“Self Talk, Soul Talk,” by Jennifer Rothschild

Have you ever read a book and thought, “I wish I had read this about ten years ago”? That is exactly what I kept saying when I was reading Self Talk, Soul Talk, by Jennifer Rothschild. True to its subtitle - “What to Say When You Talk to Yourself” – the book tackles the tough topic of how we talk to ourselves and why we talk the way we do in our inner dialogue. This is something I’ve struggled with a lot in my life, and have had to learn to lean on the Lord for truth about who I am rather that who my mind says I am. It has taken a long time for me to feel like my self talk does not imprison me, and I am finally at a place where I feel like I can say that is true. I have learned to control my thoughts more than I let them control me.

That being said, my journey to this place might have been an easier one had I read this book sooner. It is packed with helpful, practical insights on how we speak to ourselves, and offers suggestions on how we can change the tapes that play over and over in our minds. It is clear, in reading the book, that the author herself has wrestled with this tough issue a lot in her own life, and that makes it easier to swallow her advice. Words of wisdom on this topic (like that of depression or marriage or parenting) coming from someone who has never been there never sinks in; advice from someone who has lived it, though, carries a weight of realism that penetrates deeply.

If you find yourself being unnecessarily cruel to yourself in your thoughts, I recommend this book highly. I would also recommend it to anyone who is close to someone who deals with this struggle, as it sheds light on the problem and can give understanding that one caught in the mires of destructive self talk cannot give at the time.

Careful Hands

One of the sweetest feelings I’ve had lately as Leah’s mama is the feeling that she trusts me completely. Our little girl definitely loves to collect things, and treasures each little handful of odds and ends as though it is the only thing she has to play with. When she needs to free her hands, though, to do something else, more often than not, she will give her precious items to me until she needs them again. Even if I see her struggling to hold them, it won’t do any good to offer to take it before she is ready to hand it over. When she is ready, she’ll give it to me.

“G’ma, Mommy,” she’ll say, in the way that I never, ever want to forget. (“G’ma” is her way of saying “Here you go.” We think she’s almost saying “you’re welcome” up front, in response to the “thank you” that she knows is coming.) With those words, she unclenches her fist and places whatever clammy treasure she has into my hands.

Sometimes it’s a handful of coins. Other times, a pair of marbled rocks. Still other times, a ratty old necklace. I never know quite what she’s going to give me, but I do know – before I even see what it is – that releasing whatever it is into my care is not an easy thing for her. They are her prizes. They are the result of searching and hunting and, sometimes, many requests. They may not seem like much to me, but they’re of immense value to her…and at some point in the near future, she will want them back. She will ask me for them - “Monies, Mommy? Money?” or “Rocks? Rocks? Rocks?” – and when she does, my period of custody is over. I may be holding it, but it is still hers.

Whenever she hands them to me – whatever they are – I feel a sense of joy. I feel a joy that she is trusting me with something she values so much, and that rather than toss it on the table or floor, she chooses to place it in the careful hands of someone she knows will take care of it. She knows that the things that are important to her are important to me. (She has to know that. Hundreds of times a day, it seems, I am scouring the family room in search of a lost rock or strand of beads. I wouldn’t do that if it weren’t important, I assure you.) She knows that in my hands, her valuables are safe.

And I imagine that there is a similar thing going on in the spiritual realm, only I am the one who hoards and collects and clings to things that are important to me. I clutch my possessions…….keep my worries close to my heart……..take careful care of my fears and my anxieties………keep my fingers tightly wrapped around the things that mean most to me in this world. I cling to them because they are valuable to me, and because I don’t want anything to happen to them to change their position in my life. In my hands, I figure, they are safest.

Sometimes, though, I get tired of carrying those things. Sometimes my hand is too hot and cramped from clutching something for so long, and my heart is heavy and burdened from the weight of something too big for me to carry alone. When those days come, something has to give, and I have to hand something over to the One I know will care for those things as much – if not more – than I do. I have to release my hold on the things that have held me. I have to trust that because they are important to me, they are important to Him. I have to give them to Him to hold. That's what He wants me to do, and He rejoices when I trust Him with those things.

