Why I Write

Something about touching the earth makes me feel at home. Dirt...earth's skin, opening her follicles to the mysterious glories that lie within. Branches stretching high, groaning to encounter their Creator. If words could be spoken, the weight, the velocity of millions of stories would certainly shatter the universe. Stories of God's goodness and faithfulness, how they spin in the midst of violent forces that threaten to blind our eyes to truth. Yes, I feel at home here, grasping the bamboo and listening to their chatter in the winds. The earth's voicelessness offers me safety, for I too, hold glorious mysteries within that seep through windows of my soul. My heart and spirit forge their way upward into Him. I part my lips to speak, yet if the chronicles of my soul were made known to listening ears, the quiet, reassuring atmosphere would be shaken. This is why I write. As a child, I recall being shy, afraid to speak. I remember the mocking laughter that ensued after sharing a thought, idea, or story. I am not speaking of my parents, but of others. "Whyyyyy do youuuu talk soooooo slowwwwww?" "You say that word weird. You sound funny." "Well, that's a dumb idea." Eventually, I closed my mouth...even refusing to let a smile be seen due to the case of flourosis that spotted my teeth with yellow. If I dared to laugh or smile, I quickly covered my mouth to hide its shame. I became a ball of passion, thoughts and dreams that carefully and thoughtfully locked herself away. That is why I write. Ask me to speak, and I shudder. But hand me a pen, and I'm an open book. Paper receives my words gently and without judgement. The wood listens. The soil that I came from seems to understand me. Grace is there. How much more grace should be within mankind, who contains His breath? So I write.

Journey from Childhood...to Childlikeness

From holding puppies at the ages of 5 and 6...to holding our children at the ages of 38 and 39.
Perhaps those mud pies we made together as children, and perhaps our "missions" as "spies" in cases against our fellow neighborhood playmates, ended up preparing us to find joy in life's real "mud pies" and gave us unity in working together as a team, with a common purpose. Years later, deeper in love, deeper in connection. I am thankful for my soul mate, and the reward of amazing children who bless this earth with their presence.

Ode to George

Nearly one year ago, an Allegiant flight carried us north,
One-way tickets, no home, few plans, time for re-birth.
Waiting to hear the Father's voice, hear His heartbeat,
Resting, dreaming on a sea of soybeans, corn and wheat.

Faithful George, quite old, yet strong.
When we were lost, you carried us on.
Our family, while soiled in the turmoil of transition,
Craigslist revealed your joyful disposition.

We met you and wondered at your 210,000 miles,
Worn, well-travelled, but still flashing style.
The four of us piled in and journeyed to the junk yard,
Where we molded, assembled, making you our own Bouchard.

Hearts of gratitude are filled immensely, sweet George.
You horseless carriage of courage...friendship we forge.
No vehicle surpasses what you mean to us, old man.
Thousands of miles we moved within our own, our favorite, forever faithful, van.

Eighteen Years of Britain

"I sing to the life that I bear.
I sing to the one who's inside of me,
whose face is familiar, yet I've never seen,
whose life lies ahead like a wonderful dream...."
(From The Love That I Bear on the Come to the Cradle CD by Michael Card)

Almost 18 years ago, I sat in my rocking chair, surrounded by bookshelves that were loaded with literature on pregnancy and parenting, crammed into our tiny garage apartment in Austin, Texas, me, happily dreaming of the little face that we would soon welcome into the world. As I held my swollen belly, moved by the creativity and awe of new life that swayed, pushed and stretched within me, I marvelled at God's love for this little one. I was learning appreciation for my young husband who faithfully flipped pizzas and pastored a small youth group.

How is it that we were chosen to bring a beautiful human being into the world...one who we purposefully attempted to create at the ages of 20 and 21, while still attending Bible college? My son, in utero, walked the platform with me to receive my Associates Degree in Theology. Some would say we were insane. After all, it was crazy enough to marry at the ages of 18 and 19...what in the world were we thinking, that we had what it took to raise up a child? I remember kneeling on my knees, leaning over my hope chest in our little Christ For The Nations apartment, gazing upon a onesie that a friend had made for me because she knew that I wanted a baby. I just never knew it would come so soon. I had prayed and asked the Lord to fill that onesie with a leader for His Kingdom, one who would bring transformation, joy, love and beauty to the world. It was a prayer far too big for such a young girl to pray. Perhaps I was brave, in the most naive way.

