Chasing Skinny {Part Three}

I'll have you know this story ends well.

It may not end clean. But it ends well.

I faithfully continued to teach those four to six ladies. My favorite part of the night being the end of class. Sitting in a circle on the floor to stretch our legs, we would each share a prayer request {mine always the infamous "unspoken"}. We held hands and prayed before we dismissed.

I now know how powerful and effective the prayers of those righteous women were. (My gut tells me they prayed for me outside of that little circle, too)

I kept going to church every Sunday. Sitting in the last pew with all of those safe ladies. But overtime they encouraged me to branch out and "meet some of the college kids." No thanks. Too risky. I'll keep right here. There seemed to be less judgement in the back.

But it wasn't long before those risky, judging college kids came to me. And, surprise-surprise, they weren't self-righteous or unsafe. They, too were warm and gracious. Inviting me to come to their class and fun, colleg-ey things.

I was starting to see a trend... Warm. Safe. Unjudging. Gracious people. Is this for real? When would the veil lift? Revealing the wolves. They had to be here, right?

Maybe. But I never found them.

The only thing I risked being in that church was my heart. I take that back...most of the activity in the baptist church involves good cookin'. That was risky.

Very risky.

No one yet knew my struggle or the turmoil inside.

I rededicated my life on the pink carpet of that little church. My road to skinny leading me to my Saviour. I was overwhelmed with the grace. Grace from Him. Grace from them. Everywhere I turned I found acceptance.

But there were still secrets to deal with. Skeletons screaming to come out. Healing to still be had.

But He can't heal what I won't give Him. And I held my card close. My good girl face was very believable. People didn't know I struggled. Or maybe they did. Either way, I wasn't ready to let my new, unjudging friends in just yet. What if they changed their mind about me? Risky.

I'd already bore my soul in the orange, vinyl chair. That bearded man got me no where.

One Sunday night after church we went to the music director's house for cinnamon rolls. Home. Made. Cinnamon. Rolls. Be still my skinny heart. I really did not know how to handle myself that night. Not only were there cinnamon rolls, but there were M&Ms in little bowls all over the house. I was a mess. Everywhere I turned - sugar. Sugar. And more sugar.

I love sugar.

I remember that night being a deal breaker for me. I had to come clean with someone. It was just too much.

I drove my new friend Heather back to the church after my cinnamon roll craze. I pulled beside her car. "Do you have a second?"

She sat with me over an hour as I shared. Sitting in my '95 Toyota she soaked in every word. Her eyes sweet and on me. Unlike what's his name in that cold, student counseling office. She cried and prayed with me. She did not judge me. Or think less. She just loved me. And gave me a recommendation for a Great Counselor. And a Great Physician.

The One who knew my name.

I deeply longed for new. A new body. A renewed mind. A new heart.

And He had it all.

I had finally caught what I had been chasing. And it wasn't skinny after all.Let us lay aside every weight and sin which clings so closely and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus the founder and perfecter of our faith. Hebrew 12:1b-2a
It was Him all along. Skinny was just the means to finding Him.

Sitting in that parking lot, with each spoken word, the chains were coming off. My silence had held me hostage long enough. My sin festering in the quiet. But, praise be to God, there is victory in the spoken word.

And as painful and as embarrassing as it was to say it all, I knew I had to tell her to be free.

But new birth did not come easy. It cost me. Everything, actually.

Chasing skinny led to my death. The death of the very best kind. The death of myself.

There is only room for One on the throne of my heart. And her skinny butt no longer fit.

But know this...she was stubborn to move. It has taken time, prayer and accountability. Vulnerability. And trust. Every so often she tries to climb back up on the throne. And I have to chase her away. Putting her to death again and again.

She is a skinny little thorn.

My road to recovery has not been brief nor clear cut.

It has been a bumpy and crooked ride. Full of sharp turns and wrong ways. But He has been there with me.

Hindsight actually tells me He was there all along. Every step the Stairmaster clocked - He was there. The Christmas party with the buckeyes and cheese ball - He was there. The next day, for eight grueling hours at the gym - He was there. The cold office in the orange, vinyl chair - He was there.

And no doubt he was in the light that blinked on my answering machine.

The phone call that changed my life.

I still may not know how that girl got my name and number.

But at least now...I know why.

To read Chasing Skinny {Part One and Two} click here.

Chasing Skinny {Part Two}

I needed help...

I remember how quickly I opened the glass door to the Student Counseling Center on campus. Heaven forbid someone see me go in there. They might think I needed therapy or something.

I had never seen a therapist before. No one had given me a name or recommendation. I just made an appointment with the one most available. I was ready. Ready for a scholarly stranger to tell me how to get out of this cyclical rut of barely eating - over exercising-weighing myself - guilt - barely eating - over exercising - weighing myself - guilt.....

