I watch her tenacity, and I find myself envious at times. My eight year old knows exactly what she wants, and when she puts her mind to something, she doesn’t let anyone get in her way. Her determination and quest for accomplishment are amazing. A goal, no matter how big or small, is all the motivation she needs to put in the hard work, to go the extra mile. And, so far, she has accomplished all that she set out to do.
She is teaching me, reminding me, what it’s like to pursue a goal without fear of failure, and to dream without concern for what others might think.
Something happens when we grow up. We become so predictable, so practical, so…safe. We think through every possible scenario, every outcome that could result from a decision, and more often than not, we choose the path with the least likelihood of road blocks.
Some of that is simply out of necessity. When you have bills to pay and mouths to feed, you cannot live life on a whim. Decisions have to be made with a heavy amount of respect for the future. Sometimes, however, (many times?) we let practicality be the boss of us. We fear a path of imaginary destruction.
But if we choose to follow a different path, one that is less practical on paper, and the road is rockier, the terrain filled with more ups and downs, and the ultimate outcome less guaranteed, then does that mean we made the wrong decision?
All of these people inspire me to live more intentionally. They have each taught me through both their words, and their actions, that life doesn’t have to be predictable, and you can still be responsible while chasing the things you love.
Living a little outside the lines requires that we make a few sacrifices. We can’t be confined to that which is predictable, and we certainly can’t expect the path to be easy. Fulfilling? Yes. Exciting? Most definitely. Challenging? Without a doubt. Responsible? Depends on who you ask.
But easy? Rarely.
Dreams and goals shouldn’t be laid to rest with childhood. We can still be responsible without being predictable. And the beautiful truth is that if we’re willing to make those sacrifices – if we’re up for the challenge of living intentionally, and doing the hard work necessary to live our lives in pursuit of the things that will leave a longer lasting impact than the boundaries of a 401K, we might find that something beautiful occurs.
We may just carve a different path for ourselves, for our children and for the world around us.
I’m fascinated by Kristen’s story. Her story could be my story…and it could also be your story. She’s a normal girl like you and like me. She’s a mess, she’s funny, she doesn’t get life right all the time. Her kids fight, her house gets messy, and her marriage has seen its moments in the valleys.
Her story is our story, and I wanted to know more. Because where Kristen’s story takes a sharp turn is at the very moment that she uttered a tiny word.
YES.
Kristen and her family felt a tug to help the struggling young women living in the slums of Kenya. With fear and trepidation, they took steps forward, saying Yes to this dream that seemed impossible, and out of their Yes, The Mercy House was birthed, offering freedom and grace for 12 girls, and 12 babies. The story is miraculous, awe-inspiring, and challenging. Kristen and her family are just like your family and mine. They’re a ordinary family who chose to say yes, and they are doing extraordinary work.
When I began reading Rhinestone Jesus, I worried that it would make me feel inadequate. I feared that maybe I would be more confused, more unsure of what my next step should be.
Instead I was reminded of that which I already knew, but I so quickly forget:
I am the mess, and Christ said Yes to me.
I am prideful, and judgmental. I’m the girl who yells at her kids, who grows idle with her time. I’m the girl who spent a decade wrapped in the ugly talons of an eating disorder, who was freed from that prison, but who can still look in a mirror and find too many faults to list.
But the beauty of receiving Christ, of accepting His Yes of me and all my flaws, is this – Because of Christ:
I am humble and repentant when I fail. I’m quick to ask my children for forgiveness when I yell, and I fight the desire to grow idle with every fiber of my being. I am free from the confines of that eating disorder, and when the lies press down, I have the wisdom of the Spirit to help me fight back.
I look for opportunities to serve, and I long to give freely.
When I throw my frustrations at God, He meets me with Grace and Mercy through His Word, every. single. time. He takes my doubts, and He strengthens me in weakness.
