Don't Dress Modestly

Ah life in the summer. Isn’t it glorious? Well if you are a reader in the Midwest you definitely think so, but if you are reading from my native homeland of Texas…you probably have mixed feelings. In the past couple of years I’ve noticed an Internet trend that arises with the onset of summer. The modesty posts. Perhaps it was a video or a cleverly written letter, or just a straight up old blog post…but we all saw those, right? Well here’s my version of just such a post. 

Transformation Tuesday: Peter

Transformation Tuesday!

I’m starting a new blog series called Transformation Tuesday. One Tuesday per month you will find stories of transformation on Bird In A Tree. I’ll talk about all kinds of transformation, relational, spiritual, physical—really anything is up for grabs! For this first installment I wanted to feature Peter…as in Peter: apostle of Jesus Christ. I love Peter and I think he is perfect for the first TT post because he is so radically transformed!

Grace & Getting Away With It

“Don’t play with the lamp.”

Click, the lamp turns on.

“Stop touching, it…now.”

Click, the lamp turns off.

“I said stop and then you touched it again. Now you have to get a consequence.”

“But I was just trying to help you and turn it off so it wasn’t on anymore.”

“This time I’m going to show you grace and I’m not going to give you a consequence. But next time you don’t obey the first time there will be a consequence.”

Winter in Contrast

Today is the beginning of Baptism Weekend at our church, and then we will celebrate with our friends. I adore baptism weekends. I’ve always loved witnessing baptisms and hearing testimonies of believers, but in the last few years I’ve come to cherish them. When we had our miscarriage, I found myself desperate to hear testimonies of God’s work. I knew in my mind He was still good and still at work in my life, but it didn’t feel that way. The first thing I said to my husband in the car after our doctor explained that our pregnancy was over was the phrase “I just really didn’t want this to happen.” It’s so plain, but it was all I could muster in that moment and it was so true at the deepest core of my heart, no matter how simple it was. That day I began to crave the testimonies of others. I just needed to know that the God I was relying on was living and active, not an idea or a figure of history, but ever present in my time of need. Through scripture and the Holy Spirit and the love of others and the testimonies of people around me, God proved himself over and over. The glory of God shone in my heart with such persistence, and yet on the outside I was mourning and experiencing death in an unfamiliar way (literally as well, we found out I miscarried on February 17^th  during our first winter here, and in Iowa that is guaranteed to be a cold day). Strangely enough I don’t remember one day of winter in February or March, because what was happening in my heart was so vibrant. Sometimes it was vibrantly dark and sad, sometimes it was white hot, sometimes it was a soothing warm, but God was molding me and moving mountains in my life.

I love celebrating new life while it’s so dead outside. What a picture of grace, what a picture of the passionate love that saved us from our sin. I’ve always loved things in contrast. I love warm soup with something crunchy, I love my hot apple pie with a scoop of ice cream; I love wearing my hair wild and shaggy when I wear a button-up shirt with a preppy cardigan. I just love life in contrasts. But seeing baptisms, especially of five people I care about, during the coldest winter of my life. Favorite contrast by far.

The Greatest Arrival

We’ve been reading through the Jesus Storybook Bible with our kids (which I would suggest even for people with no children!). We are still in the Old Testament and each story has some mention of our need for a savior, our inability to rescue ourselves, or the prince to come. I love it. It gives me such a deep appreciation for the intense waiting period that creation endured. Reading bible stories in that context gives me a feeling of connection to that waiting period. Of course, I’m not super super old (note that I’m not even about to put a number on that…this isn’t that kind of blog people, take your debates elsewhere) and I wasn’t there literally waiting for Jesus. But I am a part of the carefully crafted creation that has a deeply sincere need and longing for redemption. My debt of sin piling up and swallowing me whole, just like everyone before and after me. Even before I was aware of it, I carried my yearning for reconciliation and peace with God like an anchor tied to my soul. And because of mercy and grace, my souls breathes and my heart beats new life.

 The birth of Jesus is about the arrival of the Good King. The true, noble, faithful, ruler who walked among us has come! It’s when all of creation sighed in relief and then filled its lungs to sing the highest praises. For generations, the faithful waited. The birth of Jesus is where anticipation meets fulfillment.

So let’s rejoice.

