Boundaries.

Let's talk about boundaries.

Oh, I love 'em. And sometimes I hate 'em--but most of the time, I love 'em.

Remember when I talked about The Slow Down? It's another term for boundaries.

I used to be really bad about boundaries.  Like if you asked me to do your laundry, I'd probably say "yes"--even if I had only met you 10 minutes earlier.  I'm a compassionate soul (as most people who are horrible with boundaries tend to be), and I would pretty much allow myself to be a doormat in order for someone else to be happy.

And then, somewhere down the line, I got angry when I had an epiphany that I didn't have to be a doormat. I realized how much I had been played. I was tired and not fulfilled in my own life or desires.  I had spent all my time living up to what I thought I should be doing or what I thought someone else thought I should be doing. Or what someone else did-in-fact think I should be doing. Not to mention, I was endowed with "God-pleasing" syndrome.  It's that ugly religious thing that makes you think you have to "do" something for God to be happy with you. Lies--all of 'em!

And then somewhere around 25 years of age, I had a midlife crisis.

Apparently, I was ahead of the game--cause I sure plan on living longer than 50 years.

The other week I was praying about resentment. Yup, resentment.  It usually sneaks it's ugly head up when I've forgiven someone more than multiple times--and then I keep getting "pooped on"--for lack of better terms.  I asked God how I could deal with this resentment. I didn't want to be resentful--and I didn't want to be pooped on.  My compassionate and sometimes horribly boundaried side wanted so badly for change to occur, and my "you don't deserve that" and more protective (and sometimes isolating side) was over it.

And then ya know what He showed me?  A picture of a bull.  It was behind a gate--hoofing and snorting breaths out of it's nose.  It was kinda ticked off--and it was about to be released out of this gate...into a Rodeo.

I asked God: "How did that thing get activated?"  And you know what appeared? A big, RED cloth. Right in front of its nose.

After I took some time to figure out what a bull represented, I started to understand.  A bull often plows the way, it's a forerunner, it goes ahead.  And red is often it's trigger. Red--forgiveness.  Grace. Generosity.  Compassion.  But you know what else a bull is? A little stubborn, a little forceful, and it doesn't have time for chit chat.  If a rider jumps on, it's time to Rodeo.

That's kind of where I feel like I am.  This spring was all about Forgiveness. It was about humility.  About laying my life down--allowing compassion to drive my decisions--instead of judgement. It was learning how to love others more than I loved myself.

And now?

It feels like it's time to Rodeo.

It doesn't mean that I stop forgiving or stop being compassionate.  That's my DNA.  It just means that all that extra "sure-I'll-do-your-dirty-laundry-for-you" is over. Over as in I have my left hand on my hip, and I'm wavin' my right hand in a squiggle and ending with a snap. Ova.

I don't have to be coarse, and I don't have to be rude--but I do need boundaries.

It's learning how to say yes and also learning how to say no.


It's ok to lay down my life for someone else when He tells me so. But when I'm getting taken advantage of, I can say no.  I've got a life and calling, too, ya know.  There are other things I'd like to do besides dying a million times.

And that's where we Rodeo.

It's God's grace to me when He shows me how to Rodeo. Jesus rodeo-ed.  He turned tables when people were selling things in His House. He got mad that people's Rest was getting stolen.

He doesn't like it when we're not at peace. He doesn't like it when we get taken advantage of.  He doesn't like it when we spend all of our time trying to "do" instead of getting to "be".  Not only because it is exhausting---but also because it steals our destiny.  I can't spend my time being who I'm supposed to be, flourishing in my unique design, when I'm too busy overextending myself so that other people "might" choose to walk in theirs.

Boundaries.

I can be compassionate, but I don't have to be a doormat.  I can have boundaries, but I don't have to be mean.  I promise not to hook you with my bullhorns as long as we both understand that we're all in process.  You can be free to be you--and I can be free to be me.  If I say no to you, it doesn't mean I don't love you.  It means that I actually do love you--enough to let you walk out your own journey.  I won't be a co-dependent "parent" and bail someone out all the time, and that someone won't grow up being entitled and naive. I'm not planning on being on the cover of Time magazine--if ya know what I'm sayin'.

