Mel Furniss 1/1/26 Mel Furniss 1/1/26

Counting the Fruit

*Photo by Lauren Mitchell Photography, 2025*

I read somewhere that our brains are hardwired to remember the bad. It's our mind's way of fostering survival: if we remember where danger lurked in the past, we'll be (at least in theory) less likely to return to it. That's why I'm more cautious at the intersection where I almost crashed the car last month. It's also why I still remember how the boy I liked in fifth grade chuckled as he rejected me. The brain remembers the bad.

When I look back on 2025, my mind does what it was built to do: it turns the spotlight on everything that went wrong. I recall the assault, the marriage struggles, the middle school weariness, the political division. I remember every moment I almost gave up and checked out. Every moment I wanted to choose apathy. I could have—and typically would have—ended up there.

But God.

He really does bring life out of dead things, doesn't He? Not just once, at the moment of justification, but year after year, day after day, second after second. He fights for me. He fights for you. In a million ways we'll never see or fully comprehend, our King is forever fighting for His children.

And I want to fight to remember that.

I want to remember every moment He lit a lantern in my darkness or sprouted tiny green leaves from my soul’s dry ground. Instead of counting every withered branch on the tree of 2025, I want to count the fruit. Jesus, help me count the fruit.

———

Friend and Savior, I’m so grateful that I get to chat with Crosby about You every morning. We’re learning to wrestle with hard questions and trust You in the mystery, growing increasingly comfortable with being uncomfortable… with not knowing every answer and lifting our gaze to the One who does. Thanks for the ways You softly and tenderly pursue all of my kiddos. When I slow down enough to notice, I see glimpses of You in them, clear as day. I remember and celebrate those moments now.

I’m grateful for fifteen years of a messy, imperfect, hard marriage. For therapy that stretches us in miraculous ways. I’m grateful that I didn’t know then what I know now (I have some qualms with that song), because every tear, loss, and disagreement was a brick laid on the road of our sanctification. Thank You that our worship is hard-fought. Thank You that, somehow, our hearts are still soft.

Father, I’m thankful for every road trip, concert, puzzle, and movie night I shared with friends this year. Finally, I have a small number of people who truly see me and get me. I’ve wanted that my whole life, and I really do believe I have it now. I’m grateful for every moment You led me to dance wildly, sing loudly, and laugh achingly. Thank You for the gift of watching my pal’s baby come into the world.

(I really got to live this year, didn’t I, Lord?

How did that happen?

How did the grief not swallow me whole?)

Most importantly, I’m thankful that You drew closer to me when I asked hard questions or felt anger toward You. You’re a God who truly understands what it means to be human—who sympathizes with our every weakness. I’m grateful that Jesus came to earth with one mission in mind—to nail our sins to the cross—yet He asked for the cup to pass from Him. That truth reminds me I’m allowed to be scared and still obey You. My fear does not nullify my faith. Both things can be true. Both things can be worship.

As we enter a new year full of big, stretching adventures, I’m infinitely grateful that You go before us. Thank You that the God who pursues and sustains me every day is the same God pursuing and sustaining my kids, my husband, my community, Your Church, this country, and the world we temporarily call home.

And goodness gracious—thank You that this earth is not our final dwelling place. I rejoice knowing that the way things are is not the way they will always be. You are doing a new thing, Father. You are making a way in the wilderness. You are winding rivers through the desert. So train my brain to hope, Lord—not in everything working out, not in a life free from pain—but in Immanuel, God With Us. In the One who still rolls stones away. Even here. Even now.

Just as Christ did after He cried out to You, God, I give You all of me—and all that is to come—shakily declaring, “Not my will, but Yours, be done.”

And so it continues… lots and lots of types of days. 2026. Let’s go. 🥂

Mel Furniss 12/19/25 Mel Furniss 12/19/25

Seminary? Really?

“Your way was through the sea,
your path through the great waters;
yet your footprints were unseen.”

— Psalm 77:19

I really want to work in ministry. Have I told you that before? Ever since I left my church job when our daughter was born, I’ve had a hunger in my belly to return to the work I felt called to do. I knew I needed to be home through Violet’s baby season. In my heart, though, I wanted to get back to serving a local body of believers as soon as possible. But God had other plans for me.

If you’ve heard my story, you know postpartum depression rattled the cages of my theology, values, and relationships. I never thought I’d escape that level of darkness. I felt too lost to be found, too broken to be fixed. But again, God had other plans for me. By some radical act of grace, I signed up for re:Generation, a 12-step program for healing and discipleship. I came in bitter, disillusioned, and wearing every ounce of my despair and darkness, and I was welcomed in warmly. I found a home among those beautiful, hurting people, because I was just like them. Broken, yet broken open.

It was the hardest emotional, mental, and spiritual work of my life. I excavated old wounds and religious ideologies. I repented for prizing my ways over God’s ways. I embraced dependence on my Shepherd. And, as the year ended, I felt ready to wash my face and move on into the world. But—are you surprised?—God had other plans for me.

He brought me right back into those little, fluorescent re:Gen rooms, where I co-led a group with two of my dearest friends. He invited me to sit with the hurting, speak truth to the doubting, cry with the grieving, and share my messy, miraculous story with new groups of men and women. Again, the work was hard. But something fresh and empowering bubbled up in my chest. God showed me, Hey, Mel, I’ve equipped you for this work. You can do this well. You enjoy being real and vulnerable and ugly and hopeful with others, and you make space for their questions and tears. That is a gift from my hands. Let’s be curious about it together. As the years marched on and my friends and I co-led more groups, my passion for this ministry deepened, and I watched the Lord take the pain that once broke me and turn it into hope for others.

Almost five years have passed since my daughter was born, and a lifetime of gospel healing has taken place in that time. Yet alongside every victory, I also experienced so. much. rejection. Throughout my years at home, I applied for more jobs than I can count—ministry roles, writing roles, editing, book selling, even data entry! The reply to every single one was “no.” No, your work resumé is not up to snuff. No, you are overqualified. No, you’re not qualified enough. We love you, you’re great, but we’re going in a different direction. The answer is no.

After reading yet another rejection letter this summer, I found myself crying in bed, wondering what God was trying to tell me. What did it mean that I had a desire to minister, write, and counsel? Will my whole life be spent choosing between doing what I love and providing for my family? Will those two values ever intersect in a job market this competitive? With inflation this insane? And is it selfish to desire compensation for doing something I believe I’m good at and equipped for? Or should I just shrug my shoulders, stay home with the kids, and keep my dreams to myself?

Why can’t I shake the feeling that the answer to that question is also a resounding no?

Jasper came upstairs and held me as I cried. He comforted and prayed for me. But, God bless him, he’s still a fixer (wives, you know what I’m talking about!), so he pulled out his computer and said, “Okay, we’re going to write down your dream job. Tell me everything you want to spend your life doing. I’m going to make a list.” So I wiped the tears and snot from my face, sat up in bed, and told him everything.

I told him I want to work with a team towards a beautiful, gospel goal. I want to write in a way that edifies God’s people. I want to continue the work of re:Generation, normalizing the tension between raw, honest emotions and grounded, steady faith. I want to meet people in their grief and questions. I want to sit in the silence with them, offering no perfect, tidy answers. I want to worship with them when words don’t suffice. And then, as the Spirit leads me, I want to speak truth that shines a spotlight on the God who keeps their tears in a bottle, who reigns over every big and small moment of their lives, and who gives us abundant life—not just someday soon, but today. Right now. And finally, through Christ’s kindness and mercy, I want to remind people how to laugh again.

Jasper typed it all out, looked at me, and said, “Babe, I think you want to be a Care Pastor. God has given you two particular gifts: a voice that gives words to what many people feel but cannot articulate, and a soft, honest heart that meets people exactly where they are, not where you believe they should be. You don’t care about polished products. You care about honoring the humanity in people and showing them that God honors it, too. You make crying people laugh. You make lighter moments rich with truth. If there were such a thing as a re:Gen Director at our church, you’d be the girl for the job. So the question is, what do we need to do to take the first step towards your dream?”

That’s when seminary went from a thing I heard about on a podcast to an actual application with transcript requests and course summaries. I had noodled with the idea for a couple of years, but I never did the research. Returning to school felt too big, too expensive, too inconvenient in my already busy life. But—have you heard this before?—God had other plans for me.

So starting in January, while fear and peace share a bunk bed in my heart, I will pursue a Master’s in Biblical and Theological Studies with a Women’s Cohort at Denver Theological Seminary. I hope to continue working towards an M.Div. in Pastoral Care and Counseling, but I’m taking this plan one step at a time. I know many of you are probably thinking, “Whoa, whoa, whoa, Mel’s trying to be a pastor? Is that even biblical?” Great question. I’ve been asking myself, Jasper, Jesus, and every trusted, godly voice I know, the exact same one. Where I live in Greenville, South Carolina, in the churches I have served, I’ve been taught that women holding the title of pastor or elder is not biblically supported. But where I grew up in Canada, and in the denomination I once espoused, a woman as a pastor would ruffle nary a feather. It’s extremely common.

So I am left with two big ol’ realizations:

1. The “Should women be pastors?” debate is not some theoretical concept for me. My question underneath the question is, “What does God want to do with the gifts and desires He’s put in me? How can I spend my days giving Him the most glory?” I need to roll up my sleeves and do the work to figure out what I believe and why I believe it. I need to pull from trusted, humble, and scripture-first sources to determine the reasons why one earnest, God-honoring community believes scriptures like 1 Timothy 2-3 and 1 Corinthians 14 still apply today in every respect, while other earnest, God-honoring communities believe they only apply to the church of that time and culture… while yet another earnest, God-honoring community believes a bit of both to be true! LIKE, WHAT? How will I come to my own conclusion? And will I alienate myself from the community I’ve built around me if I end up with a different one? Should that even matter if I know I’m fulfilling God’s will for my life? And can any of my dreams be fulfilled in Greenville, in the church I already love and serve, or will we have to move away? The answer to every question, in this moment, is I don’t know. All I want is to be an obedient and faithful steward, even if nothing vocational comes from earning my degree. Which leads to my second important realization…

2. If I am doing any of this work to gain an earthly title, I am doing this work for the wrong reason. I do not need the label of pastor to engage in the ministry I think God is calling me to do. While I’m curious about the answers to every aforementioned question, and while I feel limited by the ministry jobs typically available to women, all I can do is be faithful with what God’s put in my hands today. All I can do is keep my heart soft towards my King and the sincere, well-versed people on both sides of the argument. All I can do is rest in green pastures beside still waters and release my need to understand everything to the One who actually does understand everything. All I can do is value my God more than I value my preferences.

