Michelle Scott

our own scared scared : Michelle

Do you like me? I want you too. In fact if it turns out that you don’t I will try and persuade you to change your mind.

I remember the first teacher who obviously really didn’t like me. I couldn’t get my head around it. I’d been brought up to be a ‘good’ girl and I quickly learnt the power of ‘nice’. So when this teacher wasn’t enamoured with my niceness I was lost. I was 17 and totally bewildered. I wish I could say i’ve outgrown this need to be liked but approval addiction is a hard one to kick.

So this is my sacred scared. I like to be liked. Ok thats not the full picture sometimes the need to be liked keeps me awake at night and causes me anxiety during the day. I read into tone, body language and when it’s really bad replay the words or lack of over and over in my head. If you seem undecided about me I will seek your approval to help you decide, if I don’t get your affirmation then i’ll turn up the niceness dial and keep trying and trying to make you like me. I hate this about myself, and considering the job I do its a battle, but it’s also a cure. One thing I’m convinced of after 10 years in leadership is that I cannot lead effectively or with diligence if my desire is to be liked and the times when I’ve lead from conviction and from calling those have been the transformational times, the times when it’s mattered even when they were the times when I was least liked.

The ironic and amazing thing is I know that I’m loved by Father God, I always have. I never doubt his unerring love for me. EVER. His love has been a constant thread and firm road that I’ve tread all through my life. I know that I’m loved and adored by my parents – again I’ve never doubted this. But I think it’s the niceness-lie that has deceived me. The lie that says as long as you’re nice, say nice things, act nicely that equals ‘like’. And when that equation doesn’t add up I can’t understand it. It’s like I go through life trying to accumulate stamps of approval and then when I have them work hard not to loose them. What is wrong with with me?

Now I’m thinking I should have chosen a lesser insecurity (I have a list) that didn’t make me feel naked talking about it. This shouldn’t be this difficult at 41!!! I’ve struggled with this all day to day, I almost pulled out altogether.

So I’m coming out. I’m confronting the lie that ‘nice=like’ and I’m promising to try harder, to pull back from the approval seeking, to be more true to who I am. To accept that it’s ok if people don’t like me. My word I don’t expect to like everyone I meet so why should I expect everyone who meets me to like me. I don’t need constant approval from those who do like me to prove that they still do. I need to lean into the truth that I already have all I need – a firm assurance that I am daughter of the King and His beloved. To trust the love of my family and friends and not need their affirmation to confirm it.

I’ve dabbled with life without the flawed niceness equation, maybe it’s time to scrap it altogether. To approve and love myself just as I am approved and loved by my Jesus. Its time to lean into a life lived from conviction and calling everyday that doesn’t have room for ‘niceness’ and approval seeking.

This bare faced picture was so much easier to post than the content above.

our own sacred scared

There has been a series of blog posts by guest bloggers and writers on momastery if you haven’t read it I highly recommend you do.

I was especially inspired by 2 of my favourite writers and bloggers Shauna Niequist and Sarah Bessey, so inspired that when I shared their posts I laid down a challenge on Facebook to my friends to see if we would be brave enough to share our own Sacred Scared. I was chuffed by the response and over the next few days and weeks I will have guest posts on wisdomshouts, not from famous writers or bloggers but from people with hearts like lions that are prepared to expose their insecurities in the hope that they can silence their inner bully and join forces with others still locked by their fears.

The lovely visual is courtesy of my friend Connie Hunter from http://www.studiostereo.co.uk who is also going to guest write.

I love collaboration and cheering each other on.

Words matter

Words matter. There are several themes emerging in my blog and this is one of them. My words matter. How I use my words matters most. A time to speak and be silent. A time to fight and a time to retreat. A time to defend. A time to retract. A time to soothe. A time to redeem. A time to heal. A time to teach. A time to love. A time to admonish. A time to reflect.

So many times I want to take the words back. To have a real time video edit, that I can rewind and delete my words. I regret my words more often than my actions. When I act I usually have thought it through, but my words…

So Lord I’m listening to your words. The words you whispered into my heart as I sorted the laundry. Teach me Lord to measure my words, to speak up when you require, to refrain from the bitter words. Show me the way of heart and words that are acceptable to you.

In the tent : shush now

Father help me to relenquish the right to have an opinion about everything… Sometimes I just need to stay silent. Often I just need to stay silent. I’m an ungracious auto correct and just as annoying as the one on my laptop.