And so, in loving Sarah fashion, I will just say this.  The grace is lifting for this season--and I'm pretty sure I'm shifting into the next season. It's really fun and spunky and there are bull horns and an announcer.  There's quite a bit of dirt, and I get to wear a cowboy hat and boots.

And I'm learning how to balance...

...one hand tied to keep me steady and the other hand flailing around in the air enjoying the ride of My Life......

Yee haw!

Community.

Something about having a second kid has made me more hospitable.  And by hospitable, I mean, somewhat desperate for community.  I wouldn't say that I am necessarily a lonely person.  I actually crave alone time--but I am one of those people who loves living life with other people. I was obsessed with living on campus during college.  I loved community living. I adored the fact that I shared a shoebox-sized room with my best friend--and that our best friends lived directly across from us--only two feet away.  I loved that more best friends lived down the hall and that I could walk past their rooms at any given time to see what they were up to. I thrive in community.

David and I fell in love with our college experience, and so my huh-knee thought four years on campus wasn't enough.  He decided to get his Masters Degree in Higher Education (he wanted to stay on a college campus forever!), and because of that, we got to live on campus for our first four years of marriage while he managed a residence hall--after already living on campus for four years of undergrad.  There's something we just love about being connected--and so we stayed at college.  Granted, we had our own "apartment"--we weren't living in a small room--but we still were living in a residence hall. There is just something so fun about going downstairs to the coffee bar knowing you'll run into at least a few people you know.  Not to mention, it's totally acceptable if you're wearing your pajamas. There's always something to do, there's always someone to talk to.

There have been several times since we've been married that we've contemplated how to get "communal living" back into our lives.  We got the chance to live with our spiritual mama and poppa for a few months when we first moved to Nashville.  We had hour long talks around the dinner table, sipping wine, and telling stories.  We laughed, we cried, we came alive. We talked about how in Europe they have an activity we lovingly nicknamed the "Slow Food Club" where they take an entire day to make dinner together and slowly eat each course, keeping one another company, and living life together.

What's happened to America?

My friend just said yesterday "I think women miss out on not going to the well to get water or going to the river to do laundry. We're so isolated in our own houses doing our own thing."  My thoughts exactly.

I just finished reading a book called 7 by Jen Hatmaker.  This is one of my favorite passages from her book. She is contextually talking about community and hospitality--of having people over for meals instead of always meeting somewhere and dishing out big dough and feeding the "consumer" machine.

"So yes, eating is still a starting player, but being in each other's homes, cooking, and sharing food together is delightful.  Eating a meal in a restaurant is one thing but friends paddling around barefoot in your kitchen and chopping carrots for your soup and sipping their coffee on your deck is another creature altogether.  This exits the expediency of consumerism and enters the realm of hospitality.

There is something so nourishing about sharing your living space with people where they see your junk  mail pile and pee wee football schedule on the fridge and piles of shoes by the front door.  Opening your home says, "You are welcome into my real life."  This square footage is where we laugh and hold family meetings and make homemade corn dogs and work through meltdowns.  Here is the railing our kids pulled out of the wall.  This is the toilet paper we prefer.  These are the pictures we frame, the books we're reading, the projects we're undertaking--the raw material of our family.  It's unsanitized and truthful.  We invite you into this intimate place, saturated with our family character.

Maybe this is why hospitality was big to the early church.  Living together in the sacred spaces of our homes is so unifying.  When our Christian forerunners were persecuted and misunderstood, when belief in Jesus was dangerous and isolating, they had one another.  They had dinner around the table.  They had Sabbath together.  They had soft places to fall when they traveled.  Safe in the home of a fellow Christ follower, they could breathe, pray, rest.  What a gift."

And so this all makes me think.  How do we get this back?

And authentically.  Not superficially manipulated--but organically.

Nashville is all about cows, and farms, and music, and family.  That's why I moved here. And yet, like most other places in the U.S., it can still be isolating. And there is still an identity crisis looming through the streets. Probably because of the isolation. (And because of the Franklin-ite haircuts--you only know if you live here. Just think Ryan from this season of the Bachelorette. And, no, I don't watch that show. Geez. Lame.)

Anyway.........

Community.  Whose with me? Who will let their guard down? Be vulnerable enough to let someone in.  Even when you haven't cleaned your oven in two years. (That's me).  Come on over......we can clean it out together--and then make some dinner..........

Sabbath.

I used to like to answer emails, clean the house, organize things, take Ella for trips to "far-away" lands (the park), and eat my lunch--at lunch time.  In other words, I liked to be what I believed was "productive".  I was livin' life...I could get a lot done in a short period of time.

And then...something happened.

Someone happened.

Sometwo happened.

And life changed a little bit.  I was still getting things done. I mean, I created a human being with my body.  That is definitely productive.  And yet, the quantity and quality of that productivity changed.

About a month before Lucy was born, I deliberately took a month to "rest". We had a pretty busy period of time during most of her pregnancy. So, April was all about soaking up the quiet. Napping. Relaxing. Spending quality time with Ella as an only child.

I kept hearing one of my favorite Mike Bickle quotes over and over during this time.  "Lovers will always outwork workers." I love that quote.

I used to love being involved in everything. Earlier in life, I was 99% extrovert. I was also what you could call over-extended.  Oh, and codependent.

But something in my brain switched when we moved to a gulf view of Alabama's coast about five years ago.

It's what I like to call "The Slow Down".

It turned two 99% extroverts (my hubby and I) into two 99% introverts for about four years.  And, you know, I've come to a whole new appreciation for my introvert side because of that.  I would now say the scales are much more balanced. We're more like 50/50...but that down time, that introvert time, it just has to be.

I have to take time to pull the sheets up and nourish my soul with the stillness of nothing.  With the Sabbath resonating in my spirit.

Having another baby helps with this.  It reminds me of how quote "productivity" can shield us from refreshment.  And from life.

My pastor once gave a sermon about the presence of God.  He said that having a new baby is the closest example he could think of that described the importance of stewarding God's presence.  When a new baby arrives, everything is about that baby.  If the baby cries, you comfort it. If the baby is hungry, you feed it.  If the baby needs a diaper change, you change it.  There is nothing more important that what that baby needs. You don't sleep unless the baby sleeps, and you don't do anything unless the baby is taken care of.

And that's exactly what this feels like. Stewarding the presence of God.

The Slow Down.

Productivity takes on a whole new meaning.

My husband came home from work the other day and sweetly said: "Hi Honey--How was your day?"  I replied: "Ummmmmm, I wiped about twenty butts. How was yours?" Now previous to this day, I would not have thought that changing that many diapers in a day was considered "productive".  At first, in fact, I may or may not have thought "What just happened to my life?"

But as the days go by, and I realize how much anxiety-induced productivity my life once included, I think to myself "Wow. Wiping twenty butts isn't so bad."

I'm learning a whole new rhythm.

The Slow Down.

It's actually quite nice.  It automatically axes the activity that I may or may not have needed to do before.  When I only have three hours of my day to do something for myself, I'm much more picky in choosing something that will actually be beneficial to me and to my family.

And sometimes that is doing nothing.

And in the nothing, something is birthed.  Sometimes I often wonder if God is just waiting for us to stop.  You know, like when you're trying to dress a toddler? If he or she would just sit still for a little while, it'd only take a few seconds to get dressed.  To be ready.  For whatever the day might hold.

For whatever a Life may hold.

It's really a lifestyle choice.  And one I've absolutely fallen in love with.....

When I award myself the time to be a Lover, I am way more "productive" than when I thought I should be a worker.

It's a beautifully freeing way to live...

Happy Sabbath.....

