An Open Letter to Writers: Stop Apologizing!

What if John gave me a beautiful ring and I showed it to you one day over coffee?

“Robbie, it’s lovely.”

“Thank you. It’s not a huge diamond, but I like it.”

“It’s gorgeous.”

“It didn’t cost that much because we can’t afford a lot and John had to save for a while to buy it, but I like it.”

“Sounds like he really wanted you to have it.”

“Well, I guess so. It’s not like your ring. That’s huge. But I like mine.”

Did I honor John? Did I honor his gift?

Nope. I apologized for it.

The Spirit has convicted me lately that I do the same thing with a gift God has given me – writing. And I need to stop. The enemy keeps having victory and it’s got to end.

Indulge me in another metaphor. A baseball player wants to be the best and play in the major leagues. But his path includes Triple-A. Maybe he moves up from there, maybe he doesn’t. But he doesn’t apologize. Can you imagine an announcement at the beginning of a Triple-A game?

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are so sorry that this is not a major league game. Do the best you can to have fun.”

Ridiculous.

And yet…

When I self-published a book of Joyvotions called Joy Dance, I always included the words “self-published” when I talked about it. “This is my book Joy Dance, (and apologetically,) it’s self-published. I apologized for a gift. And writing and publishing that book was a GIFT. I’ve had many, many comments from folks who’ve read it and heard from the Lord through it. What a GIFT!

In September, my first novel will be published through a small print on demand publisher. This is a GIFT from God to me.

And yet, the enemy keeps trying to steal the joy of that gift by whispering lies:

It’s not a big company like Tyndale, Robbie, so it’s not that great.

Your book may never even make it to a traditional bookstore.

Other writers can get contracts with the big companies. You just aren’t good enough, Robbie.

ENOUGH!!! When I dwell on these lies, insecurity happens and the apologies come forth. The best way to fight the lies of the enemy is with God’s truth:

Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows. James 1:17

My gift is from HIM and it is a good gift!

Lord, you alone are my portion and my cup; you make my lot secure. The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; surely I have a delightful inheritance. Psalm 16:5-6

God establishes my boundaries and the path He has given me is delightful!

‘For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the Lord, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.’ Jeremiah 29:11

God knows the future and He is ultimately in charge. If I truly believe in His Sovereignty, then I can trust Him every step of the way.

When I wrote this, I thought it was just for me. But then it occurred to me that all writers deal with the comparison trap. As do every one of us, writers or not. What is the gift God has given you? No matter what it is, a wonderful way to honor God is to be grateful for the gift.

Writers, let’s stop apologizing!

Whether you are published or not,

Whether you are self-published or traditionally published,

Whether you are working for a Triple-A company or a major league company,

Whether you have tons of sales or a pile of books in your garage,

BE GRATEFUL!

Let’s use our words to glorify the gift giver, not apologize for the gift.

Those diamonds He’s put in your heart and mine are priceless.

Let’s rewind. I just showed you the ring John gave me.

“Robbie, it’s lovely.”

“Isn’t it? Thank you. John loves me so much and he gave this to me and I absolutely LOVE IT! So grateful for my husband and this ring.” 

He's There if You Look for Him

Blessed are those who have learned to acclaim you,

who walk in the light of your presence, Lord. Psalm 89:15

Monday morning I decided to really look for God everywhere during my day. God is omnipresent, but sometimes we are not present to Him, meaning we don’t consciously seek Him. Takes practice and a simple choice to focus.

So I did. During the morning it was easy. I saw God in the tree outside a window, its green leaves shaking in the joy of a cool breeze. I saw Him in Noah’s silliness, the dog’s unconditional love and in a friend’s heart. I felt Him in the courage of trying something new.

But after lunch, the easiness ended.

A couple of weeks ago I decided to see a counselor who specializes in food issues. On the phone this lovely lady gave me directions to her office and told me that parking in the back of her building was free.

As I neared the area of the office, I discovered I’d forgotten my google directions. I called my counselor and she gave me to them again, once again pointing out that I could park in the back.

I met my counselor and it turns out she is 13 years old. At first I thought, “Great. The Doogie Howser of mental health will be trying to help my 50 year old brain?” But then I remembered that my medical doctor, Kelsey, is 12 and she pointed me to food allergy tests that stopped years of stomach pains. Youth can be a great thing. So I opened my heart.

We had a good session and I left, not wanting a cupcake to ease the discomfort of seeing a professional. This was a good sign to me.  I walked to the parking lot in back to find my car was not in its parking space.

