Kassie Fowler

Why Can’t You Be More Like Her? A Lesson from Ree Drummond for all the Mothers.

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Mothers Day is around the corner and all the praise hands for the predictable day we hear “you’re the best mom in the whole world!”  I could rave over all the ways mothers are super human, rather, I’ll share a story and some of my journey to freedom from feeling like I’m always missing the mark…

Happy Mothers Day

It’s a hot, summer day around noon, and I’ve clicked on The Food Network in hopes of inspiring my i-only-eat-cheese-for-protein 7 year old to broaden his lunch horizons. “Pioneer Woman” is on. If you’ve seen the show, you know it’s a cooking show hosted by Ree Drummond, a former city girl with a hunky rancher husband, a band of adorable kids, a huge ranch, and a special brand of home cooking and elegant celebrations.  She’s an award-winning blogger and best-selling cookbook author.  The show begins with Ree saying,

Hi, I’m Ree Drummond.  I’m a writer, blogger, photographer, mother and I’m an accidental country girl…”

I’m always in a trance during that part but then — like a bucket of ice thrown over my head—  I hear,

Why can’t you be more like HER?”

What?!  I don’t expect to hear this question fire out of my 7 year old son’s mouth.  He was just as mesmerized by Ree as me, apparently.  And it’s hardly bearable for me to hear all of her accolades while watching the beautiful images dangle before my eyes, but then to hear my 7 year old reiterate what’s in my head leaves me a bit dumbfounded.  Do I laugh or do I cry?

I push my defenses down and ask, “what is it you like about her, baby?”

He looks at me and says, “why can’t you cook like her?”

Phew! He’s just thinking with his tummy.  I realize he’s just seen a preview of the cookies and bread Ree is about to teach us to bake.  He wants to eat sugar and carbs ALL THE DAY LONG.  And he knows I won’t agree.

But wait, why did I have such a strong initial reaction to his question? What did I really hear? Was it his voice asking why can’t you be more like her? — Or was it mine?

If I’m being honest, what I hear during the show intro is, “Hi! I’m Ree Drummond… I’m awesome, smart, creative, successful, beautiful, and I can whip up something deliciously amazing while homeschooling my 4 children before you mothers can even brush your teeth for the day.  All while not breaking a sweat or raising my voice.”

So why does the show’s soundbite bother me?  What is it about her talents and successes that leave me feeling like a loser?  These questions sit with me, and I refuse to let them go.  Or do they refuse to let me go?  Not sure, but I’m committed to get answers.  If this is messing with me, then I bet there are other mothers with the same struggles.

And I’m not looking to share some inspiring quote to make us all feel better for five minutes. No, I’m looking for breakthrough.  I’m looking for healing from his shameful question that plagues so many of us… why can’t you be more like her? 

As I start digging, I first discover the important question:

What is an image and what is reality?

I begin with some research on Ree Drummond, to get more information on her as a real-life human being.  How do others see her?  Is she really perfect?  Are these images that I’m captivated by — the beautiful pictures, the perfect recipes, the images on TV displaying a spotless, bright kitchen, with happy and thankful children and a woman who takes care of her manly cowboy of a husband — are they really real?

I find an article in The New Yorker with an interesting take.  It portrays Ree as a busy, distracted mom who’s more interested in taking pictures than homeschooling.  Her cowboy husband defies the traditional role, and actually takes the brunt of caring for the children during the day so they can learn the ways of ranching and so Ree can have time to focus on her blog.  The real Ree wears yoga pants around the house and admits she’s ok with stepping over messes in her home (which is ok, because the guest house on their property is the setting for the show and where the camera crew stays.)  There’s talk of Ree being a savvy businesswoman, insanely ambitious, and like a duck, “ underneath the water, it’s paddling like mad, but above the surface, it’s placid.”  This is not the Ree I envision.  And honestly, I’m relieved by the reality check.