When talking with my therapist, I got embarrassingly honest with her about seminary. I confessed, “There’s at least a small part of me that wants to get this degree so future employers point to me and say, 'Her. We don’t want just anybody–we want Mel for this. We pick her.’” I told her I wanted to be so equipped that I was objectively undeniable. She let me sit in that feeling and wrestle with the stuff beneath the surface. But as I got in my car to drive home, I heard Christ’s voice more clearly than I had in some time. With quiet kindness, He said to me, “Mel, I lived the perfect human life. I did everything according to the will of my Father. I was, as you say, undeniable in every respect. And still, they put me on the cross. My love, if you are serving Yahweh for any reason other than the glory of His name and the good of His Bride—if you are striving to secure the acceptance of those around you—no level of acceptance will ever be enough. Your striving will eventually crucify you, too.”

Phew.

Just as Job replied to the Lord, my only appropriate response is, “Behold, I am of small account; what shall I answer you? I lay my hand on my mouth.” I’m going to stop shouting my questions into the void and end here with a prayer.

Jesus, I come to You with a broken and contrite spirit, because I know that is all You ask of me. Thank You for knowing my heart. Anything good in me is You. Any comfort I give to another is from You, our ultimate Comforter and Counselor. So shatter my pride, Lord. Demolish any plan that I’ve crafted with my own two hands. I don’t want my kingdom to come or my will to be done; I want Yours. Please, take it all. Everything I am and hope to be, I give to you. If the seminary plan ends in a dumpster fire, I know I’ll find You among the flames, reaching for me with arms open wide. If I lack the capacity to take classes, homeschool Cros, and still complete all the mom, wife, and volunteer things, I know You will meet me there in my limitations. I believe the daily bread You give us will be enough bread for the day. I believe You see every financial, relational, and practical need in our family. I don’t have great solutions for any of them, but, as Spurgeon said, when I cannot trace Your hand, I will still trust Your heart.

I believe, Lord. With everything in me, I believe that what You call me to, You will equip me for.

I believe, I believe, I believe.

My Shepherd, my King, help my unbelief.

Mel Furniss 11/28/25 Mel Furniss 11/28/25

Just Feel It: A Thanksgiving Day Reflection

I heard a Christopher Nolan quote a while back. In response to a fan hungry to understand the complexities of his oeuvre, Nolan just chuckled and said, “Don’t try to understand it. Just feel it.”

Geez Louise, Chris. DON’T ACT LIKE YOU KNOW ME!

How many days, months, YEARS have I spent trying to understand the incomprehensible in this life? To make sense of mystery? I like to tell myself I’ll be able to trust God more fully if I crack the formula for sovereignty vs. free will, or find an emotionally satisfying answer to the question, “Does God give us pain, or is pain the byproduct of a fallen world?” Is it a bit of both? And if so, what’s the ratio??

But here’s the ugly truth: I don’t think I’m actually seeking deeper trust. I think I’m grasping for control in the middle of confusion and pain, believing that knowledge will replace my grief with peace. Believing hope is found in my finite understanding of an infinite God.

If you’re asking, “What does all of this have to do with Thanksgiving?” that’s a fair question. To be honest, I don’t like practicing thankfulness just because it’s the fourth Thursday in November. I want to—I’m actively trying to—practice thankfulness as an overflow of radical, honest reflection. And in order to reflect honestly, I need to excavate my heart a bit. I need to pull up the roots of my perfectionism and control, and hold them up to the light. Only then can I be authentic with God about my life, my heart, and my gratitude.

So I’m asking myself:

Should I seek to know my Savior more deeply?

Yes, without a doubt.

But is understanding every detail about why/when/how He does what He does the point of my relationship with Him?

No. Without a doubt.

Today, I’m going to (clumsily) choose gratitude for my good, hard life and my kind, trustworthy God. I’m going to weep loudly, laugh heartily, grieve honestly, and love whimsically. I’m going to choose not to numb the parts of myself that remind me I’m a limited, dependent human being. And, with gentleness towards myself and abiding trust in my Savior, I’m going to take Nolan’s advice and feel it all. Even when I don’t understand it all.

Jesus, help me relish the truth that You are God and I am not. Wrap Isaiah 55:8-9 around me like a warm, cozy blanket. And when pain brings me to my knees, show me how to “kiss the waves that throw me against the Rock of Ages.”

What a gift it is to need you, O Lord.

In this moment, I’m most grateful for that.

———

Photos by Rachel Perrella Photography

Kiss the Waves quote by Charles Spurgeon

Mel Furniss 8/6/25 Mel Furniss 8/6/25

For the Longing-to-Work Mama

To the mom who longs to work outside the home, the time you invested in your children was not in vain.

For the past few years, I’ve been looking for work that fills my soul and advances the gospel—a true vocation. And every time I pursue something that excites me, the door swiftly closes in my face. It’s hard not to feel fundamentally insufficient when rejection knocks you down over and over. Though I don’t regret my years at home, I also know that my résumé is a little sad in our current job market. Am I worth anything to an employer out there?

I know I’m not the only mom who feels this way. When everyone else seemed to be learning social media marketing and SEO techniques (def had to google what that meant), we spent our time tending to scraped knees and perfecting the art of the grilled cheese sandwich.

Our résumés are filled with stuff like:

Makes it to car line on time(ish)
Able to find any key, shoe, or toy that goes missing in my home
Gives the best bedtime snuggles
Scrapes Bluey stickers off the floor without grumbling too much about it (because I'm listening to Amy Poehler's podcast at the same time. That's right: I'm a multitasker!)

LinkedIn doesn’t have a place for that stuff. Indeed isn’t looking for a really good hugger. (That’s probably illegal.)

But our years of quiet investment—our offerings of clean laundry, a kitchen dance party, or a cozy, compassionate hug—were seen and valued by God. Your invisible work matters just as much as the work of those with full résumés. Your season as a stay-at-home mom wasn’t a detour from “real” employment; it was God-ordained. And though some companies may not value the daily acts of service you offered your family, our King does. In God’s economy, faithfulness always matters.

Now, judge me if you must, but I typed our little predicament into ChatGPT and asked for some biblical encouragement. Let me tell you, homegirl delivered! So here are three thoughts from my creepily wise AI buddy:

1. Rejection is Not a Reflection of Your Worth

Isaiah 41:9-10 — “I have chosen you and have not rejected you. So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God.”
Human rejection does not equal God’s rejection. Every “no” is under His sovereign hand, steering you toward a “yes” that aligns with His good plans.

2. Your “Lack” is God’s Canvas

2 Corinthians 12:9 — “But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’”
The gaps on your résumé are not weaknesses to God—they’re openings where His grace and power can shine.

3. God Delights in Your Desire to Work Well

Proverbs 16:3 — “Commit to the Lord whatever you do, and he will establish your plans.”
Your heart’s desire to work in a way that brings joy and purpose matters to God. As you commit this journey to Him, He will guide and establish your steps—even if the path feels slow right now.

(Wasn’t that just *chef’s kiss*? Props, ChatGPT.)

With all my heart, I pray you find a vocation that provides quality income for your family. Your practical, budgetary needs are so valid, especially in this economy. But no matter what, I’m fighting with you to believe that our Shepherd is good; that He sees us and is with us.

If we believe that:

1) God is not cruel or withholding, and

2) He has yet to open a vocational door for us, then

3) He has something still to teach us here, right where we are.

The goal is deeper dependence on Him, right? Not finding the “perfect job” at the perfect time. So there must be purpose to this season of waiting.

Courage, dear heart. Your hopes, your dreams, and your daily faithfulness matter immensely to the King of Kings and Lord of Lords. No man can add to or take away from your worth, because it is perfectly and unshakably tied to Christ’s work on the cross. Jobs and seasons at home will come and go. But if we have our Shepherd by our side, we really do have everything we need. So keep chugging along faithfully, knowing that you are seen, pursued, and cherished by your Good Father.

He’s with you,

He loves you,

and He has good plans for you,

just as you are.

Mel Furniss 7/23/25 Mel Furniss 7/23/25

Love is Supposed to be Easy… Right?

Photos & videos by Rachel Perrella Photography; “Dancing in the Minefields” by Andrew Peterson is covered by Alison & Tanner Springgate

“When love is right, it’s the easiest thing in the world.”

Have you heard this sentiment before? I have. A LOT.

But can I be honest with you? I think it’s reeeeally well-intended… garbage.

I think falling in love with someone with whom you’re compatible is easy and fun and one of the most intoxicating feelings in the world. But love itself—choosing it day after day, year after year, decade after decade—is pretty dang hard.

Jasper and I met when we were idealistic teenagers. We didn’t even know what we didn’t know! But we knew we loved each other and we wanted to get married. We chose this lifelong commitment when it was mostly laughter and gentle disagreements and dreamy, late-night talking. But marriage (and early adulthood) quickly shifted the relationship to tight budgets and “Did you finish all the almond milk??” and fighting about sex, parenting, expectations, even how to fight. Y’all! It is MESSY! We have not arrived at the 15-year mark with a soft bead of sweat on our brows. We arrived drenched in muck and rain and blood.

But here’s the thing: we did somehow make it here. And we’re more aware than ever that the glue holding us together is not our ability or the “rightness” of our love, but the faithfulness of our God.

