Hills & Valleys: Our Faith Journey

There are two words that I used to cling to. Really, I still cling to them. Comfort zone.  That may seem strange considering all of our moves and all of the different transitions across multiple states, new cities, new friends. But still, there's that sense of "home" and I cling to it with all of my might, wherever it may be. This past year (2013), I thought I was finding a new home - a home that, while temporary, would allow me to relax and enjoy being close to family. That was going to be my "comfort zone," I had decided. I would stay home, work on some projects, enjoy some time with my little girl, and do some college classes. God had other plans. My year looked nothing like I expected. I travelled some 90,000 miles, across 14 states and two continents with a toddler in tow. I lugged 25lbs of luggage through the airport while holding a stroller. I stayed up into the wee hours of the morning trying to finish homework before a deadline. I did all kinds of

There are moments when no one wants to worship. Moments that are so heartbreaking, so devastating that all we want to do is weep. I've been there. Last November held one of the darkest moments of my life, a moment that I wish I could erase. And the very last thing I wanted to do in the midst of my pain was raise my hands heavenward and worship my Maker. Yet all I could think about was the incredibly beautiful moment I witnessed on Oct 20, 2012. We were at the funeral for a dear friend, Colonel Gary Herchenroeder, who had passed away suddenly at the age of 49. He and his wife had only been married for three years and were one of the most beautiful, radiant couples I have ever known. At the funeral, one of the songs we sang was "10,000 Reasons". I don't thing I'll ever be able to sing that song without thinking of the Colonel because it perfectly describes the way he lived. During the song, I happened to glance over at Colonel's wife, Lisa. I wouldn't have

It was just two words - two words that meant the world to me. You've said them before, but tonight, I needed them so much. You're wonderful. You couldn't know just how much my heart has been aching of late, how much pain has been stirring that I haven't known what to do with or even known how to share. You didn't know how I have wrestled in my faith walk, trying to figure out who I am and who He is and wrap my head around it all. This last day or two, in my heart I have been crying out - begging my Abba to reveal Himself to me. I couldn't form the words; my heart is too raw. But He  knew. He could hear the deep cries, the words that just couldn't spill from my lips. And then, your words came. You told me I was wonderful. You meant it just as a little encouragement after a rough day. But for me? They were words from Him - tender whispers of who I am, of what He thinks of me. And when you pulled me close and held me, it was His arms that I felt, enfo

It happened again last night - demons dragging me from my sleep. They torment me...pulling up vivid memories from my past and crafting new stories, stories that while not true, are based around reality. I wake and my husband holds me close and whispers, "It's okay, it's over now." But in my heart, it's not okay. It's not okay, because it's not over. The dream is over, but the feelings are not - the feelings of powerlessness, of fear, of being controlled. The feelings of utter worthlessness, of deep hurt. But intertwined with them are new feelings - anger, sorrow, sadness deeper than I can describe. I wish I could wish it away - this torment that seems to loom over me. I wish I could "just" forgive and let it all go. But I have forgiven, and it's still here, still lingering in my life. The pain doesn't hurt any less, maybe it even hurts more. I long for restoration, for peace, to not have to look to others to fill that role in my l

I think we all do it - we determine what, who we're going to be. We make plans, we choose a career path, we think we've got life figured out. And then comes the curveball. Mine was infertility. I'd always planned on having a bunch of kids. Of course, I cloaked that under the phrase "however many God gives me," but at the end of the day, the plan was not one kiddo in six years. These six years have brought so much heartache as I have wrestled with how my reality meshes with my dream. How to make the two work? Maybe God's timing was a little slower than mine, I thought. Another month, another six months, another year, passed by - no baby. Maybe He was just testing me. Maybe I needed to become "more spiritual." Maybe there was too much sin in my life. Maybe, maybe, maybe. I tormented myself with "maybe's." But I never once considered this: that maybe my plan was wrong. Maybe my plan was just that: mine . Maybe I had never really

Abba, There are so many moments when I don't understand. When I hurt, more deeply than I ever imagined. When I wish things could be different. When I look at others and wish my life could be easy. When I wish I wasn't called to this faith journey. But, this is the life You have given me. There must  be purpose. You have a plan. So, my Abba, I come to You, with the empty and the broken that is inside...hoping and trusting and believing that you can fill me up to overflowing. That Your joy can fill this heart again. And as I open up these tightly clenched hands and raise them in surrender, I see it - the rain is coming.

