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We share a common journey yearning to have . . . 

our efforts noticed and not ignored,

our children fly and not flounder,

our husbands relate and not disconnect.

Yet, even as women we detach daily.

Bumping into each other with “howdys” and “hellos”.

So easily missing the blessing of significant connection and community.

When someone replies to my brief question,

“How are you?” with,

“I’m fine thanks.”

I accept her simple words . . . and am easily persuaded it’s true.

But it’s not true.

She’s merely appearing to be happy and together.

Growing increasingly discontent with superficial conversation among her peers, and longing for deep connection, she searches for friendship online, but finds it to be hollow.

Submerging herself in a culture of illusions and pictures of perfection . . . she is dissatisfied with its superficiality, and the deceptive fingers of isolation slither into her heart.

While habitually repeating to herself, “everyone else has their lives together except me”, she caves in to the quintessential lie that she is not worthy of honest face-to-face friendships.

Feelings of shame engulf her.

She isolates her real self and puts on the pretend.  

Her suffering is swelling in silence . . .

 

Honestly, I’m not always doing my part in connecting and relating.

Sometimes I’m concerned about my own sense of

‘not-enoughness’, and it dulls me to myself . . .                                                                                                                                                   

It numbs me to her . . . and other-hers.

At times I conjure up my own lies and believe them about myself.

They sound this way:

“I’m not as important as her . . .”

“surely my real self is not enough . . . ”

“I’m not smart enough . . . ”

Self judgment tempts me to live pretending I’m someone other than my honest self.

Hiding feels safe.

 Fearing I won’t measure up to others standards . . . I crawl into my pockets.

It’s cocoon soothes me as it blocks out my painful thoughts about myself.

Thoughts that are so easily triggered when I’m not tucked in here.

After a while, I can’t see anything including my hands that are right before my eyes. I’m feeling cold, alone, hungry, thirsty, unsafe, and disconnected from everything except my cramping legs.

pocket-life betrays me —

Longing for daylight, eyesight, and enough room to stretch my aching legs, I decide it’s time to shimmy out of my pocket.

Needing brave thoughts . . .

                                   the words that gave me strength before come to mind . . .   

“The hour has come for us to shake loose from our hiding and fear . . . To wake up from our slumber . . . put aside the deeds of darkness and put on the armor of light.” (Rom 13:11-12)

Oh what joy even the thought of being in the light brings me . . .

To be covered with an armor of light protecting me from darkness and isolation gives me hope that I can face my fears. 

Shaking loose from my hiding place, I uncurl first by stretching my hands to the light around me.  

Poking my head out, and then slowly opening one eye at a time . . . I see an unusual glistening in the distance.

Pulling my legs from their cramped quarters, jolting up, and regaining my balance, I dart towards the odd glow while soaking in all the beauty I find along the way.  

At my path’s end, finding the armor of light, and donning it without delay, I rejoice in the protection it promises.

Though my thirst weakens me,

the armor’s strong embrace emboldens me.

Hearing the cascading of water, I blaze a footpath through the wooded area craving refreshment. 

Drinking it in –                                                  

it spills across my face,

runs down my cheeks,

and rushes over my feet.

Now completely drenched in it, I experience a quenching of my thirst like never before.  

The life-giving water mysteriously satisfies my thirst for the Truth.

 

 

                                                                                             The Truth that says —

My honest self is enough because Jesus makes up the difference. 

He rejoices over me with singing. (Zeph 3:17)

I was born worthy of love.

It is God who made me and not me myself. (Ps 100:3)

His hands made me and formed me. (Ps. 119:73)

The all-wise and all-loving Creator has an order and I am part of that created order.

He has called me His friend, and has made available to me everything He has learned from His Father. (John 15:15)

 

As I drink in these Truths of God’s delight in me, I am filled and overjoyed . . then I remember her.

The one who says, “I’m fine thanks.”

