Jennifer Marshall Bleakley's Blog, page 5

You’ve been called by God, but what if everybody else gets there first???

You’ve been called by God, but what if everybody else gets there first???

My daughter doesn’t just get hungry. She gets hangry! When that girl needs a meal, we all know about it!

Normally a sweet, loving girl, her entire personality transforms when her belly demands food. And when that happens…watch out! And get the girl some chicken nuggets!!!

And while she’s gotten much better over the years at controlling her hanger, her hunger is still fierce!

But she’s not the only one…..

I mean, don’t we all get hungry sometimes. Like really hungry!

But not juicy cheeseburger hungry.

Soul hungry.

The hunger of not being where we want to be in life.

The hunger that comes when others achieve your dream.

The sharp hunger pains that come from being passed over, ignored, left out, unwanted.

My arms wrap around my midsection. A phantom cramp from memories of recent hunger.

We want to serve. We want to write, and speak and share.

We want to achieve dreams and inspire others. We want to be bold.

We want to enjoy life.

We want our turn!

But all we can see is the line. The backs of all those in front of us. All of those more gifted, more noticed, more equipped. Surely there won’t be enough for us, right?

Our souls lurch with the hunger of uncertainty. The pain of doubt.

Our enemy sees an opening. He tries to get us to focus on our hunger—on our lack—so we won’t see the abundance the Father is preparing. 

Oh, if only we would open our eyes and LOOK!

Look backwards to a moment…and see ourselves there:

************(Cue the going back in time music)*************

Your hungry belly reminds you that lunchtime has come and gone, yet your heart will not let you leave the presence of the man who speaks with an authority you can’t explain.

A small boy approaches Jesus. The crowd is so large, you have to crane your neck to see what Jesus is doing. You can’t hear the disciples whispers, but they look confused.

As you try to decipher their expressions, you hear Jesus cry out His thanksgiving to the Father. You see Him raise His arms toward heaven. In them is the little boy’s lunch. The crowd begins to murmur. The scene suddenly chaotic.

What’s happened?

The disciples stand, faces transfixed on Jesus. Their expressions a mixture of fear, shock and excitement. The crowd begins moving forward.

The disciples shake their heads, as if coming out of a fog.

Something is being passed.

A basket.

A large basket is making its way back to you. You see people reaching in and taking something out.  Your stomach surges with the realization that it is food. Food! The sweet aroma of bread mingles with the salty scent of fish. People greedily take what is offered. The basket is passed, and passed, and passed. Hands pulling out all of its glorious contents. Your heart drops.

There won’t be any left.

Too many hands have taken from the basket. Your stomach tightens, hunger wraps around your belly.

As always, you are too late, too far, too….passed over.

As if taunting you, the basket continues its journey back through the crowd. You can no longer bring yourself to watch as the last pieces are taken. With your gaze fixed on the grass beneath your feet, the basket is placed in your hands. Tempted to just pass the empty vessel to the next unfortunate soul, you decide to reach inside in the hopes a crumb remains. You thrust your hand in, intending to scrape from the bottom. However, your hand is stopped. Something is blocking the opening. Your hand opens, it touches… bread.

You close your fist around the loaf. Your free hand takes another.

The basket is taken from you, continuing it’s journey. Your mind swirling with questions. Another basket makes its way to you.

Fish.

The basket is held for you as it travels. You quickly grab several small fish. Your hands are full, your is mind reeling. How did that just happen? You saw the baskets. You saw people taking from them.

They should have been empty.

You should still be hungry.

Yet, as you take bite after bite, you are full. Both stomach and soul.

How?

The question whispers through your mind the rest of the day.

How?

How??

As the sun makes its descendent toward the horizon, the crowd disperses. Open space now dots the once packed mountainside.

You turn to face the water, still trying to process the abundance.

Your gaze catches His.

A knowing smile on his lips. As if He somehow speaks the words without moving His mouth, you hear the phrase, “With God all things are possible.” They are words you have heard Him speak before. Beautiful words. Powerful words. But now they are more.

Now His words have become life. 

Now His words sustain your soul.

He nods to you before beginning his journey up the mountainside. 

Never before have you felt more satisfied. For now you know with Jesus there will always be more than enough. 

