7 Reasons why I love LA

1. Regardless of the economic status of a neighborhood, you will find a 24hr donut shop, laundry-mat and 7-11 on every corner.

2. When finished with a piece of furniture, it's the unwritten rule to place it on the curb in front of your house or apartment, be it a couch or box spring or lamp, you will spot them speckled throughout the streets. Sometimes they sit there for days, weeks, months even. They are there for the taking and everyone knows.

3. If you want to go grocery shopping at midnight, or to the gym at 2am, you can; And you won't be the only one there.

4. We don't have hurricanes or blizzards to bond over, but we do have traffic. There's road rage of course, but theres also this strong sense of community. I've shared more friendly head nods, smiles and concerts at stoplights with strangers here than I have anywhere else.

5. Theres about 60 women in my Zumba class and I am 1 of 5 white girls. I shake my booty several times a week with women of at least a dozen other ethnicities, it's a beautiful thing.

6. Driving home from chick-fil-a I point out a mob of paparazzi to my kid. I don't know who the object of their obsession is, but these people, the objects we've turned them into, are impacting the world, for better or worse. And it all starts here.

7. 20 minutes. 20 minutes to the mountains, to the ocean, to the country, to the city. If you're here, you're 20 minutes from everywhere.

It's Gonna Be Alright

We went to church tonight. Not our regular church, but the church I attended a few years ago when I lived here in Los Angeles. The church I was attending in 2007 when my world was turned upside down. It was a special Christmas service and tonight was my first visit back since becoming a mom.

EJ was enthralled from the moment we walked in. She was worshipping so enthusiastically, I was almost embarrassed, almost. Bouncing on the chair, arms stretched towards heaven, singing at the top of her lungs, in her own world with God. People were trying not to look over, I could tell by the way they moved their eyeballs so subtly in our direction and smiled with their heads still bowed.

I wanted to tell them what was really going on. Besides the fact that my kid was obviously lost in the moment, this wasn't just a Sunday night church service for me, this moment was a little more sacred.

5 years ago, I stood in this sanctuary, Sunday after Sunday, arms stretched towards heaven, singing at the top of my lungs, in my own world with God. And sobbing. I had recently been raped. And it left me pregnant. And I was homeless. And I was completely alone.

5 years ago I would sing these lyrics along with everyone else in the congregation, but most people didn't know the tremendous weight the words held for me, or the depth of faith I was pouring out...

For I know my God saved the day
And I know His word never fails
And I know my God will make a way for me
Its gonna be alright...

The odds were stacked against me. Looking at my circumstances, the future looked bleak. Impossible, really. But 5 years ago I believed with every ounce of me that God was going to make a way for me, for us. I knew. I knew we would be alright.

And though my trust was unswerving, and as determined as I was to follow Him regardless, I couldn't imagine how God was actually going to do it. How was he actually going to make a way for us through this sea of impossibilities?
I didn't have any answers.
 
But I had faith. And I guess sometimes that's all you really need.

5 years later instead of a pregnant belly and morning sickness, I've got this 4 year old who's waist I'm holding so she doesn't fall off her chair in her exuberant worship.

And I have peace.

5 years later I can say, He saved the day. He made a way for us!
And if the next 5 years are half as good as the last 5....IT'S GOING TO BE ALRIGHT!




"Blessed is she who has believed that the Lord would fulfill his promises to her!” Luke 1:45

It is Time

I was on the treadmill the other day, sweaty and panting as I flipped through the channels on the built in tv.

I came across a politically focused cable news program, yuuuuuuuck. I'm more of a TLC, Home and Garden Network kinda girl, I've even settled on the Kardashians when things were desperate. But the controversial topic they were discussing on this episode of Hardball with Chris Matthews had me glued to the screen: Rape and Abortion.  Hhhmmmm......

I was terribly curious as to what these strongly opinionated commentators, from both sides of the debate, had to say about a situation that I've lived through and they hadn't.

I watched and listened for a minute, then another minute, and then a few more. I kept nodding my head in agreement with what was being said, relieved that I didn't feel the desire to punch the screen as I thought I might. Till a statistic they breezed over so casually brought my world to a screeching halt.