The office was dated and cold. Lots of orange. And vinyl. I fidgeted in my chair as a thin, bearded man wrote my name on a notepad.

"What brings you here today, Rebecca."

{Rebecca. Nothing makes me feel more comfortable and connected to a person than when they call me by my full name.}

Nevertheless, off I went. On and on about my experience on campus. My soft size fours. My boyfriend and his lurking ex girlfriend. I went on about the scale and hours at the gym. I told him about my obsession with my zeroes and my deep fear of gaining weight again. I shared my lack of self confidence and all of my insecurities. I shared how quickly I compared myself to the girl on the StairMaster beside of me. I confessed my need to look better than her.

I bore my soul in that cold, vinyl chair. Completely vulnerable and ready for the solution.

He nodded as he listened. Rarely making eye contact behind his gold, round frames. Taking notes and humming his professional "Hmm mm" every so often.

When I was finished, he put down his pen. I remember a long pause. His scholarly mind processing a solution, I supposed.

"Tell me about your childhood, Rebecca. About your dad and mom. Their marriage. You relationships with your siblings. What do you remember most about your childhood? What about high school? Have you experienced great loss or hurt over the years?"

{What? My childhood? This is 1997, buddy. I'm not here to talk about my parents. Or my childhood. Or my siblings. I want to talk about my obsession with skinny.}

But I shared anyway. I began to talk and talk and talk. And the tears began to fall and fall and fall. I told him of the divorce. And the fear. And the sadness. I shared my desires to please and make everyone happy. My need for attention. I shared my desire to make it right. I told him of high school. And the bully. I told him of the crazy boyfriend and the fear. I cried in that cold, vinyl chair. Unveiling the mysteries of my little soul to this strange, bearded man.

And abruptly my hour was over.

I left that office more confused than when I came. My emotions raw. I felt completely unraveled and uncontrolled. If anything, I was more drawn to the gym. Deeply needing my drug to ward off the remembrance.

I wanted everything back under my control. Again.

Speaking of zero, I had zero desire to sit in that orange chair ever again. I had zero confidence this counselor could help me. What did he know? Asking me about my childhood. And high school.

So I continued on. Finding more and more significance in image. In the months to come, I was hired as a student aerobics instructor. Fueling my flame and finding greater identity in fitness. Now my disorder on display for all to see. Just picture it...sassy and self absorbed - dressed in lots of neon, high top aerobic shoes and sporting a Janet Jackson mic.

I was a hot pink mess.

I taught several classes a week. Almost everyday. School now secondary to my new found instructing passion.

But one day I remember. Specifically. I came home from teaching a class and my answering machine blinked with a new message.

"Becky, my name is Stacey and I am the fitness coordinator for an aerobics program at Beechgrove Baptist church. I got your name from a friend who said you were an aerobics instructor in the area. I am needing a sub for the next couple of classes. I am wondering if you would be interested. I would pay you ten dollars a class. It is once a week and there are only about four to six ladies."

Ten dollars. Wow. I could use ten dollars.

But it is at a church and I don't know anyone there. And churches make me nervous. Anyone could look at me and know I am a big mess. A phony. A big phony mess with an eating disorder, at that. I just don't know. It's all kind of weird. ...But ten dollars.

How did she get my number anyway?

I called her back. She was very sweet. It seemed easy enough. The church was near my house. Four to six older ladies. An hour of step. Ten dollars and I'm back home.

O.K. I'll do it.

I remember that Tuesday so well. I remember I did not want to go. It was storming and wet. And I was chicken. Pretty convinced that the storm with all of its lightening was God's disapproval of me going into church again.

Me. A sinner.

But I put on my high tops and my best "good girl" face. I pretended I had it all together. Those ladies, absolutely precious and warm. Of course they asked where I went to church. I reported of our "membership" at Mt. Olive down the street. (Although I had not been in ten years, I was pretty sure my name was written on a roster somewhere. I wasn't lying.)

The hour was fun. Fun. Fun Fun. I was unconcerned and confident. I was comfortable there. No college girls picking me apart. No frat guys to impress. It was bliss.

Those four women asked me to come back next week if I could. And I did that next week. And the week after that.

They invited me to come on Sundays, too. And crazy... I did.

A new journey had begun.

A fitness floor on which I had lost my identity was the very place in which I would find it.

The very place in which I would find myself.

The very place in which I would find Him....

-to read Chasing Skinny {part one} click here.-

Chasing Skinny {Part One}

I was nineteen and had no business obsessing over skinny.

Entering college the year prior, I came in as a confident size four. Maybe a six. A little soft. But balanced. And unconcerned.

It is amazing what a year in college can do to a girl.

