Let's Be Audacious?

Last week I got to visit my nephew for the first time in all his squishy-cheeked, sweet-smelling, 6-week newness. It made my heart so happy to get to see my six-foot-three brother (who may have farted on my head a time or two in our youth, I’m just saying) be a dad.

Isn't he just perfection? :)

I didn’t just drive down south to see my nephew; although I do admit this auntie would not have needed another reason to make that long drive.  About eight months ago, I was contacted to speak at a mom’s group. After praying about it, I said yes.

I was so excited for the opportunity. I had once upon a time dreamed of speaking and encouraging women. Over the years, as I have been fully embracing this role as a mom, wife, and daughter of God and realizing that really is enough, I had let that dream go. And here was this opportunity plopped in my lap and a green light from God and my husband to do it. I was so excited.

And then the date got closer.

And I got so (SO!) nervous.

As my car made its way to Los Angeles, my stomach made its way to my throat. I thought of how the last time I spoke in front of my church’s women’s group I completely blanked out (and I do mean completely). I thought of how this was my very first time as a guest speaker and just how clueless I felt. I thought all the ways I could misspeak, offend, or embarrass myself.

With my stomach in knots and panic just beneath this skin, I sought out a phrase that had been stuck in my head for the last two weeks. Perhaps it would be in my Bible? I googled the phrase and found it in my Bible. Have you ever felt Scripture hit you like the dawn over the horizon? Like all of a sudden you could clearly see the truth that had somehow been hiding in the dark? Yeah. This was one of those moments.

“I, even I, am He who comforts you. Who are you that you fear mere mortals, human beings who are but grass, that you forget the Lord your Maker… that you live in constant terror every day… I have put My words in your mouth and covered you with the shadow of My hand-- I who set the heavens in place, who laid the foundations of the earth, and who say to Zion, 'You are My people'” (Isaiah 51:12-13, 16).

Deep down, I was afraid God would abandon me, that I would stand up there trembling and the words wouldn’t form. I was afraid of failure and rejection and a room full of blank stares. There in Isaiah is this promise God makes to be with me and this blunt reminder to not give into the fear of man.

I am pretty sure those are the two big fears we all face when we are contemplating stepping out in faith. Abandonment and failure. That if we make that big move, open our mouths to share Jesus, make some life-altering decision… God will suddenly vanish, it will all go terribly wrong and we will become the subject of gossip. I think sometimes we care way too much what people will think.

When I look back over my life, the best moments were the ones when I walked bravely into the unknown having to just trust that God would be there. Can you think back to your moments like that? I’m thinking of my summer as an intern in inner-city LA, walking down the aisle to promise the whole of my life to one man, the moment I became a momma, the conversation with a stranger that somehow led to salvation... So much uncertainty, but moments lit up by the surety of God’s presence.

Sometimes we can do really brave things.

I think sometimes we forget just how present and awesome God is and how little it matters who we are. Fear makes us forget.

I once heard faith compared to jumping off a cliff. You don’t have to know God’s going to catch you. Faith isn’t in the knowing what’s on the other side, faith is in the action and the sheer amount of audacity it takes to jump.

Those crazy brave things boil down to an invitation, followed an action, and both are laced together with a whole lot of trust.

I want to be an audacious woman. I don’t want to forget what God has done. I want to be a woman who jumps when God invites her to. I want to know just how big God is. You too?

I’m wondering, maybe we could encourage each other right here and now with our stories of those crazy brave times and how God showed up? Would you share one of your moments with us in the comments? I'd love to hear from you.

By the way, that guest speaking thing? It went so good, one of those "only God" moments. I doubt I could find the words to describe the peace of God that was upon me. I can’t tell you how it was received, but I left knowing I had said everything God had wanted me to say. Also, that mom’s group was full of beautiful, warm women. I felt like I was amongst friends. :)

By Grace,

Amanda Conquers

Sharing in this lovely community:

How an Anomaly Can Be a Thing of Beauty: A Letter to My Daughter

Dear Addy,

Yesterday, we went to a vascular anomalies clinic for the birthmark on your shoulder.

In the hallway, while we were checking in, you began singing and twirling. “My name is Addy, and I am so beautiful. My name is Addy, and I am so beautiful.”

I was struck by the perfection of that moment. There we were in a clinic that is keeping an eye on this “anomaly,” and there you are singing about who you are.