Much love,

Jen

 

The post You’ve been called by God, but what if everybody else gets there first??? appeared first on Jennifer Bleakley.

When You Feel Overwhelmed Take it One Bite at a Time

When You Feel Overwhelmed Take it One Bite at a Time

I stare at the offending room.

The clutter and chaos taunt me.

My kitchen has become a giant (and maddening) game of whack-a-mole!! It’s clean—it’s cluttered. It’s organized—it looks like a bomb exploded. It’s lemon-fresh—dear heavens what died in here?!?!

It is an ongoing battle (one I’ve enlisted the entire family in fighting) and yet most days it still feels like we are losing!

Today I survey the battle scene.

Every surface needs tending.

I want to have a clean kitchen. I really do.

And yet I pause. I stare. I walk away and come back again. I start at the table, but get distracted by the counter. And then I’m over at the island, before picking something up off the floor.

I back out of the room, deciding to return later.

But later just makes it worse.

I peer into the room and feel completely overwhelmed.

Looking at the mess as a whole feels daunting and impossible.

It makes me want to run. To close the door behind me, throw a condemned sign on the front of the house and just start afresh somewhere else!

But then I remember an odd saying my mom used to recite:

You eat an elephant one bite at a time.

I always questioned that piece of advice. I mean:

who is going to eat an elephant??? and
who came up with that? Did a mother somewhere in Africa plop a 6 ton slab of elephant on her son’s plate and say, “Now Johnny, I want you to eat all of your elephant. Just remember to eat it one bite at a time!”

Well, while I don’t have any plans to dine on Dumbo, I do understand the concept.

Instead of looking at the whole, just start with one tiny part.

The advice rings true for kitchen disasters, but as I force myself to focus only on cleaning my kitchen table, I realize my mom’s elephant advice pertains to far more important issues as well.

For the fact is, my kitchen frustrations are just a focus for a far greater frustration: the state of our world—specifically our country.

Things are a mess. A big ol’ giant mess—a mess which makes my kitchen look clean!!!

And I am just one person.

One random, non-political, non-activist, don’t-really-have-a-clue-how-to-affect-change kind of a person.

But I am a person who looks at the state of our world and longs to somehow make it better. I want to help clean our country’s kitchen. But where would I even start???

It feels too big.

Too messy.

Too caked on. Too stacked up. Too much.

And yet, if I do nothing things will only get worse right?

So I guess I need to take my first bite of the elephant.

I wish I could take a big bite. A bite that will bring peace and unity to a tragically divided nation. A bite that will affect policy and process. A bite that can right wrongs and heal wounds. 

And yet, I realize my first bite will surely go unnoticed.

After all, the first bite in a 6,000 ton steak is negligible. But it’s a start.

I don’t know what that first bite will be. 

I’m still surveying the kitchen.

But I will take a bite.

And you will take a bite.

And maybe, just maybe, a bunch of random, ordinary people, will be able to eat an entire elephant…

One bite at a time.

Much love,

Jen

The post When You Feel Overwhelmed Take it One Bite at a Time appeared first on Jennifer Bleakley.

The Scent of God’s Love: Surely it Smells Like Listerine

The Scent of God’s Love: Surely it Smells Like Listerine

I snuggle my eight-year-old self under the quilt, reveling in the decadent space of a queen-sized bed.

I rub my cheek against the feather-soft pillowcase and breathe deeply.

An intensely comforting aroma fills my nostrils as Listerine and Bengay forever intermingle with the memory of sleep-overs with my Grandmother.

She climbs into bed beside me.

We giggle as the bed squeaks in protest of its additional occupant. We giggle even louder when my Granddaddy calls out with feigned indignation from his adjoining room, “You girls settle down in there!”

The baritone chuckle a few seconds later gives him away. My grandmother winks at me before reaching over to switch off the light.

Turning toward me in the shadow-filled room she asks, “Did you have a good time tonight, Sugar?”

“I did,” I whisper, staring into the darkness, longing for the light.

“I sure do love having you here,” she tells me, her voice soothing—beckoning me to look toward her and not the elongated shadows on the wall. “Sugar, you make every day feel like sunshine.”

The shadows suddenly retreat.

“You ready to say prayers?” she asks. 

I am.

