Seven years. And counting.

On our wedding day as I walked down the "aisle," a grassy hill scattered with flower petals, our dear friends Chris and Julie Bennett sang these words,

Oh the wonderful cross
Oh the wonderful cross
Bids me come and die and find
That I may truly live

Oh the wonderful cross
Oh the wonderful cross
All who gather here by grace
Draw near and bless your name

And those lines have been the story of our marriage thus far.  Dying to live, huddling close, being sheltered by those dear ones in our lives.

Photo by Jeremy Cowart

From my husband, I have been taught patience when all I wanted to do is crawl out of my own skin.  He's taught me joy - that walking with Jesus far surpasses any "freedoms" this world has to offer.  And love. Not just the quick passing kind that's said as you're headed out the door; the kind of love that bolsters you, holds you up, when nothing else makes sense.  The kind of love that fiercely bids the light to come and combat the darkness.

We've had to give up so much, he and I, over the last seven years, gone through trials that should have wrecked us time and time again.  But I can honestly say looking back that we've been given so much more than we ever asked for.  And I know as the years go by, God will restore and rebuild even more than what has been taken.

Years ago, before I met the man I was going to marry, I asked my sister-in-law the secret to a happy marriage.  One of the things she said I've always remembered: "It's about choosing to stay in love, choosing to stay together."  Basically, it takes a lot of work and intention.  That means we've kept working at it, staying positive when arrows were thrown at us, when we lost all our money, when relationships failed, or when our business struggled.  Yes, we've walked through the pain, questioned God and begged for mercy and miracles and peace.  And - often in very unexpected ways - we've always received them.  Then we dust ourselves off and get back up again.

In a card Steven gave me on my last birthday were these priceless words:

"As we search to discover how we can love each other more during this new journey in our life, I'm blessed to look over at you and know that you are a constant in my life.  When family things and friend things and money things countinue to pound like heavy waves you are always within reach.  That comfort and commitment is nothing short of a miracle."

So, happy 7 years to my baby daddy, my BFF, the love of my life.  The "7 year itch" can just keep walkin' on by, because it's not welcome here, in this marriage.  The Baileys are just getting started.

Michelle and Mercy: an inspiring story...

{Dear lovely readers, my friend Michelle Murrey has just embarked on the adventure of her life as the photographer aboard the Africa Mercy Ship for the next two years. I thought it was time to share her story, in hopes that it will inspire you too.}

~ ~ ~

When I met Michelle on New Year's Eve 2004, she was walking with a cane. 

She and my husband had served on a team together for several summers, working with orphans in Romania.  I was told she had just been diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis, and my heart broke for this young woman in her 20s who was already physically disabled.  I'll never forget the look in her eyes that night - there was a sadness and a struggle, yet a faint flicker of hope for healing.

It took a little while for us to get to know each other, but once I had the opportunity to see Michelle's heart, I was blown away by its beauty.  Perhaps because of her pain and struggle, she has one of the most compassionate hearts I've ever encountered, especially towards the needy, the sick, the special needs children who are often forgotten.

Since that night, Michelle's life has been restored in more ways than I can personally document, and her story has gone from pain and struggle to absolutely inspirational.  She has become one of my dearest friends of all-time.

The following is in Michelle's own words...

~ ~ ~

Today, standing near the summit of a mountaintop on the island of Tenerife, I said to a friend, "I love my life. I can't believe I'm actually here." With a camera in hand and excitement in my steps, I wandered around taking photographs of the beauty of creation surrounding me: aqua blue ocean water, volcanic rock on the mountainside, houses built into the natural crevices of the land, and fishing boats in a small harbor at the beach.

My amazement over standing at that point was not just about the beauty surrounding me but also recognizing the incredible tapestry the Lord has been weaving through my life for thirty-five years. My explorations in photography began when I was about eight years old and my grandparents gave me my first camera. It was a simple camera but was sufficient for capturing fun adventures with friends. Over the years, my camera equipment changed but the interest remained, or rather intensified.

During the fall of 2000 and the summer of 2001, I had the opportunity to work in Romanian orphanages for infants and children and camps for children and teens. It was a turning point for me, in my walk with the Lord, in my photography skills and in my heart for missions to distant nations. Although I had participated in construction projects in Mexico during college, my experiences in Romania impacted me on a deeper level. It changed me. Changed the course of my life.

Even with the best laid plans to work in Romanian orphanages over a period of several years, life circumstances interrupted my strategy. I became ill and was forced to return to the United States to discover the root of my health issues. After years of tests and many misdiagnosed conditions, the root cause was finally discovered and my health improved. In the midst of it all, I had a choice... to succumb to the doctor's predictions of paralysis or severe illness or to continue living life to the fullest through each day the Lord gifted to me. And I chose the latter.

Since 1996, I've had the privilege of traveling to Mexico, Cuba, Romania, Hungary, Russia, England, Spain, Canary Islands, Uganda, Malawi, Ghana, and now Guinea. I have prayed over children who were dying, danced with children who were homeless, walked the streets of oppressed Communist nations and stood before the capital in D.C. with thousands of people to protest the genocide in Darfur. In the midst of illness or loss, the Lord continued to open doors for me to serve Him around the world.