He came, He came! He came just like He promised. Our waiting is over. All this struggle and all this yearning, now breathes relief. We have a Savior! We know His name. And we are His people! He adopts us into his family as children. We are welcomed into the blessed family of Christ to join His kingdom forever. We have a beautiful inheritance. And this day that we celebrate each year; it marks the beginning; the beginning of hope, the beginning of GRACE.

Like A Sojourner

3 He is the radiance of the glory of God and the exact imprint of his nature, and he upholds the universe by the word of his power. After making purification for sins, he sat down at the right hand of the Majesty on high,  Hebrews 1:3

The morning after our nine month old barely escaped stitches from a fall on my watch, I clung to the covers gripped between guilt and fear. It was all I could do to stay in bed and replay my worries like a bad vacation slide on repeat. Guilt, because like I said, he was under my care when he fell. A million doubts and comparisons filled my mind. Do I give my kids too much freedom? Would this have happened to So&So who is much more cautious than me? Fear, because I taught myself to memorize the creeping doom of the realization that what seemed like nothing, was actually something serious. When our firstborn, Lyric, was three weeks old he had unexpected surgery to correct a condition called Pyloric Stenosis. A surgery that he probably needed earlier than he got, all because I kept insisting that he wasn't spitting up as much as it seemed like. I was so determined not to be the mom who freaks out, so determined to keep my composure. Granted, he still got the treatment he needed and he was totally fine. But any time one of my kids is sick or hurt, I’ve never escaped that little voice in the back of my mind that whispers "But remember that one time?" 

Under the sheets that morning I begged like a sojourner at a stranger’s door. I pleaded for Him to shelter me and protect me from my fear. Like a blizzard blowing in cold and quick, it was chasing me and closing in on me. I begged that He would let me in to warm myself by the glow of His radiance. I was nurtured by the very moment the door began to crack open. Overwhelmed by the senses of Home, the sounds of laughter and life, the taste of hot biscuits and honey, I knew I would weather the storm. I was affectionately taken in and had forgotten about the threats of the cold lies that blew violently against the windows.  The panes could rattle and shake all they wanted, but I was safe now. I was out of harm's way and could take off my mittens and all my layers, and sit, welcomed by a fire that had a place for me.

The wasteland of guilt and fear will always be ready for me. It will always be beckoning me to come out and dwell there; to let my comparisons and my doubts run wild. I’d never be alone in the wasteland, because some of you are there. Some of you got lost in the storm and it took everything from your heart. It took the joy of motherhood and replaced it with a measuring stick. It took the affection of a home filled with love and replaced it with rigidity and routine. It took the thrill of life and traded it with safety and comfort. I’ll miss you, but I won’t join you there. Come join me here, take a blanket and cover yourself with grace. There’s a spot here at the fire for you too.

Stories: My story

This new series was born out of inspiration. Our small group has been starting off the year by sharing testimonies from each couple one week at a time. Since we are a new group, this has been such a great time of getting to know each other beyond the surface. And by great time, I mean it has been awesome. We have also found ourselves making some new friends as well as getting to know old ones a little better. There have been so many stories exchanged over the pasted few months. It’s made me get the itch for a few good stories. I’m starting with the most important one, and from there…they are in no particular order. If there is one story from my life you need to know, it is this one.

My family always went to church and I knew that my parents loved the Lord. Every morning before school I woke up to my mom putting on her make up in the living room while she watched the news with her bible study book open to the day’s study she just finished with her bible and journal stacked over it. On car rides home from youth group I would talk about certain worship songs from the night and if the lyrics for some reason didn’t sit right with me. My dad used that as an opportunity to try to explain basic theology to me. I vividly remember my dad driving on this huge dark curve in the road near Berry Middle School while he explained TULIP to me, and where our family stood with Calvinism. So now that I have gotten a little ahead of myself on the timeline, you can see that faith was a staple of my life as a child and teen.

