Posted on by She Who Rises

Training Days

At a family pool party, adults and kids alike playfully bounce around in the water, racing and chasing each other from one side to the other. Others fly down the slide, off the diving board, or stretch out in chairs arranged along the sidelines. It’s the height of summer, and for everyone in attendance, this party is a welcome distraction from regular life. Fun is the only expectation anyone has today.

On the sidelines, three girls are introduced by their parents and then walk circles around the pool chatting. Two of them are sisters who ask the third girl whether she can swim. “Oh yeah,” she says emphatically. “I can swim really well. I’m out here swimming all the time.”

At just that moment, as if on cue, her father walks by. In a moment of pure playfulness, he takes his hips and swings them in his daughters direction, bumping into her side. It’s a silly thing he does every now and again as a joke, usually without consequence. But this time, as his hip connects with hers, she is catapulted, fully-clothed, into the swimming pool to her right – in the deep end.

Shocked by the cold water and her rapid change in circumstances, the girl – the avid swimmer – flails about, choking down mouthfuls of chlorinated water while struggling to stay afloat. She isn’t consciously aware that everyone is looking at her, but nevertheless, on some level, she understands that she has become a spectacle.

Somehow, through squinted eyes, she finds an arm that’s extended in her direction, grabs it, and is pulled out. Once on solid ground, she bolts indoors, well away from the other party-goers, especially the two sisters to whom she had just told a boldface lie.

Locking herself in a bedroom, her immediate plan is to stay there for the rest of her life or at least until everyone else leaves. But soon after, a knock on the door announces her father’s arrival. He asks to come in and apologizes for embarrassing her.

He says he had acted completely without thinking. It never occurred to him that she might fall in. He tries to convince her to change her clothes and rejoin the party, which surprisingly, she does.

She doesn’t blame him for her embarrassment. She knows it’s her fault, or at least, she believes it is. Why?

Because she lied. She didn’t know God well, but after hearing adults say “God don’t like ugly” again and again, she had learned what ugly was and that it came with consequences.

Lying was ugly. Falling in the pool and the exposure and embarrassment that came with it had been a consequence. Extremely swift justice. And it would never be forgotten.

If you haven’t figured it out by now, that little girl was me. Only a few days ago, I was recounting this story to a friend. Afterward, we giggled til tears flowed down our cheeks. It wasn’t funny then, but it cracks me up now.

We were talking about the times when God had to get us straight about something. Talk about unlocking a core memory! This lesson sits just below the surface of my mind, flying straight to the top when the temptation to be dishonest comes creeping on the scene. The painful reminder of the consequences that came with that choice way back then stops me from getting out of pocket today. God nipped that in the bud … quickly. And I still don’t want no smoke.

It’s the same thing a good parent might do to keep their child on the right path. A cosmic spanking to remind you of what NOT to do. And it worked, at least, for me.

That doesn’t mean that it stopped me from ever being dishonest again. But it did make me quick to come clean and course correct, and later, as I matured, heed the warnings and reminders the Holy Spirit would send my way to avoid those traps altogether. 

It didn’t mean that trouble would never find me. But it might be true that if I hadn’t learned that lesson, the lies would’ve been what sent the trouble my way. I may never know, but I think it pays to be cautious about this kind of thing.

And to think, my earthly parents weren’t aware of any of it. God, my creator, handled it all just between us. It’s just one example of God raising me, right alongside my family, filling in gaps they didn’t even know existed. Spotting the dirty parts of my heart and rinsing it clean before anyone else noticed. Who does that?

God, Yahweh – a loving creator, Jesus – a selfless savior and a beautiful Holy Spirit, that’s who. 💜

Posted on by She Who Rises

Find your way back

In my sanctified imagination, I see a woman running through the woods, whizzing past the impossibly tall trees surrounding her. To make her way through, she squeezes between densely packed tree trunks, climbs over their fallen brethren, and combs through the thick and thorny underbrush that cuts into her clothes and the skin below. The birds above and the critters below warn each other of her passing, a raucous symphony happening around her. But they stay out of her way.

