I lift the machine cover and stare at the buttons, trying to recall what they all mean. My face is splotchy from crying and my eyes are swollen and hot. I run my finger along the right side of the sewing machine and they remember instinctively where the power switch is. The lights flash on but I sit paralyzed.

Because it’s all a mess.

The whole thing.

I can’t hear him anymore and he can’t hear me. I’ll just sew…I think. And then I’ll feel like myself again. I wind white thread into the bobbin and I’m a little surprised at how easy it comes back to me.

I thought it would be harder.

Now that I have it threaded, I reach for the pieces of fabric I left sitting months ago.

Or was it more?

They still smell laundry-fresh and I wonder how that happens. I hold them up tentatively, trying to remember which is the front and which is the back. I slip three pins out and separate the material, but it’s not coming back to me. I should remember. I’m so sad I don’t.

It would have been beautiful if I had just paid attention when it was new, and now I’m left with the pieces.

I am like that, and I know it. I start things ambitiously and I believe I will finish them, but I usually don’t. I love the fresh journal, the creases in a new pattern, the way a book looks on my shelf. But then the pieces pile up and my heart breaks and I feel it all over again.

You’re a failure.

I reach for the pattern because I’m not going to leave it, along with all the other half-finished skirts and dresses in the third drawer down. It can still be right. She hasn’t grown out of it just yet, and if I concentrate she will have it before the summer sun comes up again.

There’s a knock at the door and I know why.

Because he is splotchy-red too and we’re both holding pieces.

“Can I come in?”

I nod, but don’t dare to speak because I don’t know what will fall out. My hands are busy and I like it better that way. I look down at what they are doing and I pretend to be indifferent. I’m not, and he knows it.

“Working on her dress?”

I nod again.

I can’t help but think it looks like a movie scene, with me fumbling my way and him fumbling his.

“I just felt like I needed to sew again.” It means more than needles, and he sees through my small talk.

There is silence while I unfold the paper carefully. It bends this way and that and if it isn’t done just right the whole thing will tear apart and then where will we be?

I realize I’m missing a piece, and I say so.

“So what do we do?” He asks.

And the naked truth is this.

I have no idea.

I tell him I have to cut a new one and he tells me he wants to help. It’s easier to do it myself, but that’s the problem. I’m stitching and mending and thinking I can do it all and I can’t. He doesn’t wait for an answer, but reaches for the fabric and takes it from me.

“It smells like laundry soap.” He whispers.

I don’t say a word, but I reach past him for the scissors, and show him what needs to be done. He smiles because he loves me when I create, and he wants to remember what it’s like to be in my world. It’s been a long time since I opened the door.

He learns quickly, and I smile because he is a grown man with a three day old beard and flannel pajamas, but he looks like a boy while he cuts.

Out of nowhere, I feel the sting of sadness.

“Have we made a mess of it?”

He doesn’t answer before the tears come. My hands go to my face to cover the hurt before he fully sees me, but I can’t. I never could.

I just wanted to sew, I think to myself.

But it wasn’t the fabric I loved.

It wasn’t even the finished product.

It was watching the needle and knowing that it was working all the time to mend, even as it pierced.

It looks like it’s dangerous, and as if it’s wounding. It tears through layers and even through skin. I’m convinced it will come away flawed and torn, and then I see the beauty of it all.

And the hum of the sewing machine reminds me again what it looks like to allow yourself to be wounded because you believe in what will one day come of it all.

And while the tears come fresh, he holds me, even with the scissors still in his hand, and he tells me he loves me and will fight for it to be beautiful again. I believe him and I cry because there aren’t words that say what I want them to.

There are only patterns and dreams, and the way he came to knock on the door because he loved me more than his own pride.

We stay up late. Too late, actually. And we laugh because we have all these babies that won’t wait for us to sleep in tomorrow, and it will be time to stitch some more.

The dial spins around and the motor is warm to the touch when we leave.

It’s good to remember.

I still haven’t finished the dress, because there was too much sadness in the memory of her. I had thought it might be good to give it to her sister, but the truth was it was better left undone.

I folded it neatly and slipped it into her drawer, even as it was.

Not in this life, love…

Maybe one day I will take it out again and marvel at how it still smells like fresh life, even though it has been years since I saw it last.

