Category: Uncategorized

Empty Nest

December 28th, 2025

After 8 years of raising chickens I decided a couple weeks ago to take a break. Seeing my empty coup is bittersweet. I’m glad a friend was able to take the few chickens I had, along with some supplies, but I miss the contented sounds of my hens. There’s no more excited clucks or purrs (yes, chickens do have a purring sound). No more watching them happily scratching and hearing them gabbing about life. While I now get my eggs from the very friend who gladly made room for my hens on her farm, it’s quiet.

I don’t need to worry about frozen water or buying feed/supplements anymore, I don’t need to gather and wash eggs, and I don’t have to make repairs on the coup and fence. Eight years of watching, learning, and studying to make sure my chickens were getting the best care possible has come to an end.

The quiet is a reminder of how important it is to enjoy every aspect and moment of life. The quiet signifies a new chapter that I have yet to write. The quiet is what I needed in order to hear the whispers of Jesus nudging me forward and not looking back.
Story Time

November 30th, 2025

I’m an introverted, 41-year-old, 4’ 10 ½”, single (by choice) woman, with a background in theater and art, whose never met an international food I didn’t like. I’ve traveled extensively, got degrees and skills I don’t know what to do with, and currently run an embroidery machine for my local sporting goods store. Let’s talk about mental health and Jesus.

I’ve struggled with mental health issues all my life but wasn’t aware that that’s what I’ve been struggling with until about 13 years ago, while I was living in Florida. I’m a contradiction when it comes to a stereotypical troubled childhood that most people who suffer from mental health issues are associated with. When my current, and previous, therapists asked me how my childhood was they were not expecting me to smile and say, “Great!”.

You see, my parents are amazing, loving, and supportive. The childhood trauma that I experienced was bullying, but I still had close friends who I could talk to which allowed me to put that trauma in a box which then conditioned me to do that for every traumatic event for the rest of my life. No one was going to open those boxes and I just wanted to forget.

Rewind to 11 years ago. It’s been a year since I’ve moved back home, I’m in my 5th or 6th therapy session and all the boxes bust open. I’ve got no more space to store all the trauma and my theater training was no longer helping me hide from those emotions. My therapist told me that I could choose to go to a crisis center or choose the hard way. Of course, being the sarcastic person that I am I asked her, “what’s the hard way?” “Handcuffs”. “I’ll call my parents”.

My Christian upbringing, like most of us who grew up in the church, never talked about mental health or how to deal with those issues. My parents never told me to keep my feelings to myself or that my feelings weren’t valid. Neither of them knew that as an introvert, my times of seclusion were needed in order for me to recharge, and my obsessive/anti-social tendencies were part of something deeper.

I clung to Jeremiah 29:11 and ended up getting it tattooed on my arm because I knew that God had plans for every experience I had faced, and my hope was that one day He would reveal those plans. I knew that in order for me to hear His voice I would need to get help reprocessing those memories that I’d so cleverly kept barricaded behind years of acting, ignoring, and downplaying, as a protective layer.

It’s not been easy or fun. It’s been frustrating and exhausting but I’m learning. I’m learning that everyone isn’t immune to mental health issues. Some of us struggle more than others but what’s important is that we serve a God who thrives in hostile environments. More specifically, the hostile environment inside my head. None of the Biblical characters were perfect and they definitely struggled with mental health issues, insecurities, and doubt. More importantly, Jesus showed us that everyone needs a savior and no one is immune to being human.
You Want Me To What?

October 22nd, 2025

I come from a family of teachers, preachers, and educators who were definitely amazing in their field. I have always been proud of those family members and how they persevered through the crazy they delt with each day.

It never crossed my mind to follow in their footsteps, nor is teaching/preaching one of my strengths or even a hidden talent. My background is a colorful collection of degrees, experience, and random skills. So, when I was asked to teach my Sunday School class 2 years ago, I had to laugh.

I laughed because I’ve spent my entire adult life avoiding the “family business”. I laughed because it’s where God called me to serve even though He knew I wasn’t expecting or prepared to serve.

I didn’t ask to teach adults 20 years older (I’m 41) than me but I am. I can talk about many subjects and topics but it’s not the same as teaching. I admire many women and men who make a living teaching/preaching about Jesus and the Bible but I still wonder is God is sure this is what He wants me to do?

