Category: her story

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her negative

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The optimist in me seems to have left the building lately. I am struggling to hope, I am thinking the worst and I have been a slave to fear.

Hi, my name is Amanda and I have been crazy negative.

This morning in the midst of yet another grapple with fear, I saw a post on instagram from my friend from the book of Romans 4: 17

Speaking what isn’t as though it is.

And then I was walking around the house trying to find my hope under the couch, the rug or in my wool stash next to my favourite antique chair and a impression lead me to this scripture from Psalm 18

He brought me out into a spacious place; he rescued me because he delighted in me.

Then I was flicking through my music collection and this song took my breath away…(press play and then keep reading, Im sure it will take your breath away as well)

My negative has been weighing me down lately.

Today however, I seem to be turning a corner and trusting the One who knows more than I could ever know.

My greatest struggle has been the not knowingness of it all. I want to plan, I want to hang my hat on something, I want to take meditated steps towards our goals but some seasons just don’t give us the gratitude of clarity. There are some seasons where we just need to leap, we just need to let go, we just need to trust.

The waves and wind still know His name.

We need to step into the unknown even if we feel hemmed in on every side. I am believing that He is carrying us into wide open spaces. Into new seasons of discovery, purpose and great reward. I believe in Him and His promises.

And when I start to speak life her negative shrinks away.

When I start to speak truth her negative shuts up.

When I start to sing loudly her negative shrivels under the weight of purpose.

When I start to believe and hope her negative is unravelled by the power of presence.

It is well.

It is difficult,

but it is okay.

If your negative has been ruling the roost lately my dear friend, then I hope these three things that gave me courage today will tell her to be quiet.

I am believing for Mountains to be moved in both mine and yours today.

Much love and a touch of tiredness

Amanda

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her hands

her hands

I was driving early this morning to another surgeons appointment and the weirdest thing happened, I heard myself on the radio in my car. Every day Kinwomen has little segments on radio that are recorded months in advance. As soon as I heard my voice I wanted to turn the radio off, but something in me compelled me to listen.

Imagine me driving worrying about said appointment and then me from the past comes on the radio, speaking specifically to me in the future.

Gosh.

My life is a little crazy and weird often.

Anyway, My past self was telling my future self to hope. To take the difficulty in my today and to trust, hoping in the possibility of the future.

In that bizarre little moment, with me talking to myself in the car by myself, I had this little revelation.

Every single one of us is fighting a battle that many of us don’t see. Most women have their hands wrung out in worry, praying for breakthrough in some form.

I started to think through the lives of my nearest and dearest friends, fellow Mums, girlfriends I’ve known for decades, family and life companions and each and every one of them has difficulty that requires breakthrough today.

I remembered the recent moment when I was sitting in a hot, stuffy room in Nepal and I watched the hands of a group of Mums telling us their stories about the community bank that they had formed. I watched their hands, and saw line after line, story after story, of prayers that had been prayed, fires that had been stoked, floors that had been swept and produce that had been formed in those hands.

I thought of the hands of my Mum and the times that she had wrung those hands together, worried about my future.

I prayed for friends whose hands are clasped today wanting so desperately to be holding a test with a pink line formed across its possibility.

I thought fondly of friends who were holding “for sale” signs in their hands, praying desperately for the real estate agent to place the sold sticker on their inheritance.

I prayed for friends hands clasped in hospital waiting for results.

I smiled at the thought of my dear friend holding her precious son in her arms as she prepared to take him home from the hospital today.

When we look at a pair of hands, we can see so much story and history. A ring that is worn with pride or one that is worn down by difficulty and stress. A tan that shows a white band where the ring has been removed after years of care. Spots and wrinkles that tell the tale of hard work and difficulty. Nails that are broken and peeling. Stains from dinner cooked for families, who forget to say thanks.

Every pair of hands tells the tales of everyday use and wear. Hands that hold, hands that type, hands that clean and hands that despair.

Today as I listened to myself (hilairous) I became overwhelmed by you and your story. I prayed for women, after women in my world and the breakthrough that is needed for the difficulty she was holding in her hands.

I reflected on the difficulty of novice motherhood and the changing seasons of the early years of marriage, with often one income and lots of sleepless nights.

