7
March

This Is Her Story: We’re Not at Happily Ever After Yet.

Carmen Smith is a 31 year-old wife to an incredibly handsome, incredibly bearded fellow and
mom to one precious daughter, Charlotte Grace. She and her family currently live in Florence, SC.

Carmen values discipleship of women and loves playing a small role in true bible literacy of women. She blogs (sometimes) over at thesmittysbittys.wordpress.com.  On a typical day, you can find her chasing her toddler, fighting insomnia, or laughing at a viral video or meme. Or a combination of all three simultaneously.

Social media brands have claimed stake on the word “stories.” Instagram stories. SnapChat stories. Sometimes you find yourself in the throes of living vicariously through someone’s “story”. Celebrating with them, laughing with them, or even hurting with them. What seems to be consistent, though, is there is always a piece missing. You never get the full story.

My outside story: A combination of a bearded stud of a husband, a REALLY (really) cute little girl, and in general, a lot of fun.

My inside story: Deep pain and grief.

When I came to know the Lord at 25 years old, my life changed very quickly. Within a year I met and married the love of my life and within another year we realized the Lord was calling us to be parents WAY sooner than either of us thought (especially me).

Our outside story: A happily married couple who, in December of 2014, made a fun announcement to social media telling people to hold on to their stockings because our first baby was on its way.

Our inside story: We had been to several doctors because after trying for almost a year, I knew something wasn’t right. It was not only sadness, but real anger with the Lord (and everyone else) every time I got another negative pregnancy test. I knew something was wrong. Better yet, I knew the problem was not with Jordan; it was with me. I was broken. My body wasn’t doing what it was supposed to. Yes, we got to make that announcement to social media and it was a day I will never forget, but on the inside, I was terrified. Terrified it wasn’t real. Terrified that nobody would even care enough to celebrate with us. Honestly, I was terrified that someone who had been trying to have a baby like we had would be offended or broken hearted at our announcement just like I had been EVERY time someone announced their news in the time that we were trying.

Fast forward to 2016. Our daughter had turned one and we both knew that the whole “accidental” or even natural pregnancy thing wouldn’t happen for us. We knew we would need more help to make my body do what it was supposed to do to even prepare for a baby. We knew the Lord was able. We trusted and we prayed. We were ready to grow our family. We made the appointment to talk to our doctor about starting up the treatments again like last time. Only the Lord had a surprise. We got pregnant on our own. Naturally. We were floored. We couldn’t believe it, but we also knew that God was in it from DAY ONE. We went to Charleston to celebrate our anniversary in October and to quietly celebrate between us two that we were getting to expand our family.

Our outside story: Husband and wife celebrating a wedding anniversary, window shopping at fancy stores and eating all the food we could indulge in this side of the sin of gluttony.

Our inside story: A visit to an ER. At dinner, I felt a gush of blood at the dinner table. Something was wrong. Sparing many details, the Lord, again, showed up. The baby was FINE! We cried with one another and celebrated how faithful the Lord was. Monday we came home and went to our doctor and saw that precious baby moving its arms and legs. Our radiology tech (who also goes to our church) celebrated with us at the Lord’s provision. We talked with our close friend about her taking pictures of us to announce the pregnancy 2 weeks later on a Sunday.

That Monday everything changed. I had my 12 week checkup. I just didn’t feel right. The past two weeks, my pregnancy symptoms that were SO STRONG just slowly started going away. He checked for the heartbeat and couldn’t find one with a Doppler but since it was early, he wasn’t concerned but sent me to ultrasound. Our same ultrasound tech that celebrated with us 3 weeks prior was the one who then had to tell us, “I don’t hear a heartbeat, guys.” Total darkness came over my entire life in that instant.

The Lord and I wrestled hard in the next little while. I don’t know that I’ve felt this kind of anger toward the Lord before. There were days where I very much hated everything and everyone. I told my therapist I saw through this that I just don’t feel like talking to Him or reading the Bible because I’m just so mad so I’m avoiding him instead. He so kindly reassured me that I actually am connecting with him but right now my connection is a fight. It’s a wrestle and that’s okay.

