i can't perform for you, God

October 8, 2017 Jacqui

They say that marriage will reveal how selfish you truly are, but there’s nothing that parrots the condition of your own soul back to you quite like having children. Those early days of motherhood and marriage were equally blissful and devastatingly difficult, and my walk with the Lord suffered for it.

I felt immense, self-imposed pressure to be the perfect wife, mother, and, of course, Christian. To keep our home clean, plan and cook all the meals, and have perfectly-behaved children as a testimony to our competent parenting skills. To wake up before dawn to spend time in bible study and prayer, checking off the appropriate boxes on my bible reading plan in a timely manner. From the outside, it seemed as though every other young mother I knew was doing just that....

the privilege to speak truth /or/ hello from the other side

October 7, 2017 Jacqui

{This post was originally written in November 2016 and republished as part of this series.}

Homosexuality.

It's a hot-button issue these days, and I have many thoughts.

The internet is often a loud and crowded place, so let's imagine we're sitting on the food-stained chairs around my kitchen table with a warm cup of coffee in hand. Now, depending on the time of day, I can't guarantee it will be any quieter, but I hope the smile on my face and warmth of the mug assures you that you're welcome here.

First, let me tell you what I know. And by know, I mean what I've experienced.

I know that for the last year or so, around this very same kitchen table, I've been cultivating a relationship with the youth of the neighborhood. They come and go at all hours of the day, and they don't even bother to knock before they come inside anymore. Because now, it's home.

Of the handful of teenage girls that stop by to visit, every last one of them identifies as lesbian. I'll be honest and say this was uncharted territory for me, so I ask a lot of questions, both of God and them. I've braved through the awkwardness, and they, in turn, have been surprisingly open with me. Like any other teenager, they just want to know that they are heard and loved, no matter what. That their souls and stories are safe here....

just one more dollar /or/ the american dream

October 6, 2017 Jacqui

Photo Source. Also, it's currently for sale. Only for the 5th time in history. No biggie. *sigh* — Photo Source. Also, it's currently for sale. Only for the 5th time in history. No biggie. *sigh*

Fresh out of college with my license in Social Work (aka, golden ticket to change the world) and head-over-heels in love with my highschool sweetheart turned husband, money had no grip on my heart. I knew the second I chose Social Work as a major that I would never be rich. And I didn’t care. All I wanted to do was help people and make a difference, one soul at a time.

A couple kids into life and with my career placed in long-term storage, however, I found myself stuck at home, sowing seeds of resentment and jealousy. Now, I'm not good at gardening, so I really should've known better. As my eyes wandered the world around me, mostly via social media (because two babies), I realized everyone else’s lives seemed so much better than mine: the things they were doing, the houses they were buying, the places they were going, the clothes they were wearing. We had a tiny house, an average car, and we were trying to dig ourselves out of some debt on a tight budget. And I, Ginger Savior Barbie, found myself tired, overwhelmed, frugaled-out, and wanting MORE....

it's temporary /or/ "yes" can change everything

October 5, 2017 Jacqui

In 2004 my soon-to-be husband was asked if he would temporarily fill in as the interim Youth Leader at a church in the city. “Just for three months,” his pastor friend assured us, until they could find someone permanent. They were in a tight spot, trying to breathe life back into a dwindling congregation without the staff to sustain it.

So, naturally, he said yes. Why not, right? We could do anything for three months.

With all of our family being local and most of them attending the same church, it was a relief to have a slice of space to ourselves, a place we could claim as our own. We commuted to the city from our little two-bedroom apartment in the suburbs on Sundays and Wednesdays, and it didn’t take long for the church to start to feel like family....

the junkie mom at the park /or/ unexpected admiration

October 4, 2017 Jacqui

{This post was originally written in the summer of 2015 and republished as part of this series.}

The sweltering day had tapered off into a shadowy, refreshing breeze. I love when the scale of the year tips winter-ward and the summer nights begin to cool off, teasing of autumn, and tonight was one of those perfect nights. After a late dinner ala fridge and close to bedtime, we decided to take advantage of the weather and walk to the park.

We rolled up the hill with the dog in tow, who insisted on tugging relentlessly at the hunter green leash and barking at every squirrel within a quarter mile, and I saw her sitting on a weathered wooden bench across the park. When we sat down on the opposite bench, she yelled, “how old is your little girl? She’s pretty!”

Then I thought she said that she loved her hair, too, so I reached over, stroking her blond, bouncy locks, smiled and said, “thank you!” But she quickly responded, “no, yours!”

Oh, okay. That was sweet.

People at the park will smile on occasion, but they aren’t normally too friendly in the city, just as a general rule. They tend to keep to themselves, although I try to initiate some conversation when I’m feeling like getting out of the hermit shell inside my head. So I was a little surprised by this anomaly....

I'm Jacqui, the mom behind the camera. Wife of one + momma to five. Writer + speaker. Unqualified philosopher + theologian. Accidental mentor. Chaos manager. Lover of coffee + wine, perspective, and Jesus. Truth teller. Freedom fighter. Worth affirmer. Wanna-be author + world changer. Laundry piler. Emoji enthusiast. It's nice to meet you!

