“Just As I Am/Tal Como Soy”

I can still remember the sound of my grandmother’s aged, beautiful, magical, and throaty voice singing the stanzas of the hymn “Just As I Am” as she washed dishes and looked out the window of her Wisconsin home. I was right at her side rinsing and drying, but as her gaze alternated between the items she scrubbed in the hot sudsy water and the trees outside, she was somewhere else entirely.

Perhaps this is why this hymn remains one of my favorites. It’s also one of the few remnants of my childhood piano lessons that I still play a crude version of on the piano. I’m no longer the small, innocent child standing at my beloved grandmother’s side, but a middle-aged adult who is much more familiar with all the highs and lows, success and failures that this roller-coaster of life brings us. The song now resonates with me for more reasons than nostalgic memory.

Written by Charlotte Elliott in 1835 and composed by William Bradbury, “Just As I Am” gained new popularity when Billy Graham used it consistently as the invitation hymn in his crusades. How appropriate, for it perfectly describes what it means to to see ourselves as sinners in need of grace, desperate for the pardon of a Holy God. We are humbled that God not only grants it, but sacrifices His beloved son to death on a cross so that we might receive it. 

This past summer, I had the words “Tal Como Soy”, the Spanish translation of “Just As I Am” tattooed on my arm to remind me of God’s grace and mercy, but also of His unconditional acceptance of me as His daughter, regardless of my shortcomings, mistakes, and circumstances.

In the past few years, I have known what it is to be rejected by close family and friends, simply for placing some much-needed boundaries in my life. This injured me at the deepest levels and has been enough to make me completely question my identity and perception of reality. Although I acted out of my personal conviction and understanding of God’s leading, as well as the results of everything learned in several years of therapy, these things weren’t enough to protect me from distorted versions of what happened or to help me escape harsh judgement. I attempted to take responsibility for my roles in these situations and to apologize, but those too seem to have disappeared into thin air. I’ve heard that boundaries can be described as the distance between which I can love both myself and another person well. Somehow, those I’ve been in conflict with missed seeing the love and health in the situation.

And so, the tattoo–to remind me daily that however I got here, I’m loved and accepted by my Savior just as I am.

Out of all the lullabies, songs and hymns that I have sung to my daughter at bedtime, “Just As I Am” has been one of her favorite requests over the past year. What a gift from God that I am so compelled to dwell, almost nightly, on the words. One of my favorite verses begins, “Just as I am though tossed about, with many a conflict, many a doubt.” How true, and yet these lead me through the journey of acceptance. I must learn to accept myself and my circumstances, and above all, accept how God sees me and the ways He is working.

Songwriter, singer, and worship pastor Jesús Adrian Romero has a beautiful song called “Tal Como Soy” (“Just As I Am”). In it he sings, “Just as I am, Lord. I have nothing to give but my heart” (My translation). How true. And so Lord, here is my battered, bruised, and misshapen heart. I’m all yours–do with me what you will.

“A Parachute of Love”

An old song by the King Cole Trio says, “The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love and to be loved in return.” How true this is. It is indeed the greatest journey and learning experience of life. We were created out of love, and out of love we are sustained and made new. And yet, because of the broken world we live in and the difficult experiences we share, many of us struggle to accept or give love as we should.

I’ve often been told that the place to begin is to learn to love ourselves–to accept the infinite love God has for us. This LOVE was great enough for Him to send His only son to the cross to die for us, LOVE great enough to forgive us every mistake and flaw, LOVE that knew us and wanted a relationship with us before time began. I John 3:1 says, “See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God!”

My therapist recently suggested that a good exercise for me would be to look in the mirror at least once a day and say, “I love you.” to myself. I laughed when she said this because it sounded like such a silly idea to me, but said I would try it. Actually doing it was MUCH harder than I expected–I found myself sobbing in the mirror because I couldn’t say the words. At that point, I realized how much I needed this practice as a means of forgiving myself and all those who have not accepted or loved me as I needed. It’s a means of placing radical trust in God and the worth that He says I have in Him.