I never had a father figure growing up but in 31 years of living, almost 6 years being His daughter, I truly feel this is the first raw father/daughter moment we have had. We’ve had our moments. Trust me. But in this moment, it was me, slamming my door in my room like a teenager because He told me that I couldn’t have something that I asked really nicely for and thought I was ready to handle. I’m sitting on my bed weeping and screaming, “You suck! You don’t love me! I thought You trusted me” and what I’m doing is hoping He does not try to come into my room, yet looking up through my tears to see if I can find the shadow of His feet at the bottom crack of my door. I am secretly waiting for Him to turn the handle, come sit on the bed with me, and gently put his hand on my leg and let me yell at Him and cry even louder.

Our outside story: We are moving on and finding joy in the small things.

Our inside story: As recently as last month, in another round of our fertility treatments, we got a positive pregnancy test on a Monday, a positive pregnancy test on a Tuesday, had blood work done on Wednesday, and got the call Thursday it was negative. Chemical pregnancy. An early miscarriage. Again. To say my anger was rekindled towards the Lord is an understatement.

My flesh is bent to run. I’m an avoider. Let me tell you – this pain does not go away. This is not something you can run from. I even had a sweet friend tell me that this may be the Lord’s way of telling me that my running has to stop. My avoiding Him has to stop. In the Bible, James tells us to draw near to God and He will draw near to us. The reality is He already is near. I know He’s here. To be honest, I can try to say all I want that I haven’t heard Him speak since that day but even through my “I’m not talking to you” days (which I’m still struggling to get out of) all I heard over and over when I was begging Him to tell me where He was were the words “I’m here.” The reality is, that has to be enough.

Praise be to Christ that He has put into place women close to me to speak life into my areas that seem dead. To speak light into areas that still seem dark. I could not do this alone. When my emotions get the best of me, I have to be surrounded by women who can remind me of the truth. His truth. That His grace is sufficient and that He is my gift. In the end, our life is not measured in the tangible gifts He gives. Our gift is HIM. He initiates, sustains, and fulfills. He is our source, supply, and goal. We haven’t lost hope. We aren’t sure how our outside or inside story will end, but we know that He is working even when we feel abandoned and forgotten. To Christ alone be the glory and may His light shine brightly through our pain.

                                                                                               Carmen Smith, Guest Blogger

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1
March

Once Upon a Time in a Seasonless Land with Soggy Air, There Lived a Girl Who Thought Too Much.

story of a woman


Two matters of business before we proceed.

One, the subject in the featured image is not our protagonist. Her hair is far too smallish and unaffected to be native to the humid southland of our tale. Unsplash has no collection of stunning photographs of girls with frizzy, misbehaving, drenched, matted hair. Photog friends, I have found a niche.

Two, many of you clicked this link because you thought, “This could be about me.” I knew I could count on the Sisterhood of Southern Over-Analyzers. Thanks for playing along.

_______________

Once upon a time in a seasonless land with soggy air, there lived a girl who thought too much. Her mind was populated by a dense forest of trees that reached skyward and spread to the horizon from every angle. She stood at its center and tried to run in all directions at once, liquifying into thinness and leaking as tiny rivulets down the wandering paths between the pines. Only her bushy, messy bun retained its volume.

She drank too much coffee to help her overthink faster. She packed the boxcars of her time like a fiendish hoarder so her legs might outpace her concerns. And then she flapped in the wind behind her runaway train.

Because busyness was a celebrated self-medication.

Some called it hustle. Some called it magnanimous. She deemed it necessary. Because stillness gobbled her up. A good day swallowed all the margin where fear lived.

An indentured servant to “Yes.”

A hostage to the secret things buried beneath the forest floor.

Abused by doubt and uncertainty.

She plucked the silky curtain of her cheek with her teeth to divert the sensory attention her body lent the angry tigers wrestling in her belly. They bit and clawed and roared and twisted leaving her insides raw. A feverish hole where anxiety nested.

She presumed upon the future, forfeit the present, and obsessed about the past. She was beset by worry, bullied by lies, paralyzed by the opinions of others, and half-convinced she might be certifiably crazy. She was choked by guilt, hounded by shame, waterboarded by unhealed hurt, and drawn and quartered by her own unmet expectations.

