So I Married a Cop

I had once upon a time written down professions I did not want to marry into. I have to admit I was one of those girls who had a sheet of paper (okay, it was probably a good five pages long) of qualities I wanted in my future husband. I had a subsection for what I was not looking for. Amongst two other professions, I had scribbled the word COP.

It wasn’t that I didn’t value the profession. I just didn’t want all the struggles that I imagined went with the job. I knew it would be difficult. (Also, I was like 17, so give me a break).

Guess what?

I’m married to a cop.

I joke and say God tricked me because cop was nowhere on Mike’s radar when we got married.

Thing is, I had always thought I would marry a pastor.

When Mike and I first started seeing each other, I have journal pages full of my questions for God. God, he’s not a pastor. God, he doesn’t look anything like I thought he would. God, it’s Michael. Are you sure? Before the thought was even fully formed, I could hear the quiet voice of God, “Shhh. Trust me, Amanda.”

I did. And I fell in love. Madly. Deeply. Truly.

Truth be told, I thought God telling me to trust Him meant that He was going to change Mike, that Mike would have some kind of God-encounter and decide to go into full-time vocational ministry.

Through our times of lean finances, Mike did encounter God. And God faithfully led him into law enforcement.

I am not so sure God actually changed him though. Refined him, sure. Completely changed his gifts and talents, no.

But God did change me. He changed the way I see.

Because from where I stand, on the arm of cop, I see a broken world. A world of prostitutes, meth addicts, mentally unstable, repeat DUI offenders, dysfunctional families, broken marriages, abusers and the abused, teenagers making stupid decisions. My husband works in a world where he’s called horrible names, where threats are made against his life simply because of the badge he wears, where he has to be alert and ready at all times. I see men (and women) whose every day is everyone else’s worst day, bearers of bad news, the first to hear the wails of a momma who’s lost her son, who witness the crumbled heap of man who’s lost his wife.

Cops are on the front lines.

Photo Credit

I have discovered that I am, in fact, married to a full-time vocational minister. Because in the midst of unspeakable tragedy, I can’t imagine there being a better person to have to pick up and carry someone’s devastation. Someone who could be more gentle. Someone who could be strong enough to not crumble under the weight of it. In the midst of the hopelessness and bad decisions, I can’t imagine a better cop car to be in the back of than the one my husband is driving. Someone who bears both Truth and Hope. In the midst of a fallen world, I can’t imagine a better person to carry the ministry of justice. Humble. Respectful. Strong.

(I am just a little proud of my husband.)

So I am thinking perhaps next time you are in are in the Chipotle lunch line and the cops walk in, tell them thank you (because like seriously… is it just me or is the Chipotle burrito the new donut?! HAHA) Maybe think of what cops face and pray for their lives, their families and their souls?

(Anybody else now have the Cops theme song in your head??  “bad boys, bad boys, whatcha gonna do, whatcha gonna do when they come for you…” If not, your welcome.)

I’m wondering how you view cops… in a positive or negative light?

I’d also love to know if anyone else that reads here has a LEO in your family? Let me know in the comments.

By Grace,

Amanda Conquers

I may be writing a little more on this subject. I don’t want to write for cop’s wives because like seriously, rookie here. That’s like getting parenting advice from the first-time pregnant girl whose read all the books; just stop. But I do want to write about the journey. Because truly, I am learning a lot here about things like prayer, spiritual warfare, and how to keep growing in love in your marriage when you are changing… and just simple things like what it’s like to be married to a cop.

What in the World Does It Mean to Be Blessed?

In about a week and a half, we will get the keys to our very first house.

I am so stinking excited, nervous for that very adult “m” word (mortgage), and just in awe of God’s blessings.

And it’s got me thinking of the journey that brought us here and wondering what exactly the word blessing means. Truthfully, it doesn’t feel quite right to say I am blessed because we are about to have our names printed on the deed of a house. I think sometimes we get this idea that “blessed” means easy, smooth, and abundant. Looking back, I can say that even in lack, I've been blessed.

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When Mike and I were first married, we found a sweet little duplex in one of the roughest neighborhoods in our town. I remember in the still of the mornings how I would walk through all 850 square feet of our first home thanking God for every inch of it. I declared that the faux wood-paneled wall made it a house with character. I saw the seeds other people sowed into our lives, that for some reason we seemed worth it. The hand-me-couch from our college group leaders, the garage sale table my father-in-law refinished for us surrounded by the dining chairs our pastors gave us, the kitchen cabinets full of wedding registry items. So. Much. Love.

Mike and I had our first arguments, our first adult discussions, we loved and we were newlyweds trying out our newly wedded bliss. Love grew in that house. The neighborhood, however, was probably not ideal. We saw gang fights, one night there was a shooting directly across the street, we lived down the street from a dealer. But Mike and I saw such purpose there. Kids began visiting our house, and we shared the kid's ministry candy we stashed in our garage along with the love of Jesus. We even took one of the gang members to church with us.  

After two and a half years of marriage and life in that duplex, our lives got shaken. At five months pregnant, my husband’s business went under. He couldn’t find steady work, so we made the decision to move in with my parents.

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The years at my parents were hard. There were weeks when I wasn’t sure we’d be able to buy diapers, weeks when people would slip money in our hands at church saying God told them to give it to us, weeks when Mike couldn’t find any work, weeks when random checks would appear in the mail. It was this strange mixture of hard knocks and supernatural provision.

I remember once when Addy was all fresh and new, and we set out to the baby store. I stood in the baby girls’ section fingering the clothes.  I had ten spare dollars, and I wanted just one outfit amid everyone else’s generosity that would claim her as my kid. I knew she was a baby and wouldn’t remember, but buying her something with my own money just seemed to matter so much. It was like an outfit had the ability to wrap her up in the security I longed to give her. I couldn’t give her big, ridiculous bows to match every outfit or push her around in a fancy jogging stroller, but maybe one romper could say to my daughter, “I love you so very much, and I promise to take care of you.”