This year is almost over and I’m still trying to work on my one thing …. Speak less, listen more. Oh help me Father. Recast my heart from the precious metals of humility , truth and grace. Purify it in the fire of your holy presence. Humble. I long to be humble. To honour silence. To allow my words to gain weight in the vacuum of speech and land accurately and with grace when it’s time to let them fly. The world doesn’t need another shouted opinion however noble; it’s needs humility, truth and grace; the ways of my Jesus.

I love church

Its Sunday morning. I’m up and about and praying more fervently than I do any other morning of the week to be honest. I get nervous and excited every Sunday morning we lead church actually the nerves still kick in at around 9pm on a saturday night, a 9am on a saturday if I’m speaking. And you did read that correctly excited, this morning i’m really excited to simply worship Jesus and as we have an evening gathering tonight too i get to worship with the church twice today. I love the church. I love meeting together as the church. i love that we do life together not just on a sunday but through the week and through all of our lives. i love hearing stories of the church being the church in workplaces on a wednesday or in schools on a monday or on the streets on a saturday and hopefully in our homes everyday. showing the love of God, extending His grace, His mercy, offering His peace, asking for His healing, administering His justice, being His freedom-givers. All while being messed up and broken and works in progress ourselves, falling daily on His grace and being held up by His strength. I love the church of Jesus. She is beautiful in her brokenness and when you look closely you see the promised glimpses of the perfect spotless bride that one day she’ll be.

I love the church. Not because I’m a pastor and feel some kind of brand loyalty to my employer. I love the church because I am part of her. I am grafted in, joined together like a ligament on a bone (now i really hope ligaments attach to bones – maybe i should google that) I love the connectedness that I sense when i think of church. Some sundays my heart and head are overwhelmed when i think of all the churches gathered all over the world in different time zones all with one purpose to worship God and celebrate Jesus. And then I catch a glimpse of what i imagine it might be like when we’re with Him…

I love church because it forces me to grow and stretch and fully depend on the Holy Spirit. This week Jason (my husband, pastor, and co-boss) lay down the gauntlet at our staff meeting on monday to go for the ‘big ask’ this week, to not say no for anyone, but to ask big. Dangerous challenge to accept but i did. The rest of monday was quiet. Tuesday morning and I sensed God giving me a specific message for someone who I knew wasnt entirely sure about God yet, so I wrote it on a card and popped it nervously in their letter box, still not sure if there was any response to the card but by wednesday and the gift (?!) of facebook I was sure the message from God was spot on. Wednesday, i was getting into my car in the morning and I told Jesus that He could interupt my day if He wanted too (and of course He’s God and can interupt my day anytime He wants too, but I might not respond all that well normally) literally 5 mins later i’m on my way to have coffee in someones kitchen and less that an hour later I have the absolute heart exploding priviledge of holding their hand and leading them to Jesus! Wow! I I LOVE CHURCH!! Thursday was the mundane of accounts and setting a budget and to be honest for me i’d done my big ask for the week, time to dial down for the weekend. Friday someone popped into our house and within minutes is in tears and I get to pray God’s peace and courage over their lives. Saturday we go up the town to do giveaways at the lights switch on, I share my big ask week with my friend and she takes the challenge and prays for someone on the street. I LOVE CHURCH!

So since I’m on a roll this week with big asks. What’s stopping you from gathering with a church today and worshipping Jesus?

I read a tweet this morning that i thought summed it up pretty well.

In the tent: I need you

Father I’m in an agitated mood. I feel irritated and annoyed under the surface. I wouldn’t call it frustration. I’m not depressed. But I’m not at peace. I’m not at rest in my soul. I need you Jesus. Come and still me. But what if part of this is you stirring the waters? What if I’m feeling the stuff in my soul before my head can make sense of it? I need you Jesus. I am acutely aware of that. I can’t write, or speak or give away anything without you. In fact I don’t want to do any of those things, write, speak, give away if it’s not your words and you that I give away. Anything other than you Jesus will always be less. Always. My best, is tarnished and rusted and poisoned. You are pure, new; you are LIFE.

Lead me to a place of not just recognising that I need you God but to the place of total surrender, a place of needing you like a baby again unable to do anything. Total reliance. I’ve become too accustomed at muddling on on my own and getting by, but in the process I’m becoming weary and the what I’m giving away, what comes out of me, is so much less than what it could be. Why would I ever give anyone less than you Jesus? When I have you to give away, why would I ever give less? Why resort to giving me instead. Father forgive my self reliance and self-sufficency, nice words for idolatry, putting me in the place where only you should occupy.