Thoughts of God were nowhere. I went back in and told my counselor that my car might have been stolen. She began to freak out. We went back to the parking lot so I could show her where my car was not and on the way, a man who ran a business in the same building walked by. When told of my situation, he said, “I’m sure you were towed. That’s permit-only parking back there.”

Sweet young counselor almost had a heart attack and went into guilt mode and apologized over and over. I felt bad for her and began to comfort her. “It’s not a person, it’s just a car,” I said. “And if it was towed, well that’s much better than stolen.” She calmed down and told me she would reimburse me for the towing.

I phoned the towing company and they told me they couldn’t tell me if my car was towed. I had to call the Denver police first. I called the Denver police and they said yes, it was towed by that company so call them back. O-kay. A cupcake started to look pretty good.

I called them back. “Oh sure, we towed it. But you’ll have to wait before we can locate it.”

??  O-kay.

I waited the prescribed 30 minutes and called them again. “The driver hasn’t called you yet? Here’s his number.”

The driver, in an extremely rude tone, told me he’d be at a certain address in exactly one hour. I was to come with (get this) $209.56 in cash only with exact change. I wanted to ask him if I would get my car and cocaine, too. I didn’t. I just started to wonder about what kind of icing would be on that cupcake.

Enter my husband John. He picked me up delighted to help. Well, he wasn’t delighted, but he wasn’t angry. Just one of those things that happen, right?

I told him the story.

“So you’re not going to go back to this counselor, are you?”

“Actually I will. She may not be good with parking lot rules or a client’s possible stolen car, but I have a feeling she’s good with food issues.”

John’s turn to look at me and say, “0-kay.”

We arrived in the tow driver’s neighborhood and found we’d entered a part of Denver where they manufacture shivs. Okay, maybe not, but it felt that way. After asking a couple of people, we found the address. We sat in an alley outside his business. Yes, an honest to goodness alley.

I called Mr. Charming and told him we were there at the exact time he wanted.

“I’m held up in traffic. I’ll be there in just a minute.”

“How long is a minute?” I asked.

He knew exactly what I meant and answered, “Half an hour.”

I got angry and hung up. How dare he? Why are people rude? I ranted and my husband listened in silence.

After a bit, the Spirit tickled my heart, “Remember what we talked about this morning?”

I let out a humph and turned to John, “So let me ask you, where is God in this situation?”

John answered quickly and sincerely, “Maybe He’s answering the tow guy’s prayers for money for food for his family.”

It was not a moment of appreciating my husband’s Godly perspective.

“Are you kidding me?” I asked. “This guy is a jerk! What woman would marry him? I should buy her a cupcake! She probably needs it more than me!”

When the guy showed up, (it was longer than half an hour) I did not show him the love of Jesus. He did not apologize for being so late so I used my brusque voice and took my time inspecting my car for any tow damage. I gave him the exact amount of extortion money he asked for and he gave me a receipt. We parted.

After, in my car alone, my emotions got out of my way and I processed what had happened.

I’d run into a jerk. There are plenty of them in the world. And I have to confess that there are many times I am one of them. And even though I’d begun the day seeking God in everything, when discomfort entered my world I sought comfort or at times, revenge.

So where was God?

He was always there. He was in my counselor’s office, sitting with me and holding my heart that so wants to get better. He was in the parking lot, giving me perspective that a car is not people. He was in those moments of frustration offering humor and wisdom and peace, even when I didn’t accept them. He was in John, trying to give me balance as always. And He was in me, giving me the courage to not have a cupcake, because it wouldn’t have offered what I needed. Only His presence could offer that.

I didn’t seek Him in everything on Monday. No need to beat myself up. Each day is new.

Take a Hike!

“Therefore I am now going to allure her; I will lead her into the wilderness and speak tenderly to her. There I will give her back her vineyards and will make the Valley of Achor a door of hope.
There she will respond as in the days of her youth, as in the day she came up out of Egypt.

Hosea 2:14-15

He didn’t lead me into the wilderness, but instead, Steamboat Springs. I woke up at a Holiday Inn and found I had the whole day to myself to do whatever I wanted. Glorious. And in such a pretty town.

At breakfast, a nearby lady was talking to a nearby couple about things she recommended to do in Steamboat Springs. “You have to ride the gondola up to the top of the mountain.”

Eavesdropping is not listed as one of the gifts of the Spirit in the Bible but if it was, I would have it. Later that morning, I headed for the gondola. It occurred to me as I got on and it revved up to climb the mountain, that I am not great with heights.