Because Christ said Yes to me, I am able to say Yes to Him. I could say Yes to adoption, even when it was scary and expensive, and our decision wasn’t fully supported by everyone we knew and loved. And when it all fell apart, I was able to say Yes to disappointment, to knowing God deeper through brokenness.
I say Yes every day when I fold my laundry, hug my children, serve my husband, live my life. My Yes isn’t always big – it’s a simple response, because the Big Yes was offered on my behalf with Christ’s death, burial and resurrection.
I write this today to encourage you. We are all broken. We all feel a hot mess, and I want you to know that Christ said Yes to you, for you. You can embrace that and cling to it on the days when you don’t feel like you’re enough.
I also have the privilege to give away TWO of Kristen’s books to two of you.
I cannot recommend this book strongly enough. If I could afford to give one to every single person I know, I would.
To enter for a chance to win one of two copies of Rhinestone Jesus: Saying Yes to God When Sparkly, Safe Faith is No Longer Enough,simply leave a comment. Let me know how God has redeemed you in your mess. Share how you are able to say Yes to Him in return. Tell me anything you want to share – one comment will enter you to win.
The comments will remained open until Thursday, May 1, when Rhinestone Jesus officially releases. You can, however, purchase the book already in pre-release. If you’re anxious to own your own copy of Rhinestone Jesus, you can purchase it at the following places:
This post was long. Sorry – I try not to do that too often. Thanks for sticking with me until the end. I am pleading blessings and grace over all of you as you enter into this weekend. I pray that you feel the power of Christ’s Yes to you, and that you, in return, will know the power of saying Yes to Him.
*The giveaway is now closed. Winners have been notified. Thanks everyone for entering!
Disclaimer: I was given a copy of the book to review, and two copies to give away. All opinions expressed are my own.
“Okay, Tia,” the teacher said. “I want you to close your eyes right now. We’re going to play a game.”
I looked on as my daughter compliantly squeezed her eyes shut. We were sitting in the kitchen with a retired second grade teacher who is giving Tia a few tips and tricks to strengthen her reading comprehension. One of the things she noticed right away was that my daughter (a realist, and about as literal a child as they come) was not connecting the the text she was reading.
“Now,” the teacher said gently. “The characters in this story are named Bob, Tom and Jack. Tell me, Tia. What does Jack look like?”
Tia opened her eyes and looked at the teacher in surprise.
“Close your eyes,” the teacher reminded her with a smile. “I want you to use your imagination and tell me what you think Jack looks like. What is he wearing?”
“Uuuummmm…shorts and a t-shirt?” Tia asked.
“Okay,” the teacher said with a smile. “What about Tom?”
“Uh…jeans and a long sleeve shirt?”
“And Bob?”
Tia squeezed her eyes tight and I could see her trying very hard to figure out this obscure exercise in imagination. “Um…a long sleeve shirt and shorts?”
That was the best she could do. This is my child who is not imaginative. She is not one to get lost in story, or to play make believe. She never has been that way – it is simply not the way she was wired. All of her play is centered around real life, or around stories she has heard before. She’s not one to make up her own stories, but rather will regurgitate that which has already been told.
I’m okay with this, though I confess that for a dreamer/imaginer like myself, it is sometimes baffling to watch her process the world. How did I end up with a child who can’t find a shape in a cloud, or close her eyes and imagine a world where the sky isn’t blue?
I’ll tell you how – I married a literalist, and she is just like her daddy.
I had to bite my lip from laughing at her that day with the teacher. She seemed entirely befuddled by this little game, and as I explained the nature of her personality to the teacher later, both of us agreed that she will likely struggle less with nonfiction books that fiction.
It’s hard to connect with a text when you can’t really see the pictures in your mind.
That’s not to say we won’t keep trying. It’s a necessary skill that I want her to develop, but it won’t ever come naturally to her.
Yesterday, she and I sat down to work on her reading. She pulled out The Magic Treehouse and slowly began to read. I stopped her after the first paragraph.