Is He absolutely sure that He wants me? A woman who’s not great at making clear and concise points, who struggles with mental health issues, and who is an introvert with a theater background.

Yes.

That’s the beauty of Christ. He knows my struggles, insecurities, and doubts and turns them into blessings. He holds me up when I’m weighed down with depression, He calms my anxiety when I get stuck in my head, and He leads me when I don’t know where to go. He is my only hope in the dark.

I don’t know where He’ll send me next but I’ll definitely be praying for a “2 weeks notice” or at least warning.
20 Years

May 15th, 2025

The first day we met you were 2 years old. I’ll never forget that first day home. I thought you had ran out the front door because I couldn’t find you. So, I sat on the couch to watch t.v. praying that you were just hiding somewhere in the apartment.

It took all of 5 minutes for you to come out from under the couch and sit on my lap. After that moment I knew that you were more special to me than any pet I’ve had before. I was your person and you were my Tank. My 17lbs of grey and white fluff that used every bit of your large frame to get my attention every way possible.

You were my shadow. Literally. There are moments when I’m at my desk working on something and I expect you to put your paws on my chair wanting to be held. I hold the bathroom door open waiting for you to walk in. I leave my bedroom door ajar so you can come in when I go to bed. Those moments are the hardest.

I miss your very vocal meows letting the whole house know that you are not getting your way. I miss the sound of your purrs when you’re sleeping in my arms. But mostly I miss knowing that you’re waiting for me to come home.

For 18 years I was your momma. For 18 years you were my best friend. For 18 years you were my biggest fan. For 18 years I got to experience God’s love through you. Thank you Jesus for those 18 years.
Waiting

March 15th, 2025

Waiting for God’s timing doesn’t mean I do nothing.

Growing up there are a lot of times spent waiting. Waiting to drive, waiting to graduate high school, waiting to become and adult, waiting to graduate college, waiting to start a career, and waiting to know where to go and what to do when your dreams are shattered. Waiting has become a curse word to a lot of us because we’ve become accustomed to instant results. The “microwave” mentality that everything should be available in thirty seconds or less.

After 40 years of waiting, I’ve come to realize that God’s timing is perfect, HIs plans for me are precise, and His ways are not always going to be what I want them to be because He knows more about me than I know about myself. During every season of my life, I’ve ran away from things that I couldn’t control or plan for because I didn’t want to fail or disappoint those who’ve believed in my abilities.

I’ve always enjoyed being “backstage” when it comes to leadership roles. In other words, I prefer to lead in the shadows. If it required me to be seen as a leader, I would decline the position. Emotionally, I’ve not been able to see what’s right in front of me. Put me on stage speaking to a few hundred people was way easier than being the leader of a business or group. I’m much more comfortable being the assistant or sounding board than the mouthpiece and teacher for others.

Ironically, I have a theater background and spent 30 years on stage, backstage, or part of the team creating some aspect of the show. I miss acting and the atmosphere of the theater very much but about 11 years ago I realized that my very real debilitating depression, that I did not acknowledge, was eating me from the inside out and I completely shut down. My theater background provided the means to “hide” behind whatever character I needed to be in order to function on a daily basis.

For 30 years I kept pushing every traumatic event into a closest, praying that God would just throw it away and I would never have to deal with it. For those of you who’ve done the same know that that’s not how God intends us to process trauma. I’m stubborn by nature and was pretty sure that I would be the exception to the “rule” however, upon discovering just how wrong I was I also learned that waiting for God did not mean I sit around expecting something to happen.

Waiting required me to seek counseling so that I could work on processing that trauma. Waiting pushed me to allow others to help me pick up the pieces and put my heart back together without hiding behind a mask. Waiting taught me that my dreams and passions matter to Jesus and are not to be discarded when I’m experiencing brokenness. And above all, waiting meant trusting that God was working in my life and preparing my heart for what is to come.

Waiting is the hardest part of life but trusting that God’s not done is the icing on the cake.

Jeremiah 29:11
Depression Is Heavy But I Carry It Anyway

September 21st, 2024

Christmas music and movies have always brought me joy year round. As I sit listening to the KLOVE Christmas station my cat, Tank has, hopped into my lap while I wait for the oven to preheat. He’s 19 years old but you wouldn’t know it because he’s still very active and yells out his frustrations at every opportunity. He also just wants to be near me.

