sensitively talked us through the tests she was going to send me for and the possibility of what to expect. I was feeling numb, unsure as to whether I should engage in the faith that I had been holding on to all of this time, or whether I was now meant to give in to the likelihood that the worst case scenario had actually happened. I was suddenly realising that I didn’t feel pregnant anymore, it was like I was suddenly playing catch up with myself. But maybe this was all just a big scare, maybe everything was fine and soon we’d be laughing and praising God for the miracle of life and health.
A nurse came into the room and handed me a pee pot, leading me down the corridor to the ladies’ toilet. Ever since that first evening when I discovered I was bleeding, going to the bathroom had become a form of torture as I prayed for everything to just return to normal and instead was faced with endless red stains. Now, after this visit, I would discover the truth of what was happening. My heart was somewhere on the floor, weighed down by the fear of broken dreams.
I returned from my ‘pee-in-a-pot’ expedition to find Phillip waiting for me in the nurses’ room and, after handing my specimen to the large nurse in charge, I took a seat next to him, rolling up my sleeves in preparation for blood samples to be taken. On the other side of the room, she began testing my urine, examining the results as she looked at me. “Are you pregnant?”
“Um….” her question caught me completely off guard and I looked at her, unsure of how to formulate a response.
“Uh-uh, no sweetie.” She shook her head and turned around to finish putting her instruments away.
I don't think she had any idea of how devastating her response was.
Phillip looked at me, “What did she say?”
In shock and with every angsty reaction rising up in me, I couldn’t look him in the eye. I think I gave a dry laugh before saying, “I’m not pregnant”.
It wasn’t until we were in the elevator, making our way downstairs to schedule a sonogram exam, that I wanted to cry and promptly hid my face behind my medical records to try and contain the sobs that were threatening to break me.
I don’t think we talked much on our journey home. I was suddenly exhausted and all I wanted was to bury myself under a duvet, to be still and do nothing, to cry and scream and wail. All of my confidence and hope that ‘everything was going to be ok’ was crumbling away at the speed of a mighty avalanche. Baby Attmore was gone and there was nothing I, or Phillip, could do about it.
A couple of days later I received a call from our lovely doctor who gently informed me that my blood test results had come back and no trace of the pregnancy hormone had been found, so therefore the baby had completely passed. I broke down in tears as the reality of our miscarriage was confirmed. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that she wasn’t actually the first person to inform me of my empty womb.
Over the next few weeks, Phillip and I trudged through life one day at a time. Adoringly, and at times irritatingly, he went into fix-it mode and began reorganizing our lovely two bedroom apartment, spending his feelings each day in Home Depot and Michaels. My emotions were less productive and I found myself waking up with heavy grief each morning and not knowing what else to do with it but take myself to the shower and cry into the water until I had exhausted myself.
My heart was confused and angry, my inner justice radar screaming with indignation at our loss. The few pounds that I had gained over that 10 week pregnancy period taunted me in the mirror every day and I began to look at them with hate, wishing they had fallen off and gone swimming down the toilet drain also. None of it made sense to any part of me and my regular helpless cry to the heavens would consist of, "I don't understand! I just don't understand!"
Sundays were my hardest and often worst day of the week. I couldn't sing the declarations of faithfulness and the goodness of God with any integrity. I couldn't get through the message without crumpling into tears. I couldn't fake the 'happy Christian' in post-service conversations or receive any well-worded and beautiful prayers because I had been thrown into questioning it all. Being around too many people made me feel anxious and triggered a desperate desire to run and hide, so I would look for the quickest way to exit and make our way home, back to the safety and security of our apartment.
I had been in such faith that God was going to save our baby, that then learning the harsh reality that I had miscarried him/her, left me feeling utterly floored. I was angry at God and felt completely let down. It felt like I had been foolishly living in make-believe for the best part of a month and now the world was watching and laughing. I had failed; I hadn't passed this test. The joy that I had felt just weeks earlier in being pregnant, was now turned to shame in being empty and childless.
As people close to us began to learn of our loss, we started to hear familiar words of comfort as they tried to console and understand. A response that I have heard countless times is, "I'm so sorry for your loss but you know it's really common, you'll get pregnant again soon." There is no easy way to be a friend to someone who is grieving and so therefore there is not necessarily a wrong way to respond, but I found these words to be some of the most triggering. The reason being is that although it was comforting to know that there were others who understood my pain, it was angering to know that there is such a large epidemic of children passing away before they are even able to be held by their loving parents. The injustice of it all incensed me. I also didn't just want another baby. I had lost this one. We had lost our firstborn and nothing or no one could ever replace him/her.'
There is a season (a time appointed) for everything and a time for every delight and event or purpose under heaven—A time to weep and a time to laugh;A time to mourn and a time to dance.'
