Filter-Free: A Look Behind My Facebook Feed

If you based my life off of my Facebook page, it would appear that I am making strides in songwriting with all my, "almost" chances.

It would look like I am on my way. 

It would seem as if I had it all figured out. 

However, as we all know, social media filters not only our looks, but also our, "behind the scenes. "

What Facebook doesn't show are the tears I cried last Tuesday night. 

What Facebook doesn't show is how lost I can feel in this city of dreams.  

If I can be honest, I haven't really had the urge to write in a couple weeks…not a blog…not a song. 

There is a part of me that wants to throw in the towel, give up, go back to school, and find a job that makes more sense. 

And here is where I would usually write some encouraging and inspiring quote, but not this time. 

This time, I'm not going to patch a discouragement wound with a self-help-self-motivating band-aid quote, or scripture. 

This time, I am going to dig deeper into what it looks like when dreams don't come true, when desires aren't met, when life doesn't look anything like we hoped it would. 

Because….sometimes, that is our life.

Sometimes, the breaks don't come. 

Sometimes, the deal doesn't go through. 

Sometimes, we don't get the guy. 

Sometimes, we don't get the girl. 

Sometimes, we don't have the white picket fence.  

Sometimes, we don't get the corner office. 

And if we allow it, these disappointments can become our ruin. 

But, they don't have to be. 

I saw in the past few weeks how my dream had become my idol. 

I saw how making it as a songwriter had become my only hope. 

I realized how this desire has kept me on a hamster wheel, running but going nowhere...

Trying to figure out who to write with.

Trying to come up with the best hooks.
Trying to figure out a way to make it happen on my own. 

I saw how music and, "making it,"  had become bigger than my God. 

And this was my recipe for discouragement...and intense writers block. 

Instead of holding on so tightly, I realized I needed to let go, and surrender my dream back on the altar, and back at Jesus's feet. 

Some would call this giving up. 

I call this pressing forward. 

I give my dream over to Him, because He was the one who gave it to me in the first place. 

We are called to dream BIG, to pursue our desires, to find our calling. 

But God loves you and I way too much to hand those desires over to us if they will ultimately cause us to lose sight of Him.

Stop the striving. 

Stop the obsessing. 

Breathe. 

Relax. 

Trust. 

"You may not end up where you thought you were going, but you will always end up where you were meant to be..."

-Unknown

First Dates and Burning Bridges

I have this problem when I drive.

I constantly look behind. 

Sometimes, I can get so caught up in checking the rear view mirror, making sure no one is riding too close to my tail, that I miss my exit. 

If someone puts on their brakes in front of me, regardless the distance between us, I look behind to make sure no one will hit me. 

Instead of 32 going on 33, I am 32 going on 82 behind the wheel. 

And last night, after a first date, I realized I have this problem when it comes to relationships as well. 

This is how the story seems to go with me….

Meet a nice guy. 

Go on a date with a kind guy. 

Start looking back at old relationships. 

Lose the good guy, and any potential of a new relationship.

In my mind, I know that there is a reason the past is the past. 

It's just that my heart hasn't quite caught up with my mind yet. 

A little voice in my head, longs to go back. 

Go back to the one's that didn't work.  

Go back to the one's who didn't really want me, for me.  

Go back to the one's who walked away. 

This little voice comes out whenever there is a threat of moving on, of finding someone who truly cares, of letting someone in. 

Just like the Israelites went around that mountain again, and again, and again, and again...

I go around this dating cycle, again, and again, and again, and again. 

And until I burn the bridge, the bridge that keeps me looking back at what once was, the bridge that keeps me replaying the, "what if's?" and "why's?"...

The bridge that keeps me running from letting anyone truly in, and giving a man a chance to love me, despite my deepest and darkest flaws...

Until I burn that bridge, I am not ready.

Not ready to let someone in. 

Not ready to truly let love in. 

Now,  just like rear view mirrors are a vitally important part for safe driving, you have to look back to move forward.  

Your past can teach you. 

Your past can show you what needs to change. 

Your past can give you the fuel to live a different life. 

But, if you get consumed with your past, eventually, you will hit a brick wall of salt (Exodus 19:26.)

Good guys and girls don't finish last. 

Good guys and girls stuck in their past do. 

Whatever you are hanging onto, a past relationship, a past friendship, a past mistake, a past heartache…

Let. It. Go. 

Because beyond that bridge, is a life full of abundance and blessings.