There’s no path or trail for her to follow, only the sun, moon, stars, and a sweet, small voice inside her to guide the way. She’s tired but can’t stand to rest. There’s no time to waste.

She’s crossed cities and seas, mountain ranges, and low-lying plains trying to find her way back to the pieces of herself she left behind. Finally, finally, she’s close. She can’t see it or tell how long until she reaches it, but somehow, she has certainty. She’s so close, she can feel it.

On the horizon, just beyond the edge of the wooded landscape sits the home where she left them. It’s the burial place of her emotions – something she never thought she would need.

Where she came from emotions weren’t a thing, and really, there were only three, happiness, anger, and sometimes fear. The emotional palette she was born with wasn’t useful or welcome. So, to cope, she buried it, not knowing that self-love, compassion, and healing would require them someday.

In their absence, she became cold, relying heavily on what was left, her intellect, to guide her. But when she met God, they eased her into the understanding that she was missing something important, something necessary to be who they made her to be. So, she had to go back.

She had run so far – around the world, in fact. She hoped this return would be worth it. She hoped that she wasn’t too late.

For what? She didn’t know. Could they be ruined? Become misshapen and ill-fitting? Completely destroyed even? But God wouldn’t send her if success wasn’t an option. God wouldn’t do that.

There’s silence around her now as she nears the edge of the wilderness. The chatty birds and scurrying animals seem to be holding their breath. As she continues forward, the treeline gets thinner and thinner, gradually revealing the simple home set in the meadow beyond them.

Stopping at the grass, she released her breath, only afterward realizing that she had been holding it. She hadn’t known what to expect. The well-maintained scene before her is a welcome surprise. Who had kept this place, she wondered.

As she gazed across the field, movement by the house caught her eye. The front door had opened, and something was thrown out of it. It fluttered out and down onto the front steps and didn’t move. She watched this happen again and again until the steps were barely visible.

Moving in closer, she could see that a vibrant mix of yellows, greens, oranges, reds, pinks and purples, a rainbow of color, in varying shapes and sizes covered the ground around the door. Wait, are those … flower petals?

She scanned the area around her. She thought she was alone in this place, but clearly, whoever was in the home was expecting company.

She figured that if she wanted to get hold of what she came for, she better get it now before whatever the owner of the house was expecting got started. With determination, she swiftly crossed the grassy field, closing the ample distance between wooded wilderness and the house.

Now nearing the blanket of petals, she noticed a small sign hung to the right of the door. In handwritten script, it said “Welcome” and her name. Shocked, she stepped backward, tears welling in her eyes. “This is for me?,” she said aloud. But there was no response. It was obvious, she thought to herself.

“Hello?” She said, cautiously stepping forward, hoping a friendly voice would greet her. But again, no response. She swallowed hard. In a split-second, this had become scary. But she had come so far. It was now or never.

Gathering her courage, she walked through the petals, gathering a handful on the way, and up onto the stairs, stopping at the open door. Just beyond it was a brilliant, almost blinding light. She looked away, unable to handle the glare.

A few seconds later, she tried again and now found it easier to take in. She couldn’t make out a distinct size or shape, but soon felt a warm, calming sensation course through her body, as if confirming that she was safe. In the space of a moment, she couldn’t imagine a more perfect place to be and crossed the threshold into the light.

Posted on by She Who Rises

What therapy taught me about God and anger

Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. It’s almost fall, but it’s still warm enough to wear shorts. In this mild evening air, a brisk walk has me working up a sweat as I stomp my way through my neighborhood.

I. AM. PISSED.

Someone close to me was careless about a sensitive subject in a way that really upset me. And the worst part was that they didn’t seem to notice. It’s an old issue that’s rearing its ugly head yet again.

Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. My brain is working overtime now, trying to find the words to describe the reason why blood now boils in my veins. I survey the homes along the block as I pass by, taken in by the dimly lit porches and the buzzing insects that together create a calming, sleepy vibe. It’s a vibe I wish I could match, but I can’t, I’m too angry.

I want to go off. But I know that won’t help. It probably won’t make me feel any better either. The adult in me wants to handle this with care, carefully sussing out what has upset me, why, and what needs to happen next. But the child in me wants to fight, scream accusations with pointed fingers, and, when done, crumple to the ground in tears.

It’s the tell tale signs of what my trauma therapists call inner-child work. The child that lives within me, who was wronged all those years ago, is crying out for justice, and she has been all along. She’s been ignored for much too long and is now fed up… and flipping over tables. All the while, the adult in me is trying to apply healthy coping skills to an untended blistering wound. It’s a recipe for frustration and confusion, which, for me, creates anger.

Anger is work for me. It burns up a lot of energy that I’d rather spend doing almost anything else. It stirs up my imagination in ways that unnerve me. And I’ve found that even if I use that angry energy to push forward into some good thing, it only carries me so far before I flame out. Yet, I have to allow it to run its course.

Holding space for anger is a healthy thing. As difficult as all of this is, allowing myself to be angry and filtering out the noise to understand why, it’s progress. I’ve come a long way. I used to think that anger was an emotion that I should run from, in part, because it would be too hard to subdue the green hulking beast that would rear up in response. But also, once I started really walking with Jesus, I thought allowing myself to be angry would cause me to make him look bad.

A thinker first and foremost, I tend to grapple with the facts and perceptions first and deal with emotions last. By the time I’ve turned my attention to the emotions, they’ve usually been cooled down by the analysis, if I still even feel them at all. On the few rare occasions when that hasn’t happened, I’ve felt so out of control that I was afraid of how far I might go. It’s a serious shock to my normally cool, calm, and collected system, at least outwardly.

But when I first started working with a trauma therapist a few years ago, she helped me see that I don’t need to fear my anger. I learned that I could embrace it as an extremely useful signal. Because when it shows up, it’s a sign that someone has crossed a major boundary.

My issue was that I thought even feeling the emotion meant that I wasn’t honoring God. In my mind, I wasn’t supposed to get angry at all. But how in the world do you control that?

You don’t.

My reaction was to smother anger as soon as it started to rise up. So that’s what I did… for more than a decade… until I was challenged by that therapist.

For the first time, I actually thought about God’s anger. In the bible, both Jesus and the Father displayed a variety of emotions like joy, sadness, frustration, anger, and even, in the Father’s case, regret. They often used those emotions to communicate something important about who they were or the situation itself, like the crossing of a boundary.

At times, they definitely felt one way and behaved in another (just think of Jesus the night before he was crucified or all the times God held back from taking out ancient Israel). I realized that if I’m made in their image, then of course I’d have the same emotional palette AND the ability to decide how I wanted to respond.

From that moment on, anger was no longer a scary monster to be avoided, but a tool that God gave me on purpose for a purpose. I began to see anger as a signal and a call to action – an opportunity to make a choice. I didn’t have to run from anger or pretend I wasn’t feeling what I was feeling.

I could feel it completely and not be consumed by it. I could thoughtfully decide what the next action would be. And that action didn’t have to match how I felt. I could still think it through. Finally, dealing with anger didn’t have to be an all or nothing proposition. And it was freeing.

So yes, I am angry, but I’m also very much in control. Thank God.

Posted on by She Who Rises

Doing the Work

So, nerd out with me for a minute… I’m so excited that the Braxton’s are back on tv. Having always wanted sisters, I enjoy being a fly on the wall to watch their sisterhood antics. I was catching up on their newest season and – no spoilers – saw them navigating a grief counseling session intended to help them navigate the loss of Tracy, a sister who died from cancer roughly two years ago.

Before the session, Trina explained that she had tried grief counseling after her ex-husband, Gabe’s, death a few years ago. But she realized that she just wasn’t ready for it and hadn’t returned to therapy since. During the ladies’ session, she tearfully expressed her sense of being overwhelmed by her feelings and memories surrounding Tracy’s death.

