2012. I'm tucked in the corner of a sweaty gym. It's Zumba day and I like to sneak in for the last twenty minutes of class to loosen up after lifting. I hope to disappear into the multicolored lights that stream from the ceiling, to dance without anybody noticing my awkwardness.
My friend in the front row doesn't share my sentiment. She sways back and forth to the music, not a care, and showing no interest as to whether or not anybody's watching. The moment is hers. She's free. Not one second of her seventy years is a match for the energy that pours out of her. I catch myself staring and forget my own steps. Smiling, I decide right then that I want to be just like her "when I grow up".
It's Sunday afternoon. 4pm. This picture depicts the current cause of anxiety in my household. Now a direct hit to Naples, my husband and I have family there. They chose not to evacuate before Hurricane Irma made its way across the Florida Straight.
“Have you talked to your parents?” I ask for probably the fifth time. “Nope, not yet. Seriously, Meg, you need to wait for them to call us,” he replies (also for the fifth time). Noticing my frustrated expression, he adds, “I’m sure your Dad’s fine too.”
Over the past week, we’ve gone back and forth with each of our parents over their plans to deal with the impending storm. Our get-out-of-town propaganda was promptly ignored, as we were outvoted. Every cell in the body wants to scream, “Do what I want you to do!” But at some point, the heart surrenders...
"Somedays she has no idea how she'll do it. But every single day, it still gets done." Unknown
“The world feels lonely right now,” she says to me plainly. There aren’t any tears but she slouches, body casually sprawled over the armchair. I can tell by the way she shrugs that she doesn’t expect me to answer, it’s just that she needs somebody to witness the state of her life.
Witness. As in, “Will you vouch for the fact that I’m still breathing? Because I feel invisible…”
My beautiful friend—talented and kind, gainfully employed, volunteer extraordinaire—lonely. If it can happen to her, it can happen to anybody…
Want more faith and encouragement in your day? Be sure to check out all the great writers gathering for the #GritUpAndGo Writer Share directly following this post!
Last week we discussed the struggle and biblical significance of separation and divorce. I received feedback from you in response - from questions, to gratitude for “going there.”
A friend's comment stayed with me throughout the week. “Oh good,” she'd said. “I’m glad you’re talking about that because I never know what to say when somebody tells me they’re having problems.”
It’s a common struggle, and none of us enjoy foot-in-the-mouth moments. So here are seven easy, helpful (and fairly safe) things to say or do as a friend or family member confronts divorce.
There are nine of us women. The colors in our eyes are varied - shades of chocolate browns, hazels, greens, and the brightest blues. Our bodies are agile, slow-moving, thin, tall, round, and petite. Our ages range from eighty-seven to eleven. We’re grandmothers, mothers, and young women waiting to discover the rest of our lives.
I call us family.
Here we are. Face hidden beneath my straw hat, tiny dots of sun sneak through the spaces of the finely woven material. I'm sprawled on my back, half-daydreaming and eyelids heavy, when I feel his hand rest on my arm. It took a couple of days for my husband and I to discover our old "relaxed" selves, but we're here now. Present. Counting no time except beats between each wave lapping the shoreline. This is our view for the day and I'm convinced it's a glimpse of heaven.
We've discussed stress together in the past. We've explored topics like our brain chemistry, families, prayer tips, symptoms of stress, and stress eating. This time, I'm taking a different angle, so here are three (over-looked) reasons that you need to get away...
Please join me in welcoming speaker, blogger, Bible teacher, and mom, Andy Lee, to the Gritty Pearl. Full of inspiration and a vast knowledge of scripture, Andy's writing is sure to encourage you for the week to come.
She was desperate.
Sleep had evaded her, but the dark night sky gave way to a deep blue hue and the hope of a new day.
She could go now.
Though weary, Magdalene would be the first one to the tomb. She knew exactly where they had placed Him, and she had a job to do. She would prepare his body properly for burial with spices. At least that was her story. Perhaps though she simply needed to see him one more time. She needed closure.
But Mary Magdalene would not find a dead Jesus.
Believer. Wife. Mom. Writer. Marriage and Family Therapist. Accidental Speaker. Crossfitter and Total Book Nerd.
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PEOPLE I FOLLOW:
BECAUSE I LEARN:
BECAUSE I LAUGH:
Elizabeth Laing Thompson
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Juli Slattery at Authentic Intimacy
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Jennifer Duke Lee's #TellHisStory
Susan Mead's #DanceWithJesus