My name is Addy.

Addy—Adelaide—which means noble princess. Daughter of the King.

And I am so beautiful.

And you. are. beautiful.

Addy, taking you into that clinic, watching the doctors and surgeons poke at you, measure your hemangioma, talk about all the options you could have one day, hurt my heart for you. I wanted to shoo the doctors away, remind you of how wonderful you are, that there is nothing wrong with you. You see, I worry one day you will take all the words that might be spoken to you and tuck them away in your sensitive heart. I worry those words will speak to you, define you, make you think you are less-than, or that you will think you need to cover up who you are and who you were made to be.

I worry because I think of the words that I tucked into my young heart, I think of how I felt unnoticed and ugly. I allowed it all to speak to me, to define me. In high school, the popular boys called me “rat girl.” And then, almost overnight, I filled out a C-cup and those same boys wanted to date me. I translated the new found attention to mean that my figure was the only thing that made me worth something. I thought that if I could just keep a schedule full of dates, the emptiness I felt would be filled. I thought it would make me worth something. I only felt dirty and used. And believe me, that does not make you feel valuable.

Even after Jesus came in and began to heal my heart, I still struggled to see my worth. Instead of looking for my worth in men, I tried proving it. I worked so hard in college to get straight A’s, I filled my calendar with meetings and events for good causes, and I led a thriving children’s ministry. And still, I looked and found there were people who were better than me, prettier than me, more together, more blessed. I discovered I was an insecure woman full of jealousy who constantly compared herself to other women.

Comparison, jealousy and insecurity are just symptoms of a sickness. The sickness: fear. Fear that you aren’t enough, that you aren’t really loved.

And while we seek to heal this fear in the approval of others, the only antidote to this fear-sickness is the perfect love of God. (1 John 4:18) Why? Because you were made for His delight. And if my momma-heart is any indication of God’s heart, daughter, you bring Him so much delight.

I think of this scripture:
“But we have this treasure [light] in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us” (2 Corinthians 4:7). 

Whoever heard of a clay pot shining from within? Only by God’s power. Daughter, we might want to think it’s the shiny, dressed-up glass vases that shine the brightest, but it’s the miracle of a clay pot shining that is marvelous to behold. It’s the girl that makes this crazy faith leap to believe that all she is, is all God wants. It’s the girl that chooses to give all glory to God… who allows Him to fill the empty places and bridge the short-comings. It’s the girl who knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that there is nothing that she can do to make God love her more, and there is nothing she can do to make God love her less. It is the girl that knows she is preapproved.

And when you were singing in the hallway of the doctor’s office, yes, I do believe you knew you were pre-approved. “My name is Addy, and I am so beautiful.”

I pray you keep singing. I pray this knowing is stamped on you that no matter where you go, you have God's approval. I pray you know that you are His child. I pray that you would rise in fearlessness and be exactly the woman God imagined you would be when He formed you in my womb.

I wish I could somehow show you exactly what I see in you, Addy. The sensitivity, the beauty, the sense of wonder and delight, the way you live in timelessness, the way you dance and sing. The way you encourage and prod onward, the way you are a noticer. You live slowly and drink deeply. You know how to block out everything around you for whatever or whoever is right in front of you.

Addy, I want you to hear this: Do you know why I think that mark is beautiful? Because at some point, Addy, you are going to have to trust that you are beautiful in spite… that God loves you no matter what. You are going to have to let God fill that space in you… and what could possibly be more beautiful than you, Addy, full of the light of God?

Your name is Addy, and you are so beautiful.

I love to the moon and back, with all my heart, no matter what.

Momma

I was inspired to write this letter by Jennifer Dukes Lee (one of my absolute favorite bloggers to read) and the new book she has coming out April 1^st. I am really looking forward to this book all about approval-seeking and love idols. It’s certainly a struggle I know well.  

And, yep, sharing this in the #TellHisStory community at Jennifer's place.

Where His Grace Begins (And Where I Get Crazy Brave and Share a Song With You)

It was eleven o’clock at night. My husband was at work. My son was still awake, and since my daughter and son shared a room, my daughter was also awake.

