Especially Needed

This one is for every momma and daddy chosen by God for special assignment.

The parents of the kids who live/learn/look different than most. (The ones the playground bullies call misfits or freaks… or worse.)

The parents of students too often perceived as slow or stupid, deemed “unable” or “disabled” and marginalized in many of the fine arts, athletic and extracurricular opportunities afforded most kids. (Which makes them feel – nearly every day – less than.)

The parents of the ones targeted by verbal abusers, who hear the “R” word on the regular, who grow accustomed to sitting alone, staying quiet, staring at their shoes. The kids trying to survive school (days… years), sometimes without a single true friend.

This is for every mom who’s had to leave a public place mid-activity because her daughter – diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder – had a meltdown due to impulse control issues or sensory overload.

Every dad who spends hours shooting hoops with his son – diagnosed with a behavioral disorder – because none of the neighbor kids invite him to play. Ever.

Every mom who makes three different meals for her kids because they have different diagnoses – oral-motor difficulties or sensory processing disorder – and their tastes, texture responses and chew/swallow capabilities vary.

Every dad who spends hours each week helping his adult son – diagnosed with dyspraxia – shave his face because fine motor problems make that task nearly impossible. (Or a bloody mess.)

Every set of parents who has spent countless hours caring/comforting/correcting/ protecting/advocating/intervening/teaching/researching/scheduling and meeting with doctors, therapists, psychologists, special educators, social workers and tutors so their child can know his worth, find his way and reach his potential… or “just keep swimming” upstream in the mainstream.

This one’s for you, weary momma. (You too, sleep-deprived daddy.)

I see you. I’ve been there. Right where you’re standing. Or kneeling.

(Or curling up in a fetal position.)

On hard, holy ground.

And here’s what I want you to know.

You’re not alone.

And neither is your kid.

Don’t be afraid, for I am with you. Don’t be discouraged, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you. I will hold you up… Isaiah 41:10 (NLT)

Thank God. Help is (on) the Way.

March is National Developmental Disabilities Awareness Month. And here’s what all of us parents of neurodivergent and developmentally-different kids wish everyone else knew:

Every kid has special needs. Our kids’ needs aren’t more or worse. They’re just different.

Our kiddos get hurt when your kiddos whisper, point, stare or steer clear of them. Encourage your kids to get to know ours.

(Start here: Smile. Say hi. Sit nearby.)

Just because our kiddos struggle with social cues doesn’t mean they don’t want friends.  And it also doesn’t mean they’re oblivious to teasing, taunting and other mistreatment. No one should ever be called a “retard” or a “dumb f—.”

Ever.

Our kids may not be able to do what your kids can do. But they are extraordinary too… and able. Able to connect. And care. Able to feel. And fill a place in this great big world that no one else ever could. Able to learn and laugh and love (BIG). Able to find joy in the simplest things.

The bottom line is this:

A diagnosis or disability shouldn’t define a person.

Labels are for clothes, containers and canning jars… not people.

People are God’s masterpieces, that’s why.

For we are His workmanship [His own master work, a work of art], created in Christ Jesus [reborn from above—spiritually transformed, renewed, ready to be used] for good works, which God prepared [for us] beforehand [taking paths which He set], so that we would walk in them [living the good life which He prearranged and made ready for us]. ~ Ephesians 2:10 (AMP)

Exquisitely created by God. Made for good works… and meant for the good life.

All of us.

Not just those who sit still or speak clearly or happen to perform well on standardized tests.

Every body.

Our incredibly special kiddos want to be seen, not stared at. Heard, not hushed. Treasured, not tolerated.

If we want to be more like Jesus, we need to celebrate every kind of diversity. Developmental, intellectual, chromosomal, and cognitive too.

Because wonder comes in all kinds of packages.

(And God doesn’t make mistakes.)

“Learning differences” doesn’t simply mean hidden strengths or undervalued abilities. It means unique perspectives, priorities, vision and passion.

A fresh outlook. Invaluable insight. Infinite worth.

Because God said so.

And just like he does, we ought to cherish our children. Celebrate the best in them (and bear the worst). Embrace the possibilities. Affirm all the divinely-appointed potential.

Let’s keep encouraging, embracing, uplifting.

Let’s give blessings and big hugs and high fives.

Let’s savor every step and stride. (Each one is a tiny-but-mighty miracle.)

Let’s treasure every triumph… and honor every tear. Like our Heavenly Father.

