A New Song Unwritten...

On Advent and Inviting Christ Into Christmas...

"Come, thou long-expected Jesus,
Born to set thy people free.

From our fears and sins, release us,

Let us find our rest in thee.

Israel's strength and consolation,

Hope of all the earth, thou art.

Dear desire of every nation,

Joy of every longing heart."

How is it, that we are already entering the season of Advent? As of two days ago, I have been home for three months. Three. Months. Staggering to imagine this.

I must confess something to you, my friends. I have done the very thing that Charlie Brown warned us we would do. For a brief moment, I have made Christmas too commercial. I've made it too much about gifts. I've made it too much about the tasty food we will eat. I've made it too much about what days I should try to take off over the holidays. But this morning, as I sat with my nieces, watching the beloved Christmas special we all know and love, as Linus took the stage and recited the Scripture that we all repeated verbatim as children, my heart was convicted. I held my sweet girls a little closer, as we witnessed what Christmas was always meant to be about: the coming of Christ, in the form of a baby.

Come, thou long-expected Jesus...

As I was getting ready for work, I found a video from Ann Voskamp, one of my newfound favorite authors. She was talking about the first week of advent, marked today, with the lighting of the candle of hope. Our hope. As I listened to her message, that in the midst of our mess, there is hope...

"A shoot will come up from the stump of Jesse;

from his roots a Branch will bear fruit.

The Spirit of the Lord will rest on him--

the Spirit of wisdom and of understanding,

the Spirit of counsel and of might,

the Spirit of the knowledge and fear of the Lord--

and he will delight in the fear of the Lord." Isaiah 11:1-3

I sat and I wept, for the first time in a little while. How could I have allowed Christ to be taken out of the equation, when it comes to Christmas? How could I allow Him to be replaced by gifts, and food, and holidays?

No, I must invite Him in. I don't want to go through this season, to wake up Christmas morning, having missed the very reason that we celebrate this blessed time: the Hope that came to a manger, cradled in a woman's arms, His cries piercing the quiet of the night, the Hope that would set His people free.

No, I purpose to invite Him in. I purpose to hold this Hope close to my heart, as I enter in to this season of Advent. Yes, I will give gifts. Yes, I will enjoy food and laughter and joyful moments with my family and with my friends. But oh, Father, do not let me forget You in the midst of everything.

Come, thou long-expected Jesus...

Born to set thy people free...

From our fears and sins, release us...

Let us find our rest in Thee...

He is our Hope. Don't forget Him, this season of Advent. Invite Christ into your homes, into your hearts, into your lives, this Christmas. I promise to do the same.

Blessings.

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On Grieving, And Seasons Changing...

"And even when the trees have just surrendered
To the harvest time,

Forfeiting their leaves in late-September,

And sending us inside.

So it is with You, when change begins,

And I am braced for colder winds.

I will offer thanks for what has been,

And what's to come.

You are Autumn."

- Nichole Nordeman, Every Season

November. Autumn. Even as I say those words, I am in disbelief. As of next Friday, I will have been home on PEI for 3 months. 3 months. Where on earth has the time gone?

If you've been reading my blog or my posts on Facebook, you've probably picked up on the fact that I've spoken often of seasons. Ever since I heard Steve Carter speak at a youth conference back in 2012 in relation to the Christian life and living in seasons, the concept has not left my mind. I truly believe that God planted that seed in my mind and heart, to help me through the challenges and struggles, as well as the joys and celebrations of these past few years. More on that in a moment.

I have been much more aware of the changing seasons since moving home to PEI. Living in Oklahoma City for 4.5 years, unless I was out at the Salvation Army camp in Northeast Oklahoma, in the woodlands, it was a little more difficult to note the seasons' changes. But here in PEI, it's much more apparent. My family's home is in a quiet little rural community, tucked in by a beautiful little bay, surrounded by farm land. I moved home in late August, which, for farmers, is a time for harvest. I had several potato farmers come in to the store where I was training and while I poured their coffees and asked about their day, they would tell me about how they were harvesting potatoes and preparing their fields for the fall and winter. To avoid rot, potatoes tend to be harvested in late-August, then transported to storage for grading and distribution, for large-scale farmers, a long process.

