We hung empty gold picture frames (I’m a picture frame hoarder), so each of us has our own space to write requests.

So now when I sit with the girls at our table, my view towards the stairs is a better one.  It makes me happy.
And completely changeable whenever I want it to say something else.  I love that.  For now though, I’m sticking with asking for mercy.   And if you are ever not sure what to pray for, take it from Thomas, just pray for trains.  Always pray for more trains.

A few answers to questions you may ask:

-I used chalkboard paint from Home Depot, nothing fancy.

-I did not season the board like everyone in the universe says you must do before you use it the first time.  There were two reasons for this.  One, the wall was too big and I refused.  Secondly, as long as I wipe off the chalk with a wet rag as opposed to a dry eraser, I cannot see any “ghost lettering” that people say will be left behind.  It wasn’t an issue for me at all.

-The print font I used is called Barocca Monograms, and the fancier letters I free handed on my own after looking at a few online that I liked.  The font of our names is written in Brush Script.

I will most certainly paint another surface in my house with chalkboard paint.  I’m irritated it took me this long to do.  Be brave.  Be bold.  Go do it.  You will love it.

What if we believed Him when He said He is always for us?  How would that change the stride in our step?  Would there still be fear?

What if we believed Him when He said we had been made new?  Would you smile more, maybe if for no other reason than you believed that the old was gone?

What if we believed Him when He said He had removed our sins as far as the east is from the west?  Would you lift your head higher, and maybe even praise Him a little louder?

What if we believed Him when He said He would complete a good work in us?  Not because of what we had done, but because He was the One who started it to begin with.

What if we admitted our questions, doubts, and fears?

What if were honest enough to say, “I believe!  Help me overcome my unbelief!”

What if we took our mustard seed faith to Him and asked Him to grow it?

What if we believed Him when He said we were healed, and we went home expecting to see the evidence?

What if we took Jesus at His word?

What if He really did redeem the very moment the question left our lips?

What if we believed Him for it?

What if it is all true?

What if His grace really is enough?  In all circumstances.  And what if it’s true that it flows freely?

Well, I think that would change everything.

I think that would mean that He changes everything.

Including you.  And me.

The voice narrating the film was familiar to me.  It’s the kind and humble voice of our Missions Pastor.  He lived his youth, and much of his life in Zimbabwe.  Though he resides here in the states today, his heart and home is still in the villages in Zimbabwe.  He climbed the African trees as a boy, and sat high in stands with his best friend whose name was Hamadi.  It means “unwanted”.  We watched as this family lived out Jesus on earth.  One heart, one open wound, one rotting limb, one unwanted child at a time.

I complicate Jesus too often.  Though He is inconceivable and incomprehensible, He never asks us to have Him figured out.  He doesn’t invite us into a life that is too beyond our grasp of understanding.  He doesn’t set us up to fail in relationship with Him.  He only asks us to believe, and then to love through that belief.  He desires that we show up in our own life, armed with nothing more than Him.  Just show up .  Leave our own agenda, leave your preconceived ideas about religion, leave your hopes and dreams in our former lives; and just show up and say “I’m willing, make me look like Jesus to this world”.

Halfway through the film, I realized the voice narrating was not the voice I thought it was.  It was not the voice of our beloved mission pastor.  It was his father’s voice.  The one speaking in the film was our mission pastor’s Father…their voices are identical.  That reality struck me with such conviction and humility.  Both father and son had the same voice, which is the way it should be.  The Son of Man came with the same voice as The Father, and we have been grafted into that same lineage.  The Father is transforming us into the likeness of His Son.  My new prayer is that He will also transform my voice.  Yes, I want to look like Jesus; but I really want to sound like Him too.  When people hear me speak, I want them to hear the voice of my Father also.  I want someone to say about me, “Wow.  She sounds a whole lot like her Daddy.”  Make it so Lord.

I’ve needed rest, because this past year has been not so restful.  Life has been full.  Good full, but hard full too.  Testing full.  Life is showing no signs of letting up, but now that I know Jesus is the answer, I kind of feel better about what’s ahead.  And what is ahead?  Beautiful Life with Angela Thomas is coming up at the end of this month.  She has been in her writing cave studying and praying, and I am so excited about this 2nd conference.  You can click here to buy your tickets.  I’m flying to Ohio in 3 weeks to speak to a group of women I do not know, but kind of think I might love for the rest of my life once we meet.  And then my husband and I leave for Zimbabwe soon after that for 15 days.  Ummmm…what?  The tickets were booked this week and I wish you could feel my increased heart rate as I type.  It’s intense, but in all of it, there is a mysterious peace blanketed over us.  It’s warm and familiar and I just want to stay wrapped up.