Ecclesiastes 3:1,4 (AMP)
Mourning is uncomfortable and, to be honest, can be unattractive. We don't always know what to do with it when we're in the midst of it, and we rarely know how to respond to someone else's grief, but it is important that regardless we give ourselves and each other time. For a little while I sat down in my grief and let myself feel every ache and pain of the loss I was experiencing. Other friends who had fallen pregnant around the same time as me were still pregnant, babies were being born around me and other friends were journeying through their own seasons of loss and hardship. Thankfully I never felt the pull of resentment towards anyone whose outcome looked better than mine, instead I found a fierce desire rising up within me to value and celebrate life.
When Phillip and I found out that we were pregnant, it was a week before Thanksgiving and we were utterly thrilled. In reading that one word, 'pregnant', it felt like our whole world had changed. We began planning the next year with great anticipation, talking about what we needed to have in place for when our son or daughter arrived, and brimming over with excitement as we shared the news with our family and friends. We decided not to wait until the hallowed ground of 12 weeks had arrived before telling people, as we wanted to celebrate our baby right from the word go as opposed to giving in to the fear of something going wrong. Even though we did in fact lose our precious baby, I do not regret our decision to tell everyone in that first trimester. I want people to know that we had a child, he/she was conceived and his/her heart beat with mine, if only for a short amount of time, but nonetheless our baby lived!Life is the most precious, beautiful and vulnerable of gifts. It is stunning and mind blowing. It is worth protecting, fighting for and where needs be dying for. Life is a gift from God and one that I now try hard to not take for granted.
And life is never wasted, it will never cease to impact the world.
We decided to name our firstborn Promise Joy. Although we will never get to hold Promise, to watch him/her grow, taking delight in which features are most like which parent and proudly displaying his/her achievements to the world, we believe that their spirit is living and growing in heaven. I recently took comfort in the thought that maybe he/she is now being raised by other family members that have also passed on in the last few years. The truth is though, I really don’t know. I don’t know why this happened to us or to any of the people that we know and the millions that we don’t. I don’t know why our baby died even as we prayed and believed that he/she would live. I don’t even know if they were a boy or a girl as much as my senses would love to tell you otherwise. I don’t know what the idea of him/her being in heaven really means or looks like. There is so much that I don’t know or understand and probably never will this side of eternity, and now I am ok with that. I have come to a place of peace with the mystery.
Two weeks ago I felt like I was drowning, my heart and spirit were so overwhelmed with sadness, anger and self-hatred. I sat at the dinner table, looked at my husband with tear-filled eyes and said, “I need help”. That night was the beginning of the end of the depression that had been trying to suck me down.The following day, as I stood in our living room in my pj’s, I had a moment of clarity. This had to go! The depression had to leave and I needed to start living again. I began dancing around the room, shouting at the unseen realm, that things were going to change. This was a home for life, not death, so depression couldn’t live here and neither could anything else associated with it. I felt like I was in a boxing ring, flailing my arms and legs around as I carried on shouting to whoever could hear me. Life was returning to my heart and I felt untainted joy residing in me once again. Since that breakthrough moment, I no longer feel angry at God or bitter about what we have gone through. I feel free in the knowledge that, beyond my understanding, God is still good; regardless of my circumstances, he will always be faithful; no matter what my emotions are doing, he is ever-present and ever-loving.
Miscarriage is not ok, and losing your baby at any age is a tragedy that no parent should ever experience.
Unfortunately, however, this is happening all of the time and, as long as we live in an imperfect world, we will find ourselves crashing into these moments. The commonality of a situation though doesn’t take away from the individuality of it. Every heartbeat is heard in heaven and is counted the most beautiful sound. Every child conceived is life’s precious gift, worthy of being welcomed and celebrated. Every heart that stops beating still has a voice and the power to impact the world.
Promise Joy Attmore will never be forgotten and it is my hope that the reverberations of his/her heartbeat and the story that accompanies will help to comfort others drowning in grief and restore hope to the promises of the future.