Thoughts like “Great time to remember that, Iobst” crossed my mind as I watched the ground beneath me get farther and farther away. The single cable that stood between the gondola and certain death for me seemed to make a strange noise. The only thing worse was when it got quiet. I mean, really quiet. Of course, my mind ridiculously ran through all the possible outcomes of a fall: broken leg, organs damaged with me in a hospital and ultimately the scene of me giving Jesus a big ole fist bump.

But courage came in and sat with me in the rocking gondola and I was overwhelmed with the Spirit of God. His presence reminded me to look around and SEE HIS beauty. I did. Joy.

At the top of the mountain, there was a restaurant with incredible views so I sat and had most of a hot dog and some watermelon and enjoyed. I read God’s Joyful Surprise by Sue Monk Kidd and became more inspired. In the middle of enjoying my time, I felt a nudge on my heart.

“Take a hike.”

 It wasn’t said like a gangster in a 50’s movie telling a kid to scram. It was a gentle suggestion of the Spirit.

“I’m not a hiker.” My response was firm. In fact, when I had asked for directions to the gondola from a Holiday Inn employee she had said there were many hiking trails up there if I was interested. I giggled, “I’m not a hiker.” She was a bit older than me and carried some girth with her and she giggled, too. An unspoken agreement between wise women who see no point in engaging in such activities.

But see, God knows my heart and He keeps showing me that I can do so much more than I think.

“Take a hike, Robbie.”

Ignoring the Spirit’ voice, I read more of Kidd’s book and came to this quote by Charles DuBois: “The important is to be willing at any moment to sacrifice what we are for what we can become.”

Somewhere in the meal I decided to do it. Of course, as I made my decision I tacked on all sorts of addendums and requirements:

I’ll go for 15 - 20 minutes and then I will turn around. I will not jog. I will turn back at any time I feel I need to. I will wear my IPOD to distract me from the pain. I will stay at the bottom of the trails until I see someone going so I can follow them so I know that if I fall and have a heart attack, I can scream. I will hold my key in one hand so if a serial killer happens to be on the hiking trail and attacks me, I can plunge the key into his neck and limp away.

At this point, I would love to tell you that I am exaggerating. I’m not. (And how could I have a heart attack and scream?)  But the neurosis and fear that have plagued my personality still have remnants that jump up and shout any time I do something out of the ordinary.

I told God okay. We’ll do it Your way, Lord.

I didn’t time myself or hold onto my key. I did carry my purse, which I noticed no other folks seemed to have around that restaurant. Backpacks and fanny packs but no purse. Still I went. I didn’t see anyone near the trail I chose and I just took that trail cause it looked pretty. I wore no IPOD. This was a hike about me and God. Just walking. Just doing it.

Here’s what happened.

I found freedom on this wonderful path.

Beauty. I didn’t know how long I had walked at any time. I didn’t know where it would end or when it would end. Somewhere along the way, a strange man and I came to the same spot. I found myself smiling and talking to him like we were long lost friends, not some character from an evil TV show bent on hurting me. And best of all, God and I talked on our hike. It was one of the sweetest times I’ve ever had. I heard lovely things that are only between Him and me. I felt loved and I felt strengthened. My fear, my doubt in myself was completely suspended simply because I chose to put my feet in front of myself, one step at a time. 

I breathed hard and I almost slipped once. I kept going. I saw a little butterfly that seemed to follow me or lead me. I’m sure there were a million of them up there, but to me, I had one little butterfly leading the way.

Maybe the Spirit used that butterfly to encourage me. Why not?

I finished the hike covered in sweat. (My people don’t perspire. We sweat. I asked a lady near the restaurant to take my picture)

I was also covered in possibilities.

You and I just don’t know all we are capable of, until we say YES GOD. We just don’t. We assume because of our age, size, job, family situation, or everyday rut, that there are certain aspirations we cannot possibly complete. Every one of us has a fear that stands in the way of going for it. I know a hike is not a big deal to everyone, but to me it is a huge accomplishment. And I didn’t honestly know I could do this. I didn’t.

Not until I said, “Yes God, I will take a hike.”

Here's to the Flush of Freedom

Me and My First S'More

Today I am thankful. Gratitude fills me as I stroke the soft pristine white Charmin tissue. I look around at the four walls and the door with a lock and I smile. The tender sound of the melodic flush brings a tear to one eye. No spillage caresses my cheek, but I’m definitely misty.