Before I go any further, let me lay this foundation.  I’m not in the business of demonizing celebrities, women, or anyone with ambitions for the sake of making myself look or feel better.  That’s not the true healing work that leads to a better life. That’s envy, insecurity, and beyond.  And it’s only a temporary fix.  My goal here is to identify what’s an image that results in unattainable expectations we set for ourselves.  Which brings me to an even deeper lesson…

Images of Perfection are Leading Women to Deep Places of Shame

I’m a Brene Brown fan and if you read or listen to her work, you get it.  Brown is a psychologist, made famous by her TED talk, and a world-renown researcher on the subject of shame.  In her teaching “Men, Women, & Worthiness” Brown shares an example from one of her favorite movies that is filled with beautiful dancing.  A few years ago, Brown learns that these scenes are not accomplished merely by the lone lead actress, but by FIVE different body doubles.  An expert for each part, all coming together to give a mind-blowing performance.  What Brown concludes is,

we try to be that woman that we can come in and we can do it all and do it all perfectly, and the truth is that we’re just one person.  And without the help of filmmakers and editors, we fall and we stumble and we have to work really hard to keep it all together and it doesn’t always work.  For us, shame is being held up against the ideal that somehow we can live lives and edit them as we’re living them so that what the world only sees is what’s perfect about us.”

She further explains that the definition of shame is the intensely painful feeling or experience of believing we are flawed and therefore unworthy of love and belonging.

Whoa.  So my self talk?  My knee-jerk reaction to my son’s question of why I can’t be like her is really rooted in shame?  I would never use such a word to describe myself.  But how freeing it is to recognize that my own pattern of defensiveness and perfectionism is that I’m embarrassed about my own flaws and shortcomings.  And I’m striving not to be seen as a fraud to other mothers.  I want to appear like I’ve got it all under control to stay-at-home moms so they think I have a spotless and clutter-free home full of activity centers and chore charts.  And yet I want to appear like I’m rockin’ the work-home juggle to working mothers so they think I cook healthy dinners and then read for 1 hour with my kids before I get back on my emails.  When in reality, I need 5 experts like the lead actress (chef, cleaner, nanny, home-organizer, and assistant).

So, this struggle… it’s not really mom guilt.  Mom guilt is “oh crap, I screamed too much, I feel terrible.”  Then, it’s apologies and hugs and resolve to do it differently next time.  Because, as Brown teaches us, guilt is a productive emotion… meaning, it causes you to change something.  Shame, however, is not.  It looks like this, “I screamed at the kids.  I always scream.  I completely suck as a mom.  Will I every get my act together?”

See the difference?

We readily talk about “mom guilt” but don’t admit “mom shame” and I would venture to say that freedom comes from understanding the latter.  Freedom comes from calling shame what it is and then accepting ourselves as we are.  We can leverage the guilt as it helps us strive to be the best version of ourselves BUT ONLY when the guilt is not coupled with shame.

I also notice that when I’m not operating in mom shame, I struggle less with mom guilt.

When I’m confident in who I am, including inadequacies, I let go of keeping up the act that I can do it all.  And that I can be all things to all people.  I am SO DONE with the unrealistic standards and perfection and all the people-pleasing.  I’ve gone from feeling more shame with every image I see to being a pretty good false-image-sniffer and a lie-spotter, recognizing all the lies I’m told and the lies I tell myself.  I’ve gone from making false images my standards to bravely owning my reality.

In a culture pervasive with perfect images, we have to be brave self-acceptors and fierce celebrators of others.  

I’ve got a few more examples and topics around this mom shame topic that I hope to share in the future.  But I would love to hear more about YOUR journey in this area.  How have you fought against feeling like you’re missing the mark?

Happy Mothers Day to all.  You, or the mom in your world, deserves all the Ree Drummond cakes this Mothers Day:)

 

 

Impossible Beauty Standards: What I Learned from Fat Rolls, Unibrows, and 17th Century Selfies

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You know art museums?  Those places you go to admire works that have persisted in immortal beauty.  Well, there are some images that have not stood the test of time — the hideous portraits of …

women.

Stay with me, I know that sounds mean.  But, c’mon.  The unibrows, the short ruffled hair, the pale skin, the fat rolls.  The stares of death.  Did they know they weren’t on fleek?  That one day we wouldn’t get their aesthetic?  FR they are so not TD.  (That’s “for real” and “to die” for those of us who aren’t hip anymore- I googled it for us).

Well, not so much.  You see, these works of art reveal women who were completely “finesse” for their day.  They were proud of their selfies as men appreciated their non sun-kissed skin, muffin tops, and fat dimpled thighs.  Besides the past 100 years, most of human history upheld beautiful bodies as the weightier, the better.  Curvy meant you had more than enough food to eat.  Pale was in, blonde was out.  If you were a part of the Han Dynasty, you better have small feet but if you were part of Victorian England, your waist better be cinched.  Ancient Greece preferred full-bodied and plump women whereas Ancient Egypt preferred slender, narrow shouldered women.  Traditional African beauty included such practices as “fattening rooms” for young soon-to-be brides (um, yes please!).