Why We Shouldn't Be Afraid To Be Human
Securing a seat on the train home is a necessity, especially after being on your feet at work for 13 hours straight. That 20 minute ride in the warm carriage can be the beginning of the unwind, when your feet start to tingle from the relief of not having to support your weight and your brain begins to think about nothing but food and sleep. I was having one of these moments last week when a lady made a beeline for the empty seat next to me after the train doors opened at 42nd St. She plonked herself down next to me and began engaging in conversation as if we were old friends. Her hair was barely being held back from her face by a hairband and wisps and curls escaped it in various raggedy directions. Her clothes were baggy and unkempt and her face was lined with stories and life far beyond her years, but her eyes sparkled, full of warmth, laughter and life.“If I was going to buy underwear from Victoria’s Secret, I wouldn’t carry it around in one of their bags ‘cause guys are gonna know what I’ve got in there and start gettin’ off on it!” My neighbor was gesturing to the girls next to us who had clearly just been shopping in the said lingerie shop.I smiled, this wasn't exactly where I imagined the conversation was going to go but I liked this lady; she had my attention.“Or they could just be carrying food and the joke’s on the guys,” I responded with a cheeky grin.“Ahhhhh, that’s funny! I like you! That was funny!” She laughed and gave me a big smile. “When I was 15 I was offered $5,000 to be in a porn video because I used to be bangin’ back then. I thought about it but then realized that I was gettin’ paid one time when these guys who would be watching it would be able to rewind it and play it, rewind it and play it, rewind it and play it and get off on me over and over again. I decided no, I wasn’t going to do that, they’d at least have to pay me for every time someone did that! I wasn’t going to be treated like that and I’m not going to get my underwear from Victoria’s Secret.”It’s amazing what someone’s shopping back will trigger on a NY subway.“Well I’m glad you decided against the porn video. So are you looking forward to Christmas this year?”“Christmas is just another day for me really. It doesn’t make me sad but it doesn’t make me happy either, it’s just another day. I don’t have family, haven’t for years, and I was incarcerated for a long time so it’s just another day.”I was silent for a moment before responding, “that makes sense, it can be a very interesting season depending on what is happening in your life, but I see in you someone that brings so much joy to other people. I feel like you are someone who knows how to care for people even when they don't care back. You have your arms wide open to others and that’s beautiful. You carry what this season is all about.”She looked at me and smiled, a sort of shy and blushing smile like when you give a little girl a compliment. “Thank you, that means a lot, that’s really nice. I like you. You’ve made my day.”“You’ve made my day!” I exclaimed with a grin, “and now whenever I see a Victoria’s Secret bag I’m going to be reminded of you!”We both laughed. “I’m Danica”, she held out her hand.“I’m Joy”, I said taking her’s.“That’s a beautiful name! You are a joy. Thank you.”It’s easy to miss seeing people sometimes or writing them off as unimportant because of their outward appearance. Interactions with others can be inconvenient, annoying or disruptive but they can also be hilarious, beautiful and profound. I’m not the hero in this story, Danica is. She saw me and sought me out. She chose to engage with my story and revive my journey home, not the other way around. Even though her social status and resume would claim her unworthy of so much, she stepped outside of those boxes and chose to see herself as human. Period.Christmas is a season where, no matter your religious beliefs, we all engage in celebrations and naturally gravitate toward family and friends to love on one another and express our value for each other. This shouldn’t end with the passing of December 25th in our diaries but rather be something that we choose to carry through to every day that follows. Although Danica’s statement that Christmas is ‘just another day’ is in one way sad, there is also truth behind it. Christmas Day is just another date where we have the opportunity to effect one another’s stories with profound beauty, where we can remove lies by inserting the truth and where we can be a light in the midst of someone else’s darkness.So my challenge to myself, and to you, is to take each other out of the neat boxes and pigeonholes that we've placed each other in and breathe. Let's be men and women who aren't afraid to engage with the different, but who love to see the human in everybody because when we do, Victoria's Secret will never be the same again!
The Truth About the Oldest and Deadliest Profession in the World
I think I fell for the common misconceptions about the sex industry, even when I was living in the midst of it. At the age of about fifteen, I made a heart vow that I would never have anything to do with prostitutes. They were dishonest, selfish, untrustworthy, dirty and addicted.When I was eleven, my family and I moved into a red-light district area of Stoke-on-Trent, England. Drugs, gangs and prostitution could all be found in our neighborhood which also housed the heart of the Middle Eastern community in the city. We were the large, white, Christian family living in the midst of it all and trying to make a difference.On several occasions, I watched my parents give the last few pounds in their purse to help those around us, and their generosity never seemed to be repaid in the ways it deserved to be. In fact we were stolen from countless times, called liars, taken advantage of and targeted for our white skin and Christian faith. Rather than feeling boundless compassion for my neighbors, I struggled with feelings of judgement toward them because of their brokenness, and I was angry at their apparent choice to stay that way. Now, almost fifteen years later, all I want to do is love on those men and women and hold out my hand to assist them into freedom.I’m no expert but I have gained a little experience over the past few years and one of the questions I get asked the most is: ‘Well, don’t the women choose to work in the sex industry? Isn’t it empowering for them?’I believe that we have distorted our definitions of empowerment to where it looks a lot like having control over somebody else. When we talk about the sex industry being empowering for women, we are really thinking that they get to have control over their customers and feel powerful so that must therefore be empowering. It is transactional empowerment however, using the currency of manipulation and desire, rather than true freedom. To empower somebody should be from a place of freedom and ultimately for freedom.
The fact that we even have a sex industry is revealing of what truly rules our hearts and drives our decisions. The act of sex and all of the pleasure that comes along with it has been successfully turned into the biggest-selling product in the world. The problem with that is that intimacy was meant to be developed in relationship, founded in love, that would ultimately empower one another to be the men and women we were created to be. Remove intimacy and connection and all you have is physical function.
When a product is being sold, the consumer is always preferred over the seller. It is not an equal relationship for ‘the customer is always right’. Put sex, or the thrill of it, into the equation, and the one selling it is always going to be less than the one buying. His or her desires are not the ones being paid to be met. I don’t think anyone truly chooses to work in an industry where that is the detailed job description. “I chose to work in the sex industry”, is often another way of saying, “I didn’t feel like there was another option for me”.
