The Work in Front of Me
Respectfully, I would ask that we stop interrupting women’s lives to tell them they should be leading different ones.
The Bible says that Jesus cast seven demons out of Mary Magdalene - meaning she most likely suffered from an illness not easily cured.
She contributed to Jesus’ ministry financially, so she had her own money, and there is no mention of her being married.
In other words, she did not live the typical life of a woman in that time.
I can relate.
And yet, she is the first person Jesus revealed himself to after he rose from the dead.
This in a time when women’s testimony was not permitted in a court of law because they were viewed as being lower than livestock.
Jesus instructed her to go and tell the others. She was the apostle sent to the apostles.
Ladies, you have so much more value than you’ll ever know because He placed it in you.
And that value doesn’t increase or decrease as your roles change, either at work or at home.
Imagine if Jesus yelled to Mary as she ran to share the news, “Girl, don’t forget to get maaarriieeeeddd.”
How ridiculous would that have been?
Because the message - then and now - is about Him. Killing sin and death.
That’s it. That’s the headline.
And Mary’s willingness to be present and responsive to what He called her to is a lesson for us all.
It reminds me of when I bought my condo.
I was young. Anxious, excited, happy, scared.
And someone said, “Don’t you think you should have waited until you got married to do this?”
Man, did that ruin my moment.
And it made me feel like what I was doing wasn’t real life because I hadn’t checked another box first.
Or instead.
Would I have liked to step into other roles? You bet.
But that might be a conversation better had with the men today, many of whom seem more interested in quantity over legacy.
It can’t just be me doing all the work and dragging a guy along for the ride.
A remarkable thing about women is that we won’t wait to multiply whatever you give us.
Bring me groceries, I’ll make you a meal.
Build me a dwelling, I’ll make you a home.
Give me a story worth sharing, I’ll spread that news far and wide.
This photo was taken at one of my favorite press conferences. We made the front page of USA Today. Good Morning America even gave us a shout out.
I felt a lot of satisfaction from this effort. And I think God, like any good dad, gets a kick out of watching His kids light up and fire on all cylinders.
There are some who say I shouldn’t occupy this space. That I’m in the minority.
But while society sidelines me, God never does.
He calls me loved, chosen, valuable, and trustworthy to carry His message. In return, I do the work that’s in front me, whatever that looks like.
It could be at a job. It could be taking care of family.
It could be reminding single friends younger than me that marriage and children, however wonderful and worthy, are not actually what God looks for in the end, and then setting an example of how to walk that out, practically.
Maybe someday my life will look different. Maybe it will include a husband or a different home.
In the last few years, I’ve had cancer and the world got swallowed up in COVID.
Again, I do the work that’s in front of me.
It’s been years since this photo was taken and I still show up for God.
I bring my sickness and my singleness and the hurt I carry from the world telling me I’ve done it all wrong.
Sometimes, that feels really heavy. And I believe the lies the world has told me that I don’t have a place in it.
But then there are times I take God at his word and, like Mary Magdalene, I’m there before anyone else, waiting to see what He will trust me with next.
Eva
This is a portrait of my great-grandmother Eva.
She came to this country from Poland through a church sponsorship program in Watervliet, NY. The church would help her get acclimated to America and, in exchange, she would work in the home of one of the church members. Her family only had passage money for one person at the time, so she would travel first and then her sister would follow.
But back then the mail didn’t move as fast as it does now and as she was crossing the Atlantic, a letter was headed to her home in Poland from the host family. They were moving and would not be there to take her in.
She arrived at her destination only to find the whole house empty, except for an apron that had been left behind on the kitchen floor. Overwhelmed, she sat outside on the front steps and cried.
She was 14 years old.
Luckily, a neighbor who was a member of the same church that was sponsoring her took her in. Her sister eventually decided to stay in Poland to get married, and while they exchanged a few letters, she would never see her family again.
A few years later, she met the man who would become her husband in that church. He just so happened to be from Poland. Never doubt how God will surprise you with a little piece of home just when you’re feeling so far from it.
I’m sad to say Eva passed away before I was born. I’ll never know how she managed to get herself from Ellis Island to Watervliet without knowing any English or the fear she must have felt as she walked through that empty house.
But one thing I do know is that I am only here today because she said “what if”. Her boldness had a ripple affect through generations.
I don’t know what you’re waiting on, but I don’t wait anymore. Let this be the year you step out. Leave the familiar behind. Be the first in your family.
You’re not just saying “yes” for yourself, but for all those coming up behind you. Even the ones you may never meet.