I need you Jesus that’s my prayer today and all this week.

I don’t need you Father as a booster to my life or an added jet pack but I need you entirely and completely – please reveal that to me more clearly. Teach me to depend fully on you.

I need you Jesus. Everyday. Everywhere. Always. Sear this into my mind, brand it on my heart and pierce my soul with this infinite truth

Footnote: This might be the beginning of an ‘in the tent’ series, and part of my prayer journal entries. This is inspired entirely by a 3-way conversation between a new friend Kristen, me and Jesus. You know one of those times when the air thickens and stills and it feels like every word is forming and floating in the Spirit filled space between you. Kristen was telling me her story and she was exhorting (i love that old word) me to get into the tent just like Joshua did and abide in Jesus. Exodus 33:7-11

What if we showed the path to freedom to a life lived to the full…

My work involves many things; meetings, managing, strategising, listening, praying, advising, problem solving, budgeting, learning, studying, caring, decision making, envisioning and maybe more but I have condensed them into 3 things that I feel God has called me to at the moment; leading, writing and speaking. So instead of saying yes to everything I’m learning to use these 3 as filters to decide what I say yes too and last weekend I got to say yes to speaking at a fabulous women’s event at my own church.

I cannot begin to tell you how much I love to speak/teach/preach whatever title you want to give it. I love speaking regularly at VCD, and more recently I’ve loved it when I’ve been invited to speak at a few other events too, most of these to women.

I love speaking to women, not because i’m a girly sort of girl cause I’m not; not just because i find it easier – I do (no searching for hooks for men or male analogies) but because more and more I sense this amazing untapped seam of gold in women that I want to be part of mining. It’s not that I believe that women have more to offer, just equal but so much of the wealth in women is overlooked or diminished.

Recently I saw this excellent UN ad campaign that challenges the held beliefs of what women cannot, shouldn’t, need to, can do, find it here

I’ve been on a trajectory that leads me to be fully convinced that the sky is the limit for women and girls. That the world needs us and in many countries and cultures there’s this untapped unlimited resource called women that could carry solutions to some of our greatest problems if only they were unleashed and encouraged to believe that they are all that God has made them to be. And I should be very clear, the countries I’m talking about are throughout the whole world including the privileged west . And I should also be clear that I mean in the church too.

I’ve decided that it honestly doesn’t matter if I get asked to speak and encourage 6 women in a living room or 600 at a conference but I NEED to do it with all diligence, the opportunity to encourage and see women step into what God has made them for is what matters.

What if the cure for cancer is in the mind of a girl who’s been told she can’t/shouldn’t go to school or university because she’s a girl. What if our best slave abolitionists are women who have been worn down by years of being told that they are worthless and less than simply because they are female. What if there is heart-aching creativity hidden in the mind of a girl who’s been told to stop dreaming and settle for a sensible life. What if the solutions to our community’s problems are in the mind of women who’ve been silenced and kept out of the ‘important’ conversations for too long.

What if we showed them the path to freedom to a life lived to the full… What if we, those of us who have the freedom and support of our loved ones (men and women) to be all that God has created us to be, what if we began to spend our freedom on pointing others towards theirs. What if we lifted each other up. What if we honoured each other, celebrated each others joys and wept over each others pain. Let’s not use our freedom to builder bigger stages or empires for ourselves, lets determine to always bring other girls and women with us.

Today I cast a stone

Tues August 6th

This morning I had a pain-free pee. Yep you read correctly. A pain-free pee. I’ve had a Urinary Tract Infection since last thursday but like the crazy stubborn woman that I am, I refused to go to the doctor until Monday morning when I could suffer no more. Part of my reluctance, I must admit is because I would have to pay to see the doctor. Being from the UK I have never had to pay to see a doctor before, I simply telephone my doctors clinic, make an appointment, turn up, see the doctor, leave with a prescription, call at the local pharmacy and collect my medicine – again for free. Facing the prospect of having to pay was very alien but it also made me wait for a least 2 days longer than I normally would until I could wait no longer and would have parted with 3 times as much money if I could just have a pain-free pee!

This is not an attack on the health care system in the USA. I will not even attempt to comment on Obama-care. 6 weeks in America has at least made me accept that its more complicated than I first thought and that really who am I to have an opinion on another countries politics or policies. But i do have a point to this post other than have you celebrate my pain-free pee.