I love my bathroom. Never will I take it for granted again.

This past weekend I experienced “real camping” (my brother Phil’s words) for the first time since I was a teenager. At 15, I spent a week backpacking through the Gila Wilderness in New Mexico. I think back to that time and the lack of facilities does not make any of my memories. At 50, with a history of tummy issues, life is different. Running water is not just a luxury, it’s a need. (Puuullllease, you missionaries and campers of the world, I know, I know. This is a first world issue I’m talking about and I may come off spoiled. I get it!)

In a wilderness a few hours southwest of Denver, we camped for two nights. After we set up our tent and cot, I asked to be shown the restroom. I was guided up a winding path through trees and brush and came upon an old fallen tree.

“Behind that.”

“What? Where are the walls?”

“No walls. But you’ll be quite hidden back here.”

I traipsed around the tree and found a box with a bag in it covered by a toilet seat, a container with toilet paper to one side and a box of kitty litter on the other.

Quickly, I weighed my options. 1) Fake a heart attack and demand to be taken to the hospital, cancelling our camping expedition or 2) Deal with this backward, antiquated powder room.

The first time I took advantage of El Bano I knew that someone/something must be watching. Probably a bear and his family, deciding if they wanted the white meat woman for breakfast or dinner. But I didn’t see them and I endured. Later that day I asked our group what to do if I saw a bear. My nephew Hunter, a 19 year old who has his dad’s demented humor, said, “Aunt Robbie, just try to get really small and whimper. And look the bear in the eyes.”

No one commented so I said, “Okay, really? That works?” A smattering of snickers. “Tell me the truth!”

Betty, a wonderful Godly woman, said, “Robbie, just run. If I see a bear, I don’t have to run faster than it. Just faster than you.”

Everyone laughed at Betty’s reference to the old joke. I just stared at my former friend. J

The first night of camping I was given two sleeping bags to make sure I kept warm on my cot in my tent. I thought I would be extremely smart and take apart the sleeping bags and use them as two blankets. After I huddled underneath, the temps dropped to 5 below. Now my husband, who fell asleep in his sleeping bag before I said “Good night,” seemed oblivious to the frozen tundra inside our tent. But I knew I would be found frozen in the morning, a 50 year old white piece of meat all ready for cryogenic studies.

And then…of course…I found I needed to use the latrine. My brother, the expert camper who I love, had situated our tent about 100 yards away from the facilities. In the middle of the arctic, that distance equals 5 miles. I got up, all my layers still upon my body, put my shoes on and headed out for a 2 a.m. trek. My trusty flashlight led the way and I prayed every step. I prayed that the fear of being that bear’s midnight snack would not be realized. I prayed that my white bottom would not glow in the dark and provide a spotlight for said bear to target. In my frosty state, I tried to remember if I was supposed to run or get small and whimper. I couldn’t think so I cursed both Hunter and Betty.

I made it safely back to my tent. By that time, it occurred to me that using the sleeping bags like burritos would be a good choice. So I zipped up both, put one inside the other, crawled in and prayed that I would not die.

Morning light communicated that I had survived.

That day Phil informed me that sleeping bags are designed to reflect body heat and by taking off the many layers of clothes I’d worn, I would utilize the bag to its best intended use. That night I took his advice and wore very little as I scrunched up into the bags tossing and turning like a puppy trying to find the best position. Finally I found it and felt hope for reverie. However, the temperature again dropped quickly to at least 20 below. I shivered and turned and glared at sleeping John who was clueless to the misery of his wife. (The next day my brother Phil and our friend Bennie had the nerve to remark on how HOT the night had been…what???)

But in the great words of that Etta James song, AT LAST, I found peace and a tiny bit of warmth and hope for the future comfort of all that is my civilization.

Then I had to use the little girls’ room. Or in this case, everyone in the forest’s room.

A great debate ensued in my mind. Do I really need to go? How badly? Maybe I could just take the sleeping bags in to a dry cleaner. If so, I could experience warmth…at least for a little bit. My mind went further into contemplation, exploring my mortality and if it was indeed, time for me to buy Depends. Before I started shopping for nursing homes, I made my decision.

Wearing very little, I wrestled with my sleeping bags and got up to find my clothes and put them on. Many, many layers. I cursed my brother for a little bit and then I changed targets as I watched the hubs snore in deep sleep. Yes, I made noise as I changed. Purposeful, loud noise to try to wake him up. No use. He was gone.

