Monthly archives for April, 2014

Why I Won’t Fight This Season of Unrest :: on prayer

Apr 30, 2014 14 Comments ~ Written by lisha epperson

prayer
photo: flickr cc – lillian wagdy

I’m trembling
Walking in the hushed holy….of a blessed unrest
Kingdom coming. Kingdom come.
I’m not satisfied in the middle.

It’s a good tension that keeps my bible cracked
Hope hungry
In relentless pursuit…
Eternity found…glory bound

Only transformation will satisfy
I said, only transformation will satisfy

I dive into the radical chaos of His word.
It’s violent and turbulent and I want in on the glory of this rush
He’s mixing things up

His love leaves me no choice
Let me sing, lift my voice
After the storm there is peace
And a crest I can’t reach….

I live in the holy of a blessed unrest

What is this holy unrest? This space of sitting in silence …in the gospel of a perfect storm.

I sink into the cushions of a love worn couch. Something presses into the small of my back and I reach behind to free a doll from under my pile of pillows. Freeing her undressed form relieves my inner princess. She was my pea. I felt her. I feel everything tonight.

I sink a little further and press my feet into the ease of a futon we should have said goodbye to long ago. And lean my head against a wall that gently supports the weight of my world. If you look closely you can see I’ve done this before…a subtle stain from my afro halo, an “x” marking my spot. Eyes closed, I send a mental note to my shoulders. “At ease young warrior, at ease.”

But there is no rest. Tonight I won’t find it in this chair, this room. Leftover toys from a mama hard day strewn around like so many thoughts. The perpetual putting away of things…things I find scattered again, aptly describes the frustration of this game of spiritual hide and seek. The up and down of my teeter tottered soul. The hard-fought mental white space on the playground of my mind is always littered with toys.

So I sit with it because this dis ease is a holy infection, His love injection. It’ll keep me up late…walking the halls of my apartment like my grandmother used to do…like the prayer warriors still do…on the front lines in a fight for freedom.

Tonight I’ll be the old school midnight prayer service…all by myself. Tonight I’ll put on the gloves and pin my veil. I’ll wave a cardboard fan and scream to heaven on my knees. And when it gets real good I’ll take off my shoes and dance.

I’ll fall into the hallelujah of His grace…Tonight I won’t fight the beauty of unrest.

Tonight I’ll pray about this….I’ll cry about this

Be encouraged by this..

forever JONES – He Wants It All (Live) from forever-jones on GodTube.

And there’s a God that walks over the earth
He’s searching for a heart that is desperate
Longing for a child that will give Him their all
Give it all, He wants it all – Forever Jones

Praise you Lord for this sweet holy unrest.

You are a Christian only so long as you look forward to a new world, so long as you constantly pose critical questions to the society you live in, so long as you emphasize the need of conversion both for yourself and for the world…so long as you stay unsatisfied with the status quo and keep saying that a new world is yet to come. You are a Christian when you believe that you have a role to play in the realization of this new kingdom, and when you urge everyone you meet with a holy unrest to make haste so that the promise might be fulfilled. So long as you live as a Christian you keep looking for a new order, a new structure, a new life.- Henri Nouwen

an offering to the community at #TellHisStory

Posted in christianity, faith, life, uncategorized - Tagged #TellHisStory, Coffee for Your Heart, fight, God, holy, hope, prayer, soul, unrest

The New Blog Bling : Am I Pimping My Posts?

Apr 29, 2014 45 Comments ~ Written by lisha epperson

Bling
photo: flickr CC – Rosana Prada

A moment before hitting publish on a recent post and just before doing a run through in hopes of passing seo inspection with Yoast, I wondered, “Do I have enough blog buttons?”

I’ve noticed a trend lately…to link with multiple blogs in a single post. In an effort to share the love or, more likely, create opportunities for more views and comments, we’re displaying rows of blog buttons. Is this the new blog bling?

In my head, it goes something like this…

Am I linking up enough? One or two connections doesn’t seem to cut it. Where’s my blog button bling?

Pressing save I promptly closed out my post in search of linkups. Surely I’m not too late to benefit from this shift in platform development.

First stop, blogs I love. I want to see how they do it. How can I do this promotion thing and maintain a sliver of integrity? Because with each additional button linked to my post, I felt the value of my words lessen. Maybe, somewhere along the way we’re mixing it up… connecting buttons with medals…stamps of approval?

Could I be pimping my posts? I wondered.

I get it. I get the premise…the social media prompt to “be everywhere”, really I do. But when I noticed my list of paramours growing in a way that made me feel uncomfortable – I had to step back. I was giving away too much of my self..for the sake of promotion. For the sake of numbers. It felt dirty.