When I was seven, I decided I was ready to follow Jesus. It’s funny because I don’t remember where I heard the gospel for the first time, but I knew that you had to pray and talk to God about it. Another thing I don’t remember any detail about is that for some reason my mom had been babysitting a couple of kids for a short amount of time in our tiny duplex. I remember being the oldest and announcing that I was going to become a Christian and asking who wanted to pray with me. Later that day I told my parents, and they decided that I should sit down with them and our pastor and talk about what that meant. Now that I think about it, it’s really sweet and touching that our pastor would do that. Our church wasn’t enormous (at the time), but it was still pretty big. I can picture the conversation with Pastor Steve happening in two different places. I vividly remember sitting in a conference room around a huge, long, shiny, cherry wood conference table. But I also remember eating Fritos in a plastic bowl on our tiny concrete porch, waiting for Pastor Steve to arrive at our home. So like I said, I don’t remember the details well at all. I do remember this little booklet that illustrated a little stick person (me) and the word “God” on two cliffs facing each other. The only way to get across the divide was by Jesus who would bridge the gap. I carried that little booklet with me everywhere. After I prayed with my dad, and knew for sure what I was actually praying about…I looked at that booklet with such happiness because I knew I was on the other side.

It wasn’t until much later in life that I was able to discern between wanting to look good for people and wanting to BE good like Jesus and for Jesus. At my last summer camp after my senior year of high school, there was a worship night out in the mountains in Colorado in May surrounding a big wooden cross. I don’t remember any of the sermon that was preached that night or any of the songs we sang. What I do remember is kneeling face down in the dirt, praying and feeling absolutely overwhelmed that Jesus, being who he was, endured death for me, just as I was. I think it was the first time as a young adult that I really let myself think deeply about the pain and sacrifice of the gospel. I will never forget the beauty of that moment. As I lifted my head from prayer, I looked up to see snow flurries falling down. I know that in Colorado, especially in the mountains, it probably isn’t that crazy for a few snow flurries to fall in May. But to me, it was like hearing God say “I’m so glad your mine.”

When I went to college, I was working out the difference of “God the Savior” to “God the Lord of all my heart and life”—I just didn’t know it yet. I had grown up my whole life with a special needs sister, and had no idea how deeply ingrained her life was into mine. I didn’t realize how different our family was, I didn’t realize how much harder it was for us to get out and do things; I didn’t realize how far reaching the differences in our daily life really were. When most kids go to college they get kind of intoxicated with the bliss of their freedom. When I went to college I got that…and then I got mad. When I realized how much freedom and spontaneity were missing from my life and my family’s life, I was mad. When I realized that my sister would never experience the ecstasy of independence that I had, I got mad.  When I realized that most people are naïve, and lots of people are plain ignorant about anything outside of perfect health, I got mad. I had many crying, screaming, ranting conversations with God. But you know what? It was the first time I had passion in my relationship with God. I kept pushing to find the Truth and find Jesus and find goodness in the midst of my confusion. There were moments I wondered if Christianity was just a cult that threw clichés solutions at trite little problems. I wanted to find the people who fought for the hard answers, I wanted to find the churches that went further than emotion, I wanted Jesus to be real and I wanted him to give me some answers. One day in the car, waiting to pick up a friend from the dorms…I got my answer. It came clear as a bell. And you know what? It brought peace beyond my understanding…because honestly when you see what it was…you will wonder why it didn’t just make me more mad.  For the (probably) one thousandth time, I shook my proverbial fist at God and asked “Why her?!” And then it came. “Because I’m bigger than her. You need to see that I’m bigger than all of it.” And that was it. As painful as it was to hear, the truth is that God is no less God because my sister has special needs and He is no less God because I don’t get how it all adds up in the end. That was when I started believing that God hadn’t forgotten or overlooked us. That was when I cracked the door open just a little bit, to believing that God could still be a big sovereign God and be good and be loving, and not heal my sister.

I want to be very clear that my process was not an over night thing. But this was the catalyst of change for me. This was when I took ownership for my own relationship with the Lord, regardless of how it looked to the outside world. This was when the grace of God stopped being about checking boxes and starting being about authenticity. Over the next few years, there were a few more catalysts of change for me. Transferring to a large liberal state school changed my approach to spiritual discipline. Moving across the country to do ministry with my husband changed the way I viewed obedience. And the list goes on.  I struggled very much when I started writing this out, because I wanted to plump up some parts and make sure that people saw that just because my story wasn’t dramatic, didn’t mean it wasn’t interesting. But the truth is that my story is somewhat simple, and yet still miraculous. This is the story of my soul’s life. 

July Reflection

Three years ago at this time I was shell shocked and nervous and scared.

Two years ago at this time I was full of fear living on the edge of panic.

One year ago at this time I was crushed and afraid and secretive.

Three years ago at this time, I was scared because He had given me a child.