Full of hope and redemption, resurrection and restoration. 

Growth is painful.

Change is painful. 

But nothing is as painful as staying stuck somewhere you don't belong. 

-Mandy Hale

Hit and Run

On Monday evening, I was involved in a hit and run. 

In a matter of seconds, I went from staring down the road to staring at a concrete building that we had ran into. 

Had it not been for guardian angels, a seatbelt, and a huge Ford truck, things would have been vastly different. 

I was lucky. 

So, very lucky. 

The next day, I saw a doctor, just to make sure that everything was ok.

Before she even took me back, she made me get on a scale. 

Usually, I request to turn around so I don't have to see the number. 

For some reason, I always revert back to lower school, when we had to get weighed in front of everyone at gym class. 

As a young child, this was always my worst fear. 

Before I even had a chance to turn around, she said, "115."

And just to make sure I heard, she said it again, "115."

Got it. 

And then something happened, something unexpected. 

You see, even a year ago, that number would have freaked me out. It's not a lot by any means, it's just a jump from where I have been used to being. 

After I heard the number…(insert drumroll)….I brushed it off. 

WHAT?!?!?!

Yep.

I didn't obsess. 

I didn't think negative thoughts. 

I didn't plan a diet. 

I honestly didn't think anything about it. 

Walking away from what could have been a terrible accident will do that. 

Weight doesn't seem to matter as much when you are thankful to be alive. 

I called my mom after the doctor and said, "They told me my weight, and I didn't care."

This. 

This is HUGE. 

It's so easy to brush off small victories, but you mustn't.

Whatever it is, celebrate it. 

Whether it's that you drove past McDonald's and didn't buy a coke, or went for a walk instead of watching tv, or didn't buy those $250 shoes, or went swimming even though you hate wearing a bathing suit, or you put down the bottle, or you finally forgave yourself for something you did. 

I have always been a black and white person. 

Living in the grey has always been a challenge. 

But life happens in the grey/gray. 

I'm not perfect, actually far from it, and that's ok. 

I'm not where I want to be, and that's ok. 

I get it right, but more often than not, I get it wrong, and that's ok. 

If you never celebrate the little things, you are never going to be able to celebrate the big things. 

And the other day, I was able to celebrate being ok with my weight, and being freaking alive. 

That was a good day. 

When Goodbye Came Too Soon

I walked into the bathroom, stood there for a second, and walked out. 

A few minutes later, I walked into the bathroom a second time, stood there, and walked out. 

I needed a release. 

I needed an escape. 

Earlier in the day, I had found out about a dear friend's sudden passing. 

And I started to do what I used to do when I couldn't handle something. 

I tried writing a song, but nothing came. 

I tried calling my mom, but she didn't know what to say. 

I tried talking to God, but I couldn't make out the words. 

So I did what I could do, I ate. 

I met Ryin in 2008, at the Mercy Ministries home. 

She wasn't the biggest fan of me in the beginning. 

She was sarcastic, dry, more of a introvert, and I was an annoying blonde, bubbly, wide-eyed, big-haired extrovert. 

But I was dedicated to winning her friendship, and eventually, I did. 

If you could have a best friend at the Mercy house, she was mine. 

Every morning we would pretend we were anywhere but where we where, which was, Fenton, Missouri. 

We would pretend that we were having our coffee in Paris, under the Eiffel Tower, and then in California, over looking the ocean.

My favorite moments with Ryin were on our weekly Saturday morning walks.

For 45 minutes, we would talk about faith and struggles, doubts and fears. 

Ryin was like a rock, firmly planted in her beliefs, where as I, on the other hand,  was more like a leaf that gets tossed here, and tossed there. 

On one of our walks, we talked non-stop about the things we were thankful for. From salvation, to summer, to Starbucks, to sprinkles. 

When I wanted to leave the program, she told me to stay. 

When she wanted to leave the program, I told her to stay. 

After our graduation in the Spring of 2008, I lost touch with Ryin.

She moved back to Minnesota, I stayed in Missouri. 

Life happened for both of us, and distance made it harder to stay close. 

It doesn't matter to me how she passed, what matters is how her memory lives on. 

And when I walked into the bathroom for the second time, planning to do what I have done so many times before, I saw her face, and knew I couldn't go through with it. 

I owe it to Ryin to fight. 

To fight for my life.  

To fight for my dreams. 

To fight for my faith. 

Ryin left a mark on my heart, and a picture in my Bible.