It brought to mind a convo I’d had just the day before with my EMDR therapist. As we were wrapping up the session, she commended my efforts to continue to do the work therapy requires. Both she and my regular therapist say this to me every now and then, and though I always appreciate it, I am usually surprised.

Most times, I end up asking why they even felt the need to say it because why wouldn’t I continue with therapy? Why wouldn’t I work on all this trauma and break these generational curses? That’s the goal.

In my mind, there is no other option, even though it isn’t always financially or emotionally convenient. Why? Because I’m desperate for healing.

The healing that I’m looking for is a necessity, like air. I need and want to heal so badly that I don’t feel like I can afford to stop until I see it come to pass.

Now I know that healing is a process, not necessarily a destination. But I’ve already experienced some and, baby, I must have more, as much as is available to me.

But in my therapists explanation, she noted that not everyone does. She reminded me that it’s hard work to face the beliefs, fears, and experiences that have harmed us or hold us back. And that it takes work to push through all of that and actually change. That’s when I remembered the tears, unanswered questions, shredded emotions, and the rebuilding I’ve done along the way.

In talking about his journey to find a therapist in his book, Faith & Therapy, gospel singer Anthony Evans describes when the first therapist he consulted had been more interested in trying to connect with Anthony’s influential family than helping him navigate his anxiety. It was a big disappointment, and because he expected a repeat performance with any other therapist, it turned him off toward therapy altogether – though not for long. Because, as Anthony says, “…pain has a way of changing your mind.”

When I think of the years I’ve dedicated to working on myself in therapy and the struggle to push through, the healing I’m so desperate for hasn’t always been what motivated me forward. Most often, it was the pain of life pushing me from behind.

Sometimes, it was a new traumatic experience or, at other times, a trigger – an emotional echo of an older painful experience. Sometimes, it’s dealing with the same old problem too many times or a failure or loss in an important area of life. In any case, it was pain, plain and simple, and the desperate need to get out from under it that kept me showing up to appointments, finding the money, and digging into the uncomfortable corners of my own psyche. It was the search for relief – a real, healthy, and lasting relief – that made me get serious about doing the work. And it’s been worth it.

There’s been significant healing in my life – not in every area, not yet. But I’ve become a different, more whole person bit by bit, and I’m so grateful. Some of the things that used to torment me don’t have the same power anymore. I have a clearer and more compassionate view of myself and others than I did before. And I’ve found that there are things that I like about myself now that I couldn’t see or even imagine before.

I’ve actually begun to look forward to experiencing the version of me that God intended me to be all along. The journey has been hard. And while I don’t expect to arrive at a finish line any time soon, I am certain that the healing is worth the work. 💜

Posted on by She Who Rises

Ordering My Steps

Technically, I hadn’t left my bed for days. For four days, the occasional bathroom visit was the most active I got, and I barely did that. I ate sporadically, fell in and out of sleep, talked to God & tripped into a few holes on insta. It’s the same old story. A multi-day migraine, fuzzy-headedness, and ear-ringing triggered another depressive episode. But what’s pulling me out of it is something new.

Five hours after NPR posted SWV’s tiny desk concert to YouTube, I am randomly scrolling on YT, having forgotten why I came here in the first place (insert brain injury eye roll here). But once I see it, I immediately click the thumbnail. It doesn’t get saved to my watch later like usual, never to be seen again.

There’s an unexpected thing happening here. Something like joy is beginning to bubble up from somewhere deep within me. I watch Coko, Taj, Leelee, and Co. do their thing. I sing along, raise my hand, and bop around from my bed, in the dent I’ve made there over the last four days. But there’s a new energy rushing in.

As they sing their classic jams from my high-school days, without even trying, they begin to lift me from my lonely, sunken place. I start making plans for the future, making a mental note to check out tickets for their tour once they drop. Without any real effort on my part, I’m coming out of another depressive episode. And I’m grateful.

