"Survival Year"

About 2010: I. Can't. Wait. For. 2011.

I absolutely love New Year's celebrations. I love everything about reflecting and thinking about the past year, thanking God for his faithfulness. I love planning and dreaming for the coming year, "what can it possibly hold!?". That being said, I am SO excited for this new year! Especially after 2010...

I sat with a friend the other night and she said, "You've had a pretty disheartening year, haven't you?" Yes. And Christmas seemed to follow suit in typical 2010 style...tough, but meaningful. We had just a few slight changes to flow with this year!:

• The synthetic tree (don't judge) which we've used since I can remember was replaced by a "real" tree.
• Our "real" tree was ornament-less because I flew in just two days before Christmas and Mom worked until the that exact moment.
• We're pretty famous for our massive Christmas Eve celebration - house overflowing with people, noise, craziness. This year, it was just me, Mom, Dad and my 84 year old Uncle.
• Most of all, we missed our Grandmother. And all of the flair and fabulousness she brought to Christmas. I wish I could post this picture of her: She's in her floor-length nightgown, circa 1980, standing in the middle of the living room with all the Christmas chaos. Wrapping paper is strewn everywhere and she is smiling broadly, stylishly holding her glasses in her thumb and forefinger, her other hand on her hip, laughing at all the kids going crazy over their gifts. Classic.

We dubbed this year "survival Christmas" and made fun of all our holiday shortcomings. Upon surveying the tree Christmas morning, Mom said, "Oh guys, the tree...smells so beautiful. This is the first time I've ever paid $36 for a 5 foot tall air freshener. I don't regret it."

We gave each other frivolous gifts and laughed at our overreactions. "Oh my! A new calendar! THANK YOU!" "No problem. I know you've been having trouble remembering your months." The best part of me giving Dad a calendar was that when my Brother and Sister-in-Law's box of goodness arrived (Monday), they had, in fact, gifted him with another calendar. (If he misses any appointments he's got no one to blame but himself.)

It was a very different Bock Christmas. But we did manage to hold to two traditions. Our enchilada dinner on Christmas Eve was fabulous and we did squeeze in a Christmas fire, something we were accustomed to doing surrounded by frost and snow, but sand didn't make it any less magical and soul-filling.

And all was well. We were reminded of what's really important. (Yes, Jesus. We were reminded of Jesus. Soapbox moment: we should probably be a little more concerned that we often forget Jesus every other day of the year because of our general, having nothing to do with Christmas, busyness and materialism. He's to be celebrated every day. Ok, done with soapbox.)

We were reminded of family...

We didn't realize how few Christmasses we'd have with Gramma, standing regally in the middle of the living room directing the festivities. So we celebrated each other, from West Virginia to Arizona to Hawaii. And the rest was comedic material...

Onto 2011! A brand new start. 365 new mercies. Who knows what the year holds! I started writing my goals down (and even some dreams) to post soon...

HAPPY NEW YEAR dear friends. So glad we get to walk it together (at least in some way)!

The Dreams of The Barren

“Sing, barren woman, you who never bore a child;

burst into song, shout for joy, you who were never in labor;

because more are the children of the desolate woman

than of her who has a husband.” - Isaiah

Women who wrestle with barrenness rarely, if every, discuss it. And certainly not publicly. It is far too painful. Far too present. And far too personal. I have no idea, and do not pretend to understand, the scope and magnitude of what barrenness of the womb is like.

At times, I worry I will. But I have to push away that fear as I'm sure many women, married and not, must. My heart wrenches for the women in my life who have walked through barrenness or loss in any form - it changes you forever.

A few years ago, I adopted a rule for myself: I will not share publicly that which still brings me pain. And that little rule has spared me additional pain. But, for this one area, I feel compelled to make an exception. Maybe because healing for my heart will be found in the speaking of it. Or maybe healing for yours. Maybe one of you has a word of encouragement that will be a salve to my soul. Or maybe simply the knowledge that none of us must walk alone needs to sink in a little more deeply...

I am experiencing barrenness...

Deep, disappointing, overwhelming barrenness that brings with it a nagging, relentless shame. And far too many questions to feebly attempt to answer: what have I done wrong? what is wrong with me? Am I less of a woman? Are my dreams really in God's plan? Will I ever be truly fulfilled in this area? Why do I walk this path while other women enjoy the fruitfulness that my entire being longs for? What can I do to fix it? Those questions loop in my mind all day. Every day. Whether conscious or subconscious.

You see, I have never been in a "relationship" - a romantic one. Never been taken on a date. Never been asked to a school dance. I think I may have had a boyfriend in high school? But the possibility was lost before it was defined. And, when I survey my surroundings, I see no "prospects" at the moment.

To some of my friends, this seems unthinkable, "You can't be serious...". To others, it's not such a big deal, "After all, you're only 26, Amanda.". And to be honest, it wasn't such a big deal to me. I've been busy! Getting degrees and gaining work experience, getting my house in order, my life solid with Jesus.

But something changed this year and, like the feeling of a limb awakening, life became extremely uncomfortable. And then, almost excruciating. Suddenly, I realized I was missing something. And then, that I'd always been missing it. And that I didn't know anyone else in a situation like mine. And that I saw no change forthcoming...

As I reviewed the "have not, do not and may not" situation unceasingly, the door of my dreams creaked ever nearer to a close...