I love the idea of link ups. As a new blogger I got to know many of my friends by joining in on the fun and connecting with like-minded people over a similar theme. I still enjoy Five Minute Friday and the sweet simplicity of The Sunday Community. On Wednesdays I feel called to #TellHisStory with Jennifer and you’ll often find me at The Weekend Brew. But every post seems to be connected with multiple link ups. Each blog button a notch in the belt that says…I’ve been with you, and you and you.

flickr cc – penreyes

Back in the day it was a discredit to a woman’s character to be called common. It meant she’d been around the block a few too many times. Too many holes punched on a dance card, for me is not a good thing.

I understand the tendency to treat our platforms like popularity contests. After all, the biggest platform gets the prize. The book deal. The contract, the sponsors. I know. Everyone wants to be that singular sensation so we gather in chorus line fashion hoping to be picked.

But I hear God saying no.

God differentiates between holy and common. We should carefully seek communities for our words. Be intentional about finding homes for these heart to pen poured ministries. Pray about any relationships we hope to form. Give ear to directions based on the communities He leads us to. Steward the gift.

Believe we are chosen and choose wisely.

What do you think? On a single post, how many link-ups, is too many? Do you feel compelled to join more link-ups? Have you ever linked even though your post really had no connection to the prompt or theme? Do you pray about the communities you connect with…before you start the connection?

Exodus 19:6 you will be for me a kingdom of priests and a holy nation.’ These are the words you are to speak to the Israelites.”

Deuteronomy 7:6 For you are a people holy to the LORD your God. The LORD your God has chosen you out of all the peoples on the face of the earth to be his people, his treasured possession.

Posted in blogging, christianity, faith, life, relationships, uncategorized - Tagged bling, blog, chosen, God, link-up, pimping, posts, Words

The Secret Place

Apr 27, 2014 18 Comments ~ Written by lisha epperson

photo: flickr CC -Caroline

He who abides in the secret place of the Most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty Psalm 91 : 1

a memory…

When I was a little girl we lived in an apartment in Brooklyn, New York. My father owned the property and while he was away, it was my mothers’ job to navigate the inner workings of the building. Little things like flipping a switch if the lights went out, changing a fuse..letting the Con Ed worker in to “read the meter”. That’s how I remember it anyway. More importantly, this meant she had a key and in turn we, her children, had access to the basement.

I don’t remember when I started going down to the basement alone. The second child of 4, I rarely traveled solo. My older sister was a girly girl – fashion magazines and pom-poms, a little too sophisticated to entertain my renaissance wanderings. Because back then, everything for me revolved around medieval times. Our building was my castle. My brothers were younger but I found their company an appropriate match for my skinned knee, sword-carrying soul. They were perfectly capable knights for my street smart princess.

So I don’t remember when, but I did make it down to the basement alone. And I found comfort in the cool, dusty stone columns (think turrets). The dark, almost too quiet – quiet. The gentle hum of things…working. The shadows cast from a dim light. I remember the smell of oil from the furnace and how I raised the train of my imaginary gown to scale the steps by twos when my mother called.

I’d found my first secret place. And every chance I got, I went down to the basement…alone.

There is a God who loves me
Who wraps me in His arms
That is the place where I’m changed
And that’s where I belong

Take me to that place Lord
To that secret place where
I can be with You
You can make me like You

Wrap me in Your arms
Wrap me in Your arms
Wrap me in Your arms

- Freddie Rodriguez

an offering to The Sunday Community and The Weekend Brew

Posted in christianity, faith, life, uncategorized - Tagged God, secret place, the sunday community, the weekend brew

Infertility :: Confessions of a Superwoman {guest post by Chelle Wilson}

Apr 26, 2014 5 Comments ~ Written by lisha epperson

Chelle Wilson is one of my online sisters. We’re so tight we’ve even talked on the phone…once. She’s one of the girls I go to for advice. Each time I post I wonder what she would say. And again once, I actually connected with her to find out. She’s always there to drop the wisdom of the word on me. She’s cool like that. I expected a handful of friends to respond to my call for stories of fertility and faith but once the door opened…once one person shared, well that door flung wide as others rushed in. I’m delighted to add Chelle’s words to the “Last Girl on the Hill” series. In recognition of National Infertility Awareness Week ( #NIAW ) we’re telling the stories friends. Listen up…Chelle is speaking.

superwoman
photo: flickr cc /hans van den berg

Leave it to me to quietly manage a miscarriage while hosting a Thanksgiving Dinner Party for 12. I am superwoman (so I thought). I can manage anything (I foolishly believed). I am in control (I never was). This is a lesson in surrender and in faith. This is the path from I to I AM.