Suddenly flooded by an overwhelming desire to connect with her –       

deeply connect  –  

over a cool cup of fresh water — 

I ache to take her to the fountain –

where she can  have her thirst quenched too —

As I’m darting around hoping to find her,

the water leaves a spotted trail behind me as it splashes from my cupped hands.                                                     

When at last, I find her  . . .

 . . . her head hangs low. And without eye contact she mumbles on . . . telling me the heart-breaking tragedy by which her life is now forever changed.

I sit with her — my hands still filled with water — Living Water.

In listening to her story I recognize the dark place she’s been hiding.

Perhaps she’s been there for a long time. Maybe, ever since we last exchanged “how are you’s” and “I’m fine too’s.”

Her suffering has been swelling in silence much too long.

I’m filled with compassion for her.

Wondering if I would have taken the time to listen to her, before this tragedy occurred, if it wouldn’t have occurred at all.

Or perhaps if it would have lightened her load had she a friend to share it with.

A deeply connected friend, or a small group of friends, who did not judge.

Wanting to get her suited up in light armor, and over to the fountain, I guide her out of her small hideaway.

First I help her stretch her arms out into the light. Then her head and stiff legs . . .

I tell her . . .” the hour has come to shake loose from her hiding and fear . . . To wake up from her slumber . . . and put aside the darkness and to put on the armor of light.” (Rom 13:11-12)

With a renewed sense of protection and peace, and after donning her armor of light . . .

she looks me eye to eye . . .

and smiles.

Together we go to the fountain of water that faithfully hydrates with strength.  Along the way, I speak Truth to her in psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs. (Eph 5:19)

She cups her hands like she sees me doing – and she drinks deep.

The water spilling over her cheeks,

down her chin,

and across her elbows.

While she’s drinking deep of the water, I look around and see other-hers. Joyful sisters gathering for sustenance at the fountain of Living Water.

I hear the longing for communities. Do you?                                     

 lightbearing —

armor of light wearing —

communities —

who gather around the fountain of LIving Waters.

Joy Thacker loves to listen to your stories. Especially when they are your stories of transforming grace. As a recovering pocket-dweller she has some of her own life-altering tales to tell. She shares them in writing and at the Heart Working Women Retreats where she is passionately dedicated to helping women grow within authentic community. Joy is joyfully outnumbered in the parsonage with her four good men . . . one husband and their three sons.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Note: To view the full article, scroll past (below) the video here …

 

 

Welcome back!

Last week, we ended our talk on the discordant note of not having enough. Of scarcity.

Oh? You maybe had hoped I would have said something happier, such as abundance?

Well, that is what we hope for, isn’t it? But really, deep down in our bones, if you are like me, it’s scarcity that seeps into most of my expressions, moment to moment.

It’s a pretty big deal, globally. Especially among women. Scarcity. Not being enough — as women.

And collectively our voices have been coming together, gaining momentum, and we’ve begun to declare in bold, countering, affirmatives, with a singular voice — soprano, alto, mezzo-sopranos — a chorus we sing altogether, sometimes frenzied, arms bound in solidarity, crying aloud …

I AM ENOUGH. 

And so I realized, from the first moment I heard it declared from the stage of a TedTalk about six years ago by Brene Brown, and noting its own crescendo growing into a global wave and even spilling out in so many phrases on the green before our nation’s own Capitol this past weekend, we really do need to define this whole enough business so we know what is and is not true.  

It does matter.  Deeply, and on many levels.

Being enough, like its kindred connection to Beauty as an ideal, culturally means there is much at stake.

It matters to women the world over when changing diapers, wiping runny noses, catching the subway to an uptown corporate meeting, singing on a stage before thousands, or trying simply to make ends meet for hungry, growing kids — and often without a man around to father the fatherless. 

All the hundreds of simple acts of love we offer each day, or services for pay — these matter — and to know we are enough is somehow what helps us get to the next day.

I AM ENOUGH. It somehow becomes life-sustaining.

Still, what does it really mean to say, “I am enough?” I am glad you are here for us to ask it together.

IF by “enough” you mean “worthy of love,” then, yes, you are enough.  And it is THAT notion that I want to add substance and weight to for your day to day ability to thrive — as women.

