Brie Gowen

Savor the Essence of Life

This is My Son

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I recently shared a picture of my twelve year old on social media. I’ve always been so proud of all my children, in all their uniqueness and particular strengths, and this post was no different. My pre-teen has emerged as a very talented crafter and seamstress/tailor, and I wanted to share the latest creation. But as I looked back at the post, I realized I wasn’t being genuine. I deleted the photo because I realized I was purposely avoiding using the pronouns and the name my child had chosen. Until I could proudly share my child, I didn’t want to share at all. So, I deleted the post.

Don’t throw your pearls to swine. This is the words of Jesus, and it’s one reason I had not openly discussed my child. I knew that those who don’t know or see our hearts would judge, and judge us harshly, but there comes also a time to stand proudly for what you know God is doing, to dispel long-held traditions of men, and to elevate the love of God above all things.

My last blog post spoke honestly about the struggles through depression and anxiety my eldest child has experienced this year. If you missed it, I’ll include a link here. I basically eluded to the fact that my child was questioning who they were, but that most importantly, my husband and I knew only to love them through it.

A common saying among Christians at large is, “God doesn’t make mistakes.” As a general statement, yes, I would agree, but it misses the fact that we currently exist in a broken world. In this brokenness we see sickness and death. We hold tight to an eternity where these things will be no more, but until then we cling to our faith in a Savior who carries us through the complexities of a broken world.

When a child is born with their intestines on the outside of their body, do we say, “God doesn’t make mistakes?” No. Instead we fix the problem that occurred in utero. Why did this anomaly occur?! Because this world is broken. But God has given us the ability to right some of the wrongs, but more importantly, His Holy Spirit to guide and carry us through the rest.

As my child began to question their gender identity, as a wise woman of God, I prayed and I learned. I devoured articles (the scholarly, peer-reviewed ones, rather than YouTube “experts”) about the complexities of development in the womb. As a woman of science and faith, I could understand that while God knew my child as He formed them in the womb, we also existed in a plane of earth where mismatches happened as it all knit together. The development of sexual organs was only a small piece of the greater puzzle of hormones developing in utero to cause a sense of one’s being and self. The important part to me was, my loving child’s spirit was the same one God placed in my womb; secondary was the mismatch that happened as the human body developed.

After that, I began to seek the Lord about how I should respond now. My child who loved Jesus and us didn’t love themself. They didn’t love themself because they felt as if their body had betrayed them. On the outside my child was developing breasts and curvy hips, but on the inside he felt quite different. I will never be able to explain to you how it feels to watch your child fall into a pit of despair, feeling like they are abnormal, a mistake, and broken. But God doesn’t make mistakes. And we had to come to that realization as a family.

My child had stopped smiling, and it broke my heart to pieces. Yet I watched the glow return bit by bit as he opened his heart to us about who he felt himself to be in spirit. A boy. I watched the glint of his sweet spirit return as I took him to get a boy haircut, and even more as I replaced his female wardrobe with male clothing. I still hold dearly in my heart the first night I looked down at my feet, at my child wearing his first outfit bought from the boys’ section, and seeing his genuine smile that had been absent for so long. Up until that moment I had still been questioning if I was doing this parenting thing right, but as I saw that smile I thought had been lost forever, I knew in my heart, “you’re doing the right thing.”

I don’t expect most of you to understand, and that’s ok. You cannot begin to fathom the heartfelt, hard conversations my husband and I have had alone together. You will never understand the cries and laments I have spoken to The Father. You aren’t here. You cannot know my son’s beautiful heart, and how I watched it almost disappear, yet through God’s grace and wisdom given to us in how to parent him, we’ve been gifted to see him emerge stronger and more resilient. Authentically himself.

I don’t expect you to understand, but if you’re a part of our lives, I do expect your love and support. If my precious son is met with anything but that, I will cut you out for his sake. Just being honest. We have had so many conversations about this, me and him. After all, who would choose to embrace a lifestyle that would make them the target of judgment, hate, ridicule, or even violence? No one. But this is who he is. God doesn’t make mistakes, and I’m so glad He chose us to be the parents of this boy. We were made for this, and to give him the support and love he needs to survive, and also thrive.

When I was pregnant with my first child, I was certain it was a son. Ben and I decided to call him Noah, and this is the name my child has now chosen. I think a common misconception in Christian circles is the influence of the world, The Left, or whatever you want to call it. We, as Christians, are taught to protect our children from this. In the past, Ben and I wouldn’t let the girls watch cartoons with same-sex partnerships, and we didn’t allow the girls on social media. We homeschooled, and ran in our Christian circles. But if your kid gets on a computer and questions things like, “why do I not feel like a girl” or “why do I want to die,” they will find the answers to why they feel so abnormal. I think they need to find the answers in these cases, and I’m grateful God gave us the wisdom to allow Noah to discover this for himself. We are seeing a therapist, a psychiatrist, an endocrinologist, and a whole slew of providers understanding of how my son was formed in the outward body of a female, but filled with the hormones inside his body that make him identify as male.

The psychiatrist told me last week, “I am honestly amazed at how well you and your husband are handling this. Noah will be years ahead of his trans peers emotionally because of your love and support.”

She went on to explain the emotionally and mentally broken adults she saw who had not received the love they needed from their family. It made me feel good to know I was loving my baby through the hardest experience imaginable, and that he would not have to go through such a difficult thing alone. He had our love.

This won’t be a surprise to some of you, and to those I trust to love us unconditionally, I’ve already shared it. But I realized that I’m a big-loving momma, and to love my baby the best, I have to be honest and genuine. Noah has also been wanting to come out to everyone. Can you imagine having to hide who you are for fear of ridicule?! We agreed that I could write this post letting you know, this is my son, Noah. He is exceptional, bright, and quirky. He’s autistic (which is common in gender identity children), and his heart is beautiful. I’ve seen the ugly-hearted things people on social media say about the transgender community, but know that your ignorance will not break him. His heart is strong, and his family is a barrier of God’s love around him. It is your choice whether to be a part of that love we share. Regardless, I am proud to say, this is my son. This is Noah. The same he has always been. Just a little different.

Please Be My Strength

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I was driving down a picturesque stretch of scenic road, by myself, listening to music. The sun was shining, vast green pastureland stretched out to either side, and in the distance large mountains looked down upon me. The words from the car radio caught my attention.

“Please be my strength.”

I lifted my right hand into the air; a charismatic Christian, worship regular, signaling my agreement and reaching for my Jesus. Then it struck me. He wasn’t somewhere up above, beyond my extended hand. He was here. In my car. I looked over at the seemingly empty passenger seat, and I imagined my Savior riding shotgun (even though He always has the wheel). I stretched out my hand into the side seat, rather than the air, and I closed my hand around His, our fingers intertwining.