Autumn boasts beautiful colors of changing leaves here. I loved my commute to work, taking back roads that gave me a backstage pass to some of the most beautiful tapestries of oranges and reds and yellows. Through a difficult time of transition, seeing God's creation in nature was something that spoke deeply to my heart.

And now, we are preparing to move into winter, and more than just "colder winds" tell me so. For the past few days, we have had a gigantic gaggle of geese congregating in the field opposite our house, and splashing around in the bay. It has been fascinating to hear the constant honking and squawking of the geese, as if they were strategizing the trip south, arranging the next team to take to the skies. For the past 4.5 years, I was on the other side of their trip, receiving them in the south. Now, I'm on the other side, watching them lay out their flight plan, and it's truly fascinating.

But the migration of my feathered friends tells me that colder winds, and snow, and darker days, are coming. Any friends who identify with the struggle of Seasonal Affective Disorder (moods being affected by the lack of natural sunlight) know exactly where my anxiety lies. I am thankful for my friend Sarah who recommended a therapy lamp to me for these short and dark winter days. I'm already noticing a difference. Message me on Facebook, if you're interested in purchasing one. I've done some research. :-)

I remember Steve talking about the Fall and Winter season, about the need for plant life to die, to fall into sleep beneath the snow, to prepare for the new growth, the New Life, to come in the Spring.

Let that sit for a moment...Because I know, if there is anyone who is going through their own form of Winter instantly relates to what he's talking about.

Every morning, I go to the back door of the kitchen to fill the coffee pot with water (okay, get it out of your system...I work at a coffee shop, and the first thing I do at home in the morning is put on coffee...let's move on.). Hanging on the wall next to the water cooler is a print my mother put up years ago with the well-known Scripture from Ecclesiastes:

It catches my eye every morning. To everything, there is a season. Funny how I've read those words over and over again, sang the song by The Byrds numerous times (Okay, who else is now singing it with me? You're welcome!). But those words have so much more meaning, now, as I go through this current season. It has very much been a winter season. I have gone through numerous changes in a very short time, not to mention the fact that I am also going through a pretty intense season of grief.

Yes, grief. It doesn't just come to those who lose loved ones to death. It comes after major life changes, big moves, job changes, relationship changes. In this current season, I've moved back to my home country (a big change with a series of little changes), leaving behind friends and "family", I've moved in with my family as an adult, I've taken a new job that is not ministry-related, I've taken a step back from practical ministry for a season to rest and restore from significant burnout. I've had to re-adapt to a different climate, culture and people. I've had to grieve, not a loss of people, but a change of relationship, with several friends who are now separated by a few thousand miles. And you know what's funny? I've had several people, in my low points, remind me of just how many changes I've experienced, and yet, as I list just a few of the pretty major changes I've experienced, I feel a sense of freedom, a sense of acceptance. There's a reason why I'm in a pretty wintry season, even before the first snow flies.

It's been challenging. Even excruciating and exhausting. When I first came home, I was in shock and denial, that I'd be fine, that I wouldn't have to struggle through this transition. But that soon wore off. I have some really good days. But I also have some really hard days, too. Some days I can't stop crying, because I miss the place and people I once called "home." Some days I get really frustrated, even angry, because the decision I made, that I know was God-inspired, has resulted in my being away from all the familiarity that I've known over the past 4.5 years, and now I must work hard to re-acclimate to a home that was once familiar, but now feels alien. Some days I bargain, thinking if only I do A, B, and C, I'll be able to go back, or I'll feel better.

I haven't gone through a "classic" cycle of grief. This experience has been far from textbook. Some days I am in the depression stage, then anger, then bargaining, then back to anger, then back to depression. Back and forth. Back and forth.

But lately, I have seen glimpses of the "promised land" of the grief cycle: acceptance. And it was when I finally came face-to-face with my grief, started writing again, cried a little more, poured my heart out a little more - anger and all - to God, I could see myself moving a little closer toward acceptance. Some days I get there, and some days I slip back to the former steps. But I see acceptance coming closer and closer, like a glimmer of hope...

Spring is coming...I can see it.

I remember Steve talking about the hope and promise that Spring is coming. We see it in the story of Christ's death and resurrection. The suffering He endured was excruciating and humiliating and torturous, as He went to the cross, bearing our sin...my sin.

But the third day came...and He rose again from the dead...Spring came. New life appeared.