You have seen me tossing and turning through the night. You have collected all my tears and preserved them in your bottle! You have recorded every one in your book. ~ Psalm 56:8 (TLB)

God sees, knows, cares… comforts.

My son has a laundry list of diagnoses, but none of them mean much to him. Or us. Zack is funny and fiercely loyal. Passionate and particular. Humble and kind.

Zack is adamant about fairness… but he’s also the first to forgive when he gets shorted. Zack is strong and able-bodied… but he cares deeply about the weak, the sick, the suffering. Zack knows the power of words. He feels (deeply) every blessing. And every curse.

He’s a big fan of college sports, country music, burgers and naps. And he’s good at putting things together.

When he was little, it was 100-piece Thomas the Tank Engine puzzles. And now it’s electrical pre-fab assemblies. He’s good at this stuff. Really good. Come to think of it, he’s a lot like the LORD that way. Taking things that are in pieces… or falling apart… and putting them back together. (Like Father, like son.)

But you know what Zack really wants?

He wants his life to count. Wants to contribute and connect. With God and other people.

Despite his learning disabilities, Zack is a gifted teacher. He taught me how to be a mom. He guided me away from controlling tendencies and conditional love and toward bigger faith and deeper compassion. He tutored me in persistence and patience. (And yes, tested it too.) Honestly… Zack has taught me more about mercy and goodness and good humor than any professor, pastor, teacher or counselor I’ve ever had.

To me, Zack isn’t “special needs.”

He’s especially needed.

In our family.

And in the world.

Z ~ I love you all the way up to heaven and back a million zillion times.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

Momma

P.S. To learn more about Seeds of Hope (the Indiana nonprofit which provides vocational training and jobs for young adults like Zack), please visit our website.

Heartsick

If you ask me, Valentine’s Day could use an overhaul.

It’s a bit tired/dated/overrated.

And everyone knows it lacks… substance.

Flowers, chocolate and overpriced greeting cards are nice and all… but they can’t convey love (or measure it) any more than a heartfelt wedding toast can guarantee a healthy marriage.

If you are happily coupled, Valentine’s Day is – at best – a reminder to celebrate that. But if you’re not, it’s simply SAD.

(Single Awareness Day.)

*Cue Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band.*

Either way, Valentine’s Day usually turns out to be a bit of a disappointment. And it sure can’t cure what ails us, deep down.

A sage once wrote:

Hope deferred makes the heart sick… ~ Proverbs 13:12a (NET)

(And everyone’s had it deferred… or dashed altogether.)

But even before that inevitability, we discover in our hearts… distress.

Dis-ease.

We recognize the symptoms (and hate how they make us feel).

Insecure.

Anxious.

Unsettled.

The truth is… there’s a whole lot of heartsick people on this planet.

(I know because I’m one of them.)

There’s no vaccination against heartsickness. No natural immunity.

Somehow, somewhere along the way, we just contract it. Some toxins penetrate, our hearts suffer damage, and we find ourselves in dire need of critical care.

It starts early. A valentine crush turns out to just be… crushing. Bad boys take. Mean girls fake. Lonely nights break our sense of belonging and leave us… just… longing.

The longer we live, the higher the incidence.

Someone who was supposed to protect us, fails. Someone we were sure we could trust, betrays.

People are difficult. (You and me included.) Some are downright cruel.

I don’t know the neuropsychology of all that. But I know this:

Hurt people hurt others. Troubled people trouble others. Broken people break others. Abused people… (well, you know.)

Our world is fraught with danger, darkness: earthquakes, mass shootings, terminal illnesses, animal cruelty, human trafficking, hate crimes. It’s too much to bear. We become much afraid and try to manage (or manipulate) circumstances (or people) to alleviate our symptoms.

But it’s not always outside contaminants that afflict us. Our own constitution is compromised/corrupted/culpable too.

We’re easily bored and wander off to places/people/patterns that are unsafe. We’re prone to self-absorption, impatience, passive aggression. We make ourselves heartsick with our own lousy decisions and foolish pride and bitterness.

Sometimes, upon self-reflection, we’re startled to see that we’re the hurt/troubled/broken/abusive ones.

Where’s the cure for that?

Try as we might – and oh, do we – we can’t cure it ourselves.

Any more than we can cure Alzheimer’s/autism/addiction… or terminal depression.

Ever been in a cardiac care unit? If so, you know you want the best doctor to be yours. A top-tier cardiologist who can accurately diagnose and effectively treat you.

That’s what the whole heartsick lot of us need now.