I love to hear Grandmother talk to God. I snuggle a little closer as she begins.

I know from experience this is going to take awhile. But I don’t mind.

I smile with anticipation—for I know after just a little while I will hear my name.

She always begins by thanking God for who He is. She calls Him Savior and Father and Lord. She thanks Him for her family and the good things He’s given her. She even thanks Him for the hard things.

She says the hard things draw her closer to Him. I wrinkle my nose, hoping God doesn’t get any ideas of giving me hard things!

I quickly remind Him that I feel pretty close to Him already.

She then begins the roll call of family prayer. My Granddaddy is always first followed by her children in their birth order, then each member of her children’s families—in their birth order. My daddy is the second to the youngest, so I have a bit of a wait until my name is brought before God.

My eyes grow heavy as she prays for my cousins.

I am sleepy, yet comforted by the fact my grandmother possess a superpower making her able to know exactly what each person in our family is struggling with and how to pray for each one.

I am just about to surrender to sleep when I hear my name on her lips. My eyelids fly open. I lean into her.

I don’t want to miss a word.

She thanks God for making me her sunshine, and for our sleepover. She asks Him to always keep me close to Him.

I feel her hand reach for mine under the covers.

Her voice becomes serious, almost pleading, as she asks God to always remind me who I am—of who I am to Him.

I squirm a little as she prays for my future husband—as she asks God to grow him into a strong godly man.

I hold my baby doll in one hand and my Grandmother’s hand in the other as she prays for the children I will one day have. I listen to her ask God to draw their hearts to Jesus at a young age so they will always know and love Him.

She finishes by praying for at least a dozen friends, for her church family, and for the courage to tell more people about Jesus.

She concludes with an “amen,” kisses my head and whispers, “I love you Sugar.”

“I love you too,” I whisper back, turning over to the cool side of the pillow.

My eight year old heart is full.

Peace floods my soul.

And just before I drift off to sleep, I mouth goodnight to God.

The God who, I am still convinced, calls people Sugar and smells a lot like Listerine and Bengay.

Much love,

Jen

“May my prayer be set before you like incense; may the lifting up of my hands be like the evening sacrifice.” Ps 141:2

The post The Scent of God’s Love: Surely it Smells Like Listerine appeared first on Jennifer Bleakley.

Dear kids, you’re not gonna like this (but I’m ok with that)

Dear kids, 

I love you two more than you can imagine—more than my own life or happiness. I love you with a forever love. A fierce love. A protective love. A love which is stronger than my desire to make you happy every second of the day.

Don’t get me wrong, I want you to be happy. I really do. That’s why when your dad and I want artichoke chicken for dinner, I will gladly make you a pizza. And why when you were little I had sippy cups in every color of the rainbow, because heaven forbid you wanted a red one and all I had was blue! I love making you happy. I love seeing you smile at something I’ve done for you.

But….your happiness is not my main concern.

Go ahead and breathe, I know that’s hard to hear.

And don’t worry, I still want you to be happy. But the truth is my main concern is your heart.

My main job as your parent is to help you grown into a kind, caring adult who contributes good to society. And for our family your dad and my main goal as your parents is to lead you to Jesus and pray you will find your joy, contentment, peace and strength in Him. For He is all that will truly satisfy.

You are growing up in a loud and chaotic culture. You are being bombarded with images promising fame, riches, happiness and satisfaction. Your mind is being engaged every second of the day with screens offering escape and engagement. Every moment is packed with noise and images. Your brain is inundated with stimuli.

It seems good on the surface right? I mean, you hate boredom. You loathe quiet. And why wouldn’t you? It feels unfamiliar. Wrong even.

And yet…..

Silence, quiet and boredom are the fertile soil from which springs creativity, growth and progress.

Your minds are precious gifts—filled with limitless possibilities, gifted to you by your Creator. But those possibilities depend on one vital thing—silence.

For only in silence will you hear Your Creator whisper the combination needed to unlock the possibilities He’s placed within your mind.

Only in silence will you hear the voice of the One who created you with the talents, attributes and gifts which make you you! Only in the silence will you clearly hear the voice of the only One who can give you true joy, contentment and peace.

Don’t be afraid of the silence, even if it feels weird or uncomfortable.

