Look around you. Feel the path under your feet. Know the warm sun that shines on your face and shoulders, it was meant for you. Understand this is where you were headed all along.
Like a homing pigeon, you found yourself right exactly where you know you are meant to be.
Now keep going.
Courting the Extraordinary
Is there something about yourself that feels on purpose, and yet some part that seems so broken? Do they even seem dangerously close, or maybe even fatally connected?
Maybe you’re a terrific mathematician with a propensity for being stubborn. Or a singer who can’t keep two socks together. Or a fantastic publicist who seems to drive away all those who are supposed to be close? To each strength there seems to be an Achilles heel. We see the downside, the deficiency, and recognize what we could be better at. Sometimes it feels like a grounding piece of our humanity. Sometimes it feels disabling. Whatever it is or however you feel about it, it’s no surprise to your purpose nor is it a disqualifier for who you’re meant to be.
I have been saying for a while that younger me would be so so proud of how I’m writing and the bravery it takes to get here and wherever I’m going next. She might not believe some of the things that are in the process.
But man, she would be utterly horrified, even disappointed about my penmanship.
I mean, third and fourth grade me took such incredible care to dot every ‘i’ with a heart. I loved filling journals even then, and my fancy ‘a’s were a sense of pride for me. I would relish in how the words looked. I even have a picture in my head of myself sitting at a desk in grade school. A checkered dress, Headband, fervently sitting at my desk, straining my hand to grip the pencil just right, needing a cushion for the indentation marks that it was leaving, tongue sticking out to the side in concentration. I say that this girl who wanted things neat and beautiful would be horrified were she to read my chicken scratch now. If she could even read it sometimes.
I groan even when I write thank you notes, and realize as I’m writing heartfelt words that they might be difficult for the recipient to even understand. Life is busy and I find myself rushed.
Even more so, when I’m in the groove of writing, I often have trouble keeping up and when I go back, I can barely read it myself. Oftentimes, it’s complete and utter garbage. The penmanship, for sure. Sometimes, even the content is questionable. I tend to talk in circles or go on far too long. I repeat myself (see, I did it right there!) and I’m terrible at proofreading. I publish things with mistakes. And yet. I’m doing something I’m supposed to be doing. And none of those things are disqualifiers.
At other times, things come together, from wells of experience and observation, and sometimes wells deeper than I even understand. That’s when I know that little girl would be so proud.
‘She is doing what she’s supposed to be doing.’
I like to say the story is always being written, and I’m just taking notes. Life happens fast. Thus, the chicken scratch. I guess I could try learning shorthand. But who’s got time for that, right? Always time is a factor. Which is why I write fast. Which is why I think she might be disappointed.
But also, maybe that is also why she really wouldn’t care.
Because she’s out of time, she handed the baton to me a long bit of time ago. She knows I must run with it now. Time waits for no one. And when you’re running after your destiny sometimes things get a bit messy.
But there’s something else. Sometimes it wasn’t something that even mattered anyway. Whoever you feel is judging you- that little girl that you once were. Or the parent or the nosy nelly noting your shortcomings. Maybe it never really did matter that much, anyway. Maybe it’s not supposed to matter to you hardly at all.
Recently my dad sent us each a parcel of memories that he had collected from us. Inside were some handwritten notes, all neat, thoughtful, and encouraging. It’s who I was even a young girl, and so much of who I am now. Bleeding my heart out on the page. Well, except the neat penmanship part, as we established already.
Then I found a couple of report cards, from first and second grade. I was a “bright” “eager”, “conversational” child. (Still rings true). Then I found the funniest two lines on my second grade report card.
“Courtney has an aptitude for writing. Her content is well developed and thoughtful. Sometimes though, her penmanship is messy.”
Wow. If that didn’t sum up both who I was then and who I am now, I didn’t know what. Good content and writing, sometimes lacking a neater delivery.
It’s then that I realized, that’s probably how it’s supposed to be. It’s who I’ve actually always been. Instead of wasting time wishing it were different, I were different, maybe I better get busy being who I am supposed to be. Imperfect, but with a good enough heart.
Somewhere along the way I learned that I should be better than I am. But here I am, who I’ve always been. And I’m still called to do something even though I’m not good enough at it. Something I’m not even fully qualified enough for.
This happens to everyone. Humans are forever disqualifying ourselves, forever trying to disqualify each other as well. That’s why people get stuck in endless learning cycles, or keep hopes on the shelf of ‘dreams for another day.’
Don’t. Do. That. Not anymore.