I married my high school sweetheart and one true love. We didn’t take a direct path to the altar. We celebrated the sacrament of marriage just ahead of the 14th anniversary of the day we met. We take our time.

By the time my beloved and I wed, everyone expected children. I remember acknowledging our one month anniversary signing consent forms to remove massive uterine fibroids diagnosed weeks prior. We wondered if we’d ever be able to conceive and carry normally.

About 3.5 years into our marriage, we got pregnant. Leave it to me to quietly manage a miscarriage while hosting a Thanksgiving Dinner Party for 12 friends and family. The perfectly composed hostess, the quintessential get-it-done girl, I said nothing until all the guests departed. My husband discovered me quietly sobbing in the bathroom, asking him to call the MD. As we awaited a return call, I clearly remember telling my husband that through sheer force of my will, I would not lose the pregnancy. You see, I relied upon the fallacy that I was superwoman (so I thought). I convinced myself that I could manage anything. I foolishly believed that I was in control. God had other plans.

Of course we lost the baby. I remember the bitter disappointment and the feeling that I had failed. Had I been stronger, wiser, better, perhaps things would have turned out differently. I struggled with anger for months, seeing young single mothers holding beautiful babies as my arms hung limp. I questioned His Plans. I doubted His Promises. I needed to know why.

Through study and through prayer, we began healing. I embraced the wonder of conception, the marvel of pregnancy, the miracle of birth. They had naught to do with my will, my desire, or the illusion of my control. When we conceived again, I was awestricken by the manifestation of creation, that God would show me in love how completely irrelevant my will was. Completely. This was my lesson in surrender and in faith. This was my journey from I to I AM.

My miscarriage, subsequent conception and pregnancy was all about submission; solely about God. I fully appreciated that sustaining this pregnancy, delivering that child would be a blessing. It was one of the happiest and most peaceful times in my life. I was released from so many of the pressures that accompanied my composed, get-it-done girl persona. It was a burden I happily laid down.

So what I threw up daily (at least the first 13 weeks). I faithfully commuted to work for 38 weeks, navigating mass transit so very grateful for our blessing. Mine was a stellar confinement. I only labored from Wednesday until Sunday morning. I was surrendered. I was joyful. I was content. When our daughter was born, we named her Adia, which in Kiswahili (a language of Southeast Africa) means “gift from God.” My journey to motherhood began at surrender and left me with a deeper faith. That was my path from I to I AM.

Chelle Wilson writes at the intersection of life and faith,
not at as theologian, but as a regular child of God
living and loving in the face of confusion.
Exposing the deepest parts of herself, she talks to God
through liturgical dance and words on the page,
sharing lessons learned so that the next traveler’s journey
might not be so hard, or so long. Find Chelle at

http://www.treatmetoafeast.com

this post appears as part of “Last Girl on the Hill” a blog series on fertility and faith

blog button courtesy of L. Epperson / image flickr cc Rob King

As we close out National Infertility Awareness Week I’m celebrating with the launch of a new ebook.

The Process, The Promise :: 31 Days of Infertility Prayer

114 pages of stories, prayer, questions and reflections on fertility and faith.

Get your copy here.

Posted in christianity, faith, infertility, last girl on the hill (blog series on fertility and faith), life, motherhood, uncategorized - Tagged #NIAW, blog, fibroids, God, I am, love, miscarriage, national infertility awareness week, superwoman, surrender

Infertility :: A Dozen Years Ago {guest post by Jen Hanno Sandbulte}

Apr 24, 2014 14 Comments ~ Written by lisha epperson

Just after lunch on Wednesday, I got a message from Jen Hanno Sandbulte. She wondered if posts for the series were still being accepted. And because I’m all “last girl on the hill” about giving women space to share stories of fertility and motherhood, I replied, “Absolutely!” I’m passionate in sharing how important it is THAT we TELL the stories! So yeah, I’m all about making room for another voice. After all, its National Infertility Awareness Week (#NIAW). Jen tells it today with a few words on a years long struggle with faith, science and fertility. She shares a testimony of living out her faith in the middle of the questions… accepting His will, His timing. We’ve made a new friend y’all. Show her some love.

photo: Flickr CC by poetic outlook

A dozen years ago…

My twins are 11. Time goes quickly. However, I remember so vividly the three years of marriage where time seemed to move at a snail’s pace. Where every month we’d wait in anticipation, only to discover that we were not pregnant. Treatment after treatment, and still no “luck.”