Do you understand that worthiness isn’t something you have done to earn or acquire.  Do you hear me, girl? Mother? Teen?

Aren’t you so glad? I mean, if you’ve earned it, then by implication, you might lose it.

But isn’t that the way of the world? You earn what you get? And who you are and become is a thing that could slip through your fingers? So you must keep earning it. Again and again. The threat is real, we believe this, in our habits and how we function through life.

I don’t mean the sort of earning that puts food on the table and keeps the lights on for another month. But it’s the sort of earning that settles like rot into your bones. Mottling them, weakening them from day to day.

It is the message of scarcity that does this. And it’s the message of worthiness, deep worthiness, rightly bestowed and graciously sustained that renews us from our first breath to life’s end.

Yes, indeed, it is the message of deep and utter worthiness that sustains us.

You are enough, worthy of that sort of love.

And not only that …

You were born that way.  Born worthy of love.  

How can I say it, confidently? Because of one irreducible fact.

You are made in the image of God.

It’s His own eternal whispering that crescendos over you into the present moment in which you are drawing your breath.

He wanted YOU.  

He made you.

May we just pause here? And let that just sink down into our bones — more than any other message you may have been sporting about in your baby’s diaper bag today? Or your briefcase?

So let’s just get it straight.  You are worthy of love.  God says, “You are precious in my sight.”

                                                         Let. It. 

Seep. 

Deep

down

into

your

bones,

dear sister.

 

 

Until you are saturated and cannot contain the glory of it.  Until it runs over and splashes its redemption-truth onto your children, your spouse, your family, your sisters, your brothers, your coworkers, your boss — yes, even your world.

You are that enough loved.  To be amazing at whatever dreams or gifts are tucked away inside of you.

And you know, the really fantastic part — as if that were not grand enough — we were never meant to go through our days disconnected and alone. We are made for connection, worthy enough for it. Yes. You hear me. Even for that, you are worthy.

And another thing? (Yes. It gets even better. This makes me smile … )

He does and He will make up the difference when we falter and we fail.   Because He loves us that much. We are worthy because His actions bestow value upon us. Not because we’ve earned it.

The most brilliant apostle wrote, “When I am weak, He is strong.”  (holy and amen) 

In fact, Paul got to the place in his own life that he’d rather dwell in weakness so as to glory in the strength of the Lord.

So, what does it all mean? I think it means we — you and I — can rest and be at peace when something or someone needs us. When they pull us from that secret, desperate, self-arranged quiet spot of solitude (can anyone say, “bathroom”?) and rest because, after all, Jesus is our Peace.  HE is my rest.  

Is He yours?

He desires above all else to dwell within us — you and me. So that wherever we may be, whatever may befall, we know He is nearest of all.  And you can join with me in declaring this — until it becomes a global wave among women …

I am His.  

And He is mine.  

And in Him I have all the resources required for whatever situation that may arise moment to moment.  

All I need to do is come.  And receive Him.  His life which He makes to dwell in me.  

Does anyone relate to these things? 

He always is Enough. 

I ask you just one thing …

Please encourage me next time you see me. I will likely have forgotten. But I want to remember. May we continue to encourage one another with these words — you are loved enough.

Did you know? You can come and bring a friend to the Heart Working Women conference April 29 at White Sulfur Sring, Manns Choice, Pa. And there we can meet and encourage one another with these words. You are invited! 🙂

Julie Leppert ~ lives in rural south central Pennsylvania with her husband where they’ve raised their three children. Her best “nest” is in the attic where she dreams, prays, studies and writes for Heart Working Women and the Humbles who are her next of kin just beyond the creek.

 

I am enough.    

Three little words.

Have you ever “stepped outside” of yourself unexpectedly — and seen something you’ve missed all along? 

As if seeing the Little Dipper for the first time as a butcher’s cleaver?  I mean, it was always there, but for some reason suddenly you see it.  

I think of those times — the stepping outside of ourselves —  as grace moments; those moments when God alters our perspective on a thing, a thing perhaps not helpful or even harmful. 