There is hope, friends. And that hope has been what brings me through each day of this difficult season. Hope that Spring is coming, that New Life will come in time, is what I cling to. I cling to the promises that my Heavenly Father gives to me, that His mercies are new every morning, that He is faithful, that He died - and rose again - to set us free from the bondage of sin - not suffering, not hardship - but sin.

This has been a grueling season...but there have been glimpses of hope. It comes in the smiles and the hugs and the prayers of my friends, my family, my support system that is being developed here. It comes in the moments of laughter that are beginning to become more frequent. It comes in the confidence I am slowly building in my job. It comes in the days I can sit in a church service without feeling anxious, allowing the music and the Word to heal my broken heart.

Spring is coming, friends. I don't know if my "Spring" will come in April, as it often does...but I know it will come. It's a hope I hold on to.

Thank you for praying for me. I ask that you continue to do so. And if you're in a winter season, you're not alone. We can walk it together. Let me know how I can pray for you.

Blessings.

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On Navigating Waters...

It's been a whirlwind few weeks, being home. There is much to learn, lots to do, and lots of stress and activity to wear a girl out. I couldn't be more thankful for a long weekend off. Happy Canadian Thanksgiving, friends and family.

My aunt is home visiting on the Island from Alberta for 6 weeks, and yesterday, we were invited to an afternoon of lounging and visiting on my aunt and uncle's boat in Charlottetown. It was a breezy afternoon, so the boat sat in its place at the marina; but just to be near the water, to smell the salt air was more than enough for me. It was blissful.

But I wasn't prepared for the excitement of being able to take my uncle's WaveRider out for a spin on the water. I hadn't been on a sea-doo in probably 20 years, so I opted to let my uncle take me out, first. Once I felt a little more comfortable, I was able to take the small watercraft out on my own. It took some time for me to gain control of the craft, especially with the water being as choppy as it was. I would bounce around on the small waves, not reaching much more than 4 mph; but after a few minutes of playing around and learning to navigate the waves, I was ready to explore outside the safety of the marina, as the wind and the waves called my name.

I left the marina, leaving my phone and the cares and the distractions of the world behind. It was just me, The Lord, and the crisp, cool waters of the Hillsborough River. I only reached 20-25 mph on the WaveRider, but that was just enough to feel the wind in my hair, and the waves of tangy salt water splashing against my face. It had been close to six years since I had been close to the beautiful waters of Prince Edward Island, as the waters were always frozen when I came home to visit at Christmas. But I'm an Island girl, with salt water in my veins. I grew up by the shoreline, spending each moment I could of the summer months splashing around in the Gulf of Saint Lawrence. Amidst just over a month of transitions, chaos, unfamiliarity and heartache, for those few minutes, I felt very much at home, cradled among the waves. For the first time in a long time, navigating waters felt comfortable and familiar to me.

As I found myself a few miles from the marina, I slowed down, and let the waves carry the WaveRider for a moment. Time had gotten away from me, and I knew my family would be concerned about me. My eyes found the shoreline, where the world sat, where the reality of this transition awaited my return. I tasted the salt water on my lips, ran my fingers through my wind-blown hair, and whispered to the Lord, "I don't want to go back. For the first time in a long time, navigating waters is easy, out here, when it's just me and the waters. But back there is life. Change, Transition. Heartache and Homesickness to navigate. Those waters are hard. I don't want to go back."

And while I didn't want to go back to "doing the hard things" of life, I felt the Lord whisper back to me, "It's okay. You can go back...because I'm going before you. I'm with you."

So I took a deep breath, and made my way back to the marina, back to life and transition, knowing Who was going before me.

Friends, I don't expect you to completely understand what I'm experiencing during this transition, unless you're going through it right beside me. And don't get me wrong. There have been points of joy in my life, during my first month home. In fact, one of those points of joy occurred yesterday, when I could enjoy a day of relaxing and spending time with my family, some of whom I haven't seen for almost ten years. There are points of joy when I'm sitting in my best friend's kitchen, drinking tea and chatting about life, as I bounce her baby boy on my lap, and exchange goofy grins with her sweet three-year old boy. There are points of joy when my friends kidnap me to go for a drive, or to go get lost in Indigo Books for just a moment. There are points of joy when I read stories to my nieces, laughing and giggling together. There are points of joy when I play games with my family, laughing and joking around together. There are even points of joy when I sit in church services in my home corps, singing and praising God.