A brilliant, compassionate heart specialist.

Someone to ease our fears and alleviate our suffering.

Someone to give us hope.

Heal us.

Allow me to give you a referral.

His name is Jesus.

(He’s in network, available, accepting new patients.)

If we’re gutsy enough to be honest, most of us would admit that we desperately search… elsewhere.

We want a different referral.

We prefer our own “second opinion.”

We think if we get a new job, start this program or change that habit, find new friends (or a special “someone”), do/don’t do this or that, move and “start over” elsewhere, that somehow, that will be the thing that cures us. But it turns out, when we do this or that, go here or there… we’re still there.

We can’t outrun ourselves.

Or escape pain.

Heartsickness… is a global pandemic.

The road to healing is one way. (Full disclosure: narrow road.)

Jesus.

He is the Way.

His treatment plan is holistic, yet incomprehensible. He asks us to trust as he administers an exacting dose: mercy to resuscitate us, grace to sustain us.

He pours his love into our hearts, like he poured out his blood.

It’s a miracle drug, that love. And one day, it’ll prove to be the cure-all.

“… I’m leaving you well and whole. That’s my parting gift to you. Peace. I don’t leave you the way you’re used to being left—feeling abandoned, bereft. So don’t be upset. Don’t be distraught.” John 14:27 (The Message)

Heartsickness – though it feels excruciating, relentless – is a temporary condition. One day, it’ll be eradicated completely.

That day is coming.

Jesus is coming.

God himself will be with them. He will wipe every tear from their eyes, and there will be no more death or sorrow or crying or pain. All these things are gone forever. ~ Revelation 21:3b-4 (NLT)

If you’re feeling heartsick this Valentine’s Day, please reach out to the aforementioned Specialist. He promised to take good care of you.

Get well soon.

Wendy

The greatest disease in the West today is not TB or leprosy; it is being unwanted, unloved, and uncared for. We can cure physical diseases with medicine, but the only cure for loneliness, despair, and hopelessness is love. There are many in the world who are dying for a piece of bread but there are many more dying for a little love. The poverty in the West is a different kind of poverty — it is not only a poverty of loneliness but also of spirituality. There’s a hunger for love, as there is a hunger for God. ~ Mother Theresa

Birds, Bees and the Buzz About Gender

Pretty sure I’m going to get some blowback on this one. Which is ok… I welcome discussion. (Passionate is fine; nasty is not.)

Perhaps we can just follow the classroom rules of my son’s kindergarten teacher:

No name-calling.

No screaming.

No spitting.

I don’t know about you, but when I watch the news I’m both horrified and heartbroken by the prevalence of war in our world.

Geopolitical wars.

Guerrilla wars.

Civil wars.

And uncivil ones too.

Culture wars. Information wars. Ideological wars.

(Is it just me? Or does it seem they’re all escalating?)

The latest involves an NCAA swimmer, pregnant prisoners and legislation regarding elementary education. (Not going to wade into those waters here. Sorry to disappoint.)

All I know is this:

When God created humankind, he made them in the likeness of God. Male and female he created them…

Distinctly… beautiful.

If that concept rankles, here’s my rhetorical question:

Isn’t that exactly what we’ve been working toward all this time?

Celebrating our differences, our distinctiveness, our diversity? (Maybe I’m missing something but why does this concept apply to race, religion, orientation… and not gender?)

Listen, the last thing I want to do in this space is provoke, incite or infuriate. I want to be one of those blessed peacemakers. I really do.

And I want to be the best kind of friend to my loved ones who are wildly different from each other (and me). Because why would anyone want to be a lousy friend?

I’m blessed with family, friends and lovely acquaintances who are far-left and right-wing. Atheist, agnostic and devout (Jews/ Christians/ Muslims/ Buddhists/ Universalists). White collar, blue collar, no collar. A sublime array of races/creeds/colors. Single, separated, married, consciously uncoupled, divorced. Straight, scared straight…

And LGBTQ.

I cherish them all.

So I’ll gladly use their preferred pronouns. For the same reason I will ask the person sitting next to me on the plane if they prefer I wear my mask.

Because…

Respectfulness.

Kindness.

Care.

These are pretty simple, practical ways I can love my neighbor.

I get one shot at this.

And I’m not throwing away my shot!

(Couldn’t help myself.)

I’ve got one chance to get this right.

One lifetime – day by day – to live and love the way Jesus does.

