A Psalm 13 Meditation

|| Psalm 13 ||

What an encapsulation of the Christian walk. The fact that I can cry out, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING, LORD? WHAT’S THE PLAN HERE??” and in the next breath say, “I trust You. You deal bountifully with me” is such a gift. Only a God of grace would welcome a prayer like this with open arms.

And what an exceeding pleasure it is to pray Psalm 13 on this side of the cross. Because we really can trust in His steadfast love—He stood in our place and took our punishment to prove it. We really can rejoice in His salvation—His resurrection became our resurrection, and our hope is secured eternally. And He really has dealt bountifully with us—not only has He given us life and breath and every good thing; not only did He humble Himself and take on flesh to become like us; not only did He make a fool out of death and sin and shame; not only does He intercede for us moment by moment with the Father—He calls us FRIENDS (John 15). And as the best friend we could ever have, He gives us space to feel everything it means to be a human. We can cry out and we can rejoice; we can laugh and we can grieve. All of it is necessary and worshipful. And as we process our many feelings, He holds us close and calls us beloved and whispers hope into the dark places of our soul.

Truly, how could we ever deserve a God like our God?
Thank you, Father, Son, and Spirit. Thank you for ALL of it, even the grief. What a Friend we have in You.

Everything All At Once

These days. Sometimes I want to bathe in them, soak them into my bones. Finn will pull my arm to stay in bed with him after we read together, or Crosby’s face will light up as he explains a new soccer move, or Lottie will scrunch her lips and say, “I wuv you, momm-ay,” and the joy almost hurts. Because I’ve been a parent long enough to know how fleeting these moments are.

Then, in the same breath, I think of how nice it would be to take a literal bath. To soak my tired bones in hot water and salt, with nothing but a pile of books as my companion. I dream of trips to Switzerland with our besties and maybe writing a book of my own one day. And along with that longing is sadness, because who knows if those dreams will come true? And even if they did, would I just go back to yearning for right now, with all of its long days and short years?

I’m trying to make friends with the joy and the sadness, the peace and the longing. Life and love and parenthood—it’s never one thing at a time. It’s everything, all at once. And I guess, as I think about it now, that’s the beauty of being alive, isn’t it? God didn’t throw me into a beige world—He filled it with every color, every glimmer, every nuance of His character, so I might know Him and depend on Him more intimately. And in the center of that colorful wilderness, HE is everything I need, all at once. He’s not just my Savior, He’s my friend. He’s not just my comfort, He’s my laughter. He’s not just the light unto my feet, He’s my purpose in the journey.

So thank You, Abba, for Your withness and my loved ones and this good, short life. Thank you for the ability to hope and dream and trust You with the future. And thank You for being a bigger, kinder God than anything I could possibly dream up. Simply being loved by You is more than enough to fulfill the heart of this tired mama. I know it to be true; help me know it more.

2024–let’s go. 🥂

Photos by Sophie Lindler Photography

Our re:Gen Story

Re:Generation has changed my life and deepened my relationship with Jesus and His people more than any other program or study ever has. So when Fellowship Greenville asked us about it, we had a LOT to say (borderline too much to say)!

I can tell I’m nervous, but I pray our story blesses you or someone else in your life. Whatever you’re facing, you’re not alone. We’d love to walk through it with you, by the strength of the Spirit, this fall at re:Gen (Sign up here)!

But it’s important to note: the power isn’t simply in a program. It’s in the kind, faithful work of the Lord drawing us to Himself every day. Thank you, my Good Shepherd, for never giving up on me. This story is no longer mine—it’s Yours.

Hosea

Our community Bible reading is going through the Old Testament this summer, and it hasn’t always been easy to discern what the Spirit wants to teach me through these stories of God’s wrath. I guess I’m still learning to fall in love with the OT in its entirety (am I allowed to say that? ).

When I read Hosea, I am tempted to look at God’s rebuke as harsh and cruel. I am tempted to minimize the gift that is His holiness. But for Him to minimize His perfect standard is to minimize all that makes Him the one true God. He cannot be swayed by passing whims or fancies. His love is immovable, so His righteousness must be as well.