Have you heard of fistulas? Until last year I hadn’t. And if i’m really honest as i read about them in the book Half the Sky http://www.halftheskymovement.org/pages/book I half wished I’d never heard of them. You see once you know something you cannot pretend you don’t know it. Sometimes you can pretend to other people, but you cannot pretend to yourself. Its been imprinted into your brain. Forever.

I advise you proceed with caution, because once you know about fistulas, you’ll know forever.

So What is a Fistula?

“A fistula is a hole. An obstetric fistula of the kind that occurs in many developing countries is a hole between a woman’s birth passage and one or more of her internal organs. This hole develops over many days of obstructed labor, when the pressure of the baby’s head against the mother’s pelvis cuts off blood supply to delicate tissues in the region. The dead tissue falls away and the woman is left with a hole between her vagina and her bladder (called a vesicovaginal fistula or VVF) and sometimes between her vagina and rectum (rectovaginal fistula, RVF). This hole results in permanent incontinence of urine and/or feces. A majority of women who develop fistulas are abandoned by their husbands and ostracized by their communities because of their inability to have children and their foul smell. Traumatic fistula is the result of sexual violence. The injury can occur through rape or women being butchered from the inside. The aim is to destroy the women and the community within which the sufferer lives. Once committed the survivor, her husband, children and extended family become traumatized and humiliated. The Panzi Hospital in Congo is a pioneer in treating victims of traumatic fistula.”

How many women are affected?

“Because fistula affects women in the most remote regions of the world, an accurate count is very hard to achieve. The most common estimate is that 15-30,000 women worldwide develop fistulas every year, though some estimates put the number higher. Because most fistula sufferers are young women—many still in their late teens — they are likely to live with their condition for upwards of 25 years. By any estimate, there are hundreds of thousands of women currently living with fistula throughout the developing world. The world capacity to treat fistula is estimated at fewer than 15,000 fistula repair surgeries per year.”

This is beyond wrong. 100,000’s of women in the world today living with a fistula and only 15,000 per year with an opportunity for recovery. Unacceptable odds in a cruel sick lottery.

Facts are one thing but a person’s story is quite another. I read Nathi’s story among others on the Fistula Foundation’s website. http://www.fistulafoundation.org/whatisfistula/faqs.html their stories are harrowing.

Nathi* lives in Uganda. She was married at the age of 13 and two years later was pregnant with her first child. After enduring a difficult labor, Nathi lost her baby and was left with obstetric fistula, incontinent and leaking wastes. Her husband abandoned her and soon after, her family did, too. At 15, she was alone and scared.

Then, she found help – or rather, help found her. Through funding from The Fistula Foundation, an outreach counselor from The Association for the Re-Orientation and Rehabilitation of Teso Women for Development (TERREWODE) was able to visit her village and identify her as a candidate for fistula repair surgery. She was transported to Soroti Regional Referral Hospital in eastern Uganda and underwent a successful surgery. Healed, Nathi also received follow-up care, counselling and reintegration support.

Today, Nathi lives among other fistula survivors in a camp run by the organization named “I Have Been Delivered,” in a hut built by male supporters. Customs and traditional practices can make it difficult for a woman to own land in Uganda, but because these men donated this land, fistula survivors like Nathi – who have no home or family to return to – are able to live on their own. On this land, Nathi is growing food to eat and to sell, so she is learning to support herself financially. And she is supporting other women, sharing her story and telling every woman with fistula that she meets that it is possible to be cured and to feel hopeful once again.

*The patient’s real name has been changed to protect her privacy.

This morning as I thanked God for my pain-free pee, I remembered what I know about fistulas. I remembered giving birth to my sons in a free NHS hospital. I remembered that I was surrounded by trained professionals who cared for me and my babies. I remembered that I had access to medicine, equipment and expertise simply because of where I was born. I was humbled and so very very grateful and I remembered the women who I will never see, who are in unthinkable agony every day, facing humiliation and often worse because of their fistulas and I decided I would not forget what I now know, but that I would tell others, who would tell others and maybe somewhere along the line we’d stop telling and start sharing our resources so even more of these women could be healed. Today I cast a stone with the hope that it sends out ripples. So at the very very least we increase the odds in the cruel lottery.

Now we know; what are we going to do about it?

Do you see this woman?