How did I get here? I might have an idea. Was it SWV? Was it the nostalgia of my high school days? Is this the formula for busting through depression? I doubt it. As much as I love SWV and the renewed interest in artists from my era, I don’t see this combination working every time depression rears its raggedy head.

What’s more likely is that the Holy Spirit – the Spirit of my Savior who lives within me – guided me to what would help in this specific moment. Just like those times when the Holy Spirit, knowing what I don’t and can’t possibly know, led me to the things, people and places, big and small, that would work out for me.

Just like with the jobs (plural) I got that I almost didn’t apply to or the dope outfits I found at deep discounts, despite dragging myself to the mall, outlet, or other place. Or better yet, the move I made to be closer to family, never suspecting the health issues that would arise and turn my life upside down.

There have been so many times when I ended up in the right place at the right time and knew that I couldn’t take the credit. Why would this be any different?

Depression is BIG trash. Period. End of story. No one would ever choose this. But I am so grateful that I have the Holy Spirit with me, in me, ordering my steps – leading me to what I need, before I even know I need it. That’s the real formula. 💜

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Just Be

What would it be like to “just be”?

As in, live “as is”, no changes, as today’s version – the exact same you that exists this second. What would it be like to be completely yourself without striving and straining toward some goal, some other version of you? Imagine it for just a moment. What’s there? What isn’t?

Is it enjoying a social situation freely without the pressure to make a friend, make a deal, be seen, or even unseen?

Is it exhaling and releasing your belly or the folds of your back to unravel, without a care, across the area below?

Is it placing a block on the past – a transparent wall that separates you from a joy, mistake, or trauma where your brain thinks you should live instead?

What would it be like to just be and embrace what is, whatever it is, right now?

Radical (self) acceptance. Would it be so bad?

Imagine that. A moment where everything that’s happened, everything you’ve witnessed, and where you are now has been totally and completely accepted… by the most important person, you. No bones to eat clean. No details to pick apart. Just be-ing.

I’m realizing that there’s so much more to see when I am present here and ok with what is. When I’m not obsessing over what I could’ve said vs what I did say or whether that thing will work out the way I hope or worrying about what new thing aging has assigned to me, there’s calm, silence, rest, and sometimes, if I’m honest, sleep.

Lately, this is where Jesus has been leading me. To “just be” is a whole new world for me… one who is either waist-deep in the past, picking apart the present, or running light-years into the future. To “just be” is radical.

So far, I like that worry doesn’t seem to live here. But I can’t say for certain what does. I’ve only just started to look around.

What about you? What do you see?

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Suicide has nothing to do with strength

Dr. Antoinette “Bonnie” Candia-Bailey is no more. By all accounts, an excellent person and dedicated professional, she committed suicide following a series of demoralizing, bullying, and not so subtle attacks in her workplace at the hands of her boss. Attacks, punctuated by the absence of protection and support from her employer, that left her deeply depressed, anxious, and ultimately, officially terminated from her job.

It might blow you away that a person could end their life over anything regarding work. It might come across as weak or even unbelievable, but suicide has nothing to do with strength.

Dr. Antoinette “Bonnie” Candia-Bailey

Suicide isn’t about fortitude but instead despair and hopelessness in aggregate form. It’s feeling irreparably broken and alone and seeing no other way out. It’s being exhausted by the lack of safe places to rest and just be. It’s being desperate for an immediate end to a long and excruciating period of suffering.

In her thoughtful and deeply personal devotional, Not Alone: Reflections on Faith and Depression, Rev. Dr. Monica A. Coleman describes some of the hopeless thoughts that can cloud the minds of those of us with depressive conditions, thoughts like:

I’ll never feel better again,
I’m a burden to everyone around me, including those I love most,
I’m incapable of making a positive contribution to the world,
I’ve tried everything – every medication, therapist, insurance agency – and none of it has helped,
This pain is so intense that only death can alleviate it,
God must hate me to make me this sad, morose, numb and/or bad, and the usual thorn in my own side,
God must be disappointed in me for not having my act together

These are thoughts that I’ve often struggled with myself. For me, they fuel a panic that can grow into an urgent need for escape, by any means necessary. That urgent need for escape creates the focus necessary to make plans to die.