The picture is of coffee, with a massive amount of whip cream (because she knew I was obsessed), and the following scripture:

"Thus says the Lord, He who created you…He who formed you..Fear not, for I have redeemed you..I have called you by your name; you are Mine. Because you are precious in My sight and honored…Even everyone who is called by My Name, whom I have formed, whom I have made" Isaiah 43: 1,4,7.

You and I both owe it to Ryin, and to many others, to fight. 

To fight for life. 

To fight for faith. 

To fight for dreams. 

To fight for futures. 

From Sunset to Sunset

As I pulled into my driveway Monday evening, I heard a old, familiar voice start to rattle. 

After I turned the gas off and the radio down, I knew I was in for a battle. 

To give in?

To not give in?

Temptation tore at my innermost being, for what seemed to be forever.

And for five minutes, I refused to get out of my car. 

I placed my hands on the steering wheel, gritted my teeth, and closed my eyes.

"No, God please, No."

If you've ever dealt with any sort of addiction, you know the force that can suddenly, without warning, show up, and pull you in.  

Somedays, the force is nonexistent, and the voice is quiet. 

Other days, it seems to pound over me like a never ending hail storm. 

Lately, I've been asking myself if I am missing something...

Like, maybe it's that my faith isn't strong enough? or maybe it's that Jesus is just a little slow with me? 

Sitting in the driveway, I wanted to give in. 

So, so bad.
But I didn't. 

Rather than thanking God for getting me through the moment, I became more and more disappointed with myself.
Disappointed that I still struggle and disappointed that my faith isn't stronger.

While I was sitting in my living room later in the evening,  I looked out the window, just in time to catch the sunset. 

Instantly, I was reminded of a summer night last year. 

I remember walking to the harbor with my family, when I caught one of the most gorgeous sunsets I had seen in awhile.  I just stood there,  looking off into the lake, and feeling more at peace then I had in a long time. 

Despite all the questions I had in my mind, all the heartache I still bore, all the dreams still unfulfilled, I couldn't help but be in absolute awe of God's faithfulness.

For a sunset, I was completely at peace with the unseen. 

It was as if God was reminding me, from one sunset to the next, how He is still on my side.

Despite the mistakes I've made.  

The people I've hurt. 

The times I gave into fear. 

The times I trusted in myself, more than Him.

It was as if He was telling me, "Stop. Just stop."

That evening,  I decided to give myself a break. 

I stopped toiling and stewing over why I still struggle with temptation. 

I forgave myself for the wrongs I've done. 

I threw off the burdens I was carrying.  

For the rest of last night, I didn't try to fix myself, or my faith. 

I only rested. 

Maybe, like me,  you still struggle?

Maybe, like me, you feel like your faith is lacking? 

Maybe, like me, you don't know how to just stop, and rest? 

And maybe, just maybe, it's also time for you to  forgive yourself, take the load off your shoulders, of perfectionism, of control, of inadequacy, and of self-sufficiency.

Maybe, it's time for you to stop, rest, and just let yourself  be a child of the Almighty. 

Completely loved. 
Totally forgiven. 
Fully accepted. 

Don't Just Call Me Beautiful

The other night, I found myself in downtown Nashville, on Broadway.

As I sat on the window sill at one of the bars, I started people watching. 

I watched bachelor parties play pool, bachelorette parties dance, guys hit on girls, and girls flirt with guys. 

I watched people who had a little bit too much to drink, to those who ordered water. 

I also observed my stunningly gorgeous friend get hit on by almost every guy in the bar. 

It didn't take long until I was wishing I was anyone else but me, and anywhere else but there. 

I felt invisible. 

I felt undesirable. 

The conversation running through my head was as followed, "You've gained weight, so, you aren't beautiful anymore……Your outfit makes you look fat…You are ugly."

That night, it was as if I had retreated back to old, but familiar years. 

However, instead of ordering 3 pizzas and 4 hamburgers, I ordered nothing. 

Instead, I wrote in my iphone notes, "God, I just feel so ugly, so, so ugly."

As I held the phone in my hands, I heard myself say,"Don't call me beautiful."

It wasn't with a degrading, insulting, or self-defeating voice. 

Rather, it was a voice of confidence, grace and assurance. 

Don't call me beautiful, call me talented. 

Don't call me beautiful, call me honest. 

Don't call me beautiful, call me real. 

You see, on Saturday night, I realized that the thing I have desired and strived for most in my life, is the very thing that has taken away everything that makes me, me.