The day came when we were face to face with either invitro-fertilization, or adoption. I’ll be honest, I was struggling. As a Christian, I continued to tell myself –
For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. Psalm 139

I was a mess. Wanting desperately to have a child of my own, but also questioning if it aligned with God’s word. Doubting if this was really being “created” in my womb. And then, a wise friend I was processing with said this; “God gave us the technology to do this. Do we use technology to help if someone is having a heart attack to keep them alive? Yes, and we trust that God knows the day and the hour we die. If God intends for you to have a child, he’ll allow this technology to work. If it isn’t his plan for your life, then even with the technology, his will still triumphs. He is still God.” The impact of these words from a trusted friend was balm for my soul.

As we prepared for our procedure to “harvest” my eggs, my husband stopped them before taking me in and held my hand and prayed over me. I can still recall the single tear in the doctors eye as she looked at us and smiled. She then proceeded to share with us research on couples undergoing IVF and prayer. She was careful to tell us there were no guarantees, but indicated that the study showed significant increase in pregnancy in couples who prayed.

That conversation provided a peace during the procedure and in the days ahead. And, we were blessed to bring two bouncing baby boys into the world 9 months later.

My point isn’t that if you don’t pray hard enough, then you won’t conceive. Believe me, we had prayed and prayed and prayed, and were still having IVF. My point isn’t that this research that she cited made all the difference (many of have tried to discredit this research, but that is neither here or there.) My point is this – my husband was bold in asking them to wait so he could pray for me. And this act led the doctor to be bold and share statistics and pray with us. So often as Christians we are timid. He could just have easily prayed for me while I was in my procedure. Instead, he wanted to hold my hand and see my face and pray. And the doctor, well she could have played it safe and not shared the study. She could have worried what the nurses in the room thought of her at that moment. Instead, she shared.

On the infertility journey, you will have many opportunities to live out your faith. Many times in ways that you wouldn’t ask for. We may never know the impact of that moment on the lives of others. Perhaps one of the nurses needed to hear our prayers as much as we did. Perhaps by sharing with us, the doctor found a new boldness and prayed for other couples going in for the procedure. God works in amazing ways.

In the midst of darkness, find the silver lining. Sometimes it is rainy and gloomy and finding it is a bit of a struggle, but keep seeking God. Many times I wanted to ask God why we had to go through this. But I continued to bump into circumstances where others could see that Christians have real problems and struggle, but didn’t give up on God. Living out our faith in the trials was one of the best ministry times we have been a part of. We were broken and sad, and yet able to be real and authentic and show a love for Jesus even when time after time it seemed prayers weren’t answered. A dozen years ago, I realized it’s all in God’s timing and all in His will.

a post for Last Girl On The Hill : a blog series on fertility and faith

Posted in christianity, faith, infertility, life, motherhood, uncategorized - Tagged #NIAW, faith, God, IVF, national infertility awareness week, pray, prayer, pregnancy, years

Infertility :: On Compassion, Boundaries and Faith {guest post by Sarah Asay}

Apr 22, 2014 23 Comments ~ Written by lisha epperson

Meet Sarah. We met online when I started the blog last year. Our connection is precious. Throwing out those first few posts is wicked hard and just knowing one, anyone, read my words was a gift I can’t easily describe. I’m so grateful for her encouragement. Sarah’s in the middle of her story but writes with such wisdom (she brings it with her thoughts on boundaries). Her words are thoughtful and direct. She owns her story with equal parts humility and self-affirmation. Hosting her, during National Infertility Awareness Week (#NIAW) feels like the beautiful completion of the first cycle of our friendship. Today, Sarah tells it. Make her feel at home with warrior love and keep her in prayer as she steps into the next phase of her journey.

photo: S.Asay

Infertility. What a brutal and sad word. If it was a color, it would be grey. It sounds so definite, so empty. And yet, my Father takes grey things and gives them color. He takes dust and creates beauty.

My husband and I have been married for nearly eight years. Thus far, we have been unable to have biological children; in my mind (and in reality) this is so linked with my physical pain, that it is impossible for me to separate the two. (I have a condition called Endometriosis, which an estimated 170 million women suffer from). When I sat down to think about my life, and being unable to bear children (Oh! See how far out of my way I go to avoid that word—infertile!), the lessons from endometriosis and childlessness are intermingled . I have gained so much though. While I would never choose this path, I would not undo the past, because dear to me is the beautiful grace I have known. I have also learned a few things.

I’ve learned to be sensitive. I have heard it said: “Be kind for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle” and I think “Yes! People should be kind to me! I’m in pain and I don’t have a baby yet!”. But chronic pain and infertility have taught me to think a little larger than myself. If something comes easy to us, it can be difficult to understand how it could possibly be difficult for someone else! How often have I shot my mouth off thinking I’m being helpful, when in fact I am hurting someone’s secret wound? So I have learned to think a little more before I speak and hope that the listener will have grace on me if I stomp on their pain.