Shoulder to Lean On
Shoulder to lean on.
Soft place to land.
Patient through my stumbling.
Familiar with my pain.
Bearing my burdens.
Cancer healer.
Tear collector.
Heart mender.
Fiercest advocate.
Defender.
Protector.
Warrior.
Shepherd.
Solid ground.
Ransom payer.
Debt canceller.
Reconciling the impossible.
Teacher.
Savior.
King.
Loyal in my wandering.
Investor in my future.
Architect of my dreams.
Masterminding my victories.
Tailor of miracles.
Harbor in the storm.
Author of my story.
Disrupting my status quo.
Bending time tables.
Interrupting best laid plans.
Silencing my doubts.
Reassuring promises.
My journey’s end.
This is Christmas.
Buy the Shoes
Taking a look (not that far back 😉) through the archives.
This was the best way I knew how to celebrate my birthday after a cancer diagnosis ushered me directly into a global pandemic.
I called Dave Bigler at Saratoga Portrait Studio and Alayne Curtiss at Make Me Fabulous took the day off, and let myself forget how rapidly my world and the world around me had come unhinged.
Sometimes we need that.
It’s not denial - it’s a healthy defiance. Celebrate big. Every chance you get.
And for the love God, just buy the shoes! ❤️👠
All I Had
I was not expecting the calm that eventually rolled in like a fog this October.
I felt muddy. Trapped. I struggled to pray, to rally, to put up a fight.
And I think that’s a mistake we all make sometimes - thinking we need to do more.
Thinking we can manifest a victory in our own strength. Thinking God is ignorant or indifferent to our plight.
Thinking it depends on us.
Instead, I called to mind something I felt God put on my heart the first time around. I meditated on it for a bit, and left everything else with Him.
If you’re wrestling with something you can’t see your way out of, might I suggest you stop for a moment?
You weren’t meant to shoulder it.
You can’t overcome it on your own.
And there is rest to be found in letting go.
Three weeks of waiting; a simple petition for help. It was all I had in me. And it was enough.
Because He is enough.
He was already on the way.
And I felt it the strongest when I gave up the fight.
Matthew 12:21 - The mere sound of his name will signal hope.
Wars and Rumors of Wars
Tensions are high this week. Personally. Globally.
Pending scans and anniversaries. Wars and rumors of wars.
I have never been so grateful to be a child of God.
I think about what it would be like to be caught in the crossfire of something I wanted nothing to do with.
To live with a target on my back.
To stare down the end of my life at the hands of someone who found joy in the taking.
Where would the ultimate comfort come from?
Not my family or friends. Not my co-workers. Not my president or my pastor.
From the same place I found it when the test results did not come back all clear.
Jesus.
Being pursued by him has been the greatest joy. Following him, the most unexpected adventure.
He’s already in tomorrow. He’s already written the end. And he holds me securely in his hands. Through whatever happens here or halfway across the world.
If you walked away, come back. If you’re on the fence, climb off. If you ever wondered if there was something more, there is.
The battles of this life will be many, but he has already won the war.
And his is the only side worth choosing.
Isaiah 43:1 - Fear not, for I have redeemed you. I have called you by name, you are mine.
A Glimpse of the Familiar
Not every scar carries a story I want to tell.
I’ll admit to avoiding some of mine. Their origins leave me feeling isolated - like no one understands.
Their presence is tied to deep-seated pain and things yet to be healed.
I wish I could erase them, and with them, all that led to their permanent mark.
After Jesus rose from the dead, one of his disciples named Thomas refused to believe it was really Him unless he saw the scars for himself (John 20: 24-27).
And Jesus, being who He is, provided the proof.
He invited Thomas to run his finger along the nail marks; to place his hand in the damage the spear undoubtedly left in his side.
Scars are such a hallmark of our broken human condition. I’m amazed that Jesus didn’t erase His.
What use did He have for such things?
He had just challenged the world’s oldest adversary and was named the undefeated champion.
The keys to death and hell were now stashed safely in his back pocket.
He was heaven-bound and no pain or past can live there.
Why not blot out any evidence of the horrors?
Because He knew we would still be here.
And that at times, hope would feel foreign, like a language we don’t speak or understand.
When I can’t relate to his power or purposes, I remember He was once human like me.
He experienced exhaustion, anger, disgust, and sorrow.
He understood what it meant to be abandoned by his friends and mocked by his enemies.
And more than I ever will, he knew agony.
He was whipped, beaten, and paraded through dusty streets.