During that season, the hardest thing I learned was the humbling that comes when you just can’t. But friends, God still did. There were a few periods there where I am convinced without the generosity of family (church included), we would have been living in our car, sleeping in a shelter on the cold nights. There in my parents’ house, we had a warm room with a walk-in closet that we turned into a nursery stocked with so much love from our friends and family. Mike had all the space in the world to find exactly what it is he is supposed to be doing with his life. We even got a few mini-vacations thanks to God-promptings on willing hearts. When I sit back and think of all God gave us when we couldn’t ourselves…. Just big, beautiful, grateful… tears.

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After two years at my parents, my husband began working in pest control. It wasn’t enough for us to afford rent and groceries in a normal situation, but somehow God still provided. Our church offered us the small studio apartment located right above the church. It had once housed the stinky intern boys (one of whom I married) and was more recently an office. It had a tiny kitchen and a tiny bathroom and only 400 square feet total, but it was ours. I called that place my New York City apartment adventure in my own small town.

I remember once walking down the stairs and being greeted by one of the staff pastors. I had told him I wasn’t feeling well, to which he asked, “Oh, are you pregnant?”

I looked at that man like he was crazy, “What? Do you seriously think I would bring a second baby into that small space?!”

God immediately checked my heart with a quiet whisper, “Amanda, you don’t trust me?”

Mike and I both wanted another baby so badly, but we were afraid to even talk about it. Standing there, at the base of my stairs, I knew I was caught. I didn’t trust God. Not really. Not even after all God had led us through. I had pride and somehow in all of God’s provisions, I wanted the control back, I wanted to not feel the judgment from people when all I had to show from my 5 years of marriage was a life lived on the generosity of others. (Ouch—that’s a tough one to admit)

Mike and I began praying, and we knew God was wanting to grow our family and asking us to trust Him. It seemed ludicrous to bring another baby into our small studio with our tiny finances, to knowingly bring a baby in on government aid. We chose to trust God anyways.

Two months later, I became pregnant. One month after that positive pregnancy test, Mike got a much higher paid job in pest control. One month after that, one of my former student’s parents put their condo up for rent. They let us move right in, deposit to be paid when we were able. It was technically a one bedroom condo, but it came with a bonus room for Addy and a huge walk-in closet that doubled as a nursery. By the time Jed was born, we were no longer on straight government aid, but a program we had to pay into to receive medical benefits.

Both of our babies had their nurseries in our walk-in closet.

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I quote AnnVoskamp’s line often: “Sometimes we only see God in rearview mirrors.”

Some of what Mike and I walked through seemed difficult at the time. But this isn’t a sob story. This is a story of God’s faithfulness. This is a story of learning to trust.

God was with us in the ghetto. He was with us when we lived with my parents. He was with us in the tiny studio. Perhaps by some standard, we experienced lack. But I know the secret, if God is with you, you are never without. I think of what I have learned, experienced, seen… surely there is so much value in the maturing, so much value in the knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that I am dearly loved by my God.

Really, it isn’t the house that makes me blessed, or dreams coming true, or picking out paint colors.  It’s getting to walk with God, it’s seeing His faithfulness played out in my own life. I am not just now blessed, I’ve been blessed from the moment I gave God my life.

By Grace,

Amanda Conquers


Linking up with this lovely community:

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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

What Gratitude Means to Me

I think I first heard the phrase at Ann's.

Life is not an emergency, but a gift.

I say it when I am running late and my kids are pokey little puppies noticing every blessed flower on our walk to the car. I say it when my foot flirts with the gas pedal as though time is a thing that can be raced. I say it when my kids defy their bedtimes and I feel desperate for time that is quiet and for myself. 

I say it because the best gift I can give is the gift of being present. I say it because time is fleeting and cannot be held and because my kids will only be small once. 

I say it because I've almost missed those gifts before... 

I am over at Kayse Pratt's today sharing about one of those gifts that I almost missed... (it involves McDonald's, a pity party, and the day my daughter asked Jesus into her heart) and what gratitude means to me.

Would you hop over and join me? I'd really love to see some familiar faces over there. Is it okay to admit that even though I'm behind a screen, I still get nervous everytime I post and those nerves get amplified when I am guest posting? Yep.

Click ---> HERE<---to join me.

Of Dogs, Fishing Poles, and Awkward Christian Dating (Part 2)

This is the second part to a short story about the occasionally awkward business of Christian dating and the tale of two dogs and a fishing lesson. It's told from my real life. If you missed Part 1, catch it here. 

If you are returning, I had left off in the middle of a fishing lesson that was not going so well. Enjoy the conclusion. :)

Ryan showed me the cast one more time.  He explained slowly and thoroughly.

I listened intently as if my fate depended on it. I practiced the motion. I pep-talked myself. You can do this, Amanda. Focus. Think about where you want it to go and send it there. You can do this. I really liked Ryan, and I thought Ryan wanted a girl who could fish. I wanted to be that girl. At the very least, I didn’t want to be the klutz sending the poor guy up the tree for misfired hooks every five minutes.

I gave it my best effort. I pulled back and swished forward, letting go of the reel at the right moment. I watched that hook go straight out in front of me headed for shallow water. It wasn’t far enough, but it looked like progress. Before I could celebrate my decent form, one dog went bounding into the water.

And then I felt a pull on my line.

The dog yelped. My eyes got wide. “Ryan! The dog is pulling on my line. I think I got the dog!”

“You… What?!”

“What… what… what do I do?!” I stuttered as I forced words to form on my lips.

“I don’t know. Don’t reel it in! I got to find where the hook is.” Ryan’s words were agitated and worried.

The dog swam in circles before coming back to shore. Then she ran around the clearing like a squealing pig in a pin being chased by kids at the county fair. Before we could catch her, she bounded back into the river and swam into deep water, whimpering the whole way.

We called for the dog. We reasoned with her. We begged her. Finally the dog swam back. We were intent on figuring out where the hook was.

