We're Going on a Bear Hunt

and a BOOK COVER REVEAL

I’m afraid I might have let you down.

I pride myself on being able to look at the hard and find some speck of a glimmer; some lesson or meaning in it all. Or, at the very least to keep showing up. But, I haven’t been able to do that. Time and time again, I wanted to tell you what felt too difficult to say but thought it too sad… and, too much. In short, life had been heavy. And, I couldn’t wrap my head around it. Words felt few. Days passed. And, before I knew it — I landed here, on the other side of what felt like a long, cold, drawn-out darkness. It’s as if after being curled up tightly for so long, I can finally stretch out.

It helps that this summer's sun is bright and hot. It’s been relentless in restoring my soul; my voice. I finally feel like myself—or, at least—a more tender, and dependent version of her. I think I have changed. In what ways, I’m still sorting out how. It’s quite like how my kids will gather up all the rocks they can find in our front yard, meticulously choosing the one that looks the most precious; the most like a treasure. Gently holding it in their hands, they’ll lay it down beside me exulting its qualities and declaring it extraordinary. This one, they say, is mine. I’m not always sure what they think makes it so special. To me, they all look the same. Is it shinier? Bigger? Does it tell a different story than the others that were so ruthlessly denied? I dare not argue with them. I’ve tried. You know not the fury of a little person who wants to keep a found rock forever. They are not to be messed with.

And yet, I get it. I find myself looking at all the parts of me that feel different. Which do I choose to keep? Which do I throw back into the rubble to be lost all over again?

Perhaps to you, that all sounds so very drastic. But, these are the words I have to describe what feels like change, within. Rest assured, life itself isn’t all that different.

We have five days until school begins. I know. It’s early. But, though it goes unspoken — the hum of the house always seems to change when we’re ready. And, we are. We’re ready for rhythm again; for structure. We’re ready for a more stringent bedtime, instead of a loose one. I’m ready for a kitchen pantry that isn’t always empty. Our summer has mimicked the ones I had in the 90’s. We would spend every hour of the day outside, our skin blistering with heat and glistening with water straight from the hose. The kids slept in, every day.¹ They had frozen yogurt. They went on bike rides. They jumped on the trampoline. And, they played video games on repeat. At first, I felt bad that we hadn’t planned an excursion to somewhere exotic. But, this — this simple summer was what we needed. Truth be told, it’s what my kids wanted.

Lest you think there wasn’t some kind of parenting involved, I did take my kids to the library at least once a month to stockpile books to read on the days when we didn’t want to be outside.² On our last trip, I read to them from a book called We’re Going on a Bear Hunt; a classic bit of children’s literature written by Michael Rosen. Have you heard of it? It tells the brief, but arduous tale of five children on their way to find a bear. It seems that they believe that upon finding this bear, they’ll have fun. I’m not sure exactly. The book never tells us why they venture out of the comfort of their home, or what convinced them that day to journey beyond what they already knew.

On their way, they come across several obstacles — grass, a river, mud, a dark forest, and a swirling snowstorm. Upon each, they sing the same refrain:

We can’t go over it.
We can’t go under it.
Oh, no!
WE’VE GOT TO GO THROUGH IT!

My son asks, “Why must they ALWAYS go through it?”³

Research tells us that, plainly speaking, our brains are indolent.⁴ They will, if given the opportunity, always take the path of least resistance.⁵ They will rely on what is easy for the sake of comfort and convenience. They’re insanely good at taking what’s in front of them and storing them in compartments — organizing our experiences from A to Z — and locking them down with a key, or at least maybe, a platitude of some sort. Something along the lines of, “EVERYTHING HAPPENS FOR A REASON,” or worse — “GOD WON’T GIVE YOU MORE THAN YOU CAN HANDLE.” You know, something that might make you feel better for at least a moment. Even if it’s not true.⁶

We cringe at being forced to experience, feel, and deal with the hardship and uncertainty of life. Especially our brain, which is trained to be efficient and productive. Which I suppose is the opposite, of say, laying flat out on the bedroom floor and letting yourself cry. What’s so rewarding about that? Or, productive? Except for the bowl of Blue Bell Cookies and Creme Ice Cream, you prescribe yourself later?

This, we’re told — is how to survive.
Not with crying and cold treats, but with avoidance.

Sadly, we cannot change, or be changed if we do not move through what stands in front of us. We cannot make a way forward without facing the obstacles of life.

Scientifically speaking, instead of reinforcing the neural pathways that tell us to live the same way we always have — we can create new ones when we do something hard.⁷

For all that I know of the brain, other people, and myself — instead of smiling and joining in on the sing-a-long when I face hardship, I sit in front of it and weep.

I DON’T WANT TO GO THROUGH THIS.

How do you tell a ten-year-old that life is full of possibilities and dreams that can come true but also, bottomless despair and bills that sometimes can’t be paid and well, that heavy burden of responsibility that you simply cannot rid yourself of? Sorrow, it seems, laces every joy. They do not live separately from one another.

Victor Frankl, Holocaust Survivor and author of Man’s Search for Meaning writes, “When we are no longer able to change a situation, we are challenged to change ourselves.” He further elaborates on this point by writing, that this “… is not freedom from conditions, but it is freedom to take a stand towards the conditions.”

Despite what I would rather life look like — I know that I am better because of it. Every condition I suffered was an opportunity for discovery, revelation, and truth. This does not minimize its harshness, unfairness, or its horror. But, it also does not imprison me — I can choose to move forward.

While I do not always know how to be honest and hopeful, I think wryly to myself:

YOU HAVE TO GO THROUGH IT.