While I have been obsessed with my wrinkles,  recovery, and being a, "good" Christian, I have hidden the parts of me that don't always fit into a nice, put together, Sunday-morning box. 

I love Jesus, but I don't always love myself. 

And somedays are worse than others. 

Just before I wrote this, my sister-in-law called me, and told me how my niece had won a Library contest for her drawing on a book mark. It was her talent, her gifting, that was noticed, not her beauty. 

Like everyone else, I have told both my nieces they are beautiful, over, and over, and over, in hopes that they never go down the road I went down. 

However, the only way they will not be tempted to question their worth and appearance, is if they can appreciate their unique skills, personality, and gifts. 

Hear me out when I say that calling someone beautiful is not bad.

That was not the intention of writing this. 

There is just so much more to a person than their looks. 

If all you call someone is beautiful, they will enter into a race that they will never be able to win. 

Don't call me beautiful. 

Call me lovely. 

Call me sensitive. 

Call me deep. 

Call me different. 

Call me relentless. 

But please, don't just call me beautiful. 

Good Friday and The Iceberg

Looking back on my life, I realize that I  have had more appointments with counselors than dates.

For awhile, I was seeing a new counselor every month, in hopes that one of them would stick. I don't remember any of their names, just random things that happened during our sessions. 

For example, one counselor told me to close my eyes, and imagine I was a color and shape. 

Out of an attempt to make the session as short as possible because I had to use the bathroom, I quickly picked out a black blob. 

This was probably due to the mascara that made it's way onto the surface of my eyeball.

And so for the next hour, he psychoanalyzed the black blob I spoke of, not realizing that I wasn't taking the exercise seriously. 

And then there was the counselor with the iceberg picture. 

On our first visit, she pointed to a picture of a iceberg that was hanging on her wall.

This picture shows not only the tip that is above water, but  also the part that is underneath.

"This," she said as she pointed to the part that is underwater, "This is what we need to deal with"

She saw past my smile, my good-girl attitude, and my many masks.

I was a onion, with multiple layers that needed shedding, a lot of shedding. 

Today as I was writing in my journal, I had a thought randomly come to me, "Believe in the behind the scenes."

After I watched my pen write those words, I thought about the iceberg, but in a different way. 

On the surface, it seems as if many of my dreams have not come true yet.  I won't bore you with those because if you have read any of my other blogs, you know those dreams circulate around a relationship and music. 

It's not that nothing has happened, its  just that not enough has happened (in my mind).

On the surface, it seems as if my desires are near impossible.

On the surface, it feels sometimes as if God doesn't see and doesn't care. 

Even Jesus, God's own Son, cried out on the cross, "My God, My God, why have You forsaken me?" Mark 15:34.

On the surface, God wasn't anywhere to be found. 

On the surface, the Disciple's faith seemed to be lost.  

And then three days later….

"He has risen." Mark 16:6

As I go into Easter weekend, I remember to not be fooled by appearances. 

I remember to not be swayed by how things may seem to be. 

God's silence doesn't reflect His absence. 

It may take 3 days, 3000 hours, or 30 years. 

In fact, it may take us getting to Heaven before we understand.

Regardless of how long it takes, we are called to believe in the behind the scenes. 

Because behind the scenes, God is working. 

Because behind the scenes, God is up to something. 

Because behind the scenes, God is still God. 

The Day I Skipped Starbucks

Something happened this past weekend, something that has never happened before. 

I skipped Starbucks. 

My parents were visiting Nashville for my birthday, and my mom asked me to go thru the Starbucks drive thru. 

For the first time in my life, I passed on coffee. 

It wasn't that I wasn't thirsty,  it was because I was throwing a pity-party tantrum. 

I was in a funk all day, and could not pull myself out of it. 

It all started with discouragement. 

It was the,  "What if's?" and the, "Why's?"

Why…

am I not married?

Why…

am I still so far behind everyone else financially?

Why….

do I think my dream of songwriting can happen? 

Why…

do I still struggle with faith? 

What if…

I never get married? 

What if…

I never have a job that supports me financially?

What if…

The music doesn't happen?

After these questions buzzed around in my head, I went down a dark spiral of doubt. 

Right now, I am neither in the valley, nor on the mountaintop.

Right now, I am in the middle. 

I am at the part of my dream where my faith is tested. 

I am at the part where everything in me wants to turn around, and get back on dry land. 