'89% of 854 people in prostitution from nine countries told us that they wanted to escape prostitution, but 75% needed a home or safe place, 76% needed job training, 61% needed health care, 56% needed individual counseling, 51% needed peer support, 51% needed legal assistance, and 47% needed drug/alcohol treatment.'
- Prostitution Research & Education -
People want out of this industry because it is NOT empowering.My dream is to see women free, not just free to wear a pant suit and vote in an election or run a business or lead a nation. I want to see women living free of sexual exploitation and objectification. I want to see them truly empowered and powerful, shattering every glass ceiling that’s ever been held above them and replacing misconceptions with the truth. That dream starts with you and it starts with me. It begins with how we choose to believe in one another and whether or not we hold out a helping hand to those more needy than us. It is seeing the one in front of us for who they really are and silencing anything less than the truth.https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9c1tGD7f2Hs&feature=youtu.be
Why Your Past May Be Holding You Back From Receiving Love
I used to hate men. I remember being in work several years ago and one of my regular customers coming up to the bar and asking me out on a date. Instead of feeling flattered or flutters of attraction being stirred within me, I found myself reacting with outrage. ‘How dare he assume that just because I work behind a bar and am paid to smile and serve that I am therefore available and in need of a man?! I don’t need, and neither do I want, a man!’I think I may have vocalized this annoyance to a colleague, much to their amusement, at the time. It wasn’t a normal reaction to have and it wasn’t a healthy one. Needless to say I refused the offer of a date and maintained my stony distance from the opposite gender.A couple of months prior to this work conversation, my virginity was taken from me when I was raped at the end of a night out. The following week I was sexually assaulted in a club. Within the space of two weeks I went from feeling like I had a life of purpose and beauty to feeling like I was worth less than the rubbish in my bin. I had nothing left to offer, and in my mind, it was all because of men. So to protect myself I allowed bitterness and hate to foster itself in my heart.Men had proven to me to be untrustworthy, dishonoring and selfish, viewing women as merely objects to meet their needs, and I had resolved to shut my heart to them. I made a conscious decision at that time to blame men for all of my problems and the pain I was experiencing. I wrote off the whole gender because of the actions of a few. Don’t we all too easily do the same thing? An individual hurts us and a multitude of people take the blame - the church, men, women, an ethnic group, the police or government. It’s easier to be angry and defensive than feel the rawness of vulnerability.Seven years on and I definitely don’t hate men any more. I married one. I run a non-profit with men on my team. I co-lead with men in my church and workplace. I love men and I value their role and presence in my life. So what changed? How did I go from refusing the invitation to a date to then agreeing to spend the rest of my life with someone of the opposite gender?I chose to forgive. I had been holding all men accountable to a debt that was owed to me but the power of forgiveness comes when we choose to cancel out that debt. I didn’t suddenly change my story and start saying that what had happened to me was okay and it didn’t matter anymore, but I did stop living forever controlled by those experiences. By choosing to forgive, I was allowing my life to move forward again, I was relinquishing control of my past and reopening my heart to receive.I love this video from Soul Pancake which gives a little insight into the power of forgiveness and how it can take us from bitterness to happiness.Maybe you’ve found yourself in a cycle of friendships or relationships that keep breaking down and you’re not sure why. Maybe you can identify an individual or experience that caused you a lot of deep pain and, as of yet, you haven't been able to fully move forward. Maybe you’ve been harboring anger in your heart and it’s been preventing you from really giving and receiving what your heart was crafted for: love.My heart wants to challenge and encourage yours with the deepest love and sensitivity that now is the time to be brave, confront your past, forgive those who caused you trauma and embrace the fullness of your future.
"We must develop and maintain the capacity to forgive. He who is devoid of the power to forgive is devoid of the power to love. There is some good in the worst of us and some evil in the best of us. When we discover this, we are less prone to hate our enemies." - Martin Luther King, Jr.
Keys & Tattoos
Black Sheep.Daughter.Rebel.Self-harmer.Girlfriend.Criminal.Sister.Failure.A handful of labels over a handful of decades of life so far, formed and carried following experiences, encounters, words spoken over me and choices I had made. I was convinced for several years that many of these were true, proudly identifying myself as so or shamefully covering the label so as not to be seen.
* * *
I’d pushed my sleeves up without thinking as we rehearsed for our ballet school’s next show and, with the eyes of a hawk, my teacher had spotted the vivid lines on my forearms. “Joy, what is this?! You have to stop this, you hear me? I don’t want to see this again!”This wasn’t an isolated incident, other people had seen my marks of self-destruction and reacted with similar alarm, imploring me to stop and change. But how could I change when this was who I was?Shame. "I am the black sheep."
