He is NOT a threat.

Women pulled their purses tighter when he walked by. 

At 2:30 in the afternoon.  

In a popular department store.

My husband evidently was viewed as threatening. 

The mere thought that the man who loves me, protects me, honors me, and cares for me, was being perceived as potentially dangerous would be laughable if it wasn’t actually thought. Actually considered. Actually believed.

The women had no basis for this belief for he neither said anything nor did anything to them or around them.

He simply walked by them as he shopped for clothes. 

He, the man whom I have seen help total strangers time and time again, simply walked by them.

He, my black husband, simply walked by them.

I know it’s a seemingly small and subtle form of racism that is not newsworthy but this one hit home for me. The absurdity of such a bogus reaction simply because he has a beautifully dark skin tone was hurtful.  As he told me the story, there was no anger in his voice or disgust in his temperament- it was more incredulous. He was dumbfounded that it happened.  He almost found it interesting, initially. Almost. Until it kept happening.

As I heard the story, I, on the other hand went from incredulousness, to anger, to frustration, to despair, to bewilderment and back to anger again. In about 1.78 seconds.

It’s been a little while now since it happened, and I still experience all those emotions every time I think about it. I think I’ve landed in heartache, however.  There’s something especially painful at having the person you love and respect more than any other, be so horrifically misjudged.  I wish I could believe that 2016 will be the year of no racism. No microagressions. No hatred. No subtle prejudice or blatant bias.

But the reality is that we aren’t there yet. Our country, our state, our city simply isn’t there yet.  Your state, your city simply isn’t there yet.  To deny that there is still racism is to only add to the problem. To deny that there isn’t racism within the church is to only break the heart of God. To deny that there isn’t bias within my own heart is to only help the dividedness instead of the healing.

You see friends, as much as I wanted to give those women a piece of my mind, I was rebuked in my spirit. God reminded me that I too am guilty of prejudice. Of horribly misinformed stereotypes. Of bias. They might look different than clutching my purse as a black man walks by, but they are just as serious and just as wrong.

I know I’m not alone.

Maybe you judged someone who wore a Muslim dress. Maybe the Indian woman in her sari. Maybe the white man with sagging jeans. Maybe the Asian woman who didn’t speak English fluently.  Maybe the Taco Bell employee. The Target cashier. The anorexic girl. The heavyset boy.

Should I continue?

I’d ask for you to consider doing two things.  Two things that I have been doing myself. If we all committed to these two things, we would see our city start to change.  Then our state. Then our country.

1) Ask God to show us our own areas of bias and racism.

Spend time asking for His forgiveness and grace to change.

2) Start speaking truth.  

Start telling your friend who makes the racists jokes that they aren’t funny.

Start explaining to your parents why you disagree with their view of people with a different ethnic background.

Start reminding your siblings that the person they are making fun of was created in the image of God and they have no place to mock that.

Start engaging your coworkers in conversations about the beauty in diversity.

Start researching the subjects you don’t understand so that you can speak truth instead of fiction.

As much as I wish I could, I can’t change the women’s minds in the store that day. But I can let God change me. And that’s enough to change the world.

Ginger | Black

Ginger | Black.

I’m sure many of you are familiar with ginger jokes… the “belief”, that I, a red-head, actually have no soul due to the color of my hair?  If that’s your first time hearing the jokes, lucky for you! But yes, there’s a wide-range of jokes I have heard about that. It became a popular term and joke though a tv show back around ten years ago.

When having an honest conversation with anyone, I can’t believe that someone would actually argue that I have no soul due to the color of my hair.  And if that person does exist, they have enough other problems, so this debate isn’t worth having with them.

We can all agree that ginger jokes- although possibly funny- are completely ridiculous. My hair is simply the accessory to my scalp- it has no bearing on my worth (or my soul).

So then, why do so many believe that the shade of a person’s skin… a genetic characteristic, just like hair color, determines their worth, their intelligence, or their behavior?

Racism and the effects of it will be a forever part of our family.

Because you see, for those who don’t know, Aaron is African-American, and I am as pale of Caucasian as they come (and a ginger).  Our children will one day deal with being bi-racial and most-likely looking different than many of their friends. As much as we hope and believe that our children will be living in a time where skin differences are normal and beautiful, we are not naïve to think it will be accepted anywhere and everywhere God might take us.