I am at the part where it physically hurts my heart, and soul to keep holding on to hope. 

I think our culture tends to focus a lot on the beginning and the end. The starting point, and the finish line. 

When we cross the finish line, crowds chant and cheer, and we are given a shiny medal. 

However, during the middle of a race, we receive gatorade and water. Our muscles tells us to stop, and turn around. The mile markers remind us how far we still have yet to go. 

The middle part is not fun. 

I don't need another cup of gatorade. 

I need a shot of courage, and a bucket of faith. 

Later on in the evening of my pity party day, my dad asked me if I was ok. My discouragement was visible with my silence and dead stare. 

I nodded my head because if I were to answer, I would have sobbed.

It's easier not to talk when you aren't ok. 

Later that night, I was able to pull myself out of it, perhaps that was due to the margarita I had at dinner.  

I apologized to my parents for my attitude that day. 

My circumstance show me that I am jobless, childless, husbandless, and a fool to believe I can make it in songwriting. 

Reality tells me to go back  to school for my Masters in Counseling.

Reality tells me to find, "normal".

Reality tells me to stop. 

Faith tells me to keep going, despite what my circumstances look like. 

Faith tells me to continue believing for a publishing deal. 

Faith tells me to believe in the impossible. 

Sometimes God doesn't open the doors all the way.

Sometimes He makes us embrace the Middle.

The Middle is where we find out just how strong we are. 

The Middle is where we learn to fly, or to stay on the ground. 

The Middle is where we hold on, or give up.

The Middle is where we find the hero within. 

If you are in the middle of your dream, keep going. 

Keep believing that there is a reason for your desires and dreams. 

Keep believing that you are made for so much more than this world says.

Keep believing that you can, and you will defy the odds.

Finding Your Voice

While I am not a huge Nashville TV show fan, I do enjoy the music.

Actually, my favorite songs are the ones that the character’s on the show, Gunnar and Scarlett perform.
If you have never listed to, “It’s Not Yours To Throw Away,”  or, “Lately,” do it. Do it now.
If you are like me, you will be sobbing on the floor, promising yourself that you will hold on to your dream, at all costs.

One day, I went online and to see who the writers were on one particular song from the tv show.  

I then contacted one of them, asking for a songwriting lesson.
To my surprise, this person agreed.

This person told me to bring three of my original songs, lyrics and all.
After I shared my story, I played my songs, nervously.

My voice was shaking, my fingers messed up the chords, but I got through.
After I set the guitar down, this person went on to tell me things I did well, and things I could improve on.
After the technical issues, they then told me their story.

This writer said that after they had received their first publishing deal, they wracked their brain over how to write for current Nashville, (trucks, beer, alcohols, girls, cowboys..” ) you get the idea.

And it worked.
They got cuts, and made a few bucks.

But then, after exhaustingly trying to figure out what a Nashville pop star and publisher wanted, they started writing for themselves.   

They stopped trying to look the part, and just be truthful to what they knew, be truthful to themselves.

When they stopped trying to be what they thought Nashville wanted, they flourished, and flew.

They told me to keep doing exactly what I am doing. They told me to sing my songs out at open mic nights, playing my guitar and the few chords I know.

Basically just reiterating what the people around me have been telling me for awhile.

After our session finished, as I was packing up, they said, “You have already found what many songwriters spend their whole lives trying to find…you have found your voice.”

The significance of this statement is profound.

After the first voice/songwriting lesson I had after I moved to Nashville, nearly 2 years ago, the teacher said, “I want you to find your voice."

I left the lesson crying, because I didn’t know how.  

It’s been a long couple years.  

I’ve messed up on stage, I’ve forgotten the words, and many times, I’ve wanted to run away, and out of Nashville.

I have a long way to go, a lot more mistakes to make, a lot more bridges to cross, and cliffs to jump off (symbolically speaking of course)

 However, this morning, I realized I am at least on my way.
Baby steps, and occasionally, a large leap.

Have you found your voice?  

In other words, have you found your truth?
Have you stripped off the layers, the masks, the shell, and found what makes you, you?
Have you slowed down, and looked into the deep places of your soul?

It’s not easy, and is actually frightening, when you are introduced to yourself.

You find things that you would rather not find.
You see places in your heart which are not very pretty.
You also find your raw talents, and gifting.

I recently saw a quote the other day which caught my eye.

Jim Kwik writes, “It an egg is broken by outside force, life ends. If broken by inside force, life begins.”

