Christie Hughes, Author at Women At The Well

The ABC’s and 123’s of God’s Love

August 5, 2016

Here’s the repeated phrase I heard all summer and again this morning: “I’m 100 percent excited and one percent scared. What if nobody likes me?” My soon-to-be kindergarten daughter said this with a painful wince, like she’d just been bitten by a nervous bug.

Like mother like daughter. I’m four decades in, and I still can’t escape the little school girl within. While school starts back this week, I just returned from back-to-back weekends at writers’ and speakers’ conferences, where I too felt like the new kid on the block.

Toting notebooks, fresh packs of pens, and pockets full of nervous butterflies. Hustling and bustling among 800 other girls, I mean, women. Taking in the sounds of heels clicking through lobbies, constant chatter, and the sound of me exhaling and sinking into well-worn chairs.

Although there were countless God conversations that melted my heart and lit up my confidence, there was that one that didn’t. Why, oh why, do I glide by the positives that were plenty, but stop at the one that was negative?

Here’s the flashback. I loaded up at the breakfast buffet, scanned the cafeteria for a loner, and then made my way through the maze of women. Carrying my tray—and the familiar thought—I’m 100 percent excited and one percent scared. What if nobody likes me?

I spotted a table of one, stepped up and said, “Is this seat taken?” My heavy hands got ahead of my ears as I started to set my tray down before hearing, “I’m sorry, it is. I’m saving it for a friend.”

“Oh, OK,” I stammered as I painted on a smile. And I’d love to tell you I brushed it off, went and gobbled down my food, and happily greeted the day. But I didn’t.

I walked around the corner, left my tray and my confidence behind, and then hightailed it up to my room to sink into my chair of silly school-girl rejection. I know. I know. It wasn’t her. She was still nice as can be—it was just me.

So I prayed and listened for the response of the Teacher. Here’s the phrase that ushered me back and welcomes us daily:

When you’re filled with nervousness and insecurity, and even if that seat is taken, just SIT IN MY LOVE.

So that’s what I’m telling both my girls on the first day of school. Just sit in God’s love. And be on the look-out for the lonely and the timid, and especially those who look like they’ve got nervous butterflies swirling in their tummies.

Then you hightail it over to them and offer a seat right beside you.

And always be ready to teach them the ABC’s and 123’s of God’s love. Tell them what I’m telling you:

You’re an: Adored, Beautiful Child

1.) Loved by the Father

2.) Redeemed by the SON

3.) and Empowered by the Holy Spirit

There you have it. The simple ABC’s and 123’s of God’s love. And they are for ALL of us daughters.

I’m so grateful that whether we’re five or ninety-five, we’re never too old to be taught like a child or too young to receive wisdom from the Teacher.

And thank YOU for allowing me to sit and learn beside you as we share His sweet words of love here at our table.

Feel free to share any of YOUR school-girl moments with me. And if you haven’t already, subscribe to the Well and go share our site with a friend. Whether it’s a round table or a circle of women, we are all to be a welcoming Well—where faith is better shared.

“You call me ‘Teacher’ and ‘Lord,’ and rightly so, for that is what I am.” John 13:13

But in your hearts revere Christ as Lord. Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have. 1 Peter 3:15

THE RETELLING: FACING THE FEAR OF SHARING JESUS IN WORDS

July 29, 2016

At Women at the Well, we believe faith is better shared. But we know it isn’t always easy. Truthfully, it’s down right scary sometimes.

Christina Hubbard knows that all too well, as you’ll soon see–and feel. God knit our stories and our hearts together last week at a writer’s event, and I know the beauty and honesty of her words will bless you as much as they did me.

Sharing Jesus in words has always been a struggle for me, especially in person. Many of us are afraid to tell our Jesus stories because we think our words are not good enough. Or we’re not good enough. SHARE is the word for this week’s Five Minute Five free writing challenge, a creative community that joins forces in a beautiful flash mob of words for five minutes. (The lines indicate where my free write begins and ends.)

He was thirty, but I withheld water.