Centuries later, we now look upon these works of art with a little chuckle, or maybe disgust.  Because 2017 is full of images that are quite the contrary — sparkly bronzed skin, perfectly painted eyebrows, plump selfie puckers, rail-thin legs, essential thigh gaps, and perfectly perky curves.  Beauty standards, that in some cases, are only attainable through a knife.  I think our predecessors would be appalled with such nonsense.  And feel super lucky they weren’t born at such a time. Rightfully so.

Even though I’ve already seen flaky fads in my era, I semi-consciously hold fleeting beauty standards in high regard.  Like they are my measurement of self worth.  Are the flawless images bombarding us my standards?  Or maybe my own judgments about my looks and body?  Perhaps my outlook was influenced by my mom’s words.  Or that criticism I still remember when a high school “friend” proclaimed to everyone I “wasn’t even cute.”

And how impossible are sticky critiques and self criticism coupled with current beauty standards?

My thighs and waistline must get thinner. But my bust and butt must get fuller.  Lips luscious and forehead firm.   Expression lines are to be feared and gravity must be dominated.  Should I hold back from laughing so much?  Not squint in the sun?  I thought my eyebrows were supposed to be plucked and sharp and now they’re supposed to be messy and bushy???  And how is it that men get more sexy with age and women get more… judged?  Who can keep up with such craziness?

So, when visiting art museums, I get a little pep in my step.  First, because I think, “wow, I’ve got it going on.” Unlike flipping through InStyle or Glamour or Seventeen, which often lead me to a self-confidence funk.  But, secondly, I think about the fleeting nature of beauty standards.  Here today, gone tomorrow.  Slaying it one day, so DONE the next.  I realize I should feel free by the reality that…

CURRENT BEAUTY STANDARDS WILL NOT STAND THE TEST OF TIME.

Go ahead, enjoy some.  Pick something you like… I do that too.  But let’s not measure ourselves against them.  Let’s not allow such foolishness to be our truth.  Let’s work hard on the inside stuff that holds the test of time.  That speaks louder and longer than the outward trends.  Character, laughter, lover of people, encourager.  I want to be a woman who is authentic and secure and confident.  To be a good steward of my relationships and positions and words.

I want to be a woman who brings Heaven to earth, not a woman who compares myself to earthly standards.

Those inside things will succeed us in an eternal way.  Even in a mere 10 years, we will judge our stupidity.  Our kids will observe our pictures in fields and broken down cars and vintage suitcases and die laughing.  We’ll remember face contouring and skinny jeans and ombre’s and go “what were we thinking???”  Not to mention the centuries behind us.

So, in short, go visit an art museum.  Put down InStyle and look up some portraits of women in the Italian Renaissance.  You’ll stare face to face with the reality of our fleeting beauty pressures.  And you’ll be better off for the reminder that — they are not our standards of self-worth.

xoxo~

 

 

Beauty Fads revealed by Museums

I Have A Lot of Questions for You, 2017

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I have a lot of questions for 2017.  But only after I ask a few of 2016.

Many feel 2016 was a merciless savage to the world.  Social media tells a story of struggle and a celebration of good riddance.  My own family’s year included some polarizing experiences, some of our highest highs and deepest lows.  We began the year by moving 700 miles in a blizzard.  It was us—  our two U-hauls, two cars, babies, all of our belongings, “Pop”—  and about 50 electrical trucks traveling North on I-95 to beat “Jonas”, the worst winter storm to hit the DC area in a decade.  It wasn’t the hello I envisioned for us Floridians, but I heard an unexpected whisper in my spirit…

My daughter, this is going to be much harder than you think, but it doesn’t mean you’re not right where I want you.”

And much of 2016 was just that –a hike up a mountainside, with glimpses of beauty all around us and sharp rocks making it a shaky trek.

You see, we took some GIGANTIC faith steps in 2016, and we’re still feeling the weight of those.  So pinterest boards and lists of stretch goals aren’t that appealing to me this new year.  And that makes me feel slightly left behind as everyone else plots out all the amazing ways they plan to dominate 2017.

Even though the calendar flipped, I’ve not yet transformed into my usual goal-setting optimist self, calling on my inner Tony Robbins to “take massive action!”  Nope, this time I’ve hit pause to make time to sit with a few things from last year, to sort through them, time which, despite my intentions, did NOT happen the week between Christmas and New Years.  (I’ve learned that a house full of rowdy boys doesn’t lend itself toward much profound introspection.)