Please be my strength.

I can categorically and emphatically say that the past year of my life, basically 2022 in its entirety, has been the most difficult of my life. Harder than bootcamp, tougher than an unexpected divorce in my late twenties, and even more stressful than being an ICU nurse in the height of a pandemic.

I’ll stop here to warn you. If you don’t know me personally, understand and be aware that I’m going to share very personal things. If you think you will possibly read my outpouring with judgement, perhaps you should just stop right here. This post has been on my mind for a few weeks, but it’s been difficult for me to share my inner turmoil with not only trolls hiding behind anonymous computer screens, but also, and sadly for the most part, because of the people close to me who judge me the harshest. Maybe you should stop reading here.

You can always think you will know how to react to a situation, but if I’ve learned anything, it’s that I know little to nothing. As a young woman who only dreamed of children, I imagined how I would parent. Then I actually had children, and it all went out the window. Most of it, anyway. I got the epidural instead of a natural childbirth, and I co-slept rather than letting my baby cry it out in their crib. I never had the time for every night bedtime stories, and I’ve yet to start a single college fund. Sigh.

The enormity of what I don’t know about parenting, or life in general for that matter, crashed upon my head shortly after Christmas. My oldest, natural born child, my eleven year old started to change overnight. She gave her fidgets away, and she decided she hated the color pink. She started spending more time in her room, and stopped swimming in our pool, or even going outside to play with the neighborhood children. I had seen her height increase dramatically, her hips begin to take shape, while her waist thinned. Along came the budding breasts and hair in places they shouldn’t be for an eleven year old, in my humble, late-bloomer opinion. So, I blamed it all on hormones.

Sure enough, she started the dreaded red wave of womanhood shortly thereafter, and I thought, “maybe this will be a sweet release to the angst she has been feeling.” But that was only the beginning of the tsunami that was heading our way.

In the middle of pre-teen distress, our family, like most of yours, I’m sure, was experiencing a changing economy. It was getting harder to keep the pantry full for a family of five on a single income. I couldn’t help people like I had gotten used to doing, barely having enough extra to financially float my own family. I had taken a job away from bedside nursing to rest my Nightingale wings, but we decided as a family, I could get more bang for my buck by going back to the trenches. At the time, the best paying job was three hours away. No problem. It would only be for a short, three months, to get us back on our feet.

We all hated it! There is a big difference between coming home from your twelve hour shift to your family, and coming home to an empty, one bedroom tiny house. And while the quiet was blissful the first week, it quickly lost its shimmer. The driving back and forth on my off days was exhausting, and then there was the little issue of life upending hundreds of miles away.

We prayed and sought the Lord over the decision of that job, and despite the difficulty, I do believe it was God’s will for me to be alone in that little cabin. See, He was working on me too. I’m a fixer. That’s what I do. At work, and at home. But what do you do when you can’t fix it? I look back now understanding that the little rental house I stayed in three days a week, it was my green pasture. The place I had to lay in while I gave my lambs to the shepherd. If I would have been there, I know I’d have been trying to yield my rod and staff all over everything, forgetting where my strength came from.

Remember the pre-teen angst? Well, it was more than that. I knew it. There was new anxiety. I’m talking about hyperventilating, arms breaking out in hives, absolute panic in crowds, anxiety. Where did it come from?! Why was my formerly, social butterfly unable to walk in Aldi without having to stop and deep breathe?!

There was depression. Real depression. Sadness so deep that it was like a thick fog, and I could barely see my baby through the darkness of it. I recognized the mood. It was one I knew too well, on a personal level, but also a familial one.

This part of our journey was probably the most frustrating for me. When I reached out to trusted people I loved about my baby, I wasn’t met with the support I expected. I actually felt quite the opposite. It seems my child’s battle with anxiety and depression was simply a spiritual attack that I had the power to stop. All it took was some laying on hands. And don’t forget, the doorway to my daughter for Satan to harm her was my own doing. I was/must be allowing things into our home that opened the spiritual realm for my child to be attacked.

I love Jesus. I believe in forces of darkness and principalities of evil. I believe in prayer, I believe in deliverance, and I believe in healing. Truly. I also believe in science, a God-given knowledge of how our bodies work, sometimes against us, and how God gave mankind the tools both spiritually and physically to combat these issues. I was a suicide attempt survivor. I had a grandfather kill himself, and a mother who tried to end her life many times from my childhood up into my early thirties. That kind of family history will have you well versed on generational curses, but also heredity and chemical imbalances in the brain.

Had I not prayed countless hours every day for my child?! Had my husband and I not laid hands on our child, sought healing, but also wisdom for what (if anything) in our environment and home was causing a problem?! Of course we had. I had not stopped praying and crying daily in the shower for months. I thought of my own battle with anxiety and depression, and how I spent years trying to pray harder, read my Bible more, and call out the forces of darkness bringing me down. It was not until I sat in the bathtub on Christmas Eve, wishing I could go to sleep and never wake up, that I sought the help of a doctor. It shook me that a blessed woman, with an amazing husband and adored children would want to die on the happiest day of the year. It shook me to think that I had waited so long, and I vowed to do everything I could for my baby.

Against the advice of well-meaning guidance, I took my child to a therapist. Every week, out of pocket, since most insurances don’t consider mental health a needed health benefit, but that’s a topic for a whole other blog.

I’ll stop here to apologize, as this is getting longer than I anticipated, but I did tell you I haven’t shared in a while. So, let’s get to the message.

I get a message, at work, just before it was time to give report to the oncoming shift, and it was a message that rocked my world. I have been blessed with a relationship with my child where she tells me everything. So, it was killing her to keep her pain a secret, and that day she told me she had been hurting herself. She sent photos of cuts she had made into her arm. She asked me not to be mad! Mad?! I just wanted to hold her!

I drove 40 minutes to my little house, after my 3rd twelve hour shift, packed a quick bag and drove the three hours home. I cried to my sister on the phone (hands-free), while driving through a tropical storm, and later thanked God I didn’t mess up my car when I hit that median. The downpour had been so torrential, and the night so dark, but I had to get home.

I cried incredulous tears to my sister. Why was this happening to my baby?! Didn’t this sort of thing only happen to foster kids in a bad situation, or abused kids, or kids with bad relationships with their parents?! My child had not experienced any kind of trauma. I knew this to be true. Why was this happening?

As a side-note, I’ll add here, that I have since learned how common self harm is in teens. My child has even shared with me other girls, from good, “Christian,” happy homes, who have admitted to her they cut also. They had not told their mother, so I guess I had that going for me. Hey, you hang on to any little thing you can in these situations.

This wasn’t the end. More conversations revealed more issues. Suicidal ideation. We hid sharp objects, called doctors, had emergency sessions with the therapist. It had been spiraling to this out of control moment, but it wouldn’t stop spinning. It kept going.