Usually these are things that don’t matter to God. Things like this- our weaknesses or humanity- they mean nothing. To God, at least. In fact, He uses the foolish things to confound the wise and no, He does not disqualify you for your weaknesses. He uses us in spite of them. He uses us, not because we are perfect, or ever could be, but because He wants to. Somehow, inexplicably, He delights to invite us into what He is doing here on earth.
What is your thing? Are you the mathematician, the scientist or the singer? What’s your talent and on the flip side, what’s your Achilles’ heel? Encourage you to not be dissuaded or talked out of anything even by yourself. But instead, to bring all who you are and place it at the feet of the one who made you. You were born for a purpose, and with the way that the world and time are going, best be getting to walking it out, even more.
He will use your voice, no matter how shaky; your pen, no matter how poor your penmanship; your heart, no matter how human. No matter your weakness, it does not disqualify you. It is a miracle, all of it, and it starts with the surrender.
So stop fighting it. Stop waiting to be better or more “perfect”, and start showing up. Use your talents and your time, take those tools in your hand and show up. Just go.
Our creative Creator can demonstrate Himself through you, weaknesses and all. He’s ready, and the world is waiting.
There’s a story that has been going around for years.
There’s a man, stranded in the middle of the ocean. He asks God for help. A tugboat goes by. The tugboat stops to offer him a ride. The man says, “no, thank you, I’m waiting for God.” Then a bigger boat, a sailboat, a cruise ship, a steamship. The boats get bigger and bigger, and still the man says, “no, thank you, I’m waiting for God.” The story ends with the man dying. He arrives at heaven, and he asks God why He didn’t save him. God looks at him, supposedly, and says “ I sent you the life boat, the sailboat, etc cruise ship. Why didn’t you take one of them?”
It is often used to demonstrate how we shouldn’t just “wait around” for God to help us. We will have to take something that’s offered to us that He has sent to save us.
I totally get that understanding. We cannot sit still and do nothing always, thinking that is what faith looks like. Faith often comes with action.
However, this takeaway to me, is troubling. Would God really look at that man and ask him why he didn’t take it? Or, perhaps, maybe God would look at the man and say, “Why didn’t you ask Me? Ask me what you should have done? Instead of supposing, did you try submitting your request for direction?”
Is it faith to take a lifeboat that’s offered, or not take it? I don’t know. It takes faith either way I suppose. Instead of defining faith by the choice, maybe the faith is defined by the questions. And who it is that you’re turning to when you have questions and need to decide.
Do you think, study, consider, turn your head, and say yes please or no thank you. Those are fine things. But is that all? Or do you close your eyes and turn your heart heavenward, and ask Him for the directions.
Faith is not defined by either going or staying, doing or not doing. Faith is not in a yes or a no. It is a heart condition that is looking to and trusting God, expecting that He’ll show up, and show you what to do and which way to go.
(And, I get it if you’ve grown up in “the church” and you’ve had experiences where you’ve felt overwhelmed and have hesitation for attempting to walk out the will and leading of God. Many of us have felt overwhelmed in this. But I would offer with suggestion. The problem is not the Holy Spirit. The problem is often in us, overthinking, overworking, overdoing things religiously. Trying too much, with the oughts and the shoulda and the checkboxes. We cry uncle eventually and prefer to go about a more normal earthly existence. But, if Holy Spirit lives in us, following Him should be as natural as breathing. I know it often doesn’t feel like that. But I’d opine that the problem has never been with God or Jesus or our helper, the Holy Spirit. It’s our interpretation, and “trying”. Maybe we should try a lot less and trust a bit more .)
Maybe we should revisit how we go about this whole ‘drifting in the ocean thing’.
(Which seems super appropriate, because it feels like we’re all all swimming in an ocean of options, opportunity to drown, and opinions.)
What way should we approach a life boat offer- should we take it or reject it? That’s entirely up to you and God. And if you care to wonder what He might eventually say, why not ask Him His opinion now?
Faith is not defined by either accepting or rejecting help or a lifeline. Radical faith is inviting God into all of the details. And not only inviting Him, expecting He’ll show up.
It’s trusting Him enough to know that He will help you when you ask Him, no matter how big or small the request. It’s trusting Him enough to know that He will help you when you need it, and answer you when you call. Not always exactly how you ask, but in whatever way He knows that you truly need. Faith is trusting His character enough to remember that He cares for you.
We don’t trust blindly, but from knowing Him. Knowing that He has our true best interest at heart. That He’ll show us whether or not to take the lifeboat, and that no matter any outcome, He’s got us. We’re anchored, attached, to His lifeboat. And no matter what, His love is bigger than that ocean. He will always take care of us. One way or another, if we ever get a little adrift, He will gently guide us back to Himself. We can trust our whole selves into His eternal, competent, loving hands.