A former mentor once asked me how many people were allowed on who I am. With that question, I realized that I was allowing everyone a vote, that my worth could be easily shattered by the opinion of someone I barely knew. Twenty years later, I’m not sure how much I’ve grown. I probably don’t let strangers vote anymore, but I seem to allow almost everyone who knows me, be they friend or foe, some sort of say. Looking back, I can see the way God built me up with friends and mentors and encouragement in my early twenties, then  allowed me to be torn down again and stripped of all that approval in various ways. One day, I will learn that His approval is all that I need–His vote is the only one that truly counts.

Nathaniel Branden said, “Self-acceptance is my refusal to live in an adversarial relationship with myself.” Seeing it put that way, I’m aware of how often my thoughts are self-critical and how that really means that a state of civil war exists within me. In order to find peace, I must come to terms with all the bits that are hard to accept, with all the bits that others haven’t liked, with both my humanity and my divinity. I must, as William Stafford said, “…[weave] a parachute out of everything broken.” As the band Macaco sings in one of my favorite songs “Un Mundo Roto/A Broken World”, I mustn’t let this broken world destroy my smile.

One of my favorite authors, Leeanna Tankersley wrote something that captures my intention:

“A voice is whispering to me as I watch the river…let it happen. Let it happen to you. The losing, the finding, the falling apart, the coming back together. All of it. Sit very still. Keep breathing. And let it happen.”

HOPE–A Thorny Bloom

My yard is blessed by an overabundance of thistles–probably my least-favorite plant. With all the rain and wind we received in the late spring in our region this year, a few thistles multiplied to literally hundreds seemingly overnight. Thorny and prickly and nearly impossible to pull out without the right tools, gloves, and technique, they still seem to defy me and grow back the next week to impede the paths around our home and poke my toddler as she explores the yard. 

For all of these reasons and more, I was sure for the longest time that the thistle is a weed, and not just any old weed, but the meanest and most noxious weed of them all.  After noticing lovely blooms on the taller thistles around the area, however, I looked it up and was surprised to learn that it is a highly valued and beneficial flowering plant whose prickles simply help protect it from being eaten by herbivores. Not only that, but according to Wikipedia, “Biennial thistles are particularly noteworthy for their high wildlife value, producing such things as copious floral resources for pollinators, nourishing seeds for birds like the goldfinch, foliage for butterfly larvae, and down for the lining of birds’ nests.”

It made me wonder if the thorny plants in my life have benefits too, despite the mild suffering that comes from being pricked by their thorns. I’m reminded of Romans 5:3-5: “And not only this, but we also exult in our tribulations, knowing that tribulation brings about perseverance; and perseverance, proven character; and proven character, hope; and hope does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured out within our hearts through the Holy Spirit who was given to us.”

This passage mystified me when I stumbled across it as a young adult digging deep into Scripture, for I was already naively hopeful and had suffered very little. I thought it strange that the Apostle Paul listed hope as the end result instead of the starting place.

Now, as a more seasoned believer who has had the wind taken out of her sails a few times, I understand. The “hope” I experienced as a young woman was really more like youthful optimism that cracked several times under pressure until it eventually shattered, revealed for the ingenuine thing that it was. It is as the Apostle Peter said in I Peter 1:6-7, “In this you greatly rejoice, even though now for a little while, if necessary, you have been distressed by various trials, so that the proof of your faith, being more precious than gold which perishes though tested by fire, may be found to result in praise, glory, and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ.”

In times of suffering, there are times when it has been difficult for me to face it with character or to persevere in it and continue to put one foot in front of another. But Paul was right–the most difficult thing by far is to hope. Peter tells us to count it all joy that we are able to share in the suffering of Christ. Easier said than done, certainly. But what joy it is that the end result of it all is that blessed and elusive thing–genuine hope. Even the thorny thistle has the most lovely, vibrant, purple bloom. As Emily Dickinson said, “Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul – and sings the tunes without the words – and never stops at all.”