Whether he knows the struggle I face everyday, or not, doesn’t matter. Even when he’s yelling at me about seeing the bottom of his food bowl or wanting to go outside, even though my barn cats will follow him around inevitably irritating him enough to come back in, I understand animals way more than humans.

As an introvert who’s got a theater background, even those who’ve known me since birth had no idea that I can go days without needing human contact or conversation. I didn’t know that the “down days”, as I call them, were more than just having a rough day and not part of growing up.

Before you jump to conclusions, my parents are the best and have supported me in all my endeavors, I just didn’t know how to voice what I was dealing with internally nor did I understand (and still don’t) why God would not take away the pain from past trauma.

As a 40 year old woman of faith, who has traveled extensively, lost close friends, been bullied, had amazing once-in-a-life-time experiences, faced the darkest depths of depression and anxiety, and had dreams come and go, I know that one day it’ll all make sense. Today is not that day.

A few weeks ago my favorite chicken, Lucy, a 4 year old black Cochin, was killed by a predator. I’ve lost many hens and roosters in the 7 years I’ve raised chickens but this has sucked the life out of me. I still blame myself for not making repairs on my coop sooner and for not checking on my flock as regularly as I used to. You see, I started a new job 6 months ago, at the same time another “down day” or in this case “down months” hit all at once triggering an unexpected anxiety attack that also caused the proverbial dam to break at my new job. Needless to say I was falling apart and cried out to Jesus because I was drowning and was tired of hitting the emotional repeat button.

Fast forward a few months and I had some clarity during a Christian Women’s Conference (Kerygma Summit) and was getting the pep back into my step, counseling was going much better, and I was ready to deal with the past trauma that had triggered the domino effect.

What I didn’t want to accept was that I can’t just chuck depression and anxiety out the window and pretend that I hit the rewind button to start over. Things were going to be just as heavy and just as hard. When I found Lucy the way I found her all of my walls tumbled down and I fell right back to that deep, dark pit I spent the last few years crawling out of.

I don’t know what the Lord is preparing for me but I know that through the past 6 months I’ve learned a lot about waiting and trusting. My two least favorite subjects that I continually fail at. I’m stubborn, impatient, and want to figure everything thing out so that I have contingency plans for my contingency plans. I’m a creative person to the core which makes my taste in everything weird to most but endearing to others. I’ve been told that I have an “old soul” and that I feel things more deeply than most. It’s a gift. At least that’s what I tell myself.

I don’t have it “all together” but I trust that God knows where all the pieces are and I’ll continue to wait for His timing because when I do it’s much more peaceful and much more filling.
It’s Just a Cup of Tea

May 18th, 2024

A skit talking about bottling up our past.

Cast

Stacy — She’s in her early forties, upper-middle class, comes from the big city, has an air of sophistication, and has an Ivy League education.

Fran — She’s in her late thirties, middle class, comes from a small town, is confident, has a four-year degree from her local university, is Stacy’s best friend, and lives in the apartment across the hall.

(Scene One: The stage is dark except for a small lamp on the table to the left of the couch. It’s just bright enough to light the person sitting nearby. Stacy is sitting with a cup of tea in one hand and a book in the other. It’s late, and she’s on her third cup, but the book is starting to get interesting. Besides, tomorrow is Saturday. She adjusts the pillow, snuggles into the couch, and settles in for an all-night reading session.)

FRAN

(enters stage right, flips on the lights)

I’m heading out to dinner, and I thought you’d like to come along.

(Stands behind the couch)

STACY

(Slams her book closed stands up)

Why do you insist on barging in? What if I was entertaining or indisposed?

FRAN

(Looks at Stacy for a second as she rolls her eyes.)

There wasn’t a sock on the door, so I figured it was safe.

STACY

(Crosses to the kitchen)

You know I wouldn’t do that. Nor would I have a one-night stand to utilize such a childish technique.

(Pours another cup of tea and heads back to the couch)

FRAN

(Walks around to the front of the couch.)

Next time, deadbolt the door. Do you want to come with me? The night is still young, and you’ve been working late all week for several weeks. It’s not going to ruin your reputation…or lack thereof.

(Fran notices that a week’s worth of mail is on the coffee table, and Stacy hasn’t cleaned her apartment in several days, which is not like Stacy.)

STACY

(Ignores the “reputation” comment.)

I’m not in the mood to fix my hair and put on makeup. I’ve already eaten, and our definitions of “the night is still young” differ entirely. Plus, I gave you that key for emergencies, not as an invitation to enter whenever you like.