Nails were pounded through both wrists and while dangling, a spear thrust into His side.
With the weight of all sin on His shoulders, His father turned away and the world went dark.
Throughout the hardest times of my life, even when I was physically alone, I have never been without God. But Jesus was that day. Led into the abyss that is utter rejection.
The invisible scars are often the hardest to bear.
If given the kind of power He had, by Sunday I would be obliterating the wounds of Friday.
But the Savior seeks to draw us close. And more often than not, it’s easier to get close to someone who understands what hurts, not just what’s whole and hopeful.
When I struggle to grasp His divinity - when it seems like no one understands the pain behind my scars - I remember His humanity.
He knows me well enough to know sometimes I require a glimpse of the familiar.
He loves me well enough to offer it if only to say, “I know.”
He had scars, too.
Million Little Miracles
This morning I talked my sister through baking the 20 pound turkey she got for free. I can’t wait to see how it turns out.
In a while I’ll start the drive to my Grammy’s house in Utica. She’ll be 90 in April. I love how I feel when I walk in her house almost as much as I love her stories.
Later we’ll FaceTime with my aunt and uncles. We’ll laugh when Grammy tries to hold the phone to her ear. And then Grammy and I will head out to eat a delicious dinner neither of us has to cook.
Tomorrow I’ll probably eat cake for breakfast 😉 🍰 and then head over to see Katie Aiello at Character Coffee. Take note if you’re in the Utica area - it’s the best.
Then I’ll head home to the sweetest, floofiest boy I could ever hope to have. He’ll be waiting at the door for me, just like he always does.
When I was little I thought my life would look a lot different. I thought more would have happened by now. That I would never get sick until I was old.
But something gets lost in the imagining of what could have or should have been. We miss the million little miracles all around us. Many we never could have imagined.
Today I’m grateful for my health, and grandmothers, and long drives, and free turkeys, and FaceTime with family, and coffee shops, and floofy fur friends, and cake for breakfast.
And the God who saw fit to send them all to me. ❤️ #MillionLittleMiracles
These Three Years
October 2019.
They say nothing can prepare you to hear the words, “you’ve got cancer.” It might have been the last thing I expected, but preparations were being made on my behalf.
Late that summer, I found myself dropped from commitments I had been looking forward to, suddenly and without cause.
Calendar cleared.
My direct report at work started two days after I was diagnosed. But planning for his arrival began almost exactly one year before.
Workload covered.
I traveled more in the several months before than I had in a long time. There were unexpected invites and last minute plans with good friends.
Joy stored up.
And the way I found it - when every doctor asked me to show them what I saw that led me to make the call, I couldn’t. Because it was gone.
Sent as a messenger nudging me to take action, it disappeared as mysteriously as it arrived.
There are still days, especially in October, I lose myself in the “what if’s” and “why me’s”. There have been countless tears, prayers, triggers, and seemingly missed opportunities.
Times I curse being so different from other women and I wonder what God could possibly be doing.
But God didn’t rush in halfway through the day I was diagnosed, like someone late to an emergency, scurrying around to put out fires.
Throughout countless days that bled into weeks I assumed counted for nothing, He was behind the scenes, aligning the miraculous. All I saw was the mundane.
The God who speaks galaxies into existence and balances the Earth on its axis and prevents it from pummeling into the sun, narrowed in on this girl’s life and with painstaking precision, paved the jagged terrain I would tread.
Who am I?
That you would go before me and lead me all the way to the end is my anchor in this wave-battered world.
I am Yours. I am Loved.
Before these three years and through all that is to come.
Isaiah 45: 2-3
I will go before you
and will level the mountains;
I will break down gates of bronze
and cut through bars of iron.
I will give you hidden treasures,
riches stored in secret places,
so that you may know that I am the Lord,
the God of Israel, who summons you by name.
Psalm 139:5
You hem me in behind and before…
A Letter to God in the Wake of the Roe v. Wade Reversal
God, I pray my heart always breaks for what breaks yours.
63 million lives have been lost since Roe v. Wade was signed into law. I can only imagine the ache of your Father’s heart as each one toddled through your gates.
You ache for their mamas, too.
On June 24, 2022, when abortion was turned back over to the states, friends of mine in certain circles raised a banner in victory, careful not to get too loud.
Partly because the ‘victory’ is incomplete. While a step in the right direction, it merely passes the baton for others to decide.
And partly to not anger the ever-growing mobs forming in our streets and outside our churches.