Jasper and I fail each other all the time, in a hundred nuanced, intimate ways only marriage can unearth. But I’m learning that that’s okay, because human love was never meant to satisfy the deepest longings of our hearts. We were made to love God, and God never fails. He meets us where we are. He calls us up to endless patience. He invites us into hard-fought, radical honesty. He guides us to the gentle waters of forgiveness. He restores what the enemy tries to tear apart. And He does it all slowly, graciously, and with the help of other people.

So, I don’t know if love should feel right and easy all the time. I’m sure it’s possible (genuine kudos to you if that’s your story)! But I know the great love story of my life is not between me and my husband—it is between us and our Savior. Getting to worship the King of Kings next to Jasper, as we laugh and disagree and repent and read Gottman books, is a genuine gift. I am thankful for this good, hard life because God gets glory from it, and that’s all that matters.

——

We like to renew our vows every few years because it reminds us that marriage is a continual choice. And as we evolve, we get to commit our hearts to Christ and one another in more honest, realized ways. So here are the vows I made to Jasper on a gray, chilly beach in Oregon. The day was nothing like I planned in my head. But it was real, and God was in it, so it was beautiful (much like marriage).

Oh, my Furn. I can’t believe we’ve loved each other since we were just baby teenagers! We dreamed so big and we knew so little. But I’m proud of that version of us! Because look where we are now. Look where God has taken those sweet, love-struck kids.

It’s been a hard and holy privilege to grow alongside you these past 20 years. Even in our hardest moments, you have constantly pointed me to the God who never leaves—who never questions His covenant with His beloved. Thank you for loving me faithfully and taking this commitment seriously. I see you work hard and repent often and seek help, and it all means more to me than you know.

I’ve learned a lot since the first time we made vows to each other. Back then, I promised a lot of dumb stuff about playing ping pong and watching The Cosby Show (man, that one hasn’t aged well). But since those early days, I realized how much I still don’t know about loving someone well. It’s an impossible task, if you think about it, to give your heart and soul to another, day after day, year after year, even when we change through seasons and trials. Vows are not easy things to keep, especially on our own strength. But this one Eugene Peterson quote stuck in my brain all year, which is why I put it up on our wall at home. He says, “Every day I put love on the line. There’s nothing I am less good at than love. I am far better in competition than in love. I am far better at responding to my instincts to get ahead and make my mark than I am at figuring out how to love another. I am schooled and trained in acquisitive skills, in getting my own way. And yet I decide, every day, to set aside what I can do best and attempt what I do very clumsily—open myself to the frustrations and failures of loving, daring to believe that failing in love is better than succeeding in pride.”

So that’s my honest vow to you here at the 15-year mark: I promise to keep choosing love, clumsily. Even though I’m bad at it and have so much yet to learn.

I guess, really, the most important vow I can make to you today is to keep loving, trusting, and pursuing Jesus with my whole heart. To rely on our good Shepherd to hold us together, even when we’re tempted to break apart. I vow to pray for you more often. To pause in the middle of an argument to take a breath and invite God into the moment. To recognize and name the hard thing without turning you into my enemy. To continue to pursue therapy and godly community. To be honest with you, but also honestly believe the best of you. To seek to see you every day through the eyes of our Savior. And to embrace the beauty and mystery of this side of heaven with you—my husband, my friend.

I know I will fail at these promises. But each vow I make to you is first and foremost an open-handed prayer to God—an admittance that I am faithless where He is faithful. That in all the ways I can’t, He can. I need His help even to realize how much I need His help. So it’s by the strength of His Spirit that I recommit my heart to you, and I thank you for walking next to me on this messy, beautiful adventure we call love.

I hope you believe me when I say this: dancing in the kitchen with you and our miraculous Little Furns is worth more to me than all the money in the world. We are rich, Furn. We are rich in every way that matters.

And so it continues, my dear. Lots and lots of types of days.

I love you. Let’s keep going.

Mel Furniss 7/10/25 Mel Furniss 7/10/25

Okay, I’m Ready to Talk About the Hard Thing

TW: Sexual Assault

Friends. I have been both yearning for and dreading the process of writing this story down. I’ve yearned for it because writing helps me step outside the narrative, take a bird’s eye view of my life, and speak to myself like I’d speak to a pal. However, I’ve also felt dread because reliving this story hurts; it’s messy and sometimes embarrassing. I feel like I’ve yet to master the art of turning towards the Lord with my pain instead of questioning His sovereignty and building up walls in my heart. And I just don’t know what it looks like to talk about my experience when it doesn’t have a tidy ending.

I also know that countless others have suffered events much more horrendous than what I’ve been through. So, if I’m honest, I feel some shame talking about it at all. But what I have promised you, as my readers and friends, is to stand in the light. To tell you the ugly truth, for better or for worse, and pray that it somehow draws us both closer to Jesus. Because though I may not fully understand the dance between God’s sovereignty and the effects of the fallen world, I believe my Shepherd is with me… and this story isn’t over.

———

Early this year, I signed up for something called Book Camp. It’s a two-day retreat geared towards women who feel called to write books but don’t know where to start. At any other point in my life, I would have been too insecure to even consider attending something like that. But after some prayer, I talked to Jasper and my parents—my loudest writing cheerleaders—and they emphatically encouraged me to go. “Now is the time, Mel! Open yourself up to being used by God. He has mighty plans for you!” So for what felt like the first time, I chose something brave. I decided to put myself out there in a way that could be humbling and embarrassing, but could also maybe be pretty exciting. I never allowed myself to dream big like this before; me, a potential published author? I was giddy, wholeheartedly completing the prep work about readers, goals, and outlines. I couldn’t wait to arrive in Charleston and get my book going!

The morning I planned to leave, I booked myself a massage here in Greenville to start my self-care weekend right. I signed up to have a female therapist online, but when I laid down on the table, a man came in. I thought to myself, “It’s okay. It’s not your preference, but it’ll be fine.” And everything was fine, until it wasn’t.

I won’t get into the details, but I was sexually assaulted in that massage room. I was not raped, but he crossed a very clear boundary until I quietly whispered, “No.” But other than that softly spoken word, I froze. I did not scream and run out of the room. I did not report him to his boss. I just laid there, stunned, and then packed up my stuff, paid him as quickly as possible (hastily tipping him 15% on the touch screen), and left.

When I got home, I told Jasper what happened, and tears grew in his eyes. He reached out his arms to me and said, “Babe… are you okay? That man assaulted you.” But my brain was still frozen. I said, “No, he didn’t. It was probably a misunderstanding or a cultural difference. I don’t think he meant anything sexual by it. It’s fine. I’m fine.” So I hugged him, packed up my car, and drove to Charleston in a fugue state.

I stopped to get gas before reaching my friend’s house, and as I waited in the car, I did a very human thing. I googled what happened to me and asked, “Is that considered sexual assault?” And Google was very clear.

YES, you were assaulted.

NO, that is never okay in a massage context.

YES, there are regulations in place that clearly state what he did was illegal.

YES, you should report what he did.

Through some gentle nudging from Jasper and one of my best friends, I called a confidential sexual assault hotline to ask them what to do. They told me I can’t report a Greenville County assault while outside of Greenville County. But they encouraged me to go to a hospital to get STD testing and potentially collect skin cell samples. So I did that. I kept doing the next right thing, not knowing what was going on or how I got there. But then the hospital told me there was nothing they could do—the man’s mouth and/or genitals were not involved—and they sent me home with a $300 bill. That’s when I cried for the first time. I felt like a fool. Assaulted enough to call a helpline, not assaulted enough for doctors to help me collect evidence.

Why did I continue with the massage? Why didn’t I scream, run, kick, punch, SOMETHING other than just lie there? And why did I pay him? AND TIP HIM?? I felt so unbearably humiliated. Like it was all my fault. Like maybe I did something to give that man the wrong idea. Or maybe Google was wrong, and I’m making a big deal out of nothing. Stop being a drama queen, Mel. You weren’t raped. And you had the power to stop him, but you didn’t. So own it, wash your face, and move on.

I decided to continue with the plan to attend Book Camp. This man was not going to stand in the way of God’s call on my life. So I just kept going. Kept doing the things. Went to church, ate lunch with my friend, and laid out my clothes for the next morning. But that afternoon, something hit my stomach like I’d never experienced before. It was probably a mix of trauma and kid germs, but I couldn’t stop vomiting to the point that I knew Book Camp was no longer an option. So deeply humiliated and feeling like a burden, I told my friend I was going to drive home that night. I was just done with the whole doomed experience, and I didn’t want to risk getting my friend and her sweet family sick too. So I drove home, puking in a bag in the middle of the night, weeping in the car to Jasper, wondering, “Does God hate me? Why is all of this happening?”
———

So that’s my story. I wish it had a neat and tidy ending.

But whatever gastrointestinal distress hit me that night lasted a full two weeks. Longer than any stomach bug I’ve ever experienced.

My writing stalled significantly, and I struggled to believe any of the stuff I was going to write my book about.

When I went through the process of reporting the assault to the police, it ended with a judge deeming my case a “he said-she said,” with not enough concrete evidence to move forward.

Nothing satisfying happened. Nothing at all. Life just moved on, and I remained—just as I was on that massage table—frozen in time.

Friends, I wish I could give you a reason for these events. I wish I could say, “I’m so glad God taught me this lesson in this way.” But no, that’s not real life. Some things are just awful and don’t make sense. Sometimes it is really hard to trust God—to understand what possible purpose could come out of something so dark. I have no emotionally satisfying answers for you, I’m sorry to say. But I can tell you what I did next, through the strength of Christ: I kept going to therapy. I got extra vulnerable with godly community around me. I cried. I raged. I journaled. I worshiped. I brought all my messy emotions to the feet of Jesus. None of these decisions fixed anything, but they helped me move forward, little by little. And eventually, I learned a couple of hard-fought truths. So, in place of emotionally satisfying answers, dear readers, I offer you the following:

1. Lament well and often: “I am beginning to see that much of praying is grieving.” -Henri Nouwen

If you’ve read any of my writing lately, it keeps coming back to the concept and practice of lament. Because, yes, Mel is (and will forever be) in her lament era. Crying out to God in anger and hurt and confusion and sadness. Whispering through tears, “I want to trust you, I really do. But I don’t know how to believe with all my heart that You are good. Will you teach me to believe?” I’m learning that, of all the places I could’ve ended up, lament was probably the best landing pad for my soul. Because it didn’t bypass my lived experience—it welcomed it. I got to bring my ugly tears to Jesus and know that the “man of sorrows, acquainted with grief” understood it completely (Isaiah 53:3).

