what matters

February 11, 2021 Jacqui

What’s the matter?

It doesn’t matter.

It’s nothing.

I’m fine.

You are matter.

Made of matter.

A state of matter.

Preferably solid.

Everyone is matter.

Everyone matters.

Everything is matter.

It all matters.

You matter.

He matters.

She matters.

They matter(s).

Here’s the truth, the marrow beneath the matter.

The solution, perhaps, to all that is the matter

with this disconnected world:

Your matter is me, and my matter is you.

The matter of our minds might differ wildly,

but we are all made of the same matter.

Quarks and leptons, protons and neutrons.

Hair and flesh, blood and bone.

What matters is the manner in which we’re made:

Crafted in the very image of God.

We are infinite souls in a human-matter shell.

Our matter is given meaning by the Maker.

Desperate to be a part of something that matters,

we will believe anything. We will do anything.

Does it matter if I invest in what matters?

It will matter; give it time.

But in a world where everything matters,

How do we find the eternal matter?

It turns out, the only matter that will survive

long after our demise is not matter at all.

Only three things will matter in the end––

Faith, hope, and above all, love.

While forever is firmly out of our grasp,

we still have the matter at hand:

The matter I can reach out and grab with a fist,

and the one beyond, which is often missed.

What matters are the people in front of you today,

the next thing you do, the next word you say.

For When Words Fail Me

May 6, 2017 Jacqui

Paralyzed by fear

I can almost hear

The knot forming in my throat

Doubtful eyes

Starting to despise

Everything I just wrote

The life of a writer

Insecurity fighter

Why can’t I measure up

I have no words

Typing is absurd

Maybe we should just break up

To think in rhythm

To feel in rhyme

Can’t be a mistake

Most of the time

But to tell myself

I have something to say

Doesn't feel true

On any given day

How can my keystrokes

Possibly benefit the world

Meet the great need

In a ball I remain curled

To face the unknown

The critic, the hater

It takes great courage

To step out as creator

So I will quiet the doubting

Tell anxiety to sleep

I’m putting pen to the paper

Because inspiration won’t keep

________________________________________________________

While I admit that I don't know much about the rules and correct structure of poetry, my deepest thoughts and feelings seem to have a cadence. The only way I've found to emote the rawest parts of me is through poetry, if you can call it that. For anyone who has struggled with purpose and worth and ability, I'm right there with you today. Trust in the mysterious process of putting pen to paper and just keep writing, whether you feel like it or not.

Dear Doctor, I Need Help

October 17, 2016 Jacqui

Instagram caption: A coffee a day keeps the insanity away. A little Zoloft doesn't hurt, either. #keepingitreal #postpartumdepression // August 2016 — Instagram caption: A coffee a day keeps the insanity away. A little Zoloft doesn't hurt, either. #keepingitreal #postpartumdepression // August 2016

Over the summer the postpartum depression I experienced after the birth of our fifth child took a nosedive into unbearable. In hindsight I believe I experienced it with all of our children, although I didn't know until it had passed. Suddenly, around the nine month mark, I would begin to feel a renewed energy and hopefulness, only to realize I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt like singing or smiling without effort.

This time was different because it was worse. It was bad enough that my husband encouraged me to seek help, which I did reluctantly and only briefly. I'm a terrible patient. But each day is better, and throughout the process, the Lord has sewn badges of honor onto my heart, stitch by painful stitch. Symbols of suffering and the lessons learned therein, lessons I wouldn't have understood any other way but walking through the valley in humility.

***************

Casualties on the Postpartum Battlefield

In the eyes of another mother today, I saw a reflection of me

Like staring in a mirror, barely here, a shell of numbness and grief

Blank expression, listless gaze, trying to find her way out of the maze

Of sleepless nights, an infants cry, her whole world turned around

Even mad at the baby and wondering if maybe they made a big mistake

Because what the books don't tell you, what everyone fails to say

Makes you feel quite crazy, like a failure, in the worst possible way

You wonder how you'll get through it, these days barely staying afloat

The raft drifting farther and farther from shore, no hope of ever getting out

The people ashore can even see you're gone, standing there so helplessly

They don't know what to do, how to help, immobilized by uncertainty

Sometimes when you've floated so far, it seems no rope or rescue could reach

The depths in which you're drowning, no longer visible from life's beach

Days feel like years, soul weary, eyes sleepy, and mind unable to function

The after school craze creates a mental haze, a heavy fog of suspended chaos

My mind starts to tremble from overstimulation, unable to process the imput

Like an overloaded circuit internally imploded, my rational mind turns mushy

Liquified sanity runs out of my mouth, uncontrolled, unrestrained and nasty

There are no winners here, not one is unscathed, just a mess of tears and apologies

Always hormonal in desperate search of normal, tomorrow hopes for healed

The dawn cries and I arise; I take my medication and pray.

Maybe this dark and heavy cloud will find flight and lift today.