Please allow me, a freckle-faced ginger, to walk you through my life of learning to live not color-blindly, but colorfully. I don’t want to miss out on the beauty of God’s rainbow of races, I want to learn to appreciate and enjoy the beauty that each race brings to this world.

2 ½ years ago I started dating my now husband.  Aaron is the most hard-working, noble, loyal, honorable man I know. To say I got quite the catch is an understatement… but that’s been mentioned on this blog before! In one of our pre-marital counseling sessions, we were talking about our family backgrounds and heritages, and then we crossed over to the subject of our races. I remember the counselor asking us a question that shed light on the different way Aaron and I viewed this element of our relationship. When asked how I would deal with someone who had an issue with an inter-racial couple, I remember saying something more tactful but basically “Well, they can deal with it.”

Aaron was then asked the same question, and as usual, his wisdom far surpassed mine. He replied, “Holly should never question how proud I am to be with her, but I am also aware that in some places, with some people, it is necessary to be extremely cautious and aware of our surroundings.”

Then adding, “We are blessed to be living in an area where inter-racial couples are widely seen and accepted, but I’m very much aware that in some towns, the opposite is true.”

The counselor then looked at me and lovingly but firmly said, “Holly- you need to take a lesson from your fiancé.  Your mindset could cause unnecessary heartache one day if you don’t learn to use discernment in this area. Yes, you and Aaron should be proud of each other, and use your inter-racial relationship as a way to further show the world a testimony of God’s love and equality, but not everyone in the world knows, believes, or chooses to accept truth. You must walk in wisdom, not naïve foolishness.”

His words have stayed with me. But my journey in this area continued…

I remember later on in our engagement watching the musical Memphis which is a love-story between a Caucasian man and African-American woman set in the 1950’s. Eventually, they break-up because of the pressures of the color-minded world wreaking havoc in their lives. I remember tears falling down my cheeks as I realized that if I had lived a mere 60 years ago, my marriage to Aaron would still be illegal in some states.

And that stayed with me. But my journey in this area continued…

Over Thanksgiving, we had the opportunity to go to NYC, and while there we watched the play “Cinderella” on Broadway. This Cinderella was the first-ever African American lead.  As we walked into the theater, I was surrounded by little girls of all different races, and it began to occur to me that they were seeing themselves as a princess on a stage…perhaps for the first time.

As the show began, I thought, this is awesome, but surely they could have still related with a white princess on stage. And in one sense, they could… Just as  I had related with Pocahontas’ and Mulan’s strong personalities, regardless of their Indian and Asian races.

But not until we were back in Houston, and we were talking about the show, did I stop and remember the first time I saw a girl with freckles in a magazine.  Not a few perfect freckles that were obviously photo-shopped on her nose, but freckles that actually covered her face. Just. Like. mine.

And I remember what that felt like: To finally see someone who looked like me, and who was considered beautiful on a universal scale… there aren’t words to describe what springs up in a young woman or little girl’s heart. 

There is something special about the confidence that creeps into your soul when you discover that there is a place for your kind of beauty in this world.

I realized that I had been given a glimpse of the excitement that a woman just like me, but African American instead of Caucasian, must have held while witnessing a black Cinderella on Broadway.  For now, when she told her daughter that her skin color is princess-worthy, there was another voice to back that up.

And that stayed with me. But my journey in this area continued…

All these thoughts and beliefs finally came together with a powerfully bright, light-bulb moment … after I had the chance to go to Africa last month.

While there, I was given the opportunity to work with a table of African women as they made jewelry for a week. On the first day there, these beautiful ladies asked me questions about America and Americans. And then, as I discovered, African women are no different than American women because they started talking about men!  At one point, one of the younger, more out-going women, asked me… “So what are white men like?” I laughed and asked what she meant… when I realized she meant in terms of a relationship, I told her, “Girl, I don’t know…I’m married to a black man!” The shock on her face was priceless and hilarious. She then translated that to the rest of the table, and they all burst into frantic, shocked, and excited conversations. I pulled my phone out to show a picture and “prove” it to them, and as they passed around the phone, they literally, burst into smiles and started CLAPPING. Yes. Clapping. I laughed so hard in the moment and throughout the week as it came back up. It was amusing to me to see the excitement my marriage caused!