Taking my flashlight, I trekked the tundra again, this time almost wishing those bears would come and eat me, ending my wretched woe. The box/bag greeted me like a mocking friend.

“Hi! I hoped you’d drop by.”

I sneered at it and dreamed of private ladies lounges with aromatic soaps and lotions and soft towels. The next morning, as I travelled to the lavatory, the water closet, the loo for the last time, I looked upon the broken down tree and the surrounding brush and forest and I became Scarlett O’Hara, (and mixed up some of her quotes.)

“As God is my witness,” I pledged, “I will make it home!” (This was said aloud in a Georgian accent – you need to know that detail) “I will say thank you to my restroom and I will not come back here. For tomorrow is another day! And not one for camping without running water!”

The great thing about being an adult living in America is that I don’t HAVE to ever camp again without running water. Unless the Commies invade us and hold a gun to my head, I never have to experience this again.

With that thought, I am thankful. I have found myself on occasion this week, passing by the bathroom and flushing for no particular reason. But I smile. As I flush, I flush with freedom, with liberty and justice for all. Amen.

(The camping trip did have some WONDERFUL moments. Sign up for my weekly Joyvotion by giving me your email and I will send you a devotion of the cool things God showed me on my camping trip.   J ) 

A New Perspective Under a Coat of Paint

“…that He who began a good work in you will perfect it until the day of Christ Jesus.” Philippians 1:6 (NASB)

3 Things I Hate:

  

 1) TV news anchors that engage in witty banter, pretending to be comedians

 2) The stair master at the gym 

 3) Asking for help 

In the midst of painting the inside of my home the other day, my friend Deb emerged from my son’s bathroom and said, “Well, the bathtub is clean.”

“What? Deb, did you clean the bathroom?!”

“Yes,” she said with a smile. “I wanted to bless you.”

A rush of emotions curled up in my stomach and punched me.  Embarrassment, humiliation and anger rolled into one.  “Deb, I asked you to help me paint, not clean.”

“Robbie, “My friend Sonya joined in, “Receive it. It’s a gift she wants to give you.’

This week I discovered that I have a little problem asking for assistance and a huge problem asking for guidance. We all have different gifts and talents and in my world, I was at recess when God gave out the gifts for painting, cleaning and decorating. My friend Sonya has an incredible gift for all three of these. A few weeks ago, I asked my friend Sonya for help in redoing my home. She didn’t hesitate in saying yes. This week was painting week. Sonya came into my home and assisted me and guided me into a more gorgeous and peaceful place to live.

Through this process, I’ve had to choose to be grateful for my friends instead of humiliated that I don’t have the abilities they have. I didn’t like that Deb cleaned my bathroom. It was so uncomfortable to accept that Sonya knew how to organize my cabinets in a way that made sense. A way that I haven't thought about. I cringed when I watched Lynn and Helen and Loretta paint and clean with such an intense knowledge and gusto when I felt that we should just quit and all go sit in a movie theatre and eat popcorn.

It was difficult.

And through it all, God knew that I needed these ladies to teach me that to receive with a grateful heart, even when it hurts, is to allow Him to complete His work in me. He is teaching me that showing the ugliness in my life to others (they actually were privy to seeing all that has grown behind my stove and under my kitchen sink) is showing God an open heart in which He can work.

These are lessons I could not begin to learn on my own. Philippians 1:6 reminds us even though we are works in progress, God is constantly working to perfect us. And many times He uses our friends to do this, but we have to be open to ask and receive.

And you should see my home. Beautiful! (Thank you Sonya, Deb, Loretta, Lynn and Helen!)

Just Keep Going

“Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete,

 not lacking anything.”  James 1:4

Dear Adina,

I feel for you. I hope we meet in Heaven so we can talk about how good our Lord was, even in the midst of our wanderings. I used to look down on you crazy Israelites and think, “Why can’t you just obey and get it together?” Sorry. I had no idea.

Your 2013 Gentile sister,

Robbie

I imagined an Israelite woman in the wilderness, wandering after leaving the slavery of Egypt. I named her Adina. She’d only known the slavery life and now she was on a trip to the Promised Land. She’d seen God’s power and actually walked through the Red Sea as it was miraculously parted. But then, the pain of wandering around the wilderness became a heavy burden. The pain was excruciating. She started thinking about Egypt. The pain of slavery was horrible but it was comfortable. It was all she knew. Maybe she should go back…

Almost 60 pounds gone. I’ve never lost this much weight before. Never have I possessed so much energy and felt such contentment with how I am treating my body.