There were bright moments. Her neurologist believing her puberty had changed how her seizure medicine affected her, causing the suicidal ideation and self harm. Us getting off the medicine, her brain scan being free of seizure activity (making a new medicine unnecessary), and the emergence out of that darkness that tried to take her. But still, there was more. I could see it.

When you are raised in an Evangelical Christian environment, you’re taught how to handle certain situations. You’re taught about sin, but there is also major focus on particular sins that are especially heinous. The ones that we stand on a firm foundation to fight for. Other sins can be pushed to the side. I mean, they’re still “bad,” but not worth making a social media post about. My husband and I are both divorced previously, but I cannot recall anyone telling me how disappointed God was in my actions not to reconcile with my ex. You think you know how to handle certain situations, that you have it all figured out, but then it gets personal, and that puts a wrench in everything.

One of my daughter’s disappointments in herself was that she didn’t feel like she belonged. She didn’t feel normal. All her friends and cousins spoke about dating and boys, but she wasn’t interested. “This is normal,” we said. “You’re just a kid.”

But to her it was more. It wasn’t just that she wasn’t interested at the present; the thought of ever being a woman romantically or sexually attracted to a man seemed inconceivable to her. It seemed off. It seemed “not her.” We had entered a period of her trying to understand why she felt so different, and honestly, this place of questioning and sharing is what brought my baby out of her dark place. I’d like to think my loving counsel was a help, and I’m sure the therapy and psychiatrist were a benefit, but I believe in my heart that her honest questions and seeking of her true self brought about the emergence.

In Christian circles you are taught how to approach the subject of LGBTQ. You “love the sinner but hate the sin!” But there’s a problem that surfaces when this happens to someone you love more than yourself.

You start to wonder, “how can I love them best? How can I say I love you in one breath, but tell them what they feel in their heart, mind, and soul is wrong, in the next breath? How can I show the love of Jesus best? How can I respond to this situation without crushing the spirit of this child I would literally die for?”

Tough questions. A tough year. In the end, you love the only way you know how. All in. In the middle, you question everything you’ve ever been told. You read scripture, study, pray, have long talks with your spouse, and come to a place of acceptance, of unconditional love for your child, no matter their gender identity or sexual preference.

I remember a conversation with my husband where we agreed we did not have all the answers. We didn’t know what was right or wrong. I’m gonna tell you… you can imagine you know how to handle issues, but after you’ve discovered your child is so confused and hurting that they would rather die, you start to rethink things. Everything turns upside down, inside out, and pouring from the seams. You question what’s of eternal significance. Is it being right about what is a sin and what is not? Or is it leaving some things to God and admitting your own failings instead? Is it focusing on the spirit nature of us all, regardless of slave, free, man, or woman, and understanding we are all one in Him? Yeah, we didn’t want to mess things up, but we knew our Father held it all in His hands. We knew our job was to love our child, to show them the heart of Jesus, and to leave what we didn’t understand to Him. I was back in that green pasture. And I am there still.

He is my strength. He is love. His love strengthens me, and His love pours out of me. That is good enough for me. To see your child on the edge of a cliff, and then watch them emerge bright, confident, and happy being themselves, is priceless. How could I not support that? I am so proud of my baby. Now and forever.

Step by Step. Not Just a NKOTB Song.

by

One year ago I bought a house in SW Florida. My dream home, in fact. It has this tropical oasis in the backyard I have desired since childhood. Funny how things change.

I recently told a friend, “God doesn’t take you from A to E. He takes you to B, first.”

She had said I was brave. Ha! The furthest from it I’d say. I’m just good at taking baby steps.

I have always been an anxious woman. Because of my fear of the unknown and the uncontrollable, I sought a life of order. I can remember when debit cards first became a normal thing to use instead of cash or check. I know it drove my ex crazy, but I would make him save every single receipt. I would sit down once a week with the stack and input them into my checkbook ledger. Even with the invention of online banking, and even when they got better at immediately posting a purchase, still I meticulously kept my budget. I saved the paper bills (hesitant to go for paperless billing), wrote the date paid on the outside of the envelope, and filed it away in order. I’m not saying balancing your budget is a bad thing. I am saying my detailed way of doing it is just one example of taking areas of my life and sculpting them into order and precision. It made me feel better to have my ducks in a row, to have a plan, and to know the steps from point A to beyond.

There’s this drawing I’ve seen of Jesus and a little girl. It’s cartoonish and simple, even a bit too much prosperity-gospel-like for my taste, but it points to a great truth. In the depiction, Jesus is holding out his hand for the girl to give him her teddy bear. She’s not wanting to do it, but he’s saying “trust me.” Behind his back you can see he’s holding a much bigger teddy bear in exchange for the small one.

Trust me.

The picture is all well and good, but in real life we can’t see the bigger teddy bear behind his back (in the future). Instead it requires trusting that what God has is better than we can imagine for ourselves. It’s about knowing God’s character and that he is good. Going step by step with Jesus is a lot like the teddy bear picture, but our finite minds cannot see what lays ahead. Step one may be releasing that thing we hold dear, like comfort, security, order, and control for me.

Five years ago my family left our hometown, family and friends, our house, our jobs, and most importantly, our comfort zone. If you’ve followed me for a while, then you know this story. If not, let me give you an example of travel nurse life. A real scenario that happened to me.

I had two shifts left in my current contract, then my job would end. I had no idea where I was going to work next. I had no idea where I would take my family to live. As the sole breadwinner for our family of five, I had no idea if I would have income coming in after this last paycheck. Yet, I was cool as a cucumber. Err, for the most part, anyway. Lol.

I learned how to lay down control. I learned how to surrender my fear, my future, my family, and my finances to God. I saw in real time that handing him the bear made my hands empty to receive what he wanted to place there. I would not trade these past five years for anything; they transformed my relationship with Jesus.

I share this journey in humility. There’s no pride because I’m not boasting in me; I’m boasting in Him. His peace.

The thing is, real life isn’t as two dimensional as the cartoon of Jesus and the bear from above. You can take the first step of handing over your “teddy,” and then you find yourself plummeting downward into calamity. Wait a minute? What happened to my bigger prize?!

You see, God doesn’t promise an easy journey from A to E, but we know by his character (as portrayed in scripture) that it will eventually work for our good. The next step may be bumpy, but in my experience, your perception changes. The downs don’t seem as detrimental when you’re standing on The Rock. Again, my experience.