But there are days when navigating the waters of transition becomes really, really difficult. The days when I'm sitting in a church service, and I hear a song that my corps family would sing in Oklahoma City, and my heart floods with homesickness for the familiarity of the OKC Citadel Corps, as my eyes fill with tears. The days when I see memories come up on Facebook from my time in Oklahoma, with dear friends who've walked with me through one of the toughest legs of my journey with the Lord. There are days when I have a hard day at work, and I miss my kiddos at the Boys & Girls Club. There are days when I miss the wonderful people who supported me through some of the toughest days of my wellness journey.

Four-and-a-half years is a long time to be in one place, to build relationships and routines. Four-and-a-half years is also a long time to be away from one place, and the process begins, once again, of building and re-building relationships and new routines.

It's hard, there's no doubt about it. But I remember my dear friend who reminded me of how difficulty and challenge are the very things that God can use to strengthen our faith and our character. Boy howdy, there's a lot of faith-strengthening and character-building going on during this transition. And it's not over, yet.

Yes, navigating waters of transition is hard. But oh, how much harder would it be, if my God were not with me, had He not gone before me?

Just as I wrote the words above, I was brought back to the message written on the front page of my journal devotional book given to me from OKC Citadel. I take such comfort in knowing that God has gone on before me, and walks with me, that He has planned the future. The challenge comes in trusting Him with all these things.

When I was in college, struggling through what was a difficult transition, being at a new school, one of my quad-mates left a sheet of paper under my door one night, with a Scripture from Isaiah 43. The promises in that Scripture have carried me through many a transition in the past, and this morning, I'm holding tightly to it, as I navigate the waters of this particular transition:

"But now, O Jacob, listen to the Lord who created you.

O Israel, the one who formed you says,

"Do not be afraid, for I have ransomed you.
I have called you by name; you are mine.

When you go through deep waters,

I will be with you.

When you go through rivers of difficulty,

You will not drown.

When you walk through the fire of oppression,

the flames will not consume you.

For I am the Lord, your God,

The Holy One of Israel, your Savior..."

When I was out on the water, yesterday, it was difficult to navigate the waters, at first. It had been quite some time since I'd been out on a WaveRider, and so it took some time for me to gain control of the small craft, and to feel at home on the waves.

So it is with this transition. Right now, I'm finding it difficult to navigate the waters. It's been some time since I've been on these waters, and it's going to take time before I feel at home on the waves. How thankful I am that I don't need to figure it all out on my own. How thankful I am that my Heavenly Father is right here beside me, helping me to navigate these waters.

Please, if you would, continue to pray for me, as I continue through this season of transition, as I navigate the waters. My heart longs for the day when I will feel at home on these waves of change.

Blessings.

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On Sunrises, Sunsets, and God's Faithfulness in Transition...

"Lord, you have been our dwelling place
throughout all generations.

Before the mountains were born
or you brought forth the whole world,
from everlasting to everlasting you are God."

Psalm 90:1-2

I find that I don't get to write as often as I used to, what with trying to keep up with the pace of my new job, and trying to balance time with friends, family and church family during the times when I'm not working, and sometimes, if I'm brutally honest, would like to be sleeping and resting, so as to prepare myself for the next shift, the next lesson, the next evening spent babysitting or having coffee with a friend or heading off to church. While my pace of life has lessened significantly since leaving Oklahoma just over a month ago, and even since having to take a step back from children's and music ministries for a season, sometimes I find myself struggling to keep up, to rise gracefully and to walk gracefully. I'll be transparent for a moment and admit, that amidst the constant adjustments, bouts of homesickness for my beloved OKC family and corps family, and the few moments when my guard is let down and I allow myself to grieve the loss of a place I once called home and a ministry where I found comfort and security...I feel as though my step quickly shifts from graceful to "all thumbs" and "clumsy stumbling," with grace on the side. I often feel as I do when I'm working, trying desperately to keep ahead of every coffee order, every food prep action, every smile, every upsell, every "have a great day!" Some days, I do really well, and I rise to each challenge; other days, the shift ends, and I wonder to myself what on earth I actually did right.