On Saint Patrick's Day of 1994, I was preparing for a birthday party for my husband who would turn 21 years of age, but the party was cancelled after I began early labor with our child. I was not sure it was labor, but my husband seemed to know better than me. "Traci, I think you're in labor." "No, I'm not sure." He picked up the phone and called the midwife, and of course, she confirmed his suspicions. We began walking and walking, moving, and trying to get things to accelerate. I remember how weary I felt as we walked into the birthing center. Wooden floors, country quilts, a stone fireplace and rocking chairs greeted us to this place where our lives would forever be changed.

The process became intense, and my baby's heart rate was dropping due to the cord being partially wrapped around his neck. Our midwife, who spent years delivering babies in hospitals, looked at me with sincere disappointment, and said, "I'm so sorry, but we have to do an emergency episiotomy...no time for anesthetic." I remember what it felt like to be cut without anesthesia...but somehow, the pain subsided after I let out a scream and my husband fell into a puddle of tears. She quickly reassured Bill, "She's okay...she's okay." Seconds later, we were looking into the face of our baby boy, Britain. And our lives were forever changed.

I could write pages and pages of memories...how he made us laugh with his early-sprung sense of humor, his chipmunk laugh, and how he would tell us at age two, "I was born to make people laugh." His wild imagination and even experiences with God...seeing angels, waving to Jesus in the middle of his drum solo...how he was extremely ill one evening with high fever and he became lethargic. Bill and I laid over him and asked God to heal him. Britain sat straight up in the middle of our prayer, looking intently over our shoulders and said, "He's big!" We looked, but could see nothing. "He's really big," said Britain, eyes wide. And he stood up, fever instantly gone and began playing with his toys as if he had been well the entire time. I will never forget that healing.

As a small child, he had prophetic dreams and saw things that we could only feel. He bravely commanded good to invade wherever he saw the bad. Transformation...Heaven invasion...that's what he seemed to be all about. At age six, magic, illusion, and wonder stuck with him and he never let that go. I watched him explode with joy when we moved to Maui. He swam with the sea turtles and searched for sharks (which he did find) and soaked in every ounce of beauty and its detail, unlike any child I had ever known. Taking note of the stars that hung over Haleakala in the clear night. Upon moving back to Texas, he experienced an unexpected healing of terrible eyesight. It was an encounter that unleashed his spirit...no more shyness, no more struggle with identity, no more fear of being who he was...and ever since, he has lived life to the fullest, passionately and relentlessly.

Britain has walked with us through great difficulty, showered us with amazingly mature, life-giving words in the midst of trials, wept with us, captured life's best with us, and most importantly, he has helped to teach us what love is and what love is not. His strength is immense. His stubborness, while frustrating at times, is more inspiring than anything, and his heart of gold always shifts the stubborness to a place of bringing good.

This powerful young man interrupted an accusatory, judgment-filled "Christian" on a college campus, and made his way to stand in front of a crowd of college students, telling them how much they are loved by God, that they are created for a beautiful purpose. The crowd applauded when love was released. Britain stood, ministering life, joy, love and the ability to dream to people in an R.W. Shambach meeting...Sara did the same, and R.W. prayed over our family, in awe of our children. All of this, while Bill and I were finding life again, after experiencing great disappointments that caused us to question security and identity...this is how good God is. God reminds us who we are, through our children. That is family...a gracious balancing...always reminding and directing them towards God's heart. Britain and Sara have been part of that grace-giving, faith-building act in our lives. And I could not have asked for more wonderful children. We received far more than we ever dreamed of or even deserved.