To understand. To get it. To know it’s worth it.

Between tubs of ice cream, frozen yogurt, and toasted marshmallows by the fire — or, translated — in the thick of working three jobs and raising three kids and well, all the things… I asked the Lord where I might find abundance. What does that mean? This life I was living seemed far from prosperity, or the riches that were promised me if I lived a righteous life. Did I pray? Of course, I did. Without ceasing. I threw myself at the feet of Jesus pleading for something to give, for anything to feel lighter than it did. And still, I felt bitter at the injustice of the people around us who seemed as if they were thriving though I was sure they were no better than us. I knew better. But, didn’t know how to live or feel any differently. It took me some time to realize that just because bad things happen, didn’t mean that I was bad. Or, that God is bad either.

But, what of God? What of this abundant life I was told I could have?

I read Psalm 23 over and over again, willing the words to stitch themselves over the cracks that formed in my heart; pulling the tender skin taut and back together again. David, the author of this Psalm, spoke of goodness and mercy as if he had already seen it. I didn’t get it. I didn’t quite see the goodness. Instead, I begged for mercy.

One morning, I lingered a bit longer over the verse before this one where David writes, “You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil, my cup overflows.” It hit me then that I had gotten it all wrong. After spending a decade in a charismatic church, somewhere along the way I had begun to believe that what God had prepared for me was everything that I ever wanted. This included every bit of success, opportunity, favor, influence, friendship, and well, you name it. As you can imagine, when the table felt empty — so did, I think, God’s love for me. I was more enamored with what God could provide. And, when God didn’t — I believed I needed to work harder. I realize that to you this may all sound quite elementary. Maybe it is. But, while I believed that I didn’t subscribe to some sort of prosperity gospel — it wasn’t until, excuse my language, the shit hit the fan that I had to disentangle myself from this deeply entrenched idea, and the mess it had made.

I realized in that moment, that what was being served at the table wasn’t a buffet of riches like I thought — but that the table was the Lord, Himself. The cup, Himself. The bread, Himself. This table, which God so intently and intentionally prepared for me is a feast of God’s presence. It’s Christ’s body broken for us. It’s prophetic in its design — a witness to what would come on the cross so that we can be called beloved.

The table the Lord prepares for us is, in fact, the way through.

There’s more than mud we have to traverse, and the forests we get lost in feel darker and scarier than we could have ever imagined. But, with the steady and unrelenting presence of God — we’ll make it.

We’re going on a bear hunt. And, we don’t have to do it alone.
Maybe, I’ve learned, that’s the point.

Life rages. Wars commence. Politicians lie. Marriages end. Diagnoses are shared. Babies are born. Cars break down, again. Bills pile. Laundry still needs to be done. The kids are hungry. Also, again. But, in the presence of all this — enemy, or not — God sets a table and invites us to it like an exuberant and welcoming hostess. To clink glasses. To lean into the uncertainty. To linger a little longer. God serves us platters of hope, cups overflowing with gladness, plates of redemption, and baskets of vitality — that same spirit that brought Jesus back to life fills us the same way that bread always does: there’s no room for more. God fusses over us; and makes sure that we have all we need to face what is to come. We partake in a comfort that knows no bounds — one that acknowledges the truth of hardship without attempting to disguise it. Or pretend that it always gets better. Because sometimes, it doesn’t.

We feast so that we can fight; so that we can live.
God bless it — so we can laugh, too.

Yes, even in the face of what looks to be impossible.

This is God’s mercy. This is God’s kindness. This is God’s goodness.
Dare I say, this is abundance.
We find it all in God’s presence. Here. Now. At the table.

And, this — today — is where you can find me.⁸

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YOU GET TO SEE IT FIRST: a BOOK COVER REVEAL

I’m so excited to share this with you after having kept it secret for so long.

Can you even believe it? That’s a REAL book, friends. I cannot tell you how much went into designing this cover. Every detail reflects a part of the book in some way.

It was all such a labor of love, both the cover — and the words inside.

I wrote them for you. For the one who has been deeply hurt by rejection, abandonment, and betrayal. For the one who doesn't know how to move forward after having been left behind. You won’t be told to pretend that it didn’t hurt. Instead, I hope this book is a friend. One that crawls down to the bottom of where you are and sits with you in the dark. And then, when you’re ready — will build a ladder so that you can climb up back into the light.

There’s more to come about Loyal in His Love, but for now — I do hope you’ll click on the link above to order it. Or, tell someone else about it who might need it more.

I want you to know that it’s because of you that I got to write this.

Thank you for being here, and for your unending support. I’m so grateful. 🖤

1. To be fair, so did I.

2. HELLO HEAT ADVISORY

3. Honestly, he always seems to say what I’m thinking out loud.

4. https://www.ucl.ac.uk/news/2017/feb/humans-are-hard-wired-follow-path-least-resistance

5. I just finished listening to David Goggin’s memoir, Can’t Hurt Me on Audible. While I have thoughts, I am so inspired by his endeavor to push himself both physically and mentally. Since then, I’ve listened to a few of his interviews and found this one especially good as Andrew Huberman adds some insight into how the brain works when we do hard things.

6. I already wrote a lot of words, so I didn’t want to add too much more. But, it’s worth it to note that God doesn’t give us what we can handle. God gives us what God can handle.

7. Neuroplasticity is hope living inside each and every one of us. I’ll never get over it.

8. I worry that I belabor this point of God’s presence almost too much. I wonder if I’ve already written these same words, but write them anyway because it’s what I feel like I can’t stop saying. It’s what I so desperately need, and what I believe will continue to change me.