“To Soar on Shifting Sand”

I’m a big fan of the WILLOW TREE figurines by Susan Lordi. Though they’re produced en masse, the originals are simple wood sculptures of people or angels that capture much of the range of human emotion. My favorite is called “SOAR” and features a woman with her joyful face angled towards the heavens, her arms stretched out wide, birds resting upon them.

I bought this figurine a few years ago in a season when I yearned to experience such freedom and needed the daily visual reminder that it was possible to soar. Over the last year, as my bird-loving toddler grows, “SOAR” has unfortunately taken quite a beating. I feel sad when I look at SOAR now, scratched and bruised, missing a hand and one bird, other birds replaced by glue. It feels like I’m in a similar condition. It’s easy to imagine I’m broken beyond repair, grounded for life, or unworthy of public viewing. And yet, I also note that despite how SOAR has been beaten and bruised, her arms are still raised, her face ever victorious and turned towards the sun.

In her book RISING STRONG, author Brené Brown discusses the concept that our culture is one that can value failure IF it leads to victory, but that we also easily gloss over the feelings of defeat, frustration, angst, loneliness, and struggle that so often accompany failure. We often forget that this is a place many of us stay in for a season or seasons, but that it is possible to rise up strong from it. I’m trying to have faith that I can do so too.

Early on in my adult life, I thought of myself as a person of strong faith. Although it was clear I didn’t have the mustard seed size required to move mountains (Matthew 17:20), it felt possible to eventually grow to that level. All it has taken, however, is a series of many trials over the years to knock the wind out of me. I know now that my faith is either non-existent or infinitesimally small. Like the SOAR and Moses, my arms have grown weak and weary and I have often needed others to hold them up. The friends who have done so are a big part of why I’m still holding on in the times when I can’t discern God’s hand or purpose.

If faith…is like shifting sand, changed by every wave… as the band Caedmon’s Call sings, perhaps the waves that continue to crash in can continue to shape it and make it something new, something pure and refined, something that isn’t mine at all. As Hebrews 12 says, God is “…the author and perfector of my faith.” Will He ultimately make it full and complete? The apostle Peter also tells us, “But this happened so that your faith, of greater worth than gold, may be found perfect and complete” (I Peter 1:7).

The final word on this subject for me, however, was written by the prophet Isaiah: 

“Why do you say, O Jacob, and complain, O Israel, “My way is hidden from the Lord, my cause is disregarded by my God”? Do you not know? Have you not heard? The Lord is the everlasting God, the creator of the ends of the earth. He will not grow tired or weary, and his understanding no one can fathom. He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak. Even youths grow tired and weary and young men stumble and fall, but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles, they will run and not grow weary.” Isaiah 40: 27-31

“Land, Sit, Dwell”—

I have a dear friend who diligently seeks God’s provision of a word from the Word that will guide her direction for each new year. It’s inspiring to hear the word chosen for her and to watch her set her heart and mind towards that new vision, trusting that God is doing a new thing. I’ve followed my friend’s example on occasion but haven’t been as faithful to this practice as she is, this year included. There are, however, three words that God continually brings to my mind and heart in this year and season: LAND, SIT, and DWELL.

LAND. As a new mother and a working mother, I find the pace of life to be much more frantic than ever before. As much as I chase it, balance feels elusive. For that reason, despite all the wonders and blessings of this season, I often find that my thoughts are fixed on the past or ten steps ahead in the future, worrying instead of being focused on the present moment. God often whispers to me, “LAND, beloved. Be where you are, fully, right now.” I sometimes have to continue talking myself into it with phrases such as, “Here you are, Nancy, in your favorite chair, holding your sweet baby girl. This is your favorite place to be. LAND here.”

SIT. I’ve been doing a lot of sitting since my baby was born, something that my back finds difficult due to multiple past injuries. But I want to enjoy these sweet times of sitting with my girl…to be able to be still…to dwell in the presence of the Lord. And so, I must sit with the physical discomfort I experience and hold the many emotions that accompanied the rollercoaster ride of the last year. A friend told me recently that being a mother means realizing strengths you didn’t know you possessed and facing fears you weren’t aware existed. How true that is! I’ve had some absolutely paranoid fears regarding my daughter’s wellbeing, fears that often resurface. I often have to sit with the discomfort of them to truly process and let go of them. Another friend has reminded me that as I spend so much time looking down and caring for my baby this year, I must also remember to look up. I look up and thank God for my many blessings. I praise Him that all things are under His feet and that I have been seated with Him. 