Planning is a telltale sign of a pending suicide attempt. Putting one’s affairs in order, whether it’s finding new homes for once treasured items or being intentional about saying “goodbye” to loved ones, displays loud and clear a person’s seriousness about ending their life.

We know that Dr. Candia-Bailey planned. She sent an email to her attacker/boss prohibiting him from talking to her family once the deed was done. She was suffering in deep emotional pain, but she was serious and resolute about her next steps. That isn’t weakness.

We may never know Dr. Candia-Bailey’s thoughts as she committed this final act. I don’t know what she believed in or how she lived her life. I can only wonder if she was looking forward to rest, peace in some place far from here, a place like heaven.

I’m not one of those people who get into debates about what is and isn’t a sin, or whether some are worse than others or who will or won’t make it into heaven. In general, I think those debates are a distraction from what really matters, which is relationship – the main thing Jesus died for us to have.

Any idea that God is angry with us, judges, or abandons us in these desperate moments just doesn’t match the Jesus I know. When it comes to something as world-changing as suicide, what I have experienced with Jesus when my thoughts have slid down this path wasn’t any of those things. It’s always been compassion.

Not surprise. Not disapproval. Not judgment. Just compassion and a gentle re-orientation away from my suffering, a feat that seemed impossible only a moment before, and a sense that there is more for me that lies beyond this pain, beyond this intense suffering. A sense that joy and purpose will return… eventually.

The compassion that I have found in my most bleak moments conveys a sense that God is pained by my suffering too. Monica put it this way,

“I believe that God is with us, feels with us, and is moved by our suffering – even when, especially when, we cannot feel God’s presence. I’m not sure the right word is “sin,” but perhaps all of this breaks God’s heart too.”

Dr. Candia-Bailey is gone. She won’t have the chance to witness what could have been beyond her torment, her excruciating pain. No-one will. It isn’t a crime, but it is a tragedy… for all of us. If nothing else, I hope she’s found peace and the rest she sought.

If you are struggling with thoughts of suicide, you don’t have to face them alone. Call or text 988 (or check out these resources) to get connected to confidential, non-judgmental support now. 💜

Posted on by She Who Rises

Beautifully Human

Here at the start of the year, I found myself teetering on the edge of a (yet another) depressive episode. In the last few days of 2023, I found joy in a quiet Christmas, a beautifully reimagined The Color Purple, and a simple NYE. But as the new year began, heavy rain and the threat of snow did whatever it does to my brain that shuts life down.

It set off the migraines, drowsiness, and fatigue that keeps me stuck in a dark room, huddled under the covers, barely coming out to eat or even bathe – much like a depressive episode. And with the addition of some unwelcome medical news and the ending of some important relationships, my personal cache of hope began to slip through my fingers.

This odyssey with my health followed me into the new year, along with a very real and recent job loss. Last year, my deeply analytical brain couldn’t muster the cognitive strength to do my job. I couldn’t even fake it. As 2024 approached, I tried not to think too much about how I would manage, much less overcome all of this, until I was firmly in the new year.

At this point, I am convinced that God has gotten me every job that I’ve ever had. In each scenario, there were too few options and resources to see it any differently. And through prayer, I had been reassured that the God that did that for me so many times before would do it again when the time came. So, again, I tried not to dwell on it… until the new year.

But when 2024 came, I felt overwhelmed that I didn’t have a single idea of how I would navigate any of this. To be honest, I’m still crawling my way out of those feelings. And you know what else? It’s frustrating as hell.