We searched for the line… followed it with our eyes… till we saw where the line ended.  

It seemed to be coming from…

{I am not quite sure how to put this…}

The dog’s anus.

Ryan’s eyes got so wide they seemed to bulge out of his head. “Amanda!” He paused. “You hooked the dog in her…” His loud voice turned to a whisper, “butthole?!”  A look of horror washed over his face as he uttered that last ungodly word. I might as well have been showing up to church in black leather bondage clothes with thigh high boots, black lipstick and a whip with the way he looked at me.

He took a deep breath. “Amanda. Those are really nice dogs. What if the dog is seriously injured, and we get sued or something? I can’t believe this is happening.”

I tried to speak. Nothing came.

“Okay, well, we got to get this dog pinned down so we can remove the hook. I’ll take her at the front, you come at her in the opposite direction so she can’t get away.”

I agreed. A minute later we had the dog pinned. The fishing line had wrapped around her back leg and her tail. We couldn’t see a hook. (Hallelujah!) As Ryan worked at removing the line from the dog, I followed that thick clear thread to see if I could find the hook.

It was under a root in the shallows of the river. Thankfully, no where near the dog’s behind.

I am not sure how to properly salvage a date that’s been interrupted by a dog being potentially hooked in its arse. I thought maybe it could be one of those cute stories you tell your grandkids around the Thanksgiving table. (“Let me tell you sonny. I fell in love with your grandmother that day… the way she couldn’t fish to save her life and almost hooked an expensive dog in the rumpus… I just knew she was the girl for me.” Yeah. Not so much.)

Ryan just looked at me like I had committed some kind of grievous sin. Thou shalt not improperly cast and thou shalt not hook or appear to hook a dog. Thou shalt get major negative points for hooking a dog’s anus.

I told a few awkward jokes in an attempt to lighten the situation. He was ready to go home. He said his parents were expecting him.

It was 2 pm on a Saturday.

We walked that dirt path atop the levee back to my house. There was an awkward silence that hung in the air, and the smell of sulfur seemed especially noticeable. The dogs were at our heels, black coats gleaming in the sunshine. They seemed to be bounding about chasing butterflies, not a care in the world, almost mocking me as I was so full of caring about what Ryan thought of me now.

When Ryan left that day, I think I knew our Bible studies were over. 

I ran into him a few months later on the college campus. After some how-are-you, how-are-your-classes small talk, I asked how him and God were doing. “Great.  I am engaged to be married now and I just know she’s the girl God has for me.”

I wanted to ask if she fished.

:)

How I envisioned the date going...

How the date actually went. :)

----------------

Four years later, I fell in love with a man who is a little clumsy himself and who rolled on the floor laughing with me when I told him why I just can’t bring myself to fish. The abrupt ending to the Ryan-Amanda relationship might have seemed embarrassing and a bit painful… but I so appreciate that I am married to a man who doesn’t panic in the face of trials, who is still able to find his sense of humor. Michael likes me and all my clumsy. It’s a good thing too, because I have a whole lot of it. :) Life has not been one perpetual glorious sunset ride since we wed, but there have been moments of absolute magic and moments of struggling and learning how to overcome. 

Oh, and a whole lot of laughing at with each other.

By Grace,

Amanda Conquers

I actually have a couple marriage posts planned for next week like the things I would love to tell my newly-wedded self if I could. (well, provided I get them completed before I leave for vacation.  Did I mention we are getting away for a few days for our anniversary?! Yay!!) Stay tuned, friends!

To make sure you never miss a post, sign up to receive my posts by email a couple of times a week by clicking --> HERE. 

Photo Credit: First Picture is of a painting called Courtship by Yeend King, Second Picture

Of Dogs, Fishing Poles, and Awkward Christian Dating {Part 1}

Next week I am celebrating my 8^th anniversary. I was thinking back through my memories of relationships before I fell in love with my husband and how fortunate I am that I often had some kind of awkward situation that would end a relationship prematurely. This is a story of one of those awkward situations and one good reason I am grateful for the man I married.

I was just shy of eighteen. I was newly on-fire for God and the most consuming thought I had involved meeting “the one.” You know that one amazing guy that God would have in store for me… a love story of epic proportions where we would “just know” and go riding off into the sunset and live happily ever after?

Yeah.

At the end of my senior year, I met a guy named Ryan at my college placement exams. He was leaned up against the railing outside the modular room during our break. He was handsome with his messy brown hair, big brown eyes and a sporty physique. I might have been too shy to talk to him, but then I noticed his shirt: Jesus Saves. He’s a Christian! (Okay, and with that thought I was also thinking he could be “the one.” Yes. I was so that girl.)

Our conversation led us to naturally do what any two zealous young Christians who were crazy about the opposite sex but had just read I Kissed Dating Goodbye by Josh Harris would do… we met for a Bible study.

We met weekly at a Starbucks all through the summer before my freshman year of college.

We would read the same passage of scripture through the week and take turns leading the discussion. Sometimes we would bring other people, but most of the time, it was just the two of us. Ryan and Amanda.

One day towards the end of the summer, I was complaining to Ryan about the 2 miles I had to drive down a dirt road to get anywhere.

At the time, my parents were renting a house in the middle of a pear orchard (and the middle of nowhere for that matter) while they were waiting for their house to be built.

As I began describing the house, I mentioned it’s location: right on a branch of the Sacramento River.

Ryan’s eyes lit up. “Wait. You live next to the river?”

 “Yeah. Like right on the river. Like I could walk outside, pick up a rock, and throw it into the river.”

His big brown eyes got even bigger. “Dude! Do you fish it?”

I told him how my family didn’t fish. He paused and then looked at me a little sheepishly, “Could I come fish?”

As calmly as a girl with a giant crush on the guy who wanted to come to her house could muster, “Yeah. You totally can come fishing.”

“Awesome! I’ll bring an extra pole and teach you how to fish too!” He didn’t bother with containing his excitement. I think I wrongly proportioned that excitement more to me rather than the fishing.