It was one of those tough momma nights. You know how when the gas meter in your car gets right to that empty line and then starts to dip just below the line, and you start getting super spiritual about your gas level and praying you have enough to get the station??  Yeah, that’s exactly where my energy level was on that night. I was physically, emotionally, and spiritually tired, and worried that at any given moment, I might just completely give out.

My son wouldn’t go to sleep. I mean, he downright refused. He wasn't subtly refusing to sleep by reading stories in his bed or talking to his stuffed animals. No, he was outrightly and demonstratively refusing to sleep. With the will of a warrior, he had battled me for a good two hours. I had tried everything. Calm words, loud words, bribery, coercion… I reached for any and all parenting wisdom I had ever read or been offered.  Jed just refused to bend.

Finally, after sputtering words that were jagged at the edges from a heart that seemed to be breaking, I did the only thing I had left to do. I cried.

I felt desperate, like a complete failure. I was sure I was a terrible mom. For a half-minute I sat slumped in the hallway, defeated, hoping against hope that somehow if I just sat there and did nothing, my two year old would put himself in his bed, calm himself down, and go to sleep […and all the mommas laugh at how realistic that is]. I glanced up and saw my guitar tucked between the end of my cabinet and the wall. My thumb felt the ends of my fingers, remembering where my callouses once were—the way my fingertips used to feel tough and almost numb. I hadn’t played in months—no, it had been years.

Somehow, I had let myself forget how much I loved to play, how that in the space between my two hands turning out rhythm and sound on the guitar, my soul could breathe. I had forgotten how to worship, and I am not just talking about music.

At that moment, my son was crying. The edges of my frail momma-sanity were frayed. It was almost midnight. But I picked up that guitar and began to play.

Salve to my soul and sand on my children’s eyelids.

I was a desperate mom, a desperate woman, and the picking up of that guitar was my white flag. As I played, I began to let go, let the words form, made the cry of this momma heart known.
And God met me there.  

Because even though it is so damaging to our pride to be desperate, when we reach out, God always reaches back. It's that place where you feel clueless and like a complete failure that you find just how sufficient God's Grace is. And it.is.sufficient.  

I was worshiping in the hallway, pressing my fingertips into the fretboard. It took pressing in and pressing through, but worship created a sacred space--a healing place--a callous between life's struggles and my heart's deepest longing to know God.

For the first time in a long time, I felt something like restoration. Also, I slept good that night. :)

I wanted to share the song that came out of that moment…

But before I share it with you, can I just tell you that I have no desire to perform for you (not to mention the fact that I am not a professional youtuber, singer, song-writer or guitar player)? Could we just say that this is me inviting you, friend, into my living room to worship with me? I remember being in college, the zeal for the Lord, and how me and my friends would grab our guitars, shakers, and just worship--talent optional. We had no audience other than the God we sought to bring delight to. Could this be something like that? 

(Lyrics are below the video.)
(If you are reading from your email box, you can click here to see the video.)

Where Your Grace Begins

Verse 1

I think I know what it’s like to be the woman pushing through the crowd

Deep issues have haunted for years, and I just want to be found

I think I know what it’s like to be Zacchaeus climbing a tree

Drowning in vices but nothing seems to satisfy me

Chorus

It’s called desperate, it’s called empty

It’s called I’ve reached the end of me

It’s called broken, it’s called messy

It’s called I need You to find me (It’s called You are all that I need)

It’s called desperate (I’m desperate for You)

Verse 2

I think I know what it’s like to be Mary sitting at Your feet

One million things to do, but only thing I need

Bridge

When I reach out, You reach back

And I find myself undone

I’d do anything, make a fool out of me

Just for a touch from Your Son

I’m finding that where my sufficiency ends

That’s where Your Grace begins

Let Your Grace begin

Whew. We can do brave things together. (Because, like seriously, putting that out there... pretty scary stuff.)


I don't want to miss the opportunity to ask (and I'd love to know), have you ever felt that desperate? How do you worship in those really tough moments?


By Grace,
Amanda Conquers

This Thing Called Desperate

Almost a year ago I was battling depression and insomnia that had seemed to have suddenly overtaken my life. I have never weathered change well; this time in my life was no different.

I was sitting in my pew. Alone. My husband was at home sleeping off a graveyard shift. The altar call was made, it was a call for those struggling with addiction. Then, amongst the call for addiction, the pastor said something simple, “If you need a touch from God, come forward.”

