Have you ever tried to cover up your mistakes? Hidden them from others and possibly even God? Told the proverbial “white lie” (that is still a lie, by the way)? I’ve been there. Shame causes us to hide—from others and God, and leads to behaviors that are inconsistent with God’s ways and God’s best. Today, my friend, Kelly Balarie, shares with you her experience in this regard, and how we can truly engage in behavior that is “Battle Ready” for the circumstances we face. There’s a Book Giveaway so be sure to read to the end!
If you’ve read any of my story shared on this site, or in my book, “Hope Prevails: Insights From a Doctor’s Personal Journey Through Depression,” then you know how much importance I place on standing on God’s word to traverse this landscape we call life. Don’t you like having like-minded friends? Me too. That’s why I’m delighted to introduce you to my friend, Elisa Pulliam, author of “Unblinded Faith: Gaining Spiritual Insight Through Believing God’s Word.” I know you’ll enjoy reading as Elisa shares about the difference God’s promises make in our life. There’s a Book Giveaway so be sure to read to the end!
On my early morning walk, feeling the weight of the world on my shoulders, I glanced up through a small clearing in the trees. In one quick glance I noted the sun, 2 airplanes at different elevations and going in different directions, an eagle, and a common sparrow.
I never question whether or not the sun will rise–I just look forward to basking in its warmth. When I fly, I sit back in my too-crowded airplane seat and busy myself reading a book or writing my own. I never worry about how the pilot will get me to my destination, I just trust that he will. I never get fearful those birds will drop from the sky (just maybe WHAT they will drop :).
“You’re going to be with me, right?”
A boating accident found my youngest son spending a Sunday afternoon in the emergency room. Then several weeks later, surgery was inevitable. As we sat at the dinner table the night before surgery was to take place, our son began asking questions. Up to that point, he seemed nonplussed and unconcerned. But the night before told a different story.
We had known the procedure was necessary and not elective for a couple weeks, but this was the first question my son had asked about the procedure.
I experienced it in a series of quiet moments. Walking in the front door in the morning and realizing this would not be “my place” much longer, watching the team execute with competence and compassion but realizing that it wouldn’t continue, and doing routine tasks with an unusual enjoyment but also a sense of finality. Michelle and I had made the decision together. The work was good and valuable and productive, but we both knew that the time had come for something new. It was what I had done for the last six or seven years, my professional identity. And it was ending.
Living with a psychologist I knew the symptoms: grief, loss, a temptation to negotiate an alternate ending. This was the end of a major and fulfilling part of life. A small death.
“I think it’s time for a change,” he relayed, with a mixture of frustration, anger, and weariness written across his face.
I had sensed it for a long time, but had been waiting for confirmation from the Lord.
Maybe I had that all along, but fear of change kept me from acknowledging it. I can’t really be sure.
Can I be honest? I think I have a tendency to get caught up in the obsession of sameness.