This seemed like forward motion to me. More than a Bible Study. Finally!

Now before I tell you about that “date,” I need to tell you a little more about where I lived. Our house sat right up against the levee. The levee was topped with a wide dirt path that went on for miles in either direction along the river. It was lush land. Pear orchards surrounded the house. Over-grown blackberry bushes flanked the sides of the levee. Giant oaks and poplars drank thirsty at the river’s edge. When the sun peered through the trees, it would catch dust particles and render them golden. It was a beautiful place. It might have been worthy of the lofty term “enchanted” if not for the hyper dogs that lived next door and the subtle stench of sulfur in the well-water caused by the agriculturally rich soil it sat in.

The house had one neighbor that shared the clearing in the pear trees. This neighbor bred hunting dogs: hound and lab mixes.   

At the time, our neighbor had 2 full-grown pups. They were beautiful dogs—shiny black coats, long legs, thick feet. They had the energy of a toddler 10 minutes after his first experience with candy. Once they chased a squirrel under my dad’s brand new pick-up. The dogs tore and tore at the underbelly of the truck trying to get at the squirrel, resulting in a mess of wires and not a single electronic function left in working order. My dad was not a big fan of those dogs.

Sunset on the Sacramento River

Enchanted woods by the river

……….

Ryan arrived on a hot August noon carrying two poles and a tackle box. He wore a t-shirt, basketball shorts and a sheepish grin. After greeting each other, we immediately got down to business: finding a fishing spot.

We walked up the levee and began searching for a decent clearing where I would have room to learn to cast.

As the levee took us along the back of my neighbor’s house, the two dogs bounded around us. They were leaping, sniffing, and licking and could not be persuaded to return home.

When we found a decent clearing, Ryan got the poles ready and gave me a lesson on the parts to the fishing pole and how to cast.

My first try, the line didn’t go anywhere. My second try landed in the bushes immediately to my left. My third try landed in the bushes to my right. My fourth try, the hook got caught high in a birch tree.

In the midst of this, two dogs ran around us, followed each cast, sniffed at our hands and the tackle box with interest.

After climbing out of the tree he had just tried to get a hook out of, Ryan was clearly frustrated. He explained and re-explained the arm and wrist motion. My mind got it; my body was not cooperating. I have always struggled with my coordination. Seeing his frustration I said, “How about I try one more time? If I can’t get it, I’ll just keep you company while you fish.”

...................

Click here to find out what happens on that final cast. Nothing could have prepared me for how wrong it could go.

When Life Fractures Your Faith

Can I tell you all about something?

It’s not pretty. It’s hard. And it’s hard to talk about. I think I am needing to write my way through it, and, for some reason, I feel compelled to share it. Maybe someone out there needs to hear this or at least know they aren’t the only one. Or maybe it is that I’m the one that needs to hear something from one of you who has been here before.

(On that note, I also need to kindly ask you to refrain from offering medical advice or family planning opinions. I am talking with my doctor about it. And I am just not sure I am comfortable with that dialogue or ready to have it here.)

In the span of two months, I have had two miscarriages.

Two.

Both times, my husband and I were practicing the method of birth control that has worked for us for years.

Both times, I tested before my missed period. (Perhaps I am just far too in tune with my body, but I seem to have “spidey senses” when it comes to pregnancy.)

Both times, I miscarried within two days of my discovery.

I have been wanting more babies but sensing it wasn’t time (It kind of helps sensing it when your husband tells you he is not at all ready). 

Each time I saw that extra line on the stick, I thought God was blessing us with a surprise.

Maybe I am alone on this. But I love surprises.

I have a brother who is almost fourteen years younger than me, my parents' later-in-life surprise blessing. I have two dear friends who got pregnant after thinking they had permanently shut off the possibility of pregnancy. I’ve seen the miracle. I’ve seen the way that the family stretched with joy and love. I’ve seen the abundance of blessing in the unexpected.  

I am not quite sure how to put this into words, but I have been so angry over the miscarriages. There is white hot rage underneath this skin. How and why? And just why?! I felt the darkness of depression pulling at me. I’ve felt my faith rock.

It feels like some kind of cruel joke.

I don’t understand the point. I don’t even understand exactly what happened.  Did life happen? Did I lose something? What is wrong with me? Surely this isn’t normal?

It’s isolating. It’s really hard to talk about.

It’s also really hard to process.

I want to grieve, but it feels like I haven’t “earned the right,” like I didn’t lose enough. Like it was a second-rate miscarriage.

I am learning that while I might want to pick up my broken heart and set it next to someone’s heart like my dear friend’s who miscarried a very wanted and tried-for baby in her 11^th week and had complications that dragged out the whole ordeal for weeks. Grief is not a substance that it can be compared. Broken is broken. And while my rational mind might want to say that I am less deserving, that I can’t cry as much or as hard. My heart is broken. I need to heal. I need to grieve.

I remember breaking my arm when I was in the third grade. I had gotten this great idea to show my older, cooler friend that I could swing with “no hands.” It took about two seconds to discover how not bright that idea was. I flipped backwards, arm meeting the ground first. My right ulna was broken all the way through.

I remember the healing process for that break. The emergency room. The overnight sling. The two different casts and the three months of wearing them. I remember doing homework with my left hand and taking my baths with my arm above water, wrapped in plastic.

I also remember the pain of having my arm set back into place. My mom remembers the scream of her quiet, keep-it-all-together child ringing through the waiting room. Setting was by far the most painful part in the process, even more painful than the break itself.

I think grieving can be like that. It is a process. Life, trials, people collide with our plans, our hopes, our dreams and just leave us reeling. Sometimes our ideas and beliefs get fractured in the aftermath of loss and need to be set back into place. 

Setting is that painful place, that place that is full of why’s. It’s that place of broken plans and dreams. It’s that place where you can walk away from God’s promises and live fractured or you can chose to live by faith rather than by what you see. It’s that place of re-realizing that God’s ways are higher and sometimes we just don’t get to understand this side of heaven. It’s a place of letting go, of surrender, of trust. It’s a place of realigning with what the Word of God says.