"Cast all your anxieties on Him because He cares for you." (1 Peter 5:7)

The struggle for me, though, is in not taking them back. All too often, I hand over my heavy, wrinkled, and clammy load to the Lord with a determined shove. “You carry it, Lord. I’m tired of it, and I won’t do it anymore. I need my heart and my hands to do something else.” I walk away…..

……but soon decide that I need them back. Because life feels odd without them, they seem to have a way of creeping back in. Before I know it, my hands are tightly clamped around them again. I didn’t even have to ask, and He gave them back….they are perhaps in better condition than they were before, but they are the same burdens. He held them, but they were still mine…..and as long as there is a place in my heart and my hands for them, He will give them back.

What do I have to do? I have to find something else to occupy their place in my life. My heart and my hands are never content if they are empty, and seek whatever they can to fill the void. Having given away the burdens of life, there is a strange space in my core that needs to be filled, and filled it will be. It is up to me to decide what will fill it. I can choose a burden that crushes me under its weight and that cramps everything in me, or I can choose something better. Joy, perhaps, or peace. Perhaps both, with spots of kindness and understanding and love.

One load crushes me while I carry it, while the other carries me through it all. It is up to me what I will carry. His careful hands are waiting to relieve me of the more cumbersome load, but ultimately it is up to me. Will I unclench my hands? Will I release it? And once I do, what will I do with the life that is left?

"Cast your burden upon the Lord, and He will sustain you." (Psalm 55:22)

“The Invitation”

I wrote this several years ago, and read it in church last week to go with a series we’re doing called “The Irresistible Invitation.” I had a lot of really good feedback on it, and wanted to share it here. I call it “The Invitation.”

The invitation is simple, but the decision is hard.

You say it once, extend your hand, and wait.

“Come,” you say. “Follow me.”

To come is to leave where I am. Who I’ve been. What I’ve done.

Wherever I am, and whatever I am doing…it all seems unimportant in light of the invitation.

“Get up,” you seem to say. “Move. Go.”

You seem to know something I don’t…that you have more for me. Something better.

That this life I’m in is dull. Dead. Empty.

And you can see that really, so am I.

So you extend your hand and wait. You wait while I decide.

“Come,” you say. “Follow me.”

Follow? Someone will lead me? I won’t go alone?

The path isn’t for me to pave. You’ve done it for me and will take me.

“I know the way,” you seem to say. “Come see what’s here for you.”

You seem to know something I don’t…

The way still looks dark, and I don’t understand what to do.

I don’t know where to go. I can’t see where you’re taking me.

But you’ve promised you can take me there.

I’m not sure…reluctant, but somehow tempted…

So you extend your hand and wait. You wait while I decide.

I reach out, then pull back.

You’ll take me?

“I’ll go, too,” you tell me.

Never leave me?

“Never.”

And you’re sure you know the way?

You smile. “I AM the way.”

Your hand still extends, waiting for me to decide.

Again I reach out, grasp your hand, and take the first step.

I keep my eyes on you.

Nothing else makes much sense….is dark, foggy, and unclear….

My life seems to call to me from behind, all around, but doesn’t compare to what lies ahead.

I still can’t see where we’re going, but I know it is better.

You’re my guiding light…..my patient guide….

My uncertainty lingers, but the fear is gone.

Your confidence builds my faith.

Your gentle touch reassures me.

Your soft words urge me on.

“Come,” you say. “Follow me.”

And so I do. And I will.

Never stopping. Pausing at times, slowing often, but never stopping.

I come. I follow. And it’s you. Always you.

The journey is mine to take, but it is our journey together. You know the way.

I’ll follow your constant presence….awestruck by your light….and reveling in this fantastic quest.

Always thankful for the invitation.