On the flip side of business, the pace of homeschooling is slowing, which is a tremendous help.  Something else that’s a help?  My oldest child has become an adult this past month, which is both sad for her momma’s heart, and helpful at the same time.  She came to me yesterday and said, ” I spent thirty minutes on the phone with Apple Support trying to fix the problem.  They couldn’t figure it out and so I made us an appointment at the Apple Store at 2:20.”  Wow.  My ten year old sat at the Genius Bar solving the world’s problems with some guy named Mo, and I sat at the Idiot Bar in the corner waiting for her to be done.  Let me say it again, that child is my gift.  While Ella is running the world, my middle joy is doing the thing all middle children do, trying to figure out where her place is, other than stuck in the middle.  She’s doing it with grace and beauty that is far more mature than her age, and I’m so proud.  And then through all the chaos and fullness, there is Thomas.  The one who is always smiling, always agreeable, and always genuinely joyful in all circumstances.  Thomas in a nutshell is this: when I tell him to go get his shoes on so we can leave for swimming, he happily goes and puts on his flippers and waits for me patiently at the door.  I. could. die.

And if my children were not enough to overflow my heart, my sister this week texted me this message below.  Her son sent in his application to the mission committee before she was able to proofread it.  The committee emailed my sister a copy and said, “Tell Jack thanks for laughs.”  The two questions:

1.  What is your intended vocation?  His answer: Pastor

2.  How would someone describe you who knew you well?  His answer:  Super, super attractive, and sort of nice.

So if anyone is in need of a super, super attractive 14 year old pastor…who is sort nice; please let me know.  I’ve got your man.

Life with kids can be so fun, and now the weekend is here which means my man will be home, and we will all be living on a soccer field.  My non-cliche prayer for you this weekend is that you would be bold in prayer.  Even if it feels weird, even if it feels like you are only talking to yourself.  Take whatever your thing is into the Throne Room of the Most High, and speak it to Him boldly.  He didn’t suffer and die on a cross so that we would tiptoe into His presence.  In utmost reverence and humility, be bold, He’s waiting to hear from you.  Enjoy your weekend sweet sisters.

PS:  All these photos can be found on my Instagram, my favorite social media.  You can find me there at playing_sublimely.

And even more than wanting Him, I want to know He wants me too. I want to know He thinks of me by name.  I want to know, that I am known by my Jesus.  Don’t you?  My oldest sister’s name is Mary.  When she reads the gospel account of Jesus appearing to Mary Magdalene outside the tomb, she get’s to hear Jesus say her name.  She loves that.  It makes me a little jealous.  I know His word tells us His thoughts for us outnumber the grains of sand on the shore, those promises are like a sweet ballad to my soul, but I still want more.

I want to be fully known.  I want to hear the One that wrote my name on the palm of His hand, to also say my name with His mouth.  In my humanness (and maybe even in my lack of faith), I feel like if I heard Him say my name, I would be more sure of the truth that He knows me.  I kind of feel like Moses saying “Show me your glory!”, because I want that too.  Maybe I have just been feeling forgotten lately.  Maybe I have been behaving too much like those wandering Israelites that I have been spending so much time talking about.  I’ve felt dry and weary, and so I’ve prayed in boldness for something big from God.  Nothing specific, just wanting a word from the One that gives breath and life.

And then my girlfriend dropped off a necklace for me with the inscription “Isaiah 40:31″.  A gift on my doorstep.  She was shopping for herself, and she wrote in the note she was certain she heard God say, “Amy Heywood needs that necklace.”  I read those words and smiled, so He does know my name after all.

He knows yours too sweet sister.  Ask Him to whisper it.

But those who trust in the Lord will find new strength.
They will soar high on wings like eagles.
They will run and not grow weary.
They will walk and not faint. Isaiah 40:31

My Ella Grace is a nurturer, she is most alive when she is serving.  What a Jesus gift of grace she is to me.  So when my husband had the brilliant idea of giving over the grocery shopping to my oldest child, I was annoyed I had not thought of the idea first.  I mean seriously, what in the world took us so long?  She wants more responsibility, she is totally responsible and trustworthy, she is more organized than I am (and has been since she was 4), I despise grocery shopping, and she loves to be in charge of a project.  We showed her how to place an order online, and 20 minutes later she said, “Mommy, it’s done, the groceries can be picked up at 5:30″.  Am I the only person who hears the sound of angels singing?  I kind of feel like it was one of those parenting moments I will remember the rest of my life; and now all I’m thinking is, what else can I give over to her?  I love that kid.

In completely unrelated news, my husband convinced me to run one of those ridiculous mud races with him.  This was the speech I heard: “I have walked through many art museums with you for hours on end.  Looking at Monet’s Waterlilies was one of the most painful ways I have ever spent a day (by the way, I’m still trying to catch my breath from the outrage I experienced when those words left his lips).  I think I have earned you running in a mud race with me.”  Have you ever in your life heard anyone equate experiencing the beauty of Monet’s Waterlilies, to running in the Rugged Maniac?  I am beside myself…the audacity.  Despite his ridiculous comparison, I love the man fiercely, so I agreed.  And yes, that is me, the one whose appendages seem to be flailing about as if they are unattached from my body.  And yes, that is my husband, the one about to land on top of me in a mud pit.  He said, “Amy, I think this has made our marriage stronger.”  Please, would someone tell me why that is so.

