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This is the start of One More Truth and to properly set the tone, I’ll open with truth: thinking about the first post took less effort than actually writing it. It seemed easier to leave the cursor blinking on an empty page.

 
Writing had been a ‘someday’ goal; easier to set and much harder to work toward. But I was conflicted. Writing the first post wasn’t the starting line; I was already running. I had been planning One More Truth for several months – choosing the theme, purchasing a domain name, and consulting a designer. With the site design complete, the big moment had arrived. It was thrilling and terrifying, but to never begin writing was essentially dropping from the race. At this point, was quitting really easier?

 
The Bible refers to the faith life as a race. Following Jesus isn’t a temporary journey, wandering until we sort things out, find home, and settle comfortably into ‘normal life.’ Jesus-following is active and intentional with eyes and energy concentrated on moving forward. Always. Finishing well is important, but the focus is on running well. The goal in the faith race is obedience – one intentional step of obedience after the other – because obedience is faith. It’s a fluid motion, meant to flow into and throughout everyday living. Obeying isn’t a mindless routine, but an intentional discipline. It’s fueled by love. Jesus prompts us and we move.

 
God has a purpose and design for you. Are you in it? You can run, walk, or even crawl, just don’t become static. What’s the next step for you today? For me, I’ll finally click a button…

At the age of 64, my dad took a huge leap of faith and did something most wouldn’t consider at his age: he resigned from the church he pastored, and he and my mom moved across the country. My dad, the planner, mapped a six week road trip, a tour that wound them through the towns of their childhoods, national landmarks, museums, bucket list sights, points of interest, and thanks to my dad’s clever planning, they even trekked through the few states they’d never seen. By the time they reached my house – the last stop before their new state of residence – several things were certain: my parents could proudly say they’d been to all 50 states; they were eager to eat home cooked meals; and they were tired of living out of a suitcase. With so many miles and weeks and history between them and their old home, they were ready to venture the final 12 hours to their new home.

But tired as they were and ready as they were, there was something unsettling about arriving ‘home’ – there would be no more map. Long as it may have been, the journey across America had been a predictable journey. They awoke knowing where they were headed, they could reasonably estimate how long it would take, and the destination at the end of the day was the destination they had intended to reach. Every place had its unique delights and surprises, but the road trip itself had been a month and a half of anticipated outcomes.

New home, however, was a blank canvas. There was a house to find and new employment to secure, and neither of these things would be a one day road trip. Months after settling into their house, my dad was still sending out resumes, interviewing, and making follow up calls. He kept in forward motion, volunteering and meeting new people. Some days offered new possibilities, other days closed the door on hopeful prospects, but every day was a waiting day. He could choose to do many things, but the outcome was out of his hands.

Empty feelings find us when we’re waiting in the blank canvas spaces, when we can’t see the big picture and we’re unable to paint our desired outcome. Weaknesses are exposed and fear and insecurities surface. My dad wrestled the fear that his age was an obstacle, a seeming disadvantage he could do nothing about. He concluded he had two choices: He could trust God, or not. There was no in between. He could feel powerless against disadvantages or trust God’s power. He could consider waiting as wasted time, or trust it was training. He could hold on to fear, or hold on to the God of hope. Following the example of his namesake, David, my dad took everything to God in prayer – his age, his efforts, the waiting, the disappointment, and the questions. He trusted God could take all the ungood and make something good.

Wide open spaces of uncertainty are the journey places we’d avoid if given the choice, but these tough places are trust places – places where the complexity and simplicity of faith stretch for miles and we must choose our form of surrender: give up or let go. We assume weakness or resume in His strength. Doubt consumes us or we let worry go. We claim empty and quit or we gather the full confidence of hope and continue trusting the God of our faith’s beginning; continue trusting that He sees what we can’t see. Surrender prayers are the privilege of faith, not because they assure certain outcomes, but because in prayer we are reassured that God – though unseen – is certainly with us, now and forever.

My dad is now the prayer pastor of a Christian radio station, where his job is literally praying for every request a listener sends in and personally responding to each one. I imagine those responses are read with a sigh of relief, not because my dad understands all the mysteries of God, but because He understands the heaviness of desperate prayers, and the importance of grit kind of scriptures that strengthen weary hands in waiting. His age is no longer a disadvantage, but a gift of wisdom and tenderness. God is using the trials of faith for good. And my dad, the prayer pastor, is encouraging others, by faith, to keep going and keep holding hope in the God who can be trusted.

 

My friends, One More Truth is 3 years old! Want to see where the journey began? Right here.