Before I can begin to dream about 2017, I have some real questions.  For myself.  For God. For the world.

I imagine myself as Oprah, having God over for an afternoon cup of coffee in my backyard and a little chat, getting His insight on a couple things…“That year 2016- what was that all about?  Why can’t we overcome brokenness…isn’t that the point of Jesus?  That we overcome and live differently even on this side of Heaven?  How long will hateful quarrels be our country’s conversation?  Why do marriages have to end?  The innocent babies suffering in Syria… who will do something?   Why does disappointment seem never ending?” (Don’t worry, I’d make sure to air it on “Super Soul Sunday” so we could all enjoy the answers.)

As I process through these questions in hope of some insight, I’m still annoyed that I’m starting my year like this. Feeling behind and on the reactive side of asking, instead of on the proactive side of resolving doesn’t line up well for me.  I’m a go-getter, driven, work my a– off kinda girl. I’m not a wallower or a venter.  I’m a solutions-finder.  I may struggle with tardiness and perfectionism, but I’m a curious visionary on a quest to go somewhere.  I’m your typical new-years-resolution setter, so this place of confusion and inquiry is quite frustrating.

And yet it fits perfectly with my fresh outlook of letting go of silly perfectionistic standards and embracing messy.  So, maybe this is actually the PERFECT way to start the year, forcing me to continue working on these areas of authenticity and vulnerability.  Of self compassion.  Of facing my fears of inadequacy.  I’m seeing that my inclination to put the brakes on January is actually me asking these hidden, core questions…

“How can I be resilient from 2016 and still hopeful for 2017?”

I can’t authentically make any resolutions until I choose hope.  And I can’t choose hope for 2017 until I figure out how to overcome the adversities of 2016.  So this question forces me to do the hard, uncomfortable work of digging deep.  If I can face the pain of the previous year, I am one step closer to leading the resilient life I want to live.  An honest assessment will also help me shovel out any bitterness from unanswered prayers and unending questions.  Because bitterness doesn’t belong in my heart and isn’t a part of resilient, wholehearted living.

According to Brene Brown, a research professor and author of the book “The Gifts of Imperfection,” hope is an essential piece of wholehearted living.  She explains that hope is actually a conscious choice.  It’s not an emotion, it’s a way of thinking.  Hope can be learned and cultivated.  She goes on to say,

The new cultural belief that everything should be fun, fast and easy, is inconsistent with hopeful thinking.  It also sets us up for hopelessness.  If we want to cultivate hopefulness, we have to be wiling to be flexible and demonstrate perseverance.  Tolerance for disappointment, determination, and a belief in self are at the heart of hope.”

What’s encouraging through all of this is that the intentional skills of overcoming adversity and living with hope are not for the spiritually elite or those with seemingly perfect lives.  No, resilience and hope are for ALL of us.  They are most powerful when we face our pain and disappointment first… and then hope in spite of them.  Because hope does not come without adversity. It requires a persevering choice.

I’m reminded of Psalms 39:7 in my quest to find hope…

And now, Lord, what do I wait for?
My hope is in You.”

And I repeat to myself… my hope is in You.  My hope is in YOU.  When I feel the pain of disappointment and the fear of uncertainty, I pray, I cry, I ask God every question I can think of.  I listen, I write and I repeat… my hope is in You.

Sometimes, I need this pairing of solid secular research with the truths of the scriptures to remind me, “Kassie, put your big girl panties on and persevere until that hope is yours.  Fight for hope with everything you’ve got.”

So, as I dig into the discomforts of 2016, I’m realizing that my first resolution of the new year is that…

I want to embrace disappointment and actively choose hope.

After all, I can’t control every circumstance and outcome, but I can control my response and outlook.  I can control how much I put my hope in Him, despite how much harder my year has been or will be.  I’m so thankful for the whisper that is ever present, waiting on me to incline my ear.  I’m so thankful for the opportunities I have this year to persevere for resiliency and hopefulness, and, i’m expecting that 2017 might just be my best year yet.

Cheers to a year of cultivating resiliency and hopefulness, friends. And thank you, 2016, for teeing up this much-needed-lesson.