 You are so much more capable than you realize.

Perhaps you haven’t even found that thing that brings your soul to life, that thing which ignites the fire within, that thing which makes your feel closer to Heaven.
But you will.  
Oh, you will.
It may even surprise you how it happens.

If you could see the potential that is placed in you, you would truly be amazed.

Today, I was amazed.

 It’s time to find your voice.  

The Courage to Quit

I didn't plan on quitting my job this week. 

If you have spent any amount of time with me, you know that I am not a number person. 

And for the past year and a half, I have somehow managed to fit my right brain into a left brain job. 

Until today. 

Yesterday, I started training for a new position. This new position gave me a office, a office with a door I might add, and much more responsibility. 

8 hours a day, 40 hours a week, I would be staring at my computer screen, entering numbers, and looking at rates. 

Last night, after the only one day of training, I had a panic attack. 

In fact, I had the worst panic attack I have had in a long time. 

I knew something was wrong when I suddenly dropped the glass I was holding, and started shaking uncontrollably. 

I called my my mom, and my aunt, crying hysterically, while rocking back and forth on my bed. 

"Please, just talk to me. Tell my I'm going to be alright," I cried.

"Please, just tell me I am not going to die," I cried. 

If you have never had a panic attack, it feels like a million years of doom. It feels as if I am stuck in a groundhog-day of hopelessness, and intense fear. 

It feels like hell. 

I wasn't going to get this honest, but I believe that only through honesty, can we find healing. 

Not only did I have a panic attack last night, but I also retreated back to the demon of bulimia. 

It was the worst night I have had in a long time. 

And after the panic left, the fear subsided, and grace washed over me,  I knew I had to quit.

I didn't sleep much last night, because I knew what awaited me in the morning. 

Even as I drove to work this morning, I kept trying to convince myself of all the reasons I shouldn't quit. 

1.) It's a paycheck

2.) It's a paycheck

3.) It's a paycheck

It all came down to a paycheck.

I realized I was trusting in money, rather than my God.

After I told my boss I wasn't going to accept the position, I said my goodbyes to fellow co-workers/friends, and walked out of the office carrying the flowers that my friend had sent me last week. 

As I was driving down I-65 South, I braced myself for the tears. 

But, surprisingly, they didn't come. 

What came was a poem. 

Sometimes it takes more courage to quit, than stay. 

Nothing, no job, no amount of money, no person, is worth that amount of anxiety. 

Nothing is worth falling back into the hell of bulimia for. 

Where to go from here? 

I don't know. 

What I do know, is that everything will be ok. 

I know I have a God who cares for me, Who knows the exact amount of hairs I have on my over-bleached, over-processed blonde head. He knows my talents,  and He knows my desires. He knew I was going to quit even before I did. 

Right now, the question, isn't what am I going to do?

Right now, the question, is will I trust Him or not? 

"Brighter Days"

Put my two weeks in

At work today

Grabbed my flowers

Quickly walked away

Didn't turn around

Or look behind

No second guesses

If my choice was right

Let go and let in

A new kind of free

Time to take a chance

On my destiny

Sometimes quitting

Is the only way

And some goodbyes

Lead to brighter days

Leaving all you know

for whats beyond

Cause you can't stay

Where you don't belong

Not sure what to do

Or where I'll go

Leave it up to life

To give me a clue

Breathe out and in 

A new kind of free

 Take a chance

On my destiny

Sometimes quitting

Is the only way

Some goodbyes 

Lead to brighter days

The unknown screams

Like stormy clouds

But only after the rain

Can a rainbow be found

Monsters in the Closet

I never had nightmares as a child.

I wasn’t scared of the monsters in my closet, or alligators under my bed.
I wasn’t scared of anything.

Then I moved to Nashville…

And the nightmares started.

A funny thing is that these nightmares started shortly after I started singing out in public again.

Two years ago, a complete stranger saw hidden potential in me, encouraging me to take a step out of my comfort zone, and onto the stage.

Singing on stage, meant overcoming insecurities that had held me hostage for over 16 years.
Singing on stage, meant breaking free from the fear of criticism, and comparison.
Singing meant healing.

My dad told my mom, a long time ago, “I know Amy will be free when she is singing again.”

I have been held down by fear for the majority of my life.

From bulimia, to people pleasing.
From perfectionism, to comparison.

But that all changed when this stranger, turned biggest fan, kept pushing me.

