My Heart Is In H.B.

I belong here.

Whenever I come here, I feel like I'm home. Known. I know myself best here.

Just like the smell of freshly brewed coffee when I walk into my parents house, the smell of the long and soft green grass on the north side of the HB pier welcomes me home. It's as if the scent of the grass is saying,
"Hey Heidi! Good to see you again. Sit! Soak it in. Relax! Welcome home."

So I do.

And here I am.

A blown wish-flower stem lays next to me - the seeds already scattered by my big blow with all the breath I could muster.

Perhaps that why I feel like I belong here. So many wishes have been blown here by me during the course of my life. I am sure some of those wishes have taken root in this grass.
Perhaps I've recycled my wishes and have blown the same wishes I have helped to grow here. Blowing and Planting. Blowing and Planting. My wishes keep growing here in HB.

As I lay in this wish-sprinkled grass, I see an unoccupied picnic table to my far left. But in my mind's eye, there is much activity at that table.

In my mind's eye, My Grandma Clarice is spreading out a plastic, red-and-white checkered table cloth. It catches in the wind and my nine-year-old self runs to catch the corners and help her lay it down.

We all carry down the food and most of us are wearing over-sized Michigan sweatshirts. My mom holds my newly-born sister tightly bundled in a blanket. I switch between being a mature daughter helping with the dishes to being a pony-tailed girl who wants to roll down the hills with my six-year-old sister.

After a couple hours, it starts to get windy. My grandpa warns that we shouldn't be out when it is cold and damp. My mom rallies us up and my dad loads the car. I soak every last bit of the wind that I can before I get in the car and stare out the window at the ocean.

I blink....and I'm back to reality.



As I'm laying on this ground where I've planted my wishes, I realize that my sometimes-wish of going back in time can only happen in the fond remembrances of my mind.

But the gentle swirling breeze around me and the rhythmic roar of the ocean before me reminds me that my future lies in forward motion. The whisper seems to say to me,

"It is good to know where you've come from. Be thankful for your roots, embrace your foundation, smile at your memories.

But live in the now.

And, without rushing, anticipate your future with joy.

And in this moment, laying on a bed of grass and childhood wishes,

Be Glad."

This post was first written in my journal, on a beautiful Sunday early-evening, in Huntington Beach, CA

Where will Willingness Lead?

God is realigning my heart.

I know it is Him because my human heart does NOT naturally think the thoughts I have been beginning to think in the past few days.

My heart has been revisiting the concept of willingness to literally go where God sends me. Whether He is sending me across the room to apologize to my husband, or whether He is sending me to Uganda to hold 3 little children in my lap, I want to be willing to go.

I really do not know where God will take me in my life. Honestly.

I am not writing this post with any clue or hint of where I might be going in order to follow God’s will. (And to my family who reads this blog…NO. This is not my indirect way of telling you I am moving to Africa. :-)

Part of the reason that my heart closes off to being willing to “give up my life” to follow Jesus is that I want to LIVE! I want to live, and thrive, and flourish! If I give God a willing heart, what if He makes me sacrifice all that I hold dear?

My husband said something so powerful to me the other night. He said, “The reason it is hard is because we were created to thrive. We were created to live! But we aren’t home yet…real life hasn’t even begun.”

Jesus said, “He who seeks to gain his life, will lose it. But he who loses his life, will find it.”

What if I was willing to give all my desires, my dreams, and my securities for God to rearrange as He desired? What if my life looks nothing like I originally intended it to look?

Guess what?!

I have ETERNITY to live!

Think about it.

Eternity in Perfection.

No sin, no pain, no separation from love.

Think about this ratio: Giving up six months of your life here on earth in order to live 75 years of doing exactly what you want to do. Wouldn't 75 years be well worth the six months of sacrifice?

Now think of 90 years compared to 1 million years. Compare 90 years to 1 billion years. To a trillion. To FOREVER..............

I know. My mind can’t wrap around it either.

Do you believe this???

Do you believe that you will live forever in the perfect presence of your Savior?

Are you living like you believe it?

Or are you living like this life is all you’ve got?

I am asking myself the same questions.

But I know Jesus has more for us. I know He has more for me.

I’ll be honest. I’m a little scared to start heading down the road of opening my heart to complete willingness.

But even more than scared, I’m excited.

Why?

His Love, the entire essence of who He is, is too entrancing for me to ignore.


Next time you are in church and the song "I Surrender All" starts to play, ask your heart if you really mean the words you are allowing your voice to sing. I will do the same. I promise.

"All to Jesus, I surrender. All to Him, I freely give. I will ever love and trust Him. In His presence daily live. I surrender all. I surrender all. All to thee my blessed Savior, I surrender all."

Lasts and Firsts (with my sister)

Part Three of the LASTS series.
For Part One, click here.
For Part Two, click here.


I sat down for my thirteen-(almost fourteen)-year-old sister’s performance of the musical “Honk!” in which she was playing the lead role of the mother duck Ida. I casually perused through the program and started reading the bio’s of all the cast members. Then I got to my sister’s bio and I almost stopped breathing. Then I started crying.

9th grader? She’s described as a 9th grader?

You see for me, talking about an idea sometimes holds less impact than seeing the raw facts written on paper. And here it was, in print, the truth that my little sister is now a 9th grader. A high-schooler. She may not yet have experienced her first day of high school but she graduated from the 8th grade a month ago. She knows what choirs she will be singing in next year. And she has her class schedule all figured out. Yes, she is a 9th grader.

Usually, at least for me, a first is easier than a last. You know, the last of something usually holds such finality with no going back and it makes you want to hold on and remember every memory you possibly can. On the other hand, a first is full of such promise with a blank slate for the memories to decorate one-by-one. There is (usually) less to grieve with a “first” because it the start -not the ending- of something.