I’ve learned to be an interpreter. People don’t mean to be insensitive even though their words can hurt dreadfully. When well-meaning friends and strangers tell me a story about someone who got pregnant right after they adopted (because everyone seems to know someone who this has happened to)—I’ve learn to filter those words, interpreting what they really mean: “I want good things for you. I want to give you hope.” When they tell me to “Just adopt!”, I’ve learned that what they mean is, “I want to fix your pain!”. I don’t need to defend the fact that I’ve always planned to adopt, even before I knew what a struggle this would be. When people say “Why don’t you have kids, do you want them?” I know that they probably mean “I’m interested in you. I want to know more about your life.”

photo: S.Asay

One of the biggest things I’ve learned is that being an interpreter shares a very close friendship with setting boundaries. While it’s good for me to interpret that people’s offhanded comments and questions are probably based in good wishes, the reality is that sometimes people are nosy, or insensitive, or rude. I have learned that I am the only person who can protect myself from those comments. I am pretty private about my endometriosis and definitely don’t discuss the pain of infertility with most people, but sometimes it comes up in conversation. When people (friends or oddly enough often practical strangers) offer me medical advice, or start probing into my health/lack of children/etc.. I’ve found that a simple “I appreciate you thinking of me. I have doctors that I’m working with….” goes a long way in setting up safe boundaries. Healthy boundaries mean keeping the negative out and letting only the good in. When someone starts to pry into my life and I feel unsafe, it helps me to think, “I am not going to let you into this part of my life right now and that is ok.”

Boundaries can also mean temporarily blocking some people from social media feeds. A board full of pinned pregnancy clothes, or Facebook pictures of toddlers holding signs announcing a new sibling, can be enough to make me scream some days. When I hear someone complain about how fat they feel in their 8th month of pregnancy, it can take a lot of patience to listen without throwing something. (I would like to add that I think it’s totally ok for pregnant women to complain. At this stage in my life it’s difficult for me to be the sounding board for that.)

Growing up as the eldest in a large family, surrounded by other large families, I naïvely viewed women without children as selfish, or defective, or both. This has been a hurdle for me to work through. Have children or don’t have children; not having kids, even if you are physically able to doesn’t make a woman selfish. And not being able to have them doesn’t make a woman defective.

Oh but I feel it! I have felt a disdain for my body—not in the “I hate my hips” sort of way, but in the “Why are you failing me?” way. Everything I set my mind to, I accomplish. But I have not been able to carry a child.

But I am not a failure. And God is near to the broken-hearted! My husband and I have grown closer this past year as we’ve truly been honest about how this situation hurts us. The honesty has spawned action—being proactive about pain management, making efforts to talk about this fragile topic, and the very most exciting thing is that we have turned in our first stage of adoption paperwork.

So. Infertility. It is a sad grey word. But my God has a way of taking broken things and giving them life.

photo: S.Asay

A post for Last Girl On The Hill : a blog series on fertility and faith

Posted in uncategorized

When You Don’t Have Children {guest post by Dawn Hewitt for #NIAW}

Apr 22, 2014 11 Comments ~ Written by lisha epperson

Dawn and I have been friends for years. Cut from the same cloth, we share a love for fashion, art, nutrition and health. We have similar reproductive histories and bonded over that in late night conversations and long walks in the city. We love God and clapped alongside each other on countless Sundays. She moved to Florida a few years ago and I miss her quirky sense of humor. We reconnected on-line a year ago when we both started blogs. Hers is the opinion I look for when I doubt my words. She’s coached me through my most popular posts. I’m honored to host her during National Infertility Awareness Week ( #NIAW ). Today Dawn tells it. And I promise, you’re going to want to meet and hug her after reading. Show her some warrior love in the comments and get to know her better on her blog Tall Girl – Late Bloom

flickr cc : d. sharon pruitt

I love children and most kids that I know, love me. I love the way babies pull my hair and my earrings and pinch the mole on my face, how they laugh with their whole bodies. The way toddlers document their experiences with crayons and paper and try to do everything the adults around them do. They really do make my heart melt.

On the other hand I’m blessed because when I’m done playing with them I get to give them back to mommy and daddy and go home to a quiet house, go on vacation when I want, stay out late, whatever it may be, I only answer to myself.