Stay with me. This isn't a whining session, nor is it a pity party. But what this is, my friends, is a moment where I admit that I can't always keep up. Why do I say this? Because I'm certain that I'm not the only one who shares this struggle. I know that there are many like me who are in the same boat. We work hard, play hard, care for our families and friends, save here, clean there, leaving only scant times to take a deep breath, spend a moment with our Creator, let our guard down, shed a tear, if needed, just be.

During this time of transition, many things around me seem out of place, chaotic even, completely and utterly out of my control. But lately, God has been attracting my eye to the familiar and beautiful "constants" that surround me. The one pictured above is a lovely sight that caught my eye, as I was leaving for an early shift, one morning. The sun was just barely coming up, the moon still hanging in the sky.

Yesterday morning, I was blessed with a later morning shift, and as I was stumbling sleepily about the house, gathering my breakfast and preparing for the day, I walked out onto the balcony of the house and stopped dead in my tracks, as I witness this glorious sunrise, the beautiful strokes of the brush of the Master Artist, painted delicately across the morning skies, and dancing along the waters of Rustico Bay.

Amidst the mornings where I wearily and sleepily was shuffling off to work, I stopped, lifted my eyes to the beauty that filled the morning sky, took a long deep breath, and left for work, reminded that each morning, the moon lingers for just a moment, but then returns to the heavens, as the sun begins to rise. It never fails. Both the sun and moon move through their respective phases, just as God created them to do so.

And then there's this gem. I took this picture shortly after I moved home from Oklahoma. I was milling about the house one evening, when the beautiful lights of the sky caught my eye, and I wandered out onto the back deck. The most breathtaking sunset decorated the skyline on our back acreage. It brought tears to my eyes, as I gazed, once again, at the handiwork of my Heavenly Father. I see this sunset, and I'm reminded again of the sun, and its faithful movements, from rising in the morning, to setting at night, as the moon moves into its place.

So much has changed in the past month, and here on this Tiny Island, much has changed in the last five years, since I last lived here. Time has passed. People have changed. Situations have changed. Relationships have changed. I have changed. While, in this season of grieving, I don't necessarily feel as though I've changed, indeed, I have. And sometimes the constant change that surrounds me, much of, really all of which is out of my control, overwhelms my heart. I've never been one who likes change, and I find it difficult to adapt to so much change in such little time. But adapt, I certainly must, and grow, I absolutely will. And in the meantime, I will remember the "constants" in my life. I will remember that the sun will rise and set each day, that the moon will take its place at night, and welcome the sun back in the morning, even when the clouds block their visibility, they most certainly there.

I will remember the One who is constant, the One who gave His life for me, the One who has carried me through this season of transition. Even when I don't see Him, or feel Him, He has been there. He was there when I celebrated my last Sunday in OKC. He was there when I held my corps family in my arms, and shed so many tears of sadness, as we parted ways. He was there when I cried tears of joy, as I was reunited with my family, and as He provided a job just a few short days after returning home. He has been there in every challenge I've encountered, as I navigate a new job, new responsibilities, new coworkers, a new work culture. He has been there in the loving understanding of my new Corps Officers, as I had to openly admit that I am experiencing burnout, and needed to take a step back from ministry, as I heal and as I navigate this season of transition. He was there this morning, as I sat in church, and I finally allowed myself to be broken in His presence, to allow tears of fear, of anger, of sadness, and even of peace, stream down my face, as I heard the words, "It's no longer I that liveth, but Christ that liveth in me!" being sung by the worship team, and I felt an intense wave of homesickness for my OKC family (That was a song we often sung during our Sunday School preliminaries at OKC Citadel).

God has been constant, and present, even when I haven't been, and in this season of transition and restoration, God showed me today that this season will involve my becoming reacquainted with Him, knowing Him as, not only the God I serve, but the God who loves me, who calls me "deeper still into love," as Chris Tomlin sings in his song, "Good Good Father." (Which I listened to on repeat, as I drove to church, this morning.)

Friends, you have allowed me to invite you into a mere piece of my journey. Thank you for allowing me to be a little more transparent, a little more real and raw than I have, before. Writing and reflecting has been so key in my healing during this season of transition, and being able to have you follow this journey has assured me that there are dear ones who support me, stand with me, and lift me up in prayer. Please continue to do so.

Here's to many more brave steps forward, many more sunrises and sunsets, and many more encounters with the faithful, constant and everlasting God.