You will need to retrain your mind to accept silence and boredom .

But do it sweet ones. Please! It is a skill and a discipline (I know there’s another word that makes you cringe) but silence is a skill and a discipline which will create in you invaluable things such as wisdom, compassion, discernment and joy. Those are things I cannot give you. I can show them to you, model them, pray them over you, but they are traits which must be grown inside of you, grown from the seeds of silence and boredom.

This world is just going to get louder. Opinions, advertisements, and voices will continue to come at you like a blizzard—whiting out everything else. It is going to be vital for you to make time to ponder and process all you hear. To be still and think before you speak. To allow yourself space to form your own opinion. All of this will require quiet.

Silence—a way of life just a few decades ago—is now a skill which must be practiced.

You must train your body to allow for silence, just as you would train your fingers to play guitar or your body for a marathon. But I promise, as your mama who loves you with a fierce and protective love, it will be worth it!!

And because I love you so much that I’m ok with you not being happy every second of the day, this summer we are going to practice embracing the sound of silence (cue the theme song!). We are going to devote one day a week to being screen free. One day a week to turning off the noise and listening.

Listening to nature.

Listening to each other.

Listening to our own thoughts.

And listening for the voice of God.

For only in the sound of silence will we hear the call of the Creator.

Remember, I love you with all my heart. Which is why I feel so passionately about protecting and nurturing yours.

(but it’s ok if you don’t feel so happy with me right now, my love for you can handle that)

Love,

Mom

The post Dear kids, you’re not gonna like this (but I’m ok with that) appeared first on Jennifer Bleakley.

Be The One

Tonight I sat on my teenage son’s bed, fighting back tears as he asked me if I thought he would ever get shot at school. It was the first time I’ve seen real fear on his face—fear born from the stark realization that life-altering, life-ending violence can happen anywhere. And I hate it. I hate not being able to tell my son with 100% confidence that violence, evil, or the effects of brokenness will never touch him or those we love. I hate it. I hate it so much it makes me physically ill. I despise the mess our world is in. I want nothing more than to make it better. I want to tell my son he and his sister are safe. That they can grow up in a safe and stable world. A world where goodness and kindness reign.

But sadly that is not our world.

For we live in a broken world, a hurting world. A world tainted by evil—marred by sin.

A world full of wounded people, shattered people, confused people. A people capable of great acts of violence—violence born from violence.

And we as a culture are left to cry out in fear and anguish—mourning one senseless loss while dreading the next. For we know the next is always coming.

We lament and ponder. We accuse and blame. We draft laws and memos. We train and we equip. But nothing changes. Why?

God, why???

It’s because the change we need—the change we truly need—cannot be legislated or mandated, instituted nor decreed.

It is because the change our society needs cannot come from politicians or platforms but from people just like you and me.

It is because the only way we are going to ever put a stop to the senseless violence destroying our schools, is by radical acts of love and kindness.

I am just one person—and an introverted scaredy-cat one at that—but if I am one person willing to show love, compassion and kindness to one other person, than I can affect a larger change.

For what if, just what if, I reach a person who, later in life, could be capable of deadly violence? What if I (one ordinary nobody) interrupts another’s life with light? What if I plant a seed of hope into the life of another? And what if that seed grows large enough to push out the seed of violence, planted earlier by an experience with trauma or hurt? Wouldn’t it stand to reason then that one seed, planted by one regular person, could potentially spare the life of another—possibly of many others? Thereby bringing much from the one?

Could it really be as simple as that?

Maybe not, probably not, but for the sake of our kids, for the sake of my kids, I am sure willing to try!

I might be naive—it wouldn’t be the first time—but here’s the thing: I can’t make a law. And I can’t enforce a law. And I can’t even change a law. But I can change a live. And maybe that’s even better. Because one live changed could mean many lives saved. And that is reason enough for me to be willing to be the one. To reach the one. To save the one.

Platforms are great, pulpits are needed, policies are warranted, but ultimately people need people.

These kids need someone—even just one person—to see them, to hear them, to show them another way—a better way. These kids, both those inflicting pain and those bearing pain, are victims of the broken world in which we live. And it’s a mess. A giant mess. And when we look at it as a whole it’s overwhelming—too far gone to save.