PS:  If you’d like a copy of Brene Brown’s book, you can click here.  (pretty life changing stuff)

When the new year is full of questions over resolutions

The Tensions of the Holidays: Embracing Messy & Letting Go of Perfect

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Oh, the Holidays. The tensions of the season. To be a snowy white Christmas, but the forecast is hot and humid. To find the PERFECT gift, but managing the traffic and the hour-long confines of a lunch break.  Striving for those fitness goals before your sweet but brutally honest grandmother makes some well-intentioned comment about that stubborn baby weight. To have life all figured out in anticipation of all the what-are-you-doing-these-days questions during incessant catch-up conversations.

Beyond the silly pressures and expectations of the holidays, there can be deep human pain.  For me, Christmas has been full of highs and lows…

In 2006, I get engaged at Disney World on Christmas Eve’s eve, and I’m ON TOP OF THE WORLD. But at the same time, my soon-to-be sister-in-law is grieving deeply for her mother. It is the third Christmas without her, and the absence, heightened during the holidays, is overwhelming.

A couple of years later in December, I suffer a miscarriage. It is my first pregnancy and as we decorate our tree, I look at an ornament gifted to us, Husband and Wife bears, with Wifey bear sporting a huge belly bump. I sob and decide it’s still worth hanging on our little Christmas tree in the corner of our apartment. That same year, I travel to DC to spend the holidays with my sister and her healthy, nine month pregnant belly. While still physically recovering from my own surgery, I’m now faced with an up-close visual of what I’ve lost.

Thankfully, overt trauma isn’t always a part of the holidays, but still, the smaller things can surely haunt us in a similar fashion.

For example, courageously attending that holiday party or family get-together, and in the midst of having a good time, you realize you’re stumbling into a minefield of shame, via the questions of friends and family…

“Your instagram makes your life look so perfect… it’s suprising to hear you’re actually dealing with so much.”

“Your 3 year old still sucks on a paci, drinks a bottle, and sleeps in a crib? You need to get rid of all that baby stuff! A.S.A.P!”

Ugh… these tensions, common in everyday life and further escalated by the holidays. We all crave the PERFECT Christmas, with all the right moments, perfect memories, and effortless interactions. No drama, no fuss, all holiday spirit and champagne toasts. Where love and kindness abound between friends, family, and maybe even foes. And our lives can be displayed gloriously, #nofilter necessary.

And somehow, every year, I still strive for this far-from-reality perfection.

I get sucked back into this vision of me as a perfect mom, wife, and holiday hostess. How can I make the holidays perfectly “magical” like they’re supposed to be, like I see in the movies and hear in the classic Christmas songs on the radio? Maybe I need more strategy for my elf on a shelf? More homemade gingerbread houses for the kids to decorate? Extended romantic Christmas dates with my husband (like life pre-kids)? Or maybe just more trips to Michael’s for all those crafty gifts I have no idea how to make. Maybe I can go on a 10-day juice cleanse for that extra baby weight. Wait, which gifts are for which kid’s??? I’m forgetting everything like my mom used to!! 😔 How can my kids have THE BEST CHRISTMAS EVER with our budget… we’re screwed. They get just as many questions as we do during the holidays, instead of how their careers are going, they get “what’s Santa bringing you this Christmas?” We might as well schedule them counseling January 1.  Maybe that should be their biggest Christmas gift… the gift that keeps on giving after all this is over with. 😉

And through all the pressures, expectations, and tensions, I’m learning what my soul craves is to be set free from my need for perfection.

My soul needs a break from this imitation “Christmas”, the Christmas we humans have created. This substitute of a holiday stresses me, overextends me, and if I’m not careful, blinds me to the true reason we celebrate. Imitation Christmas forces me into extremely vulnerable positions. Positions where shame-triggers are heightened through social gatherings, overeating, and overspending. I find myself in spaces where I feel “lesser than” and where I fear judgment. I ask myself all sorts of questions in these sticky places: Am I a good enough host— did I make others feel at home? Am I a good mom — am I being a fun adventurer? or a boring nag? Am I a good wife — did I lift my husband’s burdens this week and affirm him well? or did I wallow in all of my to do’s and fears of inadequacies? Am I a good Christmas planner — did I think through all the right gifts & recipes?

Yikes— how did I arrive at such an anxious, insecure state? How did I ever allow myself to buy into the idea of these counterfeit standards? Rather than giving up when I fail to achieve the perfections demanded by Imitation Christmas, I find myself trying even harder, striving for even more… more performance, more approval, more shopping, more juggling.  Anything to avoid the truth — that I’m terribly insufficient, flawed, and inadequate.