My college boyfriend was fit and older. His ex girlfriend was gorgeous. Fit. A little older. And teeny-tiny.

I was nineteen. A size four. A little soft. Maybe I should've been concerned.

Everywhere I looked were gym bags and water bottles. StairMaster had hit the scene hard. As did kickboxing. Step. Hi-Lo. And Billy Blanks.

The fitness train had taken off and all of the pretty girls were on it. My best friend a marathon runner. My boyfriend, fit and older. His ex-girlfriend, gorgeous. Fit. Teeny-tiny.

And she appeared very healthy.

Did I say she was gorgeous? And teeny-tiny?

Oddly enough, she was around a lot. Quite needy and dependent. Lurking and looking for affirmation. Confirmation that she was gorgeous and fit.

I'm sure I was her biggest fan. I studied her. Her clothes. Her hair. Her diet. Her workout regimen.

She drank coffee for breakfast. Canned tuna and sugar free gelatin for lunch. And maybe a cracker - if she was splurging.

I could do that.

For dinner, another can of tuna with unseasoned green beans.

I could do that, too. I liked tuna. And beans. And sugar-free Jello.

And loved coffee - ahem.

anorexia nervosa (def): a serious disorder in eating behavior primarily of young women in their teens and early twenties that is characterized especially by a pathological fear of weight gain leading to faulty eating patterns, malnutrition, and usually excessive weight loss
So I ran hard trying to catch that train. Trying to make up for the couple of college years that I had been too comfortable in my soft, size fours. Needing drastic results to look the part.

I served the scale. Obeying its demands. On a bad day, it would shame me. It's disappointment sending me back to work. "No, Becky. That is not good enough. Faster. Harder."

On a really good day it would commend me with a smaller number. Congratulating me on my faithfulness to fat-free foods and hours at the gym.

Hours.

It was all very subtle. And social. College girls going to the gym. Making eyes at the frat brothers. Feeling hot in my purple spandex (oh yes). Chasing skinny on the treadmill.

No one knew I had become a prisoner. Bound by my new size zero.

I wish someone would have helped me.

But I wouldn't have let them.

It was exhausting trying to maintain my new size and weight. I started to miss food. And flavor.

What was a skinny girl to do?

Workout more I guess. That seemed to be my answer for everything.

I remember going to a Christmas party and being completely helpless against that table of chocolate covered Oreos and buckeyes. The cheese ball beckoned me come. And I did. All night. Discreetly going back to the table again and again. Trying to appear normal.

But I had no idea what normal looked like anymore.

The next day, I woke. Hungover from chocolate and chips. The scale furious with my behavior.

My head hung low, I went to the gym. Skipping every one of my classes. I worked out. And worked out. And worked out. All. Day. Long. I punished myself on that fitness floor for eight grueling hours. Honestly thinking I deserved the beating. Deeply needing to feel thin again. Working hard to make the scale happy.

Exercise Bulimia: (def) compulsive exercising in order to purge the body of excessive calories taken in from a feeding binge. Over-exercising in order to maintain weight loss and extreme caloric burn.I may have been a zero. Fit. Now teeny-tiny. But exercise had not only burned calories. It also burned up all of my confidence. I was twenty. Skinny. Unsure. And extremely unhappy.

What had happened to me? What happened to that nineteen-year-old, joyful girl who was balanced and pleased with herself?

Wasn't exercise a good thing? Wasn't healthy eating important?

I needed help...

Too Connected...We're Disconnected?

Tuesday night Brent and I tucked the boys into bed and began settling into our evening routine. I popped our usual bowls of popcorn and turned the TV on for The Biggest Loser (whoop whoop!). Brent needed to download a few songs on ITunes, so his laptop was up and running. He sat with his computer open on his lap, head phones in his ears and the Ipod nearby ready to load. I needed to catch up on a few emails during commercials so I set my Netbook on the end table beside my spot on the couch. My cell phone chimed informing me of a new text message, so I grabbed my phone and began replying back to my friend.

We heard footsteps on the stairs. Then a little voice, "Man, there's a lot of technology going on down here. So much light and electricity."

Grant. Wasn't he asleep?

I walked him back to bed, tucked him in once more then sat down at my place on the couch.

Just called out by my own son.

"Is this what my boys will remember of their parents? Mom and Dad on separate ends of the couch totally enthralled in technology?"


Is this the new "My Dad read the newspaper all the time" memory? Or the the "I don't remember my mom and dad ever kissing" memory? I have those memories from childhood. Do you?

Gosh, I love Brent. Oh. My. Word. Yes. We have a great marriage. Really. Tuesday evening wasn't a true representation of our relationship or our hearts for each other. Yet, try telling that to my eight-year-old who will only remember what he remembers. Amen?

That dern Internet. I have such a love/hate affair with it. Such a blessing yet such a distraction. It both sucks life and brings it.