Grateful that you waited, hand extended, for me to decide.

Content is property of Jessica Bolyard and Adjusting to the World. Do not use without permission, please.

Letting Go and Moving On

After forty days Noah opened a window he had made in the ark and sent out a raven, and it kept flying back and forth until the water had dried up from the earth. Then he sent out a dove to see if the water had receded from the surface of the ground. But the dove could find nowhere to perch because there was water over all the surface of the earth; so it returned to Noah in the ark. He reached out his hand and took the dove and brought it back to himself in the ark. He waited seven more days and again sent out the dove from the ark. When the dove returned to him in the evening, there in its beak was a freshly plucked olive leaf! Then Noah knew that the water had receded from the earth. He waited seven more days and sent the dove out again, but this time it did not return to him. (Genesis 8:6-12)

This passage has always made me sad. I always imagine that after the time spent with them in the ark, that Noah felt pretty attached to the animals. If it had been me (which I know better than to assume, because I doubt that God would look over all the people of the world and see me as being the one righteous person left….but I digress), I would have seen the animals all as my pets. I probably would have talked to them (too much), named them (silly names), and would have generally grown pretty comfortable with our living arrangements (not ideal). I might have missed the way things had been, but I probably would have grown accustomed to the new way of life and dealt with it the best way I could. (And yes….talking to animals does make me feel better about things.)

As I read this passage again last night, though, I thought, “Why does this make me sad? It is supposed to be something happy!”

So I thought about it, and the best thing I could come up with is this: I cherish things that are comfortable and familiar, even if they aren’t the best things for me, while I run from change….even if it would be a blessing to embrace it.

Can you relate to this? Do you get exceedingly sad when one door in life closes…when one phase ends and another begins…when one opportunity falls through and another is forced upon you…when life changes, as it always does, when you weren’t quite ready?

It’s human nature to cling to things that are familiar, because in them is comfort. There is little risk in the familiar, and there is little to fear in what you know. Even if what you know to be true is scary, at least that fear is known; anything known is preferable to anything unknown. The familiar will win out every time…

…but we do not win in sticking with what we know. We don’t win when we think so long about what was that we miss the anticipation of what will be. There is a reason that God keeps us moving, and His logic there is the same as His logic in everything: it is best for us.

I read the story of Noah and the dove and feel sad over the lost animal, but I can promise you that Noah didn’t sit and cry when the bird didn’t come back. I can imagine, instead, that Noah waited – eyes on the horizon – hoping not that the bird would reappear, but that he would never be seen again. When the logical amount of time had passed and he could be pretty sure that the dove was not coming back, I imagine that he was ecstatic. I imagine that he turned to run to tell the others in the ark, glancing back over his shoulder one more time to see if the dove was coming. I imagine that his sandals slid on the wood as he turned corners, trying to find everyone. I imagine his heart raced with joy that he could finally tell them that God was moving them on. I imagine that when he saw his wife and sons, he grabbed them by the shoulders, shook them, and told them it was over, saying something like, “Do you know what this means? We’re free to go! We are free to live! It is over!”

No, Noah wasn’t sad that his involuntary confinement was over. He wasn’t sad that the claustrophobic living situation was a thing of the past, because he knew that the ark was a temporary arrangement, and that it wasn’t the best thing for him. When the dove didn’t come back, Noah knew that something better was up ahead, and he was ready to go get it.

I want to live more like this. Not in tiny spaces crowded with animals I can only imagine, and not with my entire family under one roof, but in a way that knows – and feels – that when God moves me, it is always – always, always, always – because there is something better for me than what I am living. I want to live in a way that says, “Change? Yes, please! Let’s see what else is out there! Let’s see what God is going to do this time!”

Noah embraced the change, even before he knew what it meant. I want to be the same way.