But the irony of it all is that this Imitation Christmas we’ve created robs our souls of the joy and peace the True Christmas came to give us.

You see, True Christmas is the antidote to it all. True Christmas is the message that, yes, we are NOT good enough. We never will be. We won’t be able to perform our way out of this, and we’ll never attain the level of perfection we seek, in every area of life. But in spite of all of our imperfections and flaws, True Christmas tells us this…we. are. loved. We are worthy and we belong, just as we are. In all of our glorious mess. True Christmas embraces mess. It was birthed in the messiest of all places, enjoyed the company of the messiest of all society, and gave everything to clean up the mess of this world, our world, once and for all.

What a relief.

So, this Christmas, I’m doing my best to let go. To laugh off the expectations. To embrace the messy. And to allow myself to celebrate and enjoy True Christmas… it is truly the most magical holiday of all. I sure hope you’ll join me.

The weary world rejoices,

 

 

The Tensions of the Holidays: No more Imitation Christmas

 

A New Season: Falling Together

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A new season — a new space where I’ve not yet existed.  This fall I said good-bye to full time employment on church staff.  An 11 year season coming to a close.

It’s been the full gamut of all emojis — anticipation 🙂  — regret 🙁   — satisfaction 🙂  — disappointment 🙁 and all the in-betweens.  At times I launch forward with out-of-the-box ideas and fresh dreams, only to then freeze with fears of missing out and financial anxieties, searching for some sort of stable equilibrium.

As I process all of the highs and lows of the previous season, I actively seek what’s next.  The dreamer and hope-finder in me is alive & well, but the strategist and planner within craves an excel spreadsheet.

I wish I could share my strategic business plan, mapping out all my pending lucrative executions, with carefully curated instagram content, and stylish scenes of smiles and lipstick on my coffee cup, announcing exciting steps, full of Monday hustle, that give the illusion I’m on my way to someplace really huge and substantial.

Instead, all i have is my vulnerable heart that says hope is worth the risk.

That letting go of my own expectations for myself and my standards of perfection is the next step I see most clearly. That my willingness to miss out in some familiar places will lead to flourishing in wide open spaces. Spaces purposed intentionally for me, thoughtfully created with my intricacies in mind. That maybe, just maybe, there are some desires deep down put there by purposeful design.

But without the holy excuse of my paycheck coming from elsewhere, my insecurities and fears are now exposed…

I actually don’t believe in myself. 

I mean, yes, I believe in myself when I’m hidden in “we”, but when it’s up to just “me”, I feel like a fraud and failure.

Don’t get me wrong, “we” is incredibly important.  “We” is honorable and essential.  But “we”, for me, is now a dead leaf on a tree.  It once was fresh and vibrant, but the signs of the season being done were that it was dead and desperately hanging on– the leaf needed to fall and make way for something new.  And through this necessary ending, I am now gifted with the opportunity to learn something full of spring green… that letting go and employing confidence in myself requires just as much hard work as humbly submitting to others’ visions once did.  

Because isn’t it like our Father to keep us on our toes?  Right when we’re in a groove and feeling good about our mastery, there’s a twist.  A change.  A curveball.  There’s another part of the mountain to explore now.  And for me, this new adventure is without my usual buffers.  Instead, I have to be exposed and vulnerable.  To risk failure and judgments and be OK when those happen.  Venturing into the new can be scary enough, but treading it alone is terrifying.

I think Bryant McGill said it best:

“Maybe your life is not falling apart;
Maybe it’s falling together.
Don’t fearfully hold on to what needs to end.
The familiar life crumbles so new life can begin.”

And in my daily grind of the unknown, one thing is certain — I’m discovering more of who I am and Whose I am.

It’s a bit of a mystery how letting go and pausing can propel us forward.  How saying “this is who I’m not” can make a way for us to embrace who we are.  I’m learning new angles of both myself and of God.  Reminding me that HE IS THE MOST CREATIVE BEING I know.  And I can trust Him to bring it all together.

I’m discovering life is not one eternal summer (even though my Floridian children have NOT come to terms with this).  No, life is seasons. Fall involves death. Winter requires the pause of hibernation. And spring blooms new life in the brightest green. Each is natural. Each is necessary.

So for now, I’m falling — and pausing — and surely preparing to spring. In due season.

Dear friends, may you embrace fully whatever season you find yourself.  It is an oh-so-worth-it journey.

Happy falling together~

kassie-sig
season change