He doesn’t judge or condemn my feelings of betrayal. We serve a God who cares deeply about the pain of His people, and He always has. In Exodus 3, God says, “‘I have indeed seen the misery of my people in Egypt. I have heard them crying out... and I am concerned about their suffering.’” And let’s not forget Psalm 56:8, my current favorite verse: “You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book." Even I don’t remember my pain as thoroughly as the Father does. I’m just so thankful that’s the Person I get to vent to, you know?

But maybe the best part about lamenting to the God of the universe is the fact that you’re talking to the only One who can actually make things right. He is enacting a real-life, actually-gonna-work-out plan of redemption through which justice will flow like a river and the darkness of sin will be a faint memory. Revelation 21 says, “Then I saw “a new heaven and a new earth”.... I saw the Holy City, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride beautifully dressed for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Look! God’s dwelling place is now among the people, and he will dwell with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. ‘He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death’ or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.” He who was seated on the throne said, “I am making everything new!””

I wouldn’t have chosen this story for myself—not in a million years. But I learned this technique of picturing the lowest moments of my life, and then inserting Christ into that picture with me. Now, when I visualize myself frozen on that massage table, I see my Jesus, crouched down next to my face, holding my hand, crying, “I’m here. I’m right here. You’re not alone. And I will make this right, my love. I will restore what the locusts have eaten.” Lament brought me to the place where I could sit in the tension of, yes, this horrible thing happened to me, AND God never left my side. Both things are somehow true.

2. The way you speak to yourself matters: "No one is more influential in your life than you are, because no one talks to you more than you do." -Paul David Tripp

It was good for me to write an honest account about the event, because I forgot how unkindly I was speaking to my soul. Like, I blamed myself for maybe-somehow-possibly giving the guy the wrong idea? What in the world?!

My therapist often gives me assignments wherein I write letters to versions of myself: Friend Mel, Wife Mel, Writer Mel, Young Mel. I am to tell her the radical truth and also speak to her like a friend who needs encouragement. This practice helps me develop deep compassion for myself—replacing shame narratives with gracious ones—and discover what healthy habits and boundaries I want to incorporate moving forward. So for the next few paragraphs, I’m going to speak to Assaulted Mel the way I would if she were my pal, not someone freshly traumatized and grasping for the closest person to blame—namely, herself.

Oh, sweet friend. You are so loved. I am sorry beyond words that this happened to you.

The way you’ve spoken to yourself is a common response to trauma. But I need you to believe the words I’m saying with every ounce of strength you have: you are not to blame for any part of what happened. What was done to you was a violation of your will and your humanity.

Do you know what I see when I read your story? I see a girl who put her trust in a business because she had no reason not to. I see a girl whose therapist request was not honored by that business. And then I see a girl whose sympathetic nervous system kicked in as a response to a huge breach of safety. You came to that place to be taken care of, and instead, you were taken advantage of. So your body’s response to that acute level of stress was to freeze and then flee as soon as possible. It did what it had to do. You did not go into that room prepared with a 5-point plan for how to react when sexually assaulted. And even if you somehow, magically, had that plan in place, you are still human. And your amygdala told you to survive the best way it knew how. It said, “Freeze.” It said, “Flee.”

But do you know what else I see? I see a girl who told trusted people right away. Do you know how brave that is? Many people do not have the capacity to do that, which is also a very normal, human response. This world is unkind to assault survivors, and we often blame the very ones we are meant to defend. But somehow—I think through the women who have courageously gone before you—you said, “This thing happened to me. What should I do about it?” And you brought it to loved ones and doctors and specialists. You advocated for yourself, with shakiness and fear, through those first 48 hours, and then in every moment since. You did it for the women who would come behind you… But you also did it for yourself. Because just the fact that it happened to you matters. You are a person made in the image of God. And that alone makes you worthy of dignity.

I know you battle shame about your story—that it’s not worth telling because there wasn’t penetration or violence. But God does not compare tragedies. He does not tell you to count yourself lucky because other people have it worse than you. God never speaks like that. Period. The perpetuator of shame is the enemy of our souls. He would have you stay silent and crumple in on yourself. But “those who look to [Yahweh] are radiant; their faces are never covered with shame” (Psalm 34:5). Your King is not accusing you or judging you or condemning you. “Instead of your shame you will receive a double portion, and instead of disgrace you will rejoice in your inheritance”  (Isaiah 61:7). Take heart, dear friend. This is not the end of your story. Your face will continue to radiate the glory of God, for He is turning your mourning into dancing and your sorrow into joy. He will redeem what has been lost, and He will do it with compassion and gentleness.

He’s not in a hurry for you to heal. So take your time. Cry when you need to. Laugh when you get to.

Be angry, be happy, be lost, be found.

Your Shepherd is by your side through it all, and there He will remain.

3. The Lord can redeem even this: “You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done—the saving of many lives” (Genesis 50:20).

Did you know that someone is sexually assaulted every 68 seconds in the United States alone? And that is just one of the injustices humanity faces as we inch further and further from Eden. Greed, corruption, racism, abuse… the list of brokenness in this world goes on unendingly. It’s enough to make even the most certain of us grow disillusioned with faith from time to time. So, how do we sit in the tension of the “now and not yet”? What on earth could keep us hopeful and soft-hearted in a world rife with darkness?

I’ll never have a tidy answer to that question either. But I can tell you where I’ve landed today: I don’t believe God to be the author of my pain, but I know He is the Redeemer of it. And while the enemy would love us to stay alone, silent, and bitter, our Good Father invites us to let the light in.

So why don’t we widen the net a little bit? You might have a story of assault like mine, but maybe you carry a different pain. Maybe you’re angry at God because you lost someone you love. Maybe you’re struggling with a hidden sin. Maybe you’re hurting from a childhood trauma. Maybe you’re just lonely. I don’t know how the enemy, sin, and this fallen world have hurt you personally. But can I gently invite you into something, as someone who is hurting right along with you?

Let someone in.

Talk to someone you trust about your grief, especially if it’s a part of your story you’ve never shared before. You certainly don’t have to write about it online like me. You could talk to your mom or your small group. A close friend or a therapist. I don’t know who your person is, but I know the Lord will make it clear who He wants you to confide in. And I believe He will give you the courage to speak when the time comes.

Here’s the thing: we weren’t designed to heal on our own. That’s one of the messy parts about being a human—we’re hurt through people and we’re healed through people. I know that feels counterintuitive. But it’s the way life works on this side of heaven. Our pain will eat us alive if we leave it in the basement of our hearts. When we open the door… well, it’s kind of brutal, and I can’t promise it’ll feel great. But I can promise you’ll learn a lot. I can promise it’ll bear good fruit. And I can promise you the Redeemer will be with you every step of the way. He makes beautiful things out of dust, friends. And what the enemy intends for evil, God can and will use for our good and His glory.

So may we bravely step into the light. And may our vulnerability produce more vulnerability. I believe it can change the world, one redeemed story at a time.

Finally, to the women who may hear echoes of their experience in mine, I hope you know I am here for you. I would never claim to be an expert in trauma therapy, but I can be your friend. I’m happy to grab a coffee and listen to your story. We can just cry and pray and not fix anything. I just need you to know you’re not alone in your pain. Attached below are some resources/tools that have proven helpful to me and/or been recommended to me throughout my therapy journey. I pray something clicks with you as you pursue healing through the strength of Christ.

Whatever you’re facing today, you are seen and you are loved.

Let’s keep going.

Resources:

-Tin Man Ministries: My Tin Man coach is Tena DeVaney in Greenville, SC. She helped me through this particular trauma in 100 different ways. I am so thankful for her ministry. (Her husband, Todd, is also a coach and works with men, if that’s helpful to any Greenville guys out there.)

-Re:Generation Care and Recovery Ministry: I attended through Fellowship Greenville in Greenville, SC, but many churches offer this ministry.

-Onsite Therapy, Counseling, and Wellness Retreats: I have not attended, but I’ve heard wonderful things about their retreats, especially for acute depression/trauma.

-Jon Hagen at Grace Harbor Ministries: I’ve never seen him personally, but he has taught us through the re:Gen process many times, and his heart is so soft and full of God’s grace and compassion.

-ANY GOOD THERAPIST! Ask your friends/family for recommendations! (Mine is below.)

Tools:

-ART Therapy: A special kind of therapy that works through the creative process to heal your brain’s connection to traumatic moments. It’s hard to explain, especially as a non-therapist. But Jasper and I see Lorene Hutchinson in Greenville, SC. We’ve been going to her for years, both for talk therapy and ART, and she rocks. Would wholeheartedly recommend her to locals. But for non-Greenvillians, look up ART-trained therapists in your area.

-EMDR Therapy: I’ve done this a few times in the past, and it’s pretty incredible. A similar tool to ART, but different approach.

-DBT: These techniques are simple to incorporate and were created to develop mindfulness, distress tolerance, and emotional regulation in your body as you heal. Look for a therapist who can train you in these practices!

-SASHET journaling practice: A simple emotional check-in I complete every day. SASHET stands for Sad, Angry, Scared, Happy, Excited, and Tender. I stop at each emotion to process, “Am I feeling this anywhere in my body and mind today?” And then I write it down, no matter how big, small, valid, or petty the reason is. It has helped me get in the habit of paying attention to my feelings and bringing them before God instead of stuffing them down or shaming myself for feeling them at all. Feelings are God-given. They shouldn’t become idols, but they can be very useful tools when noticed and honored correctly. Tin Man helped me in this regard to form a healthy theology about emotions. For local folks, I can’t recommend Tena and Todd enough.