I get to be the cool aunt, known for having the gift of extreme silliness. When one of my nephews was seven and was having a rough day, I took him in my lap and hugged and tickled him until he couldn’t help giggling. He said to me “Aunt Dawn you should have kids cause you sooo… nice and you know how to make kids feel better!!” I was struck by the sweetness of his words but I rationalized that I would rather not take the chance… It was too dangerous for me to be in charge of an actual human being.

No, other people had children; I am still trying to raise myself. I’m constantly asked, almost every day, why I don’t have children. I find that question very confusing, after all it’s not as if you can just create the perfect father out of thin air, outside of that who would I be having this baby with? Even if I wanted a baby… if there are no decent, single, father-material men anywhere in sight. I have no idea how to remedy that situation. I dated two guys one after the other, both of whom wanted me to have their babies, but neither of them wanted to call me their girlfriend, they both asked why I wanted to label the relationship. Needless to say neither one of these blossomed into anything serious.

When I did get married my husband also begged me to have a baby, good thing I never got pregnant, our marriage only lasted 2 years. I’m in my mid-forties and I’ve had serious issues with reproductive health and I haven’t yet been involved with a man who was actually father material.

But I have to admit, within the last few months I have felt like something is missing in my life. I try to look into the future and it seems very lonely, no husband or children… While I believe it’s possible I might meet someone great and get married again, I don’t see myself being able to give birth simply because of my age.

flickr cc : d. sharon pruitt

That thought doesn’t really upset me, what I do find disturbing is that due to the type of childhood that I had, I never saw myself as a mother. I wonder sometimes if that made me approach life in such a way that resulted in me not even considering having children.

I was five years old when I decided that not every person capable of giving birth should have children. My mother was days away from giving birth to my baby brother when her and my father started one of their fights, he quickly used his size against her, as usual, throwing her to the floor and kicking her in the belly over and over again, shouting that he had told her he didn’t want any more kids.

My sister and I tried to make him stop to no avail, we were too little. I recall the cold perspiration which made my clothes stick to me; I worried that the neighbors would be calling the cops any minute now and wondered if this time my father would actually get arrested and thought about how violent my mom could be to us kids after my dad beat her up. I knew this was no life for a kid, I was sick of being scared.

A few minutes later my father left, the loud slamming of the door made me jump. My mother slowly got up, brushed herself off and limped into the kitchen. For the rest of the day my mind asked itself “why him?” As in, of all the men in the world, why did she choose to marry and keep having babies for him? It puzzled me, taxed my brain.

I made a childish promise to myself… that would never be me. Never, ever, ever.

No marriage, no babies, I would be free as soon as I got old enough to leave home. When my dad got home later, into the awkward silence he put on one of his Bob Marley records and played “No Woman No Cry.” I found his coded apology predictable, disgusting and pathetic.

As I grew I would often think that my mother and my father should be ashamed for bringing children into the unstable environment their passions and deficiencies had created. As for my mom, she was more concerned with how we looked to the outside world, beautiful home, ribbons in our hair. This is why as I grew up I became more and more invisible, transparent, like a ghost, staying under the radar made it easier to exist in such a negative environment.

Whenever I tried to get something out of life I was shot down.

Like when I was 14 and my guidance counselor asked me to be in a Miss Teen pageant, I was so thrilled, I took the form home to my mother to sign, she read it over quickly and with a smirk said “I’m not signing this… you’re not even pretty Dawn, you’ll just get your feelings hurt…” The crisp white paper made a sound like a zipper as she folded it in half then handed it back to me. Again I thought that if there was the slightest chance I would ever treat a child of mine that way… I would rather not have any. After all, don’t people parent the way they were parented, wouldn’t the tendency for cruelty and violence be baked into my character despite my best efforts?

I felt that the small chance I had of ever being a good mother was far outweighed by my conditioning and I felt that no child, including me, deserved to be parented by someone who’s understanding of children was limited to the circumstance of their own awful childhood.

flickr cc : d. sharon pruitt

But time has marched on and changed like a river imperceptibly re-routing itself. It’s been a hard conclusion to reach… but as bad as things were, I guess my parents did the best they could, certainly better than their parents. Through the years have met many people who have been through far worse things and still turned out to be fantastic parents. Maybe if I had my own children I could have been better than mine were…

Ultimately I feel ready to face the fact that even though my circumstances are not perfect… that I can adopt one day and give a loving and safe home to a deserving child of which there are too many in this world. If I have the pleasure, I will promise to be all about the business of helping them chase and attain their dreams.