And she was solitarily confined.

Regardless of how many people inhabited her existence; they knew nothing of the forest where she leaked like rivulets down the wandering paths between the pines.

So she ate chocolate.

And stayed locked away. Running and escaping without progress. She lived in exile in the circular province of her thinking.

_______________

 I am an expatriate of the circular province of my thinking. I’ve completed a few tours of duty on that unkind land, and I’m here to share a secret.

There is passage through the pines.

It’s a scary course, and no part of you will want to cooperate. You’ll have to manhandle your very own self, which we do terribly.

But we don’t have to suffer the overwhelming oppression of our brains.

Are you ready?

Here it is.

Lean in closer.

Stand on the edge of the thicket with a brilliant torch and lead someone in. Invite someone in. Into the jungle of your mind and feelings and hurts and fears and insecurities. Not the landscaped perimeter. The wooly, overgrown center.

Because the forest isn’t a dangerous place to be; it’s just a dangerous place to be alone.

Twice I have asphyxiated on the stale air of my entombed hurt. And twice I experienced a cool, resuscitating breeze through the pines as I led someone in. My lungs struggled to accommodate this new wind, burning in a cleansing, difficult way.

But there was passage through the pines.

And it led to a spacious place whose topography was peace. Whose climate was restorative.

Invite someone in. 

_______________

Storytelling is a harrowing journey to mending. There is a measure of instant healing that occurs when we push the hard words from our mouths; they relinquish their role as jailer. The work of healing just begins there, but in a realm where the labor takes so much time and effort, I was slack-jawed at the now liberation that follows hurt dressed in words.

During the month of March, we want to encourage you in your story set in a dense forest of trees that reach skyward and spread to the horizon from every angle. We will be sharing the voices of seven different women between the blog and the Tenacious Grace Facebook page, and you don’t want to miss a one.

These brave ladies have agreed to stand at the edge of the thicket with a brilliant torch to lead you in. To their stories. So that you might be strengthened in your own.

We’re inviting you in.

To ensure you don’t miss any of these posts, you can subscribe to the blog (in the sidebar) and like and follow our FB page.

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23
January

The Silent Contingent: Words from a Woman who did not march or celebrate the inauguration of Donald Trump

My skin is jumping with an electrical charge right now. I sped home after dropping the girls off at school, shaking my hands at the wrist. An involuntary tic akin to seizing. Its rapidity and energy escalated as my thoughts raced and my anxiety climbed.

There are words inside me fighting to escape. They’ve been restless and antsy, vocal yet unintelligible. For days they’ve bounced like a current looking for an outlet but with no real shape or message.

Today they began to march. To a rhythmic cadence along my bloodstream. They congested all avenues of thought and overwhelmed the streets of my insides. They are not angry but they are afire with conviction. They will be heard even if there are no ears to listen.

And this is what they say, my words. They say…

“I will not like or comment on your political posts. I do not like your political parties or your brand of angry free speech. I do not like your doomsday vitriol or your celebration of division. I do not like your classless arrogance in either direction. It sickens me.

But I do love you. Not because love’s in fashion. Not because tolerance is sexy. Because I’m pretty intolerant of biting nastiness…..I don’t care which side of the aisle you espouse. Not because you think like me. Not because you believe like me. Not because you hurt like me.

I love you – gay, legalist, feminist, conservative, black, white, yellow, red – because that is the posture most consistent with how we’re made. That’s where personal purpose and fulfillment reside. Anonymous anger feels good in a crowd. It temporarily quells that involuntary tic akin to seizing; it calms the marching ants trying to breakout. But it leaves a residue on our souls.

I did not vote for either of your candidates. And you can be angry about that too. But the same freedom that allows you to march and protest and vote for a man of questionable character affords me the right to vote my conscience.

I believe there are many like me, people who voted both sides of the ticket, who are the quiet contingent.

We are not quiet because we don’t have anything to say.

We are not quiet because we are ignorant.

We are not quiet because we are apathetic.

We are quiet because there is no climate for listening.

I am hungry for discourse.

Sane, kind words bent towards understanding. We will not enter your melee. We will not bloody you with our words nor will we invite your unproductive rants.