Blessings.

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On New Normals, Stability in Routine, and Peace in God's Will...

As I continue to transition, I find a lot of stability in routine.
My "morning routine" before work has become a time of quiet,
Bowl of Greek Yogurt with Blueberries and Granola,
a cup of tea or coffee, and my devotional book.

Last night was a strange night. I had a full day of training for my new job, had dinner with my aunt, and went home. It wasn't until I was sitting in my living room, in my PJ's, with our little dog traipsing about at my feet, that reality hit me: it was Wednesday evening, which meant that OKC Citadel's youth and music programs were beginning for the year, in fact, were already in full swing (remember, I'm now two hours ahead of OKC in PEI).

Most would feel elated at the idea of a free evening. I, however, felt lost. The familiarity of routine and fellowship with my corps family that I once had, was suddenly gone. I didn't know what to do with myself, other than, amidst the pain in my heart, to pray for my corps family.

Embracing a "new normal," and following God's leading, unfortunately, is not always how we'd like it to be, or how we think it should be. I knew the day I sat in my corps officer's office and uttered the words of my decision to move home that it was indeed God's leading that brought me to such a decision, and I was excited at the thought of being home with my family and friends, again; but with this new chapter came the pain of saying goodbye to my beloved "Okie Family," the challenge of starting fresh with a new job, entering back into a culture I haven't been part of for several years, leaving behind all that has been familiar to me for almost five years.

But I'm slowly learning, through this time of transition, that it's okay to move on. And it's okay for my corps family to move on. It's okay for me to be sad, and it's okay to miss being part of that family; but it's also okay for me to be happy when that family has success, and grows together, to pray them through periods of growth and struggle. I can move on and still carry that sweet family in my heart.

But...it's also okay for me to be part of a corps family, here in Charlottetown. It's okay to grow with them, to rejoice with them, to pray with them, just as I did in OKC. It's okay to move on.

I have a wise and dear friend who told me recently, "Give yourself the gift of time and you will soon realize that what now feels unfamiliar will have become a comfy soft sweater wrapped around you." I'm learning to give myself this gift of time. Time to adjust to my new job (knowing that I don't have to know everything right away). Time to grieve. Time to rest. Time to share with my family and friends. Time to make new friends, and to reconnect with others. Time to connect, even reconnect, with God. Time to establish a new routine. Time to adjust to, and to embrace, this "new normal."

And again, as I'm closing this entry, as it has come back to me many times before, the words of a well-known hymn return to me:

Trusting as the moments fly,
Trusting as the days go by,
Trusting Him, whate’er befall,
Trusting Jesus, that is all.

The brave steps continue...one at a time. Please hold me close in prayer.

Blessings.

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On Culture Shock and Lady Grey Tea...

Ever burst into tears, after a shopping trip? Well, I never thought I would do such a thing; but I felt the hotness of the tears welling up in my eyes, as I attempted to navigate a grocery store I once knew so well. All of a sudden, it was foreign to me.

Where do I find the almond milk? Where do I find tortillas? What kind of salsa is sold here? It wasn't until I walked through the tea aisle and found my favorite tea -lady grey- that I could feel some of the panic subside. Ever hold a box of tea close to your chest, like a security blanket? I never thought I would do such things, until I found myself in that very place, clutching the one shred of familiarity I possessed close to my heart.

I never understood culture shock, and I remembered hearing about the experiences my missionary friends would have, similar to mine, upon returning from overseas. I never thought that I would be able to relate to these experiences; but as I stood in the middle of that grocery store, those experiences appeared to be all-too-familiar to me. All of a sudden, in the middle of the tea aisle, I began to second-guess every capability I possess.

"How am I ever going to adapt to a brand new position?" My mind pondered. "How am I going to do anything, when I can't even get through a grocery store without crying?" I wondered. "Am I going to be okay?" My heart cried out to the Lord, as I sat in my car, sobbing.

Then I remembered: the tea. That shred of familiarity brought me back, as if the Lord was taking me gently on the shoulder. I remembered that I have only been home for less than a week. I remembered that discouragement is not of God, and that I must stamp it out at once.

I remembered that I am capable, because my Heavenly Father is able. More than able.