Oh, how I miss her.

But there in front of me is the rest of it, and I so long to love it well.

I won’t forget the way we welcomed that midnight hour, crumpled on the floor in pajamas, laughing and crying because we didn’t know what else to do.

I have stopped resenting the third drawer down, because I believe that one day-

Well, I hope you know.

He’s going to make it beautiful again.

Hope you got a smile out of that

Ang

A few months ago I was getting ready in the bathroom and Ellie walked in and said something funny. I laughed and then gasped at my reflection in the mirror. Were those…? I mean, surely not. I’ve worked out all the details. No gray hair, no wrinkles, no belly fat, no stretch marks. And I accepted the latter two as payment for my babies. But the Lord and I had not come to any definitive conclusions about the rest of it.

Imagine my surprise a few days later when I found not one, but three gray hairs.

Clearly, it was time for intervention (and by “intervention” I mean “shopping).

I headed to Sephora because they are like a therapist but with more lipstick choices. I found a woman who seemed to have made the same pact with God about aging but apparently had better moisturizer than I did. She walked me to the back of the store and introduced me to an eye cream that smelled like dead fish. I wanted to embrace the dead fish because once my teenage skin came back it would seem like a small price to pay. I bought the fish stuff, along with a few other “must-haves” for the rewind process. I’m not going to say I didn’t give it a fair shot, but approximately 45 minutes after I put it on, I still saw some wrinkles and I gave a monologue that would have made Solomon seem optimistic in Ecclesiastes.

Stupid wrinkles. They’re just around my eyes a little and mostly when I smile. Actually, I’m not even 100% sure they are wrinkles. They might just be my face.

Whatever.

They smell like fish now.

My thought process for a few days went something like this:

“I’m old. I’m practically on the doorstep of death. I need to deal with it.”

“Who cares what I look like? I mean, the Lord doesn’t look at the face. He looks at the heart.”

“Well that’s good. But unfortunately, everyone else looks at your face and yours is old and freaky looking. And I would be much more concerned about your arm fat than your wrinkles. You can give up smiling forever but your arms are going to have to move.”

“I’m so vain. I need to get over it.”

And on and on. And then on a little more because why not go for broke, you know?

I know I’m not the only one who has been through this, and I also know that it’s inevitable. But I guess I never realized I was going to be included.

Truth be told, I don’t think it’s even about face lines or gray hairs.

I just don’t want things to be moving quite so fast.

I meant to take a picture of Charlotte’s tiny little baby feet hanging off the rocking chair the other day and I took at least 15 photos, bemoaning the way the angle was making them look so big. I scrolled through a couple and looked up at her again, and in an instant I realized they were wholly representing what existed. Her feet are chubby and delicious, and I kiss them every single day. And somewhere in the kissing and the shoes and the towel drying them after bath time, I missed the part where they changed.

The camera doesn’t lie, and neither does the mirror.

My heart says, “It will never change,”  but the reflections tell me otherwise.

I sat in the moonlight all alone that night and whispered to Him, “Why?”

Why do you let me love things as they are only to tell me they won’t stay?

And as the blushing bride, ever well-intentioned, I realized my mistake as soon as the words left my mouth.

All this dark night, and you sit in the moonlight asking why.

I’ve been holding it all too tightly. Shoving feet in tiny shoes and scrutinizing the way the hours are robbing me of what was beautiful. I missed the way He lit up the night for me.

His moon.

His love.

His painting of my hair and ticking of the clock.

His spectacular plan that I’m so tempted to forget in favor of wrinkle cream and doubt. I get the sense that I’ve been treading water for a long time, asking Him to give me something that feels better.

I spend more time looking for my reflection in a mirror, rather than in the night sky. I want to drink deep of the landscape He has blessed me with. Not from behind a camera, trying to clip and edit until it matches my heart, but as a woman who can see the stars spilled out and believe Him.

There is beauty in the believing, isn’t there?

It’s a warm summer day today, and I have a feeling my backyard will be full of noises and patches of light tonight.

And as it often does, the wind will pick up the swings and move them back and forth while I cry out for them to be still. Tonight I will watch them and I will smile.

And instead of worrying about the swings, I will thank Him for the wind.

Constantly moving.

Always nudging us toward our home with Him.