But, because his holiness is so steadfast, how much MORE MAGNIFICENT is His mercy when He pours it out onto His children! To read Hosea with the knowledge of Jesus makes the story so personal. I am the whore, purchased by the Righteous One, not only to free me from the holy wrath of His Father, but also to call me His family—His beloved bride—forevermore.

What a kindness of God, then, not only to pursue me relentlessly in my adultery and idolatry, but also to put up hedges in the way of my preferred paths (Hosea 2:6). It reminds me of a passing comment Charlie made in the 1 Samuel series— “do you really want God to give you everything you pray for? It is perhaps the kindest thing God does for us not to give us everything we ask.”

To lose the things I hold dear in order to cling tightly to what (WHO) truly matters—my Husband, my King—is a mercy from the hand of God. I don’t think my heart fully believes that yet. It’s a terrifying, life-transforming thought—one that I’ll learn and relearn for the rest of my days on this side of Heaven.

Lord, I believe! Help my unbelief.

What’s a Swiftie To Do?

|| 13 years of marriage ||

I was just a girl trying to find a place in this world, then you and I ended up in the same room at the same time. All my walls stood tall, painted blue, but I took ‘em down and opened up the door for you. I don't know why, but with you I'd dance in a storm in my best dress. Have I known you 20 seconds or 20 years?

I can tell it’s gonna be a long road, but I still want you for worse or for better. We broke each other’s hearts and put ‘em back together, ‘cause love made us crazy (if it doesn’t, you ain’t doing it right).

But after all these days, there’s no more keepin' score—now I just keep you warm, and you love me like I’m brand new. Isn’t it just so pretty to think all along there was some invisible string tying you to me?

I could go on and on, on and on (and I will). But I think you should know, I’ve had the time of my life fighting dragons with you.

(Side note: Find you a man who loves you enough to take on this kind of project with a smile on his face. Jasper, I love you dearly! Thank youuuuuuuu!! )

We’re the Lucky Ones

I’m still a little delirious.

I can’t emphasize this enough: joy and laughter and singing loud on midnight rickshaws with the dearest of friends is not overrated. So glad Taylor Swift put on the show of her life on a random Sunday in random Chicago so me and the gals could hold onto the memories of this trip forever.

As we were doing our makeup, I looked around and thought, “What a gift this is, to have friends and witness each other’s growth and love something (someONE) so much together… even just for the togetherness of it all.”

I’ll tell you now, we’re the lucky ones.

The Gal with the Tambourine

Painting by Carissa Bowser (artist link below)

My middle name is Miriam, named after Moses’ sister, whose story is found in the book of Exodus. A couple of years ago, I heard Beth Guckenberger teach about her in a way that burrowed deeply into my heart and made me prouder than ever of my namesake.

Miriam had only ever known a life of slavery. Her mother was a slave, as was her grandmother, as was her great-grandmother, and so on. She and her people had no reason to believe that a different life was possible. But then God did the thing He is quite prone to do: He brought freedom to the captives.

If you were Miriam, would you be able to believe it— that evil pharaoh actually listened to Yahweh and let His people go? There was probably chaos in the streets as the Israelites scooped up whatever supplies they could find and escaped Egypt.

Beth writes, “On her way out of the only dwelling she had ever known, what did she grab for this journey? If it had been me, I might have considered extra shoes, family documents, a kilo of flour, I don’t know. How does one prepare for a God-journey you can’t picture?

Miriam follows her people across the dry land of the split sea and when she arrives on the other side, Exodus 15:20 says, “and then Miriam, the prophetess, taking out her tambourine, leads the people in song…” I’m sorry, WHAT? A tambourine? Did she think to pack up a musical instrument in her rush to leave slavery? Why would she do that? 

Because she knew what I am desperate to believe, that in the midst of chaos, precisely in the center of a storyline I don’t understand, I can not only trust He has gone before me, I need to be prepared at a moment’s notice to praise Him when He holds it all together.”