This season of navigating culture shock is going to take time. Adapting to life in a place that was once familiar, but is not-so-familiar right now, is going to take time. Adapting to a new job with a new company, is going to take time. But I am capable of these things, because my Heavenly Father is "more than able to accomplish what concerns me today."

I am incredibly thankful for those words penned by Rory Noland. Those were the very same words that I sang on my last Sunday in OKC. I had no idea just how much they would impact me during this season of transition.

I am capable, because my Heavenly Father is more than able.

So I hold on right to my Lady Grey Tea, and I hold fast to the promises of my Heavenly Father, as I continue to walk through this season of transition.

Here's to more brave steps forward.

Blessings.

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On Fear and Trust...

"Can all your worries add a single moment to your life? And if worry can't accomplish a little thing like that, what's the use of worrying over bigger things?

Look at the lilies and how they grow. They don't work or make their clothing, yet Solomon in all his glory was not dressed as beautifully as they are. And if God cares so wonderfully for flowers that are here today and thrown into the fire tomorrow, he will certainly care for you. Why do you have so little faith?

And don't be concerned about what to eat and what to drink. Don't worry about such things. These things dominate the thoughts of unbelievers all over the world, but your Father already knows your needs. Seek the Kingdom of God above all else, and he will give you everything you need.

So don't be afraid, little flock. For it gives your Father great happiness to give you the kingdom."

~ Luke 12:25-32

Today, I have been given the gift of rest. Oh, how glad I am for this. How quickly I forget about the intense emotional crash that can come after a spiritually intense week. It was an incredible privilege to serve on staff at TMI (The Salvation Army's Territorial Music Institute). For 10 days, youth from all over the southern states gathered in Texas for 10 days of musical and spiritual instruction. It was an added treat, this year, to have spiritual and musical guests from The Salvation Army in Canada to lead us.

My week was filled with beautiful reunions with dear friends from across the Territory, with whom I've shared the privilege of ministering to budding musicians for the past 5 years. I am so grateful for the friends and family who kept me supported in prayer this week, as this was a week of farewells to dear ones that I may not see again for some time. The Lord so lovingly sustained me throughout the week, weaving in beautiful details to encourage my heart and my faith.

But yesterday was a tough day for me. We gathered together for worship, and just like many of the delegates in that chapel, I was faced with the reality I would return to, this week. There are just 24 sleeps until I begin the move back to Canada. These next few weeks will be filled with laughter, tears, hugs, hugs, more hugs, farewells, and a whole lot of change.

And so, today, after a great deal of physical rest, I woke up with a mind filled with a great deal of unrest. I knew that much of what I would experience today would be the result of the dreaded emotional crash; but I also recognized a great deal of fear. Fear of what the future holds. Fear of changing relationships. Fear of losing relationships altogether. Fear of not being able to emotionally deal with the changes to come.

With tear-stained cheeks, I wrote in my journal, pouring out my heart to God, begging for clarity, pleading for release from the hurt, the mistrust, the fear. It was in that moment that God so faithfully reminded me, through a post on Facebook from Ann Voskamp: "Sometimes we want deeper clarity - when what we need is deeper trust." And in that moment, I remembered the sticky note in my backpack.

I reached into my backpack, and pulled out a sticky note, which was placed in my hands by my dear friend, Major Wendy Morris, yesterday morning, as I knelt at the Mercy Seat, tears streaming down my face, and sobs escaping my throat, the reality of what is to come weighing heavily on my shoulders. The phrase she wrote on that sticky note is so simple, and yet so profound and appropriate, spoken directly from my Father's heart: "DO NOT FEAR!"

After spending time together in prayer, I returned to my seat, and placed the sticky note on my backpack. My good friend, Gwynn Potter, saw that note, and the Holy Spirit reminded her of the Scripture I referenced above, from Luke (also found in Matthew). She brought a particular phrase from that passage to my attention, and it has been imprinted in my mind and on my heart: "So don't be afraid, little flock. For it gives your Father great happiness to give you the kingdom." Talk about incredibly impeccable timing, huh? God is so good.

Today, this sheep is in need of guidance from her Shepherd. This sheep needs to cultivate deeper trust in Him by staying close to His heart, and deeply entrenched in His Word.

Today, though my heart and mind may fear, I shall purpose to trust in my Savior, who is my Provider, my Encourager, my Guide.

Here's to more brave steps forward.

Blessings.

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