Here we are, at the stage of life where you let go...where you launch your offspring into their future. It is a time in life when I am grateful for texting and having the ability to look at Facebook, just to see that all is well with my son as he lives his dream, touring with magician/illusionist, Reza. Eighteen years really does go by quickly. One moment, I was pregnant with my baby boy, singing songs to the life I carried and did not know, and now...he is a man. Britain, you are so loved and always will be. As I remember the songs I once sang over you, I am reminded that God sings and rejoices over us...and He will never stop...He is relentless. And you're a beautiful conduit of His love to a world where many have forgotten how to dream and they do not know that they are worth loving. I am honored to be your mom and I release you to do what you were born to do....live and love, and teach others to do the same. I love you, son.

When One Goes Astray

DISCLAIMER: The following is me writing out loud...these are unprocessed thoughts, so I process as I write. Feel free to try and follow.

Recently, after listening to a very legalistic sermon, one in which caused me to wonder what kind of issues the messenger was struggling with, I began to ask myself some questions. Firstly, I worried about the hearers in the room...what if there was a repentant listener who left behind a very dark past...would this message leave them feeling shame, guilt, and forever disqualified from ever serving God to their full potential? Is it really "one strike and you're out?" Or even "three strikes and you're out?" I mean, Jesus said that we are to forgive a brother (catch that..."a brother"....not a stranger) seventy times seven. Sad, but funny that the majority of the church has never lived out the beautiful grace that Jesus commands us to release.

As I prayed about these things, I saw a vision of Jesus carrying a lamb on his shoulders. I once heard that shepherds would sometimes dislocate the leg of their wandering sheep in order to carry it and bring it back to where it belonged. The shepherd would hold the sheep close to his heart (carry gently) as the leg healed, and then he would set the sheep at his side, where it would learn to remain with him.

I explored Matthew 18, verses 12-14 where Jesus said: “What do you think? If any man has a hundred sheep, and one of them has gone astray, does he not leave the ninety-nine on the mountains and go and search for the one that is straying? “If it turns out that he finds it, truly I say to you, he rejoices over it more than over the ninety-nine which have not gone astray. “So it is not the will of your Father who is in heaven that one of these little ones perish."

I used to read this scripture as if the shepherd was leaving the happy, perfect church of 99 (he left the 99 "on the mountains") to seek out an ignorant, dirty sheep that had not yet joined the sheepfold. But it dawned on me that this straying sheep was ALREADY part of the fold, and had always been under the leadership and guidance of the shepherd, which meant that the straying sheep DID know the voice of the shepherd. How then did this stinkin' little lamb get off track? Perhaps distraction. Perhaps it was not feeling loved or cared for at the moment, so it wandered away. Maybe downright rebellion or, perhaps, a seemingly innocent little jaunt led this sheep to a lonely place. There could be many reasons. The beautiful reality is that the reasons do not keep the shepherd from seeing the value in that little lamb...so much so that He leaves all of the others on the mountain and makes an inconvenient journey, in order to retrieve the one that's in the wrong place.

I wish that Jesus would have finished that story...like, what happened when the shepherd returned to the fold with the lost sheep? Did the other sheep even care? Did they rejoice? (I am reminded of the father who rejoiced over his prodigal son that returned...a feast ensued...a ring placed on his finger...the son's original position restored). Or did they reject it for its stupidity? Matthew 18 continues on with Jesus' words about confronting a brother who is in the wrong and about fully forgiving. He has forgiven us all, and He commands us to forgive and to receive the sheep back into the fold. If we fail to do so, He will not forgive us, which is equal to us losing grace. If you want grace increased in your life, then give grace.

In this thought process, suddenly, Psalm 23 hits my heart like an arrow that lavishes my heart with peace. According to my own understanding: "The Lord is my shepherd (so I do not have to be in want). He leads me beside still waters (He quenches our thirst). He restores my soul (He brings the soul to a better condition than its previous state). He leads me in the paths of righteousness for His name's sake (He cleanses us with His word and places us in right standing, because He loves AND for His glory)....Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death (sin is death), I will fear no evil (evil---that which sets out to destroy us, our identity, our purpose), for You are with me. Your rod and staff (guidance and correction) comfort me. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies (He creates a party, a feast for us even amongst those who are against us). You anoint my head with oil and my cup runs over (He anoints the unworthy...even to overflowing). Surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life (yes, He IS goodness and mercy...and He follows us all the days of our life) so that we may dwell in the house of the Lord forever." Can you feel the refreshing in your soul?