When I came home and saw the racial tension consuming American news, and my own Facebook feeds, however, I became conscious that the simple truth of my inter-racial marriage had created a bond for me with those African women that I never could have forged on my own.  I realized with a sobering reality that in their world, equality was still being fought for. Maybe not legally, but certainly socially. What was, for me, a temporary news story, and a week of Facebook newsfeeds, was their everyday life. And although America is much more progressive in this subject than my friends’ home in Kibera, Africa, America still has a long way to go as well.

I began to understand why my love for my husband and his love for me resonated with my African sisters in a way that my words would never be able to. Our house has chosen to be Black & White. Not Black VS White.  Those beautiful African women were every bit my sisters in Christ as my beautiful white sisters. They are every bit equal to me in worth, significance, and intelligence.  But they have been told otherwise for so long that a white woman’s marriage to a black man was still a shock. Yet, it was also a stake of hope. Hope that the rest of the world will see colors of skin a thing to be celebrated and valued instead of judged and hated.

So my friends, my African sisters will always stay in my heart, for a multitude of reasons. But my journey in this area will still continue…

And now, when I see the news stories, and read the Facebook comments, I find myself asking…

I can’t help but wonder how much God hurts when…

He sees His children blatantly ignoring Romans 12:10- Love one another with brotherly affection. Outdo one another in showing honor.

When I assume the best or the worst of a person because as something as shallow and literally outwardly as their skin color, how am I showing her honor?

I can’t help but wonder how much God hurts when…

We tell little white girls or little black girls that verses like Psalm 139:13-14 are written for them…

You made all the delicate, inner parts of my body
    and knit me together in my mother’s womb.
14 Thank you for making me so wonderfully complex!
    Your workmanship is marvelous—how well I know it.

We say to live freely knowing that God created them in their mom’s tummy and hand-picked each of their characteristics… that they are beautiful and perfect in God’s eyes. Yet as they are in our homes, we also teach our little girls that Asian, Arab, and Indian girls are less intelligent…less worthy… or less beautiful than they are. Maybe we don’t say that in direct ways, but in our indirect conversations about “them” or “those people”… or perhaps our complaints about “that culture”.

I can’t help but wonder how much God hurts when…

We read Peter’s words to us in Acts 10:34-35 “…Truly I understand that God shows no partiality, 35 but in every nation anyone who fears him and does what is right is acceptable to him,” and yet we assume that no partiality means not caring if someone’s hair is purple and pink instead of blonde or brunette. We have come to believe that doing what is right in the eyes of God is publicly denouncing races or cultures because of the behavior of one man or woman. How do we place the entire race of God’s people at a lesser value and think that we are being found acceptable in the eyes of the Creator of that entire race we just condemned?

Maybe for you the battle isn’t Black vs. White. Maybe it’s Black vs. Asian. Maybe Indian vs. White. Maybe Middle Eastern vs. White.  Maybe Northerners vs. Southerners.

Whatever it might be….please reconsider your words. Your actions. Your thoughts because the colorful life is a much more joyful place to be than the color-less or colorblind one.  Celebrating our differences brings greater happiness than condemning them.

How NYC stole my Christmas magic:

Every Thanksgiving morning:

I wake up, literally run downstairs, make sure the TV is turned on with Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade  coming through loud and clear, and then head to the kitchen to ice my mom’s homemade cinnamon roll.

It’s been that same morning every Thanksgiving for as long as I can remember. Every time I’m home on Thanksgiving, that is what happens. It’s like there’s something magical about the Macy’s Parade.

So this year, when my husband and I realized we had two free SW flights in our reward account, we started working on our vacation budget…. And much to my shock and overwhelming EXCITEMENT…. We booked flights to NYC for Thanksgiving Week so we could see the Macy’s Parade (and NYC in general)!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Magical.  That’s what I expected every second to be. Because that’s what every Christmas movie in NYC declares as reality. The soft snow flittering down, the street-corner shops filled with hot chocolate and cupcakes; the skating rinks with happy couples swirling around; and yes, the parade goers laughing and smiling joyfully as the camera scans the crowd.

Freezing.  Raining. Puddles. Disrespectful Crowds.

Teeth-chattering, bones aching, frost-biting cold.

That’s what we encountered.  Magical was not in the word bank.

Don’t get me wrong, part of our week was beautiful with sunny skies and beautiful weather. But the parade: the life-long tradition of magic, Macy’s Parade was most definitely not.