An act of much-grace, it comes to us, gently boring through calcified habits and habituated ways of thinking, feeling, doing — so we can partake of His life-giving freedom a little further.  

A little more deeply.  

It’s very personal.  It can be uncomfortable.  

I pause and wonder, “Do I really want to allow that?  To have that sort of naked knowing?”  

Well, in a word, yes.   (I mean, No! Well, I mean yes.)

Yes, yes, I do.  

The conflict begins within my own stubborn, inscrutable kardia — to the extent my heart knows somehow that to go where the Lord leads will require an opening of the self, a laying flat on the table the playing cards held closely, the unfolding of the hands curled-tight — around the things I think that I am faithfully and neatly maintaining.  

After all, the things I maintain on a given day are typically arranged for my own comfort or pleasure.  I mean, let’s be honest.  

It takes an effort to think about a favorite meal for my husband when it is my least favorite.  And more effort to be willing to prepare it.  It takes effort to make space for him when he’s so very busy and suddenly wants intimacy.  It’s not that I don’t desire closeness with him — it’s just that we are inclined to prefer things on our own terms.  (Am I the only one?) 

I like quite spaces.  I crave solitude some days like the broken earth in August craves a summer rain.  

Susan Cain’s book “Quiet” attests to the longing of introverts and mentions scientific data supporting it.  

Sacred space.  Occupying it.  Life-giving.

I had a friend recently who knows me well share with me a Cain quote via Twitter:  “Solitude matters, and for some people, it’s the air they breathe.”  (I hear angels singing. Glory, amen.)

Quietude is for some of us how we tap into deeper resources to offer our gifts to the world. 

It’s quite simple: We introverts just do our best when we dwell within the quiet margins of our lives, moving fluidly in and out of them, to meet the loud, noisy, busy, boisterous world around us, regularly — with acts of service and love.

But here’s the thing:  Jesus says something to us all — to introverts and extroverts alike.  

“Come to Me.”

That stops me. 

“Come, all you little introverts, to Me.  You extroverts are doing just fine.” 

No.  Not that. You see, His call to us bores right into our ways of being no matter what our modus operandi. 

It altogether is a VERY different thing — coming to Him, the Fountain of all of life as opposed to ME arranging an optimal existence around the ideal of quietude.  (Yes, the monastic lifestyle strangely appeals to me, but maybe you prefer a faster tempo, louder music, brighter lights?  He calls us both, you see, from our own creations to partake of Himself.)

I wonder if I stopped being so concerned and focused on staying comfortable, maintaining peace and harmony in my days, if I took that same energy and fixed them upon Jesus who is Peace — what would that mean?  

I mean in practice.  

Jesus, who is my Peace, who walks with me always, whose nearness is a constancy akin to breathing each breath — breaths I don’t notice until, well, until I do notice.

Inhale. Exhale. inhale. exhale.  (Tempo lento affettuoso)

I’ve never counted my breaths in a single minute.  

But He is present.  

For every 

one 

of 

them.

I don’t need to arrange for peace when Peace dwells within me — He is the Lord of glory.  

It’s not that I need not ever arrange for those quiet spaces and places to be alone with the One Person who adores me (I don’t even know what that means, actually, but I’ve been told it’s true and think since He died for me, well, it must be true) …

To be with the One Who gives me strength,

who helps me see what the world rushes past but

desperately needs to see

from time to time — as often

as the sun rises and sets.

It’s the same thing I desperately need — un-calcified perspective.

The quietude and the stillness that occurs in such solitary spaces becomes transferrable and is sustained within a heart pliable and at rest.     

Yes, pliable or softened.  The messages we receive from our experiences suggest otherwise.  We are given toward self-preservations.  But Jesus calls us to live a different sort of life.  A living-given Life.  It’s what Ann Voskamp tells us in her new book The Broken Way.

Paradoxes abound in the Kingdom of God, the Kingdom that dwells within us — because in the dying there is life. 