Two years ago at this time, I was scared because He had taken one away already.

One year ago at this time, I was scared because He had given me back two fold, what I once feared would never be again.

Three years ago at this time, Lyric had just been born and had an unexpected surgery and we moved across the country.

Two years ago at this time, I found out I was pregnant with Lily and scared out of my mind that I would have another miscarriage and that I would never carry another of our children to term again.

Three years ago at this time, I found out I was unexpectedly pregnant with Fletcher, everything about my plans made sense and nothing about this surprise seemed to work in my mind, I was terrified about what the future would be like.

This summer I realized that all my fears had been proven wrong. The teeny tiniest seeds of belief from those times have been blessed beyond what I ever imagined.

And blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her from the Lord.” (Luke 1:45, ESV)

Three babies from Katy Tullos on Vimeo.

Mine

The clouds pour out all they contain. The trees dance and bow down under command of the wind. The light is radical. The sound is all encompassing. All this… is just the earth’s worship of the One who is infinitely bigger and better and stronger and softer. And more fiercely than the strongest storm, and more gently than the most delicate petal of the most beautiful lily He says,

You

Are

Mine

Words so precious and so sweet. Words that are a promise, a declaration, a future.

At some point you have longed to have someone to whom you belong. You’ve yearned for someone to call you theirs. Whether a child yearning for a parent to love and protect them, or a single longing to have those words sweetly whispered by a soul mate. “You’re mine.” What could be sweeter? Could one word be more precious? MINE.

MINE can be ugly too, though. So selfish, so narrow minded, so short sighted, so hateful. It all changes with the heart of the one who speaks it.

Let God sing those words over you. Don’t white knuckle your life. You belong to someone.

MOVE: I hope I'm never the same

So this is a post about love. God’s love, Jesus’ love, my love. For some people writing a post about love would be like…the throw away-blow off-last minute-fluff post. Not the case for me. For me, to dwell on love and grace…it’s a little out of character. In the partnership of truth and grace—I air on the side of truth. I like justice, I like things to be in their proper place, I like the order that truth brings to chaos. That being said, I have at times worked myself crazy getting caught in a cycle of frustration because surprise surprise: everyone on earth doesn’t consult me before making decisions…or hey, living life for that matter. My husband challenged me recently to pursue mercy, something that just sounds annoying to me. Ok not annoying but….well yea annoying. But I honestly committed to him that I’d give it a shot.

In a series of events in the last few months (some of my own doing and some not so much my choice) I’ve learned a few things that have rattled the deepest part of me. I hope I’m never the same. What I learned came in two parts, what I learned about God and what I learned about me.

Here is the biggest thing I finally learned about God. I say finally, because it’s never been hidden or hard to figure out. It’s all over the Bible, it fills our worship songs, and it is essentially one of the most basic concepts of the Gospel. Ready? If you read it carefully you may still be able to hear my mind exploding and my heart being totally flattened by it. (I’m going to type it the way I received it, so the “I” is not me. Make sense?)

“I am equal parts Mercy and Justice.

I satisfy my justice with my mercy.

If you aren’t pursuing both parts of me, you aren’t pursuing me.

My mercy is how you deal with ‘that thing’

I am the Good King AND the Merciful Judge.”

How could I have missed this for so long? Even though mercy and love and grace, are all different attributes of God, they would all be in one big box of the things I struggle with emulating. So I guess, I’ve just kind of skipped over those parts of God’s character—no, that can’t be true, because I have never struggled with receiving love, mercy, or grace for myself. Just with portioning it back out for others. But by seeing a more full picture of who Christ is, I want more. I want more of Him, I want to be like Him. I want to return His love. I want to revel in His love. I want to trust in His love. I want to live through the filter of His love. Out of His love both His justice and His mercy have been poured out and are being poured out. I wish I could accurately describe how much this changed, astonished, rattled, awakened, delighted my heart. You will just have to take me at my word, that this simple concept met with the grace to see it, has been life giving and renewing in me.  And so I guess this is a good time to get around to what I learned….or more what I realized about me.