Mel Furniss 6/26/25 Mel Furniss 6/26/25

An Oregon Dream Fulfilled

Visiting the Pacific Northwest has been a long-held dream of mine. Years ago, I stumbled upon a photographer on Pinterest and voraciously scrolled through every one of her albums, amazed by both her artistry and the landscape of the Oregon coast. I knew visiting there was virtually impossible; I haven’t been able to find work since Violet was born, plus inflation was kicking our butts. But as I looked through those photos, aching to travel again (one of my deepest loves), I heard a strange whisper from the Lord.

He just said, “Ask me.”

I didn’t know what it meant. I thought maybe it was my own thought swirling around, convincing me to hope for something implausible. But there’s something about the voice of God that presses into your soul in a different way, you know? So I did what the voice invited me to do. I said, “Lord, I know this is a silly, impractical dream. I know that other things are more important. But if it’s Your will, could we visit the Oregon coast one day?”

Years went by, and every once in a while, I would think of that moment and ask God to provide this travel dream, if He so willed. But mostly, I let it go. “It’s too much to ask,” I told myself. Then, a few months ago, Jasper got a job with the Bible Project. That alone is an answered prayer for many reasons, but y’all… guess where they’re located? Oregon, of course.

——

Before Easter, Violet and I were at a store, and she saw this stuffed bunny that she wanted. I said no; it was too expensive, and she didn’t need another toy. But then, a couple of weeks later, her grandparents gave her an Easter goodie bag, and it had two bunny stuffies in it. They were simpler—less plush and cuddly—but they became treasured gifts nonetheless. I told her, “Remember when you wanted that bunny at the store? And now you have two! Look how kind God is.”

As soon as the words left my mouth, I sensed the Holy Spirit in the car with me, pressing deep into my heart again the reminder that my King is good and kind and paying attention. That He sees His children. That we matter to Him. So yeah, we booked the trip. We explored Portland and renewed our vows on the coast (more to come on that story!) and experienced the joy and wonder of a dream fulfilled. Of a prayer answered.

I promise, this story is not meant to be Mel’s prosperity gospel. The trip was (and our lives are) still hard in many ways. This world is still fallen. The list of things to grieve continues to grow each time I read the news or listen to someone’s story. Even in my own body and mind, I’ve been navigating a deep pain I don’t know how to talk about publicly. My chest aches when I remember how forsaken I felt. How betrayed and broken. Some things just don’t make sense. Some dreams just don’t come true.

But even in the thick of the worst pain imaginable, our Hope remains King Jesus.

King Jesus in His reigning authority.

King Jesus in His gentle lowliness.

The One who rules righteously over heaven and earth.

The One who collects our tears in a bottle.

The One who didn’t leave my side as trauma unfolded and justice failed.

The One who opened the doors to a dream trip with my sweet, wild family.

Man... There is so much mystery to serving a sovereign God, especially when impossibly hard stuff happens. And I don’t think we humans are cool with that tension. But to me, mystery says, “I don’t know everything, and maybe that’s okay. Because God is here. And His heart is worth trusting.”

I hope to be able to write about my pain story soon… I’m praying about how to do it well. But friend, this I know to be true, whether I’m dancing on the coast of Oregon or begrudgingly cleaning my kitchen for the millionth time: God is here. The story isn’t over. Even the most mundane, lonely, and confusing parts of our lives find sacred purpose in His hands. And where we see mystery, our Savior sees His plan at work to draw His people to Himself.

So here the Furnisses continue, crying out to believe as the voice of unbelief grows just a little bit quieter.

God is here. And His heart is worth trusting.

“We shake with joy, we shake with grief. What a time they have, these two housed as they are in the same body.”

-Mary Oliver

Mel Furniss 5/26/25 Mel Furniss 5/26/25

God Isn’t Afraid of Your Honesty

*Photo by Riley Morgan Young Photography*

Last week, I was asked to write a little something for my church’s worship night, which just happened to take place on my 36th birthday. Our worship pastor and friend, Jonny, asked me to talk about trusting Jesus when life is hard, and I thought to myself, “What better way to mark a new year of life than to honor my Savior in this way?” I am so grateful to learn what it means to trust Jesus over and over, in deeper, truer ways, until He takes me home. I hope you relate to these words, and sense your Shepherd sitting with you in the dirt today.

——

So, Jonny asked me to speak about trusting Jesus when it’s really, really hard. I told him he came to the right girl, not because I’m good at trusting Jesus—LOL. Nope, not at all. I say it because I’m pretty regularly asking Jesus how to do that. How to trust Him when all signs point to “Don’t do that, girl! Trusting Jesus right now is a craaaaazy choice.”

For those who don’t know my story, I’m a gal who lives with depression. I’ve had seasons of battling really dark thoughts about myself and God and everything in between. So my faith journey, especially in the last five years, has been a true wrestling. I was pretty disillusioned with faith, God, and Church back in the Covid days. And maybe for the first time, I asked the question, “Is there a way to believe that God is who He says He is while also… being kinda mad at Him? While being confused at what He’s doing…or not doing? How do I rejoice in the Lord always, like Philippians says, but also be honest about the very real pain I feel? Is it even possible to do both at once?”

Do you relate to these questions?

Are you tempted either to numb your heart or bypass your hurt with Christian platitudes because you don’t know how to reconcile trusting God with feeling hard emotions? Maybe you say, “Well, I’m more blessed than I deserve,” or “I really can’t complain; a lot of people have it so much worse than I do.” These are very normal, human responses to difficulty, and I think they come from a good place.

But what if…

What if God isn’t scared of our honesty? What if being real about our hurt, fear, or anger actually invites His presence in more deeply? Because that’s intimacy, isn’t it? In marriage, I feel closest to Jasper when I cry to him about the messy stuff in my heart, and he just sees me, holds me, and says, “I get it. That sounds really hard.” That’s what our Savior loves to do for us! And because He is not limited like us humans—because He knows all and reigns above it all—He actually has the ability to gently shift our hearts toward hope, healing, and deeper dependence on Him. Not in an instant, magic wand kind of way. But in an Immanuel, God With Us, kind of way.

A gal I follow online, Jess Connolly, shared the story this week of Mary Magdalene grieving Jesus’ death in John 20. Mary sees the empty tomb, and she’s shaken, thinking someone stole Jesus’ body. She’s weeping. She’s confused. And our Risen Christ walks up to her and says, “Woman, why are you crying?” That question has always seemed like a rebuke—like, “Mary, what are you doing? You shouldn’t be crying—you should be having faith that I rose from the dead, like I said I would. Remember, sis?”

But what if Jesus isn’t rebuking her—what if He’s meeting her in her grief? What if He’s saying, “Hey, I’m here. Tell me what’s hurting your heart.” Jess says, “That’s the kind of Savior we have. One who heals but doesn’t rush. One who resurrects but still honors the ache. One who knows the ending but welcomes the middle. We’ve been told (sometimes outrightly, sometimes subtly) that strength equals stoicism. That if we can get through a heartbreak or holy moment without crying, we’ve somehow won. But [God] doesn’t ask us to numb our feelings. He asks us to bring them. He doesn’t say, “Pull it together.” He says, “Come to me, all who are weary.” He sits in the dirt with us. He lets the tears fall. He calls us by name.”

This is why I’m so grateful the Bible is rich with lament. It is such a powerful way to be honest with ourselves while also trusting in God’s character. It doesn’t have to be an either/or! Lament says, “Lord, everything feels hard! I don’t know what You’re doing! AND—at the same time, in the same breath—I believe You‘re here with me, and You will not leave me to figure it out on my own.”

So I invite you, in this next song, to get real with God. Lament the hurt you don’t have the power to change. Grieve all the ways your life didn’t turn out the way you thought it would. It’s okay to do that—in fact, it’s worshipful to do that.

Even if it’s messy…

Even if your feelings seem childish to you…

Even if you “know better”...

our King is not condemning you.

Here’s the thing: He already knows what’s in your heart. So He rejoices that you’re bringing it to Him—holding your hurt up to the Light—instead of ignoring it or pushing it down. He wants more for you than a compartmentalized faith. And He’s eager to sit in the tension with you and move you towards healing one small step at a time.

And if you’re out of practice and don’t know where to start, do what the song says: speak His name. Let “Jesus” be your prayer.

Mel Furniss 5/20/25 Mel Furniss 5/20/25

Holy Inefficiency

I had about 500 errands to run. Okay, it was probably closer to 5, but hear me out: I brought my four-year-old with me. So, parents, you know what that means. I HAD 500 ERRANDS TO RUN.

God bless my daughter—she is one of the great loves of my life—but bringing a little one along to do anything just takes so. much. longer. Sister is in a phase where she has to stop at every brightly colored thing she sees and say, “Mommy, can I have this? Please, Mommy, pleeeeease.” It’s cute at first, but when we’re at Ask #36 in as many minutes, it takes everything in me not to scream, “Stop being just like me! We can’t afford two of us!!”

As I returned home from our 5(hundred) errands, exasperated and—to be vulnerable with you—angry that even the smallest moments in parenting can feel like filing taxes on a roller coaster, I felt the smile of God upon me. In His loving, judgment-free voice (because that is how He speaks to His children), He whispered to me, “The beauty is in the togetherness, not the efficiency.”

Hoooold up. I equate efficiency with good stewardship! It’s honoring God to accomplish work quickly and effectively, right? If I complete my to-do list, I have more space to be present afterward (at least in theory). But if I’m being honest with myself, is life ever that tidy? Our family’s days are only ever filled with grocery runs and dishwashing and soccer practice and painstakingly cooking a dinner the kids refuse to eat. Our “doing life” and our “doing stuff” are always jumbled up together. And in those messy, mixed-together moments, our little ones observe how we navigate the mundanities of life. They witness our mornings spent in the Word. They notice how we talk to a customer service rep. They see our reaction when eggshells get in the batter. They watch us navigate a traffic jam (okay, that one scares me). All of those tiny moments somehow form their view of God, themselves, and the world around them. So when my Shepherd gently nudged my spirit last week, I remembered the only thing He ever wants from me, and it’s not an efficiently checked-off to-do list. It’s the same thing my daughter wants from me on a morning filled with errands: simply to be together. To hug and talk and learn lessons in between, even—maybe especially—if the learning process is slow.