But when you look at just one child—step into just one life—suddenly it all seems a little more doable.

And so tonight, right now, will you make a commitment with me to be the one? It will probably get messy, be hard, and feel awkward and uncomfortable, but what if—just what if—God uses us to stop one more act of violence? What if each one of us who feels inadequate and unqualified simply asks God to, “Show me who to love today” and then we do it? What if we live out the radical love of Jesus in this broken, hurting and hungry world?

Could we maybe—just maybe—change someone’s world? And in the process affect real change—lasting change—one hurting heart at a time?

If nothing else, maybe it’s at least worth a thought….

Much love,

Jen

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#nofearFriday: Identity Versus Fear

#nofearFriday

It’s #nofearFriday and today we are tackling identity and fear.

What do you think? Can identity influence fear? Does confusion over our true identity cause us to be more fearful?

I think the Bible gives strong evidence to suggest it does. I also believe that the secret to living a fear less life is to ground our identity in Christ.

Would love to hear your thoughts!

Much love,

Jen

 

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Learning to Let Go: when God has to pry the mom fingers from our teenagers’ faith

“God,” I whispered, afraid of uttering aloud the thoughts in my heart. “I wish my son would never have started reading the Bible.”

There. I said it. And I meant it—even though the admission brought a fresh wave of tears. I mean what Christian mom doesn’t want her son to read the Bible?? What Bible believing, Bible teaching, Bible loving mom wishes—at least weekly—that her teenage son would have never started reading the Bible through in a year? 

As a young boy, my son would declare his love and devotion to Jesus by writing John 3:16 in sidewalk chalk on our driveway; by scribbling “Jesus Loves You” on napkins at restaurants; and by hammering scraps of wood together into crosses, painting them with left over spray paint, and scattering them across our yard—resulting in more of a creepy pet cemetery look than the “Jesus loves you and wants to give you life” look he was hoping for, but still…he was expressing love for the Savior he loved so much.

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From the moment he could speak, my son talked about Jesus and God and the “Ho-wee Spear-it.” He once asked me (at the age of 4) “if satan said he was saw-ree to God for sinnin’ would God forgive him?” And then just a few months later, after listening to the story of Jonah from his little rhyme time Bible, he declared, “Jonah made a bad choice so God put him in time-out in dat whale’s big ol’ belly so he could think about makin’ a good-er choice.”

And on many occasions he would meet random strangers and say he was “God’s boy” or “Jesus’ bestest friend.”

His early faith—his strength of faith—caused me  to think that his faith was a sealed deal. That God had imparted into his little heart a rock-solid faith that would never be shaken.

I was so blissfully naive!!

Oh, if only we could live out our 4 year old devotion to the Lord all of our days. If only we could remain Jesus’ boys and girls.

And yet, He made us to grow. In fact, He put within us a yearning for wisdom, discernment, knowledge and understanding—things which can only come from questioning, wrestling, doubting and deciding.

God wants us to make our faith our own.

He doesn’t want us to ride the coattails of our parent’s faith, or our teacher’s faith, or our mentor’s faith. No, He wants us to own our faith.

And that all sounds well and good—until…you watch your child begin his own faith journey. Until you see your son shake off your faith and begin to question his own. Until you watch as your little boy trades his sidewalk chalk for doubts; his napkin evangelism for questions, and his haphazard crosses for objections.

Yet even in that you hold onto hope that the little boy faith is still in there—just morphing into big boy faith.

But then….

Your son trades his rhyme time Bible for the real deal and then asks one night at dinner, “How can you think God is so loving when he ordered the annihilation of entire nations?”

His questions and objections catch you off-guard. You feel completely unprepared for his criticism of the Word you hold so dear.

Since my teenager decided to read the Bible through in a year, I find myself wishing God would have sought the help of an editor. Or maybe consulted a publicist. Or ran a few Old Testament books past a focus group.

As I watch my son wrestle over who God is and whether or not He is good and trustworthy, all I want to do is put his little Rhyme Time Bible back in his hands.

“He’s mine. Trust me,” I hear the words in my heart, but I shake my head against them. For my role is to lead my children to faith in Jesus. This is my job as his parent. It’s on me if he walks away. Right?