(Opens book and takes a sip of tea.)

FRAN

(Ignores her response)

How’s work? From the look of it, you’ve been cooped up in your apartment for a while.

(She sits on the couch and props her feet up.)

STACY

(Offended, stands up)

Of course, I’ve been going to work. I haven’t had the time or energy to clean this week.

(She starts to pace and fidget.)

The company has a few of us working on a new project for an upcoming meeting with all the bigwigs.

(She starts straightening up, nervously trying to hide what’s going through her head.)

FRAN

(Knows something’s wrong and that Stacy won’t talk about it until she’s about to explode.)

Relax, I wasn’t trying to question your work ethic, and I know that these projects tend to consume your thoughts. I hoped you’d do something outside the apartment to unwind instead of sticking your nose in another book.

(Fran walks over to Stacy, who has stopped straightening the living room. Stacy heads to the kitchen to make another pot of tea. She stares at the kettle as it boils.)

FRAN

(Walks over to Stacy)

What’s wrong?

(She doesn’t want to push her, so she waits)

STACY

(Starts to say something, still staring at the kettle, but stops. She knows that Fran isn’t going to judge her or try to fix the problem, but it’s just so difficult to get out of her head when her thoughts become so heavy.)

FRAN

(Places a hand on Stacy’s shoulder, letting her know she’s not going anywhere.)

STACY

(Fighting the tears that desperately want to flow. The kettle starts to whistle. She doesn’t look at Fran as she moves the kettle from the burner.)

Would you mind staying for tea?

FRAN

I don’t know. You’re not dressed for the occasion.

STACY

(laughs)

Well, what are you in the mood for? You know where I keep everything.

(She sets the kettle on the coffee table.)

FRAN

(Takes the large tea container, cream, sugar, and a mug.)

So, what’s the project this time? Or can you tell me?

(They select some tea, and Stacy pours the water.)

STACY

I don’t work for the CIA. Why do you think every project I’m assigned to is top secret?

FRAN

(angry)

Because every time I ask you, you look at me like I’ve just asked you to rob a bank!

STACY

(gasps)

No, I don’t!

FRAN

See, you’ve already started to panic. You’re arranging your mail by date.

(Takes out the tea bag and adds some sugar.)

STACY

(stops, irritated)

I hate that you are so observant.

(Takes out the tea bags and adds cream and sugar.)

I don’t like talking about the big projects because you might let it slip to someone, and then they’ll tell someone, and so on. I work for an advertising company, and you know how important these projects are and how competitive this industry is.

(She takes a sip of tea as if she’s just explained the meaning of life.)

FRAN

(defeated and furious, sets her cup down)

Who would I tell? None of the people I hang out with would give two cents for that information! I’m a secretary for a CPA!

STACY

Exactly. One of your boss’s clients might work for a rival ad company.

(Sips her tea in triumph)

FRAN

(rubbing forehead)

You’re killing me. Why do you insist on making our conversations so complicated?

STACY

I do not! You insist on asking me questions I prefer not to answer. It’s rude to ask about confidential work matters.

FRAN

I’m not asking you to break HIPPA or OSHA laws. You don’t want to talk about anything that goes on at work, and that worries me. You’ve put in long hours, at least one week a month, for the past six months, and every time this happens, you get like this.

STACY

(Jumps up, spilling her tea.)

Like what?

(Goes to get a towel.)

FRAN

(Follows Stacy and grabs the towel from her.)

Like this! Stressed, reclusive, and avoids talking.

(mops up tea)

STACY

(Silent for a moment)

I’m sorry. I have a tough time recharging after putting in this much overtime.

(Frand hands her the towel and sits back down. Stacy throws the towel in the sink.)

FRAN

I know something else is bothering you, and don’t say it’s that time of the month.

(She crosses her arms and waits.)

STACY

(The weight of Stacy’s thoughts finally breaks, and she starts to weep, slumping to the floor. Fran is shocked. She’s never seen Stacy like this and never wanted to again. Her friend was hurting so bad, but why would she hold everything inside to the point she’s this broken?)

(Fran kneels beside Stacy and wraps her arms around her, rocking back and forth.)

(Lights slowly fade out.)

END SCENE ONE

(Scene Two: The lights come back up. Fran and Stacy are sitting on the floor, leaning against the cabinets. A box of tissues is next to Stacy, and they each have cups of tea.)

