Walking in Heels

I have a love-hate relationship with high heels.

I love that they make my legs look longer.
I love that they look classy and elegant.
I absolutely hate that they don't go well with stairs.

In fact, because of this relationship, I used to keep an extra pair of flats in my car whenever I would help take offering at the church I attend.  Every Sunday, I knew that there was a 25% chance I would get picked to help with the balcony pick up.

And the balcony meant stairs.

I always had my flats because in my mind, I saw the whole scene play out…

Bills flying…. coins clashing ….people watching…all as I tumble down the stairs.

Basically, I should have been taller.

Actually, I almost passed out because of heels.

My cousin was getting married and asked me to do the scripture reading in front of everyone. Being that I was on TV and did a little broadcasting work, I thought it would be no big deal.

I was wrong.
Dead wrong.
My mom gave me some relaxing drops from Whole Foods. They did absolutely nothing.
The idea of walking up to the front in heels, while everyone starred, left me shaking uncontrollably.
I managed to get through it "pass out free", but vowed to never do it again.

This past Sunday I was confronted with heels and stairs again.

 

I grabbed my normal seat in the balcony and instantly noticed a Communion table down the stairs.
I instantly thought to myself "I really wish they would have told me about Communion last week because I wouldn't have worn these heels today".
When it was my time to go down the stairs and go to the table, I carefully looked at every step, slowed my pace down, and held on for dear life to the rail.

I picked up my piece of bread, quickly dipped it in the grape juice and ate it.
When I went back to my seat, I noticed that everyone still had their piece of bread in their hands.
I thought, "Oh my gosh, was I supposed to have waited? Ok, I'm going to put my head down, cover my face and act like I am praying when they all take theirs so they won't notice that I already took mine.”

Seriously, this is my mind.

As I write this, I hear my roommate say “JAR”. (We have a Schmidt New Girl running joke. Every time I have a negative or completely ridiculous comment, she says “JAR”)

I instantly thought back to my Communion experience this past Christmas at my brother's church.

They pass the Communion around from pew to pew.
I was actually excited because I didn't even have to worry about stairs.
So I pick up my bread piece that was in a small plastic container and wait for the grape juice to come around.
The only problem was that it never came.
The pastor was reading through the Bible and going through the ceremony when I felt my face become hot. When he got to the wine part, I frantically searched down the row to see where the grape juice tray was.  
Apparently, the juice was on the same tray as the bread was… and I had missed it.

Dang. Dang, Dang.

I was mortified.
I felt like all eyes were on me (this wasn’t the case but it felt like it).
How do I take Communion without the grape juice?
People will notice that I only took the bread….they are going to think I've never been in church before…I wonder what they will ask my brother, "Does your sister know who Jesus is?"
Again, welcome to my mind.

I can honestly say I am not good at walking down stairs in heels. I look like a baby giraffe on stilts.

I am not good with finite math.
I’m also not good at eyeliner. Q-tips have been my best friend since middle school.

As I was reflecting back on these different experiences yesterday, I felt myself tell Jesus, "I'm not good with this faith thing".

Not that I don't have any, because I do.
I'm not good with having blind faith.
The kind of faith that believes before it sees.
The kind of faith that trusts absolutely.
The "jump off the cliff, throw down the towel, full cards in" type of faith.

"Jesus,"I say again "I'm not good at this stuff".

And it's ok.

It's ok if I fall head first the next time I wear heels.
It's ok if I screw up Communion.
It's ok if I want to keep a pair of emergency flats.
And it’s ok if I am not good at this faith stuff.

Thank goodness God doesn't give us a grade when we get to Heaven because mine would be super low, like, finite college math low.

I think God would rather me come to Him and say, "I'm not good at this stuff" than act like I can do it all on my own.

I think God would rather me come to Him and say, "You've got to help me because I'm a mess" than act like I have it all together.

So, if you're not good at this faith stuff like me, it’s ok.

If you're not good at walking down stairs in heels, it's ok.
If you've ever messed up Communion like me, it's ok.