* * *
“So Joy, do you think you guys are going to get married?!” The carload of women all turned their beaming faces towards me, their hearts alight with excitement and anticipation for me.I smiled back, my best fake-it-till-you-make-it smile, “Yeah, maybe.”They responded with delight for me as the car continued to speed north along the motorway and I turned to gaze out at the passing countryside, eyes hidden behind sunglasses and my heart a cavern of nothingness. The man they were enquiring about had ended our relationship the previous day and I was now traveling to one of our dear friend’s weddings.I wasn’t worth fighting for. I wasn’t worth loving that much. I couldn’t bear to admit that truth.Failure. "I am a lying failure."
* * *
The duvet was creating a fortress for me to hide in; a safe place; a cloak of invisibility. I didn’t ever want to come out. I didn’t want to be seen, looked at, talked to. I just wanted to slip away and disappear.It was the day after the night before. The night where my virginity was taken. When my drunken foolishness had landed me in a place of vulnerability and now that thing that I had been protecting, saving and honoring, had gone; the remnants and evidence littered about my bedroom.Tainted. "I am damaged goods forever."
* * *
Lies, that sounded like truth, had become my identity.I would still be believing that I was a failure, unloveable and unworthy of love, a rebel who always messed up and disappointed people around me, if I had not had an encounter with truth; if love had not found me.We assume roles or take on identities like we get dressed in the morning, an outfit of clothing that informs the world about who we are, or at least who we want them to believe that we are. We polish and shine our labels, like trophies on a mantelpiece, even if we abhor the event that it came from. It’s better than not winning anything, right…? We walk away with ugly imitations of truth, settling for a lifetime of shame.But for the grace of God.Like a rainbow of promise stretched across my life, grace, love and truth had found me and given me hope, welcoming me to receive from their heavenly treasure. In my scar-riddled body with my broken heart and lie-entangled mind, I accepted the invitation, surrendering all that I had believed to be true and in exchange receiving a new identity; my true identity.Grace isn't just a nice quality or merely the elegance of our stance, it is God’s love in action towards humanity who merited the opposite of love. We don’t always get it right and sometimes we do fail but God’s currency is grace, not rejection.When I was in the midst of one of my hardest seasons, and regularly self-harming to try and cope with the pain I was feeling in my heart, a friend of my family encouraged me by sharing with me the image of a key. He said, “Joy, I feel like you are a beautiful skeleton key that is hidden in mud but you’re going to be pulled out, washed off and used to unlock restoration and reconciliation in the lives of your friends and family.”It was an image and a word of hope.Ten years later I walked into a tattoo parlor in LA with a key design tucked into my bag. Three hours after entering, I walked home with a new image on my left forearm. Instead of the white lines of my past unhappiness being the prominent feature on my arm, I now carried a beautiful key of restoration. Every shape and intricate line of the drawing speaks of value and worth, the beautiful exchange of beauty for ashes.Recently I read a verse from the book of Romans in the Bible and it has stuck with me all week. It sums up exactly how I feel every time I look at my tattoo.
‘Could it be any clearer that our former identity is now and forever deprived of its power?’
img_0263
Unwelcome Touch
there-is-light-despite-all-of-the-darkness
Over the past few weeks, several members of my family have been out to NYC to visit us, filling our home with laughter-filled happy reunions. Phillip and I took on the roles of hosts and tourist guides, taking them to some of our favorite parts of Manhattan. In one of our hangout sessions, we headed into Chelsea Market, perusing the various shops, stalls and restaurants, delighting in each other’s company and the plethora of options available to us.I came across a jewelry stand that caught my attention and so paused to take a better look at the large stone rings displayed across the counter. My family members had all dispersed about the market and I soaked in the moment of delighting in something beautiful, appreciating the craft behind the objects before me.I love jewelry. I think I’ve always been a bit of a magpie, attracted to pretty things that sparkle and shine. Walking into a flea market or passing through an outdoor fair is like stepping into Aladdin’s cave; an inordinate amount of treasure just waiting to be discovered.All of a sudden I felt a hand grasp my bottom as somebody walked behind me. For a split second I thought it might be my husband, so turned around with a smile on my face, but it was swiftly wiped away as I watched a stranger walk past me. The young man continued down the aisle of stalls, his features hidden behind dark sunglasses and a large pair of headphones. As I watched, he did an about-turn and came back towards me. I looked away as I began to question my own understanding of what had just happened. Did he really just grab me like that? Maybe I imagined it. Maybe it was all in my head, I mean, there are plenty of people about. Maybe it was an accident.Then it happened again. A hand on my bum. An unmistakable grope as someone passed by me. Shocked, I looked around to see the man in headphones walking by again and disappearing into the crowd. In disbelief and anger, my fumbled thoughts landed on, “where is Phillip? Find Phillip!” I frantically began searching the market area for a glimpse of my husband. Catching sight of him across the room, I darted in his direction.My hands were shaking now and I felt a sudden desire to cry. At the same time I wanted to hide. The last place I wanted to be now was right where I was, surrounded by people and noise and eyes; eyes looking at me, watching me, groping me.“Some guy just felt me up; twice!” I blurted out to Phillip as I finally reached him.