In the story of God, both in the Bible and my own life, I see a Savior who doesn’t prize earthly efficiency in His Kingdom. Why else would He send His Son in the form of a newborn to lead His rescue plan? It’s almost laughable; one could say God had the ultimate errand to run, and He sent a baby to do the job! And yet the God who knows everything that ever has been and ever will be specifically chose that plan.

When Peter talks about the second coming of Christ in 2 Peter 3, he tells us that scoffers will pop up, essentially saying, “Is Jesus even coming back? And if He is, what’s taking Him so long?” Peter says in response, “But do not overlook this one fact, beloved, that with the Lord one day is as a thousand years, and a thousand years as one day. The Lord is not slow to fulfill his promise as some count slowness, but is patient toward you, not wishing that any should perish, but that all should reach repentance” (2 Peter 3:8-9). Peter is talking about how each day on this side of heaven is an opportunity to become more like Christ and lead others to Him. But I think his words also hint at the fact that God does not view time the way we humans do.

Which is to say, the One who weaves truth and grace into your days on earth holds ALL of time in His hands. Not a moment is exempt from His sovereignty and intentionality. So I have to ask: do you think He speaks to you the way you speak to yourself? Do you think He’s upset that you're not changing fast enough? That you’re slowing down His “errand” of sanctifying your soul?

Or do you think He’s a proud Dad, looking at His baby attempting to walk for the first time and cheering on every wobbly, imperfect step forward… because even that one step is a step closer to Him?

I don’t diminish efficiency to condone laziness or abuse grace. Without a doubt, stewardship in many areas of our lives does look like working excellently for the glory of God at a pace that honors Him and the people around us. Ecclesiastes 9:10 says, “Whatever your hands find to do, do it with your might.” So live accountably, expectantly, and faithfully. Do your work well. Help your kids with their homework. Repent and repair when there’s a rupture. Wash the dishes before bed. Yes and amen—that stuff is the gospel at work too. However, I think when we apply that same pace to the cultivation of our marriages, our children, and our relationships… when we demand efficiency from the One watering and tending to our souls, we miss the point. The point is to learn from and become like our unhurried Shepherd. The One who wants to teach us by being with us.

Jess Connolly always says, “We will never graduate from needing the gospel.” God will never hand us a diploma and say, “Yay, I have nothing left to teach you! Congrats on not needing me anymore!” Nope, that day will never come. And thank Jesus for it. Because—listen, oh my soul, and believe it to be true!—the whole point of life is to need Him! To get eggshells in the batter of life and find that His mercy outmatches our failure every time. To draw from His well of Living Water day after day, moment after moment, savoring every sip of His grace and kindness and presence. To cry out, “You, God, are my God, earnestly I seek you; I thirst for you, my whole being longs for you, in a dry and parched land where there is no water. Because your love is better than life, my lips will glorify you” (Psalm 63:1-3).

What a gift not to rush through a life spent doing just that. To walk toward holiness at the pace of heaven instead of the pace of earth. To know that every failure we refuse to forgive in ourselves has already been forgiven tenfold. To see that, as we wobble towards our Good Father, He is reaching His arms out, whispering, “Come on, my love. I’m right here, and I got you. Let’s keep going.”

Mel Furniss 5/11/25 Mel Furniss 5/11/25

Enough

Recently, I listened to a new friend's heartbreaking account of a painful moment with her child. It’s not my story to tell, but her takeaway was one I am far too familiar with: the feeling of inadequacy. “When will I be enough?” she asked. We grieved as we sat in that tension with her. Very clearly, I felt the Lord tell me to pray for my friend in that moment. But I froze. I told God, “What could I say to bolster her spirit? I battle the same feeling almost every day of my life, and I have no idea how to fight it. I wouldn’t even know what to pray.”

Yes, I know. It’s a selfish response for many reasons. Why was I trying to be her Holy Spirit? I didn’t trust God enough to speak for me, and I certainly didn’t trust Him enough to use a clumsy, imperfect prayer from my mouth to help my friend. Why did I feel the need to be tidy before I could sit in the grief with her? Well, the moment passed, and we moved forward. But that whisper—you’re not enough—kept ringing in my head.

The story of not-enoughness keeps coming up for me in therapy, too. Whether I’m talking about my childhood, friendships, job dreams, parenting, marriage, money, WHATEVER, the story under the story is constantly the same. You’re not enough, Mel. If you were this or had that, then you would be happy, and you would finally make others happy too. It’s kind of fascinating, actually, to look at my soul from a bird’s eye view and watch myself come to the same conclusion over and over again. Like, really… What is up with that?

Thanks to Jasper’s job at the Bible Project, his team got to hop on a Zoom call with Curt Thompson, a Psychiatrist and Author who wrote books like “Anatomy of the Soul” and “The Soul of Shame.” This man loves Jesus and understands the stories we tell ourselves so well. So when a Q&A time came up, I just had to ask the expert…

I said, “In therapy, I keep coming to the conclusion that I’m not enough, I’m not enough, I’m not enough. And as I’ve gotten older, I’ve noticed that many, if not all of us, feel the same way. So I guess I’m curious why this is such an insidious shame story, especially for those who know we are saved by grace. We know we could never do anything to earn what was freely given to us at the cross. So why is “I’m not enough” such a hard lie to shake? And what do we do about it?”

His response was so eye-opening. He said the thought “I’m not enough” and shame are not separate entities—they are one and the same. So when we feel not enough, we are simply experiencing shame. And just like it’s easier to learn how to ride a bike at age 6 than at age 36, it’s incredibly hard to unlearn a shame response that’s been ingrained in us since childhood. It’s all we’ve ever known.

He said, “Imagine a kid’s red wagon rolling towards you. You could easily stick your leg out and stop the wagon, right? Well, shame is like a train chugging towards you. And there’s no easy fix for stopping the train. Sticking your leg out will not save you anymore. The only thing that can stop the train is a bigger train. And the bigger train is our trinitarian God-With-Us and gospel community. Which is to say, you’re not responsible for changing that shame story—we are. We are riding that train, and we are fighting with you to rewrite the narrative.”

Phew. Isn’t that the most comforting thing you’ve ever heard? Hearing shame is normal, and fighting shame is a group effort led by our reigning King. That’s why we get to sing, “Shame, where is thy victory?” Because it has been defeated by Jesus forever! And as we are sanctified, we get to link arms with godly community, bring shame out of the shadows, and tend to the children in us who just wanted to belong.

On this Mother’s Day, I am more aware than ever how much women in particular hear the lie that we have to be everything to everyone. And, sisters, that lie is running us into the ground. So, in this moment, I’m saying ENOUGH to shame. Enough, punk—you will not get the final word. You will not leech the life from me and my sisters in Christ with this narrative that we’re not enough. Our train is coming for you, broski, and you don’t stand a chance against the mercy and kindness and almighty power of our King.

——

I ended up reaching out to my friend. I messaged her to confess my fears and repent of my inaction. Of course, she was gracious, and she allowed me to pray for her via text. So here’s my prayer for her, but it’s also my prayer for you and me as we battle this thing called shame (I’m so glad we get to battle it together).

Sweet Shepherd, thank you so much for my friend. For her vulnerability. For her ministry. For her very raw emotions about an impossibly hard circumstance. I pause to sit in that tension with her now.

And Lord, you know I hear the same words whispered over my soul all the time—you’re not enough. You’ll never be enough. You will only ever let down the people you were called to love. My heart shares her sorrow. And I just want to stop and grieve that feeling with her.

It’s debilitating, Jesus. And I guess that’s the point. Those whispers are meant to take us out. To leave us numb to our hearts and striving for an unachievable goal. So in the face of what feels like a really big lie that she and I don’t know how to shake, I’m going to go back to the basics of the gospel.

Do You call us to “be enough?” Is that the kind of language You are even using in relation to us? Or did you send Your Son to the cross because we are physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually incapable of being enough? Is enoughness off the table completely because of the work You did on our behalf? Yeah, I think it is. I think You’re looking at us, striving and grieving our insufficiencies, and just like in the garden, you’re saying, “Who told you that you are naked? Who is speaking those words of shame over you?”

With all my heart, God, I know this to be true: You are not.

The enemy—crafty little jerk he is—is using our not-enoughness as a horrifically effective distraction from our actual call: intimate dependence on You. Walking in the cool of the day with You. Bringing You our joys and our grief, our belly laughs and heart-wrenching cries. Needing You for every single breath.

You never called us to be our children’s savior. And that is a scary truth, because I would like to protect my kids from the effects of this fallen world. But that is a cross only You are strong enough to bear. So Jesus, we release the grip. With faith and shaky hands, in this moment, we release the lie that we have to be everything to everyone. We release the lie that You are telling us to be everyone’s hero. YOU are the Hero. You’re the only one worthy and able to hold that title.

Savior, empower us when those whispered lies come back again. Help us to speak rebuke verbally when the enemy attempts to hold court in our brains. Send him back to hell where he and his thoughts of enoughness belong. Thank You that YOU ARE ENOUGH, LORD JESUS. YOU ARE ENOUGH, AND WE DON’T HAVE TO BE. What good news that is! What a deep relief! The pressure is off, and hope is cranked up to 100, for YOU ARE OUR HOPE. YOU ARE OUR CHILDREN’S HOPE. And You love them more than we ever could.

Phew! Thank You, Lord! Help our hearts believe it to be true. That as long as You reign on Your throne, we can confidently move through our lives messily and imperfectly and deeply dependent on the steady, perfect, more-than-enough One.

We believe, Lord. Help our unbelief.

Amen.

Mel Furniss 5/2/25 Mel Furniss 5/2/25

Soul Camp

Okay, remember when Lorelai comes to Luke’s at, like, 5 in the morning begging for coffee, and he says, “Stop drinking coffee!” and she’s like, “Oh, I can't stop drinking the coffee. I stop drinking the coffee, I stop doing the standing and the walking and words putting into sentence doing.”