32,000

Thirty two thousand women become pregnant from rape each year in the United States.

Did you know that? I didn't know that. I had no idea that in 2008, 31,999 other women were dealt some of the same cards I was.

I couldn't take in another second of the conversation. I pressed the emergency stop button on the machine, my body's instant reflex to this horrifying fact. I made a B-line to the showers and sobbed as quietly as I could, my face stuffed into the towel.

In this next year, 32,000 women are going to walk through the same hell I did. They're going to face what I faced. And they're going to want to die, like I did. And they're not going to understand why God allowed this to happen, because how can you?

After shampooing and conditioning and shaving as best I could, I made it to the vanity area to paint my face and dry my locks. But the tears were relentless, I had 32,000 women on my heart and this incredible sense of urgency...

I've gotta tell them

I've gotta tell them

I've gotta tell them

There is hope. 

This wasn't my plan (but it was my dream)

A few weeks ago, this woman, who for the most part was a complete stranger, was praying over me. "I sense really strongly you're on the verge of a huge crossroads."


I made a mental note of it, and that was that.


A week later, I was 200 miles away visiting a church, and another woman was praying over me, another almost complete stranger, "I sense really strongly you're on the verge of a huge crossroads." Weird.


Second mental note made. Huge crossroads at some point in the future, got it. 


In the days that followed, I didn't spend more than 3 seconds considering the words I'd just received.


But I did have some other unrelated realizations. Like...By this point next year Ill be registering my child for kindergarten. Where has the time gone??  I've known since before we moved here a year ago, that once she hits school-age her needs won't be met here anymore, and a change will have to be made. That's a year from now, I've got time to come up with a plan. 


So the brainstorming began, sorta. Where will we go? What will we do?  .....In a year.


I thought of locales to start a new life, a life that involves my child attending school somewhere and me, doing something, anything, to support us and continuing to take steps towards our destiny. I couldn't picture us leaving here and staying in ywam, I don't know why.


Redding, California? My best friend is there. There's an awesome church there. There are good schools there, affordable living, and jobs. A safe option for a single mom just starting out....


but our destiny isn't there.....thats not where we're supposed to be..... I know where God wants us and its not Redding....but I dont know how to get us there....and I dont know if I even have the courage to admit to anyone what I do know....


We're supposed to be in Los Angeles, California. Not because I want to be, though I do want to be. Not because I miss it, though I have missed it. Not because I have nowhere else to go, I could list a dozen other places we could go. Not because I plan on stalking Bieber and Gomez, though its likely we will. Not because I want to leave, because for the first time in a long time I'm happy and not wanting to move on, I love our current life, I love our crusty little cabin, I love our friends here, I love seeing the Pacific everyday, I love our grocery store and my daughters preschool, I love my job, I love our life, its a good one. We're supposed to be in Los Angeles, because....


In elementary school I wrote essays about wanting to live there, about raising my family there. I drew countless pictures of the skyline of this city I had never been to. For years I sobbed in the backseat as my mom would drive past the freeway exit for Interstate 5 towards Los Angeles. When I was 16 and praying about college or ywam, God told me to go to LA. At my first stroke of freedom, I packed up and moved there. I left at 21 because a horrible thing happened to me and God needed to heal my heart, but my destiny, my calling in life, was always there. 


I'm called to LA the way people are called to the bush of Africa and the jungles of Colombia and the leper villages in India. I know this may evoke some rolling of eyes in the cynics and religious folk, but in the end I stand before God, not cynics and religious folk, PTL. 


Things in our hearts, dreams, desires, passions, are usually put there by God. Those things are what help us to know what our destiny is and they guide us down the path God drempt up for us when He created us. I believe that if you want God to receive as much glory for your life as possible, you cannot afford to ignore the dreams of your heart. But delighting yourself in Him is key, because He takes care of everything after that.


So I sat down and made a list of what it would take for us to live in LA and how much money I would need to make to support us. I shook my head like someone had just asked me to turn water into wine.


IMPOSSIBLE.


And for the next 24 hours I walked around feeling defeated, and annoyed and just flat out agitated. 


The next morning I woke up and God told me to read a certain passage of scripture. It talked about crossroads. Oh my gosh Lord, okay!