It occurred to me this morning that the entire Biblical story is a step by step (not the song by NKOTB, btw). When you read the Bible you must read it as the entire story. So, when you’re in the Old Testament reading how God destroyed a group of bad dudes, you have to look at it in context of “the rest of the story,” as Paul Harvey would say. Understand that God has to take his people from A (the fall) to E (the second coming) without leaving out the B, C, and D. Humans have free will, and he couldn’t bring us back to relationship with him without the in-between. Joseph was sold by his brothers into slavery, so the Israelites could be saved. But then they end up slaves to the Egyptians. So, along comes Moses to free them. But then they gotta wander in the desert a few decades. See where I’m going here? Step by step. One leads to the next, and sure, some crap comes along the way, but so does amazing blessing. Then Jesus comes in and changes everything! The curse is broken! We’re on the last leg of the race. If the entire Biblical story is a step by step journey of God getting us back to him, doesn’t it only seem logical that it’s our job to keep stepping on this last lap?

The key is simply taking a step when he leads you to.

A year and a half ago, God told me to go to Fort Myers. I didn’t want to go, but I have found blessing here, and I’d like to think he has used me for his kingdom purposes. Because I haven’t mentioned this yet, but it’s not just all about me. Lol.

Now, God is calling us to another step. Away from the home we thought would be our last. Away from Florida. A place I absolutely love! He has placed dreams in our hearts that are different from anything we could have imagined on our own. We have asked for open doors and closed doors, and now we’re taking our next step. Maybe we never stop taking another step until Jesus returns.

So, what’s next for the Gowen’s? For now, we are headed to Virginia. It is for lovers, after all. 😆 What’s after that? I don’t know the details, for sure. We’re just taking it one step at a time.

I will be completely transparent with this next statement. I have experienced a lot of hurt over the past couple of years. Not within my safe, inner circle, but beyond. I have been sharing my life via this blog and social media for about a decade. Due to the hurt I’ve experienced, I have wanted to hide my family away, to stop sharing with toxic people who don’t deserve to know what God is doing with us. I’m working on it. I know that good people still exist, and I know things I share may help someone out there.

So, welcome to my inner sanctum. You have no clue I started travel nursing again, or that I’ve been on a contract away from home for three months. I’ve kept my life close to the vest, but I treasure many of you out there, and it’s not fair for me to pull away from you based on the actions of others. Plus, I didn’t want to share a picture of mountains on Instagram and you be like, “do what?!” Ha.

I’ll share of photo here of the driveway to a house we’ll be renting, complete with five acres to let that new Labrador run around. There will be more to come. Just allow me the time to put it out there as my heart feels ready. One step at a time. Right?

Thank you, friends.

Step by Step. Not Just a NKOTB Song.

by

One year ago I bought a house in SW Florida. My dream home, in fact. It has this tropical oasis in the backyard I have desired since childhood. Funny how things change.

I recently told a friend, “God doesn’t take you from A to E. He takes you to B, first.”

She had said I was brave. Ha! The furthest from it I’d say. I’m just good at taking baby steps.

I have always been an anxious woman. Because of my fear of the unknown and the uncontrollable, I sought a life of order. I can remember when debit cards first became a normal thing to use instead of cash or check. I know it drove my ex crazy, but I would make him save every single receipt. I would sit down once a week with the stack and input them into my checkbook ledger. Even with the invention of online banking, and even when they got better at immediately posting a purchase, still I meticulously kept my budget. I saved the paper bills (hesitant to go for paperless billing), wrote the date paid on the outside of the envelope, and filed it away in order. I’m not saying balancing your budget is a bad thing. I am saying my detailed way of doing it is just one example of taking areas of my life and sculpting them into order and precision. It made me feel better to have my ducks in a row, to have a plan, and to know the steps from point A to beyond.

There’s this drawing I’ve seen of Jesus and a little girl. It’s cartoonish and simple, even a bit too much prosperity-gospel-like for my taste, but it points to a great truth. In the depiction, Jesus is holding out his hand for the girl to give him her teddy bear. She’s not wanting to do it, but he’s saying “trust me.” Behind his back you can see he’s holding a much bigger teddy bear in exchange for the small one.

Trust me.

The picture is all well and good, but in real life we can’t see the bigger teddy bear behind his back (in the future). Instead it requires trusting that what God has is better than we can imagine for ourselves. It’s about knowing God’s character and that he is good. Going step by step with Jesus is a lot like the teddy bear picture, but our finite minds cannot see what lays ahead. Step one may be releasing that thing we hold dear, like comfort, security, order, and control for me.

Five years ago my family left our hometown, family and friends, our house, our jobs, and most importantly, our comfort zone. If you’ve followed me for a while, then you know this story. If not, let me give you an example of travel nurse life. A real scenario that happened to me.

I had two shifts left in my current contract, then my job would end. I had no idea where I was going to work next. I had no idea where I would take my family to live. As the sole breadwinner for our family of five, I had no idea if I would have income coming in after this last paycheck. Yet, I was cool as a cucumber. Err, for the most part, anyway. Lol.

I learned how to lay down control. I learned how to surrender my fear, my future, my family, and my finances to God. I saw in real time that handing him the bear made my hands empty to receive what he wanted to place there. I would not trade these past five years for anything; they transformed my relationship with Jesus.

I share this journey in humility. There’s no pride because I’m not boasting in me; I’m boasting in Him. His peace.

The thing is, real life isn’t as two dimensional as the cartoon of Jesus and the bear from above. You can take the first step of handing over your “teddy,” and then you find yourself plummeting downward into calamity. Wait a minute? What happened to my bigger prize?!

You see, God doesn’t promise an easy journey from A to E, but we know by his character (as portrayed in scripture) that it will eventually work for our good. The next step may be bumpy, but in my experience, your perception changes. The downs don’t seem as detrimental when you’re standing on The Rock. Again, my experience.

It occurred to me this morning that the entire Biblical story is a step by step (not the song by NKOTB, btw). When you read the Bible you must read it as the entire story. So, when you’re in the Old Testament reading how God destroyed a group of bad dudes, you have to look at it in context of “the rest of the story,” as Paul Harvey would say. Understand that God has to take his people from A (the fall) to E (the second coming) without leaving out the B, C, and D. Humans have free will, and he couldn’t bring us back to relationship with him without the in-between. Joseph was sold by his brothers into slavery, so the Israelites could be saved. But then they end up slaves to the Egyptians. So, along comes Moses to free them. But then they gotta wander in the desert a few decades. See where I’m going here? Step by step. One leads to the next, and sure, some crap comes along the way, but so does amazing blessing. Then Jesus comes in and changes everything! The curse is broken! We’re on the last leg of the race. If the entire Biblical story is a step by step journey of God getting us back to him, doesn’t it only seem logical that it’s our job to keep stepping on this last lap?

The key is simply taking a step when he leads you to.

A year and a half ago, God told me to go to Fort Myers. I didn’t want to go, but I have found blessing here, and I’d like to think he has used me for his kingdom purposes. Because I haven’t mentioned this yet, but it’s not just all about me. Lol.

