​What is anxiety?
anx·i·e·ty [aNGˈzīədē] NOUN
a feeling of worry, nervousness, or unease, typically about an imminent event or something with an uncertain outcome.

I woke up at 2am one morning feeling anxious. I looked up the definition. Synonyms for anxiety include but are not limited to: worry · concern · apprehension, unease · fearfulness · fear · disquiet, disquietude, fretfulness, stress
After looking up the definition I asked, what does the Bible say about anxiety? This is what I found:

We try to stand strong, but because we are not looking at the rest of the scripture, we try to do this in our own strength.... and fail... then the self-condemnation comes. It stifles our growth and limits God’s work in us and through us.

Let me share the parts of a few of the above scriptures that I left out.
... for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.” — (Joshua 1:9b)
“... for your God is coming to destroy your enemies. He is coming to save you.” — Isaiah 35:4 NLT
Do not fear, for I am with you; do not be afraid, for I am your God. I will strengthen you; I will help you; I will hold on to you with My righteous right hand. — Isaiah 41:10 HCSB
... little flock. For it gives your Father great happiness to give you the Kingdom. — Luke 12:32 NLT
​So, you might be wondering how we go about ridding ourselves of a life of anxiety. This is the context of the last scripture mentioned above:

I love driving through neighborhoods and seeing glimpses of the life that happens within the houses I pass. Families sitting at the table, kids playing on the front lawn, neighbors gathered together in garages. I've noticed more recently though that this is a rare sight to see. With the past year's pandemic and "social distancing" becoming isolation, there is less interaction and "life" visible to the casual passerby. It makes me sad. 

Now, when I drive through my own neighborhood, most of the houses are closed up tight. Front window blinds are drawn, front doors are closed, and few take the time to mingle with their neighbors while the sprinkler sprays screaming kids. 

Our front door is a farmhouse style door that is almost completely glass. Many may not understand why we'd choose to have a direct line of vision into our home on a regular basis, but I absolutely love it. I want others to catch a glimpse of the life within our four walls as they pass by. As an appreciator of "home" I hope for others to notice that cozy quality about our house. But I had to ask myself recently, does it end there at my front door? Because while I allow glimpses into the entryway of our house, make no mistake...there is still a deadbolt lock fastened to keep out those I do not invite in. What you may see in 3-second intervals as you cruise past is not an accurate representation of what happens within the rest of our square footage. What you see as an outside spectator is what I can carefully craft. You'll see only the beginnings of our home and have no idea of the things jammed in closets, swept under beds, or haphazardly stuffed in drawers. 

Is my life like that? Do I allow others in only so far, carefully locked away behind a deadbolt of protection from those I may not want to see "all" of me? Does my life say "Come in...but only so far" or does my whole life say "Welcome!"? 

The early Church was a community of believers. They shared with and helped one another. They ate together, worshiped together, and lived life...together. It wasn't perfect, I'm certain, but I imagine neither was it life lived in isolation with blinds drawn and doors locked, figuratively speaking. 

How am I going to reach my neighbor for Christ when I never look out my window? How will I share the love of Jesus if I never take a minute to chat with the woman walking her dog? How can I live out the Commission to share the Gospel from my fenced-in back yard? 

Are these questions an indictment? Yes, of myself. My convictions may not be yours. Regardless of what is happening in the world, I have to remember I am not a citizen of this world. This place is not my true home. I'm a traveler passing through, going about my Father's work. And that work, like He exemplified while on earth, is to live a life that says welcome. 

I'm sitting on my patio listening to the crickets in the distance. It's clear and 65 degrees here in Texas tonight and the breeze is just enough to stir my emotions. 

For some reason ever since I was a little. little girl I have felt closest to God in these moments surrounded by nature. Sure I can hear the kids inside chattering to each other, the neighbor begging her dog to go potty, a distant plane readying for landing at a local airport, and traffic on a highway closeby, but I can also hear the silence; the stillness. I can hear time as it dances in these moments that surround me right now. 

The familiar clackety-clacking of the keyboard creates an audible deep-breath sigh within me. I feel so at-home here, in this space where my feelings process and spray out across the screen. Blogging began over a decade ago for me. It was an escape. I was drowning in babies and diapers and responsibilites. I felt disconnected and inadequate, so I spilled my heart out into the Interwebs. Turns out it was one of the greatest things I have ever done. 

Fast forward 12 years and life looks much different. 

Those babies that I thought would never potty train are now 16, 15, and 13. The newborn is approaching 12 (next month!) and we've added 2 additional. They are (almost) 9 and 10. 

And those days that I poured my heart out in digital form are long gone. Most nights I have a full night's sleep. No more middle-of-the-night feedings. Diapers are a distant memory and most (ha ha) are completely potty trained. Our oldest is practicing to get his driver's license. We're talking about colleges and future plans, Those days that I thought would never end are long gone, and in their place reside hazy memories. 

That sweet (yet annoying at the time) older gentleman who stopped me in the grocery store one day (as I had 3 kids dangling off the shopping cart and one newborn poised precariously within) to say that "the days and nights are long, but the years are short" was right after all. It all went so fast. It's still going, I realize, but the days where I was their everything have passed. Now, instead of days longing for moments of peace and solitude, I talk myself down from the panic of worrying that I haven't done all I could to instill in them all that I should. My 15 and 16 year olds are making choices, living lives, and experiencing things that I may never know about. Have I done enough? Have I done too much? Do they know Jesus? Was I too forceful and chased them away? 

These are all the types of things I used to share in this space...back when I blogged only as Suburban Stereotype. Now, this space is supposed to be more: more mature, more polished. But here I am pouring out my heart like I used to, And you know what? It feels right.

You see, the more I learn, the more degrees I add to my name, the more I realize that I will never truly know Him this side of Heaven. I will always have unanswered questions, unasked questions, misunderstood conclusions, wrong perceptions.

But what I do know--without a shadow of a doubt--is that He welcomes me, questions and misconceptions and all. And for that I am eternally grateful.

I have long tried to make this place one that seems polished, but I think there's beauty in the imperfect, the unpolished. Impolished perfection. That's what we are. Only through the blood of Christ are we made perfect. We are sinful and imperfect--impolished. But through Him and His grace we are polished, made perfect. I am so, so grateful for a place to pour out my heart to Him and to you. I feel like someone understands this tonight. 

May we never try to be anything other than what God intends for us to be. 
May we never stop sharing our hearts because we fear we aren't "put together" enough.