The calendar pages flutter in the breeze reminding me that summer is behind us. Autumn has arrived and with it comes my birthday week. My heart vacillates somewhere between trepidation and excitement.  Deep in my soul I know that every day is a gift- before my feet hit the floor I breathe in and out. I thank God for a new day and do my best to recognize that it is His breath in my lungs. But, I would be less than honest to not share a bit of the trepidation…

For women like us, it starts with our morning routine. I do some stretches in bed under the sheets to wake up those joints. After matcha, breakfast, and time in my Bible, I head upstairs. Then it begins. I smile and greet the collection of jars: anti-aging eye cream carefully designed to hide fine lines and puffiness, oil and moisturizer for those hard- to-hide wrinkles, and to round things out some light anti-aging foundation designed to plump up one’s skin and conceal any inconsistencies in skin tone.

For women like us, I imagine a different marketing strategy.  Some pro-laughter eye cream beautifully formulated to highlight the number of times JOY has made its way to my eyes. Perhaps some oil and moisturizer to announce to the world how many sleepless nights were spent rocking a newborn baby. And… to round things out some light pro-aging foundation, designed to let my husband see my skin as a testament to the decades of love we’ve shared.

For women like us, I would like to have a cup of tea with the creators of the commercials who encourage us to ditch our original hair color, lose another 5 pounds, slather on as much cream as possible in the battle against cellulite, and try- really strive- to look at least 10 years younger than the number on our driver’s license.

What would I say to them? I would remind them that my hair, my weight, and yes- my cellulite- will never define me. They will never know how many times I’ve laughed so hard I cried and may or may not have peed my pants. They can never estimate the worth of those 5 pounds as they cushioned my hip when I held a fussy baby there. And they will never understand the grab bag of emotions that my skin wears today: the graduations, the weddings, the births, the deaths, and the scars that surgery leaves in its wake.

For women like us, I want to remember that our birthday weeks are a celebration of our stories.  That before we were even babies, God was dreaming of us. He was thinking: “And now I am going to write the story of Pam, Kate, Denise, Beth, Joy, Margaret, etc., etc., etc., etc., etc.”  And He was smiling- knowing exactly how He would weave every moment of Joy, Sorrow, Fear, and Excitement into those stories. He was covering our hearts, our spirits with such a warm blanket of Love and Acceptance that if we ever realize the depth of that Love- we will be completely awestruck.

For women like us, I envision our Heavenly Father exhaling, grinning, and exclaiming, “TA-DA!” as He fashioned our hair, our skin, our eyes, our souls.

For women like us, I blow out my candle and make a wish. I wish for another calendar year, another chance for Life to write the passage of Time on my face and body.   For women like us, I want to try- really strive- to remember that when it is time to go Home, I want to look like I spent my years. For women like us, I want to put fresh flowers on the kitchen table “just because,” light those new candles, and use that beautiful china on a random Wednesday night.

For women like us…

I have never been one to believe I have audibly heard the voice of God.  I have felt His Presence living within me. I have enjoyed “God Winks” as He communicates to me that there is no such thing as coincidence. I have discerned His Hand directing me to respond or act in a certain fashion which I believe was God-inspired.  But, I have never heard God’s Voice speak directly to me. Until last Sunday…

The morning’s Worship was incredible- the message, the music, the palpable love of God in the room. The teaching was from the life of Moses, specifically The Red Sea “situation.” The message was straightforward:

• Don’t be fearful.
• Don’t be forgetful. Remember God’s Faithfulness in your past.
• Be still.

That’s when I heard it:

“Be still, and let Me lead.”

The words were a sacred echo in my mind, refusing to leave my thoughts. “Be still, and let Me lead.”   When was the last time I had let Him lead?  I blushed.  I couldn’t remember. I am a “get your list together, accomplish the task, do your research” kind of girl. What does it look like?  What does it mean to lead and to follow?

According to Laura Riva’s, “Lead Vs. Follow: What Do the Roles Really Mean?”, The Lead and The Follow are opposite sides of the same coin that are essential for the perfect partner dance.  The Lead becomes the ‘picture frame,’ providing the space where the dance takes place.  The Lead is the Director, carefully orchestrating the dance and crafting a vision for the performance and a plan to get there.   He is the Navigator, paying close attention to detail and organizing the structure, spacing, pace, and timing.  A good Lead takes care of the Follow, ensuring that her movements bring beauty and purpose to the picture frame.  A good Lead is decisive and never asks the Follow to take over as the Director.