After The Freeze

For awhile, I’ve felt frozen. Frozen in time….frozen in place….frozen emotionally when it came to my relationship with the Lord. I saw Him moving, and felt His hand, for sure, but had a sense that what I was experiencing was not all that it could be. I knew this to be true, in fact, because I was not doing my part to pursue Him in response to His unfailing pursuit of me. In the time I have been following Him and getting to know Him, I have learned that there is no such thing as standing still; I am always either moving forward or sliding backward, and inactivity results inevitably in a backslide.

I have resolved, though, to get moving again. This resolution has nothing to do with the beginning of a new year and the promises one makes at that time, but is more the product of a desire to find a fire that I have lost.

Don't let my love grow cold
I'm calling out
Light the fire again
Don't let my vision die
I'm calling out
Light the fire again
You know my heart, my deeds
I'm calling out
Light the fire again
I need Your discipline
I'm calling out
Light the fire again
I am here to buy gold
Refined in the fire
Naked and poor
Wretched and blind I come
Clothe me in white
So I won't be ashamed
Lord, light the fire again

(Brian Doerksen)

I’ve made a promise to myself, and the feeling of just making that promise is like that of the first glimpses of springtime. I feel like my heart and my spirit have been on ice, and are thawing. I feel like part of me is waking up after a long, hard sleep, only to find that things are brighter and more vibrant than even my dreams could have conceived. There is a hope in this figurative springtime that extinguishes the darkness and cold of winter. There is a sense of new beginnings that I can’t explain. Springtime is authentic – what you see is what you get – and no frost or sheath of ice can cover what is happening; I feel this in my heart, and I sense, somehow, that it is becoming visible outside, too. Sunshine breaks through and – by God’s grace – all that He has been working on is revealed.

Also by His grace, His works in me will be continued and will come to completion in this springtime of my heart. I celebrate and rejoice in the promises of a God who is always there waiting for a time when the ice on our hearts melts away and the beauty of life is uncovered. Like God Himself, the beauty is there, waiting, and just waits to be experienced.

And like winter, periods of backsliding do not last forever if we are willing to let the light in. With the light, ice melts away and new growth is made possible. I believe that and I feel that and I know it to be true.

After the freeze, there is life. It is there, waiting for us to find it.

(All pictures were taken by me, in our yard, as the ice and snow of the recent storm melted off.)

Struggles Past, Present, and Future

As Leah has gotten a little bit older, she is playing more and more with little things I have left around the house from my own childhood. A doll here…a book there…just little things that I’ve never gotten rid of, for one reason or another, and that I’ve always thought that “one day” my daughter would play with. Just this morning she discovered some tiny teddy bears I had stashed in a drawer, and she was captivated by them. I can’t tell you how special it is to be able to give her things that once brought me such joy and to see, now, that she loves them, too. It’s just a special thing to be able to share things like that with my daughter.

There are some things, though, that I don’t ever want to share with her. I’ve been pretty open about my struggles with depression and anxiety and panic and the myriad of things that accompany those. I am willing to talk with anyone about them because I know I am not the only one who has dealt with things like that and I know, too, that my experiences can encourage others who are there now. One day, when Leah is older, I will talk with her about all of that, too, and will pour out my heart to her so that she knows my story.

However, I don’t want her to ever feel what I have felt. I don’t ever want her to experience the despair and hopelessness and depth of sadness that I have felt. I am terribly afraid of seeing signs of anxiety in her, and of witnessing a panic attack in my little girl. I hate the thought that she might inherit those struggles from me. There is no guarantee that she will live with those issues like the other women in my family have; there is no guarantee, either, that she will not. The thought breaks my heart.

A few months ago, I stood over her bed praying for her as she slept. I found myself praying, as I often do, that she would never, ever feel the emotions I have. My heart cried out to God as I think only a mother’s can, begging God to save her from the things that might await her in the future. I desperately prayed and cried that she would not have those problems simply because I didn’t want her to have to deal with it.

As I prayed, though, a thought came to me. The Lord said to me, in that moment of quiet prayer, “Jessica, she will deal with something. She will struggle with something, even if it is not this.”