For healing to come, I must be willing to receive. If my hands are filled with my  plans and my pain, You cannot pour out blessing - until I let go. So, I'm unbuckling my seatbelt, I'm letting go of my security blanket, And I'm gonna jump in faith. It can't be about my plans anymore; they keep failing. It has to be all  about You. No more Rebekah "helping." No more looking and thinking and wondering and planning. It's Yours. I lay my future, our future, at Your feet. Do with it as You will. We will praise You.

I think it's high time for a confession. Recently I was looking through some of my old posts, and noticed one from forever ago that I guess I'd forgotten about. As I reviewed my post, I must admit, I felt a little ashamed. I was so gung-ho in my post about getting fit and staying that way, and lately...well, let's just say I've fallen off the bandwagon.  Right before my hubby returned home from Afghanistan, I hit my goal weight - the first time I've been that weight in almost six years. I felt amazing - so much more trim, without a baby belly, and my clothes were starting to fit better. In fact, some of my clothes were starting to get too big. But, after my hubby returned home, we were on vacation for a week, then home briefly, then away again for 10 days, and then home to pack and prepare for our cross country move. I tried to stick with eating well, but with all of the craziness, I slipped up. Food options that were fast and easy often meant unhealthy, and

It's a Saturday morning, and it's my birthday. And I wake up so excited to jump out of bed, because it's the day that I will hopefully get the best birthday present ever: the news that our next child is on his/her way. I bound out of bed, so much anticipation in every step. My cycle is seven days late, and with every fiber of my being, I expect to see a positive result. I walk out, and I am crushed. Another month, another negative test. Infertility has won again. All I want to do is go back to bed, curl up, and forget. Forget what it's like to want children. Forget how much the negative tests hurt. Forget that infertility is a part of my life. I want to just stop this crazy rollercoaster ride of emotions and pretend like I don't care any more. But I can't. It does  hurt. I hate hoping and getting disappointed, over and over and over again. And then the questions come. "Do you want more children?" "When are you having another one?"

Argh, I hate how long it has taken me to get back to writing on here. Between reintegration, a week-long trip away with my love, coming home, spending time with friends and family here in Georgia before our move, a six day trip to Missouri, and packing up our house...well, let's just say life has been a little busy. But, I wanted to take some time to explain a bunch of random "bits" relating to our move that several people have been asking about. First of all, the big question: Why are you moving? It's a complicated question, because there are lots of reasons. The biggest one is tied into reintegration. For those who may not be familiar with the term, this is the process whereby a soldier and his family readjust to each other after a period of separation. It is usually used in reference to deployments, but in reality, reintegration (to a much lesser extent) can be a factor even with short-term separation. Basically, there are lots of changes that happen to a perso

I take the pillows off our bed, the same way I have done more times than I remember. But it's different now - now it represents one less night of going to bed by myself. I hang my towel up after a shower and my heart is filled with joy when I think that it won't be long until there are two  towels hanging together again - towels that will mean my love is back. I brush my teeth and think how wonderful it'll be to get in each other's way as we rinse out our toothbrushes, because it'll mean we are together . I wake up and smile because it's one morning closer to seeing my hubby waking up on the pillow beside me. It's another day closer to him telling me that I once again stole the blankets and us laughing about how mean I can be in my sleep. I lay Selah down for her nap and whisper that Mama and Daddy love her very much, and I am thrilled because I know soon her Daddy can whisper "I love you's" to her as well. I stay up late and finally

There are many precious firsts in my life that I will never forget. Meeting my husband for the first time. Our first hug. Our first kiss. Our wedding day. Graduating from (community) college. Finding out we were pregnant. Meeting our little girl. But right now, I'm in a season where I am holding dear something a little different - "lasts" - moments that will not come again because my love's return is drawing ever closer. Things like last oil changes, last haircuts, last trips away. Just like our "firsts," these too are sacred. They represent this season apart drawing to a close. And, well, I don't think there's anything more special than that, at least right now. I look ahead and see exciting days ahead - moving beyond these "lasts" to more "firsts" - homecoming, seeing our daughter's face when she sees her daddy, figuring out all of the in's and out's of reintegration. And there's a part of me that just wants