I am a woman who was sexually abused as a child by a man in spiritual and familial authority over me. But I am no less a woman because I will not march with a placard.  I am also no less a patriot because I will not support a man who devalues women.

Go for it, angry friends. Throw your elbows and force change if you can.

But there will be a corps of us in the pockets of America who are believing in the subversive acts of loving, listening, and championing. You may not hear us. You may not see us on Fox News or MSNBC but you can be certain of a quiet revolution. And it will look like people who are different from each other sitting down to gently nurture healing and understanding.

Discount us if you will; mock us as naive if it feels good. But at the end of the day, we will be able to point to real individuals with real names and real histories and real challenges whose lives are significantly and measurably better because we stewarded our fight well.”

The marching has slowed. The current expressed. And that is what they had to say, my words.

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31
December

Spilling the Secret to Living Your Life Like a Boss

We are not sissies.

Or whiners.

We’re not quitters.

Or victims.

Here’s to doing the hard things in 2017.

I don’t really subscribe to the New Year’s resolution. In fact, I have vegetables in my refrigerator that will outlast most of the declarations of change blowing on the wind today.

But I am a sucker for a good starting point. The writer in me likes a rich, symbolic beginning: birthdays, anniversaries, the start of school or summer, the start of a new job…………and a new year.

So…..I’m wondering……can we make a collective commitment here for 2017? Something akin to a group resolution? Perhaps if we do it together, we might actually see it through to some sort of success. A support group for strong women who want to be stronger. If we could all persist in doing one thing that could make the most dramatic difference in our lives in the next twelve months, I think it would be this…

I will do the hard things.

This single determination will decide the impact of our 2017.

Hands down.

Without question.

So what is the landscape of “the hard things”? They’re the things that live on an incline. They’re hard to reach, and your inner naysayer will venomously suggest they require more than you have.

But you are stronger than you know. And you will only touch that by testing the bounds. By pushing you harder than you ever have.

It may look like getting healthy, losing weight, making better food choices, exercising self-discipline, running a 10K.

It may look like intentionally loving and serving a hard, distant spouse while allowing Jesus to fill your need to be loved and protected. It may look like choosing to forgive a cheating spouse for your own freedom and health. It may look like marriage counseling – with or without your spouse.

That’s the hard thing.

It may look like brave, honest, scary, big steps to beat an addiction. Maybe it’s checking yourself into rehab.

It may look like opening your mouth to someone you trust to say, “I’m drowning and I need help.” And then following through with difficult action steps.

It may be the heavy lifting of faith. Believing what we know when our feelings are screaming something different. Such unreliable wretches our feelings are.

If it feels like it may kill you, you’re probably on the right track.

It may be removing yourself from social media because the comparison and the falsehood devours your soul.

It may be doing the thing that terrifies you.

Maybe it’s a difficult confession. A secret that imprisons you with fear and lies. If I know anything, I know the haunt of the hidden. And the healing that is possible with its release.

It may be committing to get up and shower and dress every morning when the depression beckons you to stay in bed. To go outside and walk around the block for fresh air. To go to dinner with friends. When you feel like every step and every breath is a slogging through the mud of heaviness and hopelessness.

It may be making huge sacrifices to get out of debt.

It may be a dogged persistence to awaken at 5:30 to spend time with Jesus. And don’t dare tell me you can’t. We do what’s important to us. It will take a while to create that habit, so don’t cop out the first week with, “I just can’t.” Rubbish. You can do it, friend.

I will do the hard things.

And if we do great for ten days and suck on Day 11. Then we get our butts up on Day 12 and get back after it.

And if we suck for the whole month of April. Then we start again on May 1.

It’s really not how many days we win that will determine our success. It’s what we do the day after we fail that will. Failure is part of the process. Expect it. Use it. If we allow it to fuel our efforts, we will last for the long haul.

That’s the hard thing.

That’s how we change.

That’s how we LIVE.

We were made to do hard things, but we coddle our lazy, scared selves and call it self-preservation. We call it our right. We claim it as our luxury. Frightfully, we may even call it wisdom. When it’s deluded self-sabotage.

We were fashioned to do hard things.

We will dig deep, friends.