It’s frustrating to believe in a very real and personal God, yet still struggle with doubt and fear that makes me want to control everything. I used to believe that all I needed was to be reassured that God had it, had me, and all my worries would melt away. But more and more, I’m seeing that faith doesn’t exactly work that way all the time, or at least not mine.

I’m seeing that faith still takes work, no matter what reassuring words the Holy Spirit whispers into my heart in the quiet hours of the night. I’m learning that I may still have to hold on to the word even when I can’t see it happening for me, even when there’s no evidence that it ever will.

Sometimes, building this muscle of faith sucks. But I’m also seeing that it’s okay to acknowledge that it does sometimes suck.

So often, I want to push myself to shake it off or beat myself up when I find myself dwelling on the hard and uncertain stuff. I get angry. I get sad. I become unforgiving of self. But emotions are just signals to be investigated, right? And, make no mistake, they are God-given.

If I’m made in the image of God, in mind, body and spirit, and the God of the Bible gets angry, is grieved, or has any other emotion, then so can I. I have yet to see Jesus, the Father, or Holy Spirit try to repress how they feel in the Bible.

There’s no mention of Jesus beating himself up for being frustrated with the disciples’ lack of faith or after running the money changers out of the temple. I’ve never heard of Daddy God pretending not to regret that he had made people during all the antics of Noah’s time on earth. Nor have I known the Holy Spirit to pretend not to be grieved when I’ve gone my own way or made a mess of a gift I’ve been given.

They feel their feelings… they just don’t stay there. And made in their image, I can allow myself to do the same.

I can love God and still be frustrated that building and exercising faith can be hard, frustrating, and not at all fun. It’s okay, I can feel those feelings even as I keep walking forward with God. After all, it’s how I’m made.

Posted on by She Who Rises

Faithing It

A few days ago, a friend sent me a meme that read:

“Does anyone else wish that Jesus would walk into your kitchen,  sit down with a cup of coffee, look at you and say, “OK, here is what we’re gonna do.”

My response? A GIF of Janet Jackson eating orange slices and saying, “It’s true though”. Because, really, who can’t relate to that feeling?

In a real way, the Bible gives us keys to living with wisdom and how to stay in step with God. But it doesn’t exactly provide a solution to every specific issue or challenge that we face. Thankfully, we have the Holy Spirit to help with that. 

But what the Bible is real clear about is the necessity of faith. Faith is the confident expectation of good. It’s believing that God keeps God’s promises. It’s based on trust, and both are like muscles. They need to be worked and stretched constantly in-order to be strong.

But pause… Who wouldn’t want God to break it all down?

Who would pass on God laying out the details of our future and how to move each step of the way IN ADVANCE? Not me. And, most likely, not you either.

Right now, I’m in a situation that worries me. This brain injury and everything that has come with it has me reevaluating what my future could look like, especially when it comes to how I will support myself. And it’s becoming clear that my current employment situation is no longer a good fit for a variety of reasons.

I’m holding on to my hope that it will all work out well for me. But, I’m not sure how any of the challenges along the way will shake out or exactly how to move.

If I’m being honest, it’s been scary, and a lot of the time, I feel pretty alone, though I know better. So, a one-on-one strategy meeting with an in-person Jesus would be welcome. But I know that’s not likely to happen.

In all honesty, I wish I didn’t need faith. Sometimes it feels like trusting God takes too much effort.

But then I remember my past experiences and the faith that I needed to get through them. I’ve dealt with things that were scary at the time that wouldn’t even make me break a sweat now.  And that realization reminds me that the strength that I have now is a direct result of the faith and trust I had to cultivate during those times.

Would I have the faith muscle that I have today, if I ever had that kitchen table strategy meeting with Jesus? Probably not.

I can now see that, without the scary, faith building experiences of my past, I wouldn’t be able to carry the weight of my current situation at all.

Or, more accurately, trust that God is helping me carry it and is guiding me through to the other side of this problem one step at a time.

Posted on by She Who Rises

Beware. This is war.

Sometimes I forget that I’m in a war.