I wanted this story in our home—a reminder to be ready and eager to worship Yahweh even before He splits the seas in my life—and @carissagraceart beautifully obliged. I’ll cherish it forever. And I pray, by His strength, I carry on the legacy of the gal with the tambourine.

Note to Self

New Year’s 2023: Put this shirt on last night so I could start the year with its necessary reminder. Slept in. Ate my favorite chocolate (I know God is real because of this chocolate). Brushed my teeth(?). Watched a dumb Steve Martin movie and laughed. Stretched and stretched and stretched. Ate celery for lunch and it was good too, I guess (progress, not perfection). Took down Christmas decorations with my high school sweetheart. Listened to “Note to Self” by Ben Rector and copy-pasted its lyrics to my heart. Made breakfast for dinner. Gave the kids a bath with extra bubbles. Danced to Baby Shark. Teared up to Dolly Parton. Watched Jasper set off fireworks and crack dad jokes for all the neighbors watching at their front doors. Loaded the dishwasher unbegrudgingly thanks to (Jesus and) Ben Rector. Returned to bed, achy yet peaceful, and thought about how it’s only the grace of God that gives me this small, beautiful life. Then remembered that doozy of a quote by Frederick Buechner.

“Grace is something you can never get but can only be given. There's no way to earn it or deserve it or bring it about any more than you can deserve the taste of raspberries and cream or earn good looks or bring about your own birth.

A good sleep is grace and so are good dreams. Most tears are grace. The smell of rain is grace. Somebody loving you is grace. Loving somebody is grace. Have you ever tried to love somebody?

A crucial eccentricity of the Christian faith is the assertion that people are saved by grace. There's nothing you have to do. There's nothing you have to do. There's nothing you have to do.

The grace of God means something like: “Here is your life. You might never have been, but you are, because the party wouldn't have been complete without you. Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Don't be afraid. I am with you. Nothing can ever separate us. It's for you I created the universe. I love you. There's only one catch. Like any other gift, the gift of grace can be yours only if you'll reach out and take it.

Maybe being able to reach out and take it is a gift too.”

Cheers to the Giver of every good gift, including this new year.

My Sunshine Girl

Photo by Riley Young Photography

I call her my darlin’ sunshine girl, because who needs the sun when that face is around?

Violet James, one year ago you were born and the whole world smiled. Thank you for taking daddy and I—the dry husks of the people we once were—and calling us your home.

You’re the Rory to my Lorelai and the music in my head. You’re no wallflower; you’re a force to be reckoned with. And you’re happy doing a whole lotta nothing as long as we’re doing it together.

I love you para siempre and I hope to grow up to be a lot like you—my beautiful, fearless wildflower.

Life in Abundance

Photo by Riley Young Photography

I told y’all a few months ago that I was battling pretty intense depression. That I didn’t know a way forward, but I was going to seek out counseling, support, and new daily rhythms. Well, that pursuit of health led me to re:Generation, a recovery ministry geared towards anyone struggling on this side of heaven. You could be there for addiction, pride, control, trauma—whatever. And you are welcomed in, no matter how messy your story is. In fact, the mess is celebrated because talking about it is what invites God into it.

I am still in the early stages of re:Gen, but my church asked me to write a little bit about what I’ve learned so far. It was terrifying and vulnerable, but the Spirit made it very clear to me that someone out there needed to know they’re not forgotten. That they are deeply loved today, right in the middle of their pain. So here we go! May God be glorified.

“I have believed in God for most of my life. I was raised in a loving, Christ-centered home and have genuinely enjoyed walking with Jesus since the age of 5. Almost 12 years ago, I married my high school sweetheart—a hardworking man who loves his Savior with passion and joy—and together, we have three beautiful children who are prayed over and surrounded by supportive friends and family. If you were to look at my life based purely on specs, it’s perfect. My cup runneth over. There’s nothing to complain about. Yet only seven months ago, I found myself alone in an acute treatment facility due to severe depression and suicidal ideation.