And there will be two vital principles we must espouse for success.

  1. I will not despise the day of small beginnings (Zechariah 4:10). This is the graveyard of dreams and goals. Look around; the headstones mark the heart’s desires of millions. In loud, showy, sparkly, sexy, BIG America, we have lost respect for the small, good thing. We think our “thing” is only valid if it impresses thousands, costs thousands, or helps thousands. Garbage. The new American Dream (big on fast, short on effort) is a societal construct not consistent with our inner fabric. Newly married couples should have houses furnished with hand-me-downs not debt. Folks trying to lose weight should celebrate two pounds a week. Folks following a dream have to wake up, believe, and work hard even when that twenty-four hours holds no signs of progress. We cannot languish in the days of small beginnings; we cannot underestimate the impact of simply sticking with a thing day after day.
  2. I will have a long-term goal with a short-term perspective. We must daily slay the temptation to feel overwhelmed. For instance, my body is vertically challenged and bent towards roundness. If I told myself, “You have to eat healthy and exercise for the rest of your life if you want to maintain a healthy weight,” I would want to quit before I started. That sounds daunting and terrible. But if I just have to do it today, that feels totally doable. I can exercise and eat healthy for one day. And then I wake up tomorrow and tell myself the same thing. Because a whole bunch of todays stapled together make a month. They make a new habit. They make a changed life.

Whatever your “thing” is for the next season of life, fight on, fierce one. I’m cheering you on all the way. I’m believing in you even when you’re not. I’ve got faith you can borrow. Because you were made for better things.

And we will not be selfish in the fight. We will not get up simply to make our lives more palatable. To be happier. To focus on me, me, me. We will use our strength to help and serve and love.

And, in the end, we will find ourselves happier, more whole, more fulfilled than we ever dreamed possible.

Here’s to doing the hard things in 2017.

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15
December

How to Make Your Dollar Go Farther This Christmas…

I met with a man this week who is willing to give me his house.

For free.

For real.

That was a first for me.

Hold up…..let me fill you in on the backstory.

——————–

A year and a half ago I met Keisha. In jail. She was about half way through a three-year incarceration. She had grown up in a good home: two parents, a brother, raised in church, gave her life to Jesus around the age of six, and was baptized then. A storybook beginning.

Until Keisha turned 12.

She caught the itch of rebellion and took a hard right off the straight and narrow. She was an unwed mother and in an abusive relationship with the father of her sons at age 13. Bad choices led to more bad choices, an apathetic attitude, and a disrespect for authority and others in general.

Her trajectory was set towards jail from the onset of adolescence.

Fast forward 20 years on that path and Keisha is incarcerated on December 5, 2013. Once she walked in, she did not walk out for three years.

And though Keisha had taken a detour from God’s blueprint for her life, His plan for her would not be thwarted. She brought her hard, defiant perspective into the detention center when she was booked, but this was His response…

Since she tried it His way, she has been baptized again, seen the Lord bless her with and develop her spiritual gifts, and grown into this crazy vibrant relationship with Him.

Six weeks ago, I received a call from a number I didn’t recognize. Which is not all that uncommon. I don’t answer calls from numbers I don’t know. Who am I kidding? I don’t answer calls from numbers I do know (I abhor talking on the phone).

The next day I received a call from the same number. And this time there was a voicemail.

When I listened, I heard Keisha’s voice on the other end, “I’m at home, Mrs. Cookie! I was released yesterday.”

And I really am as spastic as you might guess, so I started screamining. “AAAAHHHHH! WHAT!?!?!? How did this happen?? I just saw you on Sunday. We just prayed together on Sunday, and we did not know you might go to court. Tell me what happened!!!!!!!”

Since Keisha’s release, we have spoken every few days, enjoyed several lunch dates, and filmed a few interviews. I’ve had the opportunity to walk beside her and witness the challenges that accompany freedom after a long incarceration…

After a year and a half of jail ministry, I am confident we can do better. I have witnessed the unlikelihood of success when a woman comes in and sees Jesus use incarceration to protect her and woo her, and then we send her back into circumstances that haven’t changed. As great as the changes in her may be, the assault on God’s work in her life is IMMEDIATE upon release.