And here’s what I’ve come to realize:

Often I have no clue about a person’s backstory. Their upbringing or education or relationships. Their poverty, privilege or present circumstances. Their trauma or tender places.

Or why they see themselves a certain way.

When I was six years old, I thought babies came from heaven… and came out through Mom’s belly button.

But I knew boys and girls had inherent distinctions: anatomical and physiological. (Though I had no idea how to spell those words or what they meant.)

In other words…

Follow the science.

The problem is… we don’t always like the science. We want to change the science, bend it to our will, re-shape it, re-package it and re-present it to the seeing world.

We’ve invented colored contact lenses and sunless self-tanning lotions and cosmetic surgeries/dental veneers/Botox. And when those fail, we can improvise with editing tools and filters.

Because we want control over our bodies… and our images.

I’m no different. I use whitening toothpaste and wrinkle cream and Spanx. And my lovely stylist Rachel whips up a “potion” that magically eliminates the grey from my hair and makes it fifty shades of auburn again. (Love that. And her.)

And since I’m no different, I surely can’t/shouldn’t/won’t point a finger or wag my tongue. I agree that chromosomes – while they may seem ill-fitting – are telling. That’s called biology.

But if someone feels “trapped” in the anatomy of a gender that doesn’t “match,” shouldn’t that evoke compassion, rather than ridicule? Tender care rather than harsh judgement? Mercy rather than malice?

Shouldn’t it compel us to convey the most comforting/compelling/conclusive truths about who they are?

You are special.

You are wonderful.

You are beautiful.

You are one-in-a-trillion, a true original.

Because God says so. (Your Maker.) He’s an innovative designer, nurturing parent, brilliant artist, loving friend.

Oh yes, you shaped me first inside, then out;
    you formed me in my mother’s womb.
I thank you, High God—you’re breathtaking!
    Body and soul, I am marvelously made!
    I worship in adoration—what a creation!
You know me inside and out,
    you know every bone in my body;
You know exactly how I was made, bit by bit,
    how I was sculpted from nothing into something.
Like an open book, you watched me grow from conception to birth;
    all the stages of my life were spread out before you,
The days of my life all prepared
    before I’d even lived one day. ~ Psalm 139:13-16

We need to teach our children their intrinsic value… and affirm their infinite worth. We can acknowledge their physiological differences without regarding one or another as inferior or impeded. We ought to relate from a starting point of kindness and care so we can all safely reach our (divine) destination.

We can heal the world by seeing – through loving lenses – and listening – to truly hear – and loving – deeply and well.

If we don’t, we will lose an entire generation to isolation, disassociation, despair.

The time is now.

May Day!

Wendy

P.S. You can’t love your neighbor, if you never get to know them. When was the last time you had someone who doesn’t look/sound/talk/think like you into your home? How often do you invite someone with opposing views (on anything – religion, politics, pastries) for coffee and conversation? Start with “hello” and a smile and see where it goes.

Daddy Issues

This one might hurt a little.

‘Cause Father’s Day isn’t just fun and (baseball/bags/poker/tennis/golf) games. Sadly, this third Sunday in June can toss up all kinds of heartache and here’s why:

There’s a whole slew of troubled guys out there who happen to have reproduced.

And more than a few of their kids grew up… hurt. So many battle-scarred adults were wounded by the person responsible for protecting them:

Dad.

(Others were just collateral damage in his own private battles.)

All this means there’s a mess of kids – young and old – for whom Father’s Day seems a little ridiculous/offensive/pointless/painful. Or a lot.

I’d venture to guess that most of those troubled dads got that way because their dads were troubled.

(Unfortunately, it’s often an inherited trait.)

Doesn’t take a PhD in Clinical Psychology to figure out that a lot of deadbeat dads were raised by men who were chronically distant or distracted. Dismissive or demanding. Demeaning or downright mean.

Or maybe Dad just took off. Without thinking twice about the fallout.

Either way, daddy issues almost always come back to haunt somebody. Usually two somebodies:

Parent.

And child.

The sad truth is there are a lot of lousy dads. And even more mediocre ones. But the good news is there are some really fantastic fathers out there too.

My kids got one of the all-time greats.

His name is Steve… but he mostly goes by Dad, Daddy, Dizzle or (my personal favorite)…

Hoosier Daddy.

He’s the best of the best. Steady, strong, hardworking, humble, faithful, fun and fiercely devoted. He counsels, coaches, comforts, consoles. He folds laundry and settles disputes. He’s good with a mower, shovel, glove and putter. And he can grill a mean rack of ribs.