At that, my heart broke. I knew that was true. I knew she would struggle with something – something – in her life, even if it isn’t the same things I have dealt with. I knew it was true before that moment, but at that point, I realized that there might be a benefit to her dealing with the same things I have dealt with.

If she does struggle with depression – if she does find herself plunging into sadness or spiraling into panic – I can help. I can understand, and even if I can’t pull her out of those horrible emotions, I can be the one who is there when she feels no one else is, simply because I have been there. I will be there for her regardless of what life throws at her, but understanding goes a long way toward support and encouragement.

So maybe I do want to share that with her…..but I still don’t much like the idea. I am her mama, and I don’t want to see my little girl struggle and fight against something that has gripped her inexplicably. Nature dictates that she will struggle, though, and whatever it is that makes her little life less than perfect, I will be by her side as she battles it. The type of struggle is uncertain, but my companionship with her through it is guaranteed.

“Tithing,” by Douglas Leblanc

I recently received a copy of Tithing: Test Me In This by Douglas Leblanc in exchange for agreeing to write an honest review about it. As a writer myself (and a perfectionist one, at that), this review is hard for me to write. I don’t like writing negative reviews, but because I promised to report honestly on my feelings about the book, here I go.

I did not enjoy this book. The premise is a good one, obviously. The book is a collection of stories of individuals and families whose decisions to tithe (that is, return at least one-tenth of their financial resources to the Lord) blessed them immensely and, over time, brought them to a place of knowing the Lord better. Sounds great in theory, but the execution of the book was less than stellar.

My main complaint is that the book seems to be written primarily for those with a background in the Episcopalian church. The terms used assume a knowledge that I, from a different denomination of the Christian faith, do not have. That was very frustrating and made it difficult to weed through the language to find the story lying underneath. The stories of lives blessed by dedicated obedience to the Lord were good, but the language got in the way for me. As the book went on, it improved somewhat, but still was difficult to get through. Because each chapter was centered on the life and story of a different family, much of each chapter (and consequently, much of the book) was dedicated to simply telling who each person was and putting their story in context. While necessary for the purpose of the book, I didn’t feel that it was well done and I simply did not enjoy reading it.

The introduction to the book did provide helpful background information on the discipline of tithing. and if that is what you are interested in reading, this book may be what you are looking for. However, I feel that there are almost certainly better-suited volumes for that purpose. If you are looking for personal accounts of lives blessed by tithing, I would more easily recommend simply talking to those in your church family.

Indelible

The beautiful children of this extraordinary country have affected me in ways I never anticipated. Visiting with them….spending time playing and talking with them….learning about them and the way they live….it’s something I can’t leave behind and I can’t forget.

I know it has something to do with my own little girl and the life I want for her. Honestly, I don’t know if the impact of the children of Belize would have been the same before I became a mother myself. I’m sure I would have felt a tug at my heart, but I doubt that it would have been something that lasted…something that changed me and the way I see the world….something that would make me cry when I said good-bye and for days after.

The morning after we visited an orphanage there in Belize, I broke. I had thought I handled it all pretty well, but when I slowed down and had time and energy to process what I had seen there, I couldn’t bear it. I wept, sobbing big alligator tears as I thought of the conditions those children were waking up in that morning and the life they’d return to that afternoon once they got “home” from school. It broke my heart, and I wrote in my journal as I thought about it:

It’s so amazing to think that those children can find any reason to smile, but they were. (Most of them. The ones that weren’t….. Heartbreaking.) I’m sitting here enjoying the morning quiet, swaying in a hammock, listening to the birds and anticipating my breakfast, and those children – all 38 of them – are waking up in that this morning. Narrow hallways, crowded rooms, tiny breakfast… I’ll bet no one will hug them and kiss them before they leave for school this morning, and no one will be genuinely happy to see them when they get home this afternoon. And to think…their parents – most of them – chose to send them there. Their intentions may have been good, trying to make sure they got adequate food and a bed and an education, but what about their other needs? What about their little hearts? What about the people they will become as a result? No love….those kids have food in their bellies (barely) but are absolutely starved for love. They jump on and cling to affection as though their lives depend on it. Really, they do. They’re dying inside. And how often am I grumpy with Leah? How quickly do I get angry or upset with her? I’d give anything to hug her this morning. I’m so ashamed… Forgive me, Lord. Help me remember those children when I get home and the days are long and I just want 8:00 to come so I can get Leah to bed. Remind me to give her a few extra hugs in those moments. Somehow let those kids feel love every time I kiss or hug Leah. Please take care of those kids, Lord. Let your Spirit surround them and fill the gaps their lives have opened up.

I’ve read those words dozens of times since I’ve been home, because honestly, I’ve needed to be reminded. I’ve needed to remember. I’ve needed to take myself back to that place to feel those feelings and cry those tears again. I’m so grateful that I have my journal with me in those moments – both to help me cope with emotions that threaten to overtake me and to help me remember God’s grace when I look back.

I don’t pretend to understand the choices the people of Belize and similar countries have to make. I don’t pretend that after visiting for one week, I have a full picture of their lives and the decisions they have to make to survive. I can’t pretend either, though, that I was unchanged by what I saw and what I felt.

Those children have made a mark on my life. It’s like something written with magic ink. You know something is there….there is a message there somewhere, even though it hasn’t materialized yet and therefore can’t have its full impact yet. The letters are beginning to appear…and I don’t know yet what they will say, but I do know that their message is one that isn’t fading anytime soon. I have been forever changed by the mark of those children on my life.

“Heaven is For Real,” by Todd Burpo

I recently had the chance to read and review Heaven is for Real, by Todd Burpo. It is the true story of a little boy who, during an emergency operation, visited heaven and returned home. His story came out in bits and pieces as he talked to his parents in the months following the surgery, and is retold in the book by his dad.

In all honesty, I was skeptical as to whether or not I would enjoy this book. I’ve read other things that talk about “near death” experiences and things like that, and I always come out of them with mixed emotions and little desire to hear any more stories like it. This one caught my attention, though, since it is the story of a child, so I requested my free copy from the publisher and gave it a shot.

I plowed through the book in less than 2 days. It was a very easy read and, truthfully, caught my undivided attention from the start. The writer’s style isn’t particularly amazing, but the story itself speaks for itself. The little boy’s descriptions of his experience in heaven and the things he saw there are incredible. He speaks with incredible detail, though he speaks with the innocence and limited vocabulary of a preschooler.

Whether you choose to believe everything in the book or not, it definitely gives you plenty to think about. I’ve been reflecting on some of the little boy’s stories since I finished it, and I think I probably will for a little while. I highly recommend the book to current believers in the Gospel of Christ, and even to those who are skeptical about spiritual matters. There is a lot to think about regardless of what you currently believe.

Heaven is for Real is available through Thomas Nelson Publishers. I received my copy of the book in exchange for providing an honest review. I was not compensated in any other way.

“Boundaries,” by Dr. Henry Cloud and Dr. John Townsend

Several times over the past few years, I’ve had one book consistently recommended to me: Boundaries, by Dr. Henry Cloud and Dr. John Townsend. Honestly, I shrugged the suggestions off for a long time because frankly, it didn’t sound like a very interesting book and I didn’t see what would be so good about it.

In all honesty, I wish I had read it sooner. I just finished it last week, and it had so many good things to say about life and relationships with other people and how to reclaim control of my life by simply knowing when to say “yes” and “no.” The best things it had to say, I think, were in the segments on parenting and on knowing how to have healthy boundaries with yourself. Wow.

My only complaint about this particular book is that at times, it reads very much like a text book. It is packed with information and ideas, and it’s a little overwhelming if you’re using it as “wind down before bedtime” reading material, as I was. The ideas contained within, though, are well worth your time, and I know I’m taking a lot of them with me into my relationships and life.