What if Grant had walked downstairs to find his parents in the middle of the couch together, sharing a bowl of popcorn and talking. Or even seeing his mom and dad sharing a big blanket reading our own books quietly. Less noise. Less "light and electricity." What if turning off all of the technology let Brent and me make a little electricity of our own. Oh yes, I just typed that. Isn't it so TRUE?

Are we so connected that we are disconnected?

Disconnected from the Lord and each other?

Oh, how the Spirit has been talking about this. For sometime now. I find it funny God will finally grab my attention through an 8-year-old little boy.

Lately, I've been drawn to scripture about silence. To scriptures about drawing near. I am led to books about silence. And drawing near. I want to discipline myself in the art of quiet. And strengthen my ear's Holy listening.

Draw near to God, and He will draw near to you. James 4:8

During this season of Advent, I have thought much on "quiet". Can you imagine the 400 year period of God's silence? Geez, that must have been excruciating. But hindsight we all know that this period was a good thing. We know now that the redemptive sound of a baby's cry would soon break the silence. The gentle coos of our Savior, pleading us to come. To draw near.

Silence meant preparation. Silence increased the hunger of God's people.

Silence draws us nearer to our God.

I will do anything it takes to draw nearer to Him. Less noise. Less light. Less electricity. Even if it means shutting down this blog for a season (gasp)...I will do it. (Although I'm not excited about the idea of that. I love this thing. Too much, I know.)

So. There you have it. The rantings of a tech-junky. Confessions of the "too connected".

This Advent, let us pull away and unplug a bit. Silencing our lives - as if embracing the bundle of a new born babe. Let us draw near our hearts and stare and the face of the One who came to save us.

Let us all disconnect, so we can reconnect to the Light.

The Light of the World.

The Results (a little home makeover)

I share this not to boast in my home. Not to boast even in Tisha's talent, but to boast in the Lord for His goodness and ability to make all things beautiful. Both our hearts and our homes. I am thankful for His giving Tisha vision and creativity. I am thankful to the Lord for giving me a home to decorate in the first place. He is the giver of every good gift. It is through Him I live and breath and through him that I can enjoy all of these fun changes.

Let Him who boasts, boast in the Lord. 1 Cor. 1:31

This makeover was a work of love on His part and ours. I am so thankful. On every level.

If you are just now tuning in, this will make more sense in light of yesterday's post.

So with no further ado...remember all of the red?


Gone.

I don't know where to start. Look at my slipcovers! Tisha! (She did amazing.)

She also hung my pictures higher. Before, everything was hung at my eye level - and I'm 5'3". She wanted to create the illusion of 9' ceilings.

The blue buffet table was a piece of my mother's. A very important piece to me. I had it painted by a friend in town. It was once a dark walnut. This became the focal point for much that we did. There's no telling how many times we said, "Let's tie in the blue. Let's tie in the blue."

The armoire was Teresa's. It was too heavy to haul to Germany. I love it.

I bought that brown chair off of Craigslist. The pillows and stool cover, Tisha made. Heart.

Let me tell you, this was a low budget project. Garage sales, Craigslist and spray paint have become good pals.

Hats off to Tisha for my slip covered couches. I just can't get over them, really. I'll have you know that Luke has puked and peed. The boys dirty feet have been all over them. I have spilled grape Crystal light and they have been drawn on with marker. It all washes out. IN THE WASHER. Unzip. OxyClean. Gentle cycle. Air dry. Bingo - Genius, Tisha.

That bird cage was Mamaw's and once ornate with fake greenery and complete with an artificial bird. I ripped it all out. Those little aqua plates were Brent's great grandmother's. Love. And my mama's senior picture. Miss her. She would have loved all of this.

See how high she hung the curtains. Illusion. Illusion.

And now moving into the red red red kitchen and dining room.


I must say, I didn't hate this. I was just very tired of it. I first painted the walls gray. A suggestion from my bloggie friend, Lissa. But after much debate and persuasion from Tisha we decided to paint the cabinets. Paint the cabinets!?! I was nervous....


But, oh so glad we did.

This was work. Oh my word. But I have zero regrets. I suggest if you are ever going to paint your cabinets, do it when your kids are gone! And my blue island. Same blue as the buffet of mom's.

We also took off the cabinet doors by the sink and created the illusion of open shelves. Very fun.

New lighting over the sink and island. Stools. Towel bar on the side. All Tisha's idea. And her handiwork. She is quite impressive with an electric drill.


Remember my funeral home curtains? I shed not one tear over seeing these go.


We carried the same window treatment over in here. We also replaced the shades on my chandelier (they were glass). Tisha made a burlap table cover and runner.