Have you ever spoken to a person about something or someone that they supposedly love, but you just don’t buy it? Something in their nonchalant attitude or their distant tone, it just doesn’t read as love. They could give you a million reasons why it is love, but it doesn’t translate. It doesn’t show. It’s not obvious, it’s hidden, it’s guarded, and it’s forced. I’ve been on either side of that conversation far too many times. But this last time, it hit me hard. It hurt. It was offensive. And that’s when I realized, my love for Jesus has grown and changed and matured. I feel a sting followed by an ache, when I hear someone talk about my precious Jesus, my savior, with such matter of factness. I finally grasp the disgust of lukewarm faith. (Revelation 3:16) I’m done with that. I’m drawing a line in the sand. I love Jesus so why would I act any differently? For the first time I genuinely do not care if the cynics think I’m cliché, or the unbelievers think I’m crazy, or if the intellects think I’m naïve. Jesus saved my soul; I owe Him everything. I won’t hide my affections.  I want to love Him with such ferocity and devotion that my kids yearn for it, that they describe me as one who walks with the Lord, that they see all my victories are His victories, that they are drawn in and desperate for their own fellowship with Christ. I won’t look back and I won’t wait. I won’t hesitate to say His name. I won’t make vague allusions. My eyes have been opened. And what I see is so much more than I ever imagined. And I know there is still so much more.

When I met him I had no idea how to love or even what love was- true, real, pure love at least. But over the years He has kept on loving me with a patient, strong, steadfast love. And I realized I’m loving Him better because He is teaching me how. 

If you find yourself on the fence...don't wait any longer. Take the leap. Love and be loved.

I Don't Know How You Do It: Easter's Victory

Recently (and by recently I mean because winter is finally fading and I'm finally coming out of hibernation with all three kids in tow) I've been asked one resounding question...like a lot. "How do you do it?" Well, let me tell you.

I do it because God called me to it. And because he called me to it, He will equip me for it. And I know that I have the strength to endure it because He does. And I can do it, because Jesus is victorious over all!

And that's how this just became my Easter post.

I know it might seem like I'm over spiritualizing, but honestly--if I don't get this Truth every single day, then I'm not "doing it" or at least I'm not doing it well. If the victory of Jesus becomes something I take for granted then, not only, am I not doing it...I'm missing it. The moment I realized and took on my motherhood as my greatest calling and most important ministry "obligation," I started becoming aware of the crazy endless supply that was available to me every day and every moment. It's just as urgent and real as a young woman moving over seas to pursue her ministry as a missionary, or a pastor studying and teaching and leading, or a worship leader writing new songs and leading a congregation---that is the realness and the seriousness with which I should approach my calling. If I said to you, "My ministry is with these three unbelievers that live with me. They need help with basic life skills and are in desperate need for love and nurturing. They only know what I have told them and shown them of Jesus and the gospel."....I mean that kind of puts it in perspective right? The calling on mothers is real.

But this is where the very best part comes in. If Jesus was victorious over sin and death, then can't I trust Him to be victorious over naptime and tantrums and The Cat in the Hat (for the one millionth time) and loading up three under three in the car by myself? Can't I trust him to give me everything I need for that day? Can't I trust that even though I work so hard that I can absolutely bathe in joy simultaneously? Can't I trust that even when I miserably fail at motherhood, He isn't done with me?  If I really truly believe that Jesus defeated the grave on my behalf so that I would have abundant life, then shouldn't life reflect that abundance?

That's how I do it. I don't do it.

Where Do I Put My Hands?

Baby number 3 is born! Fletcher Colby Tullos was welcomed into our lives at 12:09am Tuesday, February 19th weighing 6lbs 12oz and 20 inches long. The last three weeks have been wonderful. Fletcher is the most perfect chill baby. And for all the people who say that bringing the third one home is the easiest, they were totally right. Austin and I are both secure about who we are as parents and that has made all the difference in bringing home a newborn. But regardless of how wonderful the past three weeks have been, there have still been some major adjustments.

First of all--lets just address this with a little humor shall we? I'm sure we can all think up like a million things that are harder or more chaotic about life with three. Let's just let all of that go without saying.

1. Where do I put my hands now? I was just at a wedding and while I was standing there catching up with friends I had a super awkward moment when I felt like my hands had morphed into huge Mickey Mouse cartoon glove hands...and I had no where to put them. Minus three months, I had been pregnant for almost two years! No matter how tiny your belly is, when pregnant, your hands get to rest on your belly, or rub it, or hold your lower back for extra support. It's one of the perks of pregnancy (which still does not make up for the fact that you can't have any sushi for nine months). Not having a baby in the ole uterus is forcing me to retrain my whole posture and learn how to stand and talk like a normal adult again.