“What?! Where is he?!” My husband was suddenly awake and coming to my defense.Pointing the man out of the crowd, I watched Phillip quickly pursue him as my own sense of dignity struggled to maintain its hold.A few minutes later, as I stood in the comforting presence of my sister, I spotted my assailant coming quickly towards me again with my husband and another guy in quick pursuit. It turned out that as Phillip had approached him to confront him, he had done it again to another unsuspecting woman. I watched them all getting closer to me, the suspect clearly trying to make his exit as swiftly as possible. I was frozen. If I just took one step to the side I could stop him; I could confront him. I was scared. I felt vulnerable. I felt ashamed. I didn’t want to make a scene, create a fuss, be the centre of any public drama. So I stood there. I watched him approach me, felt him brush past me, heard him asking people to get out of his way and saw him exit the market and disappear down the street.Seconds later and Phillip was running outside after him, trying to track him down. But he was gone and I had no desire to shop anymore.That evening I sat in the quiet of our apartment, the comfort of our sofa enveloping me like a warm hug, as I tried to let my thoughts and emotions unravel themselves with a cup of tea in hand and an episode of Blue Bloods playing on my laptop. We had informed a security guard of what had occurred and he had quickly jumped to my defense, putting out a warning to the rest of the building’s security team. My sisters and brother-in-law had poured love over me, been outraged on my behalf and given me the space I needed to process and recover. I had been defended, cared for, affirmed.Sexual assault immediately leaves you feeling ‘less-than’.It’s not the first time I’ve experienced this kind of abuse but I think in previous moments I didn’t always process it as wrong. I felt that I deserved it somehow. I believed the lie that ‘it’s just what happens so don’t make a big deal of it’. I’ve been groped in my work place, felt up in a bar, touched inappropriately on the street. But no big deal right? I mean, most of my friends have been through the same thing. It comes with the territory. It’s part of the package of being a woman.But I felt violated, cheapened, taken advantage of and outraged that someone other than my husband had touched me. I’d been robbed; we both had. Someone had had the audacity to overstep the boundary of honour, respect and care for another human being in order to satisfy a private urge; a lustful desire.This was the first time though that I had felt protected in the aftermath, encouraged to speak out and people had outrightly agreed that it was not okay; it was an injustice. Phillip’s love, care and fierce pursuit of justice for me had gone a long way to restore my heart and help me move beyond the sense of trauma and into healing.Out of the 3.5 billion women that are in the world today, I am just one. I could choose to believe that my voice isn’t important, that it doesn’t make much of a difference what I do or say, or I could choose to speak out regardless and believe that the vibrations of my words will have a ripple affect far beyond my physical reach.Every two minutes someone in America is sexually assaulted.That statistic is horrendous and it isn’t going to go anywhere if we stay silent; if women lose their power to speak and men lose their ability to love and defend them.So this is me speaking out. This is me asking you to help put an end to an epidemic that goes far beyond American shores. To see true value restored to both genders. I believe we can do it. I believe it’s possible if we walk in love, if we see a stranger as a brother or sister rather than an object or target of desire; if we can see each other as equal. Sex was never meant to be our god but it seems to have become one and I think it’s about time we saw our universe realigned with truth.I guess today’s blog comes with a bit of a challenge and a request from one friend to another. Would you join me in doing something to turn the tide? Maybe that’s speaking out in your own community, donating to a local non-profit, contacting your government to find out what they are doing, learning more about sexual exploitation and its effects, joining the Beauty for Ashes Movement or working through whatever that ‘thing’ is that is currently preventing you from loving the opposite gender as you love yourself.Maybe my experience will begin to become an abnormality rather than a commonality.
Crafted for Connection
I love connection. It makes me feel alive and it reminds me yet again that the world is so much bigger than whatever problem my head was focusing on prior to connecting.I had coffee the other day with a beautiful woman and friend to Phillip and myself. We sat in an urban coffee shop on one of the quaint side streets of the West Village and talked about matters of the heart, from passionate dreams to vulnerable seasons of life. I came away feeling alive and inspired, full of hope for the change I want to see in the world.Relating to another human, feeling heard and seen, understood by them, does something for our hearts and minds that no caffeine fix, night on the town or drug high can even slightly measure up to. The topic of conversation veered onto that of addiction as we sipped on steaming cups of tea and coffee, finding similarities in aspects of our past. We had both encountered, and been affected by, people close to us that had struggled with addiction. It seems to be becoming more and more common for someone we know, if not ourselves, to have a hook of dependance on something, whether it be a drug, pattern of behavior or area of control. My friend shared her experience and I nodded with understanding. Her world had been shaken by someone wrestling with sexual addiction and she had been navigating through healing since then.Later that evening I sat reading an article about the probable cause of addiction following one man’s dedicated research around the world to try and answer the question, “why?” The author, Johann Hari, has also written a book about the whole topic but the article is a fascinating first glimpse into the idea that
‘the opposite of addiction is not sobriety; it is human connection’.