STACY

I’ve never told anyone this, and I’m not sure if it matters, but I never understood what being an introvert meant until a few years ago. I just thought it was a word people threw around.

FRAN

It is a word people throw around.

STACY

(rolls her eyes)

I know. I’m not that dense.

FRAN

Well…

STACY

(punches her arm)

FRAN

Ouch! You know, you’ve got a decent punch for a woman who’s never done any manual labor.

STACY

(laughs, takes a moment to collect her thoughts)

What I mean is that I never knew why I preferred to be alone for days at a time, would make plans and then want to cancel, or would be completely drained after a few hours at work, a large gathering, or other social events. I also didn’t know why small groups and one-on-one conversations were more stimulating. Being antisocial isn’t a good alibi.

(takes a sip of tea)

FRAN

(jumps up)

What did you do?

STACY

(laughs and stands up)

I’m just kidding. I wanted to see the look on your face.

(They walk over to the couch and sit down.)

FRAN

Being anti-social doesn’t mean you’re a sociopath. However, I might reconsider your other quirks.

STACY

Ha, Ha. There’s a downside to those quirks.

(Pauses, not sure how to explain.)

FRAN

What are you thinking?

STACY

That’s part of the downside. I’m always thinking. I can’t get out of my head. I’ve been bullied all my life for one thing or another, like most people. I’m not trying to downplay, deny that it happened, or pretend that it didn’t bother me. I locked it away, moved on, or ignored the comments and harassment. As I’ve gotten older, the most minor things become a constant monologue in the back of my mind. It’s like there’s been a slow leak in the vault, and I can’t stop it.

( She starts to pace. Everything has become suffocating again, and she’s got nowhere to hide.)

FRAN

(Frand stands up but doesn’t move. She watches Stacy, giving her friend time to process her thoughts.)

STACY

(Stops pacing and faces the audience. The stress from all the years of keeping those memories from surfacing has become too much)

Every job I’ve had was never the best work environment, emotionally, physically, or spiritually. Sure, I made some friends along the way, but I’ve also dealt with emotional abuse and, at times, sexual harassment without showing any outward signs that it bothered me. Some of the abuse was during grade school and into college, but I had friends and family like I do now, so I would just lock it in the vault. Over the past few years, that slow leak has become a waterfall, and I can’t fix it.

(Turns to Fran, sobbing)

I CAN’T FIX IT! HOW DO I FIX IT SO I CAN LOCK IT AWAY WHERE I CAN FORGET?

(whispers)

I just want to forget.

FRAN

(Stays seated but leans forward.)

Why do you want to forget?

STACY

Because it’s better than this.

(She points to her tears.)

FRAN

You mean, it’s better than feeling, and feeling is hard to control when you’re avoiding any type of vulnerability or trauma.

STACY

(offended)

I haven’t been through trauma. I’m not a soldier, domestic abuse or rape victim, or some other survivor of a violent event. Dealing with past bullies, ongoing nightmares, and having anti-social tendencies just makes me a crazy person who would be sent to the looney bin if I told anyone what really goes on inside my head.

FRAN

(Walks over to Stacy and grabs her by the shoulders.)

No one gets sent to the looney bin for not dealing with trauma…

(Stacy starts to interrupt.)

Trauma isn’t something reserved for those who’ve been through war, witnessed or survived violent acts or horrific tragedies. You’ve experienced the silent type. The type that gets stereotyped and folded into tidy little piles that no one wants to accept happens or admits that it’s an issue to be dealt with.

(Pauses and grins)

However, they might make an exception on the looney bin just for you.

STACY

You’d be taken with me.

(They start picking up the dishes and head to the kitchen. Stacy begins to wash, and Fran dries.)

FRAN

What’s going on at work? Do I need to come and break some noses?

STACY

(laughs)

I don’t even know if there’s anything at work that would cause the dam to break. I’m not saying that the stress and pressure of deadlines or producing innovative ideas is a walk in the park, but for the first time in my life, my work environment is a healthy one. We generally want each other to succeed. We have disagreements, but we’re not trying to make them into a reality TV show. For the first time in my career, I’ve found people who want what’s best for their employees and the company. I guess I don’t know how to handle people asking me if I’m ok and meaning it. Or maybe it’s deeper than that. I don’t know; I just feel stuck.