I can tell you I have gone through “the setting” in this process. I may have even yelled out in pain and frustration at God. But I am walking through it. I have reached out to some friends. I have chosen to fight that darkness instead of allowing it to fill my life.

I just want to leave you with the two things that seemed to minister to my heart.

Psalm 126:5-6 "Those who sow in tears shall reap with joyful shouting. He who goes to and fro weeping, carrying his bag of seed, shall indeed come again with a shout of joy, bringing his sheaves with him."

I am clinging to this promise, reminding God of it. I am sowing my tears, I’m not holding them in. And I am waiting to see what God will do.

I went to Women of Faith in the midst of this and heard this song by Mercy Me. I can’t even tell you how much it ministered or how much it felt like I could have written this song from my own life. If you have ever experienced deep pain and loss, just. listen. to. this. song.

Thank you for letting me share here. Seriously, thank you!

By Grace,

Amanda Conquers

Psst… I should be back this week with a story that involves a fishing line, two dogs, and the reason I do not fish. It may even leave you rolling with laughter ;)

What God Says... {Beauty on a Budget}

Today, you are getting two posts. Yep.

In an effort to be a woman who finishes what she starts, I have the fifth post for the Beauty on a Budget series... a week and a half later than planned.

I do have a reason for that. Today's second post might explain why I suddenly got quiet.

Also, truth be told, I just have a hard time talking about beauty. And maybe if I am honest, I am still struggling to find the value in myself that goes deeper than my skin... this skin that now wears some age and a few more pounds than I would like.

So since words are failing me (at least on this topic), let me just leave us with some simple reminders about what God says about our value and our beauty.

Proverbs 31:30

Charm is deceptive and beauty does not last; but a woman who fears the Lord will be greatly praised.

Proverbs 31:10

Who can find a virtuous wife? For her worth is far above rubies. 

 

Psalm 139:13-18 

Oh yes, you shaped me first inside, then out; you formed me in my mother’s womb. I thank you, High God—you’re breathtaking! Body and soul, I am marvelously made! I worship in adoration—what a creation! You know me inside and out, you know every bone in my body;You know exactly how I was made, bit by bit, how I was sculpted from nothing into something. Like an open book, you watched me grow from conception to birth; all the stages of my life were spread out before you,The days of my life all prepared before I’d even lived one day.Your thoughts—how rare, how beautiful! God, I’ll never comprehend them! I couldn’t even begin to count them—any more than I could count the sand of the sea. Oh, let me rise in the morning and live always with you! (The Message--I like some of the phrasings from this frequently mentioned passage in the Message paraphrase.)

Zephaniah 3:17  

The Lord your God in your midst, The Mighty One, will save; He will rejoice over you with gladness, He will quiet you with His love, He will rejoice over you with singing.

And lastly, one great reminder for those hard days when your value escapes you because you catch yourself yelling, struggling, worrying, nagging, or just straight wanting to be on the other side of whatever trial you are facing...

All those hard things, all those struggles, God is weaving them into a story, a your-story becoming His-story... a redeemed story that will be BEAUTIFUL in His time. 


I just want to give a special thanks to Mandy and Kassie, from Glittered with Grace, for being apart, for sharing your knowledge and your heart with us. You inspire. I wish you both community, God's direction, and a place to SHINE like glitter in the gifts and talents He's given you as the two of you navigate this occasionally crazy social media business together.

If you missed the Beauty on a Budget series you can catch up here:
1. On Beauty (an intro to the series from AmandaConquers)
2. Can You Get a Whole Face of Make-Up for $40?
3. Fall for Your Face
4. Black Tee and Jeans Styled Four Ways
5. What God Says...
 

Okay, so if you want, you can jump over and read another post about some really hard things I have been dealing with (I've got to warn you. It's not exactly pretty and I am still in the midst of it; I just felt like God was asking me to open up about it).


By Grace,
Amanda Conquers

Black Tee and Jeans Styled Four Ways {Beauty on a Budget}

One thing I have learned from having a tight budget for so long is to buy basic clothes that won't quickly go out of style (things like jeans and t-shirts) and spend just a few dollars to add accessories to make them feel brand new each year.

I love this short video Mandy and Kassie, from Glittered With Grace, came up with for us. They give some great styling ideas for what otherwise might have been a boring outfit. Also, I majorly love the two scarfs Kassie uses. Majorly. Love.

It might just inspire you to rethink the wardrobe you already have and how you could restyle some basics. :)


You can head over and subscribe to Glittered With Grace's YouTube channel. And don't forget to enter their giveaway.



You can subscribe to Amanda Conquers to get encouragement slipped right into your email box about two times a week. Make sure you never miss a post. (Psst... it's easy to subscribe and to unsubscribe.) Click HERE.



If you missed any of the Beauty on a Budget posts, catch up with them here:
1. On Beauty (an intro to the series from AmandaConquers)
2. Can You Get a Whole Face of Make-Up for $40?
3. Fall for Your Face
4. Black Tee and Jeans Styled Four Ways
5. What God Says...

Fall for Your Face {Beauty on a Budget}

I have the Glittered With Grace girls, Mandy and Kassie, back today to show us the two looks they came up with from their $40 make-up challenge.

In the first video here, they start off with some really great tips (I'll list the links to some of the budget tips they give below), show us how they did their second look, and, seriously, if you only have 2 minutes to sit and watch, skip to 18:00. These women will remind you about your beauty, encourage you, and it's a great way to start your day. You. Are. Beautiful.


In the second video they show us their 2nd fall make-up look. The end of the video has some great shots of the their results.




Maybe head over and subscribe to Glittered With Grace's YouTube channel. And don't forget to enter their giveaway. Let's support these women as they start walking in a dream to encourage women!




You can subscribe to Amanda Conquers to get encouragement slipped right into your email box about two times a week. Make sure you never miss a post. (Psst... it's easy to subscribe and to unsubscribe.) Click HERE.