The argument is that those of us who believe what you say don’t care what happens to women.
Ironically, we believe what you say because no one cares about women more than you.
When Sarah was long past the point of child birth, you opened her womb and made her the mother of nations.
When Hagar was abandoned in the desert, thinking she would have to watch her baby die, you showed up and showed her a way out.
When Ruth was widowed and outcast, you brought her to community and a man rich in life and in love.
When Abigail’s brute of a husband was about to instigate a war, you emboldened and protected her as she approached an army in the mountains to contend for her city.
When the woman caught in adultery was about to be stoned, you chased away her accusers. You knelt down next to her in the dust, not to condone what she did, but to lift her up from it.
When Mary found herself engaged and pregnant at 15, well, we all know how that story goes. Her son would become the Savior of the world.
I’m writing this today because she - and Joseph - chose the difficult path and trusted you as they walked it.
And as I’ve healed from cancer, I’ve used what I’ve seen and learned from you to encourage countless others during their own traumatic experiences.
The ripple effect of one one person choosing you over their circumstances is immeasurable.
And, finally, after sealing death up in that tomb behind you, a woman was the first person you told.
You entrust us with so much.
You find us abandoned, outcast, and caught up in the lies the world tells us.
Even so, I see story after story of your faithfulness to take on the ugliest we’ve got and make something beautiful. Something others can stake their lives on long after the last witness is there to tell about it.
My story is different from the stories of these women, but like them, you have entrusted me with much.
I will keep my heart tender where this issue is concerned, and share my resources with those who think there is no other way.
I will use my voice to speak your truth in love.
Psalm 139: 13-15
For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.
My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place, when I was woven together in the depths of the earth.
Women Who Build
I’ve always been in awe of women who can seemingly bend the universe to their wills.
Married by this age, a house by this age, kids by this age. They draft a timeline, submit it for review, and the universe happily obliges.
Harnessing that kind of power to make anything fall in line with my plans on my time table has always eluded me. I submitted my plans. I had such high hopes.
Then cancer hit at 38 immediately followed by a global pandemic. I set hope aside and just tried to hold on to my health.
But somewhere deep inside, the desire to dream is still there.
So for whatever reason you find yourself childless today - traumatic life events or just life - however you may have felt your plans got overlooked or denied - I want you to know you still matter.
I see you. And God sees you.
Building businesses and building communities.
Building up other women like you because you know how they feel.
Building legacy.
You may not be passing it on to little ones; you’re passing it on to everyone.
You just don’t get a day telling you how awesome you are. Keep going. Keep dreaming. Keeping making plans.
Keep building.
Today and every day, I honor you.
Psalm 126:1
When the Lord restored the fortunes of Zion, we were like those who dreamed.
Cancer Screenings and Good Friday
“If you or anyone in your family has had any of these types of cancers, write down the age at diagnosis.”
I check the box labeled “YOU” and write 38.
And I’m in tears in the waiting room ahead of a non-cancer related appointment, all because of one now standard cancer screening form.
This is grief folks.
It sneaks up and backs me into a corner with memories I’d rather forget. Fear and frustration are its foot soldiers.
But today also happens to be Good Friday.
And it’s got me thinking a lot about tension.
The tension between the now and the not yet. Between what we have and what we long for. Between what was and what might have been.
The dictionary defines tension as the act of stretching or straining. As a verb, it means to subject to tension, especially for a specific purpose.
There’s a tension between Good Friday and Easter Sunday. That first Saturday was shrouded in sadness and confusion - mourning what was lost and wondering what was next.
But wait. We call that Friday good.
Not the day Jesus rose and rolled the stone away and buried death forever, but the day that he was tortured and torn to shreds.
The day that appeared to collapse the future is the one called good.
But I bet it wasn’t called good the day after, and it definitely didn’t feel good to the people Jesus left behind.
It was eventually called good.
Because of what came from it. Because of what was accomplished through it. Because God breathes life into what the world has reduced to dust. Because He doesn’t waste anything and this was no random sacrifice.
I’m two-and-a-half years out from a cancer diagnosis that collapsed my life. I will never call it good.
But I live in the tension.
Between what I know of God, and what I can’t begin to comprehend. Between what I can feel and sense and what’s just behind the veil. Between what His word says and what I see in my life.
I’m willing to accept the fact that I don’t know where this new road I find myself on will lead me.
But maybe - if I submit myself to the stretching, if I subject myself to the tension, knowing His purpose will ultimately prevail - just maybe, I will see the good He intended to come from it all along.