***********************

This post is part of a series I’m writing for the month of October called, Walking in Humility: Learning to Abide with God in the Everyday. If you’re interested in the reading the rest of the series, you can find it here. Enjoy!

HELLO!

I'm Jacqui, the mom behind the camera. Wife of one + momma to five. Writer + speaker. Unqualified philosopher + theologian. Accidental mentor. Chaos manager. Lover of coffee + wine, perspective, and Jesus. Truth teller. Freedom fighter. Worth affirmer. Wanna-be author + world changer. Laundry piler. Emoji enthusiast. It's nice to meet you!

I hope you'll stay awhile and take a look at life through my lens, as I seek to find joy in the mess and walk with God through the beauty of everyday life.

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That last-week-of-school hustle is reeeeaaal. 😩👊🏻😴

Oh haaay, summer, haaay!! ✨😎 It’s almost 90 degrees with a breeze here in CLE, & we’re not minding one little bit. We just got back from a Target run, as one does on a Saturday. 🎯 I swept yesterday’s chalk dust and all the helicopters off the porch (as far as propagating strategies go, this is a very good one. Those suckers are EVERYWHERE!), and now I’m watching my little corner of the world go by from my second-hand rocking chair on the porch, iced coffee in hand. And it’s so, so good to be right here. In this moment, in this place: the wind tugging at my hair, the kids arguing about something in the backyard, the wind chimes next door, the dogs sunning themselves at my feet. These are the days. This is the abundant life. And I wouldn’t trade it for the whole wide world. My corner is enough.

I used to think the old woman who lived in a shoe was nuts. I mean, why in the world would you choose live in a shoe? With all those kids?? 😱 And withholding the bread? Straight up neglect. Some versions say she kissed them fondly, but we all know that mean broad spanked the daylights out of them before sending them straight to bed. Then I became a parent. Life has a way of waking you up to realities that are literally impossible to understand until you’re completely immersed in the incessant demands of a sacrificial season, or in some cases, a sacrificial existence. And you can fathom now how life can wear a person down to a shell of who they were, how one unfortunate circumstance can tragically alter a trajectory. And you finally realize that no one chooses to live in a shoe. A shoe is where you live when you have no choices, when you’re out of options, when it’s either a shoe or the streets. She had so many children she didn’t know what to do—so many mouths to feed every day. If broth and bread is all she could afford, there might not have been enough to go around. She didn’t ration out of neglect but rather out of necessity. And she whipped them all soundly before she put them to bed because she didn’t have anything left. Because she’s an overwhelmed, exhausted single mom without a shred of a support system. She never gets a break. Carrying the weight of their survival solely on her weary shoulders, she beats them now so the police won’t later. She whoops them because she cares, and that’s the only way she ever learned how to show it. . ...and what you can see now is, she loves them.

Anyone else feel the pull to show up here every so often to say, “Hey! I’m still busy doing things! My life is still interesting! And it matters! And here’s why…” When I feel compelled or obligated to do something, for whatever reason, one of the best things I can do for myself, at least for a little while, is….don’t. Don’t log on. Don’t post for the heck of posting. Don’t force something that doesn’t want to come. And I let the silence begin to speak for itself. God speaks in a whisper, you know, but how often are we quiet enough to hear it? And how exactly did we arrive at the place where our worth was determined by the number of hearts tapped out on 2x2 squares? It sounds quite ridiculous when it’s all spelled out like that, doesn’t it?

This is how we showed up at church tonight—legit looking like maybe we just crawled out of a garbage dump. Or at least a construction zone. 🚧 It’s actually worse than it looks and literally the best I’ve got this week. Bless it. Also, the nursery worker made them wash hands before snack, so we’re good. What matters is that we showed up. On time, in fact, which is no small miracle in and of itself. . ✨All that is required of us is that we arrive as our truest selves. And today? We’re filthy. So, here’s a gentle reminder to you, fellow traveler: come dirty, come late, come ill-prepared or even irate. Come with a smile on your face, or come because you need some grace. Come stressed, come sweaty, come imperfect, even petty. Just come, in spite of your mess, and trust that God will take care of the rest. He always does. See for yourself. ➡️

These jokers are my favorite. 💖 #happymothersday

‘Tis the season. 💜🌸 The only problem is choosing just one! 🤩 So I didn’t. 😬 Did you know that lilacs only bloom for 1-2 weeks a year? Kinda makes you wonder about humanity’s over-emphasis on “blooming”—always producing, striving, hustling, creating output. Even if we’re blooming where we’re planted, as the saying goes, it’s brief. Stunning, yes. Breathtaking, yes. Colorful, vibrant, full of life, yes please. But also short-lived. Temporary. Fleeting. Seasons are not only temporary but necessary. Don’t focus so much on the fruit that you miss the seasons of watching and waiting, of hunkering down when the landscape is barren and learning to weather the storms. These create the fertile soil in which flowers grow. 💜

*new headshot* 😬

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Sell your cleverness and buy bewilderment. —Rumi