Jesus, You make it all unbearable beautiful when we dare to look. Thank you for the mercy that sets us all free to love you in return…You are Everything.

And also, Jesus?

I don’t want to smell like fish anymore.

Amen.

There are lots of prizes and giveaways thanks to Dayspring and my publisher B&H (you’ll NEVER guess what they are giving everyone who comes…hmmm…could it be….books?!?!?)

We know there are quite a few more people coming than are registered on this page, so if you are planning on it, could you kindly sign up so we have an official headcount? We want to make sure we have plenty of stuff to spoil you with Invite your friends, your neighbors, whoever! The more the merrier Just let us know how many you are bringing and then come enjoy the fun.

In addition to snacking, laughing, and giving out loot, we are going to be watching some amazing videos from (in)courage, and you will not want to miss what God has been up to over there. You can click over to see more info on this first-time event, but the gist is it is going to be an amazing night and I really hope you can come!!! These are happening all over the place, so make sure and look up your city here if you want to be a part of it:)

Can’t wait!!!

Love to all,

Ang

Looking at the calendar a few weeks ago we vowed we would never do it again. Too many commitments, too many airplanes, too many deadlines, too much time away from the kids.

I’m intent on refusing to let things pile up this way again.

When I got home last night, I chatted with the big girls and then took a shower while they fell asleep. Todd is at the Dove Awards (while I was typing, Selah won “Inspirational Album of the Year. Congrats, and WELL DESERVED:)) so the house felt quiet. So quiet that what seemed like it might just be a squeak as Charlotte shifted positions in her crib, I lurched out of bed and ran over to grab her. I lifted her sleepy little body out of bed and brought her across the hall to my room, where I may or may not have played with her until she woke up enough to have a hide and seek war with the covers and eat jellybeans with me.

I feel like maybe that makes me a bad mom, but actually I have had to adjust my standards a little. I’m loving them well, making sure they know this is obedience to a calling, and also, eating snacks in the middle of the night. Sue me.

So we had the little feast and she fell asleep in my arms with her blanket tucked around her. I let her sleep in my bed, which doesn’t usually work out well because she is what I like to refer to as a “night thrasher.” Ellie and Abby stay stick-still, and Kate will bruise your organs. Charlotte is somewhere in between.

I heard her stirring around at around 8 this morning and I was so tired that I pretended to be asleep. She physically tried to open my eyelid and said, “Hey Mommy.” I didn’t move. Because I am the ultimate mother, in case you haven’t picked up on that yet. She played with my hair for a minute and then laid back down with her hand resting on my stomach. After about ten minutes I started to wake up and decided to scare her, which she loves. I jerked in one super-fast motion and got my face right up next to her and shouted “ARRGHHH!!!!!” in a freaky growl noise (cue the sound of the mother of the year truck screeching into the distance). She jumped and then laughed herself red-faced.

Then she did what any sweet, lovable girl would do in that situation. She full-on grabbed her diaper and shouted, “Ew. Pider Ucky.”

“Your diaper’s dirty?” I asked. Because perfect mothers always ask the question when they know the answer because they are buying time.

“Ah needa chaange.” She continued to grab at her diaper through the jammies like she was just going to rip it right off. Delicate. Ladylike. Or not.

“You need your diaper changed.” Buying time, but disguising it as a reflective, mirroring response so it looks like I’m giving her words. I’m not. I’m just tired. As evidenced by my next sentence.

“Here baby. Mommy put you down. Can you go get a diaper?”

Don’t worry. I’ll write a book on all this stuff so you can make parenting decisions out of laziness too.

“Okay.” She reaches to me and I set her on the ground. As she ran out of the room she shouted, “Be wiiiiight back. Okay.”

I heard her feet hit the hardwood and then the carpet again as she ran into her room. There was some rustling and then her feet again.

“Here go.” She handed me one wipe, which she had taken out of the wipe case.

“Good job Char! But we need a diaper.” She threw the wipe and darted off toward her room again.

More rustling. More feet.

“Mama hep. Hep peese.” She had her shoes and wanted them on. Over her jammies. Which is not unusual. We sometimes fight her to take them off at bedtime and bathtime. What can I say? She’s a shoe girl.

“No, baby. We can’t put your shoes on unless you get your diaper.”