Your prayers are not wishes. Your weapons not metal or swords They’re the word of the Lord They’re true Jesus lives in you Cmon church, rise up Come out of your slumber Get down on your knees. Your weapons are not just words It’s my spirit living in you
Your time is now Raise your voice Lift a shout They battle’s begun, We call alive, every one
You’re a valley of bones Come alive in your skin Be no longer troubled With the weight of your sin I have made you free Walk no more in chains
Come alive, come alive Come alive again
The world needs that light. I gave it to you You can no longer hide it, No more, that is true
While I walked a couple of nights ago, the sun was just going down, or had, and a group of dear neighbor gathered. They sat together on one of the porches on a beautiful evening and as I heard their voices, happily telling stories, I instantly smiled. Then I heard the voice of one special neighbor, who had recently returned from a long stint at the hospital. I hadn’t heard his deep voice in too long, and I smiled too. I turned to see the figures gathered under the glow of light on the small front porch, spilling out onto the walkway. His back was to me and he was telling a story. In the next sentence or two, he got to the punchline, and everyone laughed and smiled. I smiled again, too.
The second neighbor had been in the hospital too, though not nearly as long, and here they were, laughing and spending time together on a beautiful summer evening.
“What a miracle,” I thought to myself. One of the everyday kind of miracles it’s kind of harder to notice until it’s almost not so anymore.
The next night I was walking, again. This time when I passed my deep voiced neighbor’s house, I saw he was sitting with his wife on the front porch.
I tossed a greeting out, loud enough to be heard from a distance. “It’s so good to see you!” I practically shouted. I smiled big enough for him to see.
He smiled too, and said something to the affect of “It sure is good to be seen.”
His wife joined in, and a conversation started, one that ended up lasting a rather long time, by casual walking-by-in-the-evening standards, especially.
They told me about his hospital stay, and following nursing home stint. He has cancer in the spine, and things got really bad for a while. Then they told me about his return to the hospital, for a second surprise issue.
At one point early in our conversation, he looked me in the eye, pointed his finger at me, and with clearer eyes and a brighter countenance than I’ve seen in so long, he said, “Those prayers you prayed for me worked, Courtney. I heard you were. They worked.”
I got chills. In fact, I do again, just remembering.
I had some surprise tears escape the corners of my eyes. My heart unexpectedly overflowed. He repeated his stance a few times. And at one point, with a decided, settled, and grateful look in his eye he said, “It really was a miracle.”
Just the night before I called it a simple miracle.
Tonight his kind, pointed finger connected some dots. And I realized that I got to be a very small part of it, through nothing of my own merit. For remembering, alone, that God is loving and listening and powerful, and for asking Him to help a friend.
I remember telling him I’d pray for him, before he landed in the hospital. And I meant it. I felt a bit shy in my delivery ( I mean he’s my neighbor and everything.) But in my spirit I felt so bold, and so convinced in my soul that God could heal him, touch him, and ease his pain, to whatever degree He saw fit. Regardless of what it would look like, I knew God could help him. And I was going to pray exactly for that. Whatever it could look like. That God would make it better.
At another point, when he was in the hospital, I saw his wife as she walked the dog, and another while she took out the trash. I checked in , asked her if she needed any help. She really didn’t need any, not in a practical way at least. She was surrounded by kids and more grown grandkids, who helped daily, and neighbors that mowed her lawn (the same neighbor who ended up in the hospital as well, actually.)
She didn’t need any practical help. But I told her I would pray. That I was praying already (in fact I was mid way through praying for him when I bumped into her.) I told her I would continue and please send my well wishes to her husband.
Some weeks went by and I didn’t know what was happening. But I still mentioned him in prayer anytime I thought of him.
Now here we were, reconnecting, sharing stories of healing and hospitals, pain and pills. And ultimately, of what the patient recognized as Gods mighty hand helping him through it all.
A miracle.
Some might scoff, credit the doctors and nurses, alone, say healing without them is some kind of fairytale. They do so deserve credit and special mention.
But truthfully, God deserves more. He gave them the special talents, He created the body to heal, and He allowed things to work together. they said some of the care they received was better than others, mistakes were made, and his wife had to be a pretty vocal advocate.
At the end of the ordeal, for them, God stood out. Gracious, listening, and helping.
I can agree with that assessment, for I have seen it in my life too. He uses any means necessary, but at the end of the day, every good gift comes from above, even if He has to use imperfect human messengers to get it there.
Why do I tell you this story?