(They put away the dishes.)

FRAN

What do you want to do about it?

STACY

(She picks up the cup she just put in the cabinet.)

What do you see when you look at this cup filled with tea?

FRAN

It’s just a cup of tea.

STACY

Exactly.

(Fran realizes that her friend has taken a considerable step towards working through her pain. She hugs her. The lights dim, and a small spotlight stays on the teacup.)

END SCENE TWO

(Scene Three: The lights come up, and Fran and Stacy are sitting on the couch. There’s a water pitcher on the table, and it’s early morning.)

FRAN

(Pours Stacy and herself a glass of water.)

Why haven’t you told anyone about any of this? It seems like there’s more to it than you want to accept.

STACY

It’s always been another “cup of tea.” It’s just something I’ve drank, and when more was poured, I would drink that, too, no questions asked.

FRAN

Why does everything revolve around tea and books for you?

STACY

(rolls her eyes)

Those are the two things that have brought me comfort. I realize the analogy isn’t comforting, but I guess I’ve tried to make it so.

FRAN

(pauses)

That makes sense for the tea but not for the books.

STACY

(confused)

What’s not to understand? I like to read, and reading brings me comfort.

FRAN

I’m not buying that. Books mean a lot more to you than comfort. You’ve got more books than you do anything else and refuse to get rid of any of them once you’ve read them.

STACY

(starts to get nervous, stands up.)

I might read them again. Why do you care how many books I have?

FRAN

(stays seated)

Because you’re not being honest with yourself, clearly, these books have some other value for you. I’m not saying you should stop buying books, I’m just asking you to answer the previous question.

STACY

(She walks over to one of her bookshelves, runs her hand along the books, and then turns to Fran.)

Books are my escape.

(Pauses)

From everything. Most of these books have gotten me through things I don’t know if I’ll ever talk about, and I guess I’ve associated them with keeping my secrets. I’m afraid if I get rid of them, then whoever reads them will know my secrets.

(Goes back to the couch)

FRAN

It makes sense. When you feel that you don’t have anyone you can trust to tell these secrets to, it’s logical to go to the next best thing. It doesn’t mean it’s healthy, but at least you are aware.

STACY

People who’ve known me all my life only see who my family is. My family hasn’t been perfect, nor have they tried to be, but they’ve been a pillar of my hometown for decades. They’ve never taught me to hide my thoughts or feelings and never told me to be someone I’m not. I didn’t want to disappoint them or shame them because of what I’ve experienced in the past. I’ve always thought that if I was honest about, well, anything, I really would be stereotyped as “that crazy woman in the family” and then institutionalized.

FRAN

(pauses, takes her friend’s hands in hers.)

I’m so sorry. Nothing you say to me will leave this apartment or change how much I care about you. But if you’re looking for True Peace, I can’t give that to you; I know you know that.

STACY

I know.

(pauses)

And thank you for asking me if I would like to join you for a cup ten years ago.

FRAN

(hugs her friend, and they get up to make another pot of tea.)

(The lights fade as Stacy puts the kettle on.)

THE END
If I Was Mary

May 4th, 2024

“If I Was Mary”

By: Jacquelyn Hardy

May 4, 2024 (Version #2)

Cast

Me/Mary – A woman over the age of 18.

*Can be performed by two women.

(Scene: A single spotlight is focused on a chair in the middle of the stage. A small table with a Bible is on one side of the chair.)

Me

(sitting in the chair)

When I was twelve, I wasn’t thinking about marriage or having children. I wasn’t wondering who would ask my father for my hand, thus sealing my future. I wasn’t afraid of being stoned to death for carrying another man’s child who never touched me but whose Spirit washed over me and gave me the child my people have been praying for thousands of years. My options were endless. No laws or cultural norms kept me from pursuing whatever career I wanted. My parents didn’t need to rely on a man to marry me to survive a few more years with one less mouth to feed. My parents didn’t worry that I would be taken away if they couldn’t pay taxes or a debt, forcing me to work off what they owed. If I were Mary, would I have graciously stepped forward, knowing that what I was about to accept would bring shame to my family?

Mary

(Stands)

How will I tell my family that I’m not crazy or concealing the identity of the man who defiled me? I’m carrying the Christ who will bring “peace on earth and goodwill towards men.” What will I tell Joseph? Will he divorce me? Will he have me stoned? Will my child be killed before he’s taken his first breadth? Would God allow me to live, but as a girl who’s been cast out with no means to take care of my child? What can I do but go to Elizabeth? The angel said she was also with child. Will she be able to help me understand? Will she know what I must do?