The Psalms. David. King David. A man after God's own heart. An adulterer. A murderer. An anointed king. Chosen by God. Isn't the Lord just an interesting one? His choices rarely ever make sense. His judgment sometimes seeming as if it's lacking. But it is not. King David was part of the sheepfold and the Shepherd knew his value. When David went astray, the Lord refused to let him go. God could have chosen another route, another bloodline for Jesus to be born into, yet knowing all that David had done, David was given the opportunity to repent, and Jesus Christ took on the title, "Son of David." Wow! I must go and quietly ponder now....

Roses in the Briar Patch

The experience of life, so far, has left its marks deep inside of me, and it becomes more beautiful with each passing day. Mixtures of miraculous, joy-filled, blissful blessings, alongside of horrendous jolts of trauma that awakened and taunted my heart, hovering over my joy with threatening death...the twisting, turning, ever-changing journey whose finish line, upon looking back, reveals a straight line. He was with me. And He still is. And perhaps I am becoming more perfected in love, yet my soul knows well that it has not arrived on the shores of complete safety.

Let me clarify that there are many wonderful moments that will always be carried and cherished in my heart...countless people who kindly, in the midst of their own painful trials, went out of their way to leave a beautiful impression on me and my family. Every word of kindness and every action inspired by love will forever remind me of the goodness of God, especially when doubt tries to push its claws into my skin. Upon remembering life's pains and life's triumphs, I can only say that God IS faithful and His goodness shines even when we forget mankind's.

My reason for writing now is born out of adversity, not my own this time, but of others who have faithfully laid their hearts and lives bare, passionately serving and trusting those within the local church, only to find their families, friendships, and leaderships falling apart. Do not fear, however, for it is merely a passing moment of testing; a violent war that will be overcome with peace, joy, and renewed love, if only those bloodied soldiers will maintain a heart of gratitude...even gratitude for the suffering.

I write to those who walk with people and ARE people who carry great influence and anointing. I used to think that being on the front lines was dangerous. Then I believed it was the safest place to be. But life has taught me it is both. The 'front lines' are dangerous AND safe, depending on who you are surrounded by, and I mean within your own army.

Perhaps the naivete of men and, especially women, in church is to trust others to an unfair depth. Let me explain. This can be said for humanity as a whole, yet I will speak on behalf of women. When loving one another and befriending one another, we must always remain aware of one's ability to cause pain, and we must give the grace to let them do so, yet with the wisdom of serpents and harmlessness of doves. We must realize that every human carries a broken place or a void, that maybe they are not aware of, and that, eventually, that place in them may arise as it is rooted out by a loving, graceful God.

The rooting-out process sometimes hurts, seemingly beyond the ability to bear, depending on one's stubborness or desire to be teachable. Whichever the perpetrator chooses, the grace of Christ is strong enough to keep you as you either walk away or stand by...

Whatever your story, the end result of life's events can amount to immense joy and satisfaction; the ability to smile when revisiting good times, as well as bad. Believe it or not, there's beauty to be found in the dung hill. There's redemption to be witnessed by your eyes in the darkest, most putrid place. Ugliness can call itself a briar rose, even though it is merely the thistles that serve to draw our blood, wrench our gut, and shake our soul at a level that no one can comprehend...only to arrive in the light, where Love lives.

Life leaves impressions. You get to choose which kind. "The roses are found in the briar patch."

Redemption Trumps Perfection

Driving down the highway, pondering how different this Christmas season is...my first Christmas season without attending a church service...working on Christmas Eve and half of Christmas Day. My husband and I run a business in tourist territory, so we don't get to attend church. Working 7 days a week, 14 hours a day, is a great way to bring oneself to the threshold of exhaustion. However, the supernatural power of Love Himself never fails to awaken us with tender mercies, kisses from Heaven, and a constant nudging to draw close to Him.

All of these thoughts lead me to hearing His voice, saying, "Focus on the power of redemption instead of the ideal of perfection. For Redemption Himself stepped into imperfection in an imperfect way. He made the imperfect perfect. Focus on this redemption. It is to be celebrated this season." Selah