I was compelled to pray for your breakthrough.

A breakthrough that was profound and clear.

That today would be a day of great grace and freedom.

That prayers that had been prayed for years upon years would be answered.

That hands would be lifted in praise today, that freedom would be declared over you and your house.

Today.

That release would come to her hands.

Amanda

 

 

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her messy

the cross

We have a major problem in our house right now. We have a creative, colouring in mad eighteen month old, who is expressive, delightful and messy. At the same time, we have a freshly painted white beach house ready for sale in the next couple of weeks.

These two have been colliding a lot in the last week. Every single time I turn my back, a crayon, a texta or something, anything she can express herself with is unearthed and she sprays our freshly painted walls with colour.

As much as I am frustrated with her and she has sat in the corner for quiet time, over and over. I am realising that it is just a phase of expression and her messy is okay. It is normal, it is productive and it is okay.

I like clean.

I like white.

I like my house to be styled and perfect for our home opens.

but that is not everyday, real life.

We are all a little messy.

We all have our seasons of expression, seasons where we just need to let out the built up emotion that has been brewing internally.

We all have our mess.

grief

Yesterday I was quietly scrolling social media after a couple of days phone free and I came across a song posted by my dear friend about our friend who passed on just a few short months ago. Out of the blue, unexpectedly I found myself crying whilst singing to this song.

Grief may seem like it has stages, but honestly it can just be downright messy. One day we are coping, the next day we are undone for no particular reason. Grief comes and goes, grief finds us happy, angry and depressed. Our grief can be caused by death, disappointment, unmet expectations or betrayal. We are all a little messy, but the journey of recovery is how we express those emotions that overwhelm. The problem is not whether we are feeling, the problem is the way that we layer our feelings onto others.

How are you going with your messy?

Are you finding places to express your colour, your thoughts, your questions and your dismay?

I am realising if I don’t find space and time to bring these parts of my messy to the fore, I will explode with fury and spray my colour over those closest at the most unexpected times.

Ways that I am learning to express my messy, is just the same as I would with my little artist. I am determined not to just hide away all the texta’s, paints and crayons from her little hands. I am finding ways to channel her colour into proactive ways, for her to get her messy on paper.

The ways that I am learning to express my grief is with long cups of coffee with friends, telling the truth even when it hurts, writing lamenting words, long cuddles on the couch, walking the beach and asking God the questions that frustrate me. Sitting on a therapists couch, loud music and long drives shouting into the sky. Forrest walks with my lover and listening to his questions. Not making myself so busy that I ignore all the warning signs that the messy parts of me are drowned out by busyness. Creating space for expression.

The greatest comfort to me through this season of loss, is the wait of the story of Easter. A place of in-between. A place of grief. The Easter story is full of the same mess that I am experiencing in this season of pain.

As I reflect on the story of the cross and the places where those who were so close to Jesus in this season, how they had questions and they expressed their disbelief at the pain of the Saturday waiting place. As much as I am disappointed in the journey of grief and have questions about whether prayer even makes a difference I am learning to do what Isaiah 55 invites me to…

“Come, all you who are thirsty, come to the waters;
and you who have no money, come, buy and eat!
Come, buy wine and milk without money and without cost.
Why spend money on what is not bread, and your labor on what does not satisfy?
Listen, listen to me, and eat what is good, and you will delight in the richest of fare.”

What is your messy?

Are you scribbling your colour all over walls, in inappropriate ways or are you learning to express yourself in helpful, nurturing ones?

The question is not whether you are feeling all them feels, the question is the way that they are exploding over those who are closest and most vulnerable to your expressions.

Why, when we know that there’s no such thing as perfect, do most of us spend an incredible amount of time and energy trying to be everything to everyone? Is it that we really admire perfection? No – the truth is that we are actually drawn to people who are real and down-to-earth. We love authenticity and we know that life is messy and imperfect.

Brene Brown

Your messy is okay.

Your expression of its colour and depth may need a little alteration.

I am finding ways in this season to alter my explosion of expression.

How about you?

Life’s a little bit messy. We all make mistakes. No matter what type of animal you are, change starts with you.

Zootopia

Amanda