If you missed any of the Beauty on a Budget posts, catch up with them here:
1. On Beauty (an intro to the series from AmandaConquers)
2. Can You Get a Whole Face of Make-Up for $40?
3. Fall for Your Face
4. Black Tee and Jeans Styled Four Ways
5. What God Says...

Can You Get a Whole Face of Make-Up for $40?? {Beauty on a Budget}

Today, I am so excited to welcome Kassie and Mandy to the blog. I have known Mandy for a long time. We went to high school together. We served alongside each other in ministry at our church.  She did my make-up when I got married, and she's the only one with whom I really trust my hair. (Unfortunately for me, she moved like 5 hours away. I kid you not, I haven't gotten my hair done since. Almost a year ago. She's just that good. I miss her. Sigh.) Mandy just has such a warmth and meekness about her. Her sister Kassie has a contagious energy and a big heart.

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Our names are Mandy and Kassie. We have just started our YouTube channel Glittered Withgrace. 

We started this channel not only because we love make up and beauty stuff, but because we wanted to inspire and encourage women. 

Mandy is 31 and the mother of four, plus a sixteen-year-old Chinese exchange student makes five. She has been married to her high school sweetheart for 13 years. Mandy and her husband Brad are children's pastors. Mandy is also a licensed cosmetologist. 

Kassie is 24 and also has two teenage foreign exchange students. She has been married for two years. She and her husband are also a ministry family with their service in worship, kids ministry, and media. 

Together, we (Mandy and Kassie) also coach cheer. Needless to say, we are busy ladies. We also have strict budgets (thanks, Dave Ramsey). So we have to be resourceful with what we have, and we try to get the most bang for our buck. 

We hope to bring some positive videos that show women that make up doesn't make you beautiful, but it is fun. And since we are both in different seasons of life, we feel like we can reach most women. We hope to inspire, help, and encourage women with glitter and His grace!


Today's video is a shopping haul PLUS A GIVEAWAY. We decided to try and buy a full face of makeup for $40 because if you have not ever played with makeup (or haven't really updated your make-up since since college) and wanted to start, it doesn't have to cost a fortune.




To enter the giveaway:
1. Subscribe to Glittered Withgrace and Mandy's and Kassie's YouTube channels.
2. If you use Instagram, follow @MandyWinkle and @KassieMoon
3. Leave a comment under the video with what it is you look forward to the most in the Fall. 
(Note: comment must be made under the video on their YouTube channel to be entered, so do follow the link.)


Psst... Come back tomorrow, and we will show you two make-up looks using the make-up we got. For a bonus later this week, we also styled a plain black shirt and jeans two ways to help with outfit slumps. We hope you enjoy and subscribe to our channel for future videos.

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Thank you so much, Mandy and Kassie! I can't wait till tomorrow to hear your make-up tips for the fall looks. I seriously am in love with that cranberry color... and hoping to be brave enough to wear it. I can say I am definitely inspired to buy a little make-up. I am kind of still using some products from before I had Addy. Don't judge. :)

Okay. So don't forget to head over and subscribe to Glittered With Grace and comment on the video. 
How about we rally around some women who are just stepping out into a dream to encourage women everywhere with beauty tips?!



So, What are your favorite items in your make-up bag? Share your favorite items in the comments below.


Subscribe to Amanda Conquers to get encouragement slipped right into your email box about two times a week. Make sure you never miss a post. (Psst... it's easy to subscribe and to unsubscribe.) Click HERE.




If you missed any of the Beauty on a Budget posts, catch up with them here:
1. On Beauty (an intro to the series from AmandaConquers)
2. Can You Get a Whole Face of Make-Up for $40?
3. Fall for Your Face
4. Black Tee and Jeans Styled Four Ways
5. What God Says...

On Beauty

There is a war going on in me every day.

I sense it when I look in the mirror and see a woman with winding-mountain-road curves where a wiry girl used to stand. I look more tired, older somehow… and acne (it’s like I am going through puberty all over again… at 30! Who knew you don’t always get to outgrow pimples?!).

I sense it when I am running behind in the morning and make-up no longer seems worth it. I sense it when my wardrobe is seriously outdated, but the kids are growing like weeds and the budget is tight. I let that be my excuse to let another season pass without a single update.

I sense it when the house is a wreck, and I am tired.  Instead of nap, I will drudge through housework until I wonder what’s on Facebook, and then I will just stare mindlessly at that because I am just.so.tired.

I sense it at the end of the day, after I’ve homeschooled, cleaned messes, driven kids to gymnastics, cooked dinner, and put the kids in bed.  I want alone time. And I don’t want to drink water and eat carrot sticks while I catch up on a tv show. I kind of want to bury my face in brownie pie.

But here’s the thing. The war isn’t me versus weight. Or me versus make-up time. Or me versus the small budget. The war is being waged on my worth.  Because if I can buy into how the enemy wants me to see myself, maybe I can also buy into the lie that God doesn't love me. And maybe I can raise my kids in the most subtlest of ways to think women and mothers don’t have much value because mommy doesn’t think she does.

Really, the hard part isn’t actually finding the time for a beauty routine, exercise, or eating well… it’s actually seeing yourself as worth the time.

It’s about loving yourself.

Where you are. How you are.

It’s what Jesus does for us. He doesn’t look at the long list of all the ways we fall short. He just loves. He sees value. Not just potential value. But value. As in now.

He loves you now.

Just me...learning to love me

Maybe this seems like a weird comparison. But it’s like the person who thinks the way to Jesus is through following the law. Eating right and having an exercise routine is immensely beneficial. But if all you do is try to wrestle yourself into some ideal image, you’ve missed the point. You can swear off carbs and butter, you can spend 2 hours at the gym every day and night, you can have washboard abs and tight buns. You can also think it’s all too hard and wallow in French fries and fudge sundaes and spend far too much time sitting in front of Facebook. Either way, you seriously miss it.