When the parade started, I kept waiting… waiting for that magic feeling of warmth and Christmas and Holiday Cheer to spread over me.  We left the parade and I still was waiting. It never came.

As we headed back to Texas, I began feeling disappointed and frustrated. What was wrong with me that I wasn’t on top of the world back there?!?! I was in NYC for 4 days and watching the Parade on Thanksgiving morning!!! It was a life-long dream come true. But there were moments, minutes, hours even, that it didn’t feel like I was living my dream.

And I began to realize…..

As an adult, Christmas will never be as magical as it was a child- even when I desperately wish it to be. Life, in fact, will never hold the same magic as it did as a 7 year old girl. 

And this trip taught me that is ok. Because even though the holiday magic never swept over me, when I stopped bemoaning that fact, I realized something far greater was already in my heart that would never need a magical fuzzy to accompany it. 

Why? I had Joy!

Joy over the true cause for celebration: Jesus’ birth! It’s the only time of year where the world still acknowledges there is a reason for celebration that is far greater than any sense of “magic” the human race can come up with.

Because the truth is, magic can’t sustain reality, but joy can transcend it.

You see, I had expected my time in NYC to be as perfect as every holiday romantic comedy I’d watched or as beautiful as every photo-shopped magazine picture I had ever seen, and that’s the problem. I’m basing my dreams of this enchanted season from a world that will never be real, and therefore will never be magical.

But, if I learn to base my expectations and dream my dreams based on the joy of what Christmas is actually about- celebrating the birth of my glorious Savior, Jesus Christ, then
 my season will never be magical but will always be real. 

If I’m offered a magical make-believe world or a joy-filled, grace-infused, love-abundant reality, I choose the joyful reality. Every day. And in doing so, I’m finding that real Christmas joy is overflowing from my heart far more than any amount of “magic” ever could.

**Luke 2:10-14 : And the angel said to them, “Fear not, for behold, I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. 11 For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. 12 And this will be a sign for you: you will find a baby wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger.” 13 And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God and saying, 14 “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace among those with whom he is pleased!

Mascara Running. Hands Clapping

Earth Shattering.

Heavens Rejoicing.

Galaxies Smiling.

Mascara Running.

Praises Rising.

Hands Clapping.

Glory Shining.

Laughter Ringing.

Music Blaring.

Hugs Tightening.

Hearts Pumping.

Joy Overflowing.

Children Dancing.

Adults Shouting.

Orchestra Performing.

Angels Twirling.

Smiles Beaming.

Light Shining.

This happens when one, just one lost soul is redeemed by the saving grace of Jesus. Tonight we have celebrated 21 lost souls finding salvation through the blood of the Lamb!

O Glorious Day.

O Glorious Week.

O Glorious Savior.

*If you ever have questions, please comment or message me. I would love to share with you this life-changing, forever gaining, glorious beautiful Love that has saved my soul.  It's so simple. It's so loving. It's so grace.

Future Days. Past Memories.

Future Days. Past Memories.

Check out the loads of awesomeness taking place in the Brown home in the upcoming days:

•  Aaron’s first production of the new school year opens tonight!!!!  Into the Woods starts at 7:30 and I’m SO excited about it. Come out this weekend or next to Dawson High!

• My 30^th birthday is Saturday! Wait, what? My 30^th birthday?!?!?! How did I get to this point? How am I more than TWICE the age of some most of the girls in my youth ministry?!?!?! Let’s move on.

• We go to Disney World on Sunday.  The last time I was there was when I was a baby. I have no memories of it. So excitement is OFF THE CHARTS.

• Our 1 year anniversary is a week from Sunday!!!!  Seriously. 1 year.  How did that happen?

How great is the next 14 days, right?!?!

As I was looking at our calendar last night and this morning, I started getting excited and sentimental all at the same time.  This past year, these past 10 years, really, have been an eclectic set of experiences and life changes, and yet, on the eve of a new decade (Ugh. Agh.) I can see God’s hand was directing the moves, the lonely nights, the hard conversations, the “random” jobs… the life that I have lived thus far.

So, as a new chapter in my life starts, I decided to write down the lessons that if I could, I would tell the younger me, the me that 15 years ago, couldn’t wait to get started with living her great big adventurous life.

Boys won’t call for a while. Get used to it.
Marriage won’t happen for what feels like eternity.  Endure the lonely.