Now, God is calling us to another step. Away from the home we thought would be our last. Away from Florida. A place I absolutely love! He has placed dreams in our hearts that are different from anything we could have imagined on our own. We have asked for open doors and closed doors, and now we’re taking our next step. Maybe we never stop taking another step until Jesus returns.

So, what’s next for the Gowen’s? For now, we are headed to Virginia. It is for lovers, after all. 😆 What’s after that? I don’t know the details, for sure. We’re just taking it one step at a time.

I will be completely transparent with this next statement. I have experienced a lot of hurt over the past couple of years. Not within my safe, inner circle, but beyond. I have been sharing my life via this blog and social media for about a decade. Due to the hurt I’ve experienced, I have wanted to hide my family away, to stop sharing with toxic people who don’t deserve to know what God is doing with us. I’m working on it. I know that good people still exist, and I know things I share may help someone out there.

So, welcome to my inner sanctum. You have no clue I started travel nursing again, or that I’ve been on a contract away from home for three months. I’ve kept my life close to the vest, but I treasure many of you out there, and it’s not fair for me to pull away from you based on the actions of others. Plus, I didn’t want to share a picture of mountains on Instagram and you be like, “do what?!” Ha.

I’ll share of photo here of the driveway to a house we’ll be renting, complete with five acres to let that new Labrador run around. There will be more to come. Just allow me the time to put it out there as my heart feels ready. One step at a time. Right?

Thank you, friends.

Where I’m At

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I oscillate between sharing my life and withdrawing into an underground storm shelter. Remember that movie with Brendan Fraser, Blast from the Past? Yes, that sounds nice sometimes. To just spirit away with my family and Jesus, playing board games and eating nonperishable goodies. But alas, that’s not what God calls us to. I wish the calling wasn’t always so painful.

I’ve gone back and forth between sharing my life, my insights, or Heaven forbid, my opinion, or simply remaining silent in my own comfortable mind. I have had so many people over the years email, comment on the blog, or message me on social media sharing how much my words have comforted them, helped them feel less alone, or heard the voice of the Holy Spirit speaking to them through my musings. That kind of feedback encourages me to keep going. But then…

Y’all, I have been really hurt. I say I don’t care what people think of me, but let’s be honest, it stings when friends and family judge you. I’m not talking about Facebook acquaintances. I mean friends. I have had women I have known for over twenty years, women in the church who I considered mentors, completely write me off. Women who kept up daily contact and encouragement with me, suddenly ghost me. And when I see those same women encouraging and communing with mutual friends, yeah, it hurts. It hurts to be brushed aside. It hurts that we have become a people, a society, a church, I dare say, that values platforms or something as inconsequential as the opinion on vaccinations over loving relationships. Didn’t vote Republican the last election?! Sorry, your cool kid, insider pass to the Women’s Bible Study clique has been revoked. Why does that still hurt me?

I have had family laugh at me, ignore me, lessen my feelings. I feel the judgment in an almost palatable way. Am I seeing things that are not there, like whispers at the lunch table, assuming the worst is being said behind my back? Perhaps. Perhaps I am, but it doesn’t change the feeling of brokenness inside.

I have spent the last two years discovering a side of humanity I wish I had never seen. On the other side, pre-Covid, pre-Trump, sat a naive woman, who felt certain that people who loved Jesus, loved people. Sure, there were hypocrites, but overall the Christian community was one built on love. I was sure of it. Now, on this side of a pandemic, after the loss of a presidential election on the Right, I see an abrasive, hardened heart of a community I’ve been a part of for over half my life. I cannot comprehend the actions of the majority. I cannot find the connection between the actions of Jesus and the actions I see on social media. The Sermon on the Mount and the rant on Facebook or Instagram are not parallel. The church I have always known and loved has let me down, and I’m still coming to terms with that.

Here’s what I don’t want. I don’t want my picture of my Savior, or my relationship with Jesus to suffer. The loving King who died for me, who died for the immigrant at the border, who died for the atheist at my workplace, who died for the two married men that live next door. This loving Jesus has never left my side. When I’ve felt the hurt and betrayal from friends and family, He has never let me go. So, I think He and I are good. I just keep clinging to His character, so often imagining myself sitting at His feet like Mary, listening to His truth.

The church, however, has fallen from me. I have not returned to corporate worship or any religious gathering in a group. I want to, but I’m afraid. The hurt I have experienced has broke me, and I’m not sure I could take anymore. I want my babies to be around the church. I want to return. I have just been unable to cross that divide. I listen to a church sermon every Sunday, I read the Bible for hours a day, and I spent countless hours in prayer and conversation with my Father, but I’m still licking my wounds. I’m just being honest. You guys know I’m a sensitive soul. My hurt still rears its ugly head almost daily, and I spend just as long laying it back down at the feet of Jesus.

Please pray for me, my friends. Pray that I will find healing, that I will be able to see that Jesus is the balm that covers my hurt. This I do know. I will never be the same. I will never again be the woman I was in 2019. And while that hurts, I am grateful that my eyes were opened to the insincerity of my fellow man.

It’s hard for me to even write this, as I know there are people who will judge me for it, assuming I’m “woke,” progressive, or even worse (LOL), liberal. They’ll pray for me that God open my eyes to the evil of this world, never seeing the evil in their own hearts and actions.

I do find solace (of this world) in the fact that I am not alone in my feelings. There are other Christian, lovers of Jesus, who want to love like Him, not just like the church club says. It helps to hear their hearts that mirror my own. Beth Moore, Skye Jethani, Greg Boyd, Phil Vischer, David French, Russell Moore. Organizations like Women of Welcome, Faith and Prejudice, The Lincoln Project. Personal friends (that I will leave unnamed) who I reach out to with my frustrations and hurt. Thank you. And most importantly, the amazing spouse the Lord has given me. I was raised initially in an atheist household. He was raised quite the opposite, not allowed to watch the (demonic) Smurfs or He-Man growing up. Together we have found this loving Jesus who healed our brokenness, forgave our sinfulness, carried us through addiction, and leads us even now. Because of Him, we are forever changed. Because of Him, we are encouraged to love like He does. Sadly, I’ve discovered that radical love like Jesus doesn’t always sit well with the religious. It didn’t in His day, and it doesn’t in ours either.

I’m not sure what this post is supposed to be about. It seems like I simply vomited my feelings into words, but trust me, you have no idea how much of my gorge I’m holding back and swallowing down. Perhaps for another day. Or, perhaps I will take my baby chicks under my wings and disappear from the grid of public opinion. I suppose only time will tell.

Why Do I Keep Hitting the Rock?!

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I was reading through the Old Testament this morning. I’ve been utilizing a reading plan through the Bible App, and I’m currently still in the wilderness. Wow, that may have been a Freudian Slip.