When we respond to the request for a cup of cold water, we can serve it in peace.  Is your heart at rest?  Is my heart peaceful?

Is it not more refreshing for the child receiving the cup to touch a hand extended, gentle and peaceful, from a heart tender and so governed? 

But we are so sure that if we extend a thing or two — or a life given — freely, there won’t be anything left of us.  Yet, the research suggests otherwise.  Brene Brown brilliantly describes this in her book Daring Greatly: How the Courage to Be Vulnerable Transforms the Way We Live, Love, Parent, and Lead.    

Her telling, without intention, beautifully explores the reality of this truth: 

For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it.  (Matthew 16:25)

Jesus is enough for the fullness (and emptiness) of our days.  

I suspect something. 

My busy heart strains and thumps its way through doing laundry, running errands, cooking meals, dusting and vacuuming in order to get to the next quiet time — hoping to find rest by measured chunks of quiet.  Yet … 

If I act on the truth of this  — Jesus is enough —  will HE not by His very essence, His sustainable presence provide essential life-giving peace — on-the-go? Yes … 

Even. Then.

Will not even this happen?  With each action undertaken from a place of enough rest, enough joy, enough resources, enough beauty (yes, even enough beauty!) become an act of peace-filled happiness, like plucking cherries from laden trees in July?

You can’t rush it.  Messy things will occur.  

Even when we don’t rush, our fingers still will get sticky.  (Here’s the thing: There’s time to wash them with soap bubbles and trickling water, plenty of time for it. Time to heal the sticky spots in our souls and on our hands.)

When we do rush, as souls compelled, we miss the beauty, the tender juicy breaking of its cherry skin between our teeth.  Or …

The sharing of one with a child.  Or a friend.  And their smiles in reply.   

There is so much rest lost in that manner of doing life — in a frenzied hurry. 

When we need not ever hurry, not in that mode or manner. 

Not. Ever. 

If Jesus is enough, then abundance — not scarcity — occupies our storehouse.

We invite you to think about whether Jesus is enough in your life — and how this matters. We hope to continue the chat in the next Heart Working Women newsletter.  

We welcome you!

Photo Credits – Jill Leppert (Dog & Cat, Rose) ~ others by Julie

Story by Julie Leppert ~ She lives in rural south central Pennsylvania with her husband where they’ve raised their three children. Her best “nest” is in the attic where she dreams, prays, studies and writes for Heart Working Women and the Humbles who are her next of kin just beyond the creek.

Traditionally each Christmas, we turn back the clock of time a couple dozen years, and pull out the home videos to watch our once-little children open their Christmas presents all over again. Seeing their joyful tiny faces and hearing their squeals of glee is splendid.

My racing thoughts suddenly mellow into sweet satisfying memories of the days Legos, Lincoln Logs, building blocks, and The Chronicles of Narnia found their way into my three sons cheerful small hands and hearts.

Though they are now young men ages 25, 21, & 16, and into cars, college, and careers . . . these Christmas presents have been lasting friends. Friends that have helped them grow and inspired their thinking.

Likewise, you, my friends, have helped me grow and are inspiring my thinking.

In 2016 I began blogging regularly, created http://heartworkingwomen.com/ website, and with the help of my talented brain trust launched our premiere HWW Conference. I’m living “Out of my Pockets” now. And looking forward to inspiring you to “Live Out of your Pockets” in 2017.

I’m grateful for each of you who’ve signed up for our newsletter, read and commented on our blogs, and contributed as a guest blogger.

A special shout-out to those of you who ventured out to our premiere HWW conference.

Your feedback is appreciated. 🙂

As we stay grafted to The Vine, and share from our pockets, God’s message through us will continue to fine tune and focus.

I’m thrilled to know that at least four CORE groups were birthed at the conference in November. As a result I’m creating support/training material for these groups. So please let me know if you are participating in a CORE group and how it’s going. If you are interested in one please contact me so we can be in communication.

Below is a video clip for you from our November 5th conference at White Sulphur Springs.

Out of pocket blessings to you for a life-giving 2017!

Joy!