I was a “late bloomer”, an “intimidating college student”, a “strong young woman”… whatever phrase you want to use that means “She won’t be asked on dates much.” There were nights that was really hard to deal with. And nights that was extremely hard to deal with. And a few nights that was relatively easy to deal with.

And yet, if I could change all that and be Miss Popular, the Homecoming Queen, or even just simply a girlfriend several times, I wouldn’t.  Looking back, I’m so glad God gave me the dating life He did and the strength that I needed to endure.  I’m thankful I didn’t date much, and I’m even more thankful I was able to keep the standards high for what felt like y-e-a-r-s of my life. Oh wait. It was years of my life. My husband was and is worth every teardrop that was shed. Every lonely Friday night. Every “missed opportunity”.  Every part of the wait.

So girls- since I can’t tell “young me”, let me encourage you- don’t give up in the waiting.

Just because you’re not the girl who wins “most dateable” doesn’t mean you are the girl who is “least desirable.”

Your wait will be worth it as well. I promise you. And looking back, I can now appreciate all the heartache that I didn’t have to experience because I didn’t date much. I’m so thankful for that.

Don’t drop one of your standards each year as a birthday present to yourself each year you’re single on your birthday.  Before you know it you’ll be down to “Breathing” and “Under 50”.  The good news is that you will find dates that meet those standards, but the reality is that you will also find a heart full of regret.

You won’t be a millionaire by the time you’re 25.  In fact, you’ll still be paying student loans off. And your car off. And your textbooks off. And your shopping decisions like you absolutely had to have all 17 pairs of shoes with matching shirts today.

People who become CEO’s, CFO’S, COO’s, and everyone other acronym with a “C” and an “O” in it by the time they are 30 are the MAJOR EXCEPTIONS and not the rule.  Set realistic standards for yourself.  You are NOT a failure when you turn 25 because you are still making under $40,000, or you still haven’t ended world hunger, or you still haven’t hit 1,000,000 followers on twitter.   

BUT at the same time- get off your rear and do something. Working a part-time job for 6 hours in a work-week, and watching Full House re-runs for the other 34 hours that you should be working, job-searching, or doing something productive with your time, is not an acceptable way of life for a normal healthy 25 year-old.  I get it, the job market is difficult.  So find a productive hobby, volunteer at your favorite organization, help serve in your church, or train for an Ironman!

Don’t give up on your dreams- be patient with them.

A sweet and dear friend sent me a text this morning reminding me that two of my heroes, Joseph and David from the Old Testament were both around 30 before their “careers” began. Joseph goes from being a slave to being the 2^nd in command in Egypt- a world superpower at the time. David goes from being a shepherd to the King of Israel and “God’s Man”. I think it’s safe to say that God can still use me.  If that wasn’t enough, Jesus Christ, my Savior, didn’t start HIS ministry until around the age of 30 as well.

So my young friends- frustrated with where you are in life? Been there. Not knowing why doors aren’t opening yet? I understand. Begging God to let you pursue the passion He’s put on your heart? Did that.

And you know what? One day, the door will open. The life circumstance will swirl upside down. The passion will become a possibility. Patience is not easy, but it’s needed.

Last, marriage will far exceed some of your hopes and greatly miss some of your dreams.

This pin on Pinterest makes me laugh.

First of all- what grown man likes a sleep over? Go ahead and ask your husband-to-be “Babe, do you want to stay up late, paint my fingernails, talk about chick flicks, and eat cookie dough?... Every single night for the rest of our lives???”

I can already tell you his answer will be: No. Absolutely not. Ha! Hahahahahahaha!

Or something along those lines.

Girls, be honest with yourselves, if that’s your ideal of marriage, you are in for a massive shock. At one point in my life, that’s where I was at. Thank God that He didn’t let me get married at that moment…. Aaron would have been sleep-deprived, working a second job at a nail salon, and 50 pounds heavier from cookie dough.

Here’s the truth: Aaron doesn’t gaze into my eyes every night and quote poetry to me. He doesn’t place my hands over his heart and tenderly tell me all the ways that his heart beats faster at the sight of me every night when he comes home. We don’t live in a romantic drama. We live in reality.  Every successful marriage does.

If your dreams of marriage are based on books and movies, I beg you to go have some serious conversations with women who have been married longer than 3 months. They will tell you that marriage rarely looks like what you are dreaming, but marriage can be far greater than what you imagine.