Maybe he was still in the middle of talking about addiction, but I knew I wanted—no, desperately needed—a touch from God.

For maybe a minute, I wrestled with the idea of going forward. It’s not really for me. What will every one think? I’ve been on staff, led ministries, and here I am completely broken walking to the front during the addiction call. My pride battled me.

Ultimately, I didn’t care. I mean, I did care. I just didn’t care enough. I needed God. I needed His touch. I felt desperate, alone, weighted down with all the ways I was failing my kids and my husband… and I just knew I could not do one more sleepless night.

I made my way up to the front. It seemed like I was walking through the ending of Chariots of Fire, at a crawling-pace, slow-motion, a thirty-second eternity. I felt heads turn and watch me. I wanted to turn back, change my mind, but something like desperation had risen up in me. I would not be denied. I was headed to that altar. I was getting a touch from the Lord no matter what anyone thought of me.

I was desperate.

____________ 

I think of the woman with the issue of blood. The broken woman that she was. Unclean… unclean for years. She walked into a throng… no, she crawled through a throng of people. She reached out and touched Jesus’ hem. She didn’t know it would work. She was just desperate.

And without even knowing who had touched Him, Jesus healed her.

I think of Zacchaeus, little man, who wanted to just look upon Jesus so badly, he would climb a tree in a mass of people. He was willing to be the guy who everybody already hated publicly disgracing himself… just to see. He was a guy with everything… and nothing. He was empty, wondering what it was all for.

And in that crowd, Jesus called one man from where he was… the desperate guy perched in a tree.

I think of Mary who chose to ignore hospitality rules, who forgot about food and serving. She even forgot to think about what Jesus--guest--might need. She might have been a terrible hostess, but she wanted Jesus. To hear his words, sit at his feet, be his friend. She acted like hearing His words had the power to change her life. 

And Jesus told busy and proper Martha, Mary had chosen correctly.

_______________ 

I think there is a direct correlation between desperation and God in our lives. 

I think desperation increases our faith in some kind of strange way…that complete and utter reliance on God.

I think God wants us to care about Him most of all… more than we care what is proper and what people might think.

I think sometimes we get so wrapped up in acting like a Christian, that we forget the first thing we are is a people who run after God.

I think sometimes we think that the more mature in Christ we get, the less we need of God. Isn’t the opposite is true though? The mature, the more-like-Christ-ones, are the ones who refuse to leave God’s side, the one’s who know transformation isn’t just the initial act of receiving Christ, but the daily act of becoming more and more like Christ.

________________ 

Seven months ago, I refinished a forty year old school desk for my daughter. It was battered from years of small children jabbing pencils into its surface. There were natural imperfections, knots and gaps in the wood. I sanded it down, took a putty knife and shoved wood spackling into the cracks, gaps, and pencil holes. I pushed, shoved, scraped, waited, and sanded. That desk is now single-sheet-of-binder-paper worthy. Smooth like butter.

I think Christ is like that putty. He fills our gaps. Sometimes it’s more than just giving Him an invitation into our lives though. It’s this slightly selfish, completely desperate act of pressing into Christ that He might fill those broken, empty places.

We become smooth, full of this Christ-putty, and yet, somehow, aren’t we more fully ourselves?

_________________

Hi. My name is Amanda. I am a broken, gap-filled girl. I desperately need God. And somehow, in all this messy, I am becoming more like Christ. And that conquering thing?? Slowly but surely, one step at time, as this housewife leans into Christ, I am walking forward in this grace rhythm, with Christ.

I shall be called an overcomer.

By Grace,

Amanda Conquers

Ummm… I almost hesitate to write this, because just the thought of it makes me want to, well, barf.  God sorta gave me a song about this topic a few months ago. If I can find a quiet moment and a quiet corner to record it (and my brave, big-girl panties), maybe I will share it with you… if you promise, like spit in your hand and super pinky promise, that you will just love me no matter how it sounds and appreciate what I hope will be Jesus glorified in me, more than you critique the singing and guitar playing.  

So very happy to be sharing in this community:

Moving in the Rain

It had been raining all day. California is experiencing a drought, but on the day we needed to move, it rained.