It isn’t a choice between letting yourself go or sculpting your body into size 4 skinny jeans.

No. It’s a choice to love you.

Really love you. As Christ loves you. Because it’s not about a weight. It’s not about a beauty routine. It’s not about an amazing wardrobe. It’s not about controlling yourself and working yourself until you fit into some conjured up idea of beautiful.

It is for freedom that Christ set us free.

Just like Jesus said that He didn’t come to do away with the law but to fulfill it, I do believe when you recognize just how valuable, beautiful, worth it in His eyes you are, it compels you to love on yourself, to do what is best for yourself.

You.

You who puts little lives before your own, you who lives poured out… and maybe some days you feel spilled out and overwhelmed by the responsibility of raising kids and the sheer not-knowing what is best for them. You who has stood beside your man and cheered him on even in the bleakest of seasons. You who walks bravely through the passing of time, enduring trials, taking scars, growing older and wiser.

You—beautiful warrior woman.

You are so valuable.

Would you, could you, start to choose yourself sometimes? Would you instill in your daughters and your sons the value of a woman by valuing yourself? Would you kindly stop comparing yourself to other women? Would you exercise and eat well and give yourself permission to take naps because we only get this one life and this one body and rest is important? Would you allow yourself to throw your hair to the wind, to celebrate and to eat cake sometimes because life needs to be enjoyed too?

I am looking at myself. Asking myself those questions. I don’t want to let myself go, get buried back here behind excuses, and exhaustion, and, well, child-raising. No, I do believe I need to hold onto to myself. Value myself. Me.

Okay. So maybe you want to start doing this with me? Maybe we can cheer each other on?

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So along these lines, I am have invited some professionals over to the blog for help with something very in particular.

Spending time on ourselves.

Each day this week (Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday) the girls from Glittered With Grace will be showing us simple beauty tips designed with the busy, tight-budget momma in mind.

  

Now, I certainly don’t want the message to be that in order to be beautiful on the outside one must put on make-up and style your hair big. Oh no. This is for fun. Some simple tips to put into your arsenal should you decide you need to spend more time on yourself.

(Ahem. That would be me. Also, I am so clueless when it comes to make-up and hairstyles.)

Maybe it’s just me, but when I take the extra time to put on make-up and do the hair… I feel pretty. Valuable. And it’s not a superficial thing, this outward thing reflects an inward thing. Jesus loves me, and I am precious to Him.

I can’t wait till tomorrow. These Glittered with Grace girls are so warm, endearing, and full of beauty wisdom (outside and inside too). I can't wait to introduce you to them. 

By Grace,

Amanda Conquers

If you missed any of the Beauty on a Budget posts, catch up with them here:
1. On Beauty (an intro to the series from AmandaConquers)
2. Can You Get a Whole Face of Make-Up for $40?
3. Fall for Your Face
4. Black Tee and Jeans Styled Four Ways
5. What God Says...

Pssst… If you want to make sure you don’t miss a single one of these posts, subscribe to this blog by email. It’s super easy to subscribe (and it’s super easy to unsubscribe). Just click this link and enter your email address. You’ll get a confirmation email to click on and then, boom, you’re done. We can be email pals :)

Here’s some resources in line with today’s post: I wrote this about seeing your beauty after child-bearing changes your body. Honestly, on the bad days, I read it to myself to encourage myself. Ha!

Sarah Mae wrote an e-book called Frumps to Pumps. It’s kind of like 5 minute daily devotionals to challenge, encourage, and equip you to spend a little more time on yourself.

On Growing Up in a Pentecostal Church

I grew up on an orange pew in a small Pentecostal church.

I grew up with tongues-speaking and large women running aisles whenever the Spirit fell. We called each other brother and sister. I looked forward to my weekly welcome from Brother Sid who always had a smile and a Werther’s Original to share.

My mom made sure we were at church every time the doors were open which happened to be twice on Sunday, Wednesday evening, and Tuesday mornings for prayer.

My pastor was a gentle man. He was a Missouri boy who loved down-home cooking and blue-grass music. Everyone knew biscuits and gravy was his favorite meal.  He frequently mentioned his favorite singer: his wife. I think I heard the story of how he met her at church and how he kept going to that church so he could date her no less than 198 times in my childhood. If I am honest, I don’t think I remember a single one of his sermons, but I do remember how he would tell me every chance he got: “Amanda, you know God loves you? There isn’t anyone that He loves more than you.”

My pastor’s wife was an adamant woman. She was adamant about my worth, she was adamant about purity, she was adamant about making a way for me. I remember her confessing to me that she had a sharp-tongue, and maybe it was true, but she also knew how to wield her words as a sharp sword against the enemy. I probably had a healthy dose of the holy fear of God and of my pastor’s wife. She played the piano and sang with a big voice that could fill a room all by itself. She battled her weight and lost it and gained it a few times, and maybe this sounds funny, but I can’t even tell you how much I appreciated that she gave the softest hugs… I probably couldn’t count how many times I buried my face right into her shoulder and cried. I might not have been her daughter, but I always felt important to her.

I remember being 10 and desperate to go to summer camp. My pastor’s wife might not have wanted to sleep in an un-insulated cabin on a cot, but she wanted to be there for “her kids.” So she volunteered to run the camp store.  I remember being shy, not knowing anyone, not quite fitting… but I could always escape to the camp store. She was a safe place. She went every year that our church sent kids up.

One night at that camp when I was 14 or so, I had a really bad asthma attack that led to a really bad panic attack. I started to go into shock. I was laid out on a bench, head in my pastor’s wife’s lap, terrified, tears streaming and the talk of calling for a helicopter to fly me to the hospital in the background. My pastor’s wife prayed down the heavens. Her voice was loud and full of authority. She fought for me till the airways opened. Honestly, if I was asthma, or even God for that matter, I don’t think I’d bother with contradicting her.