I’ve battled depression on and off since the seventh grade. It was the first time I heard those subtle, cruel whispers in the back of my mind. The ones that say, “you’re not enough, and you never will be.” “Everyone else can handle this. What is wrong with you that you can’t?” “It must be such hard work for people—even God—to love you.” I knew that Jesus did love me and was inviting me to walk closely with Him. But what did that mean practically? If life with the Lord were an ocean, my understanding was as deep as a kiddie pool. So in a culture marked by performance, I fell into the trap of doing everything “right” and expecting God to bless me with what I wanted. And when loved ones suddenly died, and marriage turned out to be really, really hard, and having kids wasn’t as easy as I thought it would be, and jobs were lost, and friends came and went, and our babies were sick… my faith was shaken to its core. I had a theology for a God who would calm the storm. But I could not comprehend this God who was inviting me to walk with Him through the storm.

Those small, whispered lies—they began to feel truer and truer while hidden away in the shadows. I took medication for my depression and attended therapy on and off for several years, but I rarely brought the lies out into the light. On my own, I was unequipped to address the very real shame I carried around in my chest, but upon it, I built empires. Empires of resentment, self-pity, and pride. Anger at my husband, anger at myself, anger at God. Fear of what others would think, being seen as disposable, and losing things I held onto too tightly. I was—and honestly, still am—addicted to myself. My empires were shallow graves.

After our sweet daughter turned about three months old, my depressive symptoms worsened, which is not uncommon in the postpartum period. But this time, they were utterly unmanageable. I couldn’t stop the voice from speaking, and it was getting louder and extremely specific in its suggestions. I was afraid, weeping in my closet, bathroom, and car. Finally, by God’s grace, my sister lovingly and firmly told me to call my counselor, and I was sent to an inpatient facility to treat my suicidal ideation and paralyzing depression.

I remember a pastor saying a few years ago, “No one talks to you more than you do, so the story you tell yourself matters.” The story I was telling myself drained the life from me. The words of the enemy permeated my bones, and I didn’t know how to go on. In John 10:10, Jesus says, “I came that they may have life, and have it in abundance!” But this stealing, killing, destroying voice was the antithesis of Jesus. It was the grotesque opposite of His Kingdom. And in that dark place, I didn’t want to believe God was real.

But He was there. In those few scary days in a treatment facility, as I sat on that uncomfortable bed alone and scared out of my mind, He was there. He didn’t put on a big show. He didn’t speak audibly or give me a huge “AHA” moment. I just felt His presence nearby, like a friend who refused to leave my side no matter how much I pushed him away. His presence guided my doctors to change my medication. His presence led my family to give this tired mama a helping hand with the kids. And His presence moved my spirit to sign up for re:generation at Fellowship Greenville and fully surrender to its process.

I’m less than halfway through now, and I cannot express enough how hard the work is. How brutally humbling it can be to look your sin in the face and repent of it every single day. But—and brace yourself for the obvious here—that is the Christian walk. It is not coasting on Sunday sermons and some worship songs throughout the week. It is working out your salvation with fear and trembling. It is unmasking yourself in front of fellow believers and saying, “I need help! I am deeply imperfect and in need of Jesus,” and seeing that you’re not the only one; they need Him too. It is washing your mind with the Word every morning. It is covering your home in prayer each night. It is pursuing vulnerable, pride-stripping, grace-magnifying accountability. It is looking your husband in the eyes and saying, “That comment I just made—it was unkind and defensive. I sinned against you, and I’m sorry. Will you forgive me?” And it’s doing that again and again and again and again until the Lord takes us home. It is a long obedience in the same direction—acknowledging the effects of the fallen world, but through the strength of Christ, not allowing them to call the shots. It’s not glamorous. It’s not easy. But it is everything that matters. Walking with Jesus, eyes fixed on heaven, one small moment at a time.

When I believed the words of that small, cruel voice, it was as if I was trying to bury my risen Savior all over again—and myself along with Him. But THANKS BE TO GOD, HE REFUSES TO STAY BURIED! He is alive, and He is life itself! He is every breath, every hope, every good and perfect thing. And He loves us too much to leave us where we are.