We had 3 days to pack up and move. (3 days!!! I may have even needed to resort to throwing all our clothes onto blankets, rolling the blankets and throwing the blanket-wrapped clothes heap into the u-haul. Desperate times, desperate measures.) We ended up moving in with my parents short-term while we wait to buy a house. I think the combination of knowing how difficult it would be to move a family of four into my parents’ house plus the sheer enormity of the task of packing an entire house on short notice had me varying between taking lots of deep breaths, pacing, praying, and occasionally leaking tears.

After a long day of moving, I was sitting in my car driving my daughter to what we would call home for a few months. I was wet to my skin after walking through a downpour to the car. Five minutes into our drive, the clouds broke and it was as though the rain had wiped the sky crystal clear.  We saw constellations and all the little in-between stars.

Addy began to sing a song of her own making. “Let them glow. Let them glow. The stars are beautiful. God put them in the sky for us. Let them glow…”

I was quiet, content to listen, savoring her fleeting youth. After a while I said, “Oh. I like that song, Addy. Can we sing it again tomorrow?”

Then Addy said something rather profound. “No, Mom. This is the song for today. I can’t sing it a different day. Each day gets a new song.”

This is the day that the Lord has made. I will rejoice and be glad in it.

This day, this hard day, where I feel stretched to breaking…

This day, this Jonah day where I can know change is upon me, not just nipping at my heels but overtaking me…

This day has a song worth singing.

This day has gifts that can only be found and received today.

Warm California rain sliding down my skin.

The smell of damp earth and mustard flowers carried in on the wind.

A field of a thousand geese

The sight of a tulip tree through rain drenched stairs. 

A former intern and dear little sister in Christ coming to watch my kids and her wanting to spend the whole rest of the day with me, even in my frazzled state.

Being present to hear an Addy original song.

Generous parents. A place to stay on short notice. Knowing I could be packing up a house for the last time in a good long while…

As we turned onto the bridge that would take us to our temporary home, I thought of how much my life feels up in the air, out of my grasp. A place to live, a church to call home… all up in the air, beyond my control, just floating there out of reach. I long for things to settle. I long for things to stop changing.

The grand adventure Christ leads us on asks us to pick up our cross daily, asks us to lay down our life, asks us to live unsettled. I place my life in Christ’s hands and then it’s no longer in my hands. (Profound, I know.)

Each day we change. Those babies that used to fit so sweetly under the crook of my neck have expanded the length of my arms and are not so easy to hold anymore. In the span of one year, we have now moved twice, my husband has become a cop, I have become a cop’s wife, our church has moved… so.much.change.  

Yet the Lord is here, with me. Each day is different and new. Sometimes we change in subtle shades and sometimes the Master dips the brush into a new color and paints with bold, surprising strokes on what might have seemed a monotonous canvas.

Whether changes are subtle or surprising, God is here. And He is good.

This day is the day that the Lord has made. And I can rejoice in it.

Each day gets a new song and I will sing it.

By Grace,

Amanda Conquers

The One Where I Am Back from a Long Break and Talking About Things Like Trust

I am back!

I have no idea if you want to shout, but I sure do: 

“YAY!!!”

I am grateful for the time away. I may be embarrassed to admit just how much cleaner my house stayed and how much more prepared-for our family meals were. I got bit by the reading bug and read something like 8 novels in two months’ time.

Just in case you missed these faces...

Jed totally busted his mouth on a brick fireplace the day before this picture. And the grass is in focus over the boy, but taking pictures of a 2 1/2 year old boy isn't exactly easy.

These last few months have felt like a bit of a whirlwind. The last week of December, we got word our landlords were selling our place. We hadn’t even lived here long enough to fulfill our one year lease.  This started us looking into places to live and realizing, at least in our area, the rent market had jumped up. Just to make sure we were making an informed decision, we sat down with a mortgage consultant just to see how far away we were from being able to buy our own home. As it turns out, we are far more ready (at least financially) than we had realized. So for the last month and a half, we have been showing our condo (or do I say our landlord’s condo?) and trying to find a place of our own.

We have to move this week. I started packing… um… last night (yeah, I know. I’m freaking out too). We are moving in with my parents until we can find a house. We are pretty sure we found the house for us, it’s just that it’s a short sale (which, by the way, I do believe it would be more way accurate to refer to them as long sales.)