He plays with our kids and prays with our kids.

And he practices what he preaches.

He loves them. Dearly. Deeply.

Day after day after day.

Real love means sacrifice. For dads, it means willingly relinquishing their desires (perhaps their dreams too) so their kids can grow up healthy, safe and strong… and pursue their own dreams.

Being a good dad requires intentionality and investment.

Because you know how kids spell “love?”

T-I-M-E.

The best dads give their kids that gift, again and again.

(Even when it’s inconvenient or seems “unimportant” in comparison to other demands.)

If you got a dad like that, it’s pretty easy to respect, appreciate and celebrate that guy. But what if you didn’t?

Honor your father…

Anyway.

(Because God said so.)

Notice the lack of conditions/caveats/qualifications. It doesn’t say “Honor your father if (fill-in-the-blank).”

If he was honorable. Or admirable. Or available. (Or even around.)

It just says honor him.

Sometimes that means expressing gratitude (for a job well done) and admiration (for a life well-lived).

Sometimes it’s just acknowledging that he did the best he could. (Often this requires some hindsight… and humility.)

But if your dad was someone who abused you – physically or emotionally, intentionally or repeatedly – how in the world are you supposed to do that impossibly hard thing? Honor him?

Honestly, I have no idea. Because my dad didn’t abuse or abandon me. He didn’t belittle or manipulate or prey on me… he protected and provided and prayed for me.

Maybe “honoring” your dad just means allowing God to be your Father… and asking Him to help you not repeat the cycle of abuse.

Or maybe it means mustering every ounce of mercy and bravery that God offers and saying, “I forgive you.” Even if you’ve never gotten a glimpse of remorse or a whisper of “I’m sorry.”

Because forgiveness is a gift you give yourself.

(When you open it, you’ll find buried treasure inside. For some, freedom. Others, healing. Some, transformation. Others, a whole new identity.)

The truth is it’s our Creator who defines us. The real question isn’t who your father is… or even who you are… it’s whose you are.

Who’s your Daddy?

If you don’t already know Him, I pray you’ll get to know your Heavenly Daddy.

I just hope you’re not too wounded or bitter to even try.

Maybe you blame “our Father who art in heaven” for your troubled/absent/abusive one. You figure if He’s really God (all-knowing, all-powerful and all that) then He’s responsible for the dad you got (or didn’t get, as the case may be).

Fair enough.

But God’s not a dictator. He didn’t “make” your father do – or not do – anything. He isn’t responsible for that great big gash your dad left on your heart.

He just wants to be the one to stitch it up. (And make it better than new.)

He promises to be the Dad you never had: protective, patient, kind, strong, gentle, wise, merciful, fair, full of good humor and giver of good gifts.

He really is the… Best. Dad. Ever.

And He loves you like crazy.

From the bottom of my heart, I wish you a Heavenly Father‘s Day.

Wendy

P.S. Pretty sure if all dads were good dads, a lot of the world’s problems would vanish in a heartbeat.

The Definition of YOU

My dear reader,

Recently, a friend of mine remarked that she wasn’t feeling like herself. I’ve heard that comment from others before, but this time it struck me as odd. I understand feeling “out of sorts” or “under the weather” or “down in the dumps.” But I can’t really comprehend not feeling like me. Unless I was given a chance to feel like Cleopatra or Coco Chanel… or Jane Austen (when she was completely and perfectly and incandescently happy). In that case, I might consider making the switch. For a day or two.

What about you? Do you feel like yourself? How so? Why not?

Or more pointedly…

Who do you think you are, anyway?

I know, it’s a loaded question. But have you ever really stopped to think about it? Or were you just involuntarily swept away from dreaming about what you wanted to be when you grew up to… adulting… every dang day. Work/bills/laundry/dishes/dentist/DMV.

(Sigh.)

Did your life turn out like you hoped/prayed/dreamed it would? What about you? Did you turn out like you hoped/prayed/dreamed you would?

Good questions. Take some time. (I’ll wait.)

Sometimes we get so busy answering the little questions (What’s for dinner? When is trash pickup? Where are my keys?) that we forget to ask the big ones (Is God real? What is love/truth/the meaning of life? Who am I?)

These are the $64,000 questions. (Not that I’m going to pay you if you can answer them. Sorry to disappoint.)

At some point, we all try to figure out who we are. We delve into our family history or start therapy. We take a DISC or Enneagram or Briggs-Myers test. We search for (or armchair analyze) our birth parents. We travel to our ancestral home or do a DNA analysis. And while these things can be helpful, they can’t possibly fully reveal your identity, estimate your potential, or capture the essence of you.