Professor Peter Cohen, who is quoted in these findings, argues that, ‘If we can’t connect with each other, we will connect with anything we can find — the whirr of a roulette wheel or the prick of a syringe…A heroin addict has bonded with heroin because she couldn’t bond as fully with anything else.’This idea that we could see an end to the torturing cycle of addiction simply by connecting people together, building community, is so beautiful and revolutionary to me. Rather than focusing on trying to constantly disconnect people from their unhealthy crutches, maybe we should be purely trying to reconnect them with themselves and into relationships. If I even go half a day without some meaningful human connection, my world starts to feel a little grey and I’ll want to binge watch Netflix and drink copious amounts of tea to make up for it. Imagine living like that for years or even a whole lifetime!Phillip and I are passionate about building community. Even before we were dating, one of our earliest conversations as friends involved talking about our heart for building family around us and always having a home that is open to anyone. Now married, it’s something that we still talk a lot about and have been dreaming for the past year as to how we can make that happen.Last Sunday that dream began to come true. We had invited a few friends over for lunch to help welcome a couple of new people to the city. It hadn’t felt like anything unusual or different before hand but as the day went on and people were still contentedly enjoying each other’s company, sat around our large wooden table, we realised how significant this was. Community was happening. Connection was taking place. Family was being created. For nine hours straight, people from four different nations had sat together talking, laughing, dreaming, eating and drinking and it felt like no time at all. By the end of the night we had decided to make it official and begin hosting weekly Sunday potlucks for our NYC family.I wonder, how connected do you feel today? Are you in need of some quality community time too? Or maybe you're actually the key to creating that environment around you and all you need to do is say, 'welcome'.You are not crazy for wanting to be with people and there is nothing wrong with you for feeling alone. We were made for connection. We were crafted for intimacy. We were born this way. [embed]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_Y51YETlzgU[/embed]
A Thread of Value
I recently had a ‘getting-to-know-you’ lunch date with Danielle, one of the amazing pastors of our lively and loving church community in NYC. We sat on high stools in an open dining area near the banks of the Hudson River, taking bites of our ‘home-made’ meals in-between telling stories of our life journeys so far. At the end of my rambling introduction into the history of Joy Attmore, Danielle made a very interesting and real observation.“It seems to me that there’s been a thread of value running through your life. I think that those seasons that were challenging for you were being used by God to solidify the truth of your value and identity in Him. When it feels like that ‘same issue’ is rearing its head again, it does not mean that you didn’t have victory over it in the past, you’re just dealing with a new layer of it.”#boom.Have you ever had one of those moments when somebody has summed up the convoluted seasons of your life in one paragraph? It made a lot of sense.The thing that stood out most to me in Danielle’s response to my potted life history was the use of the word value. Four days prior I had stood in the living room of our apartment and crumpled into tears as my husband put his arms around me to embrace me.The sobs came involuntarily and unannounced; the culmination of several triggers compounding together. In the hour running up to this breakdown, I had been trying to connect a call to my parents over Skype but a wifi disconnection on their end was proving it to be impossible. I hadn’t spoken to them properly in a little while and had been looking forward to our Saturday morning catch-up more that I had realised. This failure to connect landed heavily on my heart, which had already been triggered by small promises that had been made to me that week but had gone unfulfilled. My heart was tender and the sudden absence of parental presence caused it to crumble momentarily.I am someone whose emotions often surface before my mind has had time to understand fully what is going on. This was one of those moments.As the tears dried up and my breathing returned to a normal, peaceful cadence, I tried to gauge the reason for my outburst. Value. It all came back to this one root desire, to feel valued, to know that I am valued. I had been interpreting each of these disappointments as meaning that I was less than, not important enough, easily skipped over and forgotten. I had begun believing those old lies and it was hurting my heart.But of course I was hurting because I was never meant to believe those things! No one was ever meant to believe that they are lacking in value or that they are not important because it simply is not true. And yet we do. Every. Single. Day.Unless the truth about your worth is embedded in your heart and mind and cared for like the rarest of treasures, it can become an item slowly cheapened and worn out over time until one day you forget why you ever thought it was important.“So may we never be found dishonoring one another, or comparing ourselves to each other, for each of us is an original. We have forsaken all jealousy that diminishes the value of others.”Galations 5:26 ( The Passion Translation )“So may we…” it’s like the beginnings of a softly spoken prayer that illuminates our very beings with the light of truth as we slowly take in the power of those words, letting them ruminate over time until they are an unshakable part of ourselves.I find myself once again being challenged, on nearly a daily basis, to further cement the truth about who I am within my heart, regardless of the scenarios that might trigger me in the opposite direction. We are each an original. There are no carbon copies within humanity which means if something happens to you, or to me, we are not replaceable and the world loses a priceless part of creation.When I value myself and don’t diminish who I am through a sense of unworthiness, I am empowered to pour that same value into others. I am no longer in competition with the world but I am in love with it. I am in love with you. So may you know how valuable you are as you read these words and may they drip truth into your soul that can never be stolen from you.