Have I ever mentioned how much I stink at change?! All this moving business coupled with one other major change (which I will tell you about when I am able. And no, I am not pregnant. Though likely that would be a perfectly reasonable question at this time in my life) has left me feeling a bit like I am almost teetering on the edge. I have been able to put into place much of what I had learned last year when my world flipped upside down with a move, a church move, and my husband starting a career in law enforcement in the span of a month. I am walking forward not paralyzed by change, and that, friends, is a victory all by itself.

At the start of a new year, I like to think back at what God did and then make a prayer or a goal for where I know God is leading me in the next year. I had been listening to a song on repeat for almost a month, rolling over the words, comparing them against the words that might define the way I live.

“Spirit lead where my trust is without borders, let me walk upon the waters…Take me deeper that my feet could ever wander, then my faith would be made stronger…”

Before the move, before viewing houses, before all the change, before all the uncertainty. I made this my prayer: God, I want to trust You. Really trust You. I want to learn to walk upon water.

I keep thinking of the phrase “trust without borders.” A border is a marker, a line, a this far and no further. It implies laid out plans, blueprints. It also seems to imply what is within reason and what is not. It gives God a specific region of your life and heart and secludes Him from others: whether it’s not forgiving that person that “straight done you wrong,” not giving change to the beggar you are certain will use it for drugs, or even thinking that God can lead you to the dream you have for your life but prohibiting Him from trials that might prepare you for the dream.

I think of Abraham. God told him to “Get to a land that I will show you.” No borders, no road map, just one step at a time listening for God’s voice to tell him which way to go next.

God told Abraham he would be the father of many nations, that Sarah would bear him a son… and all this after it was physically possible. God later told Abraham to sacrifice his one and only son, the son that he was promised, the son that was a miracle in itself. And Abraham obeyed.

Trust without borders.

Of course, God had never intended to take Isaac. God wanted to be first in Abraham’s life… to captivate Abraham’s heart rather than the many gifts God had given Abraham. I think God wanted to captivate Abraham’s heart far beyond Abraham’s ability to reason and rationalize too.

So I guess what I am trying to say is that I do believe I have been afforded an opportunity to trust. To walk out on an open sea that is uncertain and a little stormy. To keep my eyes on Jesus when I want to give into the torrential flow of questions streaming through my brain, most of which start with the two words “What if…”

What if it doesn’t work out? What if we get in over our heads? What if we can’t find anything? What if we get it all wrong?

This self-professed over-thinker has been clinging to Psalm 139.


“…You have enclosed me behind and before,And laid Your hand upon me.Such knowledge is too wonderful for me;It is too high, I cannot attain to it.
Where can I flee from Your presence?
If I ascend to heaven, You are there;
If I make my bed in Sheol, behold, You are there.
If I take the wings of the dawn,
If I dwell in the remotest part of the sea,
Even there Your hand will lead me,
And Your right hand will lay hold of me. 
If I say, ‘Surely the darkness will overwhelm me,
And the light around me will be night,’ 
Even the darkness is not dark to You,
And the night is as bright as the day.
Darkness and light are alike to You...”

Where can I go that He is not? 

No matter how my geographical location changes or where we go to church or whether we get it all right or all wrong, God is with me.

I cannot escape His presence.

For some reason, for this first-born girl who has perhaps worried far too much about “getting it right,” that is really comforting.

Okay, and now I must go since there are mere minutes left before the sleeping bear I call my son awakens from his slumber and clamors through the house until I agree to just sit underneath him. (He's kind of going through a clingy phase...)

I can’t wait to share more with you about all the happenings here… and I even have some recipes in the works. Though I will say, all this sharing I can’t wait to do, may have to actually wait… till I pack this entire house and move! (Pray for me, friends!)

So looking forward to more of this. It is so good to be back!

By Grace,

Amanda Conquers

Oh, and one more thing, since I am excited and can't keep it to myself. In the wee hours of Sunday morning, I became an AUNTIE!!! :)

Here's that song I was quoting. Oceans by Hillsong United

If you are reading from your email you will need to click HERE to see the video on youtube.

A Little Update And Why I Might Need a Social Media Break

An update:

Two weeks ago, my husband and I went away for our eighth anniversary. It was such an awesome time! We found a hobby that we love doing together (nature/hiking/bird watching), we asked some of those really deep questions that I don’t think we’ve asked since we were dating (like “Where do you see yourself in 5 years?”), we stayed up late, we slept in… ‘twas glorious.

