I am not doing well.

That's the most honest thing I can say.

And I don't need sympathy. I'm not sharing to get attention. 

But perhaps someone else who's not doing well can finally exhale and honestly share too.

I feel pressed on every side. I had no idea how hard losing my mom would be. I miss her, I just miss her. It's as if I feel it in my bones. There's a gaping hole in my family and in my heart.

Yet everyday life moves forward. I engage in it as best I can. But the grief I carry has manifested into anxiety and loneliness and a feeling that if you light a match near me, I might very well explode.

I keep asking the Lord if there's a bottom layer to my grief. Is there an ocean floor to loss where you just can't sink any deeper? 

And in my questioning and wrestling, I am reminded that there is no instant or easy route out of the depths. 

Instead I resolved to ask God to make me like a blobfish.

Yes, a blobfish.

Our son discovered this obscure ocean creature last summer on vacation. Pictured here is the souvenir blobfish he insisted on buying at the Monterrey Aquarium. Of course we had to Google it to learn more.

It turns out that the real one is not so cute. It's literally a blob, a fish with no bones or muscles. It lives at such a depth in the sea that its lack of structure allows it to withstand the ocean pressure.

Now I'm not asking to be a literal blob. No thank you. But to withstand pressure like a blobfish, I'm all in.

I so desire for my great God to work in my body, my soul and my mind to help me withstand the pressure and weight in the deep sea of grief. There's not a fiber of my being that remains unaffected by this pain. Yet it's the burden I bear for loving and losing deeply.

I know one day I will feel lighter, though I'll always miss my mom.

So, dear God, I know there's no easy way through this pain. Please make me like a blobfish. I need you, Lord. I can't bear this weight on my own.

Honestly struggling...

-YayMel

Mother's Day.

Sigh.

Reminders are everywhere. From my inbox, to my news feed, to even the grocery store. Everywhere.

My heart aches. This week feels heavy.

I started not to post anything because the last thing I want to do is make anyone feel like they can't celebrate their mom or being a mom.

Motherhood is a gift that should be celebrated.

And yet, for a lot of us, Mother's Day hurts.

Those who are grieving moms and children.

Those who are waiting to become moms.

Those who are raising kids as single moms.

Those who have given up the dream of motherhood.

And those in so many difficult circumstances surrounding mothers and motherhood.

We wish we were the ones celebrating. We would have never chosen these paths of pain. And yet here we are walking down them.

If this is you, please know you are not alone. We are not alone.

Though I am struggling to put words around my first Mother's Day without mom, I find comfort in this passage in the gospel of John. It is where Jesus takes care of His mother, Mary, from the cross:

"When Jesus saw his mother there, and the disciple whom he loved standing nearby, he said to her, “Woman, here is your son,” and to the disciple, “Here is your mother.” From that time on, this disciple took her into his home."

-John 19:25‭-‬27 NIV

I see the humanity of Jesus in this moment. Though He is in unimaginable physical pain, He considers His mother's emotional pain. He understands that she doesn't yet know what's on the other side of His crucifixion. He sees her hurt, her fear and He meets her in it. At the same time, He looks to her future needs, making sure His beloved disciple John cares after her in His absence.

What a love. What a Savior. What a Savior's love for His mother.

Jesus understands our pain too. And He desires to meet us in it. 

I pray He is ever near to the broken-hearted as Mother's Day approaches.

And though retailers, social media followers, and even well meaning folks insist on saying "Happy Mother's Day," may we have the courage to acknowledge and feel the hurt this day brings.

I'll be right there with you.

Missing my mom, every day,

-YayMel

I snapped this photo on one of the darkest nights I've experienced since losing mom. 

I look back and I shutter at just how low and desperate I felt emotionally.

The thing is... losing my mom has brought on a loneliness I've never experienced before. It is excruciating.

Excruciating.

She knew me for my entire life, every detail so very well. Her absence leaves a tremendous void that no one, as much as I love them and they love me, can fill.

In those moments I feel at such a loss as to what to do... except to feel the emotions and cry out desperately to Jesus.

I so desperately want to escape.

And yet, I know there is no place too low for Jesus. He meets me there in the sorrow, amidst tear-soaked tissues. And through what feels like darkest valley, He leads me to praise.

Yes, praise.

It's like this picture at sunset. The darkness is closing in and still I know there will be sources of light to guide me when I can't see. Praise reminds me that my Source of light, Jesus, is there in the dark.

Praise doesn't mean just singing. I honestly don't always feel like mustering words. Sometimes it's simply meditating on words that point me to my Source. Sometimes it's letting songs wash over me.

The lyrics to the song "That's the Thing About Praise" have been on repeat these past few weeks, "Sometimes the only way through it is a Hallelujah."

And this isn't the forced kind of praise, or even faking it, though sometimes a little force is necessary to get started. It's more of raising a white flag of surrender, a worship that says "Yes, Lord, I look to you, even though my pain is great."

The song continues:

"It won't always move the mountain

But it's good for the heart

That's the thing about praise."

Hallelujah, sending Light into the darkness,

-YayMel

An Easter reflection...

On Friday, a stone similar to this one was rolled over the tomb that held the lifeless body of Jesus. It was as if this stone literally rolled over hope, crushing all belief that Jesus was who He claimed to be, the Son of God and Savior of the world.

Darkness on the inside of the tomb. No way to get in from the outside. All hope was lost.

Have you been there? I know I have. There have been moments in my life when all hope felt lost, the weight of loss and shattered dreams overwhelmed me. I saw no way out.

And even now I'm in a season of grief that on some days makes hope a faint glimmer.

But Jesus.

Jesus. 

The stone rolled away on that first Easter Sunday. Light poured in. The tomb emptied. Jesus came back to life, He appeared to Mary. 

Hope raised to life, resurrected.

And in that I rejoice. And in that I hold onto hope. When the stones in my life feel unmovable, and weight feels too much to carry, I will fix my eyes on Jesus. He is my hope. 

This is Easter.

He is risen. 

-YayMel

Good. Friday. 

It's hardly a day you can call good if you don't know how it's all going to turn out. There was nothing good about that notorious day, the darkest day, when Jesus was horribly crucified. All hope for His followers crushed, His closest disciples deserting Him, and King Jesus, the Son of God, hanging lifeless on a wooden cross...mocked, beaten and pierced. 

Yes, it is too horrifying to fully take it in. 

And yet, those eye-witness followers, who had a front row seat to the horror, would go on to spread the gospel of Jesus and the good news of His resurrection. I can only imagine the impression that dark day, the day we now call good, left on them. 

And we who know the full story so often want to push past the darkness. This picture from the Garden of Gethsemane frames it well. We want to look past the crucifixion to the beautiful resurrection. Yet we cannot escape the piercing image of the cross.

Yes, Sunday, the day that Jesus rose from the dead, is coming. You can't miss the graphics all over Instagram that declare, "It's Friday but Sunday is coming." 

Yet could we just hold the "but" for today? 

Could we stop and contemplate the cross and idea of death even though it's uncomfortable? Could we not move so quickly to the celebration of Easter? The day Jesus died didn't come with an instant preview of the resurrection to come. Let's not pass too quickly over the cross.

Sunday brings us hope, yet Friday gives us the reason and the why behind our hope in Jesus. Something or someone had to die to restore our relationship with God. Thank you, Jesus, that you did that for us once for all.

This is Good Friday.

Will you contemplate the cross with me today? And yes oh yes, we will celebrate on Sunday! 

-YayMel

Easter Week reflections...

"As he approached Jerusalem and saw the city, he wept over it ." 

As I continue reading through Holy Week, this passage above strikes me. It comes in Luke 19:41 right after Jesus makes His triumphal entry.

Jesus wept over the city. 

Here is Jesus just days before an excruciating crucifixion and He's not weeping for himself. He's weeping for a city that has yet to recognize Him as the Son of God.

Imagine Jesus weeping, His tears flowing. We see what breaks Jesus' heart. 

This passage inspires me to follow His example. It gives me a question to wrestle.

What breaks my heart?

What makes me weep? What makes me angry or sad? What keeps me up at night? 

And like Jesus, these are not things about me, my comfort or my needs. This is about others.

There are two stirring for me:

1. Women in ministry without opportunity to lead or pastor in their calling

2. The people and families in the community where we live 

I deeply desire to say yes to these stirrings. Yet, if I'm honest, so often I'm busy living life day to day that I don't stay still long enough to pay attention to what breaks my heart. I don't lift my eyes to see and join in the work God is already doing. Instead, I let distractions and excuses keep me from fixing my gaze on what God is uniquely equipping and calling me to do.

Jesus died for the people and the city He wept over. Surely I can sacrifice for what God is stirring in me.

On this Holy Tuesday, I invite you to contemplate the cross and this question too. What breaks your heart? What makes you weep? Will you set your gaze on it long enough to listen to the stirring in you?

With you in the stirring,

-Yay Mel

Easter Week reflections...

I've walked the path from the Mount of Olives to the old city of Jerusalem, the one that's celebrated on Palm Sunday. On that road surrounded by stone walls, olive trees, and graves, I pictured myself back in the first century in the crowd celebrating Jesus. 

I wondered just what Jesus was feeling and thinking on that fateful trip. In a matter of days, his triumphal entrance into the city would contrast completely with his cross-carrying exit. 

Luke 19:37-38 NIV records:

When he came near the place where the road goes down the Mount of Olives, the whole crowd of disciples began joyfully to praise God in loud voices for all the miracles they had seen:

“Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord!”

“Peace in heaven and glory in the highest!”

To be celebrated as king and to fully know that betrayal, humiliation, abandonment and torture are coming.

What a tension to carry.

I think I would have found the eject button. 

Yet, Jesus chose to stay the course, saying yes to all His unimaginable sacrifice ahead.

He chose yes. 

And in that I find courage and strength to say yes to walking through the hardest parts of my life. 

This Easter, in the midst of grief, I find myself just wanting to be closer to Jesus, not out of obligation or guilt or a sense of measuring up. I want to be close to Him because He knows our pain, my pain. I choose to worship Him through my pain and to thank Him for enduring His.

Hosanna in the highest!

-Yay Mel

It's "Mel" for short...that's what my husband and bonus kids call me. It's an endearing nickname because I was often called that by close friends growing up. 

My favorite word Is "Yay!" and if you text me, you are bound to get that phrase back a time or two. Yay! is also indicative of who I am at my core. Every personality test comes back saying that I'm extroverted, love to celebrate people and am always up for fun. My husband even put a Yay! sticker on the back of my car (although I'm not always that fun of a driver!)

And yet, my story would dictate otherwise. I have not been handed an easy-going, fun-loving life. I've had to Intentionally find those experiences, opportunities and relationships that make me say "Yay!" This phrase carries a deeper meaning than a superficial fun filler-word. In my life, YAY has come to mean an acronym, "Yes And Yet."

Yes, I will choose to live life to the fullest and embrace the tension of balancing the good and the hard. 

And..

Yet, I will choose joy and hope In the midst of the tension. I will seek to give praise to Jesus no matter what comes my way.

So far, my life consists of the following experiences: Daughter, younger sister, Gen X-er, preacher's kid, recovering straight A perfectionist, wife, young widow, student of grief, dog mom, fun aunt, seminary grad, wife remarried, bonus mom, cancer caregiver, online church lady, woman called to pastoral ministry and chief cheerleader of my loved ones. My current season is one of navigating the sudden loss of my mom after a short cancer battle, all while being just a few years into remarrying, becoming a bonus mom and living in a new city. 

Perhaps you and I have a few life experiences in common. My hope is for my writing to be a reflection of the tension of yes and yet, of embracing all the good and the hard parts of life even as they run on parallel tracks. Let's find our Yay! together.

Cheering for you, 

-YayMel

What inspires this life of tension in the yes and yet? What spurs us on to choose to say YAY! even on the toughest days? Here are a few passages of Scripture that center me:

Even though the fig trees have no blossoms and there are no grapes on the vines; even though the olive crop fails, and the fields lie empty and barren; even though the flocks die in the fields, and the cattle barns are empty, yet I will rejoice in the Lord!

I will be joyful in the God of my salvation! The Sovereign Lord is my strength! He makes me as surefooted as a deer, able to tread upon the heights. - Habakkuk 3:17-19 NLT

Here the Old Testament prophet Habakkuk expresses his yes in the acknowledgement that his circumstances look so very bleak, and yet he chooses to rejoice in the Lord.

Why, my soul, are you downcast?

Why so disturbed within me?

Put your hope in God,

for I will yet praise him,

my Savior and my God. - Ps 42:10 NIV

The psalmist honestly and openly cries out to God in his suffering, holding nothing back in his lament. Yet he still resolves to give  praise to God for Who He Is.

They will mock him, spit on him, flog him severely, and kill him. Yet after three days, he will rise again. - Mark 10:34 NET

And even Jesus leaned into yes and yet. Here in this passage He predicts His death and resurrection for a third time to His closest followers. He knew the pain that awaited Him in saying yes to the cross, yet He also knew the glory and salvation that came on the other side.

Jesus, precious Jesus, is our greatest Inspiration. I'm choosing to say YAY! with Him and in Him.

-YayMel