Later that same day I was in my car making the 4 hour trek to visit my sister. By hour 3 the baby had fallen asleep in the backseat and I finally just burst out a frustration induced prayer, "Lord, I know you want us in LA, but I cannot do it myself!! There is no way I could make enough money, I dont have the means or the resources, if you want us there, you get us there! I'm tired of trying to do it all on my own, when this was kind of your idea to begin with!"


Picture me yelling, loudly. Hitting the steering wheel, maybe.


And then there was this peace. This peace I cant describe. Like I probably let out this huge relaxed sigh.The ball was in his court now and I was done.


It wasn't a year later, as I was expecting.
It wasn't 6 months later.
It wasn't several weeks later.


It was an hour later....One hour after I had just said 'Okay Lord, I'm done, if you want us there you make it happen'....that the door swung wide open.


I received a text from one of my dearest friends in Los Angeles, it had been months since I had heard from her. "We have a space for you and we want you to come live with us".


Shut up.


I threw my phone across the room. Then I sat there frozen and wide eyed, like a deer in headlights and my sister was like, 'What the eff is wrong with you' in the way only a sister can. It was happening. Really fast. Things were happening. Things I had waited YEARS to happen, since the day I left Los Angeles, August 2, 2008, hugely pregnant and overwhelmed with the new mysterious responsibilities of motherhood that lay before me. It was happening, dreams I've held onto for 26 years are happening.


A few days later it was early morning, I was sipping coffee and praying, "Lord, if this whole LA thing isn't from you, I need you to make it really clear, because it sure as heck seems like its from you, but I could be wrong. If I'm making a mistake, you've got to stop me, cause I'm about to put the wheels in motion."


I finished praying. I ate breakfast. I went to work. I went to lunch. And guess what happened next? I was in line for lunch and this guy comes up to me. I didn't know who he was and I was worried he was about to start hitting on me. I didn't know he was a teacher from Bethel who was here teaching on Prophesying and also happily married. He starts asking me all these questions, almost interrogating me. At one point I had to whisper, because I was giving him top secret information.


"So, when do you think you'll go?" he questioned.


I sighed, "September?? I really don't know..."


"Okay no, when I saw you I saw the month of August written all over you, but I didn't know what it was in reference to, that's why I was interrogating you. You're supposed to go in August." He stated with total confidence. "Why don't you want to go?"


"I do want to go, I just wanted another year to be stable and rest here, I've been moving nonstop since I got pregnant and I'm tired and tired of moving."


"No, you're supposed to go in August and your rest will come when you get there."


What else is there to say?  God is crazy. He's just crazy. His love is absurd. And I really like him. And I really like how he's the God who makes my dreams come true. He keeps reminding me of that when I'm tempted to look for love in other places, he whispers so sweetly "But Elise, I'm the one who makes your dreams come true"....Oh ya, you are, aren't you. And I melt all over again. 

Jumping, Letting Go & Other Terrible (But Beautiful) Ideas

I'm 8. I'm sitting on a chaise lounge snoozin in the warm sun, poolside. Everything is good. Everything is well. I open my eyes to look around, the lifeguard catches my glance and we smile politely through squinted eyes.

There's something over there. I see it and I wonder. Its the high dive. Not just the regular one, the extra super high one that looks like a killing machine. I don't know how to dive. But I'm staring at it and wondering and I don't know why I can't just look away. I've never taken the plunge before; I know others who have, but it's never felt right to me.

Then something happens. I'm sitting up and with both feet on the cement, they start walking. One foot in front of the other. Towards the killing machine.

I don't know what's happening. But I'm drawn to this high dive. I'm compelled beyond reason. Beyond logic. To jump. Even though 45 seconds ago everything was good, everything was well. Why would I trade my warm terry cloth beach towel and comfy chaise lounge for the chilly mile high plunge? I'm a sensible girl and none of this seems sensible at all to me. I don't even like swimming. What if I get hurt? What if I pass out on the way down and never come up to the surface? What if I end up humiliated? What if I drown and the lifeguard never comes to my rescue?

This fear is the realest thing I've ever felt.