Fake crying.

More fake crying.

Feet. Floor. Rustling. Books hitting the ground. Laughter. Singing. Feet.

And another wipe.

This little routine went on for about 5 minutes, at which point I realized that it wasn’t going to work for me to parent from bed today. Ta-da! She can be taught, folks.

Charlotte sat at the foot of my bed on the floor and ripped wipes apart while I brushed my teeth and got my contacts in. I was almost done when she yelled, “AH NEEDA CHANGE!!!!!!” She was not evidencing a happy heart, let’s just say that. And there were six piles of ripped wipes that whispered, “the Proverbs 31 lady just rolled over in her grave.”

I got her diaper and took care of the diaper, but as it often does, the Gospel infiltrated my life.

If she wanted it so badly, why didn’t she just get the diaper?

Want to know the truth?

It’s the same reason my calendar looks like a football strategy thing. And yes. I am aware that this is not the actual term. I like to watch it but I don’t keep up. In fact, Pat Smith (Emmitt’s wife) and Brenda Warner (Kurt’s wife) were on the same Women of Faith retreat I was on this week and I love them. I love them so much that it makes me wish I did know more about football, because then I would possibly have know what team Kurt played for, if Emmitt still played (He doesn’t. I asked his wife. Which was awesome and not at all embarrassing) and what in the world the football map plan is called.

Anywho.

My calendar.

I had great intentions. I will seek the Lord. I will go single-mindedly toward that which I know is what I need and that which is good. And I will not get sidetracked. I won’t carry a hundred things back with me and whisper to the wind, “Why is this dirty thing still on me?”

I sat on my bed and I cried.

I long for Him so desperately that I complain, argue, debate anything that pulls me from Him. But when push comes to shove, I see the shoes, the wipe, the hallway…

The world.

I’m going to be brutally honest in a way that genuinely hurts. I haven’t been able to write the way I want to. I haven’t had it in me. The words get stuck in my throat and I decide to skip the tap-tap of the keyboard and go grab lunch with a friend instead.

No, it’s not a pair of white leather Keds, but it might as well be.

I sometimes lose sight of what I set out for.

I am a representative of the Gospel, and I take that job very, very seriously.

But I am also a daughter of the King. A daughter who needs to take responsibility and serve Him with my sole focus being on Him.

I haven’t been able to write because I haven’t been in His word the way I should be. I have been looking around me and shuffling my heart toward any shiny thing that takes off the glorious weight of Jesus.

And with Charlotte’s weight pressed on me in the night, I rested.

And when she ran, He spoke.

Seek Me. Focus your intentions and act on them.

The rest will come.

So today, after spending time with the Lord this morning, buried in His words, I found that the tap-tap came easily.

It was the overflow of a heart full of His presence, and the gratitude of a woman convicted by the error of her ways.

Are you lost somewhere between one bedroom and another? Have you reached for every little thing that you can wrap your hands around? Have you forgotten what you were intended to bring back?

It isn’t too late.

I have so much to be grateful for. My kids are healthy and seem absolutely unfazed by my schedule. They are thriving. I have a husband who desires the things that matter and loves me to the ends of this life, no matter where my feet have gotten tangled. I have a ministry that I couldn’t have dreamed of asking for because who in the WORLD am I to deserve it?

It’s a beautiful spring day in the city I love, and I have a friend (Hi Betsy!) who I am sharing a Starbucks table with and she is encouraging me to write. I just asked her how long I had been typing and she said 45 minutes.

I waited a month to update this silly blog in 45 minutes because I’ve been so busy gathering that which I didn’t need.

I have been to the wellspring, and I don’t know why I keep believing I need to be thirsty anymore.

Drink deep, friends. Clear your calendars if you need to. Take the long way home.

Soak up every bit of Him you can, and let the overflow be your offering.

It is true, you know.

I stand as a witness.

He.

Is.

Everything.

I know, right?!?!?! She is so delicious. And a total talker. She says things like, “Ina bine beh” (I want brown bear) and “I gonna getchu!” while running around the house in her nudie-tudies. She also sings a multitude of songs (think Adele, not Barney) and insists on wearing shoes All. The. Time. She also says, “Tank U Maaaach” for thank you, and her newest phrase has something to do with greeting a sea bass but we haven’t figured out the details just yet.