With every note, I am gaining a new found confidence.
With every note, the enemy is a little less in control.
Consequently, with every note, the enemy fights stronger.
The enemy fights stronger, because he knows the threat my freedom brings.

Perhaps it is just coincidence, but I think the nightmares are an effort of the one who hates me, to keep me locked inside the hell I was living.

I think the one who hates me, would love nothing more than me to stop music, stop singing, and stop stepping on stage.
I think the one who hates me, wants nothing more for me to continue being afraid.
I think the one who hates me, knows what a threat I will be, and already am, for helping others break free of their fear.

Someone once told me that the enemy is like a toothless dog. His bark is loud, fierce, and scary, but when push comes to shove, he is worthless.

There is One, Who is stronger, bigger, and greater, helping me overcome.

My friend sent me a picture from a performance I did the other night. I saw the little girl in me, who once loved singing Disney songs in front of people. I saw the little girl in me, who didn’t care about her weight and size. I saw the little girl in me, who could care less about her awkward knees. I saw the little girl in me, who didn’t long to be perfect. I saw the little girl in me, loving life, and loving herself.

If nightmares mean I am doing something right, then let them continue.

We have all heard the quote, “Everything you want lies on the other side of fear,” countless times.

But oh, how it is so true.

Maybe like me, it will take you a lot of little steps to break free of your fear.

Maybe like me, you will put one toe in the water first, before you jump in.
What matters is that you start.

Your freedom isn’t just for you, it’s for others, some you don’t even know, and will never meet.

Your freedom can help others break free.
Your freedom can help others find hope, and healing.

Come nightmares, come panic attacks, come sleepless nights, come tears, whatever you do, do not stay hidden.

Do not stay locked inside a cell that you were never meant to be in.

Perhaps this is a motivational message just for me, a reminder to keep being brave, a reminder to keep going…

or maybe, it is for someone else, someone who needs to take a step of courage.

 “Everything you want is on the other side of fear” Jack Canfield

Dreaming on a Tightrope

What do you do when your dreams start coming true?

Celebrate? Yes.
Cry? Yes.
Call your family? Yes.
Stand in awe? Yes.

Monday, January 12^th, felt like a dream, and I was above the clouds the whole day.
Then, on Tuesday, January 13^th, I was back to reality.

As one of the songs I wrote goes, “I didn’t want to come down.”

I wanted more...

More dreams coming true, more songs getting picked up, and more television stations asking us to perform our songs.

But, that particular day, I didn’t get more.

As I sat in bed, thinking about the flood of emotions I had had, from Monday to Tuesday, I thought of how following dreams is much like learning to walk on a tightrope.
I’m not sure where the connection came from, but it was the image that came to my mind.

I decided to look up the steps of learning how to walk on a tightrope from the trusted internet, and was blown away by how similar following dreams are to walking on thin ropes…

Step 1.  Practice walking on peg stilts to develop your balance.

Step 2.  Start with a looser rope, and experiment with different tensions to see what works best.
Step 3. Set your rope no more than 12 inches from the ground, you can always raise it higher.
Step 4. Have someone help you up on the rope.
Step 5. Look forward, not at your feet.
Step 6.  Avoid waiting for the rope to stop wobbling when you put one foot on the rope.

But what I saw, when I read this was as followed…

Step 1.  Practice.

For my dream of songwriting, I must practice singing my songs on stage, even if I fall, over, and over. I must continue writing my blogs, songs, and poems.  I can’t stop working towards my dream , even when things start to fall in line.

 Step 2.  Tension.

Tension also means stretching. I must take myself out of my comfort zones, in order to find my flow. I must be willing to experiment, and see what works for me.  Tension isn’t always fun, stretching hurts, but only through tension can we find our strength.

Step 3.  Small Beginnings.

I can’t rush the process. I can’t go from A to Z, I must take it slow and steady. This is hard for me, because I long to just, “be there” already, even though I don’t know where, “there”, is yet. I must master the small steps before I can take the giant ones.

Step 4.  Don’t Go Alone. 

This is vital.  I am fairly independent and don’t like asking for help, but it is necessary. Dreams aren’t meant for just one person, I believe God places them in each of us for the whole good. If my dream is only for me, that is a dream I do not need.

Step 5.  Look Straight Ahead.  

This is the one that resonates with me the most right now.  There are a million distractions that would love to take me away from my dream, other people, feelings of doubt, obstacles getting in the way, money, time, age, and so on.
Just like finding a spot on the back of the wall when I sing on stage, I must keep my eyes fixed on Christ, and on the One who breathed the dream in me.  