Anyway, I came to a familiar story of when Moses strikes the rock. For a refresh, the Israelites are wandering in the desert, waiting for the Promised Land, and they keep on complaining, despite all that God has done. In fact, their grumbling is what is keeping them delayed from receiving God’s best. Dang. Is that another Freudian slip?! Nah, I’m thinking it’s simply the Holy Spirit speaking truth.

Back to Moses and those hardheaded Israelites. They come to a place without water. They’re thirsty. They complain. Moses and Aaron ask God for help with this situation, and He tells Moses to speak to a rock and water will flow from it. So Moses gathers everyone together, and then he proceeds to smack the rock a couple of times. Water comes out, everyone drinks, and all seems well, until God reminds Moses that he didn’t have to hit the rock!

As I read this passage today I could feel how relative it was to my own life. Like Moses, I know God can give water miraculously out of a dry stone. Or more to the point, I know that when my life is in want like the Israelites, when my bank account is dry and parched like the throat of a thirsty person, and seeing funds appear out of thin air is as likely as squeezing water from a rock, God is still able. When I’m worried about my children, God is still protecting them as His own. God is in control. The Israelites weren’t so sure, but Moses was. Yet he still smacked the rock.

Like Moses, I am far enough in my faith walk to know that God can. But also like Moses, I have a tendency to hit my rocks instead of simply speaking God’s power. It’s like, I know God can provide, but let me help Him out. I’ll try to work some budgeting magic, get a second job, or sell something I treasure for some fast cash. I’ll get this devotional book for my child, make another doctor’s appointment, or think about it incessantly until things get better. I’m still believing in God, I tell myself. I’m just helping Him out a little.

So, what usually happens? I hit a few rocks and nothing gives. Not a drop. Now, eventually water pours out. You smack a rock enough times, God says, “fine, have it your way!”

The thing is, God doesn’t require us to hit every solid surface we can find searching for His provision. Usually, He just wants us to speak His name. In other words, to trust His timing and provision. This taking it into his own hands, caused Moses to miss out entering the Promised Land, and I realized I don’t want to miss what the Lord has promised for me because I’m making my own way.

It’s a learning process, gang. I’m like, the most forgetful lover of Jesus ever! But thankfully His grace is greater than my tendency to circle around the wilderness looking for my next cup of aqua. Today I’m reminded to speak to the rocks in my life. Speak, Jehovah Jirah, my provider; beating rock for dramatic accompaniment not required. Roger that, Lord.

Would You Like to Help My Daughter?

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It struck me that a number of you don’t follow me on social media, but only through my blog. I thought as much as you know my family via my musings, you might be interested to join us in a cool new journey for my oldest child. I’ll share the message I’ve sent to friends and family, and at the end is a link with more information.

You may have already heard, but I am composing this message for the family and friends I thought would be interested in sharing with Chloe and our family in the adventure of a lifetime. So bear me with please.

Chloe has been interested in acting since the age of six. As you can imagine, our traveling lifestyle didn’t accommodate such a thing as pursuing an acting career, but since we settled in SW FL she began to ask about acting classes. I came across an ad for a school and I felt in my spirit it was right. She’s been enrolled in their school since November learning modeling, poise, and screen delivery. Her confidence level has soared!

Recently they offered Chloe the chance to audition for an amazing opportunity. This summer there’s a huge Talent Scouting event in Orlando. Hundreds of scouts from agencies around the globe will be in attendance. Chloe was chosen for a select VIP group of children with potential to be up and coming performers in the industry to attend this event. The talent scout in her audition said she had the perfect look for TV. They loved her hair, unique smile, and bubbly confidence. They were amazed that an eleven year old is editing videos for her channel on YouTube. Lol.

Y’all, this is a big deal. 86 children, ages 8-18 auditioned along with Chloe, and she was one of 15 children chosen to meet and audition for these agents from NYC to L.A. to Milan! She is over the moon! And we consider this an open door for a normally tight business to squeeze into.

As you can imagine, as parents we have put a lot of thought and prayer into this even before she began classes. Her virtue, innocence, and sweet spirit are our responsibility. We have felt the peace of the Lord throughout. I feel He is in this, and He will use it for the glory of His Kingdom. And if at anytime I feel different, I will drop it like it’s hot. Lol. We continue in constant prayer, seeking His guidance. Just this morning Jesus and I had a long talk about it. I just want to assure you of our diligence in keeping Chloe kingdom focused as she transverses this world. You would be so proud of her. She is so discerning of His will and His path for her.

I’m sorry this is getting long. I just want to address the important things.

So, next… Can this Talent Agency be trusted? We’ve all heard of scams, right? Short answer… YES! Chloe’s agency has been in business since 1939! It has an A+ rating with the BBB. I have done my research. I have read some negative reviews, and I’ve seen many positive ones as well. The Talent Scouting event is entering its 12th year, and it has produced many success stories. Ryan Phillippe, Guiliana Ransic, and David Archuleta, to name a few.

At the week-long event this summer Chloe will compete with children from other talent agencies for not only callbacks with agents, but also tons of scholarships. There will be some cool seminars and classes also to help her grow in her craft.

So why am I reaching out to you all? I wanted to offer you the opportunity to support Chloe in this adventure. We’ve been paying her school tuition, but as costs come for things like headshots and coaching for her upcoming scouting event, I decided to see if our pool of family and friends would like to help sponsor her climb to her dream. The event this summer comes with registration & competition fees, plus logistic costs like lodging in Orlando.

I felt kinda silly when it entered my mind to construct a fundraiser. I mean, shouldn’t these kind of things be reserved for medical bills or mission work?! But then it occurred to me how many people love our girl. I considered how much family and friend support we’ve always been blessed with, and how this could give people the chance, if they were so inclined, to be a part of something really special and important to Chloe.

There’s no obligation if I’m sending this message to you! We’ll take your prayers for sure! But if you’d also like to help fund Chloe’s journey, Mom and Dad here would love the support!

No amount is too big OR too small!! Every bit helps to pave the way. Thank you in advance.

You can donate at this link:

http://spot.fund/fp48Rm

I Cried in the Shower Today

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Have you ever cried so hard it hurts? I’m talking about that deep burn in your throat that reaches all the way to your heart and back, only finding escape from the flames via hot, molten tears. That was me, sitting in my shower, somehow enjoying the emotion, yet begging it to simmer down before I hyperventilated. The last thing I needed was my husband to run into the bathroom, following an echoing thump, and find me slumped naked in the billowing steam. So, I tried to qualm my cries, yet the overflow of emotion erupted again, a fresh cascade of tears across my already wet face.