The day after we got back from vacation, I had surgery on my sinuses. That was not glorious. I seriously overestimated my own abilities to recover from surgery and spent at least 4 days recovering and another week of feeling kind of crummy. I had actually scheduled something for two days after surgery thinking I would be fine by then (ha!). I am now much better. And hallelujah! I can breathe!

These pictures were from our adventure in Lake Tahoe. I will spare you the picture of me post-surgery ;)

My heart:

I know I haven’t been the most faithful or the most frequent blogger. I stumbled into writing and found myself loving piecing together words, telling stories, throwing my questions onto the white space of a Word document and seeing God somehow answer back. I think I have said it before, writing is a key-tapping word dance between me and God.

But it’s not just writing or relationship with Christ, I have loved connecting with you. I am not quite sure how it happened, but blogging has given me some of my most treasured friendships. It’s given me encouragement and camaraderie with other writers, moms, women, Christians. I can’t tell you how thankful I am for the space you’ve made for me in your life, even if it’s just the tiniest space in your email box and the occasional encouraging word. Thank you!

Lately, I have become negative. I have found myself trying to turn my relationship with God into a production. Like I want Him to speak so that I have something to write on the blog. I have forgotten the value of sacred—that maybe God wants to be intimate with me and doesn’t want the whole world to hear about it the next day. (Don’t kiss and tell?)

On the flipside, I think God has given me a message and a book to write, but it’s like I am back in my college days the night before a paper is due… I have found I want to write everything but what God has given me to write. I think I might be terrified. What if I fail? What if it gets rejected? What if I can’t complete it? It just seems like such a huge and daunting task and really who am I to think I could write a book that people should want to read? I think I need to put on my big girl panties and just write it.

I have found myself so full of negativity towards social media. Not because I don’t love connecting with you all. In fact, my source of angst is my own personal Facebook newsfeed. If I am completely honest, it feels like everyone has an opinion or is sharing an article in which someone has an opinion, everyone is promoting someone or something.  It just seems so loud, and I don't want to add to the noise. I think somewhere along the way, I started trading knowing people with just knowing about people. I long for the days when I could show up to my group of friends and just catch up without anyone stopping someone mid-sentence, “Oh yeah, I saw that you posted about that on Facebook.”

This isn’t me saying Facebook is bad. This isn’t me preaching to you or offering an opinion on Facebook usage. This is me saying, I think I’ve got some unhealthy ways of thinking and seeing. I think I have developed some bad habits. I think for my own emotional and spiritual health, I need to step away.

I know I am offering a lot of different reasons why I am taking a break because I want you to know me and know my heart even if it means you see that it needs a lot of work (because I think of us as being in this together). But really, explanations aside, I know in my knowing place that God is calling me away. I also know that He said 40 days. Not because it’s some kind of profound or Biblical number, but because it’s what I heard God ask of me.

That said. I have no idea what’s on the other side of 40 days. I like to think I will be back… and with great clarity and gusto and maybe even a book proposal completed. :)

So, I am saying a brief farewell. BUT, can I just say how much I value each one of you? And how if you would like to stay connected, be my friend, I would LOVE that? Seriously, and I don’t just say this, you can email me. I would love it! I am not taking a break from people or email, just stepping away from Facebook and posting blogs. (My email: amandaconquers at gmail dot com)

I now get the chance to wish you all a Happy Thanksgiving, a Merry Christmas, AND a Happy New Year all at once. And I mean it from the bottom of my heart. I will be holding you in my thoughts and prayers this season.

So, that said, how can I be praying for you?

I now understand the daunting task that is trying to take a family picture. This was THE ONLY picture where we were all facing forward-ish. Also, I feel the need to point out the location of my iced coffee. After going through 10 takes looking for a decent one, I died laughing when I saw that... as if it couldn't get worse. Just keeping it real, friends, and wishing you a happy holiday even if it isn't a photogenic one ;)

By Grace,

Amanda Conquers

Okay… now I know I said I wasn’t offering an opinion about Facebook, but in between writing and editing this post, I came across this video about loneliness in our social media age. It really makes you think! 

(If you are reading from your email, click the link above; otherwise, the video is embedded below)

The Innovation of Loneliness from Shimi Cohen on Vimeo.