In other family related news, we got a call a few weeks ago to see if Todd would like to be a part of an Easter service at Sea World, and we talked it over but really wanted to be together so he talked with the radio station and asked if he could bring his family. We have wanted to go back to Disneyworld since we were pregnant with Audrey but just haven’t been able to. If you have read my blog for any length of time, you will understand why we knew God was giving us a gift with this new trip. The radio station agreed to the adventure and long story short, we are all going back to Disney. And you’ll never, never guess what day we are flying out?

Or maybe you would

April 7th. On what would have been Audrey’s fourth Birthday here with us.

I cried. Hard. And as grateful as I am, it is very bittersweet. The last time we went we still had her with us, so I have so many memories tucked away about the way I hoped that she would survive. For me, the trip happened at a time when I didn’t know the way it would turn out, and it breaks my heart to remember the hidden prayers that followed me to bed.

Last night Todd and I were watching the Duggars and Michelle was talking about her pregnancy and how she was so happy and wanting to get past a milestone (because her daughter Josie had been born prematurely before that). I started crying as I watched it because I know what she didn’t at that point. The sweet daughter she was carrying would not survive. I watched as my eyes grew hot and red because she had such hope. And I can’t help but see myself in her face, praying that our earthly desires will come to fruition…praying to the God Who knows what will and what will not.

When I think about Disney, I can’t help but imagine that the Lord was watching us as we hoped, and knowing we would be devastated soon. That’s a difficult thought, and I wonder if you have ever been there. It would be easy to allow the world to tell us that it wasn’t worth the risk. Why bother to hope at all?

May I dare to answer that for your heart {and mine} today?

In my life, hope has led me to pray. It has led me to believe Him. To have the boldness to say that I trust Him above the hurt. It has given me a reason to lift my head, to stake my claim, and to dismiss the shadows that whisper, “it will not be redeemed.” We do not know the ways of the Lord, of course. I’ve heard it said a thousand times and I agree. But there is more to say, isn’t there?

We might not know His ways, but we can know Him. 

My life didn’t get tied up in a neat bow when we had this crooked-ponytailed miracle you see above. And it didn’t answer the questions or silence the hurt.

What it did give me was a reminder of the power of hope. Not just in tomorrow. Not just in this life, actually.

But the hope that demands a response in the way we live our lives.

She is with Him.

She is with Him.

So while my feet reach one in front of the other, for all the years to come, I will remain steadfast in this:

I have hope because I have Him.

Disney will be great. I’m sure we’ll get sick on loads of ice-cream and lack of sleep. But there is no amount of adventure that can compare to the time I have ahead of me. I need that reminder a lot, and maybe you do as well.

This isn’t it, friends. Do you believe that more than the curve ball life is throwing you right now? I hope you do.

And hope?

Is a beautiful thing.

Eyes on Him, friends. Eyes only on Him…

Here’s to the audacity of hope.

Angie

p.s. We have been told that the song “I Will Carry You” has ministered to the Duggars as they have walked through the loss of their sweet Jubilee. I believe it will be featured on their season finale this month. It is an incredible honor to be able to share in their loss this way. Audrey still testifies to the power of hope, doesn’t she?

My friend Jen started an organization called Sweet Sleep which distributes beds & mosquito nets to HIV/AIDS orphans in Northern Uganda. Sweet Sweet Sleep’s vision is for every orphaned child in the world to lie down in their own bed reminding them they are loved, protected and cared for with hope for the future through Jesus.

Kind of neat – every bed that Sweet Sleep provides is purchased in the country they are working in. So not only are they providing children with a place to sleep but they’re building into the economy of the country as well. They send volunteer teams several times throughout the year to assemble the beds in the orphanages & show the children they are loved and care for.

Wondering how you can join in on the Fun Friday:Flipped fun & give back? You can help with a one time gift or by becoming a sweet sleep bedhead & donating monthly. It’s easier than you might think…

$8 will buy a net 
$10 will buy a Bible
$12 will buy a blanket
$20 will buy just a mattress
$50 will provide an entire bed kit for a child in Uganda (this includes a bed, blanket, bible, & mosquito net)

If you want to give, you can do so right on Sweet Sleep’s site here. Thanks for letting me flip things upside down today!!