Me

(Picks up the Bible)

As I look back on my childhood and the things I got to do, I wonder if Mary would’ve considered what her life could’ve been like had the angel never come. Would she still have gone to Elizabeth? Would she be the strong and courageous woman who, against all odds, laid down her life for Christ? Would she have been one of His followers? I can’t help but put myself in her place and try to imagine the stress and anxiety she must’ve felt from the moment she accepted her calling through the death of her son. Could I do that now? Would I be able to put my life on hold so that the creator of the world could save the world? If I were Mary, would I be able to watch my child suffer all the while He’s telling me that this is the only way? That He must die to bring salvation.

Mary

(Sets down the Bible)

What do you mean that you’ll be raised after three days? You performed miracles that have healed thousands. Why don’t you show them now? Show them that you are the Son of God! The Messiah! Why must your body be beaten, pierced, and bloodied? I’m your mother? Can’t you give me your suffering? I will take your place so you can live!

Me

(Sits down)

Would I be able to hold back the desire to run towards my son, who’s being nailed to a cross that he didn’t deserve? Would I have even stayed to watch? And when I went to the tomb to perfume His body, would I be praying? Would I be silent? But the joy of seeing my Lord alive and in my arms is what I look forward to the most. That will be the only time I will know how Mary felt.
A Corner of My Mat

May 4th, 2024

As I contemplate what it’s like to have people who’re willing to just be present when you’re hurting, listen when you’re angry, calm you when you’re scared, and love you when you don’t love yourself, I paused. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve pulled further and further away from community, connecting and allowing anyone to know my deeper side. The side that is raw, unfiltered, and terrifying. No one’s going to want to help me carry my baggage. The Lord doesn’t want me to because He needs me to carry everyone else’s, right? I’m a Christian woman who’s supposed to pray, trust, and have faith that the Lord will hold on to my baggage for safekeeping. Why take that from the best baggage holder and give it to anyone else?

     My safe space is where I pile up all of the pain, hurt, anger, trauma, and fear. It’s where I can grieve alone, stay out of the light alone, and keep anyone from knowing how broken and bloody I feel daily. Just when there’s a person who’s willing to grab a corner of my mat and help lower me down to Jesus, they are taken away either by death, circumstance, location, or have pulled away from the faith. It’s like getting punched in the heart with everyone watching.

     I have to start all over again, picking up the few bits and pieces from my baggage that I let fall out for those people to help me carry. Why did I do it again? What was the lesson to be learned? I should’ve just helped them with their baggage so they could have a moment to breathe and maybe feel some relief. Maybe they’ll receive what the Lord wants to give them. Maybe their blessings will touch me without having to open my baggage. Maybe.

     Those who’ve seen through me, whether or not they realized it, scare me to the core because I cannot put on the performance that’s been running for decades. The ones who are aware of my performance have been able to help me work through my baggage and begin to search for those who will be willing to grab a corner of my mat. The ones who don’t realize what they’ve discovered are the most frightening because they’re the ones that God’s sent to whisper to me, to proclaim truth, to force me to break.

     To break is life-shattering, life-giving, and life-altering. To take a step towards them isn’t easy, pretty, or ideal. Refraining from building a wall to replace my performance takes a lot of energy. It takes a lot of energy not to dump my pain, trauma, fear, anger, and hurt all over them because, ironically, that’s also a defense mechanism. If I spill just enough of the crazy, then they’ll back away, and I’ll be able to stay out of the intimate relationships that I crave but am so gripped by fear that I’d rather not be vulnerable.

     Being vulnerable is like adding salt to the wound for me. Crying isn’t soothing, nor do I want to enjoy the release that so many people seem to have when they do. Being vulnerable is like showing up naked to a party. Everyone’s looking at you, laughing, pointing, and taking photos to laugh at later. Being vulnerable causes my anxiety to go through the roof, and I start to look for the exit. What if I chose the wrong person to take a corner of my mat? What if they want to use my baggage to hurt me more? What if they drop me before I can be lowered to Jesus? What if Jesus doesn’t want me to be lowered at all? It’s an endless cycle of unpacking, repacking, lowering, raising, cracking, and gluing.