I remember having church in a tent for almost a year. I had wanted to sing so badly. The first night in that tent, she called me to the front before service started and told me and another girl she wanted us to stand next to her and sing. We did almost every week. Church shoes on a dirt floor, under canvas before metal folding chairs, we learned to lead worship. She always made a way for people. I remember going and visiting that church years later and enduring a sweet older lady doing a special song. I don’t know how else to put this other than to say it was terrible. My pastor’s wife smiled big and warm the whole time. She knew it was worship.

(And for the record, there is a very strong possibility I sang that terrible.)

In my adult years I can say that I am really glad God has been bringing down denominational walls in my heart. If you believe Jesus Christ is the Son of God who came and died on the cross for our sins and rose again… you are my brother and my sister—Pentecostal or not, Baptist, Evangelical, Episcopalian, Catholic, or Seventh Day Adventist… Really, all other matters pale in comparison to the salvation we have been freely offered.

But still, I am proud of my Pentecostal upbringing. This woman, now the wife of a cop, knows spiritual warfare. I know how to pray down the heavens. I desired to speak in tongues before I knew how weird or controversial it was. I’m glad. I love my prayer language, and like Paul, I use it daily. I know what it is to have the joy of the Lord bubble up and out uncontainable, to be undignified and dance before my God… before I knew about things like “order in service.”

My church might be a good deal more "conservative" now, but I can’t even put into words how grateful I am for that small Pentecostal church and the pastors that served it.

I so appreciate you, Pastor and Sister (we’ll keep your last name between us, but you know who you are).

Thank you for giving and giving, for making a way and a place for me, for praying, for loving.

You are so dear to me and so very loved.

By Grace,

Amanda Conquers

I'd love to hear if you grew up in church? What was one outstanding memory from it?

Since I brought up some Christian topics that have historically brought controversy (and no doubt, still do), I would just like to make mention of Shawn Grove’s article. It gives an analogy about similarities and differences between Christians that I do believe encourages unity in spite of doctrinal difference.

Oh and here's another hint of what's coming next week: 

I am really excited for Monday's kick-off post. I do believe it is a message God is burning on my heart for me and women everywhere. Maybe grab your girlfriends?

Sharing in Community:

When You Just Have No Clue Where You Are Going

Photo Credit

One night I was driving home from work. I had worked late, waitressing well past closing at a restaurant in the city. I was 20 at the time, living with my parents. They lived in a small town with zero stop lights and a liquor store named “The Boondocks.” (The name of the store might be a good indication they were at least one half hour from a real grocery store and modern civilization).

This particular night was foggy.

The fog had rolled in thick. White clouds like swamp monsters clung to asphalt and farmland. Visibility: the end of my nose. The stars weren’t visible. The ground wasn’t visible. The fences surrounding the pastures weren’t even discernible.

I felt claustrophobic. Trapped. Just me and my thoughts and this hope that there wouldn’t be a stopped car in front of me or a stray cow in the road. Something about not being able to see made me feel desperate, irrational, like I wanted to put the pedal to the floor and get out of there as quickly as I could. I longed for a break in the fog. CLARITY! To know I was where I was. To see something familiar.

The only way I could see to drive was to open my car door and find the middle line. If the middle went from being one solid and one dashed set of lines to being two solid I knew there was either a stop sign, a cross street, or a sharp turn just ahead.

Yes. It was that bad. And I had to get home… unless I wanted to sleep in my car in eerie swamp-monster covered land. I didn’t.

My 30 minute drive became a 100 minute drive.

(I wonder if one realizes when they think of glorious California with its ocean sunsets and ski resorts and Napa wine country, the low lying areas of California have a slight weather problem from October to March: fog.

It’s okay though. I’ll take fog over 95 degrees and 100 percent humidity any day, Midwest. Amen.)

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Has your life ever felt like this?

Groping through the dark? Swimming in pea-soup fog, completely unsure of what God is doing and what you should be doing?

My life has felt like this since March—when we moved, my church moved (and merged with another church), and my husband starting working as a cop.

I have no idea what God wants me to do, where He wants me planted. And I don’t know what He wants to do in my family.

I’ve been antsy. Claustrophobic. I want the fog to clear and to just know. Wouldn’t it be great if God always spoke through writing in clouds and a booming voice, “Thus sayeth the Lord, thou shalt walk in this direction, go to this church, make this your ministry. Amen.”?!!

But He usually doesn’t.

Sometimes God is the yellow line on the road. Go slowly. Lean in close and I will guide you… one step at a time.  I want you close so I can work on you, heal you.  And I want you close so we can be close. I am doing a work I don’t want you to see just yet. Would you trust me?

Would you trust Him?

I sought wisdom a few months back from a life coach. (Um, can I just highly recommend this if you are ever in a confusing season of your life? If you live in my area, I’d be happy to share mine! She’s amazing.) She gave me this bit of wisdom, probably more eloquently, but it was something like this: Stay where you are. Walk slowly. Lean in to Christ. It might take weeks, months, maybe even years, but I promise the fog will clear. Get to the places where you find healing, hold onto the things that give you life. And wait.

Wait.

It’s hard, right? I want to know, and now, thank you. I’d like to plan for tomorrow, God, so if you could just kindly clue me in?!

I keep thinking I know what God is doing so I jump ahead and then find myself realizing I just need to walk in step with Christ. I am learning how much I like to be in control and how little I have, in fact, surrendered to God. The thing is: I don’t need to guess what's ahead. I don’t even need to know what’s ahead.

I can trust God.

And really, if I learned one thing that night in the dense fog it’s that the only way to get through those places where you can’t see 3 feet in front of you, is to move slowly and look at where you are now--those yellow guiding lines. God will guide you. You might not see what’s in front of you, but I promise you He is right beside you.

Photo Credit

Have you ever been in a foggy place where you just had no clue what God was doing? How did it turn out?

By Grace,

Amanda Conquers

Pssst… Dude. We are doing a one-week series next week. I am excited for it. Hint: I am bringing in the professionals for something I really need help with (and maybe women everywhere.) More hints and details to come! 

Sharing with this beautiful community: