When living big looks small ...

I've been busy these last few days ... dealing with throw up.

And I have to laugh, after writing for thirty-one days about Spending Yourself. It is all so very fitting. Because sometimes we just want to see God in the big picture, be part of a big story, see Him doing big things.

But somewhere around Day 28, my friend and I sit and we drink coffee. I talk about Africa and books and moments of insight. I tell her how I want to GO and DO. She reminds me, in her gracious-true-friend way, of something I forget too often:

that living big really means being great at living small. 

I have to ask myself again, "Am I willing to do the small well?"

Around the same time, I fold laundry and talk with another dear friend. We hold phones pressed between shoulder and ear and we laugh and wonder if we could really find joy right here, in these mountains of towels and socks. "Are you there yet?" she asks. "I just don't know if I'm there yet."

In motherhood theory, perhaps ... but really? Like deep down in my soul?

The week wraps up and the series of 31 posts comes to a close. I have been humbled and people have been so kind ... but I know me. I sit in the kitchen, wonder if I am just a fraud living behind words. There is a holy rumble here.

Todd and the kids are gone and I am alone for a few hours and there is always more laundry to fold. I sit among the fabric and I know my coffee-drinking friend was right. I must offer up my very best self right here in the low places. I ask again, "Am I willing to do the small well?"


I fold. I think ... if you want to do more, become great at less, no task too lowly. Can I find joy right here? Can I have zeal for this mission, this vocation? Isn't this daily-ness, isn't this sacred space too? 

I leave the laundry and I do something new and out of character. I pray over this home. Room by room. Bed by bed and chair by chair. I ask for enough time alone before kids run through the front door. I want to finish. And please don't think too much of me. This is not a natural posture, not a normal occurrence. But suddenly I am struck and I know down in the depths that my focus must get shallow, if I really want to see.

It's right in front of me and it isn't complicated.

I know this living-and-serving life is all wrecked if I can't first live and serve within these walls ... among these towels and these socks. These poeple.

And so ... that night my oldest child races to the toilet. I hold her wispy hair and I wipe her mouth. She is an all-star and we sleep together on the bathroom floor. We lie still between rounds ... wait. I carry her to my bed and hold a plastic bowl and I wash sheets. Towels.

We trick-or-treat two days later and now it is the middle child's turn. It is two in the morning and I wake to that sound, then the cry. I rinse candy off blankets and down the drain. I do more sheets. There are little bodies in my bed again ... and that bowl.  No one has done much sleeping.

The following night, it is the youngest. He heaves in the quiet, all by himself and I am unaware. When I find him the clean-up is exponential. He is sleeping in, bathed in, sour milk. It is the middle of night again and I don't know how much more I can take. I do more sheets. Wash the lovey. Dad runs a bath and the boy settles in, settles down. He closes those blue eyes.

And then he does it all again. The sun will be up soon but I do. more. sheets. Re-wash the lovey. I am tired and we are tired ... tired of smelling like throw up. 

I look at the clock and we've lost almost a week. We have watched a lot of NetFlix. I cross my fingers and sleep light, ears tuned and eyes heavy. I think back on 31 days, on conversations with friends, on how the seemingly big has finally culminated ... with the small.

Throw up and laundry and t.v. days with Sprite and saltines. Lots of prayers but very few deep thoughts. And now just this one:

Can I serve right here in the low places?

Can I speak with a kind word, touch with a gentle hand, forfeit sleep, share space on cold tile between a toilet and a toddler. Can I play pretend even though I am designated (every.single.time) as the stepmother or the witch or the grumpy, jealous uncle? Can I fold laundry with a song, praising even the smell of clean cotton while imagining her in those purple polka dots? Maybe?

Sleep falls heavy like a brick after a month of scribbling words and a week of churning stomachs. And these real life days just keep coming and the fatigue can wear on the perspective. But I keep reminding myself to keep spending ... myself ...

Because these small todays add up. And they become one big life.  

Live small with me today, friends? Do it well, from a place down deep? For His sake. Happy Monday ... it's good to be back. 

Spend Yourself {Day 31} :: Just the beginning ...

I've doubled up today ... because this was harder than I thought! So please don't miss Day 30, my true heart behind this whole thing. If you don't read anything else...? You can find the whole series just above in the tab as well.

And then, here we are! Closing up this 31 Day Challenge. I can hear my mom (or dad or brother or best girl friends for that matter) saying, "Yes and one day late, in true Abby form."

Yes. Yes, I know.

Still ... I have to tell you something. THANK YOU! Really.

Because this was hard and a little awkward and a lot scary. It was beautiful and so many of YOU showed up, shared words that made this not. about. me. 

And again, I might have named this whole journey something else, even though I still don't know what that would have been. And what matters is this: He is big and faithful and good. All the time.

My prayer for YOU now. For me? That we might look closely at these lives we are living. Look back for a moment so we can really look ahead. Get honest. Be brave. Hand it all over. Trust that He is always for us, that His "nearness is our good," that He is the author of a great and powerful story and WE ARE IN IT ...

Could we offer ourselves to the One who gives full freedom? Grace. Peace. Yes, joy! Clarity. Could we stay in the moment and not fret about what will come? Could we spend ourselves and our time and our energy, our money... on people? His people. Could we believe that when we do, we really live and love and learn. Broken places get fixed. We are changed. They are changed. We become the family we were created to be.

Could we trust that IF ... THEN ...

Thank you for walking with a messed up girl who is learning, one messed-up step at a time. Just believing that the doing leads to the knowing. Just believing He is worth following,  worth trusting, worth being spent.

Thank you to a beautiful community of women who challenged me to follow along. You inspire.

Peace, friends. New and old. I hope you will come back again soon. I think I will too.

Spend Yourself {Day 30} :: Then ...

I am at work for four years and nearly invisible beyond my immediate crowd. People in the hall still stop and introduce themselves. I am all-in while there, though not there everyday like others, who work harder and longer. But this still feels like my life. These kids feel like my kids. I am finding myself, growing into my own skin. I am learning to love and see, by serving them.

For the first time in years I am believing on my own, without much feedback, that I belong somewhere. No one here is praising me on a regular basis and I am ok. I can see for myself these days.



I have weak moments, like anyone. I fill out "superstar" cards for coworkers and they are posted in the hallway. "Acknowledge a staff member doing something great." I throw out the praise and the cork board fills, crowded with cards of affirmation. For years, I walk by this board and I don't get one. Not one, from anyone. Occasionally I wonder as I pass by on the way to my car... Just a little praise, Lord? And I confess my envy and comparison. "She isn't even that nice," I mutter in my heart. "I just heard her complaining yesterday." And then I laugh at my regression.

I settle it the same way each time because I know what is true. Am I now trying to please God or men? This is between you and me, Lord, and I really am okay. I really am. I have learned to lift my head within these walls. I have found my voice ... walking in the margins. It is I who should offer the praise, here among the forgotten ones. I don't really need words anymore. Praise isn't why I stay.

So when I decide to quit and be home with my own crowd-- be the mama I always wanted to be-- it isn't easy, not cut and dry. It is complicated and sad and I am all torn up. I am walking away from a backwards place- a place people don't ask about, don't speak of. And these kids ... working so hard to work it all out. I don't want to go. I just know it is time.

I give my four weeks notice and time drains away too fast. I try to get time with each kid, look them in the eyes. I play ping-pong, make chinese rope ladders, read poems. The last day catches me off guard and I cry on the way to work. I cry again in the hallway. I am late to clock-in ... can't pull it together in the bathroom.

When I do come out, they are waiting for me. All of them: kids, staff, therapists. They give me a graduation, the same kind the kids receive when they complete the program. I sit front and center with the director's hands on my shoulders. She is steady as always while I quietly disintegrate. My friend, he leaves the room and I wish he wouldn't.  

And for thirty minutes they shower me with praise: the sweetest, most genuine praise possible. I am certain it is other-worldly. I don't know the girl they are speaking of.

They pass tissues and use words like exuberant and beautiful. You were born to do this. I love you with all my heart. You are my hero, my role model, the mother I wish I had. I am so proud to know you ... You exude everything good...

Words bowl me over and how could they possibly know? Do they know what they have given to a recovering praise junkie? And I don't know I am possibly recovered until maybe this very moment. Because the words are lovely but no one is this lovely and I get a glimpse of the Father's real feeling for his kids. For me. For all of us. He knew I needed to know, before I walked away to my own children, that this time had been redemptive, valuable somehow. But they could've just said we'll miss you.

Two days earlier I read these word in my kitchen: "A man is tested by the praise he receives." The verse strikes me, stops me. You can know a  man's value by the praise he gets? High praise equals worth? This is confusing and it feeds right into my mindset of old ... If I could just hear it, then I would know ... my real worth...

I get stuck here. It isn't right and I am mixed up. Until they throw me a graduation.

And as I drive home that last night, with sweet affirmation fresh in my mind, ringing in my ears, I think I should feel satisfied. Peaceful to move forward.

But the praise doesn't leave me. It lingers and grows and wells up and I am overwhelmed with Father love. I have seen you all along, He seems to say. You are worthy- in your unworthy, approval addicted-ness because. you. are. mine. Everything good comes from me, child.   

And I realize they didn't really see me at all. They saw Him. And I am laid low for two full days. Because what do you do when all you ever wanted to hear is finally spoken over you?

I am wrecked by grace and by gratitude. Humbled to the core. I feel foolish for pining away so many years after scribbled words on a corkboard, and beyond, when He held all the affirmtaion I needed ... all along. I find myself holding a giant gift in meager hands and I have to know... how do I give this value? How do I honor what just happened?

I hear it. Keep living loved.

I receive it fully, with humility. And I decide to live out the thank-you. And the proverb makes sense to me now. We are not defined and determined by the praise we receive. We are refined, literally tested by how we respond. Do we know how great we are? Or do we step aside, certain of how great He is? 

Because the God of this backwards heart used a bunch of misfit kids to tell me who I am ... teach me how to receive praise that is only fitting for One. Could I receive it from bent knees? And then give it away. Again and again and again. Could we?

And what if we spent our whole selves living out this yes on behalf of those who haven't yet seen? The poor and meek in spirit. Could that be our prescription for recovery as well as our prescription for living well? Giving well?

Could we find Him in our brokeness, then turn and give Him away to the broken? Could it really go 'round and 'round, this spending and receiving? Doesn't it though? Isn't this where the lasting transactions are taking place ... heavenly currency on a heavenly scale?

I am filled up, grateful beyond words. And I am not walking with eyes down any longer.





" ... then your light will rise in the darkness, and your night will become like the noonday." 
from Isaiah 58

Spend Yourself {Day 29} :: If you ...

When you start living loved, you find new room to breathe. Because the opposite of living loved is living claustrophobic ... all closed up in fear. Ann Voskamp says "fear is the notion that God's goodness ends."

I don't think I ever believed God's goodness would end ... maybe just hover on the verge of drying up. Figured He would eventually get tired ... of same ol' me.

Because we can know gospel truth, but not really live it.



I spent so much of my young life becoming an approval addict, trying to grasp at praise from others in order to be okay. By the time I was a young-married, I still wasn't sure who I was if someone didn't tell me. I had found freedom in so many areas and I was living whole, behaviorally speaking. But sometimes the heart is the last to catch up and I job- hopped every year or so ... unsure of what I had to offer or what I was made for.

I worked in different places, alongside Todd in ministry and in the hospitals too. I was great with kids and good at nursing skills, but I couldn't self critique and couldn't handle ambiguous feedback. Couldn't handle a 90-day review, never knew where I stood.



And ICU and Labor and Delivery didn't have time to coddle a girl who didn't know her own abilities. I could deliver a baby if the doctor didn't show and I could rally at a Code Blue but I couldn't look my supervisor in the eyes, speak up at a staff meeting. And when the praise didn't come and fill me up on cue, I filled in my own gaps. I assumed failure ... wore it like a brick and apologized for all the gifts I didn't posses.

I cried to my dad, asked him why it was so hard to be confident, sure. Asked if he was still proud.

I knew I was good at spending time with kids, but good at being a nurse? I was like a tiny-framed girl in front of a mirror ... seeing only curvy flaws, bulging imperfections. And when I spoke of my work with adolescents as my reasonable act of worship? God showed me that later. It didn't start out that way. Not by a long shot.

When I wandered onto that unit for misbehaving teens, I believed it to be a second rate job. While all of my peers worked in the NICU and the PICU and on the cancer unit at King's Daughter's, I believed I was hiding out right where I belonged. I never wanted to be a nurse anyway, I said. I just wanted to rock babies in Africa. I just wanted to be a mother.



And I had no psychiatric experience ... just my own story of being lost, of too much and not enough food. Therapy. Support group.

This place felt sort of like redemption.

On my very first day, a kid eloped onto the roof and two girls punched and kicked each other on the floor. This work was not glamorous and I was intimidated. Everything in me said "bail out." I was sure I would fail. Someone bet I wouldn't last two weeks.

But I had an odd sense I was on sacred ground and for the first time in my short, working career I committed to not running scared. I thought maybe this place had something to offer me. Could I slow down, receive it?



I worried I wasn't strong enough to be there in the murky water of psychology and trauma and disturbing behavior. I cried in the car and kept bible verses in my pocket ... don't be afraid, be courageous, offer yourself as a living sacrifice, my grace is sufficient, we do not have a spirit of fear, whatever you did for the least of these ...


And my crazy friend Kathy prayed me into work on the phone and called to check in after long nights. She understood the struggle somehow, offered encouragement from a distance.

I wrote words like these in journals, asking for enough integrity, enough grace to stay healthy, stay brave. I want to love kids from a place of wholeness. This can't be about finding me. Jesus, you already did that. Right?

I started handing myself over, one eight-hour shift at a time. I said "no" to old patterns when anxiety welled up and I turned off old tapes that said I couldn't succeed, couldn't lead. I wavered, got tired, and the change was slow. Real. I spoke up and I began to advocate for the children. I watched them, listened, looked into their faces. I started loving them from a real place without an agenda. 

The job became a privilege and while I wasn't there full time, I spent my whole self when I walked through those doors: physical, emotional, spiritual. I logged a lot of miles walking up and down those halls and when I crawled into bed at 2 a.m. my legs ached. I went to bed offering up their names.

I would study Beth Moore later that year and she would quote Isaiah 58:9-10. Call it our "prescription for recovery..."




For the first time in years I fell asleep with with someone else's healing on my mind ... instead of my own performance. Someone else's need ... instead of my own lack.

I fell asleep thankful with a hand wide open, asking Him for more. More energy, more compassion, more grace. Because when you finally start to live loved, you finally have something to give away.

And if you trade in your oppression and spend yourself , in turn, on the oppressed ...

then ...




We'll finish up tomorrow, friends! Day 30 and 31 for a total of 31 posts in 32 days. You have been so dear and this has been hard! And while the old Abby might have focused on running a day (or two) late, I am celebrating a big win on the court of courage. Thanks for grace and for walking this road ... 

Spend Yourself {Day 28} :: Live loved (part 2)

Back up two years and I am carrying baby number three in my belly. I am tending to little children at home and caring for big children at work. I am worn out and when fatigue sets in, fear becomes my  default. I worry all over again about doing and being enough. It is getting the best of me and I feel like I am living with tunnel vision. Sometimes we just lose perspective.



We just need to be refreshed.

My husband reads me like a book and he knows when I am all poured out. For two years I follow this woman, each night, from my computer screen and she writes words that usher me closer to Jesus. In the morning, I kiss him goodbye and speak of a weekend retreat that is full ... she will be there. I sigh. "Oh well," I say.

It is ten hours later when he walks in the front door, tells me I am all signed up. "But how," I ask. He replies with that matter of fact grin. "Sometimes you just need to let me love you."

There are just a few odd factors ...

"You have to go to Arkansas," he says. "And the retreat is silent. And it is in a monastery. I think you should go..."

The whole thing is crazy but he makes a weekend plan for himself and the girls. He writes me a letter that reads, Just go feel loved. Go get some perspective.

So I get on a plane on my birthday with a big baby bulge and then I drive curvy roads with spotty GPS, into nowhere Arkansas. I cry nervous tears and can't remember why this was a good idea. When I arrive, the ladies are lovely. We will begin silence after dinner, get all our talking out over chicken and rolls. Tea.

Her plane is late and she isn't there. I watch for her and I don't see her until the next afternoon when we join monks for routine prayer. They gather here five times throughout the day, every day. Their chanting is melodic, rich, and full of truth. The bell tower chimes, calls us together on the hour, and she is sitting head bowed. Listening. Waiting. And for two days we mingle, quiet. Walk the gardens. Browse the bookstore. Stand in meal lines. I watch as she stands still at the end of the hall, in front of a carved picture of the Last Supper. I won't know until she speaks, writes her book, what reminders like these mean for her now... for us.

We eat supper too, awkward together at a round table, meeting eyes and clinking forks on melamine plates. She closes her eyes at dinner, the way she does in the church. Takes it all in.

Three times that weekend she speaks, for all of us. Every time she stands tall to share her words, I am more certain of Him, not by what she says but by what she does. I can see that this is not where she is  comfortable and she admits it freely ... says she feels "safer in story." She does beautifully. She talks of "Eucharisteo," gratitude and grace -- how these words changed her life, how "gratitude always precedes the miracle." She is brave and she is radiant and I believe her.

In my quiet room alone I can't figure out what I am doing there, silent. Is this silly, I wonder? This quiet weekend so far away. With the monks? I know He is asking me to be still, and know.  But what?

I re-read Todd's card. Go. Get refreshed. Know you are loved.

She speaks again, about how, if we will slow and encounter Him, we will really see. See the gifts. And when we see the gifts, we can know with certainty that we are loved. Blessed. She tells of Abraham and of God when He promised, "I will bless you and you will be  a blessing."

She calls this living loved.

And I know why I am there. It is time to slow and take eyes off of me again. See Him. Everywhere and all over this life. She says "our lives bleed story" and I am sure of it that day. I am blessed . I can bless. These are her words and this is a radical change in living. She teaches us at a horseshoe table to record our gifts so that we may begin to see. My list of 1000 begins that day.

1. husband who loves to be dad
2. anticipation of spring
3. new kindred friends.
4. revisiting old places
5. little girl voices on phone
6. coffee warm and good
7. words that inspire
8. new journal filling page by page
9. tiny boy growing in womb
10. pictures of babes eating donuts
11. warm green house and thoughts of a garden
12. bell chimes on the hour
13. sweet inspired Ann
14. fresh words from the Father
15. learning to live loved ...

I hug her and He has woven her a special place in my little story. She won't know what this time has meant, what her living brave has done for me. What it will do for so many. I fly home to my love and to my life. I am a little lighter. "I am blessed. I can bless ..." (Ann Voskamp)

I pray you stop by at A Holy Experience where Ann whispers pure beauty and grace, daily. For His sake, and for us too. And her book, One Thousand Gifts? Reading it and giving it away this past year has been one of my greatest joys. Again, be blessed.  

Spend Yourself {Day 27} :: Live loved (part 1)

I have been a journal writer for as long as I have been able to write. Anything significant in this little life has been scribbled down somewhere, in some fashion. I can't make sense of anything otherwise.

I have been painfully private for equally as long. I have opted out of every peer revision group, from middle school until recently. This says more about my fear and upside-down pride than anything else ... never wanting to risk humiliation, criticism. Never wanting to be wrong.

Truth is, I am wrong all the time.

And this fear of critique has extended well beyond my make-believe writing life. This fear has kept me living afraid in all areas. Quiet and choosing the back row. It has kept me mysterious and noncommittal. It has kept me safe and mediocre. And a little bit flighty ... because people don't expect too much from the flighty girl.

I have heard bad habits die hard, and this fear has been a killer to kill. Over the summer, I read that only cowards "under-promise and over-deliver." This is who I have been.

He is growing me up.

And now? I am learning to live unafraid. I am learning to live loved. 

And this journey is wrapping up faster than I can write and I am more tired than I ever thought I would be. Still, I have to walk you back a few paces. I have to introduce you to someone.   

We all have pivotal moments in this life. Moments that make perfect sense and moments that pave the way, open our eyes. Some of those moments include people.


And this woman has been like a distant, kindred friend-- etching His words onto my heart and I haven't been the same. Truly. She has become part of my story ... like so many who, by sharing their own lives, bring us closer to the full life too.

I know you will be blessed.

Spend Yourself {Day 26} :: Invest well

I have two unlikely friends.

One is practical and cerebral and her ability to make decisions intimidates.  She is a fierce mama and she loves her boys, her sports. She does what she says she will do, even when I do not. She offers grace by remaining faithful, steady. She is comitted to knowing truth. She loves Jesus and she loves people.

I don't know how we became friends, frankly, being so different. In my earlier days, she was the girl I was afraid of. Confident and sure and outspoken. She out-spoke herself right into my quiet life.

The other friend, she inspires me. She laughs loud and asks great questions and makes me feel worthy of time ... wants to share my life in every way, even with states between us now. She is energizing and tireless and brave in the way she gives herself to people. She isn't into appearances, status ... all those silly games we play. She is refreshing to the core and I often miss her bad. She sees big picture and she always comes back to the bottom line. Always. She loves Jesus and she loves people.

I don't know how we became friends, frankly, being so different. Before we had babies together, we only held ministry in common. But then we nursed our infants in shared space, pushed strollers in the morning cold ... comitted to doing-life together.

 These ladies have taught me how to spend this life, how to invest well. In relationship.  

You may know by now that I am a (recovering) perfectionist and that means I don't want you to come over if my house is a mess. And if you catch me off guard, show up anyway, I tend to apologize profusely... sure you might love me a little less. I miss opportunities because I over think.

Enter these two gals who crash into my life and into my home and they just don't care if my kitchen is wrecked. Or my heart. Let's get to the issue, they say. Let's just go zero to sixty. They call at crazy times and hang up too fast if something else comes up. This used to bug me. Now I feel so loved, because there is freedom to be me. Freedom to check in real quick and hang up again and know the friendship is real, stable, not dependent on the minors ... like etiquette or a clean home.

But really, the main reason I adore them? They choose relationship every time. "Will this decision serve or grow my relationship with people and with Jesus?" If not? It's an easy call. And these ladies live simply because when relationships are priority, much falls to the wayside. Much. 

Days become richer. Stress over schedules, possessions, and the future seems to dissipate.

Decisions become easier with far fewer factors weighing in. Inconvenience? For the sake of relationship? Bring it on, they say. Saying "no" for the sake of relationship? No question. And I have come to realize one thing: they don't live this way because of their extroverted personalities or their great need to go and do. They are not martyrs. I believe they live this way because they choose to follow Jesus when He said to "love God and then love your neighbor."

And sometimes choosing relationships means choosing what is hard. But I hear my friends ask the same questions, over and over again: Will this serve relationship? With God? With the people I love? With the people I am called to love? 

I am learning. I am learning to choose relationship with God and people over pride and insecurity, over my schedule or routine. Over myself. This is not natural and this is not easy. But it is beautiful, it is rich, it is worthy of energy and time. It looks a million different ways on a million different days and it is what He told us to do.

And I wonder. Could I live this way? As a person who chooses God and people time and time again? 

These ladies have been beautiful teachers, modeling well by following hard after Him ... who first chose us over everything.

And there are so many more ... beautiful women woven all throughout this life. Some so kindred they nearly share this heart and brain and I ache for them. Some so remarkable, so humble, I am sure they know a Jesus I only long to know. Some so hilarious and real and available, I crave their otherness and they fill up places I didn't know were thirsty. Pure gift, all of them. And I suppose this is how it ought to be ... this family of unlikely friends.

We choose Him and then we choose each other: when it is extravagant, when it is costly, when we are not the same. Jesus said, always relationship.

This is a life well spent. 

This is Day 26 of 31. Come follow here as this journey wraps up. Thank you a million times for coming back each day, for walking this road with me. You are sweet friends and I have learned so much. Say hello if you've been reading @ abbyelli@gmail.com ?? Remembering this is not about me, but about a big God who loves His people. Peace, all.  

Spend Yourself {Day 25} :: On People ...

Friends came over last night and we sipped coffee and they talked about family... how it can be sad sometimes and just feel all wrong. They told about parents who left gaping holes.

How mixed-up love can sometimes go bad and leave you wide open ... lacking.

And we talked redemption and healing and the evening ended with Jesus.

But I couldn't help but think back to last year:


I'm at work on a Wednesday and I walk through the locked metal door. That all-star therapist peeks her  head out and stands to meet me. I adore her and she doesn't give herself enough credit. The work she does...

She pulls me aside to tell me that "my girl" is waiting for me today... to be ready. I haven't walked on the hall yet. I call it The Gauntlet because once I step across that line into visible space, they descend. The teenage girls who live here all day, every day, will flock like gulls and I need a report from the off-going crew. Then I'll take a deep breath. Go.

"She just spoke with her mom," the therapist says. "She will give up custody. Just isn't invested."

I sigh, drop shoulders.

"You just need to be prepared," she tells me. "And I'm glad you're here tonight. For her."

I nod. I know.

And when I step onto the unit, I see her there in her usual place. She is pacing, leaning into the cinder block wall ... shoulder rubbing, holding her up as she goes. This is what she does when she needs to work through a moment, to decide what she will do next.

I know her. She will pound her fist and the tears will come. And after that it depends on who is around, to talk her down ... or up. And it could be any one of these sensational staff who does either.

It is like Russian roulette.

I walk to med room, count narcotics. Check all things check-worthy. I hear her. She is pounding now and this is always the part when they look to me.

"What do you want to do , Ms. Abby?"

And when all eyes are on me I wince. I am not a decision maker but this job has pushed me, like a shove in the back with whiplash, into a leader role. This hospital policy will allow for "hands-on" if a child is unsafe and this is a big deal.

Because this is some one's child.

Whether they want to relinquish custody or not ... this is some one's child.

And I sometimes wonder what I am even doing here.

I should be home with my own.

And so I don't jump too quickly. I know she can work this out, but she hits the side of her fist on hard wall now. She keeps breaking her hand and how do I not get excited, talk her down?

What do I know of mothers who abandon?

I decide to join her. Find her stride. Wave everyone off. We will do this together.
Tears are streaming and she says she's trying to use her skills. She bites her shirt and I laugh and tell her not to eat through another one-- her chin all tucked inside with wet ring on cotton. We threw her other shirt away just last week.

I tell her to stop pounding, tell her I don't feel like sending her out again for x-rays. She smiles and it's a good sign. She links both her arms around my one, latches on tight. We are in step and she slows ... asks if she can show me something. I wait to be invited into her room and when I enter in and look, I am stunned.

There on four walls, nearly top to bottom, are pictures: of mothers and babies.

Mothers holding babies. Mothers cradling babies. Mothers kissing babies.

White walls covered in mother love and I am blown away. On every picture, ripped from trendy magazines, she has written her name. She has named them ... given every infant on the wall her own birth name.

They are all her: held, cradled, kissed.

This long neglected seventeen year-old girl sits on edge of bed and tells me how she feels. She used to shut down, flail, and fight. She couldn't make a request ... didn't feel worthy of one. She used a pacifier to soothe herself to sleep. And now? I listen and realize how far she has come in these months. She has made poor choices, yes, but she is learning.

She pulls up sleeves, shows me her pain in black ink-- every wrong word in every which way. This is what she calls herself and I offer to help her clean up, to help her replace those words with words that are true. We walk to sink and make water warm...find good soap.

I  rinse black expletives and hurt down the drain and soothe with encouragement. Compassion.

I glance up for paper towel and her affirmation list catches my eye: her reminders displayed in a prominent place.

1. I am lovable
2. I am a good girl.
3. I am safe here.
4. I can ask for what I need.
5. I can say how I feel.
6. I am beautiful.
7. I will be a good mother...

I will be a good mother...

I read her ball-point scrawl on paper on mirror and I am undone. I hold my breath and my face gets hot and these white walls are moving.

How inadequate I can feel at this mothering profession and here I am, linking arms with a girl who just wants the time back ... just wants it to look different.

This mother-longing has worn her right through, hollowed her out, laid her bare.

And I brace myself in that moment, one hand on counter and one hand on hers.
I look her straight in the eyes and I tell her.

"You will be." I say. Her eyes ask the question.

"You will be a good mother."

She falls apart and falls into this shoulder and this mother-nurse plants feet firm and waits out the storm.

And I know this lacking will end with her. 

Because He can make all things new and He can graft us in to new family and she can be the first to offer a different kind of parent-love.  

That night she waits at her door, leans into hallway and asks to say prayers.

I enter in again and she takes the lead.
She says the Lord's Prayer.
She reads Psalm 145.

"One generation will commend your works to another... the Lord is near to all who call on him, to all who call on him in truth."

I turn out her light and tell her she did great work today.

And she sleeps under dreams on walls of what could have been ... dreams of what will be. I marvel at how far she has come. I offer her up and I am spent ...

And this is how it goes.

Because we spend our whole lives on people. We don't always relate, but we enter in. We don't always know what to do, but we walk alongside. We point people back to Him when they become muddled, hazy grey, and we ask them to do the same for us. We offer hope. We live out this hope together, side by side, every single day. Because, really, this is what life is about.

People.

And it was all for the love of people that He came down ...

Spend Yourself {Day 24} :: Live expectant

"For since the creation of the world God’s invisible qualities—his eternal power and divine nature—have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made ..." Romans 1:20

Look up and around today? Live expectant, see Him everywhere? This is a day worth spending ... with eyes wide open.