     The Word of God speaks Truth. It speaks healing. It speaks love. And it speaks life into my broken heart so I can continue to put my faith in God’s plans for me and my story. He knows who will help lower me, sit with me, and love me while sitting at the feet of Jesus. Those are the truths I will cling to because I know that I am not alone, even though it seems like it. I will hold on to the promises of God. So. Should. You.
An Unexpected Magnet

April 28th, 2024
You may not call the people in your life that you’re instinctively drawn to, who can look at you and know something’s wrong, or who knows what you need to hear a magnet. These people are such an abnormally strong pull that is the only way I can describe what they are to me. These women have counseled me through the suicidal times, the PTSD that I didn’t want to have, let alone start the long hard road towards freedom from those terrifying moments that would trigger uncontrollable panic, depression, or wanting to crawl back into that deep dark pit I had grown accustomed too. These women saw through my performance and were not going to allow me to continue hiding behind a character.

I thought I had all the magnets I needed or wanted. I didn’t think there would be anymore because magnets can see through the pain, struggles, and fears I deal with on a daily basis. I honestly didn’t want any more magnets because I was tired of crying, fighting, acting, praying, and dreaming. I didn’t believe God would send me anymore because I couldn’t handle more. I just wanted to stay in the safety and comfort of the familiar. I didn’t want to dig any deeper into my emotional cup because I was getting close to the bottom, where all the darkness started and where I would have to strip down to the core. Where I would have to break again in order to feel, see, and hear what I was afraid God was calling me to do; to have complete and utter faith in His plans for me.

I recently volunteered for Kerygma Summit (kerygmasummit.com) running the merch table for one of the speakers. I had met her at last year’s conference and before her breakout session started, we chatted briefly and would wave when we’d see each other in between sessions but I was extremely stressed and guarded during the conference and didn’t allow anyone to break that wall for fear of being seen as a failure. I don’t know if I already could feel that pull towards her then but I could relate to her because she also had a theater background. I thought nothing more about it. After all, she’s on my favorite podcast and it was nice to meet her but that’s all there will be and I was thankful.

I was originally assigned to another speaker’s table, but due to some last-minute changes, I was assigned to hers. I laughed because I’d been praying for an opportunity to attend her break-out session this year and possibly chat again. I, in no way, was expecting what I experienced over the next three days. All I wanted to do was serve wherever and however I was needed. I just wanted to work. I just wanted to make sure everyone else was taken care of and that whatever you needed, I would jump in 1,000%. I knew that these three days would be good, and a few days away from what I was struggling to understand might give me a chance to reset. What I got was way more than a reset, and I don’t know how to describe the kind of surprised joy I felt during those days.

If you’ve never worked on an event like this, typically, the speakers are not involved with setting up their merch tables because there’s a lot that they do before, during, and after the event. So, I was surprised that she helped her assistant set up her table and then made sure I got the 4-1-1 on all the prices and how her payment system worked and thanked me for just being there. As soon as she started talking to me and wanted to get to know me, I felt it. That unmistakable pull to spill the emotional baggage I was desperately trying to keep in the overhead compartment.

Why? Why would God choose this woman, whom I only knew through a podcast and a brief chat a year ago, to be another magnet? I didn’t want anymore. I had just started to accept that my dreams were to remain small, that my passions and gifts were to be used occasionally, and that I was to be content where I was and to just keep waiting. This woman was a light when I needed it the most. She didn’t need to set up her table, make sure I was okay, or even make time to surprise fans by hanging out for a few minutes to sign her books they just purchased.

Each day, she would tell me that she appreciated what I was doing for her; all the while, God spoke through her to finally break me. He broke me to the core. He knew that I was waiting for something completely different. He knew that the words He prompted this woman to look me in the eyes and say would rattle me to the bones. He knew that those three days would bring clarity to what He’s called me to do. I have never been told that my gifts, talents, and passions were more than I believed them to be, that they were part of who I am no matter my doubts about how to use them, and that the pull I have towards them is valid and affirmed in Christ. I finally removed the wax from my ears and heard what I’d been so afraid to believe was possible and where God was calling me.

I will be forever grateful to this woman who went out of her way for a stranger who just wanted to serve whoever and wherever I was needed. Her kindness, compassion, and ability to see what God sees in others have humbled me and shown me that no dream is too small, no gift is wasted, and no passion is worthless.
- Jeremiah 29:11