DWELL. Being present, being still, and letting go of fear are all things best done in God’s presence, as I DWELL and make my home with Him. God has made me His dwelling place and I have made Him mine. My heart often cries out an old worship song, “I just want to be where you are, dwelling daily in Your presence. Take me to the place where you are. I just want to be with you.” In every high and every low, He is my safe space where I can abide. In Psalm 84:10, David says that “Better is one day in your courts than a thousand elsewhere; I would rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God than dwell in the tents of the wicked. For the LORD God is a sun and shield; the LORD bestows favor and honor; no good thing does he withhold from those whose walk is blameless.”


One of my greatest goals for the year is to be here, now. And yet, I also set my sights on the journey to new places, for there are still many things I want to see and many ways I desire to grow. André Gide wrote, “In order to see new lands, one must consent to lose sight of the shore for a very long time.” That feels like an accurate description of the place where I am. I pray for the strength to keep swimming until I reach that distant shore.

“Overwhelmed”—

If there is one word that describes the past year for me, it is overwhelmed. Like any year, it has held its highs and lows, yet the highs have been higher and the lows lower than most. 

I am loving watching my baby girl grow in her first year of life—there are so many moments where I’m overpowered by love and wonder for the miracle of her. Yet currently, I feel overwhelmed by a multitude of circumstances beyond my control—the loss of a beloved grandfather, struggles with my health, severe illness and surgery for a dear friend, challenges at work and at home, relationship difficulties, and a seemingly futile effort to balance everything well all attempt to prevent me from enjoying this season as I would wish. 

As much as I hate to admit and face learning this truth again, however, I still have a choice in my response to these circumstances. As we all know, the attitude we choose each day ultimately dictates the tone and quality of our experiences.

In that vein, I must also acknowledge the many blessings present in my life, for I am also overwhelmed by the kindness and generosity of friends. Dear loved ones have given of their wisdom, resources, time, presence, love, and empathy in this past year in life-sustaining ways. I’ve learned to rely on them. Their examples, generosity, and goodness have changed me.

I’m also overwhelmed by the goodness, grace, and presence of my loving and mighty God. I don’t often understand what He’s up to, but I do know He’s with me and that He fills me over and over again with His strength. As the band BIG DADDY WEAVE sings in their song OVERWHELMED, “I delight myself in You/Captivated by Your beauty/I’m overwhelmed….I’m overwhelmed by You.”

My prayer for this day and for this season is that I would allow myself to be emptied of all the negative emotions that tend to consume me and that I would use that space to be filled with all that is good. May wonder for our great God and His many blessings wash over all of us today.

Mi Hija…

There’s a lovely phrase, in Spanish or in any language, “Mi hija…my daughter.” I’ve always loved how Spanish-speakers pronounce it as though it were one word instead of a phrase, like two notes to the same beautiful song. Now it is mine! I am a mama to THE most amazing and beautiful baby girl (not that I’m biased). Almost three months old now, I fell in love the moment I knew she had arrived in the womb. But this is nothing compared to the love I felt meeting her for the first time, or have felt every day since. It’s as though I have always known her, and yet, how wonderful it is to get to know her still more and more each day. 

This all has me thinking a lot about the kind of woman and mom I want to be. Recent months have provided ample opportunity to refine my character and expose its weaknesses, yet it feels like real growth for me to be able to say there are some things I like about myself. As an older first time mom, I’m confident in who I am and what I want out of life. And even if I can’t always achieve or obtain those ultimate goals, I know how to sit with that too. I know to delight in the preciousness of this time despite its challenges, to treasure each and every single moment. Even in the difficult ones, the words of an old country song by Trace Adkins often come to mind, “You’re gonna miss this.”