The Follow’s role is “to respond and interpret the signals of the Lead. The Follow has the luxury of giving herself completely to the flow of the dance with no worries about what comes next.  She is the Actress, partnering with the Lead, her Director,  to deliver an extraordinary performance.  A good Follow never sacrifices the partnership in order to fulfill her own solitary vision.

Why were these words- to lead and to follow- uppermost in my mind?

You see, last Thursday I stepped down from a position I have held for the past six years. The writing portion of my job was coming to a close. There would be work for me to do for anywhere from six weeks to six months, but it would mostly consist of  inputting data. My spirit had been telling me for a while now that a season was ending.  Yet, after I made the decision to step down, my feet slipped into ‘Pam mode.’ I began frantically planning my next move and experienced my very first panic attack: sweaty palms, racing heartbeat, swirling thoughts. I took over the role of the Director and began dancing at an awkward, uncomfortable pace.

That’s when I heard His Voice. “Be still, and let Me lead.” So, I am handing Him the picture frame and surrendering to His structure, spacing, pace, and timing. This leaves me free.  Free to listen, Available to be cast in a new role, Open to His direction. My Heavenly Father is taking my hand. I can finally hear the music, and it is breathtaking.

“Be still, and know that I am God…”

-Psalm 46:10

What I Know for Sure…

1. Anticipation of a major life event is usually worse than the actual event itself.
2. Your dog will always believe you are a rock star, and lives every moment to affirm this belief.
3. Sleep is often the best antidote for a weary spirit.
4. Friends who make you laugh are priceless.
5. Tomato soup with grilled cheese sandwiches (cut in triangles) is the mother of all comfort foods.
6. You always weigh more when you go for a check-up than you did last night.
7. Allowing yourself to be sad for 15 minutes and then moving on is therapeutic.
8. Sometimes a girl just needs some dark chocolate.
9. Brain fog is real after the age of 50.
10. Wearing a bra is highly overrated.
11. You always need to fill your gas tank when you are exhausted.
12. Talking with the Creator soothes the soul.
13. A mate who agrees to ‘dialogue’ with you is irreplaceable.
14. Giving birth is the closest you get to living through your own death.
15. Your computer secretly laughs at your errors.
16. Some people are just mean, but most people are kind.
17. Your children can make and break your heart.
18. Reading God’s Word brings you into His Presence.
19. Sisters are friends who have to love you.
20. You must have an Ending to have a Beginning…

It started quietly. I almost missed it. Just a ripple at first, then a small wave, and soon a tsunami. The edges of my life, jagged and worn, didn’t seem to fit as the corner pieces of my existence. It was as if someone had picked the box of puzzle pieces up and began shaking them until chaos reigned. The shapes and colors of the pieces were out of focus and no longer matched the spirit within.

The thoughts swirling inside my head were loud, fast, and scattered. The woman I used to be watched in disbelief as I sat in the rubble. Sifting through the ashes with my fingers, I held the me who resided there. Mommy, Teacher, People Pleaser, Guilt Carrier, Regret Keeper. She looked so young to me as I held her hand, a little unsure of herself, and trying. Always trying so hard.

Placing the ashes carefully in a beautiful box, I looked up at the night sky. The stars were peeking through and light washed over me. I felt my God’s Presence and heard Him whisper. I followed his loving instruction and displayed the beautiful box where I could be reminded, but not overtaken by where I’d been.  He brushed my knees off, offered His Hand, and pointed to a path up ahead.

I can only see a few steps ahead of me on the path. But I move forward regardless. He doesn’t leave me. He is my steady hand as I stumble over tree roots and follow the twists and turns along the way.  I laugh as I comprehend what He is teaching me. It is time for a re-boot. The debris was necessary for the remaking. He will use some of the ashes for the reshaping and hand me new corner pieces with vibrant colors and softened edges.

I’m glad I didn’t miss it. I’m delighted He didn’t leave me as is.  Every fear, every ache, every scar is a glorious part of  the remaking. Remaking: a verb, a present participle, no less.  Present, Here, Now.  A new and different version. I smile- I can’t wait to get to know her.

“See, I am doing a new thing!

Now it springs up;

Do you not perceive it?

I am making a way in the wilderness,

and streams in the wasteland.”

-Isaiah 43:19