It was a last minute invite to a housewarming party, a night to enjoy the warm breeze and mingle with people we’d never met. We said we’d come and I whipped up a batch of peanut butter fudge. As expected, we knew no one, which didn’t bother us in the least. We made chit chat and toured the brand new house – beautiful and fresh as a newborn baby. The layout, the countertops, and every light fixture were the latest and greatest. The baseboards had never known dust, other than the dust of contractors. Walls and floors were smudge-free. The white tile backsplash was completely clean, not because it had been vigorously scrubbed, but because it had never before seen grease or spaghetti sauce. For every woman in attendance, seeing an immaculate house in real life felt much like spotting a unicorn. We were bewildered, overwhelmed, and impressed.

I’m a bit like a unicorn myself, I suppose. I’m a female who can’t relate with the typical lady tribe who scroll pinterest, speak the home improvement language of HGTV, and tour model homes on weekends just for fun. It’s not that these things couldn’t possibly be fun, it’s just that they’re not fun for me, mostly because there’s nothing thrilling about looking at perfectly situated things and imagining a perfect life. I already have a life, an imperfect one, but it’s mine and I own it, 100%. My house gets lived in, it accumulates dust and windows get streaked, but you know what? Spotless houses don’t have a lifespan longer than 24 hours, unless no one lives there. I know this because I aim for spotless every Saturday, and by Monday, that ship has sailed. My home is full of people I love, we have everything we need and then some, and I’m satisfied. And I like it that way.

The things you put in front of your eyeballs on the daily are the things you’ll eventually envy. That’s my spin on a line from a movie I can’t condone watching, but the statement was so profoundly true and Biblically accurate, I’ve remembered it all these years. Satisfaction isn’t a natural mindset, it has to be nurtured. I want to want my life, and in order to continue wanting an imperfect life with things that break, get old, sag, and look less than pinteresty, I have to keep some things out of my face. If I want to stay satisfied with my stuff, my relationships, my physical composition, or my life in general, I can’t be perpetually staring at what else is out there. I need a better focus.

When Paul wrote his God-inspired thoughts on joy in a letter to his friends, he wasn’t writing it from a sunlit room in his comfortable home, tucked in the safety of the desert suburbs. (Ouch.) Paul wrote his sincere ode to joy from prison. Paul had justifiable reason to seethe in disgust – he had lived in affluence until he started preaching Jesus. But he suffered the loss, and instead spoke encouragement without one word of cleverly disguised bitterness or deep-seated jealousy, even though his friends were comfortably enjoying freedom. How is it that Paul could remain content with prison walls right in front of his eyeballs on the daily? How did he exude genuine joy without one shred of envy for a better life?

Paul knew what was true: nothing in this world is built to last. All of it can and will be lost – status, stuff, situations – making all of it worthless. Garbage. It’s all going to burn. So Paul looked beyond his prison, beyond this life, and this world. He focused every thought on the truth, on things worth considering, things that matter, beautiful things, Jesus things. His faith wasn’t shaken. Knowing Jesus was infinitely more valuable than anything else. He knew his source of genuine joy and it continued to bubble from a place that circumstance couldn’t touch. He was free. The chains that held him didn’t hold his mind and didn’t hold him down – he was good.

Faith isn’t about having a perfect life, and joy isn’t about thanking God for the imperfect, but joyful faith is about keeping a perfectly confident focus. Because no matter what we see in front of us, Jesus is there, we belong to Him, He loves us, and no one can take Him from us. We can be certain of that, and that’s something to be glad about. The faith we’re building is going to last. That’s pure joy.

Our part in building unshakable faith is finding the joy in everything. God’s part in perfecting our unshakable faith is guarding our minds with His peace. Equal parts joy and peace. That’s the secret to satisfaction, my friends.

 

Temperatures are sweltering here in Arizona, but the school year is already underway, making it official: summer is over. But don’t fret, I’ll give you a summer recap in throwback style.

“Here’s what I did this summer…”

Lounging on a Hawaiian beach has been one of my #goals since before there were #goals and this was finally the summer for making my dream a reality. My husband and I hadn’t been together without the kids since our honeymoon, so doing whatever I pleased, going to bed as early as I pleased, and never once cooking a meal was a shock to my system and a dream week come true. The waves were relaxing, the Hawaiian people were simple and kind, and the aloha culture was calm and unrushed. When we boarded the plane to come home, I felt completely refreshed. My beach vacation had ended, but I wasn’t bummed, because I was bringing the spirit of aloha home with me – like a souvenir for my insides. I couldn’t wait to share it with my children. We would enjoy each other and a laid back summer break.

