disability and the church//

if we say our mission is to advocate for and include the marginalized, why are those with disabilities so often displaces from the very organization claiming to include all people?

if we say we desire to be image bearers, does the image of God not also include those with unique needs and abilities?

if we profess our desire is to be like the Father, does that not mean we should also desire to have his heart? we ask God to break our hearts for the things that make His heart cry and yet we refuse to see those God so clearly has his eyes upon.

if we ask to be made like Him, does that not require humility and refining?

God calls us all to Him. that means everyone.

let us not be a hindrance of what He has already done.

written on july twenty-ninth, twenty twenty four

recognition//

‘i want to remember myself’ were the words that fell from my lips the moment i knew it was time to begin. i wanted to recognize my wholeness and see myself again.

after years of convincing myself this choice would make me weak and after asking myself over and again if i was just desiring a ‘short cut’, i finally chose to seek a new form of medicine. my friends and family have been medicine. therapy has been a balm. movement has offered new breath and this is also medicine.

for the first time in some time, i feel myself again. i recognize my laugh and see my joy as mine. i have rediscovered beautiful parts of myself i thought were forever gone. melancholy and anxiety are still there. they are present and they no longer speak for all that i am. they are next to me and within me and they are not the only voices that speak.

depression is not a rational thing that can be explained away with a gratitude list or more ‘concentrating on the good’. i know anxiety and have become more acquainted with depression and it was time to seek extra help in order to make room for more.

i was worried that accepting my need for medication and beginning to literally swallow this pill would remove sadness completely which i have always seen as a huge part of my identity. instead, medicine, my medicine, has allowed me to recognize an even fuller identity.

to those who have loved me in and through this, it is not over and thank you for seeing me always.

to my husband; being loved by you has allowed me to exist in the discomfort but not be swallowed by it.

and to anyone struggling, find your medicine.

written on may nineteenth, twenty twentythree

press play//

your life is not on pause just because you are in a season of waiting.
your life is still moving and constantly changing and opportunities are continuing to come your way. this world still needs all that you are.
i want clarity and desire to know now what the next season will look like but i am being asked to wait. God is asking me to wait but is asking me to do so actively. waiting is not His invitation for passivity but instead an open invitation for me to work in the waiting and allow Him to do a work in me.

written on september thirtieth, twenty twenty two

her freedom//

i do not like feeling stuck. like many others, i am sure, i desire movement and range of motion and options. i desire to be given choice and to have doors open and for it to be me who chooses whether i decide to leave it wide or whether i close it tightly.

she is stuck. she is tied up and dependent on the strings attached to her.

she is being held and supported by the same things that seem to be holding her back and i don’t like this feeling. she is strong and seems content and i want to give her movement. her eyes are shut and yet i desire to open them wide for her so that she is able to see what else there is. because there is so much more.

these four walls are all she has seen and i want more. she is contained and confined to a reflective glass box and i want it to be opened up so that she can see the what lies just outside.
she is stuck and i feel it for her.

she is stuck but has not experienced freedom. she is stuck but knows nothing else. she is stuck however i am experiencing the tension. she lays still and i want to move. she rests and i want to run.

i wait. i stay. i sit. i want to run but i wait. i stay. i sit. i want to escape but i wait. i stay. i sit. i want to experience freedom but i wait. i stay. i sit. because while it is me desiring the freedom, it is her i am desiring it for. while it is me wanting choice, it is her i want options to be offered to. so i wait. i stay. i sit until she is ready to move and run and have her freedom.

written on january thirty first, twenty twenty-three

empty space//

“it was an accident! we weren’t even trying!” how can mere words carry within them such immense pain? how can phrases hold hopelessness? i am trying. we are trying. trying to hold onto the belief that there is a way. there must be a way.

“just wait. your time will come.” and while i believe that truth, my time is not now. our time has not come so we wait. we wait in silence and in other moments; loud anger. we wait and mourn the loss of a baby never born. one never held or kissed or touched. we sit still and in following moments, pace. we pace back and forth waiting for that second line. just one more line.

waiting. why must it be so hard? for the majority of my twenty four years on this earth i have wanted two things; to be fully known and loved and to fully know love. my husband knows me in all that I am and chooses to pour out the fullest of loves. he chooses to see my insecurities and faults and love me in spite of. while I have the entirety of the first, i still long for the latter. i know love. love is waking up early for goodbye kisses knowing full well these moments will not be forever. love is late night whispers and words exchanged over homemade meals. love is all of these things and immeasurably more.

but the love that is described by women who have been adorned with the title of mother; i long to know the fullness of that love. to know the weight and burden it is to love someone with all the depth of yourself and know that even in all that you are, you wish there was more you were able to give. i long to feel both the fullness and emptiness of receiving, giving and pouring out daily all that i am. i yearn for the becoming that will be as i one day become a mother.

while i wait in preparation, i also dream. i dream of playdoh crusted tables, and toy covered floors. i dream of long nights followed by early morning snuggles in a bed full of the sweetest toes. i dream of the teaching and learning, both building and breaking and all that it will mean to be a mother. i dream. i dream because i cannot stop. i aspire and i hope. i hope because I cannot imagine not hoping. not believing that there is a way. there must be a way.

written on february ninth, twenty nineteen

a seat at the table//

i will be a mom. i will have a baby. i will care for and raise up a child.

+ while all of these things are true, there are not many seats for me.

at a table full of glowing, pregnant mothers and nervous expectant fathers, the seats are all full. at a table full of soon-to-be parents
preparing their bodies and minds for the miraculous birth of their baby, the chairs are full and there is no room at that table.

i will be a mother.

i will be a caretaker, a nurse, a counselor, a protector, a nurturer, a friend and every other title that women receive along with that of ‘mother’. it will happen and it will be different. i will be and the journey to becoming will be unique. i acknowledge that. i know.

+ i still need a seat. i still desire community.

maybe the seat isn’t there and maybe there aren’t many tables, but i am ready to learn how to build.

written on march twenty first, twenty twentytwo