But this time is different. This time the last is much easier than the first.

The last, Chrissy’s eight grade graduation, wasn’t that hard for me. Yes, I was sentimental. I was beaming with pride to see how gorgeous she looked. I was proud to hear her sing the national anthem to start the ceremony. It all felt right. She seemed so ready. She had fit a lot into her 3-year junior high experience and it just seemed like she was ready for the next chapter.

But this first! This first day of high school, this first day of freshman year, this first of such a new season for her - this first is what is catching my throat even still.

In this big first of my sister’s life, I am experiencing again how pain is such big part of love.

The pain of letting go, the pain of selfishly desiring her to stay young so I can always have her as my “little” sister, the pain of being proud and having my heart hurt and my eyes fill with tears because she is developing with so much talent and inner and outer beauty.

It just hurts.

It *almost* makes me afraid of someday being a mom because if this is how I feel about my younger sister, I don’t know WHAT I am going to do when I go through these experiences with my own children!

As I let go and embrace this new season in my sister’s life, I am excited to see what these next four years will bring for her. I am so grateful that she loves Jesus and that she proudly expresses a desire to continually grow in her relationship with Him.

I can’t wait to see what beautiful things she will do and what beautiful things will be created inside her.


Thank you, Lord, for this new season. Thank you for all the joy it has brought me to be a part of my sister’s life from the day she was born. Thank you for who you have crafted her to be and please give me peace and joy knowing that it is You that is molding her, walking with her, and protecting her. Thank you for my sister.


What about YOU? Is there anything you are having a hard time letting go of?

The Last Day. Of Freshman Year.

Part Two of the "Lasts" series.
For Part One click here.


Freshman year of college at Chapman University was magical. Magical.

There was hard stuff for sure, some intensely hard stuff actually, but that’s not what I remember when I think of the phrase “freshman year.”

To me, the phrase “freshman year” is defined by fellowship, a constantly available shoulder to cry on and a friend to laugh with. I think of it as free time filled up by prayers in the hallway, group walks over to the cafeteria for breakfast and lunch and dinner. A year of Christian girls all placed by God on one magical floor - 4th floor Pralle - all devoted to Jesus and a pure lifestyle.

And a room friend I will never forget. Three weeks into the first semester, we hadn’t really talked too in depth. I mean, we lived together and we liked each other, but hadn’t yet gotten past the superficial. And then one day (I don’t remember how it happened) she and I had our first heart-to-heart. We talked about how hard the transition into college was. We talked about the making of new friends. And that night, we decided to NOT be roommates. We decided to be room friends.

I loved living with her. I was a morning person. She was a night owl. We both liked our quiet space but we loved to share our hearts. We both wore a size 10 shoe. (ahem, still do) We were both listeners and encouragers so we both felt safe with each other to share and pray and cry. And oh, we could cry together. And be crazy. Who else would let me wake her up dancing like a mad woman to 80’s music?

Eventually, yet all too soon, the last week of school came. For the most part, we were all stoked! Summer was finally here!! But amidst the rush of finals and late-night, last-minute studying, there was a misty cloud of dread wisping over us. We all felt it. Freshman year is almost over. Will it be the same next year?

Last Day of school. Exhausted. One of the girls and I had a music history final which had robbed us of sanity for the few days leading up to it. We took the test, high-fived each other with as much energy as we could muster, grabbed some food in the caf, and ran to our rooms to finish our packing and clean them completely before we turned in our keys. When we were done all us girls were spending a beach weekend together. The faster we were done cleaning, the sooner vacation came!

My room friend and I cleaned our room together. We both planned on being back next year. Same floor, same room, same room friend. We zoomed around our room, sweat until we were dripping, and talked about the past year with smiles.

When we were done, we all met down in the parking garage to pile into the car and head to the beach. My room friend couldn't come that night because of a prior engagement and was going to meet us down there the next day.

I went to give her a hug. Like always. To say goodbye.

And then, it HIT me. It hit me hard and pierced me straight to my core.

It. Was. Over.

I held her and cried. We were going to live together again, what was the problem? I was going to spend time with all my girls at the beach relaxing instead of studying, why was I crying?

Perhaps my spirit knew before my mind did. But I instantly knew that nothing would be the same after this weekend.

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Changes came.

It ended up that my room friend and I couldn’t live together the next year. She was offered an RA position and was thrilled for the opportunity. And I was genuinely thrilled for her.

One of the girls felt called to go to Bible College and for the next year she was across the globe studying abroad.

Two of our girls left our circle of friends when they joined a sorority.

I met my husband that summer and was dating him all of sophomore year and married him the following summer.

We had different schedules sophomore year. And different rooms (except I did get the pleasure of living with another one of the girls whom I affectionately titled Room Cat).

When sophomore started, we were all a little sad. We were trying to recreate freshman year and it left us all frustrated. We had to learn to move on and embrace the season in front of us.

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Whenever it comes to remembrance, the last day of freshman year leaves me with a smile. It’s like the perfect, bittersweet ending of a lovely, heartwarming book. A happy ending without being syrupy sweet.

I mean, what’s a better way to end the book of “Freshman Year,” then the last paragraph being,

“I held my room friend tight, tears coming out of nowhere, my spirit knowing before my mind that things would never be the same. She squeezed me and told me she loved me and that she’d see me tomorrow. We locked eyes with our look of "knowing" and I smiled as a tear slipped down my cheek. With a full heart, I crawled into the car full of my girls, the ones who I had shared the countless precious moments of this precious year, and together we headed down the open highway, singing and laughing on the way to beach to celebrate our year.”