I searched garage sales for white dishes. And splurged on a big canvas print from pictures that my dear Tracie took.

Silhouette's of my little guys. Sweet. So much life happens at this table. I am actually in that far right chair as we speak. Hello. That is my meetin' with Jesus chair.

Well, there you have it. I am so thankful. It has been a nine month project. But worth the wait. I have learned so very much from Tisha. (Friend, you are so talented. Thank you for casting vision on so many levels.) And thank you, Lord, for everything...Meeting me on my 10-10-10 run, Tisha, My home, My couches, My kitchen - All of it.

So...what do you think??

Diary Of A Fantasy Football Wife

Ethan was a six-months-old and Grant was barely three when Brent tried to explain.

"It's a draft. And I have to be on the computer at the same time as all of the guys I'm playing against. It is time sensitive. I need to be online with all of them or I will miss out on the players I really want. The computer will choose for me and that could be bad. Also, before the draft starts, I need some time to think through exactly who I am going to choose."

I was listening. But this is what I heard.

"I know you have been with a nursing baby and a needy three-year-old all day. I'm sure you've been pooped on, spit on, hit on and screamed at, but nevertheless, at 7pm I am going upstairs into my office and shutting the door. You may not see me for the rest of the night. You will be handling bedtime and bathtime alone. I hope you were able to sneak a nap today."

Confessions of a Fantasy Football Wife.



This game, so harmless and fun, was my enemy. Pulling for a favorite NFL team was now a thing of the past. Every team, every game - an opportunity to score points. I didn't get it. I just didn't get it.

It has taken time, years obviously, for me to come to grips with the truth that Brent enjoys Fantasy Football. He enjoys it because it is not just about football. It is a conglomeration of male bonding, healthy competition and the love of the game. All three bring Brent joy.

And if Fantasy Football brings Brent joy, then it brings me joy, too.

The two will become one flesh. Ephesians 5:31

His league is my league. His team is my team. Instead of being his biggest opponent, I need to be his biggest fan.

Tuesday night, I sat and listened as Brent told me all about his draft. He's taking a different route this year, just so you know. His strategy is different. This just might be his best draft yet. {smile}

I want to support my man. In everything. I want him to know he is a great dad, a great husband, a servant leader, full of grace, full of love and one heck of a Fantasy Football Coach.

So what if it takes him away for a few hours here and there. I can deal. My quality-time-love-language will just have to wait. He does so much for his family. Shame on me for taping my toe over this. It really is harmless. These guys don't even bet money.

Here's to another Fantasy Football season! I'm pumped for you Brent. Forgive me of my selfishness over the years.

I get it now. I get it.

And don't be surprised if I am running around the house screaming for Chris Johnson to trip over his shoelaces when he’s about to score a 78-yard touchdown. I just don't want him to cost your team the title.

Hallways of Regret: A Guest Post

As I am planning for an upcoming speaking event, my dear friend Sue has been gracious enough to guest post on Cup Of Joe today. Full of the Holy Spirit, wife and mom of three, Sue writes an incredible blog at LivingFreeInHim.blogspot.com. This post, Hallways of Regret, spoke to quiet places in my heart. Have a great day my friends. I am so glad that we are Living Free In Him today. - Becky

Hallways of Regret

Last weekend, I went to a play at my old high school. Nineteen years have passed since I last walked those hallways.

Emotions stirred up in me as I opened the once familiar door. Ahead was a long hall full of past memorabilia with cases of trophies and plaques covering the walls. Countless basketball, football, track, tennis team pictures from the 1960's to present lined the hallway. As I walked a few steps, I saw the band room door. That had been where I had spent a majority of my high school years.

High school should be some of the best times and happiest memories of childhood. For me, looking back can be painful. God has healed me and redeemed my past, but memories did haunt me as I stood there in that hallway looking in the gym. Writing this is even difficult because I don't like looking back. There were some fun times, but the bad decisions I made and the people I hurt overshadow the fun times.

I know, I know...don't regret, you wouldn't be the same person you are today if you hadn't made those mistakes. Maybe not, but I still regret. I still wish I would have made better choices. I know I can't go back and change the past, but I wish I could.

Although going back in time isn't an option, God is so good and He makes all things new. We just have to choose to follow Him. His path leads to restoration.

And they shall rebuild the old ruins, they shall raise up the former desolations, and they shall repair the ruined cities, the desolations of many generations. Isaiah 61:4

It doesn't matter if your family has a history of pain, regret, or shame. When you received the Lord, you entered into a new family.....a family of hope, healing, life, joy, peace. God wants you to have a beautiful life, and you have the opportunity to change the history of your family for the generations to follow! How incredible is that!

Instead of your shame you shall have double honor, and instead of confusion they shall rejoice in their portion.