Anything is possible.

a post for Last Girl On The Hill : a blog series on fertility and faith

Posted in adoption, christianity, faith, infertility, motherhood, relationships, uncategorized - Tagged #NIAW, aunt, blog, child-free, childhood, children, father, Life, mother, national infertility awareness week

Telling Your Story :: National Infertility Awareness Week

Apr 22, 2014 13 Comments ~ Written by lisha epperson

photo: flickr cc – David DeHetre

Life is a moving breathing thing. We have to be willing to constantly evolve. Perfection is constant transformation. – Nia Peeples

I used to chide myself for not telling my story sooner. A year ago, I watched online – open jawed, as women bravely told their stories of infertility – Mid-Battle. Bearing unimaginable pain and loss…unsuccessful treatments….publicly..in real time and in the moment. I thought I’d failed. I realize now every story, even the story told after the battle is important. Stories told, whether from the trenches or after the Medal of Honor is pinned, are equally valuable.

There are things you just won’t know until it’s over. That’s the perspective I speak from, the voice God graced me with. I tell the story as a veteran. And as such, see the complete picture, things I couldn’t see in the middle.

Here’s a revelation. The body I have now is not the one I began the journey with. Each season marking the completion of a cycle, one broken rotation after another as my body fought to keep up…hit that 360 degrees. I’ll very likely walk many more cycles before my time on earth is up. But I’d say I’m learning the fine art of shape shifting. I’ll transition more easily next time around. Ooze like fiery lava as God pours the next mold.

I see my body then, my body now. From surgeries and losses to a split wide Red Sea miracle birth…I soul-wept from one form to another. I took the journey and now enjoy the peace of a pressed flower between the pages of a long shelved book.

Everything’s quiet now but I couldn’t have told the story in my first body. My current physical state knows both worlds. Living the before and after I see now how my body danced in the spirit realm while the devil watched. A soul battle of “epic proportions”, my new teen would say. A physical death would have been the least of my worries…I needed the win so that my spirit might live.

I couldn’t have told this story with perky breasts and an unmarred belly. Apparently before telling the story I’d need a few gray hairs and a little mild back pain. My body would demand respect. Devotion. Love. That’s what happened, physically, as weeks turned months, turned years. Equal parts breaking down and building up. Healing happened in stages. My body needed time.

I had to be branded first…by holy hot words singed as truth on my soul. I couldn’t write the words without tears.

I had to be branded first.

photo : flickr cc – judy schmidt

And in this ceremony….this sacred sacrament… scattered pieces of my soul marked mines. I skipped over sections, tried to avoid the many unrecognizable parts of my whole

That I’d be blown away was inevitable. Christ’s love explosion strewn as a million stars across the sky – So that I might look up and see one… Him…in my darkness.

This is my warrior song. Hand scratched notes of hope engraved on the stone table of His glory. Blood soaked and redeemed…I return to the battlefield with these words…for you.

It’s National Infertility Awareness Week and I’m forming a circle and passing the talking stick. Join me as I open this space for 7 days (Wednesday to Wednesday) for fellow warriors to tell their stories. For the redemptive power of telling to light a fire, free a soul.

And don’t forget there’s space for you. Send me your words. Send me your story. I’ll share it in the circle. *

See you on Wednesday.

* anonymous submissions welcome.

this week Warrior Song is Free for all! click this link to download your copy.

and the winner of the #spiritualmisfit giveaway is Diana Trautwein! Congratulations!

a post for Last Girl On The Hill : a blog series on fertility and faith

Posted in adoption, christianity, faith, infertility, life, motherhood, uncategorized - Tagged #NIAW, body, faith, God, hope, love, national infertility awareness week, shape shifting, soul transformation, women, Words

Resurrection Epiphany

Apr 20, 2014 20 Comments ~ Written by lisha epperson

Flickr CC : untitled blue

The angel spoke to the women: “There is nothing to fear here. I know you’re looking for Jesus, the One they nailed to the cross. He is not here. He was raised, just as he said. Come and look at the place where he was placed. “Now, get on your way quickly and tell his disciples, ‘He is risen from the dead. He is going on ahead of you to Galilee. You will see him there.’ That’s the message.” (Matthew 28:5-7 MSG)

Flickr CC – S. Cardigan

Now, let me ask you something profound yet troubling. If you became believers because you trusted the proclamation that Christ is alive, risen from the dead, how can you let people say that there is no such thing as a resurrection? If there’s no resurrection, there’s no living Christ. And face it—if there’s no resurrection for Christ, everything we’ve told you is smoke and mirrors, and everything you’ve staked your life on is smoke and mirrors. Not only that, but we would be guilty of telling a string of barefaced lies about God, all these affidavits we passed on to you verifying that God raised up Christ—sheer fabrications, if there’s no resurrection. (1 Corinthians 15:12-15 MSG)

Because it’s true.

He rose.