God knows stairs can be tricky.
God knows directions can be confusing.
God knows faith can be difficult.
God knows trust can be scary.

God knows.

Stretch Marks for the Soul- My Messy Beautiful

In the words of Kid Rock, "It was summer time in Northern Michigan".

And it was hot. 

It was a day that I will never forget. 

The lake house is a place of complete happiness and immense pleasure. However, that day, it was a place of deep and indescribable hurt. 

It was July of 2010. 

My cousins and I were out in the lake because that was the only way we could stay cool. 

The girls were laying on the paddleboards and the boys were playing beersbee. 

Then my aunt said it. 

"I want a picture of everyone".

My heart sank.

First off, I HATE bathing suits. 

Even when I was a size 0, I would opt for a sweatshirt over a bikini. 

And second, I HATE pictures. 

Ok, I like pictures I can manipulate and change so I look better in them. I am a fan of instagram…but this was no instagram picture. In fact, Instagram wasn't even developed yet, 

Unedited picture + a bathing suit = dread. 

But, what comes next was even worse. 

Here it comes…from right to left..my cousin Michelle and Cole (husband/wife), my cousins Christen and Ian (husband and wife) my cousin Jennifer and Derek (girlfriend/boyfriend..now husband/wife) and then..ME. 

I wanted to die. 

It was nothing intentional on their parts but I wanted to crawl in a hole and disappear. 

After what seemed to feel like an eternity, I got out of the water and headed for the cottage. 

The only person I wanted was my mom but I couldn't find her anywhere. 

I then went to the cottage across the road because I knew it would be completely empty. 

I didn't even make it to the bathroom before I was on the floor.

Tears flooded my eyes and like rain drops, started hitting the hard wood floor. 

I remember crying so hard I could barely catch my breath. 

"Why God? Why? It's the one thing I've ever wanted. Why? Why? Why? Do you even care? Do you know that it's killing me being single?" this went on and on for a good twenty minutes…

What's ironic is that in the past if I was on the bathroom floor, it was because of bulimia.

This time, no pizza, no cheeseburger, no fries, no ice cream…no amount or kind of food was going to heal my heart. 

The truth is, every since God came into my life, my life has been anything but normal.

As I look back on my life, I see that He has been stretching me and molding me through disappointments and heartbreaks. 

Getting over an eating disorder was one of the hardest things I have ever struggled with. My flesh was ripped apart when everything in me wanted to eat something and then throw up. (We are being real right?)

My heart was destroyed relationship after relationship when the guy walked away. 

My hope was weakened when I went through seasons where it felt like God was nowhere near. 

My faith was tested when I couldn’t find a job for months upon months.

Friends have gotten married and moved on with their lives. 

Christmas's are now centered around all the babies, of which none are mine.

Refrigerators are covered with family pictures…I'm still the single one to the side. 

I don't write this to gain sympathy. 

I write this because it's real. 

I write this because I know others are going through the same exact thing or the same sort of thing.

What's the ONE THING you’ve asked God for?

Every time I feel like God has pushed me to the limit, I find He then pushes me even further. 

Every time I feel like I have found stability, the floor is knocked out from under me. 

Because of the Bible, I know God molds us into the person He wants. But sometimes, I'd like to raise my white flag and say,"Ok Jesus, I'm done. I give in. Just let me settle please. Just let me stay here".

The lake incident of 2010 was a stretch mark on my soul. 

The 10 year eating disorder was a stretch mark on my soul.

Ever failed relationship was a stretch mark on my soul. 

Every step into the unknown is a stretch mark on my soul. 

The truth is that the stretch marks may not look very attractive on the outside. In fact, there are times I would love to just forget about them. 

And nothing I can do will prevent them from coming.

But, without them, I wouldn’t know what it meant to persevere.

Without them, I wouldn’t know what it meant to hold on to hope, when everything in me wants to give up. 

Without them, I wouldn’t have compassion for others struggling with the same sorts of thing. 