Enough about me.

I’m not really a huge fan of the make-up either. Maybe it’s the lighting. It could be my head.

Ok, I’m really done now.

And despite all of these reservations, I still want you to watch this quick little video to hear about our latest selection for the Bloom Book Club. Maybe I needed the reminder…and maybe you do too.

Bloom Book Club Introduction from Bloom (in)courage on Vimeo.

Confession: Todd usually gets up with her in the middle of the night. Another confession: He usually gets up before me with the kids in the morning. One more confession: He does 98 % of the laundry and more than half of the housework. I have other confessions but I will save them for a day when you might not decide to hate me because I have such a great husband.

Anyway, last night when Charlotte started screaming, instead of her normal “please come get me and rock me back to sleep” sound, she was wailing. She went from dead asleep to sounding like she was desperately afraid in about 4 seconds. I opened my eyes and sat still for a second because sometimes she goes right back to sleep.

“Mommy! Mommy! MOOOMMMMYYY!!!!” I jumped up. Because that’s me she’s calling. And she isn’t just upset, she’s wanting me. And who can resist answering that need?

I jumped out of bed and walked toward her room. Right as I turned the doorknob, she let out another piercing scream, so she didn’t hear me walk in. We live in a house that has creaky doorknobs and pockets of the floor that you learn to step around if you’re trying to be quiet. I know where they are. I didn’t make a sound.

It surprised me that she wasn’t standing up in her crib and bouncing, because she usually does that when she’s upset.

I know. Because I know her.

She was so worked up that she didn’t even notice that I had gotten right up next to her crib, and that I was actually leaning over the white wooden bars while she was flailing around. She was sweaty, I could tell from her little wet head. She was digging her fists into the mattress and rolling her legs around kicking the sides of the crib. And she was more upset than I have seen her in awhile.

I prayed for her. I rebuked any Satanic spirit that might be influencing her, I prayed for peace and for rest. I did it quickly, and I waited just a moment more.

She was still scared. Still unaware of me.

Quietly, quietly, I started humming, “Hush little baby, don’t you cry…” It was just enough to make my throat vibrate. Too quiet for her to take notice, but she must have sensed something in her half-awake state, and she calmed a little. I started to reach over the crib but I didn’t want to wake her if she was going to go back to sleep. She didn’t even need to know I was here, just felt enough in my presence to know she wasn’t alone. I kept watching her though, and I noticed that although she was still upset, she wasn’t looking at the door. She knew that one of us would come in and get her, but she cried to the corner, so distraught that she didn’t lift her head.

And in the middle of the night, while the wind howled around Nashville and the rest of my babies slept, I wondered how many times I have done this.

I call Him, because I know His name.

And He answers, because He has always knows mine.

I am lost in the wreckage, trying to get my bearings, and while I can’t even lift my head, He whispers throughout the madness…I am here, love. Rest.

I snuck in when you thought it was over. When you thought it was impossible. And while your back was turned and the world was upside-down, I came near to you. I have seen you wrestle with your pain, shout in anger, and kick the sides of this life until the bruises reminded you that you could even feel at all.

And somewhere, sometime…many in fact, I bowed beside you and sang. And when you thought you couldn’t get to me, I reminded you that I always, always come to you.

Hush little baby…

I stood in the moonlight and let Him fall on me. Have you ever done that? Because it’s pretty spectacular. I read my Bible, of course. And I love to listen to music, to be in community, and all of the other gifts of this world. But every now and then He speaks and I know that even when I leave the moonlight I’m never going to forget the mercy that spoke in the darkness.

She stirred again and I reached over and touched her back. Gently, gently.

Hush.

She felt me, jumped up, and scrambled for my arms as if I might leave without her.

I never would, you know.

And as she lowered her head into my neck, I settled into the rocking chair and she was out before I even sat.

There were no words exchanged. Just the truth that exists between a parent and a child in the middle of the night. And it says the same thing it always has.

You didn’t know I was there, but it doesn’t change the fact that I was.

I heard you call me and I came.

I sang over you, prayed over you, loved you from the shadows.

Hush, love. Hush. Another day is dawning soon and we will meet here again. Around the squeaky floors I have come to know so well. And when we do, you will remember why it is that you called me in the first place, so long ago.