When two Christians are married and committed to God and His version of marriage, it requires constant effort but the pay-off is intimacy that a movie can’t capture. Unconditional love that a story can’t summarize. Forgiveness that is supernatural. Revitalized hearts that no one would expect. Commitment that is exceptional. Patience that cannot be explained.

Oh and….  vegetables will never compare to dessert.

No matter how hard you try to convince yourself that you can be happy with celery, carrots, and broccoli- that will always be a lie. Always.

So here’s to the next decade of my life. I’m excited to see what will change and what will stay the same. And what I’ll be able to say in 10 years, Lord-willing, about this last decade.

Oh dear. Now that IS depressing.  I’m off to find chocolate.

Detours.

Detours. How I hate them.  They take WAY longer than a normal route. They cause confusion and frustration because I am no longer in a familiar place. They create traffic which I H.A.T.E. with a passion.

Plus, there never seems to be anyone actually working on the road that they are shutting down- so why make us detour???

Pause there- if anyone out there works on the roadways; I have two thoughts for you.

1st- I’m extremely thankful for you. Anytime I drive one of the bridges by Sagemont that seem to be taller than a skyscraper, I always have a moment of awe that the bridge could be built while simultaneously experiencing a moment of terror that the bridge was built.  I’ve seen what happens to Lego towers when they’re not attached quite right….

2nd- Could you please explain why it seems permissible to put out "Road Closed" signs 6 ½ months before any human ever starts to work on that road? Please tell me there’s a reason- if nothing else, that it’s a plot to put the entire city of Houston into a traffic gridlock… oh wait…Houston already is. I answered my own question.

Anyways... 

Suffice it to say, I dislike detours.
And all that comes with them.

I’ve recently talked with friends who are job searching. I hear from friends who have surprising new obstacles at work. I listen to friends who have encountered unforeseen trials. I know friends who are in the middle of major life decisions. And the list goes on and on…. Life’s detours.  How we hate them just like, (or most likely), more than road detours.

I don’t know about you, but I have my life plan and goals. So when something happens that detours me off that plan, I’m NOT happy. Why should I be? The plans are good. They aren't dishonoring to God…. And just like road detours, life detours cause HUGE delays and are frustrating and confusing. So answer me this, if my end goal is to work for a church and help further God’s kingdom, why did I have to wait for 2 years after grad school until I arrived here? If I wanted to be married, why did I have to wait until I’m 28 to find the right man?

Or maybe your questions sound like this…if I want to be a nurse overseas, why do I have to go to nursing school and then work three years in America first? If I want to teach 2^nd grade, why do I have to spend my first year teaching Kindergarten? If I simply want to find a job so I can pay my bills, why have I been searching and applying for months without any offers? If I want to have children, why am I infertile? If I love volleyball, why can’t I make the school team?

We all have our questions. We all have experienced our road blocks… our detours to life’s goals.  And most of us have been confused. Maybe a little frustrated. Hurt. Annoyed. Angry.  And weary…always weary of the detours…

Why do we have to get caught in “life’s traffic” before arriving to our dream destination? Why do we have to be pointed onto a new road, one of unfamiliar surroundings and surprising twists & turns?

If we strip away the other questions, we are left with this one simply query:

Why doesn’t God follow our plans... our “map”?

Reading it that way makes me cringe a little. 

Do I really want God to follow my plans when He has so clearly told me:

 Your eyes saw my unformed substance;
in your book were written,
every one of them, the days that were formed for me,
when as yet there was one of them..*

For MY thoughts are not your thoughts,
neither are your ways MY ways, declares the Lord.
For as the heavens are higher than the earth,
so are MY ways higher than your ways and MY thoughts than your thoughts...**

YOU number my wanderings,
put my tears into Your bottle, are they not in Your book?...
This I know, because God is for me.***

Hearing that God has planned out my days before I was even born, with plans that are immeasurably higher than mine, I never have to doubt that He has led me down a closed road. I never have to wonder if he sees how many tears I cry on my detour…He has collected each teardrop. My “wanderings” are numbered by Him…they are ordained by Him.

At the end of the day, I am learning to trust that

My detour is actually the path.

How?

Because this I know…God is for me.

* Ps. 139:16

** Is. 55:8-9

**Ps. 56:8-11