To remind you, you might be one of those imperfect messengers too. You might be a nurse or a doctor, grandchild that calls and checks on their grandparents, someone who cuts a lawn. Or you might be just a walking and praying neighbor, like me.
You have a part to play in some miracle, somewhere.
Keep your eyes open as you go. Look for those miracles. See where you can help, maybe even be a part of one.
And always, pray. Pray more than you think you need to. Pray bigger than you feel capable of asking for. (It’s not about that anyway.) Pray bigger than you think can happen. Pray for miracles.
Because God has a part to play, too. He’s just waiting for an invitation. He’s waiting for someone to ask.
That someone might be you.
I left that day with new marching orders, new things, next miracles to pray for. And you better believe I will.
Because there He is, this Jesus. Just waiting to come to your everyday ordinary. To show up on porches and at hospital beds and on your evening walks. And He always brings with Him exactly what we need. Himself.
And the miracles, too. Peace. Healing. Love. Just like the wedding of Cana. He can’t help it. It’s the really true nature of Love- the ability to heal what ills us.
And Here we are. Ready and ripe for such miracles. What a perfect combination.
I once raced an entire Ironman triathlon with a thorn in my foot. (Don’t worry, this is not just story about me. Though, inherently, it is at the start, it’s really about all of us. Stick with me.)
This means I ran a marathon on it, biked 112 hilly miles too. Possible swam 2.4 miles, with it too. (Not exactly sure about the swim part. Sometime in my barefoot journey to the lakeside for the start, a final trip to the portapotty, and then venturing through the water for the first lap and existing briefly to return for a second, or exiting the water to return to transition area (where I put on bike shoes and the socks that would remain on me for the next 12 hours or so) I got a splinter of some kind lodged into the ball of my foot.
I ran a PR. I biked a PR. I swam a PR. I felt fantastic and spent, all at the same time. It was a grueling , wonderful, exhausting, exhilarating, and eventually, triumphant day. And I didn’t even think or know about the stupid thorn.
There something about this story that has struck me then, and still strikes me now. The absolutely clear message of “if you don’t mind, it doesn’t matter“. That’s absolutely true. I say that to my kids all the time. If I had known of said splinter/ thorn, I probably would have obsessed over it slightly, been concerned, doubted whether I should continue to run on it without taking care of it. I’m glad I didn’t know. I was able to complete an Ironman triathlon with a big black gnarly thorn.
But there’s another lesson. There are some things you can ignore for only so long. Truthfully, You can be successful and overcoming, but still have something sticking around that is bothering you, and causing you harm, even though you may not know it. You may still be triumphant. You may be amazingly at the top of your game. But that doesn’t mean the painful thorn doesn’t exist.
When the celebrations were over and I floated back to the bed and breakfast for a rest, and I gratefully slide of my shoe, I felt it. A twinge. Sitting down with a scotch and friends, I started to look at it. Indeed it was swollen and puffy and clearly already infected. I tried to remove it over drinks and good conversation but it wasn’t going anywhere.
That night was a fitful sleep. But not the usual exhausted, achy, crampy, and somehow still restless legs kind of sleep after an exhausting race like that. This one had that element. But by and large, the clear winner was the throbbing foot.
The next morning at breakfast, red streak showed up, extending past my ankle bone. Our dear friend with us is a nurse and she clearly saw this as problematic, and recommended a trip to urgent care. So after the requisite lunch of burger and a beer at the local brewery, we headed to urgent care. The doctor looked concerned and recommended we drive home. He drew a line on my leg where the red line on my leg and said “If the red line goes past there, go to the nearest hospital.” After picking up a round of robust antibiotics, we headed on our five hour drive home.
I was glowing with the accomplishment but physically more uncomfortable all the time. By the time we made it to the family cottage to see family and pick up our dog, give hugs and celebrate, it was almost unbearable. I remover not being able to stand up at the sink because it was throbbing so much. My mom asked the neighbor, an accomplished surgeon and doctor, to take a look.
The look on his face wasn’t exactly encouraging. He told me if I was a diabetic it could mean the loss of a limb. The very leg that had just carried me all of that way was now in danger of basically dying. Thankfully that wasn’t going to happen, that wasn’t my story. But the mere suggestion was kind of rattling. He said in a serious tone, that it wasn’t exactly good “doctor” advice, but if it was him in my ‘bare foot’, so to speak, he’d be very concerned, and he’d be doing everything he could to get it out.
I did try, but to no avail. Two days later I was able to return to work and the antibiotics were doing their thing. I had to go through two more rounds, and the redness did eventually subside. But the thorn never came out. My body learned to live with it.