And that’s exactly what we did. We played board games and did puzzles, we swam and watched afternoon movies, and for a solid month or so, our house was the hotspot for friends and neighbor kids. Most mornings I even slept in past 5. It was an extraordinary summer of ordinary moments and laid back living.

One afternoon, the kids and I were going about our summer business, headed to the Dollar Store for summer delights like candy and cheap pool toys, when we were suddenly bombarded by  ‘2 cool 4 school’ signs and giant bins of glue sticks and index cards, all displayed next to the 4^th of July decor. I was tempted to grab some eraser caps and lined paper, you know, to make me feel like I had a jumpstart on the back to school thing, but I had plenty of summer left to enjoy and I refused to be rushed. I remained calm and squeezed in a few more laid back weeks before beginning the back to school preparations.

Turns out, there was quite a bit of back to school preparing to be done. My children were passing the summer days in leisure, but their bodies had been growing at a less than leisurely pace. We made our lists and even though they were longer than usual, I had every intent to keep things easy and breezy. The office supply store was first, then a couple department stores, and then Dairy Queen – to rejuvenate. We hadn’t found everything we needed, but we figured we’d finish up the next day. Nope. Weeks of precious summer were depleted skimming through clothing racks and rows of expensive shoes (even cheap shoes are expensive), filling the cart and emptying my wallet, checking pencils off the list only to realize we still needed binders, and then finding the binder shelf empty. What had happened to my laid back summer?  I felt like a half-crazed hunter-gatherer collecting items for my offspring and it was during these last few days of summer vacation that I uttered something I rarely utter: “I’m ready for the kids to go back to school.” The Aloha spirit that set the summer ablaze was hardly a flicker. Time for a new season.

New seasons bring fresh energy, but the first day of school brings unique energy. My kids were awake and ready early, chattering all through breakfast, and smiling big and proud for pictures before they left. It’s the fresh start, I think. It’s the unmarked notebooks and the unscuffed shoes and the clean slate with a brand new teacher. I had a fresh start, too. I had a quiet house (that stayed clean all day!) and new energy for endeavors that the summer noise couldn’t accommodate. But new seasons also bring new challenges. Quiet days quickly become busy afternoons of carpools, and math problems, and dirty school uniforms. Kids come home tired from structured days and no longer find it thrilling to wake up before the alarm. Within a week, the fresh energy of the new season was already gone.

Late the other night, my daughter sat on her bed – the bed she should have been snuggled in – surrounded by books and papers. Her eyes were too tired to read and too bewildered to close. She was overwhelmed. I was stretched across her bedroom floor doing my best to reel her back in and assure her she wasn’t destined to live in a cardboard box if she didn’t make straight A’s as a high school freshman. She was struggling to fit cheer, homework, downtime, and adequate sleep into the rushed school week and I was attempting to offer good solutions, but nothing sounds good to a tired teenager, or a tired mom. I was also overwhelmed and doing my best to reel myself back in from believing that the public school system was ruining my life. How would I shuttle children to activities, help with homework, get an adequate amount of sleep, and still find time to enjoy life? I headed to bed frustrated and half convinced I was packing up the family, moving to Hawaii, and reclaiming my aloha.

Exhausted but unable to sleep, I crept back to my daughter’s room to find her lying under the covers, her room dark except for the glow of the full moon on her face. She was turned toward her window, peacefully gazing at the sky. Her unfinished assignments would keep until morning. She asked why sometimes she could see the moon and other times she couldn’t, and I reminded her that the earth and the moon are always moving, making the moon visible from her window during different seasons. We admired the view for a little while. It was beautifully ordinary and soothing, just as our summer had been. We prayed together for refreshed minds and renewed spirits. We were in a busier season now, but perhaps we could still enjoy some laid back moments – we’d just have to be more deliberate about finding them. As I left her room, I whispered to my daughter – as much as to myself – “God is good to give us different seasons.” She agreed.

When I’m overwhelmed, I may benefit from a vacation or a little more sleep, but if I want to be truly refreshed, I need a renewed spirit. A renewed spirit is a shift of focus from the inside, like a change of pace for the soul. A renewed spirit is kind of like an aloha summer – it’s embracing the moment, and knowing when to do more and when to do less. I can’t avoid the challenging seasons, but I can trust the Giver of changing seasons is also the Provider of energy for each season. He’s taken great care in creating beautiful moments for every season.

So embrace your season and enjoy life, one moment at a time.