Therefore in their land they shall possess double; everlasting joy shall be theirs. For I, the Lord, love justice;

I hate robbery for sacrifice; I will direct their work in truth, and will make with them an everlasting covenant.

Their descendants shall be known among the Gentiles, and their offspring among the people.

All who see them shall acknowledge them, That they are the posterity whom the Lord has blessed. Isaiah 61: 7-8

The Lord wants to restore our broken past and rebuild our broken dreams. When the Lord restores, others notice a difference. We get a beautiful life and God gets the glory.

Everyday we are faced with hallways. We get to choose which hallway we will go down:



Hallway of Rebellion: Rebellion leads to regret. When we do not follow the Lord, when we choose rebellion and to follow our flesh, we will not like the end result. Our flesh may like it temporarily and we may feel justified in the moment, but the pain of regret will come.

The whole book of Isaiah is an example of this....the Isrealites rebelled against the Lord and the Lord pleaded with them to return to Him. Their rebellion led to their captivity. Sustained rebellion always leads to captivity.

This past week, I struggled with rebellion. It was in the area of following authority. My flesh wanted to do one thing, but the Lord kept whispering rebellion leads to regret. I wish I could say I did the right thing all the time. I did listen to the Lord eventually, I am so thankful for His mercy.

Hallway of Righteousness: Righteousness has a funny ring to it. It seems unattainable, but it is ours. Jesus Christ has made us righteous. When we rebel we are actually rebelling against who we are in Christ.

I will greatly rejoice in the Lord, My soul shall be joyful in my God;

For He has clothed me with the garments of salvation, He has covered me with the robe of righteousness. ( I love that!)

As a bridegroom decks himself with ornaments, And as a bride adorns herself with her jewels.

For as the earth brings forth its bud, As the garden causes things that are sown in it to spring forth, So the Lord God will cause righteousness and praise to spring forth before all the nations.
Isaiah 61: 10-11

So, if rebellion leads to regret, what does righteousness lead to?

Righteousness leads to reaching. When we display the character of Christ, when we act like Christ, we draw others to Him. When we rebel, we damage our witness.

Everyday we have the opportunity to decide which hallway we will go down. It doesn't matter where we have walked in the past. Our past does not determine our destiny. We are not defined by our past mistakes. We may regret some of them, but that regret can be turned into restoration. God takes our old ruins and rebuilds them into something beautiful for Him.

Which hallway will you choose today? Do you also have a something in your past that you regret? Will you give it to the Lord? He gives us comfort for mourning, beauty for ashes, joy for despair, praise instead of a spirit of heaviness.....will you also let Him give you restoration for regret?

-Sue @ LivingFreeInHim.blogspot.com

Mason Jars for Jesus - Giving Away My Best

I look forward to July for this reason.



Limelight Hydrangeas.

The prized possession of my not-so-green-thumb. Aside from my children, and a few untasty tomato plants, they are the only thing that I've had part in growing.

My vases wait in anticipation every year longing for their long stems.



And if I cut them at just the right time, they will dry and remain beautiful all year long.

Yesterday morning, I opened my curtains and there they stood to greet me. I swear they stand tall, knowing they are center stage of my sun-beaten backyard.

The neighbor that lives behind me has mentioned how she admires them, too. I have been waiting for them to grow bigger before I cut them, giving her a bouquet that would dry and remain for her all year, as well. I grab my shears and take to my plant.

And as I start to cut, I start from the bottom. Choosing the smaller of the tree - not wanting to taint the view I enjoy from my kitchen window.

I hear the Lord, "Cut from the top. Cut the best ones for her."

Some say they don't know when the Lord is speaking, and I agree, His voice can sometimes be hard to discern. This morning not so. I knew it was Him - because this one was hard."

I start to dialogue in my Spirit.

But these are beautiful, too. Just smaller.

"Off the top. Give your very best, Becky."

The Lord knows me well. Cutting flowers was only a picture of my giving heart. I offer myself to the Lord, I offer my life, my kids, my money, my service, but oftentimes my sacrifice is from the bottom. I want to hold the top for myself. I withhold my best for fear there won't be any left for me.

Then I hear further instruction...

"Give them all away. Every flower. Everyday, cut a bouquet to give. Until they are gone. Sacrifice your best, everyday."

All of them?

I come in from my backyard and Brent looks at me. "What are you doing?"

"The Lord wants me to give my flowers away. All of them. Today, He wants Kelly to have these."

(Brent must think I'm crazy.)

So before eight o'clock yesterday morning, I drop these off on Kelly's porch.



This morning, I think of Abraham who waited his entire life for a child. He was 100-years-old when Isaac was born. Abraham loved him so. Isaac his prized possession.