We had recently gone to a child’s birthday party, and I guess that’s where the story of tears started. My daughters were excited to see an old friend, and even opted to miss dance and voice lessons for the occasion. We had shopped excitedly for a present, each child contributing to the basket before making a final selection. They had chosen the outfits they would wear, and had asked me each and every day leading up to the event, “how much longer until the party?”

So, what happened?!

We had arrived to the gathering a little after its commencement, and already swarms of girls and boys bolted along the sandy beachfront. The birthday girl came running towards my oldest, screeching her name with excitement, enveloping her in a hug.

And my girl stood there awkwardly stiff, having trouble accepting the embrace. I heard Stephanie Tanner in my head proclaim, “how rude!”

Our awkward entrance continued. I looked around at my girls standing on the periphery of the group, looking shy, uncertain, and uncomfortable.

I encouraged them to “go and play.”

Yet, they kept coming back, and sitting on the outskirts, as if unsure of exactly how to go play. It didn’t make sense. These were their friends, and sure there were lots of other children they didn’t know, but my childhood wallflower self silently screamed, “go, be a part of the group!”

Yep, I had been that awkward kid in school, unsure how to act in social settings, sitting on the outside looking in. I had always done better one on one, a single bestie, and that trend had followed me my whole life.

“It’s Covid,” I thought.

Over a year of telling your children to stay away from other kids had surely stunted their social growth I hypothesized, and while I’m sure that’s true, it didn’t explain the fact that my tween had refused to bring her swimsuit, refused to wear shorts, and I had to buy her a baseball cap just to keep her from wearing a winter boggin pulled down over her head. Was that just a phase? Y’all, parenting is hard.

She had headphones in her ears, so she wouldn’t have to listen to the voices of others, and sunglasses because the sun hurt her vampire eyes. I’m sure it had nothing to do with being holed up in her dark room most of the time (insert tired mommy sigh).

I texted my spouse, “our kids have no idea how to act in a large group.”

I was questioning my own parenting skills, imagining all the ways I was messing up my kiddos, and trying not to worry I might be creating an ax murderer. Just kidding. Kinda.

My husband quickly replied, “uhhh, neither do their parents.”

Oh Lord, my husband and I were closet introverts. We loved people, and even flourished in one on one relationships, but put us in a group setting, and our left eye started to twitch. We hated crowds and avoided going places on weekends like the plague. We were happy to sit at home, and neither of us had the desire to go out with friends to blow off steam. We liked the bed, dinner and a movie, quiet time, and no expectations. His words made sense.

But still, I worried about my babies.

And that’s what I talked to God about in the shower. I handed Him my worries and my babies, listening to the counsel of the Holy Spirit. At some point in our conversation He brought me a vision of a flower in a field. Like the sunflowers we had grown last year, this flower tilted its head towards the light, and the light shown on its face, giving it new life.

The sun set and darkness surrounded the solitary plant. From above came a thermal blanket, like the kind a gardener would use to protect his prize winning roses from a spring frost. I knew at that moment, that was how God covered me and my family.

Each flower in His garden was unique, each created and cultivated to be its own creation, for His glory and kingdom purposes. His light illuminated and fed each one as it turned its face to Him, and He protected them from dark and cold places.

I felt the Lord speak to me, “nothing is by accident. I created each of your children according to my giftings. Nothing can take away from that. Nor does it need to be.”

I recognized that perhaps my children were different than the average child. Each one had nuances, sensitivities, or gifts that made them unique. I had grown up feeling like a square peg, longing to fit into a world I couldn’t seem to become comfortable being a part of. It wasn’t until I was older that I realized God created me square, with a square hole in mind for me. After all, squares make the best block for building God’s Kingdom. I wanted my girls to feel alive and beautiful in their uniqueness, and I realized that started with me not expecting them to fit into standard social norms. They were created for more than that. I didn’t need to worry so much as trust. And while there was nothing wrong with noticing peculiarities, or even learning more about those particular social styles, making a diagnosis or treatment plan if necessary, the bottom line was they were beautiful flowers in God’s garden, perfect in their specific design. Even if that made group events a little cringe worthy.

So, why did I cry? Gratitude, I suppose. What the world calls wounded, God calls blessed. What society would view as imperfect, He sets apart. And best of all, His light and love never fail. His covering persists, through every season, even the ones of drought and doubt. I’m still growing. My girls are too. I suppose, sometimes it’s the tears of gratefulness and joy that water the soil best.

You Will Have a Judas

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I was reading John 13 this morning. It’s a chapter I’ve read dozens of times, but something new spoke to me this morning from the verses. Don’t you love that? I suppose that’s why it’s called the Living Word. The Holy Spirit speaks what we are ready to hear when we are ready to hear it. Makes me think of when Jesus gave instructions in parables. He said frequently, “those who have ears, let them hear.” We all have the feature of ears, but it’s not until our spirit is ready that we hear the deeper truths God has for us all.

Back to John 13. It’s the chapter on washing feet. I always liked that. Jesus humbling himself to serve others. Such a wonderful lesson. But this morning, a new lesson emerged.

Do you know what Jesus was doing right before He washed His disciples feet? Yes, they were all enjoying a meal together, the famous Last Supper, but John 13 gives us a peek into the thoughts of Jesus. As Jesus is sitting at the table, with the men who are supposed to be His followers, His brothers, dudes He can trust, He knows it isn’t so. He knows Peter will deny Him, He knows Thomas will doubt His resurrection, but He also knows Judas will betray Him.

He thinks on these things. Then He rises and prepares to wash the feet of His brothers. He washes the feet of the one who will deny Him. He washes the feet of the former tax collector who had previously sold his devotion to his country and people for a bigger paycheck. He washes the feet of the doubter. He even washes the feet of His enemy, the one who’d sell Him up the river for a bag of silver. I mean, this is an obvious lesson for us all. Sure, a hard act to follow, but definitely something to shoot for, right?

Yet, it’s the act just before washing the disciples feet that really got my attention this morning. He’s at the table. It says that He knows Judas is going to betray Him. That’s the thought running through His head while He eats His last meal before the death sentence. It’s like He’s on death row, waiting for the final walk down the long hall to torture, pain, and betrayal. People who He came to save are plotting against Him as He nibbles on bread dipped in oil. Talk about anxious thoughts!

I’m an over-thinker, personally. When someone does me wrong, I will replay the incident in my head repeatedly. I’ll ponder what I should have said, creating conversations that never happened. But could have! Lol. I’m also a sensitive soul. When people hurt me, I weep. When they wrong me, I get angry. I get offended. And in all my situations where people have hurt me, betrayed me, and plotted against me, I honestly can’t compare it to the situation of Jesus. But, perhaps I can learn from His example.

John 13:3 Jesus knew that the Father had put all things under his power, and that he had come from God and was returning to God

Jesus contemplates that Judas is sitting right there beside Him, and He’s about to betray Him, leading to a chain of events that will end in His crucifixion.