Present in hope, He is faith for an impossible reality.

The rebirth of dreams in a night-time song.

My just in time watchman, defender … savior.

He’ll say something..send a sign…shout a word.

Reignite. Recover. Renew.

He is night vision in my darkness

In the forever of my third day – He is light

He is the revelation for life’s oracle.

The blessing, for belief.

I can’t give up.

This is my resurrection epiphany.

living the revelation with

The Sunday Community, The Weekend Brew, Hear It on Sunday, Use it On Monday and Playdates at the Wellspring

Posted in christianity, faith, life, uncategorized - Tagged ephiphany, faith, God, hope, redemption, resurrection, the sunday community, the weekend brew

In Which I Search for Spring

Apr 18, 2014 12 Comments ~ Written by lisha epperson

spring 2014 photo:L.Epperson

Be still.

I’m in a mommy quandary. Knowing it’ll take an hour to get out of the house for a few minutes of fresh air, I wonder if I should bother. I push myself anyway. We’re fighting for a little freedom after the longest winter – ever. Finally…all is well and quiet on the Epperson family front. No colds. No fevers and it’s warm – enough. A cold cup of coffee sits on the edge of the table and I tell Chailah to push it back before it falls. She still doesn’t have her shoes on. And now rain.

Rain. Tiny drops, just enough and everywhere. A thin-film of moisture covers everything – making umbrellas obsolete. Microscopic beads sink wholly heart deep…soak the bordered edges of my spirit where unanswered questions still breathe. They sit in the seat of my soul like so many held back tears. I’m on the verge.

Peace will find you.

My soul won’t rest. In the span of two days spring….sprung in a violent explosion of color and light. Unbridled and brilliant and fragrant and fascinating. Spring is wild and free. It guess it has to be. Sweet honeysuckle and yellow daffodils laugh where ice cracked and bled. Once. And now the inner turmoil and upheaval of this earthly garden demands payment. My soul hasn’t caught up and the bill is due.

But it’s rising. I feel the ebb and flow of the tide and I’m on the wave as it’s about to crash and my eyes are wide open. I am not afraid. Friends if I go down….its in blaze of God glory. I am not afraid.

a glimpse of spring
photo: L.Epperson

Just tearful. Melancholy and wondering why. Restless.

Peace will find you.

In my hurry I’ve forgotten all my mantras and the prayers I remember feel small. Like Peter I’ve stepped out of the boat and backtracked my faith. Because that happens sometimes, more than I’d like to admit. I’m listening to facts and forgetting what’s true. Just about to go under – when I should be walking – on water.

No matter what it looks like, my bill is stamped “paid in full” – by the only one who doesn’t owe anyone. And it’s payment promises a crazy forever connection in the wide open spaces of eternity. I share a covenant of grace…with the king of kings. He will partner. Lift. Hold. I’ll follow. As He leads. Jesus as You Lead.

And we went outside anyway…a delicious distraction from our everyday indoors. We dressed warm, grabbed scooters and hit the park. We jumped puddles and picked flowers and marveled how wet we could get in 20 minutes. We hugged trees and dreamed of sunshine. Tomorrow.

And when a fresh dusting of winter frost covers the vow…I’m saddened, not surprised. It snows in April – sometimes. But His word is the assurance of a grand revelation. He’ll throwback the covers to display His glory. The hope, the redemption of spring.

Be still. Peace will come. Peace will find you.

spring 2014
photo: L.Epperson

late link-up love with #TellHisStory , Coffee For Your Heart, Faith Filled Friday and Fellowship Friday

Posted in christianity, faith, life, parenting, uncategorized - Tagged #TellHisStory, Coffee for Your Heart, God, hope, peace, spring

Monthly archives for April, 2014

Why I Won’t Fight This Season of Unrest :: on prayer

What is this holy unrest? This space of sitting in silence …in the gospel of a perfect storm.

The New Blog Bling : Am I Pimping My Posts?

The Secret Place

He who abides in the secret place of the Most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty Psalm 91 : 1

Infertility :: Confessions of a Superwoman {guest post by Chelle Wilson}

As we close out National Infertility Awareness Week I’m celebrating with the launch of a new ebook.

The Process, The Promise :: 31 Days of Infertility Prayer

Infertility :: A Dozen Years Ago {guest post by Jen Hanno Sandbulte}

Infertility :: On Compassion, Boundaries and Faith {guest post by Sarah Asay}

When You Don’t Have Children {guest post by Dawn Hewitt for #NIAW}

Telling Your Story :: National Infertility Awareness Week

Resurrection Epiphany

In Which I Search for Spring

Let’s Stay in Touch

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