“All I ask you to do is introduce him to me. Now, it’s my turn. Trust me.”

“But God,” I cry, “What if he doesn’t choose you?” the words cause pain as they escape my lips. All I want—all I really want from this life—is to know that my children are walking with the Lord. What if….I can’t finish the thought.

Trust Me with your son.

Trust Me with his heart.

Trust Me…I am starting a new thing.

Trust Me…I am working all things together for his good.

Trust Me…I know the plans I have for him.

Trust Me…Neither height, nor depth can separate him from my love.

Trust Me enough to let go. Let me have his heart. It is not your job to win his heart, that is MY job.

Trust Me.

I’m not gonna lie…this has been the hardest part of parenting for me. Realizing that I can’t control my kids’ hearts and thoughts. Allowing them to make their own choices, understanding that those choices could lead them places I never wanted them to go. BUT, at my core I believe that God is good. He is trustworthy and He loves my kids more than I do. I trust that God still speaks through His Word—even in our confusion and doubts. And I rejoice that my teenage son is reading that word…even if he’s wrestling with it.

And so…I will trust and pray. Believe and encourage. And I will stay close, but let go enough to let God take over.

But between you and me, I’m holding onto that sidewalk chalk and Rhyme Time Bible…just in case!

Much love,

Jen

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Launching hope one story at a time…

Launching hope one story at a time…

What is hope? How would you define the word?

Trust in a promise? Belief in something? An idea?

This weekend I launched my first book. And it was glorious and beautiful; surreal and exciting. But what struck me the most about the day was that the launch of my book JOEY was less about a book launch and more about launching hope.

Hope—

a strong expectation; a confident trust; an unwavering belief

The definition naturally lends itself to self-reflection:

What expectations do I have?

Who or what am I trusting in?

What are my unwavering beliefs.

Hope.
JOEY is the true story of a blind rescue horse who helped others see hope.

(My husband nudged me awake a few nights ago. Apparently I was reciting the tagline from my book in my sleep!)

We had prepared for the JOEY launch event for weeks. I had memorized my speech. The amazing people at the Hope Reins horse ranch had planned for every detail. The ranch was beautiful. The horses prepped. The food delicious.

And hope was palpable— like particle charges of hope floating in the air.

 

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There was a joyful expectation on faces, both old and young. But we weren’t hoping in a book. And thank God we weren’t hoping in its author. Or the ranch. Or the event.

No, we were hoping in God and expecting Him to show up.

And He did.

He was visible in the words written on the sides of rescued horses. He was evident in the stories of restored children. He was heard in the words of those who spoke about the hurting, the broken, and the forgotten. He was felt in the gentle breeze. He was magnified through the scarlet thread of redemption woven into a glorious tapestry of hope—a tapestry that looks a lot like a spotted horse named JOEY.

Hope.

Something a blind horse helped people see everyday. Something a horse was able to give because humans had given to him.

Hope.

The realization that if the life of a broken and blind horse mattered—and had a purpose—than maybe, just maybe mine does too.

Hope.

The understanding that if there are safe people in this world who care for abused and abandoned horses then maybe there are safe people who will care for and help me.

Hope—the unwavering belief that if there is a God who cares so much about a blind horse surely He must also care about me.

Joey was a horse with a powerful story. A story woven together throughout many other stories. Each one meaningful. Each one powerful. Each one vital to create this tapestry of hope.

Each one of us has a story.

What’s yours? Have you ever thought about it? Can you trace the thread of hope woven throughout your story?

It’s there, I promise. But sometimes it’s buried. Sometimes other threads have been sown over it. But the thread of hope is always there.

Always.

So today, as JOEY is officially launched into the world my prayer is that this book launch is really a launching of hope…one story—one thread—at a time.

Much love,

Jen

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Throwing off the cloak of fear

My fear started off as a warm blanket wrapped securely around my shoulders—protecting me from an ever growing list of potential dangers:

Germs.

Public speaking.

Sharks.

Sharing my writing with others.

My kids playing outside.

Cold coffee.

Driving on the highway.

Roaches.

Submitting a book proposal.

Talking to a publisher.

Doing a facebook live video.

