Here We Are

Hey, friends.

How are you doing?
Toss 'fine' and 'good' out the window right now.
Set the weight down for a minute.
How are you doing, really?

These past few months have been heavy and exhausting. They've looked different for everyone, each of us experiencing our own unique flavor of difficult as we stumble our way through.

Over the past few weeks I've found myself resurrecting a word I became familiar with in the days/weeks/months surrounding the deaths of Norah and Mom: weary.

My heart is tired. I don't need to name the weights we all carry – the 24/7 news cycle has that covered.

How are you carrying the weight in your world?
Does it look messy? Kind of broken?
Same here.

For me, the past few months have included panic attacks, anxiety, and paralyzing uncertainty. The deaths of Norah and Mom have left me with a trail mix blend of PTSD, anxiety, depression, and grief (managed with the help of a fabulous therapist). 2020 has served to emphasize each one in its own unique way.

Are you tired? I find myself worn out, tired like a dry field desperate for change and ready for growth.

2020 has been defined by the unknown. It's broken through any semblance of control, shaking off the superfluous and getting down to the bedrock.

A mantra of sorts has emerged as a tool for when I feel overwhelmed, a simple phrase that puts my feet back on solid ground: God is here.

I'll never forget the undeniable hand of God tenderly holding us as Norah died in Lane's arms.
Or the way God filled our house as He welcomed Mom home.
He met us there, so I know He is here.

We exist in this moment for a reason. God has placed each of us on this earth in this specific moment in time for a purpose that I believe is greater than survival.

2020 should and will change us. I'm not talking about productivity that laughs in the face of reality – I'm talking about a paradigm shift, a tender awareness, and honest growth.

Norah taught me that no matter what your journey looks like, moments of light will always exist.
Mom taught me to recognize those moments.
Lora taught me to slow down and give space to them, even the smallest of joys.

Friends, let us not ignore the flowers.

2020 is not about survival.
2020 is about revival.

The simple definition of revival is this: an improvement in the condition or strength of something.
Revival will look different for each person and each family. It could be as big as a social movement, or as small as a silent prayer of repentance or forgiveness.

What would it look like for you? In your house?

It could be in the words you speak or the moments you listen.
It could be something you do or something you choose to stop doing.
It could be the music you listen to, the books you read, the media you consume, or the people you follow.
It could be a silent, broken prayer.
It could mean saying yes.
It could mean saying no.
It could mean action, or it could mean rest.
Maybe it's grace.
Maybe it's forgiveness.
Maybe it's hope.

Friends, I pray for the Holy Spirit to move in and through you, washing revival over you and your families with refreshing intensity. I pray that the Lord will plant grace, healing, strength, respect, understanding, listening, action, peace, and love in your heart and grow them to overflowing so that you may act as a lighthouse to your families, to your neighbors, to your communities.

May we encourage, teach, and carry each other towards a better tomorrow.

This is 2020.
We are still here.

And so is God.