But both hands have reached the railing now and one foot has started up the metal steps of the ladder. I'm climbing, slowly, heart racing, terrified of jumping but even more terrified of not. I can't explain it. My stomach is in my chest now, its hard to breathe, but I'm standing my ground despite my fear. It's one foot in front of the other, to the top of the world.

I catch the lifeguards eyes for security, he smiles warmly and nods with encouragement, evidence that his faith in me exceeds my faith in him.

The board bounces subtly under my feet. Its scratchy surface offers me no comfort of any kind. Its an amazing view from up here, I see clearly beyond the pool yard, down the boulevard and past downtown. I see my lounge chair, my towel, my 7-UP and the Highlights Magazine I was just reading, I see my moms car....I see everything I just walked away from, for reasons I can't adequately explain to anyone. Everything I'm giving up blatantly lies before me. But I know I want this more than any of that. There's no guarantee, no real security that when I fall off this board that it will turn out okay or even be worth it.

My toes curl over the edge. Where did this courage come from? Through the terror theres this peace and grace and confidence and a sense that this leap is right. But there's still no guarantee.

I can't stand in this place long, I came to jump. And if I stand here too long I'll reason myself out of this and give into the realest fear ever.

I look down into the blue, and up to the sky, I steal one last reassuring glance from the lifeguard and with one very deep breath.....

I decide that this is crazy and that this jump is a ridiculously bad idea and I don't want to get hurt or wet and I'd rather be cozy and safe drinking my 7-UP and working on the crossword puzzle in my Highlights magazine than challenging myself in any way, so I turn around and climb down. 

I close my eyes and step off.

IMadeItThroughAnotherDay

I titled this blog WeMadeItThroughAnotherYear.

Tonight, I'm rejoicing that I simply MadeItThroughAnotherDay.

Every once in a while I morph into a total freak over night. I get weepy during Barney's 20th year anniversay episode. I eat cheese from a can. I make up crazy things in my head about people hating me and then believe them. I make rash decisions, but only ones that can be undone, because deep deep down I'm not actually that irrational.

But only once a month, and it only lasts a day or two.

Thank God, because the world would come undone if it lasted any longer.

Today, after a sleepless night, not a singing toothbrush sleepless night but a sick moaning child wiggling around all night kind of sleepless night, it was one of those days I had morphed into someone else. A crazy person.

I can't give details of the damage that ensued.

I won't admit if I ate cheese from a can this time.

But I will say, I'm really really glad that somebody isn't keeping score.

I'm thankful for grace.

IMadeitThroughAnotherDay.....and tomorrow is a chance to try again.

12 Hours

Drank a cup of coffee at 8pm last night.

I'd never done that before. And I'll never do it again.

Had an awesome energized time with the Lord.

Took a dose of Nyquil at 9:30 to reverse the effects of the coffee.

Crawled in bed at 10:30 with the dizzy spins.

Heard something I thought was a bird outside.

Heard it again a few minutes later.

But I was paralyed in a mid winter's night coma and I thought it would eventually cease.

It taunted me. Us. Constantly. All. Night. Long.

Though I couldn't make out what the noise was.

Around 4am, EJ and I, after being disturbed throughout the night came to a verbal conclusion: It's Justin Bieber, the toothbrush.

He was trying to sing to us all night long, that when we smile, he smiles.

Neither of us were smiling at that point.

Who's getting out of bed to face the 20 degree temperature, climb down the ladder and put the malfunctioning crooning toiletry out of its misery?

After some convincing and pleading, at 5am like a mini Macgyver she shimmied down the loft and brought me the torture stick.

At 6am, in the exhaustion of a wasted night, the absurdity of the situation finally got to us.

We were smiling.

We were now laughing.

And the sun was officially shining through the tops of the trees.

The toothbrush was still singing away and I was ready to take a hatchet to the thing once and for all.

But the day had begun, waffles were being toasted, and the show must go on, sleepless night or not.

By 8am, as I poured the orange juice and stirred the coffee, sanity barely intact, I had enough clarity to remove the batteries.

With the brush sitting here next to me as I write this, I feel like a victim of some pop culture torture.

I only hope the Biebs is out there smiling somewhere, cause after a night like that, I certainly am.