I hope you'll stay awhile and take a look at life through my lens, as I seek to find joy in the mess and walk with God through the beauty of everyday life.

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That last-week-of-school hustle is reeeeaaal. 😩👊🏻😴

Oh haaay, summer, haaay!! ✨😎 It’s almost 90 degrees with a breeze here in CLE, & we’re not minding one little bit. We just got back from a Target run, as one does on a Saturday. 🎯 I swept yesterday’s chalk dust and all the helicopters off the porch (as far as propagating strategies go, this is a very good one. Those suckers are EVERYWHERE!), and now I’m watching my little corner of the world go by from my second-hand rocking chair on the porch, iced coffee in hand. And it’s so, so good to be right here. In this moment, in this place: the wind tugging at my hair, the kids arguing about something in the backyard, the wind chimes next door, the dogs sunning themselves at my feet. These are the days. This is the abundant life. And I wouldn’t trade it for the whole wide world. My corner is enough.

I used to think the old woman who lived in a shoe was nuts. I mean, why in the world would you choose live in a shoe? With all those kids?? 😱 And withholding the bread? Straight up neglect. Some versions say she kissed them fondly, but we all know that mean broad spanked the daylights out of them before sending them straight to bed. Then I became a parent. Life has a way of waking you up to realities that are literally impossible to understand until you’re completely immersed in the incessant demands of a sacrificial season, or in some cases, a sacrificial existence. And you can fathom now how life can wear a person down to a shell of who they were, how one unfortunate circumstance can tragically alter a trajectory. And you finally realize that no one chooses to live in a shoe. A shoe is where you live when you have no choices, when you’re out of options, when it’s either a shoe or the streets. She had so many children she didn’t know what to do—so many mouths to feed every day. If broth and bread is all she could afford, there might not have been enough to go around. She didn’t ration out of neglect but rather out of necessity. And she whipped them all soundly before she put them to bed because she didn’t have anything left. Because she’s an overwhelmed, exhausted single mom without a shred of a support system. She never gets a break. Carrying the weight of their survival solely on her weary shoulders, she beats them now so the police won’t later. She whoops them because she cares, and that’s the only way she ever learned how to show it. . ...and what you can see now is, she loves them.

Anyone else feel the pull to show up here every so often to say, “Hey! I’m still busy doing things! My life is still interesting! And it matters! And here’s why…” When I feel compelled or obligated to do something, for whatever reason, one of the best things I can do for myself, at least for a little while, is….don’t. Don’t log on. Don’t post for the heck of posting. Don’t force something that doesn’t want to come. And I let the silence begin to speak for itself. God speaks in a whisper, you know, but how often are we quiet enough to hear it? And how exactly did we arrive at the place where our worth was determined by the number of hearts tapped out on 2x2 squares? It sounds quite ridiculous when it’s all spelled out like that, doesn’t it?

This is how we showed up at church tonight—legit looking like maybe we just crawled out of a garbage dump. Or at least a construction zone. 🚧 It’s actually worse than it looks and literally the best I’ve got this week. Bless it. Also, the nursery worker made them wash hands before snack, so we’re good. What matters is that we showed up. On time, in fact, which is no small miracle in and of itself. . ✨All that is required of us is that we arrive as our truest selves. And today? We’re filthy. So, here’s a gentle reminder to you, fellow traveler: come dirty, come late, come ill-prepared or even irate. Come with a smile on your face, or come because you need some grace. Come stressed, come sweaty, come imperfect, even petty. Just come, in spite of your mess, and trust that God will take care of the rest. He always does. See for yourself. ➡️

These jokers are my favorite. 💖 #happymothersday

‘Tis the season. 💜🌸 The only problem is choosing just one! 🤩 So I didn’t. 😬 Did you know that lilacs only bloom for 1-2 weeks a year? Kinda makes you wonder about humanity’s over-emphasis on “blooming”—always producing, striving, hustling, creating output. Even if we’re blooming where we’re planted, as the saying goes, it’s brief. Stunning, yes. Breathtaking, yes. Colorful, vibrant, full of life, yes please. But also short-lived. Temporary. Fleeting. Seasons are not only temporary but necessary. Don’t focus so much on the fruit that you miss the seasons of watching and waiting, of hunkering down when the landscape is barren and learning to weather the storms. These create the fertile soil in which flowers grow. 💜

*new headshot* 😬

Today is Good Friday, and it arrived exactly how I always picture it—the sky weeping, the earth soaked with tears. This is the inevitable darkness that must come before the morning, the necessary death which precedes resurrection. This heartbreaking pattern of life is something my human heart always struggles to embrace as “the way.” Surely, there has to be another (less painful) avenue toward truth and life? . Selfishly, I want what we all think we want at the end of the day: a life of comfort and ease. We quickly realize, however, that comfort is fleeting and ease is overrated. With each excruciating step up the hill of Calvary, Jesus reminds us again: every good and perfect gift arrives on the other side of death. It is finished, forever and ever. Amen.

Sell your cleverness and buy bewilderment. —Rumi

HELLO!

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