I still have so much to learn. Unraveling shame’s power will take time, faithfulness, and an abundance of grace. But if you’re out there and you feel alone right now in what you’re going through, please know I’m going through it too. You’re not alone. You’re fully known and fully loved, just as you are right now, not some future, “better” version of you. Our good God has generously equipped you with His nourishing Word, His present Spirit, and His messy, beautiful Church so that you may have life with Him today—and have it in abundance.”

Little Mel

Alison Cook, a lovely Christian counselor the algorithm introduced to my feed, recently posted an idea to find a picture of yourself from when you were young and hang it up somewhere you can see it every day. She writes, “Take in that young child. Notice what you feel towards them. Is it ambivalence? Shame? Guilt? Sorrow? Are there parts of you that don’t like this version of you?” I admit, when I look at these pictures of young Mel, I’m a puddle of happy-sadness. I see a little girl with joy and abandon— a kid who would dance undignified in the streets because life is fun and she loves her Jesus. And on the reverse side of that coin, I carry so much sadness that some of those parts of me got chipped away. That happy, silly girl grew up to believe she was not enough—not pretty enough, skinny enough, talented enough, worthy enough. Not all at once and not by any one person. But she learned to conform to the world around her to be accepted, and in the process, forsook so much of what made her eternally whole.

Alison writes, “Jesus said to become like children. I don’t think that means to become uneducated or foolish. I think that means to become like that person you were before.” It’s so hard for us to remember, but “God made you whole before the world broke you. God called you good before shame entered in. God named you beloved before parts of you learned to believe otherwise.”

So much of my Christian walk has been disempowering the voices of fear and shame. Because if I’m really listening, Abba is whispering a much truer message: that He sees me, His little girl, in all my goofy, awkward imperfection and calls me beloved. Just as I am. Because He is good.

Turning 32

Quote by Esau McCaulley

*Please be tender-hearted as you read. This is a sensitive topic for many (including me).

:: 32 ::

Most people who know me know that I’ve lived with depression for most of my life. It ebbs and flows, and there are still moments of hope when I’m in the middle of it. But these days are heavy. PPD, I think. I struggle to reach out to other people, find joy in things I usually love, have energy to stay awake during the day and peace to sleep at night.

It’s vulnerable to talk about, because people react in such wild ways to “the D word”.

Think positive!

What do you have to be depressed about?

You need to trust God more!

And because I fear what others think or being a burden or coming across as a self-pitying narcissist, I hide the bad and celebrate the good. Like hiding a broken arm because it makes me look weak. But I can’t give depression power by tiptoeing around it. I don’t think that’s how Abba wants me to steward this particular thorn in my flesh.

So I’m going to share the very raw parts of my story. If not for my mental health, then for that person out there who can’t get out of bed, who doesn’t know how to make or keep friends, who feels irreparably broken. To the person who believes they’re the only one: You are not alone.

If we ascend to heaven, He is there. If we make our bed among the dead, He is there. If we take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, even there His hand will lead us and His right hand will hold us. If we say, “Surely the darkness will cover me, and the light around me will be night,” even the darkness is not dark to Him; the night is bright as the day, for darkness is as light with Him.” (Psalm 139)

So here’s my to do list: See a doctor again, talk to trusted people again, find a counselor again, exercise (again?). Most importantly, know that God is using and redeeming me while in the middle of my struggle. I’m not required to be depression-free before the Lord advances the gospel. I will boast in my weakness so He can prove Himself strong. That is my hope as I enter year 32.

Father, please… bring life out of death AGAIN & AGAIN, that you may receive all the glory.

Grow Old With You (Mel’s Version)

Yesterday, our first date anniversary turned sweet 16! So in honor of the man I’ve loved and been with for more of my life than I haven’t (WOAH), I present you with this Sandman classic... just Furnissized a little bit.

Love you, Jasper, my dear! We’re old!!