And if you listen to the stillness, you will hear me. Anywhere, anytime.

Hush.

Can you hear Him?

{Zephaniah 3:17}

Lots of traveling, lots of stuff with the kiddos, friends…life. It has been a good reminder of the fact that even when things start to feel upside-down, there’s still something we can do for each other in the hard seasons.

Years ago, when people rallied around me during my pregnancy with Audrey, I realized that one of the most amazing gifts I received was the love of people who only knew me through the common bond of Christ, and those women offered a part of themselves for me. Many of you emailed me letting me know that you had specifically asked the Lord to allow you to carry a part of my burden. Wow.

I’m sitting in a Starbucks writing this, and I’m tempted to burst into tears because I remember that time so well. I know without a shadow of a doubt that the Lord honored your requests, and as a result my burden was lighter. To this day I have an image of the way He may have distributed that hurt to those who were willing, and the most beautiful part of it all is that He received all the glory for your faithfulness.

In my quiet time today, the Lord led me to a few scriptures and as always, a little bit of deeper study led to insight that blessed me beyond measure. Sometimes when you’re reading the Bible, you see things that seem contradictory. As I read Galatians 6:2 today, it seemed pretty clear that this “sharing of burdens” was important. It says:

“Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.”

Okay. Got it.

But then, right below it in Gal 6:5, it says this:

“For each one of you should carry his own load.”

Interesting. So what gives?

Before I say anything else, let me say this. The Bible is not supposed to be intimidating. It’s not supposed to make you afraid to dig further down, or to seem like an academic, far-away, untouchable instruction manual. It’s a love story, and you are a part of it.

If you see commentaries on the Bible, or anything fancy that talks about the Greek or Hebrew words, or anything like that, just know this: God never intended the Bible to feel “over your head.” He wants you to invest youself and take the time to understand things, but He never wants you to be intimidated by the Word. Rather, He wants you to be empowered.

Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes. Galatians. And why does it say that we are to share burdens and then say that we are all supposed to carry our own loads? Which is it?

Here’s what I discovered.

In verse 2, the Greek word used for “burdens” is “baros.”

Don’t wander off because I said Greek!!! Come on back! Just think of it this way. The Old Testament was written in Hebrew, and the New Testament in Greek. So when you say “the Greek word,” you are really just saying, “in the original language.”

Okay? You back. Good.

And how in the world did I ever figure out the Greek word?

Because I speak it fluently. As well as Hebrew, French, and at least three African dialects.

Well, either that or I have access to the Google.

I love this website, and this Bible in particular for this kind of study.

Sooooo, baros. Hello new friend.

Baros means “heaviness, weight, burden, trouble.”

Now onto verse 5. Using the same methods, I find (in about 2 seconds) that the word used in this passage for “load” is different. This word (in Greek…hello fancypants) is “phortion.” It lists the word “burden” in it’s definition, but upon reading a little you will see that it is different than the one mentioned earlier. Innnnnnteresting.

Here’s what I found:

The word “photon” does not connote any weight; it is simply to indicate that something is being carried. It’s the same word used in the passage that says, “My yoke is easy and my burden is light.” (Mt. 11:30). It’s what we are called to carry, and essentially it means that we are going to stand before God one day and have to give an account for our lives, and that is not something that someone else can carry for us. (via W.E. Vine)

Greek and Hebrew aren’t scary, but that is. Because it’s the kind of conviction that motivates us to seek Him and make our lives a beautiful offering.

The former (baros) is the weight of this world-the pain that comes from living in a fallen world with fallen people. And it connotes weight. I know, because I feel that weight every day and so do you. There is a major difference between the two, and while we can’t shoulder the burden of someone’s life choices in light of eternity, we can shoulder the burden put on our friends here on earth. And I really believe that it’s more than a suggestion.

Isn’t that cool? I know this isn’t really a “pretty” post, but the purpose is to get you motivated to dig into your Bibles, and also to ask for you to pick up some weight for some sisters in Christ.

I love that this is a safe community where we can bring our burdens and allow the Lord to distribute them. Feel free to use the comment section as an altar and lay down anything we can pray about, even if it isn’t detailed.

We will be honored to share the load.

With so much love,

Angie