Surfin'.

I am currently sitting Indian-style in a slobber covered loveseat--with residual chunks of Ella's spilled and St. Bernard-chewed "snack" digging into my ankles.  I have an iced latte, which I made about an hour ago, to my right.  I have only gotten to sip one sip since making that first beloved cup of caffeine at 11:30am.  I've been up since 4am. I also am wearing a new perfume that I'd like to call sour milk meets postpartum hormonal sweat.

And you know what, it's ok.

I spent the entire morning scooping up a crying newborn while a toddler pulled at my arm to get me off the couch because a St. Bernard was devouring the snack she had sitting on the ottomon.  We did this about fifteen times until I just stood in the middle of the living room looking at all the crumbs, and slobber, and all the toys covering the carpet and.........laughed.

I mean, really. What else is there to do?

I'd like to say that this state of chaos is the result of my promotion.  I made it! Two kids!  It's kind of like when you first take flight.  In order to get above the clouds--to go really fast--you have to actually pass through the clouds.  And usually that causes a little turbulence.

We go from glory to glory.

And I now that I received my promotion, I'm learning the ropes.

I figure with these stages in life, we can look at this several ways.  1. I can drive myself crazy by trying desperately to "keep everything together". 2. Or I can just roll with the punches.

I've decided to roll with the punches.  Life is messy.  Kids are messy.  St. Bernards are messy.  My husband is......(just kidding, huh-knee!).  Actually, shout out to that man of a husband. He has cleaned the house every morning before leaving for work....including doing laundry, sweeping, mopping, you name it. I'm not sure how I got so blessed.

But back to rolling with the punches.....

I've been thinkin'. Me? Thinkin'? I know, big shock.  But really. This chaos. It's kind of beautiful.  It's made me think about vulnerability.  And about acceptance.  And about being ok with where I am.  All the time.  It's breaking down even more layers of control in my life...more layers of that "what if someone saw my house like this right now?"  In fact, I thought to myself...."Who can I invite over right now? I need someone to see this.  I need that raw reality.  Vulnerability.  Hey people--this is where I am.  I'm sitting in a crumb-covered loveseat, and I'm not even thinking about vacuuming it up."

I once had someone ask me how I can blog so candidly about my life.  How I can hope for such wild and crazy dreams to come true--and just put them out there on the internet--even if I don't know how they'll take shape or if I'll fail or not.  I simply replied, "What do I care what people think?"

Now--granted--I was in a moment of strength at the time.  There are other times I do care what people think.  But, as I've been gaining a new sense of acceptance and self-worth over the last year or so, I've come to realize that anything less than me being honest about where I am is just boring.  And so not relationally fulfilling.  I'm not interested in anyone's surface life--I want the real deal.  The nitty-gritty.  In fact, I usually make new friends by saying something like: "Hi, I'm Sarah--here's my life story. What's yours?! Please make sure to include details. I love details."

And so, upon having a second child, I am learning yet another layer of nitty-gritty.  New phase in life....and you know what? There's no way for me to keep a clean house right now.  But, I'm happy as a clam.  I'm learning how to ride the wave.  Surfing isn't fun if you never brave a bigger and more challenging wave.

And that's what this feels like.

People keep asking me how I'm doing with the transition.  And thankfully, I have to say that it's been way easier than expected.  Not necessarily because there is not chaos...because there is chaos.  But because I know how to surf better than I did the first time.  And that doesn't necessarily have to do with my parenting skills but simply with my state of perspective.  With my understanding of Rest.

He is good....all the time. And so I give myself permission to relax........and roll with the punches.


Happy Thursday! I think I might go take a shower now.....

Living Outrageously Loved

I've been thinking about this.  Living Outrageously Loved. I think I heard Graham Cooke say it that way the first time. He said "I'm living outrageously loved--and that jolly well settles it."

I certainly have felt it the last week. It's amazing how the gift of a new baby can do that...make you feel loved....even in the midst of a lack of sleep and sore tailbones and....and....and. There's a certain ecstasy in a newborn; the evidence of a miracle.