“Okay,” I said. “Let’s practice what Miss Eileen taught you. After reading this paragraph what picture do you have in your mind of Jack and Annie?”
Tia looking at me pointedly. “Yeah…that doesn’t work for me,” she said. “When I closed my eyes I could only see black. How am I supposed to know what Jack looks like with my eyes closed?!”
I love that child. I love the fact that she holds nothing back. It can be infuriating and baffling at times, but also a breath of fresh air. We always know exactly where she stands on an issue. If she doesn’t like something, she will tell you. She doesn’t have time to pretend to like it.
And please don’t ask her to waste time on fantasies. She has too many real dreams to pursue. Like this list of goals she wrote down yesterday.
She’s still a dreamer, you see. Her dreams are simply steeped in the actual world around her.
Fanciful daydreams of a life of grandeur are the things that make childhood so magical. Perhaps one of the greatest tragedies to strike the fatherless is the stripping of innocence – a building block of dreams.
My daughter and I had a few moments alone in the car last week, and she reminded me yet again of the power of a good dream. We were on our way to her gymnastics practice, and she didn’t really want to go. She was tired, she wanted to stay home and fight with play with her brothers, and she just wasn’t in the mood for a four hour workout.
After a few tense moments of whining and pouting, she quieted down and took a deep breath.
“Mom?” she asked.
I glanced at her through the rearview mirror and reminded myself that she’s still so young. Big eyes hover over soft, full cheeks and a nose dotted with fine freckles. I waited for her to speak. She is the child who needs space to prepare her thoughts, slowly and deliberately choosing each word.
“I don’t want to play soccer next year.”
I was surprised by this comment. It was random and didn’t fit the context of our previous conversation. “Okay,” I answered. “You don’t have to.”
“I just don’t see myself as a soccer player,” she said, and I bit back a smile.
“Okay.”
“And I really don’t want to play softball,” she continued, her voice strong and adamant.
I turned onto the street where her gym was located and tried to follow along with her train of thought, to connect the dots from the anger about having to leave for gymnastics and the present conversation. I had a moment of panic, wondering if she was leading up to telling me she didn’t want to do gymnastics anymore. It’s a decision I would support, but it would break my heart, because she has so much talent.
“Well what do you see yourself doing?” I asked, guiding the car into a parking place in front of the gym. I put it in park and shifted so I could look her in the eye. She glanced out the window and a small smile spread across her face.
“I see myself at the Olympics,” she said. Her voice was wistful and dreamy and I couldn’t help but grin. I know that look, and I know what she’s feeling. When I was eight, I saw myself as an Olympic gymnast, too. I remember imagining the podium, and what it would feel like to watch the flag raised with my anthem playing. I envisioned this with the images of Mary Lou Retton shimmering in my mind.
“I’m ready now,” she said. “If I’m going to go to the Olympics, I guess I have to practice, huh?”
There’s something about childhood that makes dreaming so enviable. Right now, there is no doubt in her mind that her dream of going to the Olympics will come true, and there’s no part of me that plans to altar that dream with anything resembling a dose of reality. I know that with time and age, her dreams will shift, and they will mature, and they will change.
But I don’t ever want her to stop dreaming.
Too often as adults we let reality bury our dreams in a pile of salt. We become so practical that we forget the power of a healthy dream. We don’t let our dreams grow and mature with us, and we abandon the act of dreaming altogether.
My childhood dream of making the Olympic team is no longer a reality (though I think I could still have a shot at Curling. I mean, seriously…how hard could it be?!).
But there are realistic dreams that fit my life now, and I’m tired of pushing them aside. I dream of publishing books, of working more with organizations that support orphan care, of not settling and growing comfortable with a life of ease.
I dream of keeping a clean home.
Wait…never mind. That one is about as likely as me becoming the gold medal All Around gymnast in 2016.
The fact is, I don’t have to stop dreaming any more than my eight year old does. And what’s more – I need to chase my dreams as hard as she is chasing hers. I need to push for them, even when I don’t feel like it.