Shame followed her, clung to her like an odour that seeped into her very bones. She knew she was known as a ‘sinner’ everyone knew what she did, but no one knew what she carried, no one knew of the cancer in her soul eating away at the life that remained. She heard that He was at Simon’s house. It was the talk of the town and the rumours had circulated all day that he might be visiting, and she decided she would make it her business to go see Him. But as she approached the home of the respected Simon the Pharisee, her shame became heavier, the disapproving looks and weight of their scorn almost causing her to turn and run. Something propelled her forward and soon she had crept into the house and found the candlelit room where the men were reclining to eat. In an instant she went from unsure to certain. She has never ever met a man like this. She was transfixed by his words, his demeanour and most of all His gaze. He didn’t look at her like other men did, as they devoured her with their eyes. He didn’t look at her with disgust like the women who avoided her and kept their men at a distance. He simply and completely looked into her soul and his gaze was overwhelming pure and all encompassing. It was like He saw EVERYTHING, he knew EVERYTHING about her and yet his gaze never wavered.

Compelled by his acceptance she moved to his feet, he didn’t shun her, he was aware that she was there. The air felt thin, time stopped and she began to cry. Her tears dripped on his feet, tears of sorrow, regret, pain, suffering, anger, remorse, repentance soon it was the ugly crying that you never want anyone to see and the tears mixed with the dust on His feet became mud. In an attempt to clean up the mess she was making she unfurled her hair, an act so intimate and shocking that those in room who had barely noticed her before, were unable not to stare. She used her crowning glory as a towel to wipe his feet and then completely transfixed with a love so pure for this man, she began to gently kiss his feet. An act so innocent, so intimate; an act of worship. Then she slipped out her bottle of expensive perfume, it was the most valuable possession she owned and poured it liberally on his feet as she continued to rain down her kisses.

This sacred moment was broken by the abrupt, arrogant voice of Simon insinuating that this was an unsavoury encounter because he saw her shame, in fact that’s all he saw, her shame. Simon accused and dismissed Him because He accepted her. He was gentle but He was not timid and he responded with a story about debts owed and debts forgiven, one man owed 50 days pay, another 500. Unequal amounts owed, equal forgiveness but His question delved to the heart, Who would love the moneylender more, he who owed more, or less? Simon reluctantly answered the one who owed more. He then turned looking at the woman while still addressing Simon, ‘Do you see this woman?” she cringed expecting her shame to be ridiculed and paraded in front of the mocking room. Instead Jesus said, “Simon I came to your house as a guest, you didn’t offer me water for my feet, but this woman she bathed my feet with her tears and wiped them clean and dry with her hair. Simon you didn’t greet me with a kiss when I came in, but this woman has not stopped kissing my feet. Simon you did not put oil on my head, but this woman has poured perfume on my feet. I tell you her many sins have been forgiven – for she loved much. But he who has been forgiven little loves little.” The air is tense, Simon is stung by Jesus words, the guests are uncomfortable; how could He defend this woman? How dare he challenge a righteous upstanding man like their host Simon in defence of this woman.

Jesus speaks to the woman for the first time directly and says, ‘ Your sins are forgiven, your faith has saved you; go (live) in peace.

She stands up taller than before and walks from Simon’s house. It doesn’t feel like walking more like floating. She is lighter. He looked into her soul, that piercing gaze saw her sin, he looked on her shame and he forgave me. Her debt cancelled. Her shame gone. Her life retrieved and mended. No. A new life gained. A second chance to live beyond shame.

What an encounter. Jesus responds just as we expect Him too with grace and mercy and compassion and love towards this woman. What is unexpected is the woman’s desperation to move beyond her crippling shame to a place of total adoration and worship of Jesus. She experienced much forgiveness, she responded with abandoned love.

The stress of tea, coffee and a few buns.

Now in my forties I’d hoped that my insecurities would have dissipated. Yeah, right. A few weeks ago I thought that id like to host an afternoon tea party, I planned the menu, but froze at the thought of a guest list. I tried a few times to make one but the more I thought about it the more I came out in a stress rash. In the end I gave up and shelved my plans. It niggled me. And niggled me. And niggled me. Eventually it niggled me so much that I called with my pal and spilled the niggles. The emotions revealed in unravelling my inability to make a small guest list for an innocent tea party surprised me. I choked on the words as I tried to explain why I gave up when it came to making my list. At the bottom of it all I didn’t want to hurt someone by not inviting them. So I concluded that id forgo the treat rather than risk that. My pal is gracious and patient. She listened, understood and then told me to “wise up! Go to India. Then do it when you get back. Ejgit!!” (or words very close to that)