Our Dream Girl

|| Violet James Furniss ||

Born healthy and peaceful on January 27, 2021. She is a 5 lb bundle of calm and cuteness, and we can’t thank you all enough for covering our anxious family in prayer. For the record, PRAYER IS EFFECTIVE AND GOD IS SO GOOD.

Welcome to the world, little girl. You’ve already changed ours forever.

Help my Unbelief!

Tomorrow is the big day! Everyone is so excited, and I’m freaking allllllll the way out. We’d love your prayers for a smooth, uncomplicated delivery and recovery, and for supernatural peace to cover my mind. Spiritual warfare is real and I’ve been fighting strong anxiety about all the ways things could go wrong (both Crosby and Finn’s births had scary, last-minute complications). But I know our God has us and does not speak fear over our lives. These days have been a humbling reminder that when I am weak, He is so, so, so, so strong. So I hope you join us in praying for the baby’s health, my mental and physical health, and a bolstering of strength and energy for Jasper and our extended family as they support us through these next few weeks.

Lord, I believe! Help my unbelief.

A Messy Christmas

This is the only picture we took together over Christmas— just a messy selfie in pj’s. But we did it. We somehow made it through this year. Together. As a family.

We are tired—body, soul, and spirit. We cried so many tears in these 365 days, pushed far beyond our capacities. Hanging on by a thread became the new normal months ago.

And we realize we’re the blessed ones. The ones who did nothing to deserve our health, the survival of our loved ones, the keeping of a roof over our head and food on the table. I cannot imagine the trauma millions across the world are dealing with who faced a far more painful version of this year. (Grieving with you all. Holding you close.)

There is no peppy advice to give. There are no quick fixes as we approach 2021. There is only prayer. Vulnerable prayers to our ever-present Father. Our God who, in a year marked by sickness, inequity, division, and stress, remained the God of restoration, justice, unity, and peace. He didn’t change even when everything else did.

So we fall at His feet in exhaustion and humility as 2020 comes to a close.

From Liturgies for Parents by Kayla Craig:

“O God of past and present, of new horizons blazing and old fears fading, we come to You looking toward a new year. Help us lead with love for God, neighbor, and self. Help us enter times of lament and grief, and help us dip our feet in deep pools of joy, too.

O God of boundless time, of fresh starts and wounded healing, guide our steps into what is to come. Whisper rest into dry bones and breathe life into dreams old and new. Bring us together, O God. Give us space to give thanks. And when we have rested, and when we have grieved, may we dance in the hopes of tomorrow.”

Let it be so.

Operation Gospel Love

My heart is heavy these days. We live in such a divisive world, and finding my place/using my voice in it is really, really difficult. What does representing gospel love look like in a cultural climate this nuanced? This complicated? It is the question I leave at the feet of Jesus 1000x a day.

But as I process the big questions, the Spirit whispers to keep it simple today. In this moment, Melie, be the Church to just one person. One person made in the image of God. One person with a tangible need. One person who could use a good hug from their Daddy.

So the kids and I packed up some #OperationChristmasChild boxes, and I tried to picture the faces of the sweet boy and girl a world away who will feel extra seen and loved by Jesus on Christmas. And I let that be enough.

I don’t share this so you pat me on the back. I’m a prideful mess—I deserve no glory here. I share this to pass the Spirit’s wisdom onto your weary soul. Who is one person you can be the Church to today? And when that doesn’t feel like enough and you’re desperate to understand the big picture, will you still trust God to be God? Will you trust Him to lead you on this journey home one day at a time, and not a moment faster?

That’s my prayer for my own heart. That I’d find joy in the search for answers, believing that it’s part of His ultimate, God-glorifying work in me.

Grant me that joy, Lord. Even if just for today.

Finn is 4!

Happy 4th birthday to this little light! The growth we’ve seen in Finn over the past year... honestly, miraculous is too small a word. He has worked so hard in school and his therapies! Finn talks a ton, waves and says “hi guys!” to total strangers, sleeps in a big boy bed, articulates what he wants to eat, sings louder, plays harder, and laughs deeper these days. We are outrageously grateful to see Jesus all over his story. It’s exactly what we prayed for when Finnie was born.