He asked me outright to share. On a plane enroute to Baltimore, I sat next to a U.S. soldier on his way home after a long overseas posting. He was eager to eat a McDonald’s hamburger again and sleep in his own bed. I was on my way to spend two weeks with my college boyfriend.

Shortly into our conversation, he asked me point blank, “Like what else is there? God? Heaven? There’s gotta be. What do you think about all that?” His brown eyes lit up in hope of my answer. The silence hung above us like yellow air masks had just fallen from the ceiling, their tubes dangling awkwardly between us from a sudden change in cabin pressure. I probably reached for my mask, but it wasn’t there.

I don’t know if I’ve met someone so eager to know about God since then. Someone who was completely open to the gospel. Call it spiritual hunger or a deep thirst for God. Whatever it was, he wanted to know how I could help him. Even after I stuttered for about fifteen seconds, he asked me again, “Do you ever think about that?” But I didn’t give him the water.

Shame and stammering. I’ve never loved putting my beating heart on the table. That is also what keeps me from sharing. The fear of rejection and subjection and objection to the person God made me to be, the me who feels fleshy and boney, completely and frustratingly imperfectly human, the girl who used to dance in her driveway unashamed.

I don’t love putting it out there—my thoughts, feelings, and stories. It’s hard to be honest and sometimes I’m not. I fumble and stumble, mumbling, “What am I doing?”

Continue reading her faith story at CreativeandFree.com.

How to trust God–no matter what

July 16, 2016

“The Dr. said there’s no heartbeat.” My little brother’s words assaulted my ears and blew my mind, leaving my own heart racing and twisting my stomach into a tangle of knots.

A defeated “I’m sorry,” was all I could whisper, but what I wanted to scream was, “WHY God?! I just don’t understand!”

They’d prayed for a baby, believed for healing, and then I received a blessing. “You’re gonna be an aunt!” I practically had the whole nursery design completed for them before God cradled and lifted those words back up to Heaven.

And a miracle became a miscarriage and a prayer that was answered turned into a question that wasn’t.

So what do we do when our grim reality collides with God’s limitless ability? That’s what I pondered as I piled up tissues and collected gifts for the SONshine Box I had never planned to make.

Unlike the gift box, I couldn’t wrap this one up neat, or make all the pieces fit, much less place a pretty bow on top.

As much as I tried to straighten every crease, smooth out the crinkles and the questions, and then fold in all the right reasons, it still didn’t look right. Didn’t seem right. Not even when I taped on His Word. The result was that life still looked messy and torn.

I couldn’t reconcile why God would give a gift He was just going to take back.

And enough was enough. My sister-in-law had already battled through PCOS, an endocrine disorder that can bring infertility, and YET like my favorite woman in the Bible, that one with physical issues, she pushed through the obstacles of time, doubt, and fear, and she received her healing.

I was there during a prayer night to hear her cries as Jesus caught her tears and touched her body. And called her daughter. I imagine her receiving the long-awaited words, “Daughter, your faith has made you well” not long before hearing, “You’re pregnant!”

And I thought of my brother hearing, “Son, you’re going to be a father.” Those words would have to come from God because he’d already buried both parents in his 20’s.

So again I implored, “God, wasn’t that enough? Hadn’t we been through enough? Couldn’t we have just kept this one gift?”

Days later, I trudged up their driveway for her women’s Bible study that she wouldn’t cancel. Carrying my Sonshining gifts and hiding my cloudiest questions.

Still asking, “What do you do, what do you say, when it looks like faith flatlines and dreams die?” I didn’t find the perfect answer, but I watched as God unwrapped a perfect example.

We’d been a cozy five-girl Bible study group, with most of us just wanting to huddle around her that night. To cry. And then cry some more. But we didn’t. We couldn’t. A new girl showed up, so we exchanged quiet smiles and loud, knowing glances instead.

Honestly, I kept waiting for the new one to leave so that us old ones could have a moment to grieve. But it got late, so we finally pulled out our surprise box of SONshine, and then we watched the real gift arrive.

Because that night my sister-in-law became the gift. A vessel of God’s light shining forth. She didn’t tuck away grief and hide disappointment. She dug deep. Letting His words flow out. Gently pulling out her pain and reaching for His purpose.