Can you imagine how Abraham felt when he heard the Lord say, "Take your son, your only son--yes, Isaac, whom you love so much--and go to the land of Moriah. Go and sacrifice him as a burnt offering on one of the mountains, which I will show you." (Genesis 22:3)

And Abraham did it. He got up the next morning and obeyed the Lord. Thankfully the story ends well, but imagine the obedience involved in the "getting up the next day and going" part. I could just cry at the thought.

But the Lord asks similar of us. With our children, much like my Limelights, although we have watered and fed and grown them, they are not ours. We will be asked to give them back. To send them out into the world as a blessing to others.

So on a very small "Abraham scale", I cut my prized limelights, practicing the art of sacrificing my first fruits - my very best for the Lord.

Cutting flowers in Jesus' Name. Who knew?

In every area of my life - my money, my love, my time, even my children, I give it all back to Him. For His Name. For His Glory.

Be blessed today. And if you see me coming towards you with a mason jar of flowers, you'll know why.

A Tennessee Tradition

I couldn't have been much more than 10-years-old, standing on my feet in Neyland Stadium. Buried in a crowd of University of Tennessee fans. Standing beside my mother. She loved UT football. So did I. Her passion for this rich Tennessee tradition - my inheritance.

"Please join us in singing our National Anthem."

You would think that in a sea of 100,000+ people no in particular voice would stand out. Well, meet my mother. I remember shying of embarrassment because of her singing. People, at least ten deep, would turn to find the face with that Aretha Franklin sound. She was stunning. I was too young to appreciate.

Last Saturday, I again stood, twenty-three years later, blending in a sea of orange and white. This football tradition just as rich today. The Pride of the Southland Band just as powerful. Rocky Top just as exciting.

"Please join us in singing our National Anthem."

Now, I have come to numerous games since my mother's death. But something this night left me lonesome in a stadium of thousands. Missing my mother. And overwhelmed by my love for this place. Overwhelmed by my affection for this incomparable Tennessee tradition.

Tears in my eyes, I turned to my mother-in-law, "My mom loved this."

What I would give to hear her voice just once more.

I recall the day of Freshman orientation, July 1995, my dad and I sat on the front lawn of the University Center. Sharing a lunch in the shade of historic trees. He looked at me a said, "Never leave this place. Remain a part of this University your entire life. This is a good place to be."

Prophetic statement?

My timeline is tied to this University.

* Mother worked here my entire life and celebrated her retirement.
* My sister, a member of the Pride of the Southland Marching band.
* My dad bleeds orange. I have seen him cry he loves the game so.
* I spent five years here earning two degrees.
* My husband introduced himself to me. Spanish 211.
* I met Jesus at this school.

Now we serve here....on staff with Campus Crusade for Christ.

My heart beats for The University of Tennessee.

As does His.

My family passed down a passion. A fervor for UT football. A crazy love for the color orange. An affection for this school. A passion for this city.

From one generation to the next to the next, I have inherited a deeply rooted pride in this Tennessee Tradition.

And the Lord wants to use it for His glory.

One generation shall commend your works to another, and shall declare your mighty acts. Psalm 145:4

I believe God has his hand on Knoxville. It is a healthy place to live and to raise a family. I am thankful to be providentially placed here. To proclaim his works and make known to the children of man his mighty deeds and the glorious splendor of His kingdom. Psalm 145:12

I am thankful today. Thankful to the God of this city. Words do not suffice.

Can I ask you take a moment to pray for Knoxville? To pray for the 35,000+ students, faculty and staff at the University of Tennessee? Will you pray that the lost would come to know Christ? Will you pray that the Lord would rally an even greater passion for Him? A passion even greater than UT Football?

Wow. That's some big passion.

Love you all today....
...and GO VOLS!


Neyland Stadium



Julia and Benito (Our Spanish class names)



2010-11 UT football team
Walking to the Stadium, they stopped to pray at the Torch Bearer. Awesome.


Power T


The Pride of the Southland


The skills behind the camera. Tracie Ancelet. Love this girl.

A first hand account...

Good Morning! I am super excited about what the Lord has done today.

A couple of weeks ago, I was on the phone with one of by besties, Cynthia. We were talking about the Insecurity blogs and what the Lord was teaching her. I mentioned to Cynthia that wish I could accurately describe the power of the Holy Spirit and how He is at work. I wish I could explain how He transforms lives. He is so important.

But, I have a gut feeling that a great percentage of believers are not quite sure what to do with Him.

She said, "One way I would explain Him is by how He worked to lead me to make a decision for Christ. He led me away from my destruction and shame. That is the Holy Spirit at work. He is the foundation of my testimony."

Yes.

The next morning, I open my email to find a message from Cynthia. Her testimony. Sweet! As a young believer, she went through Blackaby's Bible study Experiencing God. In brief, Cynthia lays out the seven principles taught to her in that study and how each principle "bullet points" her story.