Yet…

The pain is excruciating. I have such a long way to go. The Promised Land sounds great, but in order to get there I will have to face endless visits to the gym which always make me hurt. I will have to say no over and over again to the delights of sugary desserts and fried foods. Was being 60 pounds heavier that bad?

My friend Cheryl shared a song with me by Sara Groves called “Painting Pictures of Egypt.” The song talks about this kind of journey. These lines from that song reflect my heart:

The future feels so hard and I want to go back

But the places that used to fit me cannot hold the things I’ve learned

Those roads were closed off to me while my back was turned.

I have to go on. I have to persevere.

And I’m not alone.

The other day I was on my way to a personal training appointment and I prayed something like this: God, You do miracles, I know You do. If you wanted to, You could come to the gym with me and take away my pain. You could make it where it didn’t hurt so much.

What I heard in response: Why don’t you take today to thank Me for every muscle that aches and for your heart when you think it’s going to beat right out of your chest. Appreciate your body today.

So I tried. I prayed through every drop of sweat and every horrible burn. At one point, Mona, my trainer, said, “We are now off to the stair-master. Your favorite!” (Sarcasm)

I whispered “Lord Jesus help me.” Mona replied with an evil little laugh. “Oh, he can’t help you here, honey.”

It was a joke, I know, but I was SO in tune with God’s presence I snapped back, “Oh yes, He can! In fact, He is with me every step of the way in here. And there’s this huge body-builder angel who helps me lift things, too.”

Obviously taken aback, Mona held up both hands and said, “Okay, okay.”

So I, like Adina, am wandering in the wilderness. God has pulled me out of slavery, but I am not in the Promised Land yet. I am not alone though. The Spirit is with me and has even assigned George, (my name for that body-building angel) to give me a hand.

If you are in any kind of situation that needs a bit of perseverance, be encouraged friend and don’t give up. Don’t go back. Take His courage and keep going.

Just keep going. 

The OTHER Still Small Voice

“May these words of my mouth and this meditation of my heart be pleasing in your sight, Lord, my Rock and my Redeemer.” Psalm 19:14

A woman found an old school picture of herself taken in the fifth grade. She looked at herself and thought, “You cute little thing.” The woman turned the picture over and saw that she had written a note to her dad on it.

Dad, to my father who I love and who is wonderful to me.

I love you. I’m sorry I’m so ugly.

Love, your daughter.

That little girl was me.

The words hurt my heart. What a beautiful little girl I was. Why did I think I was ugly? After some soul searching, it occurred to me words like those began earlier in third grade after someone I had a crush on was cruel to me. His words became my words. So began a life of hearing a cruel voice inside my head.

I recently read a new novel called Invisible by Ginny Yttrup. The main character Ellyn deals with “Earl,” an inner voice who tells her she is fat. It was jarring to read at first and then it occurred to me that I’ve dealt with my own “Earl” for a long time.

After I got married, my inner voice came out a lot. I’d bump into a corner or I’d make a mistake and my inner “Earl” would speak aloud.

 “I’m so stupid.”

 “Come on, Robbie, can’t you do anything right?”

After a few months, John sat me down with an extremely serious look. He said, “Listen to me. NO ONE talks to my wife that way, not even you!”

I heard him and began a journey to shut Earl up, in my words aloud and my thoughts. So he doesn’t talk often but he still makes appearances.

The words we tell ourselves our incredibly powerful. I’m in the middle of a weight loss journey and I have conversations with myself about temptation all the time. Again, God used a line out of Invisible to teach me. Ellyn is eating and God whispers to her heart. “You don’t love food more than me, you trust food more than me.”

For me, it was a profound statement. In my conversations with myself and God, I’ve often commented, “God, what is wrong with me? I love You more than chocolate. I do!”

So my words have changed. This week I’ve said over and over, “God I TRUST YOU more than _________ (chocolate, bread, ice cream) to fulfill me, to heal my restlessness, to calm my fear.”

And these words have made a major impact.

The still small voice of the Spirit longs to be our “go-to” inner voice. His is a voice of gentle love and encouragement. “Earl,” on the other hand, just wants to tear down.

If I had a school picture of myself right now, I’d look at her and say, “You cute woman” and I’d write on the back a note to my Father in Heaven.

Abba Daddy, to my Father who is wonderful to me.

 Thank you for making me in Your Image,

a beautiful woman simply because I reflect You.

Your daughter, Robbie