Life moves along at its own pace and my attention to that war waxes and wanes depending on what’s happening day to day.

When things are running smoothly, I often forget about it altogether. But when an area of life blows up, I am astonished, wondering what happened to my peaceful reverie, if I’m not offended by the disruption altogether.

But the truth is that the war is on-going. Like a frog in an increasingly warm pot of water, I’m right in the thick of it, even if I don’t realize it at the time. Whether I’m paying attention or not, there are plans being made and implemented with the goal of taking me out. 

Why? Because I have an enemy. Not an enemy dressed up in a red suit and horns. But an enemy who stealthily finds their way into the events of my life and tries to use them against me.

The tactics may differ. It might come through a tempting scenario – something I have qualms about, but kind of want to do anyway. Or it might be suffering through an illness, a deep reaching hurt inflicted by another or even an accomplishment that blows my head up.

Anything that makes me take my eyes off of the goodness of God and the path forward.

It’s treacherous territory. Because no matter what it looks like on the surface, best believe that the design is always to pull me away from God, in whatever way that works – pleasure, pain, pride, you name it. Because then, more than any other time, I’m truly vulnerable.

But thank God for the Holy Spirit and praying friends, because throughout the trials of the past month, I’ve been reminded that not only am I in a war, but that I’ve got weapons. Here’s some big ones:

1. God’s Name

Call God by his names that fit with what you need in prayer. Remind God of his track record in situations like this (there’s about 100 names, but here’s a few):
– Jehovah Jireh (God my provider)
– Jehovah Shalom (God my peace)
– El Nathan Naqamah (God who avenges me)
– Jehovah Gibbor (The Lord strong and mighty)
– Jehovah Sabaoth (God of Angel Armies)
– Jehovah Shammah (God who is here)
– Jehovah Rapha (God who heals)
– El Roi (God who sees me)
– Jehovah Metsudhathi (God my fortress)
For a reference, try “The Ultimate Guide to The Names of God” by Elmer Towns

2. Your voice and God’s word

Speak God’s word about the specific problem OUT LOUD. Volume doesn’t matter. It could be a shout or a whisper, but say it. There’s power in your words, so use it.
– The Lord has declared that he will restore me to health and heal all my wounds (Jeremiah 30:17)
– Though the enemy comes against me one way, he will flee from me in seven ways (Deuteronomy 28:7)
– The Lord forgives all my sins and heals all my diseases (Psalm 103:3)
– The Lord has given me the mind of Christ (1 Corinthians 2:16)
– The Lords heals my broken heart and binds up my wounds (Psalm 147:3) – God didn’t give me a spirit of fear, but a spirit of power, love and a sound mind (2 Timothy 1:7) – If God be for me, who can be against me? (Roman’s 8:31)
– Psalm 91 is about God’s protection and help in battle. It’s a perfect add-on to any prayer

For a reference, try “The Secret Power of Speaking God’s Word” by Joyce Meyer. This little book is filled with scripture verses organized into categories that relate to life’s situations.

3. Worship

Who praises when facing trouble? People who know that help is on the way, that’s who.

Let God know how much of your heart he has and that you remember what he’s done for you before. Here’s a few songs for your rotation:
– Love you that much By: Mary Mary
– Still By: Mali Music
– My Everything By: Bri Babineaux
– The Worship Medley By: Ty Tribbett
– Stay Here By: The Belonging Co.
– Sweet Spirit By: God’s Property
– My Refuge By: Rivers and Robots
– Holy Spirit By: Jesus Culture
– Insatiable By: Kim Walker-Smith
– Do It Again By: Anthony Evans or Elevation Collective
– There’s Nothing By: Amanda Cook
– You don’t miss a thing By: Bethel Music & Amanda Cook – Open Space By: Housefires
– Highest Praise By: Amanda Cook
– Oxygen By: Steffany Gretzinger
– You’re Not Finished Yet By: The Belonging Co.
– Eyes on You By: Mosaic MSC

4. Repeat daily

You Got This. ❤