Her testimony is a first hand account of the Holy Spirit's ministry in her life. His power led her to Himself. Amazing.

Just let me tell you a bit about Cynthia. Oh my, I can NOT say enough about her. The Lord gave me such a jewel when He blessed me with her friendship. We met when we were both dating our husbands. Hindsight, we were both so young in our faith, and just...so young. Our lives have mirrored one another through every season. We were engaged weeks apart. Married one week apart. Our first born sons are months apart -as are our two other children. She sang at my wedding and sang at mom's funeral. She has been there when all three of my boys were born. We walk this life together. She has great affection for Jesus. She is in love with His Word and pursues God with fervent passion. She will not settle for less. One thing that is so astounding about the Lord is His miraculous ability to make us NEW CREATIONS. If you met Cynthia, you would think, "Oh, she probably led the perfect life, had the perfect childhood, grew up blemish-free, was valedictorian, etc." But the truth be, the Lord rescued her from the pit. A dark, empty life of rebellion. Cynthia's heart in sharing her testimony with all of us is to give honor and glory and praise to the Father for her life today. To reflect on His goodness. And hopefully to bless someone who may be in a holding pattern of life - scared to make the next move towards God. Afraid of what might be lost. Well, she did lose all she knew -only to gain everything.

Testimony - a first hand authentic account of a fact. An outward sign. An open acknowledgement. A public profession.

Here's what she wrote:

The 7 points of Experiencing God - by H & R Blackaby:

1. God is always at work around you.

2. God pursues a continuing love relationship with you that is real and personal.

3. God invites you to become involved with Him in His work.

4. God speaks by the Holy Spirit through the Bible, prayer, circumstances, and the church to reveal Himself, His purposes, and His ways.

5. God’s invitation for you to work with Him always leads you to a crisis of belief that requires faith and action.

6. You must make major adjustments in your life to join God in what He is doing.

7. You come to know God by experience as you obey Him and He accomplishes His work through you.

Cynthia's Story ~

I grew up in a Christian church and was exposed to all of the traditions of one. I went to church with my mom because that was what I was told to do. I had no relationship with God. I wasn't taught "relationship" - just religion. Just works. Big difference. After childhood, I left church. Ten very wild years later, a friend invited me to visit her church. I humored her for awhile, but her church never felt right. My mom kept asking me to revisit my childhood church. She said, “ There is a new pastor now. He is so good at taking the scripture and relating it to everyday life”. 1. God at work.

So I went back. I had wild hair and short skirts. I literally thought to myself, “Mmm, maybe I might meet a good husband here”. I was living with a guy at the time and obviously not leading a very ‘Christian lifestyle’. But through this church... 2. God pursued me.

The pastor began encouraging the congregation to join him in a new Bible study. He said, “If you really want to know who God is try this study, Experiencing God." I thought, “Whoa, know who God is? That could be cool." 3. God invited me.

When I looked at the Bible study sign-up sheet, I realized it was mostly older people and married couples. I told mom, “ I don’t think I’ll take it because there is no one my age.” She said, “You usually learn more from a diverse group." So I went and began learning so much of who God is through His Word and His people. I watched and listened a lot…. How they prayed, what they prayed, how they reacted to others praying, what they talked about, what they wore, how they interacted with each other…. The body of Christ was at work. 4. God speaks by the Holy Spirit - through His people and through His Word.

I began thinking about this life I was leading. Did God approve? I knew my answer was, "No." I had to make some changes. 5. I came to a crisis of belief.

God was clearly showing me that I needed to live a life pleasing to Him. It is hard to explain, but I just began to trust Him. I was tired of living a life of wishful thinking and broken promises. What would I have to lose, but to trust Him and give this relationship thing a try? So I took the leap - the leap of believing God. The leap of faith that he could be real and just maybe He has a better life in store for me. My best thinking got me where I was (wild hair, short skirts and a live-in boyfriend) so why not just do it! 6. It was time to make an adjustment.

I moved out of my boyfriend’s house and that was hard. Yet, I knew it was what I had to do. Looking back, I know there were several people praying for me. Praying I would have the courage to make a change. God began to work leaps and bounds in my life after that adjustment. The more I studied, the more I prayed (just bare honesty-talking to God about my messed up life). I fellowshipped more and more with the body of Christ and, by the power of the Holy Spirit - I changed. 7. I came to know God.

I give Him all the praise and glory for my life today. ~ Cynthia

John 15:5- “ I am the vine, you are the branches. If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing."


I love you deeply, Cynthia. You teach me so much. Thank you for your vulnerability today. The Lord bless you and keep you and make His brilliant face shine upon you. You are such a beautiful picture of His grace and passion.

Be Blessed.
Becky