Thinking Out Loud

I was thinking about how, when I was a little girl, I would immediately run to my mom or dad to tell them about anything good I did. It usually ended with them saying, “Wow! I’m so proud of you.” I don’t know exactly when I learned that there’s a reward for doing good, even if the reward is just a simple “I’m proud of you,” but that became everything to me. “Dad, I read my Bible!” “I’m proud of you, Madison!” “Mom, Dad! I made all A’s!” “We’re so proud of you, Madison! Good job!” At that time, all I knew was that what I was doing was good. It pleased my parents. It made them proud. But somewhere along the way, pleasing turned into perfection. Perfectionism became my struggle, not just doing the right things, but doing all the right things right. That’s an incredible amount of pressure. This kind of pressure made me afraid to fail. Afraid that failure would change how people saw me, loved me, or appreciated me. I carry that weight constantly. I’ve let what was once about pleas...

Everyone wants to hate on Martha, like she were doing something terribly wrong. I hear it a lot: "I don’t want to be Martha. I want to be Mary." Or maybe: "Don’t be like Martha!" Lately, I’ve been taking it a little personally. Because the more I read her story, the more I think: "Hey, wait… Martha’s me. I’m Martha." Let me explain. I don’t think what Martha was doing was wrong. I think her heart was just in the wrong place. “But the Lord answered her, ‘Martha, Martha, you are anxious and troubled about many things, but one thing is necessary. Mary has chosen the good portion, which will not be taken away from her.’” — Luke 10:41-42 When I read that, I replace Martha’s name with mine. “Madison, Madison, don’t you know that I just want to be with you?” Jesus isn’t scolding her. He’s not upset. He’s getting her attention. He’s gently reminding her that all the tasks—hospitality, serving, the good things—those can all be taken away. But He remains. We...

Dear Diary,  I feel alone.  In a room of crowded people, I feel alone.  I put a smile on my face to hide what I truly feel.  Yet, I still wonder if people can see me.  Really see me.  Even if they do, will I let them into the thoughts in my head?  Will I allow them to feel what I feel, hear what I hear, or see what I see?  I feel alone.  The type of loneliness that leaves for a moment in good company but lingers with me even as I leave the driveway. Is there hope? The more challenging question is do I want it?  -- John 5:2-9  Now there is in Jerusalem by the Sheep Gate a pool, in Aramaic called Bethesda, which has five roofed colonnades. In these lay a multitude of invalids--blind, lame, and paralyzed. One man was there who had been an invalid for thirty-eight years. When Jesus saw him lying there and knew that he had already been there a long time, he said to him, "Do you want to be healed?" The sick man answered him, "Sir, I have ...