I am telling you, it is no wonder many return to decades-old destructive choices.

Enter the vision for Five Sparrows.

It is the long-term vision of Tenacious Grace to bring a transition home for formerly incarcerated women to the Pee Dee – Five Sparrows (based on Luke 12:6). A safe place dedicated to providing the support and scaffolding critical to these ladies’ ability to write a new story with Jesus. Spiritual stability, community, encouragement, life skills, counseling, accountability, and job connections to name a few.

The need is present.

The need is great.

And as confident as I am of my own name, I am confident this vision is from the Lord. It is consistent with His heart for the oppressed, the marginalized, and the captive:


 “Then these righteous ones will reply, ‘Lord, when did we ever see you hungry and feed you? Or thirsty and give you something to drink? Or a stranger and show you hospitality? Or naked and give you clothing? When did we ever see you sick or in prison and visit you?’

 “And the King will say, ‘I tell you the truth, when you did it to one of the least of these my brothers and sisters, you were doing it to me!’”

Matthew 25:37-40 (NLT)

One way I know it’s from Him is because I didn’t like the idea initially. Well, I LOVED the idea, but not its attachment to me. I suggested He tell someone else to do it. In a very Moses-like fashion, I have assured Him I can’t do this. I have told Him it’s too hard. I don’t know how to raise money. We, the Tenacious Grace team, have a lot to learn about recovery programs and recidivism. I have bargained and tried to convince Him this is too big for us. Yet He is unpersuaded.

He listens. He smiles. And each time He reminds me so very little of this depends on us.

So. With no confidence in myself but all the faith in my God, I tell you this thing is going to happen. Write it in your Bible. Write in your journal. Write it somewhere you can come back and appreciate God’s faithfulness.

It will happen.

I may get hit by a bus tomorrow, but His vision will persist to fruition.

Now back to the house…

——————–

We have been sharing and casting this vision for the past six months, and we’ve gotten connected with a homeowner who is willing to donate his home to Tenacious Grace for Five Sparrows.

Isn’t it too perfect?

But here’s the thing. It’s on their family land and has to be moved to make way for the house they’re building.

We are looking for partners who believe in this vision, and here’s how you can get involved, depositing your dollars into someone’s future and providing hope…

How can you invest in the futures of formerly incarcerated women?

  • Get Keisha connected to a job opportunity in Darlington County. Like yesterday. This is our most immediate desire. As we are walking with her through her transition, this is vital to her future. She is warm, super capable, loves Jesus, and ready to hit the ground running. Make some calls and help us help her.
  • Donate financially and consider scheduling a recurring gift. At the very least, it will cost $18,000 to move the house, about the same to repair it once it’s relocated, and we’ll also have the expense of laying a foundation before the move. And this speaks nothing of insurance, operating expenses, etc… (I had to cut the list short as I was starting to hyperventilate). As a registered nonprofit, your donation is tax-deductible, and we will supply a contribution letter for your tax purposes. If you prefer to give by check, our mailing address is Tenacious Grace, PO Box 7611, Florence SC 29502.
  • Land. We are looking for 10-15 acres of rural land to allow for growth and expansion. And we’re looking for someone to donate it. Someone who would love to see their property used for eternal purposes.
  • Share this blog post. Comment on it. Like it if you see someone else share it. Help us use the Facebook algorithm to get in front of people outside of our current circle of influence. The more you interact with this post, the more Facebook will keep it cycling in front of people.

You are officially invited.

Invited to be a part of something bigger than you and bigger than me. Invited to invest in impact that will outlive us when our dollar’s buying power is usually spent on short-lived gratification. Our belief in God’s vision fuels our faith in His provision, and you and I have the opportunity for a front row seat.

Because here’s the reality, God’s already at the groundbreaking for Five Sparrows. And He’s already at Day One of Five Sparrows. And even more than that, he’s already at the Five-Year Anniversary of Five Sparrows; we just have to hang on in belief and work hard.

Thank you…

Thank you for believing with us in what God wants to do through this ministry.

Thank you for believing that Jesus cares about the marginalized.

Thank you for believing that He means to take care of those society considers disposable.

We are humbled and honored by your partnership. Merry Christmas!

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