Step 6.  Start.

I am never going to feel confident enough to get on stage, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t. I will never feel like I have a good enough song, but that doesn’t mean I don’t share it with someone. I will never feel like a good enough songwriter, but that doesn’t mean that I never start a new song. The time will never be right, so start.

I don’t know what dreams you have.

Some of you have dreams of being a songwriter, others maybe a singer, a doctor, a mother, a writer, a professional baseball player, a president, only you know.

What I know, is that regret is harder to handle than going for your dreams. What I know, is that God given dreams are dreams that are worth fighting for. What I know, is that the world needs you to act on your dreams.

What do I do when my dreams start coming true?
I keep dreaming on a tightrope, not looking anywhere but ahead.

 

“What if I fall? Oh, but my darling, what if you fly?”

Eric Hanson

Don't You Like You?

I’ve spent the majority of my life wanting to be everyone but me.

Comparison and jealousy have entangled me in their webs over, and over, and over.

Envy remains to be one of my greatest struggles.

In middle school, I remember sitting all alone in a row, while the rest of my friends went in front to accept an honors award, from getting all A’s and B’s.

I sat with my head down, hands crossed, and longed to disappear.
And a very young age, I wanted to be someone different, someone smarter.

Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter do not make it easy for us comparisonists and jealousists (I realize those are not words, but if you know me well, you know I have a tendency to make up my own words.)

Everywhere we look, we see people we wish we were, and lives we wish we had.

I do it, you do it, and even if you don’t own social media, you do it.

You have pictures of your new home, and honor roll bumper stickers on your car. You tell your coworker about your trip to the beach, and you invite everyone outside to see your new car.
So maybe not these exact things, but you get the picture.

But please hear me out, I’m not saying any of these things are bad.
What I am saying is that we all do it.
We unintentionally, or possibly intentionally, show the good, and ignore the not so good.

Before you blast social media and your “friend” who just showed off her awesome engagement ring, take a look at yourself.
We all do it.
I especially do it.

A few weeks ago, I signed up for a voice lesson from a teacher on music row.

After a few warm ups, she told me that I was singing wrong.
Actually, if I can be honest, she said, “If you sing like you are, no one is going to listen to you.”
So much for the sensitivity factor.
Basically, she wanted me to continue paying her so she could make me sound like someone on music row. She wanted to make me sound like every other country singer out there.

The truth is that I do not have a country voice.

I am very well aware of this.
I have a Disney princess voice that forever will be connected to, Little Mermaid’s, Part of Your World.  

I left that voice lesson incredibly discouraged and humiliated.

That night, I wanted to have a country voice or no voice at all.
I even went as far as to get upset with God for not giving me a country voice.

“But who are you, a human being, to talk back to God? “Shall what is formed say to the One who formed it, ‘Why did you make me like this?””

Romans 9:21

 

After I sat around in disgust towards my voice, wondering why I thought I could sing in front of people with the voice I had, I stopped.

Somewhere, from deep within, I gathered the courage to fight back.

So, I don’t have a country voice. So, I don’t have an indie voice. So, I don’t have a perfect voice.

I have the voice that God gave me.
I have the voice that has been through hell and has overcome.
I have the voice that has cracked during performances, and continues to shake on stage.
I have the voice that I am meant to have.

On Sunday night, I didn’t try to sing like anyone else, except me.

And a beautiful thing happened.

As I was returning to my seat after my performance, a random person took the time to tell me what a pretty voice I had.

And before you start to do the eye roll, thinking it’s a humblebrag…listen, or for this matter, read.

This is a reminder that you don’t need to try and be like someone else.

This is a reminder that you do not need to change.
This is reminder that you do not need to try so hard.

You don’t need to look the model on tv, or the guy at the gym.

You don’t need to be as smart as your peers.
You don’t need to be like your sister, best friend, or mother, even if your mother is perfect.

You don’t need to change.

The world is desperate for you to follow your own, unique path.
The world needs you to step up and have the courage to just be you.
The world needs for you to accept your flaws, and embrace your talents.

And if for some reason, you were left by yourself on a row, watching everyone else accept an award that you didn’t receive, I can promise you this, you will turn out quite alright ;)

 “Take your make up off, let your hair down. Take a breath, look into the mirror at yourself. Don’t you like you? Cause I like you”

-Colbie Caillat