Yesterday was one of those lovely days off. Jason and I had breakfast in the coolest tea room ever, One-Eigthy 2 on the Hill, in Armagh . Perfect french toast, with bacon and syrup and a great wee spot in their conservatory to read our books. I’m reading an advanced copy of Shauna Niequist‘s latest book Bread and Wine and I love it. We came home, worked around each other like we do, cleaning out the fire, resetting it, hoovering, moping the floors, doing dishes, tidying; each of us doing our bit, wordlessly sorting our wee nest so we could settle down and read some more on our day off. I love how after almost 17 years of marriage that we work together so effortlessly; honestly most of the time. Which is pretty fortunate considering that we do actually work together officially, as well as in our family life. Anyway I digress.

We lit our good friday candle (a family ritual), had hot cross buns (another family ritual) and I decided on a 2 hour silence (a new thing for good friday, which might become a ritual as it was so good for my soul) and settled down to read some more. I cannot tell you just how much of my life and the life of my friends is reflected in Shauna’s writing. It resonates so deeply with me, so, so much of it. I chuckle, I smile and I cry big salty, choking tears as I read Bread & Wine. And as I read it yesterday I decided that I’d face my insecurities and invite a few girls over for coffee today. No big deal, just a few people who I thought might be free at short notice for coffee and food at my table.

You see Shauna and I are long-lost sisters although she doesn’t know that. Funnily enough I remember doing the Willow Creek Network course 13 years ago and having the epiphany that hospitality was a gift from God. Right from when we were newly married my favourite thing to do was have people over for dinner. We had a tiny kitchen, a small house, 6 people was a crowd but none of those things were a deterrent. I love cooking for people anywhere and everywhere. I love watching people enjoy the food I prepare for them. I especially love cooking people their favourite foods if I know what they are. But I had no idea that this wasn’t a coincidence but that God had actually placed this desire and gift in me. It honestly was a life-changing revelation. Because not only did I realise that this love of cooking and hospitality was from God but that I could use it to serve HIm, in fact I had been and hadn’t realised it. Up until that night I hadn’t realised that God had gifted me with very much and now I knew He had and it literally changed my life. More of ‘how’ another time. So when Shauna talks about the joy she has in seeing people around her table it resonates deeply with me. Very deeply.

So I picked up my phone and started to text an invite. First draft; deleted. And that bugged me. Why could I not just send the message? I sat for a moment, in my self-imposed silence and examined my soul. What was my problem? Just send the text Michelle. What I discovered in my soul was still the same fear of leaving someone out who would be hurt. We all know that feeling. Well that’s a broad sweeping assumption, but lets just say that probably at a good guess 99% of us know that feeling. We overhear a story of what people did, and who said what, and how hilarious something was, and we feel the ache that we weren’t there, closely followed by the stab of rejection, or pain of not being included again. I hate that I do that to people sometimes. I like to think never intentionally, but I’m pretty sure I do it all the same. That fear remained but it was now joined by another. What if no-one wanted to come and sit with me at my table on a saturday afternoon? My fear of rejecting others was now joined with the fear of being rejected myself. As soon as I identified these 2 ninjas in my soul, I picked up my phone and sent the text, I decided that I would not be made lonely by these 2 fears. I chose to remember that my life is richer and more God-filled when I overcome my fears and invite others into it.

And today they came. My friends. Not all my friends, I have quite a few (that sounds like boasting and now I’m doing that Northern Ireland thing of over explaining so I don’t sound proud, which is really just false humility.AHHHH). I love people easily and God has gathered good people around me all my life that I can never let go of, so 41 years of friends wouldn’t all fit around my table in one-sitting. The 2 fear-ninjas that were attacking my soul were banished today. I happily boiled and reboiled the kettle. Made coffee, tea and peppermint tea. Heated milk. Filled plates as more goodies arrived. And was deeply happy to have my table filled not just with amazingly gorgeous food, but circled with amazingly wonderful girls, chittering and chattering and getting to know each other better.

It was easy after all. A handful of text messages. A trip to the shops. A quick tidy of the house. Baking Shauna’s Breakfast Cookies. Creating a place to connect around my table. And a very full heart. So thank you Shauna. Thank you for articulating your heart that is so often a reflection of mine. For reminding me of the desires and gifts that God has given me that He never intended that I should hide due to fear. Gifts He gave me to give away.