What defines you?

Your past? Your personality? Your pursuits or possessions? Your looks? Or your “likes”? Your resume? Your relationship to someone else?

Perhaps you simply defaulted to accepting others’ definition of you:

Who your parents said you were.

Who your friends say you are.

Who your colleagues or classmates think you are.

Maybe you’ve been believing what other people have said about you all this time. Because you didn’t have the gumption/grit/guts to not let them do that to you, define you.

Or maybe you’ve crafted your own “self-image”… and it comes down to this:

Who the virtual world perceives you are. (Smiling. Styling. Living it up in the city.)

But the fact of the matter is… deep down… you know who you are/where you’ve been/what you’ve done.

That’s the “closet” you.

But most of us don’t really like that person, do we? Because deep down, we’re unsure (or ashamed) of that person. And that isn’t who we were intended to be, anyway. (Like Lady Gaga says, we were just “born this way.”) But even that – all our innate shortcomings and errant thinking and inevitable sin – doesn’t have to define us.

Somehow, we’ve got to find our way. The way to become ourselves.

The real, true, free-to-be you (and me).

Here’s what I think. I think the only way to find our way is to find… the Way. Get to know the One who made us and knows us inside and out. The One who’s always there for us. (Even at our ugliest and worst. Even in the deepest pit. On the darkest night. When we’re convinced we are utterly, irreversibly alone.)

I’m amazed at how well you know me. It’s more than I can understand. How can I get away from your Spirit? Where can I go to escape from you? If I go up to the heavens, you are there. If I lie down in the deepest parts of the earth, you are also there. Suppose I were to rise with the sun in the east. Suppose I travel to the west where it sinks into the ocean. Your hand would always be there to guide me. Your right hand would still be holding me close. (Psalm 139: 7-10, NIRV) 

Unless we know our Father, we’ll never have any idea who we really are.

Oh yes, you shaped me first inside, then out; you formed me in my mother’s womb. I thank you, High God—you’re breathtaking! (Psalm 139:13, The Message)  

Unless we plumb the depths of God’s wonder, we can never know ours.

And we’ll have zero chance of being utterly, eternally secure and permanently, profoundly significant. No hope of ever really/truly/unalterably belonging. No shot at averting a full-blown identity crisis. (Adolescent or mid-life or any other variety.)

Getting to know God is the way we begin to become ourselves.

Don’t you want to meet your Maker? (Oh, you’ll meet Him when you die. That’s unavoidable. But I highly suggest getting to know Him beforehand.)

You made me; you created me. Now give me the sense to follow your commands. (Psalm 119:73, NLT)

You didn’t choose your eye color or vocal range or skin pigmentation, did you? Of course not. And even your parents didn’t have final say on the colors, characteristics, design, and details of the masterpiece that is you.

Your DNA only scratches the surface of who you are and who you were meant to be.

It’s your divine soulprint that divulges the details.

Aren’t you curious to know why God gave you that artistic eye or your mechanical ability or that great golf swing or your infectious laugh? Don’t you want to find out what He’s got in store for you?

“I know what I’m doing. I have it all planned out—plans to take care of you, not abandon you, plans to give you the future you hope for. When you call on me, when you come and pray to me, I’ll listen. When you come looking for me, you’ll find me. Yes, when you get serious about finding me and want it more than anything else, I’ll make sure you won’t be disappointed.” God’s Decree. (Jeremiah 29:11-13, The Message) 

God has given you a place on this planet… a mission to accomplish… a future… a hope.

Get after it.

Wendy

P.S. If you fear it’s too late (or think you’re in too deep) for a do-over, think again.

Therefore if anyone is in Christ [that is, grafted in, joined to Him by faith in Him as Savior], he is a new creature [reborn and renewed by the Holy Spirit]; the old things [the previous moral and spiritual condition] have passed away. Behold, new things have come [because spiritual awakening brings a new life]. (2 Corinthians 5:17, AMP)

I have not yet reached my goal, and I am not perfect. But Christ has taken hold of me. So I keep on running and struggling to take hold of the prize.  My friends, I don’t feel that I have already arrived. But I forget what is behind, and I struggle for what is ahead.  I run toward the goal, so that I can win the prize of being called to heaven. This is the prize that God offers because of what Christ Jesus has done. (Philippians 3:12-14, CEV)

Now that’s good news.