Thank you to the amazing teachers and therapists who have advocated for our boy, especially during this crazy COVID season. You never missed a beat, and you are our heroes. Seriously.

And to our small village of family and friends who have prayed, encouraged, and loved on Finn throughout his whole life, we could not be more grateful for you. Your prayers are felt daily.

Most importantly, thanks to Abba for creating this incredible, intricate wonder of a child. You knew what You were doing when You gave him to us, and we’ll be on our knees praising You for every day spent with our kiddos until we leave this earth. It is hard work, but it is holy work. May we never take it for granted.

Happy birthday, Finn Henry! You are loved more than you’ll ever know.

Aundi’s Meditation

My meditation for the week as I process the stress of being pregnant while working while virtually schooling while supporting my dear boy with special needs while trying to love my husband well while—oh yeah!—there’s still a pandemic going on (phew, that’s a lot. I need to be kinder to myself for feeling the weight of all those things). From the incredible Aundi Kolber:

“It’s possible that my favorite example of... Jesus is in His interactions with His friends Mary and Martha after their brother, Lazarus, died. The shortest verse in the Bible, “Jesus wept” (John 11:35, esv), sums up Jesus’ response as they and others grieved near Lazarus’s tomb.
Jesus absolutely knew what was about to happen: Even though His friend had died, He would be raising him back to life momentarily. But—don’t miss this—Jesus still wept. What kind of God is this?

His friends had just lost their dear brother—of course they wept. Yet Jesus didn’t shame them; instead, He honored and entered into their present grief and validated their humanity.
When Jesus lamented with Mary and Martha, He was allowing them to process their emotions. Joining them in grief, Jesus knew that as they processed their feelings, they would tap into their bodies’ natural ability to integrate difficult experiences. And as the Creator of their neurobiological structures, I suspect He even recognized that their minds and bodies needed to do this so the pain didn’t become a form of trauma.

Notice that God-in-the-flesh did not rush Mary and Martha along but instead provided empathy and patience. This is a model for us as we seek to pay compassionate attention to our own experiences.

It might sound strange to most folks, but Jesus’ weeping is one of my favorite things to talk about.
This is the Jesus I know and serve and give my life to; the One who holds the redemption story in one hand and the fragility of our human emotions in the other—and loves them both.”

Here Comes the Daughter!

Photo by AJoy Photography

Baby Girl Furniss is joining the party! It’s actually happening!

Our journey to parenthood has never been a straight line. We tried for quite a while, especially to conceive babies 1 and 3. When actively trying for a baby, you’re physically and emotionally tethered to every moment of those 30 days until you can take another test. It feels like the child you’ve prayed for is juuuust out of reach, while life keeps smacking you on the head with the reminder that you don’t actually have the power to create life—only God does.

I’ve known and learned from countless women who were mothers long before they held their child (biological and/or adopted) and women who are mothers now, just waiting for that stick to read “positive” or the Lord to open the doors to the family they’ve only dreamed of. Each story is valid and beautiful and covered in the unwavering promises of God. But to the women who are walking that road now, who view pregnancy announcements with that confusing mix of genuine joy and searing pain: I want you to know I see you. I know your pain and I grieve with you.

More importantly, the Father sees you and hasn’t taken His eyes off you for a second. He knows the desires of your heart, and they are precious to Him. None of us is guaranteed biological children, certainly not perfectly healthy, uncomplicated ones who adhere to our rigid timelines. So I can’t promise that God will give you exactly what you want when you want it. But I can promise you, He will never leave you on the journey. He will lead you closely, gently, and faithfully. He will “heal the brokenhearted and bind up [your] wounds” (Psalm 147:3). And you will end up looking more like Him, carrying a deeper, more rooted faith within you than when you started.

Sister, you are loved and you are not alone. I’m joining the heavens to cheer you on and pray for your dreams to come true. Until then, cling steadfastly to Jesus... and watch what He does through your story.