But I’ve also realized how difficult it can be for me to be present, how easily focused I can become on looming to-do lists, how inclined I am to look at the glass as half-empty, and how rapidly I become irritated. I’ve become more aware of how prone to anxiety and compulsiveness I am and of how much I STILL need to grow. Above all, I see how self-critical and perfectionistic I am. 

I want my daughter to know me as hopeful and humble and kind, a woman at peace and at rest each day. I hope she’ll witness strength intertwined with gentleness, wisdom with wit, patience with perseverance. May she learn from a mama who works hard but who also knows how to quit…one who can play and laugh and dance, especially with her. May my daughter see someone who can forgive herself and who has a growth mindset. As she watches me with others, may she witness integrity, joy, and a generous spirit, someone who listens well and truly gives love and presence.  Of all this I fall far short, a reminder that a profound sense of failure is one of the emotions I did not expect to arrive so quickly in this journey of motherhood.

It’s easy to get ahead of myself…to become so full of ambition for what I want to be that I lose sight of and gratitude for what IS. But that’s just what a dear friend encouraged me towards recently, to be “…a lover of what is.” She encouraged me to take God at His word that I have all that I need…to INHABIT my fullness and completeness. I think I’ll be sitting with all of that for quite some time to come.

When I think of the women I admire most, real women who have blessed me with the opportunity to be a part of their stories, they’re not perfect either. They are humble and patient with themselves as they journey. How grateful I am to have wonderful examples in my friends, most of whom have shown me generosity and kindness beyond measure in this season. And above all, I have an amazing example and a constant companion in God, whose strength and grace I am dependent upon each and every step of the way. 


Once again, although I know what I want, I’m not always sure of how to get it, which brings to mind the words of the great Wendell Berry, my favorite author: “What we must do is this: ‘Love always, pray  continually, in everything, give thanks.’ I’m not always capable of it, but I know those are the right instructions.”

Call to Wonder…

As I drove home a couple of nights ago, a pink-orange sky bathed the rugged snow-capped mountains and low-hanging clouds in mystical light. The scene took my breath away. I thought of a card a dear friend once gave me for my birthday that pictured a little boy, mouth agape, gazing out the window at a newborn bird. The caption said, “Never lose your sense of wonder.” What a privilege to marvel again and again at God’s creation and this wonderful wild land where we live. As John Muir said, “Everybody needs beauty as well as bread, places to play in and pray in, where nature may heal and give strength to body and soul…. All that sun shines on is beautiful, so long as it is wild.”

As my husband and I await our first baby and stand in awe at this miracle of life developing each week, I am awakened once again to this Christmas season of wonder. I marvel at our creative Creator and the artistry with which he put together the world and each miraculous, unique life to grace it. Though this past year has been one to remember for all of us–a friend told me she’s heard 2020 will be the new swear word–I’m astonished at all the ways, big and small, our great God has provided for us within the storms.

In her many books and blogs, author Ann Voskamp invites us to offer a song of gratitude each day for every grace we are given. In Unwrapping the Greatest Gift she states, “You were formed to have front-row seats to waves hugging the shore, to trees touching the sky, to stars falling across the night–the whole of the universe falling in love with God…. You could unwrap the wow today just by going to the window. By going to the front door, to the park, to the backyard, or to the top of the highest hill you can find–standing there and staring and being wowed by the shape of the clouds or the color of the sky or the size of the sun when you hold up your hands.”

Edith Wharton, first woman to win the Pulitzer Prize for literature, has a quote I adore about how this kind of spirit can even keep you young. She said, “There’s no such thing as old age; there is only sorrow. In spite of illness, in spite even of the archenemy sorrow, one can remain alive long past the usual date of disintegration if one is unafraid of change, insatiable in intellectual curiosity, interested in big things, and happy in small ways.”

As we do the work of remaining alive and curious and grateful, may we be assured with the knowledge that regardless of what storms may come, we will never be alone on our journeys. As Lamentations 3 and the great hymn say, “Morning by morning new mercies I see. All I have needed Thy hand has provided, Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord unto me.”