It takes guts to face the stark reality of this part of my story. And strength of will not to dwell upon it. Because the other side of the coin is this: my deepest, most personal dreams hang the prospect of their fulfillment here. A marriage, where I can give a receive love. Children to wrap my arms around. Family. My family.

Dreams are dangerous. They are only for the brave, those willing to risk pain, the inexplicable kind that sweeps in and steals your breath. But it is only these risk-takers who really live. And for me, the pain of barrenness will persist, dreams or none. So, like a controlled fire that must warm me, but not overtake me, I must keep my dreams alive...in my heart, in my life, by my voice.

What a scary, terrifying thought. What a fool I am, dreaming of something I've never seen. Something that has never been real. Something that, for all I know, is impossible. (I think I just heard Jesus laugh to Himself as He works on my "impossible" situation, doing things I know not of right now...)

"Always be in a state of expectancy, and see that you

leave room for God to come in as He likes."

Oswald Chambers

Honesty.

Writers are such vital people in our lives and culture. They’re the people who put our souls in front of us, like a mirror, when we can’t describe what we’re made of. They're the people who put flesh and movement to haunting, indescribable parts of our journeys. Whether joy or despair, the best of writers are those whose words bring us empathy and comfort for things which, before, seemed unintelligible.

Sara Groves is one of those writers in my life. When I have felt vague oppression in my soul that had no frame. When I have wanted to say to someone what they really mean. When I needed to express joy, but my words couldn’t do it justice. I have always found expression in her music. (My Mother cautioned us as kids to not use the words “always” and “never”. “They’re rarely accurate,” she’d say. But this time, I mean it!)

That is why tonight was so special. For several years, I’ve mulled over lyrics or been comforted by the camaraderie I found in Sara Groves’ music. But I had never been to a concert! Until tonight. We sat only two rows back at this small venue, about eight feet from the songbird herself! And as she made her way to the keyboard, I was completely overwhelmed. Moved to tears. And she hadn’t sung a note! Honestly, I felt like a creepy fan, I'm not gonna lie. I started talking to myself, “Amanda, seriously. Calm. Down. You are out of control.” Until I realized, my response was actually very merited.

The truth is…Sara Groves has been "with" me in so many seasons of life. She has rejoiced with me over victories, interceded with me about broken relationships, helped me express frustration, fear and turmoil, walked with me through grief, held my hand through scary transitions, and helped me tell Jesus how truly I love Him. She has been a great friend and mentor. And here I sat…just feet away. The moment was so…personal.

It was as if I could see all the seasons of my life passing on a screen, the same voice lullabying me through them. Each song carrying another memory with it. Every melody bringing back stories of God’s faithfulness, healing and love. Songs of praise and dedication. Words that helped me mourn and rejoice in the same breath.

I couldn’t help it; I afforded myself the luxury of letting a few tears escape.

And I made a new commitment to myself.

What has made Sara Groves’ music so powerful to me all this time is her honesty. Her willingness to say the things others won’t. She has spoken vulnerable words which brought reassurance to my spirit, “You are not alone.” She has mentored me in sincerity and authenticity because I want to do the same. I want to speak things that will bring liberty to people, freedom that allows them be who they are, where they are. I want to be one of those writers who makes someone’s corner of the world just a little less lonely…

So, I’ll be getting a little more “honest” around here, this little blog. And if it doesn’t resonate with you, at least you’ll know how to pray for me! But I’m fairly confident I’m not the only one walking this path, quiet as it may seem.

The first of these "honest" posts is already written, actually. I'm just gaining a little more chutzpah before debuting it!

Until then...

my sister.

It was a great weekend. And tonight is a great night. Our schedules usually don't permit the fabulousness that's been the past few days, but we love it when they do. I used to think I was going to spend a lot of my life without a friend like this...but one day, an incredible thing happened.

When I was 11, I met this really snobby girl. I was friends with her sister, and I wasn't really sure I was going to like her. She came from the "cooler/upscale" school in "town" to our little, backwoods elementary school. And, I can't say we hit it off...

But then, in almost an instant, we became the best of friends. Life changed forever. I have a fabulous big brother, the best anyone could ask for. But, surrounded by boys all of my life, I really wished I had a sister. I had no idea Jesus would give us such a gift. He's really good at what He does.

And, without her, this season of life would be so different. And much harder. Friday night, we decorated my Christmas tree. And, with the final ornament in place, we shut the lights off to fully see the tree in its glory. You could hear quiet tears as I whispered, "She would be really proud of this tree...", both of us misty-eyed. It's true - sorrow divided.

And man do we laugh. About anything. And everything. Laughter is the token trait of quality life, to me anyway. And my sister makes it easy...

When I am down and need to cry till morning,

I know just where I am going.

When I'm in need of sweet commiseration

To speak out loud...

Raise a glass to friendship

And to knowing you don't have to go alone.

We'll raise out hearts to share each other's burdens

On this road.

Every burden I have carried,

Every joy--it's understood.

Life with you is half as hard,

And twice as good.

With my good news you're dancing on the table:

Baby's born, to celebration.

The joy of life, oh what a sweet communion,

Shared with you.

Every burden I have carried,

Every joy--it's understood.

Life with you is half as hard,

And twice as good.

I know we're growing older,

Can you imagine what that will bring?

It's all a mystery to me now,

Except this one thing:

It'll be half as hard, and twice as good