It all started with that awesome Superbowl commercial.  Do you remember the one about farmers?  I think they were advertising a truck or something, that part didn’t stick with me (which I suppose doesn’t make it such a great commercial); but I remember the images and the words.  I cried.  My husband almost cried, and in our temporary state of loosing our minds we were all like “We need a farm so we can grow stuff and raise farm animals.”  Kevin was jokingly like, “I have built stuff, made babies, and now I need to grow my own food and raise cattle.”  I got all into it and thought we would start with hatching chickens in an incubator.  That seemed like a safe introduction to farm life.

We cared for those eggs, we turned them 3 times a day, and on day 21 we sat in great anticipation for the precious new yellow chicks to break out into their new world.  Grant it, they are meat chickens, which means they have about 8 weeks to enjoy their world before they greet their end, but we never intended on telling them that.  Day 21 came and went with no evidence of any fruit from our labors.  But then as day 22 came to a close, a few cracks started appearing and my kids freaked and permanently pressed their faces to the incubator to watch the miracle unfold.At first it happened just like it was supposed to, and we were giddy.  Our harvest came in the form of perfect yellow fluff balls of cuteness.  We. could. have. died.  My girls were instantly little mothers caring for their chicks, and their main job was keeping their brother out of the chicken box.But then reality moved in like a black cloud over this house that was beginning to dream of life on the farm.  Just when our pride was puffed up as full as the yellow feathers on the breasts of the chicks; the fall came, and it hurt.  After 10 successful hatches, the next 15 turned ugly.  The cover of the “Hatch Your Own Chicks” brochure, pictured happy, smiling children holding precious baby chickens.  At no point was there a picture of a mother “doing the humane thing” and placing a baby chick in the freezer so that it would die peacefully, while her children cried in the other room.  I have no words.  We have all been scarred for life.  And for those of you who are gasping in horror right now, and getting ready to unsubscribe from my blog, I promise you, it was the kindest thing we could have done for these chicks.

Despite our trauma suffered, I learned much about the process.  Too much.  And this family will not be moving to the country anytime soon.  My sweet Caroline told me, “Mom, I don’t think I will ever do this raising baby chicks project with my own kids.”  And there you have it.

He commanded the skies above and opened the doors of heaven.  He rained down manna for the people to eat, He gave them the grain of heaven.  Men ate the bread of angels.

Psalm 78: 23-25

Hundreds of years later Jesus stood beside the Sea of Galilee.  The crowds of people followed Him to the other side of the lake, because the day before He had miraculously fed all of them with nothing more than a small boy’s lunch.  Their hearts had not changed much in 1,500 years.  They were still that same group of wandering, grumbling, hungry, seeking people; and now they came face to face with the One who could and would provide them with every last need they had.  And their request?  Give us the manna from heaven like our father’s were given in the desert.  Give us the temporal!  Give us what we want in the here and now!  They didn’t know they were looking at the One who wanted to be their fulfillment for all eternity.  They too, couldn’t look beyond their stomachs.

And so we hear the first of seven statements Jesus would make about Himself.  These seven statements can change our lives if we will allow them to penetrate our hearts, and not just our stomachs.  Jesus boldly claims divinity by beginning His sentence with “I Am”, and here He follows this first statement with “the Bread of Life.”   I am the true bread of life.  I am the One who can fill your need.  I am the One my Father was hinting about in the desert when He opened the doors of heaven and rained down manna.  That was just practice.  Practice for when the Father would open the throne room door of heaven and rain down the Son himself, who would fill us with righteousness.  But all they desired was bread.

Just when I begin to pitty those nearsighted Israelites, God asks me a question.  ”Amy, what do you hunger and thirst for?”  I know what the right answer is, Jesus tells what our correct response should be.  Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.  But I don’t think He asks me the question because He knows that I am aware of the correct response.  I think He asks the question because He knows I tend to hunger and thirst for the simple and plain bread of the here and now…way to much.

Jesus tells us, “I am the bread that came down from heaven.”  He says, “I am the bread of life.”  If we would hunger and thirst for Him, we would never walk away wanting.  He promises to fill us with Himself.  So, what are you hungry for?

I tell you the truth, anyone who believes has eternal life. Yes, I am the bread of life! Your ancestors ate manna in the wilderness, but they all died.Anyone who eats the bread from heaven, however, will never die. I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Anyone who eats this bread will live forever; and this bread, which I will offer so the world may live, is my flesh. John 6: 47-51