There's this paradox in our world that goes a few ways on "Love". And when I say "Love", I'm thinking of a certain definition. In my mind, perhaps I've made it up, but I truly believe it's the kind of love the Bible talks about.  Unconditional. Fully accepting and yet always bringing you higher.  There's no settling when it comes to real love. It always sees the good and as a result, the "not so good" behavior has a chance to fall by the wayside. It's constantly seeking to encourage, to bring life, and to shut down death. Real Love is Life.

And we were made for eternal Living.

Yes, our human bodies will fail us at some time. But thank God this isn't all we have going for us.

I've been thinking about perspective a lot lately as I continually learn the art of forgiveness--which essentially is the art of Giving. Of Generosity. Of Living Outrageously Loved.

We had a beautiful time of praying in our little Lucy at our House Church a few months ago.  One of our friends said that Lucy would carry a spirit of generosity with her--and that she would always be giving out to others.  She said our tendency might be to try to guard her so as not to let her be "abused", but that this wouldn't happen. It seems that our Lucy would have the strategic wisdom to give powerfully.

Isn't that beautiful?

Children are such gifts from God. They birth in us who they were created to be from the very beginning. I-Love-That.

She is but a week and a half old---out of the womb--and yet her generous spirit has taught me Love. She's taught me how to give. To forgive. To live outrageously Loved.

And Living Loved is why we're here. It's our purpose.

I love being loved. Not because I'm insecure--though there are surely spots in me that are. I love being loved because that's why He made me. To be loved.

And then to give it out.

This makes life make sense. And it is the absolutely happiest way to live. No storm can weather your path when you live a life loved.  No discipline or correction makes you second guess yourself because living a Life loved is always being called higher.  From glory to glory.

Living loved can look several different ways. Some people may think of it as conceit, but it's only because they haven't experienced it. Truly loving yourself is not conceit. It's your identity. God made us because He thinks we're wonderful.  Why would I disagree with God? Yes, I'm a victim of the Fall. Yes, I have faults. Yes, I need to apologize when I do something wrong. Yes, I occasionally need discipline. But we must remember that the Fall is not who He created us to be.  He created me perfect--as an outflow of His very nature.  And He created you perfect, too.

When something comes against that nature of divine perfection, it is only there to help us see where we might be living outside of God's best.

People may recognize our faults. Sure; it happens every day (that's why this is so important!). But what they do with our faults proves their loyalty to us.  If they decide to inherently pull out our potential even in the midst of mistakes, that is Love.  This is what God does. Jesus made a bypass for our faults.  Surely there will be ebbs and flows, and there will be people and circumstances who seem against us---but in all reality, "all things work together for good according to His purposes for us (Romans 8:28)". Nothing can hold us back from the goodness of God unless we choose to believe a lie.

I'm adamant that our first reason for being is for Love. Period.  Our second reason for being is to give that Love out. Period.

The Bible is the book of Restoration, not of discipline. Justice is Reconciliation with the Father---not judgement. We love our kids first, we discipline them if it's for their safety and well-being.  Same as our God. He's not focusing on our sin. He's focusing on His love for us. 

And this is where all Forgiveness is birthed. As humans, we can't force ourselves to forgive, we don't have enough willpower to do so.  Of course, we can be willing to forgive.  But forgiveness comes from an outflow of learning how to live loved. We forgive--because He loves us.

We are giving--because He loves us. We live lives of joy because He teaches us how to receive His love.

And we can't give out what we haven't chosen to receive in the first place.

That's what I've been learning anyway.....again.

And, so, it's this ebb and flow of love. Receiving Love. Then giving it. And each time, my joy bubble increases and increases. Fear disappears. Forgiveness is innate. Life tastes Good.

Just another reason I love Red............

Saved by Grace so that no man can boast. It is a gift from God. Fully Accepted into the Beloved Heart of the Father. (Eph. 2:8, Isaiah 53:3)

And that "jolly well settles it."