Lorelai without coffee = Mel without her comfort zone.

But then Mel signed up to go to Soul Camp all by herself.

I actually thought I’d be good at the traveling by myself part, as well as the getting-to-know-new-people part. I love being by myself! I never get to do it! Give me a good book and some snacks, and I’m a happy girl. Plus, I love people! I have a heart for ministry, and it’s one of my favorite things in the world to get real with women about the mess in our lives. God has equipped me for this exact kind of challenge! I got this!

NARRATOR: SHE DID NOT, IN FACT, HAVE THIS.

Y’all. I was really bad at it. ALL of it. There is a reason solitude is called a practice. I had no idea what to do with myself! Am I hungry? Am I sleepy? Am I just bored? I honestly couldn’t tell! And then I walked into camp, filled with people I didn’t know, and my freak-out-o-meter blew through the roof.

How do I form normal human sentences?

I just asked her her name 3 seconds ago— it would be rude to ask again, right? Yeah, that’s rude. It’s probably, like, Prometheus or Chrysanthemum or DANG, GIRL, WHY WEREN’T YOU LISTENING THE FIRST TIME?! Ohhh, that’s right. Because your social anxiety gobbled up your brain like it was the last of the Easter candy.

Phewwwww. That is a lot of feelings. What to do with them?

It’s in moments like these that I’m endlessly thankful for therapy. No small part of me assumed it would prevent me from having fears in the first place, but instead, it gave me tools to face the fear when it comes.

So 1. I acknowledged my feelings: “Mel, you’re scared, girl. You’re scared of not connecting with anyone. You’re scared of saying the wrong thing in front of a leader you admire. You’re scared of your very real limitations.”

Then 2. I told the truth to myself: “It’s human to feel fear and loneliness in a new environment. It’s okay to feel those feelings for a while. But also, acknowledge that you are not alone. Who can you reach out to for prayer and support?”

And after texting Jasper, 3. I offered my feelings back to God: “Lord, You are not surprised or limited by my fear. In fact, You knew I’d feel this way, and You are with me in it. Help me to live embodied: to stretch my tight back and take deep breaths. To call out my social anxiety and laugh about it with the gals. To replace my shame with Your compassion. I acknowledge that in all the places I can’t, You can. So thank You for being God, and for surrounding me with safe people who love you more than life. Most of all, thank You, King of Heaven, for being my Friend and never leaving my side, especially here in my moment of weakness.”

Over and over—even in the middle of my loudest fears—I felt the Spirit whisper to me, “Sweet Mel, I’m not in a hurry with you.” And I’m rehearsing that kindness to myself as I reflect on all that Soul Camp was. He’s not in a hurry to change me—to remove the mess from my heart. In fact, He loves being in the mess with me. For the One who holds all of time and space in His Almighty hands, the process matters more to Him than the product. So I can freak out and belly breathe and make a new friend and repent of my sin, and He is forever with me and proud of me.

He readily gives rest to those He loves, and—thank You, Jesus—He loves me.

He loves you, too, you know. Let’s pursue His rest together.

*(Almost all) gallery photos by Liz Cox*

Mel Furniss 4/22/25 Mel Furniss 4/22/25

A Psalm 46 Meditation

I lost a battle for earthly justice this week. Maybe I’ll talk about on here sometime, but for now, I’m just feeling my limitations. I’m feeling how little control I have in this life. Ughhhh it’s hard, right? I’m not the only one?

Well, in the face of my powerlessness, I did one thing that was in my power, and I opened my Bible and meditated on a few verses in Psalm 46. Now, I’m no Bible expert, and I’m sure there’s more to this passage than what I journaled about. But this is what the Holy Spirit very clearly spoke over my soul this week, and I think I’m meant to share it with you too.

1. When I picture a refuge, two images come to mind: a fortified shelter strong enough to withstand danger, and a cozy, warm bed at home. Somehow God is both. He is the safe place you run to when bombs are going off or tornadoes are ripping through your town. And He’s a soft duvet and a cup of tea after a long, hard day. He is both a mighty bastion of protection and a gentle counselor, eager to listen to our troubles and offer comfort. How beautiful is that? Only our God can somehow be that strong and that tender simultaneously.

2. So much of what I grieve comes from, like I said, my limitations. I can’t change people. I can’t speed up healing. I can’t control the future. I can’t outrun the Fall. But in every way we are limited, our King is not. He makes a fool out of every possible human limitation, including death! Including the enemy of our souls! Which also means the pressure is off us to try to be unlimited. To fight for control. To be “strong enough.” Freedom is found when we embrace our human limitations and allow God to be God. He is strong when we are weak, and MAN, that is never not good news.

3. Okay, this might be my favorite part: why did the psalmist describe God as a “very present” help? Think of all the words he could have used here: He’s a sovereign help, an almighty help, a trustworthy help. But his emphasis is on our God, getting down on His hands and knees, and meeting His children in their pain. At any given moment in your day, God’s proximity to you is in front of you and behind you and inside you and all around you. Like, what?? And think about this! Psalm 46 was written way before Jesus! Before the Holy Spirit became our indwelling Helper! Our God, from the beginning of time, has always been moving heaven and earth to draw closer to us. To tear that veil. He is our real and tangible and closer-than-our-breath help. Abandoning His children is an utter impossibility.

4. I love a good ‘Therefore’ in the Bible. I’m just gonna start screaming it out when the enemy tries to whisper lies! When this life knocks me to my knees! ‘Therefore’ is a worship song, a declaration, a calling up of our souls to what has always been true. It is saying, “Look back! Do you remember who God is? Do you know how He fights for you? How passionately He loves you?” When you feel defeated, seek out a ‘therefore’ in the Word, in your community, and in your own life. Proclaim how He faithfully carried you through past painful seasons, and cling to the truth that He is the same God today that He has always been. Oh my soul, believe it to be true!

5. I struggle with the whole ‘not being afraid’ thing. “Do not fear” is the most frequent command in the Bible, and yet I often find myself confused as to how to integrate it with my lived experience. Is God asking me to lie to myself? To tell my body, “stop keeping the score already and just trust the Lord”? Nope, I don’t think so. Shame doesn’t move us towards deeper faith. So here’s my takeaway: A Christian’s lack of fear is not foolish or ignorant. It is not a spiritual bypass of very real pain. I believe we are called to hold the tension. Life on this side of heaven can often be scary—AND (not ‘but’) our Father is near to us and will not leave our side. We are commanded not to fear so frequently because fear is a constant companion in our post-Fall humanity. So what do we do with it? We go back and read about our refuge and strength. We cling to the “therefore,” proclaiming who God is and always has been. And then we move bravely towards the hard thing, knowing we don’t face it alone. Our lack of fear is informed by the withness of our Savior.

6. Okay, take a minute. Can you imagine if even one of these things happened before your eyes? Think of the violence tsunamis, earthquakes, and hurricanes have wreaked upon the earth over the course of human history. Think of how hard they are to survive.

What a loss of safety. What a shaking of reality.

So to say the words, “we will not fear though the earth gives way”—that is a serious declaration. How can a Christian honestly trust God in the face of such peril? Well, here is where we call up our souls the most: whatever loss you grieve, whatever battle you lose—in the middle of any joy or pain you could ever experience on this earth—the truer reality (the truest reality) is I AM WHO I AM is on His throne. Creator and Defender Yahweh reigns over every single atom and organism and ecosystem. Every laugh and tear and weary heart. Everything that has ever been and ever will be. He reigns above it all and His sovereignty is unshakable. That, dear friends, is our hope. So as you work and play and grieve and rejoice on this side of heaven, hold fast to your refuge and strength. He will prove Himself time and again to be worth trusting.

Thanks for meditating on these truths with me!

We believe, Lord. Help our unbelief.

Mel Furniss 4/10/25 Mel Furniss 4/10/25

Lament is Worship

We had friends over for a worship night a few days ago. Friends called to different churches and living out different seasons, coming together to sing and pray and remind each other that we’re united not by a building but by our Good Shepherd. It was beautiful and soul filling and no one took any pictures cause we were too busy singing our butts off.

My favorite part (and the hardest part) of the night was a time of lament. We honestly shared our pain with each other and—I’ll be honest with you—it was heartbreaking. Immediately, my mind began scrambling, trying to think of words that would placate my friends. But instead, we just sat in that holy tension together… and then we took communion, letting the shed blood of Christ speak where our words always fall short.

2 Corinthians 1:6 says, “if we are afflicted, it is for your comfort and salvation; and if we are comforted, it is for your comfort, which you experience when you patiently endure the same sufferings that we suffer.” I love that, baked into the fabric of Christianity, is the freedom to be honest about our pain and to rely on each other in the midst of it. We are meant to grieve and be comforted together. To tell each other, “I’ve been there. You’re not alone.” These small, seemingly ineffective words invite in the sacred. We get to share in each other’s sufferings just as Christ shared in ours.

Isn’t that beautiful? The Lord never tells us to sugarcoat or intellectualize our pain, but invites us to feel it. And then He gives His people to us so we have a tactile representation of His presence. We get to be held on this earth, and it is but a shadow of the way we are held in the heavenly places.

All this to say, thank God for God. Thank God for His people. More worship nights forever and ever, plz & thank u.

Mel Furniss 2/14/25 Mel Furniss 2/14/25

The Walking In Between

*Photo by Briana Autran Photography (Max Patch, NC)*

No one thinks to take a picture when love is hard. When you have to wake up in the morning and actively choose it. But there’s beauty in those moments too. In the struggle, we realize we can’t keep our vows on our own. We need therapy and community. Repentance and forgiveness. Self-awareness and self-forgetfulness. More Jesus than we ever expected.

But I’m so glad love is more than dopamine firing in the brain. It’s stuff like buying him new underwear when his old ones are holey and gross. It’s washing that one cookie sheet that’s been in the sink all week. It’s expressing your needs with open hands, knowing that you’re married to a person, not an omniscient being. It’s laughing about (at?) our kids at night. It’s all the walking in between. And it’s trusting that we do not walk alone.