2. How much caffeine is too much caffeine? I don't know. When I stop and ask myself this question, I have a cup of coffee and think it over. Then I decide that was a stupid question.

3. What day is it?

4. I have got to stop forgetting when I am watching a recorded show on my DVR during a late night feeding. When the weather man says "Several more inches of snow expected tomorrow!"...that doesn't really mean actual tomorrow. Calm down.

5. The biggest adjustment I've had to make since bringing Fletch home is a mental and emotional one. I was so totally unprepared for all the joy and all the love and all the goodness. And yep, it's harder and crazier and busier--but all the joy and all the good stuff just overshadows it all so much. It's just not a thing. I mean...it's a thing and it's real....but come on...no one who has lived it would trade it and there is a reason. I know I'm only three weeks in, but what I'm lacking in experience can be counteracted by what I'm lacking in sleep. So I think I have ground to stand on when I say I really do actually love our crazy 3 under 3 life.

Now excuse me...my daughter is licking the hinge on our back door....got to run!

What ≠ Who

I think that there are things that God puts in place to spur on and encourage and push our gifts and talents forward; cultivating whats already there. A major "pusher" (haha "I'm a pusher Cady," name that movie) for my writing is spending time musically worshipping, especially under my husband's leadership. He is such a vital part of the writing process for me, but I'm going down bunny trails now. 

Last night at church we sang the new Chris Tomlin song, "Jesus, Son of God" and one particular line of it really got me thinking. 

"Be lifted higher than all you've overcome

Your name be louder than any other song....

The cross was enough"

I started to realize how often I associate who Jesus is with what he has done. Maybe I'm alone in this, but sometimes in my mind it goes like this:  

My collection of redemption = Jesus

Maybe that’s confusing. Think of my collection as all the evidence of the grace that has been poured out on me. Everything that has been saved and transformed and redeemed would be in there. I'm so thankful for my salvation, my sanctification, all the sins and trials that Jesus put to death. I love love LOVE hearing the testimony of other believers; I love hearing what Jesus is doing to change lives. But here’s the thing—all those things, still don’t add up to who Jesus is. Jesus isn’t the sum of our testimonies.

Jesus is Jesus. Jesus is one third of the Triune God. Jesus is the perfect one who lowered himself to dwell among us. Because of him we have freedom. Because of him we have life. Because of him we have ABUNDANCE. We benefit from his life, his death, and his resurrection.

Let’s share the stories of salvation and redemption with everyone! But let’s never neglect to say His name. The name of the one who saves. The name of the one who is Holy and Righteous, regardless of what he has done in our lives. The God who stands alone.  Let’s never trade who He is for what He has done. Let’s never shy away from saying His name: Jesus. 

Is that a second line?! Part 2

I was frustrated

I was mad

I was scared

I was overwhelmed

I was disappointed

I was selfishly crushed

This is the story about the contortions of a believer’s ungrateful heart. It’s weird, it makes no sense, and frankly it’s kind of bratty. By most standards, my feelings are understandable, but by my standard it's not right. Thankfully, my contorted heart and mind and emotions were untangled in the end, which is personally my favorite part. I’d love to skip the “freaking out” parts and skip straight to the happy stuff, but our story, like all the best stories, is even better because of the triumph.

There were so many sleepless nights spent staring wide-eyed at the ceiling completely freaking out. I worried about the number of bedrooms in our home, the lack of a third row in our car (purchased ONE WEEK before I found out I was pregnant), the chaos that was looming in the distance, the effect all the pregnancy and children would have on our marriage, and the effect that the pregnancy would have on my body. I spent a lot of time being sad that I had to stop losing weight. I tried to bury the fear of migraines returning (although, when the first one hit I was a massive heap of frantic tears, which makes me even more thankful for friends who let you cry and take your kids off your hands for the afternoon). But more than anything else—I lived and breathed in complete and utter denial. I’ve always heard of denial as a real thing that people that are grieving or in shock deal with. I never knew how real it could be until I started catching myself praying for the absurd.  I know what you are thinking…how can any prayers be absurd? Let me tell you. When you catch yourself genuinely praying that God would keep this baby safe and healthy and protect you and the baby from a miscarriage, but just kind of freeze that pregnancy for about two years, just ya know, put things on hold…. believing that because God is sovereign, he can do this thing you are asking of him…that is absurd. Yes he is a sovereign and powerful creator, but come on! Get a grip girl! I wish I could emphasize enough how honestly I relied on this whole…on hold, notion. 