A Birth Story

Lucille Joy is here.

And, as typical throughout my pregnancy with her, she came in quite the surprising of ways.  I have a feeling that her little life added to our family is going to make for some very interesting adventures.  She is spunky, full-head haired, and gentle.  Her eyes pierce into my spirit each time she looks at me.  So very intentional, she is. And loving.  And peaceful.

I started with some contractions a week ago today (Saturday). They were somewhat minor and yet more than I had had over the last few weeks.  I was trying not to psych myself up, as I pre-labored with Ella for five days before her arrival.  But even though Lucy was still about 10 or 11 days from her due date, I just had this feeling that she was coming.  Saturday evening came and went, and I had contractions all night.  Not strong enough to denote labor, but strong enough to denote labor.  You know what I mean? They strengthened in intensity and grew closer together as Saturday turned to Sunday.  For a few hours on Sunday, I managed to rest a bit.  And the contractions slowed...

It felt like the calm before the storm.


They came back with greater intensity in the evening, but they still weren't close enough to officially take a ride to the hospital.  We were frustrated, wondering if this would be another 5 day long process.  I decided to attempt to sleep, took a Tylenol PM to help facilitate some rest, and laid down.  Within the next hour, the contractions came back with a vengeance---enough that I was automatically pushing.

It was "Go Time."

We rushed into the car, attempting not to panic. Ever try to not push a baby out when you're not at the hospital yet? It's scary.

We ended up not even making it to our destination hospital.  We stopped at one on the way.  Neither of us wanted to have a baby in the car.  When we got to the hospital, I tried to remain calm. I had no idea who my doctor would be, if the hospital would honor my birth plan, or who was going to even be in the room.   They were brisk with excitement, care, and joy.  As I scribbled my signature on the clipboard, the front desk worker said sweetly, "Your OB will be Dr. Redden." In my head, I said, "Dr. Red? Are you serious?" I looked at David and mouthed "Red". Tears. We were exactly where we were supposed to be at the exact time.  God is always before us and behind us--carefully weaving our journeys into His perfect plan for our lives.

They wisked us into a room where it became even more clear that the baby would come soon.  Though my desire for an epidural didn't go quite as planned--in fact, not as planned at all, I did get my opportunity to deliver naturally. On pitocin. I don't know that I'd recommend it.

And, yet, because of the intensity of pitocin-induced contractions with a faulty epidural, I had the most supernatural of experiences.  It was the middle of the night. I thought I was going to die.  I'd been at it for over 36 hours; I thought I was headed for the bottom half of my body to be numbed. Instead, the pain was intensified twice as much. My husband was watching every machine, every heart-rate, every blood pressure reading, in between spooning my lips with ice chips.

And even though it was not what we expected, God still came through.

Dr. Redden arrived. And my spirit fell into rest.  During contractions, I pushed with everything I had, looking at my husband as if this might be "it". You know, like "I'm going to Heaven now, huh-knee. See you later....."

In between the intensity of contractions, peace flooded in. And for those one minute intervals, I could barely keep my eyes open. I was practically falling asleep between contractions.

Ten to fifteen minutes later, I released a battle cry scream with every cell in my being. And, she was here.

On my chest. Crying in her first breaths of air.


Promise fulfilled.

My legs were shaking. My heart racing.  Not a dry eye in the room.

Her daddy clipped the cord.

And the rest is History. His-story. My story. Our story. 


2,000 years ago in the present moment.


She is beautiful in every way. Every hard-ship, every seeming "surprise" and twist of my will.  Every invitation from God to let go in the process, every act of Red---of Grace---here on my chest. Gulping in Life outside the womb.

And now we get to learn how to hold her. How to hold Grace....and Light.

How do we hold Redemption? How do we steward Dreams being fulfilled in our midst by the DreamGiver Himself? How do we live in such a place of extravagant and outrageous Love?

We Rest. In a way we've never known before, we Rest.........