One warm evening about a month later, I was swimming laps in the open water at the lake. I bumped into some fellow triathletes as I exited the water. They had done the same race, so we stood on the rocks and shared our race stories. The thorn story came up (they each had their own medical issue stories from that day, the talk of triathletes). I reflexively brushed the pad of my foot, the tender spot that was in question. And I felt something with my hand.
Right there, just casually half sticking out of my foot, was the thorn. It was black and little enough, and the stupid thing just came out. I mean, not exactly. But while I wasn’t thinking about it, my body finally kicked it out. I was just swimming, doing what I had been doing when it arrived, and the water softened my foot enough, my body had enough, and the darn thing pulled itself out.
Once again. That’ll preach. Sometimes, something happens, we have some kind of annoyance or tragedy or injury, maybe that we don’t even realize is happening. We continue on and have no issues of problems. It doesn’t even appear to exist. We go about our lives.
And then one day, the pain is unbearable. It doesn’t mean we were not successful. It just means that a painful piece of history, a thorn, existed. Maybe we didn’t even know it was there, but it was, and now it needs to be dealt with.
Maybe you felt it before now. Twinges you ignored. But when you returned to the quiet of your rest, after your own weary journey, you found it. Painful and red. Threatening everything yet to be ahead. Either way, it needs to be dealt with. It doesn’t mean the good stuff didn’t happen or didn’t mean anything. It just means now is the new season, time to deal with the issue. Because you can’t ignore it now. And to try to do otherwise would be costly. So costly.
I won’t presume to know anyone’s history or story. It’s yours to figure out, truly. But if I could share from personal experience a few things about healing, both physically and emotionally, I would say this.
Take your medicine. Rest your injury. Don’t rush back to “work.” Let it heal, manage the pain. Don’t poke and prod too much, which might make things worse. But when the pain subsides, the swelling goes away, and the redness finishes, get back in there. Swim in the deep, beautiful ocean, river, lake of Gods love. Let the hurt drawn out. It’ll happen. Suddenly, someday, it will be gone.
There is no way around it, this healing. Time doesn’t heal alone, but some healing takes time.
One more thing. Sometimes I have ghost pains in that spot. Tender, achy pains. The thorn is out and long gone, the damage is done and the mostly healed. Fully healed as far as I know. But those twinges of , memory, yes, that’s the body keeping score. Sometimes the body lies. It can only go on the past. It doesn’t know yet to future. That’s your soul’s job on this journey.
Listen to it. Don’t count it as a new injury, especially if you already saw it healed. Count it for the healing that happened. The miracle that it is. Keep knocking. Don’t obsess or worry over it. Be grateful. Be gracious with yourself.
I don’t know what your exact path to healing will be. But keep going. Keep trying. Don’t give up until it’s better. Know healing is available and God is for you. This thing it won’t take you down. God is bigger. And your body is stronger. Better days are yet ahead of you friend. Keep healing, keep going.
Hey, I'm Courtney, a pretty ordinary girl who thinks we've all been called to an extraordinary life and love story with God. I'm passionate about family, faith, motherhood, and the adventure of every day. I write lots of words, mostly because I can’t help it- and I think it's one of the things I was born to do. I hope that something I write encourages you, to walk in your own unique purpose and calling, set free to love and give it away, starting wherever you are today. That's what Courting the Extraordinary is all about. Finding the good all around you, and giving it away. Finding, too, the God of all goodness who wants to walk with you.
I love quiet mornings, coffee, prayer and “work” before sunrise. Quality time with my family is my jam. I can be found grinning ear to ear when we're out on an adventure. Whether that's in our own backyard or exploring someplace new all-together, I’ll for sure note something beautiful about nature aloud-and maybe repeatedly, ha!. Life is a beautiful, precious gift, and an adventurous path to travel! We might as well learn how to love.
Hey, I'm Courtney, a pretty ordinary girl who thinks we've all been called to an extraordinary life and love story with God. I'm passionate about family, faith, motherhood, and the adventure of every day. I write lots of words, mostly because I can’t help it- and I think it's one of the things I was born to do. I hope that something I write encourages you, to walk in your own unique purpose and calling, set free to love and give it away, starting wherever you are today. That's what Courting the Extraordinary is all about. Finding the good all around you, and giving it away. Finding, too, the God of all goodness who wants to walk with you.
I love quiet mornings, coffee, prayer and “work” before sunrise. Quality time with my family is my jam. I can be found grinning ear to ear when we're out on an adventure. Whether that's in our own backyard or exploring someplace new all-together, I’ll for sure note something beautiful about nature aloud-and maybe repeatedly, ha!. Life is a beautiful, precious gift, and an adventurous path to travel! We might as well learn how to love. 