He’d healed her body and her fear, and now was a time to simply draw near. And grieve. And breathe. But even more, to STILL BELIEVE.

She gripped the tassels of His Word—”Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.” (Philippians 4:6) Followed by, “Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for he who promised is faithful.” (Hebrews 10:23)

And she shared how a sign had gone up on her road the very week she’d been tempted to fear during pregnancy. It said, “Trust in me” with a picture of Jesus. She didn’t know who placed it in the ground, but she knew God tilled the soil for her faith and wrote those words on her heart.

Because it’s easy to trust Him when everything is in place, but trust can only be activated when all we have is grace.

“I told God I would trust Him no matter what, knowing HE is enough,” she said.

He is enough. Yes, enough was enough. Those words still echo, as I recall rocking in a chair, but sitting at a Well. Watching tears drip and walls fall. Listening to women, friends and strangers, freely share as He washed over us with buckets of love.

And that’s exactly what we did every week after that, as she poured out her faith and God’s love, encouraging women to surrender fear and to shred shame—and to never give up hope for their miracle.

No wonder ladies went from trickling in to flooding in. Because she pointed to Him. And she still does. Because He was enough. And He still is.

Even if we weren’t family, she’d still be my friend. A Woman at the Well who personifies the essence of this site: “When we share our lives and our hurts, God connects our hearts—to each other’s and to His.”

And that’s why and when we celebrate. And why I’ve made her my FIRST official “Well Done Woman,” here at the Well.

Although that’s reason enough to celebrate, we’re also celebrating another first this month. The first birthday of her daughter and my niece.

A one-year-old pure gift, all wrapped up in fifteen tiny little pounds. And though she may be little, she is fierce in faith already. And she sure is a keeper.

She deserves a story of her own, so I’ll save that one for later. Meanwhile, comment and share your faith and your trust story here as I prepare to share some new SONshine Box ideas soon. Until then, I’ll sit at the Well with you as we trust and believe–no matter what–because He is enough.

My Father’s Voice

June 17, 2016

My dear friend Paige, a precious mom of five at Tales from the Laundry Room, has about as many faith stories as she does loads of laundry. I love every one of them, and her recent tale of her daddy is no exception. Be blessed as you hear from her and your Heavenly Father:

Father’s Day is Sunday. It’s my second without having my dad to celebrate. I miss him terribly, but feel so blessed to have had him as my father. Perhaps I am biased, but there wasn’t a better Daddy in the world.

So in his honor (and in honor of good dads everywhere), I’m sharing one of my favorite stories about my father.

Throughout my childhood, my family kept a tiny flock of sheep in the backyard, as part of a 4-H project. It was not uncommon for the sheep to find a way of escape from the small pen in our backyard. It seemed we only became aware of their fugitive state whenever some neighbor telephoned to let us know our wooly pets were out wandering along the roadsides.

Whenever our lambs went for one of their strolls, my father always insisted we immediately go track down those sheep, and return them as soon as possible to the safety of the pen in our backyard. It didn’t matter if it was day or night. As luck would have it, our lambs were infamous for taking moonlit walks, the deeper into the night the better … or so it seemed.

I could tell many tales about these sheep-chasing escapades, but one time in particular always stands out in my memory. It happened on a humid night the fall I turned sixteen.

The ringing of our phone roused me slightly from my deep sleep. It was soon followed by my dad’s hard knock on the door of the bedroom I shared with my sister. “Paige,” he said, “get up! The sheep are out along the highway, somewhere toward the high school. Your brother and I are heading out now. You follow along just as soon as you get dressed. Meet us on the other side of the bridge.”

I heard the front door shut as they walked out of the house, and then their voices carrying softly as they walked across the front yard, headed toward the highway that stretched out in front of our brick home. A wave of jealousy swept over me as I looked over at my younger sister, snugly tucked into dreams instead of being forced to go on a midnight goose (er … sheep) hunt for a bunch of wayward lambs.

Continue reading the rest of the sheep story and hearing His voice at Tales from the Laundry Room.

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