But then He fights the pain of the lies of this world with the truth of God. A friend, a brother is betraying Him, yet that doesn’t change the fact that His Father has control over EVERYTHING! And really, isn’t that the only thing we need to ponder, the last thought we need to have, that puts to bed all our anger, hurt, offense, and fear? Yessss.

Our lesson today is three parts. The first we already know. We learn it at a young age. My eleven year old just learned it a couple of weeks ago.

1. People in this world will hurt us. They will betray us, even plotting our demise. I wish this was not so, but in our broken world of sin, it’s true. We will have a Judas.

2. In our Judas moments we must remember the absolute truth from scripture. All things are under our Father’s power! He knows it’s gonna happen. We don’t have to fight our own battles. Our Father has control. We belong to Him, and we will return to Him. The Judases of this world can never take that away from us.

3. We still wash feet. Despite the knowledge of betrayal, the truth that God was in control propelled Jesus forward. It doesn’t mean it wasn’t hard. I recall the Garden in Gethsemane and how my Savior cried. No one is telling you not to cry. But the example of Jesus reminds us to keep moving forward in love.

This is a lesson I need desperately. So often I encounter trouble and my gut reaction is to fret. Yet God calls me to trust Him. But even more so, in the midst of trouble, I am reminded to keep going, and to do so in love, with a servant heart. I can still give to others, even when fear tries to tell me I won’t have enough. I can lower myself to my knees, even at the feet of my enemies, knowing that despite the plots against me, I belong to My Father, and His plans for me never fail. I pray we all can remember these lessons together and move forward like the example Christ has given.

The Offense of Being Offended as a Christian

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Have you ever been forced to be around someone you don’t like? If you’re a responsible adult, in a work setting, then the answer is probably yes. You can break off an abusive, long term relationship, ignore your in-laws, or cut ties with a toxic friend, but leaving a great job because of an annoying coworker isn’t always economically feasible, and I’ve found myself in this situation lately.

Have you ever been so irked by an itchy personality that you imagine yourself throttling that person? I know, not very Christ-like, but let’s be honest; we’ve all been there once or twice. Some people can just be so different from us, and it’s like they know all the wrong buttons to push! This was what happened to me.

This lady was so prideful. I remember Southern ladies describing it as, “she thinks her sh*t don’t stink.” And that seemed like a pretty good description of this situation. The woman I’m referring to thought she was always right, everyone else was always wrong, and her way of doing things was the only way. It doesn’t make for a conducive workspace.

One morning, I had just sat down booting up my computer with another scheduled, early-arriving coworker, when she walked in. She wasn’t supposed to arrive for another hour! I thought I had time to drink my coffee and get my heart and mind in the right place for her abrasive personality, yet there she was.

“What are you doing here so early?” I asked, even as my mind wondered if she was just checking to make sure we came to work on time in an environment without a time clock to keep us honest.

And so it began. She started droning on about the changes she was instituting for the workplace (as the most senior person in our office), and about all the things we were all doing wrong that she could improve upon.

Y’all, it flew all over me. I had spent the past couple of days she’d been off cleaning up her messes and mistakes! My work-plate had been overflowing thanks to her missed steps, and it made my blood want to boil at her audacity to suggest anyone else was the problem!

The thing was, I wasn’t the only one! Everyone in the office felt the same as me. They were fed up with her constant slacking of job duties, but even more so with her attitude that suggested otherwise. Grrr. It made us all crazy. In fact, when she wasn’t around we talked about how insane she made us all feel. We laughed at her expense, and made jokes about her holier-than-though attitude. It somehow made me feel better, you know?

After a full day of hard work, also filled with plenty of gossip about my troublesome coworker, I drove home and started feeling conviction. I knew it wasn’t right. Not any of it. Not my anger, not my judgement. I shouldn’t be making jokes at her expense, ridiculing her behavior with others, or gossiping period. I confessed of my behavior and asked the Lord to change my heart. Man, it is so easy to fall into sin, and fall away from the heart of God! I asked Him to give me His heart towards this problematic coworker, to help me see her with His eyes. That’s a tough sale, guys, cause when you do that, you no longer want to dislike a person for their erroneous behavior; you want to embrace them in their brokenness. Have you ever realized we’re all the same in that we’re not yet whole?

The next time I worked with this person, it was great! I told my husband it had to be the Holy Spirit. I usually grew angry at her pride and easily offended when her comments suggested I was less of a good worker than she. Because really, isn’t that what these situations really come down to most of the time? Personal offense? But on this day, I took no offense, and we got along swimmingly. I left the office lighter, in a better mood, because instead of feeling angry, I felt peace.

Have you ever noticed how off your behavior is when you’re angry? It’s the opposite of the fruits of the spirit. Instead of peace, we feel unease. Instead of joy, we feel rage. Instead of patience, we feel frustration. Instead of kindness, we feel vengeance. And most importantly, instead of love, we feel the opposite! If God is love, what is the opposite of love? Well, I can tell you, it’s not of God.

The thing is, many times when we feel offended, it’s selfishness. Instead of service, like Jesus modeled, we have placed ourselves to be served. By assuming our desires, opinions, or even our life, are more important than a brother/sister, we are elevating ourselves, which never pans out well in the Kingdom of God. In the Kingdom way, we are asked by Jesus to lay down our lives, to take up His cross, and to put on His yoke. Cause, you see, any other yoke is one of slavery. Slavery to anger, pride, selfish action, and again, the opposite of God’s essence, love. It turns out, His yoke, His way, is easy. That’s why after being a slave to offense, we feel terrible, but after being a slave (servant) to love, we feel amazing. I don’t think we always realize why we’re feeling so bad. We think it’s because of other people’s actions, but I would suggest, perhaps it’s our own hearts causing us harm.

When that person passes you in traffic haphazardly or cuts you in line! Arghh!

Remember justice is His. He will lift you up. Ask yourself these heart questions. What makes our time more valuable than that of another? What ranking does this particular offense hold in light of eternity? Does our response negatively affect our heart, and does it display the light of the One we claim to love? Are we reflecting Jesus to a lost and hurting world? This is something I desire more than anything.

When someone disagrees with something that is very important to us, it’s hard. When someone maliciously hurts us, it’s even harder. It’s crazy hard to lay down the desire to be right, the desire to be vindicated, and the desire to be esteemed, but as a Christian, that is what we are called to. We are asked to humble ourselves, to lay down our swords, and to serve in love. I still find myself in this crazy world, getting offended, but I try to not let that offense rule me, define me, or steer my actions. I’ve found that the true offense to being offended isn’t against the one I perceive as the offender, but rather it ends up being an offense to my own heart and the spirit God has given me. And who wants that!