Without them, I wouldn’t know the power of authenticity. 

Without them, I wouldn’t know how to ask for help. 

Without them, I don't know if I would know Jesus. 

Here is the truth about life: We can’t escape stretch marks. 

Life is always going to keep throwing you for a loop, tossing you here, pulling you there.

What we do have the power to do is to keep going, whatever happens, we keep going.

We press towards the prize. 

We keep our eyes fixed on Jesus. 

And above all, we continue to believe. 

“God will not look you over for medals degrees or diplomas, but for scars” Elbert Hubbard

This essay and I are part of the Messy, Beautiful Warrior Project — To learn more and join us, CLICK HERE! And to learn about the New York Times Bestselling Memoir Carry On Warrior: The Power of Embracing Your Messy, Beautiful Life, just released in paperback, CLICK HERE!

The "S" Word

I accidentally said the "S" word the other night.

I was answering one of my friends questions when I said it….

 SING.

That is a very scary word in Nashville.

You better have a demo or facebook fan page if you utter this word.

There are hundreds of thousands of music producers, studio session musicians, directors, songwriters, background singers…

Dreaming of making it one day (I still have yet to learn what “making it” really means).

So, someone asked me the other night, "Do you sing?"

I can't tell you how many times I have dodged this question.

Either I will get the instant eye roll, the "I'm going to smile but really I am over this conversation", the brush off" Oh, of course you do, because everyone here does", or the instant "you lost me at the word sing".

Thankfully, I haven't had to tell a lot of people that I do this. My singing career stopped at age 15. And the only reason I am back on stage is because Jesus told me to get back up there.

If Jesus speaks to you, you listen.

 But the other day, I took a step of faith, and told this particular person,"Yes, I do sing". And immediately after, everything in me wanted to say, "butttttttt, I'm really here for Ministry"…

This time I didn't.

I was forced to sit with my response.

I sing.

Why was this so hard to admit? Why was I denying this? Why am I afraid to let people in and know this about me? Why am I holding back?

 Because I'm afraid to fail.

 I'm afraid to put everything out on the line. I'm afraid I won't hit that note. I'm afraid I'll freeze and forget the words. I'm afraid to risk it all and end up with nothing.

And frankly, people are very critical and hurtful.

One of my favorite childhood memory is singing, The Little Mermaids, "Part of your Word", in the shower

In the shower, I felt safe.

In the shower, I wasn't trying to sound like anyone else.  
In the shower, I didn’t think people could hear me.
In the shower, I didn't' have to prove anything.

For me, Nashville has become all about proving myself.

Proving myself to my friends who are singers.
Proving myself to other songwriters.
Proving myself to people who have tried to make it in this town for over 20 years and believe that they “deserve” it more than you do because you haven’t paid your dues.
Proving myself to well, myself.

Honestly, the music city has messed up music for me.

And there is something terrible wrong with that.

It wasn't until I did an open mic last night, with only about 10 people in the audience, that I remembered my love for singing and music.

I didn't need applause.

I didn't expect a "good job".

All I asked was that Jesus would help me enjoy singing in front of people again.

And He did.

One of my friends has an absolutely beautiful voice but refuses to sing in front of people because she doesn't think it compares to the people she knows. Sadly, she is just one of many who believe this.   

What is the "S" word in your life?

 

What are you scared to admit?
What are you afraid to do?
What have you put off because you feel like you'll never compare to everyone else?
What is that clump in your throat, tear in your eye "thing" that keeps you up at night?

Maybe it's writing?

Maybe it's acting?
Maybe it's developing video games?
Maybe it's cooking? (If so, I am absolutely no help with you on this).
Maybe it's designing?
Maybe it's Med school?

I realize that no one may ever pick up a song I wrote.

I realize that I may never sing for more than 10 people.

And that's ok.

Be brave.

Take risks.

I've missed out on this for far too long.

 

And if you ask me, "Do you sing?"
I will give you a huge smile, look confidently in your eyes and say, "Yes, Yes I do."