“Walk Down This Mountain…”

Though I walk each day on a flat country road, I live in a land of mountains and valleys. They parallel life for me—a life that is a journey, but one that feels like a roller coaster more often than not.

I make the arduous climb to the top of various mountain peaks, some of them relationship or personal struggles, others life or professional goals, and others various lessons or faith journeys. The reward is often a breathtaking vista and the wind in my hair—exuberant joy and renewed passion, even if only for a few moments in time.  These summit moments might be among my favorite memories, but mountain peaks are cold, dangerous, and lonely places to dwell. It’s hard to stay there. Eventually, I must descend.

I walk down mountains, knowing that my journey will end with a return to valleys. Often, my heart and mind and body feel weary and dread the new low valley experiences, the new climb that will need to be made before I can summit again. 

Third Day, one of my favorite bands, has a song called “Mountain of God.” In it, author and lead singer Mac Powell says, “I thought that I was all alone, helpless and afraid, but You are there with me—You are there with me.” In the chorus, he continues,

“Even though the journey’s long, and I know the road is hard,

Well the One who goes before me, He will help me carry on.

After all that I’ve been through, now I realize the truth,

That I must go through the valley to stand upon the mountain of God.”

As the song implies, the valley experiences are necessary to prepare us for climbing and summiting mountains. In the valley, it’s easy to feel we are alone. By the time we reach the mountaintop, having made our way through the clouds, we know we have been accompanied all along. Despite difficulty, we were never abandoned. Through the journey, we learned, grew stronger, realized the depth of our hunger for relationship and growth, and eventually, we were rewarded. The panoramic view that filled our senese at the peak also gave us the companionship and understanding we longed for and a vision for the future. Even more, it filled us with confidence that we are in fact, strong enough to be equal to such journeys. What we’ve done before, we can do again. God has been faithful before and He will be again.

So there’s no need to fear the next valley or climb. We must bolster our own hearts, as Julian of Norwich did when she said, “All is well…and all manner of things shall be well.” As Bebo Norman sings, we can…

“Walk down this mountain with your heart held high. 

Follow in the footsteps of your Maker. 

And with this love that’s gone before you and these people at your side, 

You offer up your broken cup. 

You will find the meaning of true life.”

Leave Them Better…

Henry Van Dyke once said, “There is a loftier ambition than merely to stand high in the world. It is to stoop down & lift man up a little higher.” How easy it is to get caught up in the enticing busyness of everyday living. Though we may not set out to “stand high in the world,” in the end, the effort to “keep up” can be self-consuming. 

And yet, need is always in the world around us. If we take time to look into the faces around us, to truly see people, we find a world muddling through various desperate circumstances. Empathy, compassion, and generosity are there in many individually, but relatively speaking, they are still in short supply. Ian Maclaren once said, “Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.” Though the struggle is different for each one of us and varies in different seasons of our lives, it is there for all of us nonetheless.

A colleague reminded me recently that although I’m a perfectionist, it’s okay to let go sometimes. In this crazy COVID world we’re all currently experiencing, to slow down and be present with kids is one of the best gifts we can give them. The same is true for adult needs as well.

In her book, WHEN THINGS FALL APART, Pema Chödrön suggests that one way to relieve our own suffering is to face it, recognizing it for what it is instead of running away from it and allowing it to rule us. In our willingness to face this pain, we can begin to focus on others in the world who might face the same difficulty and emotions. As we awaken to the suffering of others and wish for improvement and relief for all, we can begin to spread contagious compassion and empathy. 

Mother Teresa once said, “Let no one come to you without leaving him better.” What a great reminder, a wonderful intention to set. It’s another way of saying I must learn to keep judgement from my heart and  love my neighbor as myself. Today, I choose to open my eyes, remove them from myself, and focus on others. Albert Schweitzer said, “Until he extends his circle of compassion to include all living things, man will not himself find peace.” I will need to choose this attitude over and over again. Each time that I practice, it will become easier to leave others better after our encounters. I can be a small part of making peace on earth with my own two hands.