The list was endless. And my blanket was getting tighter—feeling more like a binding cloak wrapped tightly against my body. My arms, once free to embrace a new challenge, now dug into my side. My lungs, which once belted out praises, sang lullabies, and roared with laughter, now felt tight—constricted. Suddenly, I wanted the cloak off, and yet it wouldn’t budge.

I was tightly bound—powerless against it’s constricting weight.

No longer could I run free toward new adventures.

No longer could I embrace those around me.

No longer could I rest in the moment.

No….my cloak of fear was too tight. Too heavy. Too strong.

“Oh God!” I cried out to the only One stronger than this crippling fear. “Please take this cloak away. Rip it off. Slice it open. I can’t breathe!”

Yet in spite of my heartfelt prayer, the cloak did not fall off. Nor did it rip in two from top to bottom.

But…I did feel the a slightest weakening of the oppressive garment—my lungs expanding for a brief moment. My shoulder twitching with the unexpected freedom. The cloak, of course, was still there. Still wrapped tightly around me. But it was loosened—enough.

Enough for me to invite others to lean on my newly freed shoulder.

Enough for my lungs to whisper a prayer of thanks.

Enough for my heart to beat wildly with the awareness of the One who truly is stronger than my fear.

Over time, my cloak has become less and less constricting. Eventually, my arms became free enough to embrace the new adventure God had been calling me toward.

And yet, that cloak is always nearby.

Sometimes pooled around my feet.

Sometimes draped across my shoulders.

Sometimes tucking itself around my children’s laps.

Always there, hoping that I will forget what it really is. Hoping that I will fall into old patterns. Longing for me to once again see it as a warm security blanket.

But no. No more.

For now I see fear as it truly is: Not a security blanket, but a trap! A trap and a liar! A sneaky, conniving, deceiver who seeks to immobilize—to paralyze us from moving forward. From moving toward God’s calling and purpose. From embracing all that He offers. From embracing those around us who are trapped by their own cloaks.

No more!

No more, fear!

And while that pesky cloak may always be present, I pray it never again has such power over me. For the truth is, why would I ever turn to a blanket or cloak of fear when I am covered in lavish robes of righteousness

And one day I will look down and that cloak will be absent, and in its place will be the glorious light of true freedom!

Much love,

Jen

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Things I’m supposed to tell you and things I want to say

Five years ago I saw my silhouette reflected in the eyes of a blind horse. That night, as the setting sun transformed the evening sky, I gazed into almond shaped eyes set into the face of a black and white horse. A horse who could see nothing but darkness.

I stood before the animal, transfixed.

Captivated by his story.

Heartbroken by his pain.

Uplifted by his purpose.

Eventually he walked away, sure-footed and confident. Within minutes his polka-dotted body becoming one with the encroaching darkness. The horse was gone. But his story—his eyes—would haunt me for weeks to come.

One day, desperate to put words to feelings, I began to type.

And type.

And type.

I had no idea what I was doing, or why I was bothering to do it. I couldn’t see where my writing was going or how I was supposed to get there. All I could see were the horse’s eyes. And my own image reflected in them.

I had no idea (how could I have) that five years later those words would morph into my first book, or that the book would be in development to become a film.

And now, today as we launch a new site and gear up for the official launch in two weeks, I am supposed to tell you things about the book: numbers and sales, stats and how well it is doing in Amazon. And I know all of that is important and awesome and amazing. But you guys, today I just can’t get past the memory of standing before Joey and feeling as though he could see into my very soul.

I just cannot get over all that God has done to bring forth this story. Or that He allowed me to tell it!

Over the next several weeks you are going to hear a lot about a horse named Joey, a girl named Jen, and a ministry named Hope Reins. But please know this, please, please know this, that none of us…not the horse, nor myself, nor the ministry…are the reason for any of this. We are not the point.

God is.

He is the creator of the horse.

The words behind the writer.

The anchor of the ministry.

He is our hope.

Anything worthy of praise belongs to Him, and Him alone.

And so today, as I launch my new website…

As I reveal a brand new site dedicated to all things JOEY…(see joeythebook.com)

And as I share with you an incredibly moving video…

All I can do is raise my hands in worship and praise.

And reflect upon that moment….

That sacred, precious moment when God drew me close, and spoke to my heart through the almond-shaped eyes of a blind horse named Joey….

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