Probably the only time during the week that I would face reality was during a run at the Y. I liked running inside on the little track upstairs (I know it’s weird) and each time I would inevitably cry. It was two steps forward, one step back. Beginning the run I would cry from stress and worry and fear, leaving the gym I felt encouraged, filled with truth, happiness and excitement. You should know that the encouragement piece came largely from the ministry of my husband and his amazing worship team and the awesome album they were working on, which I put on my iPod even during it’s “revision” stage (if you don’t have it, your missing out).

This was a time of contrasts and roller coasters for me. It was as if with every crash of fear and worry and selfishness, I was hit with a corresponding wave of truth and encouragement and help. If I wasn’t crying from the worry, I was crying from the happiness. It was so overwhelming for me that even while I was being so difficult, God would be so gentle. No matter how afraid I was—of everything, all of it—God still spoke. Never was I alone, never ever did I stop hearing from him. Sometimes it was scripture, sometimes it was music, sometimes it was people, and sometimes it was quiet revelations or new perspectives.  I’ll never forget the day when I realized that not only was this real, but this was perfect for our family’s story. All at once, at the end of a run, it just came together. Having the perfect “two year plan” just isn’t us. We are risk takers, free spirited, rip the band-aid off, “let’s do this thing” kind of people. This fit us better. The air was crisp, the sun was bright, there was a tiny breeze, my hair was pulled back with a ponytail and elastic headband when I called Austin and shared my excitement. The moment you realize that God knows you and your marriage and your family far more intricately than you do, that is a beautiful moment of grace and relief.

The coming days brought more “reliefs.” Relief like—we have eternity for order and peace and perfection, so what is the big deal if we have crazy, full, tiring days for a little while right now. That’s what life on earth is anyway. Relief like—my weight loss and health goals were quickly turning into an unhealthy obsession and this pregnancy was the abrupt end to that path.  Relief like—I love, like really love and like my kids, and now I get another one! No doubt the changes ahead are big and undeniable, but it’s a good thing. Fletcher Colby Tullos, our son and third born, is loved and anticipated and good for all four of us.

I am blessed

I am joyful

I am hopeful

I am entrusted

I am excited

I am held up

Normally, my journal is totally off limits, but just this once, take a look.

 truth

 # of kids

Beth Moore conference notes

 "I am Not Abandoned" HBCD Worship

 deliverance

                                                                     Relief

Discovering Bitterness

I am so inspired to write, I just read so many awesome posts from my reel. So I decided to reach back into my "back-logged and previously written, but not yet publish-perfect" drafts, add on, edit, and post.


I always thought that when people get to the point where they "grieve over their sin," it was a good thing. And it is a good thing... except it feels awful. In the months following our miscarriage (four months to be exact) I've found that 95% of the time I can go through my day being thankful for both of my babies, the one who is here with us and the one who is with the Father. I can think about that little one and not be filled with sadness or sorrow or disappointment or anger or jealousy or regret or shame. But then there is that sneaky remaining 5%. It's never expected, but something random will happen in a random day or I will read something or I will hear something, and here I am. Here I am aching from a whole in my heart, hurting from the void in our lives and filled with this burning thing. Burning too deep and so real that all I can think about is that one thing I read or that one careless comment I heard.
It's bad enough when those things happen in and of themselves. But to be filled with grief and then realize...this thing, this burning thing...it's bitterness. It's sin. I had it hidden, way deep under here. And it grieves me. It hurts. I hate it. I wanted to think that I was passed that. No, more than "passed," I wanted to think that I avoided it altogether. I wanted to think that I loved God enough and clung to Him tightly enough and hid enough scripture in my heart, that I wouldn't have to deal with my sin on top of my grief. I don't want this bitterness, it feels like taking a step backwards. And I can't go back. I won't go back.

But it isn't a total step backwards, grieving my sin is a step towards repentance. I thought grieving your sin meant being a super spiritual person. I thought it would be awesome. But really, the heartbreak of my own sin and the tension that sin brings between me and my sweet Jesus...it feels terrible. But like all grief...it's taking me somewhere, it is moving me forward. It's bringing me to repentance and amazing grace.