Everyday Purpose
If you’ve never experienced the delights of New York City in the height of summer, I would argue that you don’t really know what it means to be hot, sweaty and still smiling. Stickiness just becomes the normal state of being and ‘the humidity’ becomes the most talked about subject until fall begins to ease itself in towards the end of September. Subways turn into cavernous ovens where the general public all spend far longer than their liking waiting for the next train to arrive, each gust of wind or breath of air feeling like a hair dryer is being blasted in your face. When the carriage doors open, there is a rush of pedestrians to escape into the air conditioned car, collectively breathing a sign of relief.There are times, however, when the air conditioning breaks or the cars are so full of bodies that the cold air trying its best to circulate doesn’t stand a chance against the combined body heat. Those are the occasions when I have to take plenty of deep breaths and intercede for the miracle of a quicker arrival at my destination!
* * *
After waiting for twenty minutes in the furnace of 14th St station, my train finally crept in to a halt, the doors opening to a warm and empty carriage. I gratefully secured a seat near one of the doors and resigned myself to further waiting as the train got momentarily held in the station, all the while hot air packing itself into the space around me.Some fifteen minutes later and the train was rolling into 42nd St, soon every remaining seat and inch of standing space quickly taken. A transgender woman came and took the vacant seat to my right, giving me a warm, if not a very heavily intoxicated smile, as she did so. I smiled in return, temporarily distracted by texting my husband whilst I had signal.“Mucho caliente!” My new neighbour began fanning herself with her hands, smiling as she did so, droplets of sweat beginning to form around the outskirts of her face.“Si!” I affirmed her declaration and pressed send on my message.“You are Russian?”I gave her my full attention, “No, English”, I said with a smile.As the train carried us on to the next station, I engaged in a rather simple conversation with my new friend about the different languages she spoke which would be regularly interspersed with exclamations of, “Mucho caliente!”Two stops later and a couple jumped into our carriage moments before the doors closed. The lady immediately groaned as she felt the heat encircle her. Within minutes of pushing out of the station, she had crouched onto the floor panting for breath, her boyfriend trying to help her calm down.“Would you like my seat?” I stood up and gestured to the now empty spot as I gathered my belongings together.“Thank you!” The boyfriend accepted my offer gratefully and reached down to help his girlfriend to her feet.“Here, have some water too”, I reached into my bag and pulled out a bottle.As this transaction was talking place to my left, I suddenly saw the now-limp body of my neighbour fall forward and crash to the floor at my feet. Within seconds there were two collapsed bodies at my feet.“Press the emergency button!” Someone shouted from just next to me.We pulled into the next station.“Get her off the train!” Another voice called as the doors slid open.I helped drag the limp body onto the platform, dumping my bags next to her as I began assessing for signs of life and finding ways to cool her down. The couple also escaped from the overheated train at the same time, the boyfriend carrying his love outside to the slightly cooler night air, her arms and legs swinging as he cradled her.Life returned to the lady next to me on the platform as her eyelids fluttered open and she began to writhe on the concrete floor. I took her hand firmly in mine and began stroking her head, pouring water into her hair to help relieve her temperature, whispering peace into her ears as I did so. She stilled again and fell unconscious.Another concerned passenger stood across from us speaking to emergency services on the phone. A crowd gathered at a respectful distance.Soon two cops in blue joined the tableau at the platform edge, their presence bringing an air of safety and authority to the situation. I continued to hold my patient’s hand and fan her face as she slipped in and out of consciousness.It wasn’t long before the scene was flooded with more officers in blue as well as paramedics. I relinquished her hand to that of a medic who quickly took charge of the situation and affixed an oxygen mask to her face. I joined the group stationed at a respectful distance, answering questions when needed but keeping my focus on my subway neighbour.Eventually she regained full consciousness and sat up with the aid of a paramedic, trying to answer his questions whilst hiding her face behind embarrassed hands. It transpired that drugs, which she had taken earlier that evening, combined with an asthma attack, had been the cause of her collapse. After a few minutes of this interaction, she then suddenly looked up at the small crowd observing her and searched the faces briefly before locking eyes with mine. A brilliant smile spread across her face in childlike thankfulness and she raised a hand to form the thumbs up sign, in greeting and acknowledgement of my presence. I gave her a thumbs up in return, my mouth spreading into a wide grin.It was a brief exchange in the middle of a scene of drama, down in a hot and humid subway station on the west side of Manhattan, but it caught the attention of my heart as I recognized the impact that being seen and valued by another human being has on an individual.When we live with an internal standard and value for honour, we are able to encounter each person with love even if they look different, sound different and live differently to us. We are able to be people of peace in the midst of chaos.A verse was recently highlighted to me and I think it sums up simply and perfectly the point of me sharing this story:
“Take full advantage of every day as you spend your life for His purposes.”
Ephesians 5:16 (The Passion Translation)
Let’s not miss a moment, an opportunity, to show people honour, to show them love and bring peace to the atmosphere around us.