So cheers to those of us bravely choosing this thing called love, in any and all of its forms. And mostly, cheers to the One holding us together.

Cheers to Jesus.

Mel Furniss 12/31/24 Mel Furniss 12/31/24

Comfort for the Anxious Soul

I wrote this visualization exercise for Cros as he worked through a hard season this summer. Some of it is specific to his situation, but I feel like it could be easily modified to your kiddo’s needs and likes.

I stumbled upon it recently and cried, because it’s clear that anything I’ve tried to teach my kids about the heart of God, I still need to learn (and believe) myself. I’ve already shed tears about the coming year as if I know even an ounce of what it will hold. But Jesus is bending down to look me in eyes today. To remind me who I am and whose I am. Praise God that we never age out of being His kids.

I hope this exercise is useful to you and yours as you brave the unknowns of the new year.

Deep breaths, friends. (And deep breaths, Mel.)

Everything is going to be okay.

——————

Close your eyes, take a deep breath, and picture yourself walking in a big field. There’s grass and wildflowers and beautiful mountains up ahead. A soft breeze cools your skin as the setting sun paints the sky pink and purple and orange.

(Can you picture it? What else do you see?)

—

But strangely, in the middle of that beautiful landscape is a big, ugly whiteboard. The kind you would find at school. It’s so out of place here, you walk up to it and see that, scribbled all over the whiteboard in big, black letters, is every fear you have about fifth grade:

What if the work is too hard?
What if my teachers are mean to me?
What if my friends teach me bad things?
What if I have to do a lot of presentations?
What if it’s too hard to fight peer pressure?
What if I feel lonely?

(Take a moment to fill in your own thoughts.)

—

The wind picks up. You start to shiver. And a sense of anxiety prickles your body as you fixate on the whiteboard.

(Where do you notice the stress in your body? Can you pinpoint where it hurts or feels tight? Take a moment to make space for that feeling.)

—

Then you hear something rustling behind you. You turn around and see Jesus walking up to you, smiling a really big smile. He runs up and gives you a huge hug, and immediately, your body and mind sense His deep love for you, and how proud He is to call you His son. You feel His love for you in your bones and your belly and your skin and your fingers and your toes. His love covers you like a soft blanket, and you know that it’s true—that His love for you is the truest thing about you.

—

In His hand, Jesus is holding a big eraser. He takes your hand in His, and together you begin to erase every fear on the whiteboard

until the words fade to dark gray…

then to gray…

then to light gray…

Then they’re gone completely.

But Jesus keeps erasing. He erases until the whiteboard itself disappears completely.

Now it’s just you and Jesus, standing in that beautiful field, watching the sun go down.

—

He bends down to look at you with tears in His eyes, and He tells you He loves you so much and He will never leave you to carry your fears on your own. He will always be here to help you and hold you and remind you what is true.

To remind you who you are and whose you are.

You take a deep breath, put a hand on your heart, and decide to believe Him.

—

You turn around and see Mom and Dad running up behind you. We give you both big hugs (Jesus swirls us around and makes us laugh!), and then we light a little fire together. We roast marshmallows and eat s'mores and sing songs and ask Jesus silly questions as we look up at the stars. And Jesus smiles at us and kisses our foreheads and reminds us that His Father is worth trusting, even when we can’t see the whole picture.

And as you cuddle near the fire, you notice that your whole body warms with the feeling of peace and belonging and safety. You know with all your heart that you are deeply, deeply loved, and you decide to take this blanket of love with you wherever you go.

—

You inhale slowly from your belly and then breathe out as you count down from 5… 4… 3… 2… 1.

Everything is going to be okay.

Mel Furniss 12/19/24 Mel Furniss 12/19/24

The Richest Gal in the World

I’m still processing so much about 2024. Many parts felt too heavy. An impossible grief. A wearying load. To tell you the truth, I’m tired.

As a family, we wrestled with anxiety, health scares, and questions of purpose… while deep in our souls, there flowed a forever ache for our fourth child.

It’s so strange, when talking to God about all we faced this year, to utter “thank you” and “why?” in the same breath about the same thing. Yet here we are. This is what it is to be human. It’s a gift and it’s a reckoning with grief. It’s loving deeply and having no control over what happens next. And I say this with no pretension, but as a needy person in the thick of it: I don’t know how anyone ‘humans’ without Christ. Without leaning all their weight on the Shepherd as He softly whispers, “Come to me, you who are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.” (Matt. 11:28-29)

I don’t know the ‘why’ of so many things, and I probably never will. It’s hard to release the grip on that. But in my days on earth, I have known the comfort of Christ through depression and job loss and death and infertility and, now, the year 2024. I had not known what His presence felt like through this particular valley until now. Now I know. And I believe (or I’m trying to believe) that the deepest valley with the Savior by my side is better than any mountaintop I could stand on without Him.

So as I wrestle with this grief and soul-tiredness, let me tell you what I know to be true:
This life is inescapably hard, and God is inexhaustibly good. I get to call myself rich because Immanuel fights for me; and if I were to lose everything else, I KNOW I could never lose Him.

Maybe that’s better than knowing why.
——

(I believe, Lord. Help my unbelief.)

Photos by Riley Morgan Young Photography

Mel Furniss 11/18/24 Mel Furniss 11/18/24

(Not So) LoveStoned

Life is weird. One minute I’m making a poster for my OG celebrity crush and the next I’m collapsed on the floor in crushing pain. After a little testing, it turns out I had a kidney stone! YAY! Who had that on their Furniss bingo card??

It’s so weird that life chugs uneventfully on most days, and then two out of three fun plans scheduled this year get derailed by random medical emergencies. Liiiiiiike why, Lord? WHY.

But hey. It was treatable. I’m okay. Flummoxed, but okay. I don’t know if I have any pearls of wisdom to share after yet another “REALLY?!” 2024 event. But I guess I’ll just say, take the joy where you can find it. I thought I’d find it at a concert, but I ended up finding it in the people who surrounded me when I was at my lowest.

I found it in my sister dropping everything and coming over. I found it in my parents stress-cleaning our house as they cared for our kids. I found it in the friend who drove to the hospital to pray for us. I found it in Jasper dancing around my bed in an attempt to impersonate JT (it was as endearing as it was pitiful). I found it in loved ones sending food and gift cards and check-in texts.

I found it in a lot of small stuff. But I’m kinda realizing the small stuff is all that really matters. I know I am loved and covered when everything goes to crap. My people have my back. And it makes the hard stuff a lot more bearable knowing I don’t have to bear it alone.

Also, Justin Timberlake, if you’re out there and you wanna throw two pity-VIP tickets to a future concert this way, my kidneys promise to stop being so *selfish*.

Mel Furniss 10/31/24 Mel Furniss 10/31/24

The Adele Concert from Heaven

The original plan was to come in March. But then Adele got sick and postponed the show. We said, “Let’s go anyway!” But within the first 8 hours, I get a call from home that everyone’s got the stomach flu and the kids are weeping for me to come back. As I rush through the airport, I notice my tum tum feeling a little funny too. Before I know it, I’m throwing up in an airport Chili’s and having nausea-induced panic attacks in the plane bathroom. It was, truly, the worst—and the kick-off to what would be a pretty brutal year.

Coming back in October was impractical for many reasons, and I found myself reverting to the old habit of self-shaming. “I shouldn’t be choosing a fun concert in Vegas. I should be keeping my head down and hustling for my family.” But thankfully, I have friends who say yes to the joy in life, even when it’s impractical. I have friends who take me as I am and don’t put expectations on me. I have friends who didn’t even blink when I said I wanted to celebrate my 35th birthday FIVE MONTHS LATE at the bougiest, dreamiest restaurant. And mannnn, we laughed and we savored and we chose joy over and over, and it honestly felt like warfare against an enemy who wants me to stay stuck, sad, and striving.

Then Adele sang me happy birthday, and my Canadian queen Celine was there, and I felt so deeply loved by God and my people and the whole wide world.

So my takeaway is: choose joy whenever you can. Be gentle with all the parts of yourself, especially the messy bits. And surround yourself with people who don’t want something from you—who just want YOU.

And maybe you’ll walk past your airport Chili’s again, and you’ll smile to yourself at how far you’ve come. At, by the grace of God, how much you survived.

(Insert a “hello from the other side” joke? Or too cheesy? Aww, heck… let’s choose joy. 😉)

Mel Furniss 10/28/24 Mel Furniss 10/28/24

Esme

It took us a long time to name you, to realize how much sanctity it bestows upon your short life to give you a name.

But we finally decided: you are Esme River, because Esme (ez-may) means deeply loved.

And you were,

and you are, little one.

Your time on this side of heaven, though shorter than we would’ve chosen, was marked by the deepest kind of love.

In both your life and your death, you taught us so much about faith, obedience, holy grief, and the shared human experience. I can’t count the number of women with whom I’ve connected just by telling your story. Thank you for that. Now, when I picture Jesus hanging out with you in heaven, I see you laughing with so many of my friends’ kids too. What a sight that will be to behold one day.

Deep in my eyes—and deep in your daddy’s eyes—there will forever be a river running. You are a part of us, and we’re so proud to be your parents.

I think you would’ve been born this month... but I hope you’re having a blast today with Abba.

We miss you, baby.

Mel Furniss 7/16/24 Mel Furniss 7/16/24

Re:Gen Round Three Complete!

Y’all, we did it! Re:Gen 2023-2024 is in the books!! I am so proud of my gals for showing up, week after week, with open hands and soft hearts. In a world that tells us to isolate and self-protect, showing up is maybe the bravest thing we can do. I’m deeply grateful to get a front-row seat to life change year after year. Gosh, it’s a commitment—but God is at work here, and it’s a sight to behold.

Huge shoutout to my co-leaders/soul mates Jes Arellano and Christina Wells! I couldn’t and wouldn’t want to do this work without you. Thanks for holding me up so many times through the years. One of the greatest evidences of God’s kindness in my life is your friendship.