Today, I am living on the Africa Mercy, a hospital ship docked in the Atlantic Ocean that provides medical services to some of the world's poorest people in West Africa. I have the amazing opportunity to be the eyes and ears of the ministry through photography to share the stories of those we meet and those we are able to serve through the medical programs. When I sit down to a meal, I might be surrounded by people from Sierre Leone, Holland, Sweden, Russia, Ghana, Canada, Togo and South Africa, all at the same table. It makes my heart sing.

From the time I was a child, I loved to take pictures and go on adventures, even in my own backyard. Today, the world is my playground. I am here to give the Lord 100% of myself, never taking for granted that this day could have looked very different if the doctor's assessments in 2003 had become reality. I have learned to treasure every moment, taking nothing for granted, and celebrating the gift of life with my brothers and sisters around the globe. "Here I am, Lord. Send me."

~ ~ ~

If you've been inspired by Michelle's story and wish to support her journey on the Africa Mercy Ship, please go to this page.  Any donation, however small, will help!

What is saving my life right now.

I absolutely loved this post from Sarah Bessey: In which this is saving my life right now.  And apparently, a lot of other people did too (like my friend Allison), which sparked Sarah to create a syncroblog where other bloggers can share their own answers to the question, "What is saving your life right now?"

So I'm supposed to tell you quickly, without overthinking it, just spilling it out...

• This trip to New Jersey, where I am for the whole month of August, is absolutely saving my life right now.  It's been a hard day - a hard year - emotionally.  As strange as it can be to return "home" for an extended period of time after becoming an adult, there are those wonderful moments when you can become a child again.  Tonight, my mom reminded me of something an old friend said that she never forgot - "When you cry, I cry." She's the kind of mom who does that, not just for her children, but for everyone.
  

• Heart friends who share burdens with me and rejoice with me and send a little text message to say "I love you" save me when the whole world seems like it's going out.  Which is often for an INFJ like myself.

• My sweet little girl whose smile and passion and compassionate heart bring so much joy to my every day.  Her newest exclamation, "Look at THIS!" makes me giggle every time - as she points to a kitty crossing her path, or a butterfly fluttering around the pool, or a squirrel in the back yard. 

• I don't know how much longer she will be nursing, as she's a big two-year-old now, but I'm happy to continue providing that for her a little longer.  She came from my body, and the special bond and quietness we share during this time is so fleeting...

• A husband who understands me and encourages my dreams and creativity.  The other day in the Marimekko store in NYC, I was swooning over all the beautiful fabrics.  I was thinking, "Wow, those are beautiful but too expensive, so let's go," but he said, "Could you make something fun with just 1/2 yard?"  I left with two 1/2 yards of different fabrics that happened to be on sale as well as the personal email address of the sales girl who helped me, another creative soul who loves to sew and secretly cut me a little more than she was supposed to of the dandelion fabric so I'd have enough to make pillowcases.

• Salty caramel gelato inside a crunchy waffle cone on a warm summer day - not just because it's delicious but because I chose not to think of the sugar content and just enjoy every last sweet, melty bite.  I swear, something is magical about gelato from Eataly - I cannot stop thinking about it.

• Trees with hearts in them.  Especially because those same trees were trimmed today, and the heart shape is no longer there.  But in my memory, it is.
• Cooler weather.  Leaving 107 degrees, I almost wept when the first 80* breeze swept across my face, closed my eyes, soaked it in.
• Joyrides in my mom's Jeep with the top off and wind blowing my tangled hair, driving past frolic-worthy fields so beautiful you have to veer the car over to the shoulder to snap a photo.

• But, I think what's saving my life the most right now is this simple truth, which I've written about time and time and time again:

I am not alone, not alone, never alone.

Thank you, Jesus. My introverted self can get so deep into my head, into my thoughts, and sometimes I feel like I'm drowning.  But those compassionate hands of my God, and the skin-and-bones people here on earth whom God uses as His hands, reach down and literally pull me out.  Time and time again, I'm thankful for grace and second chances and that His mercies are new every morning.

What is saving your life right now?  Please, join in.

Living in the color.

Since I read this recent post by my dear friend Shawna in New York City, I haven't been able to stop thinking about these words...

I want to live in the color. I want to live in the abundance of life that Christ died for me to experience. Why does that feel harder in some seasons than in others? Why does Starbucks make me happy on days that I am not sure I'm going to survive? I know there will always be unfulfilled longings, so I'm searching for that joy that only Jesus can give in any situation until we experience the fullness of life that He intends in Heaven. I know that abundant life isn't about "being" or "doing" anything more or differently. It's simply about abiding in Christ. Being with Him. Experiencing Him. Focusing on Him. Caring only about Him.

The other day I got to reunite with another faraway friend, Lauren.  Her adorable, artsy home in a small town outside of Philadelphia was packed with moving crates, but amongst them was a bright pink gift bag overflowing with black + white polka dotted tissue paper.   She handed it me.  As I peered into the bag, my mouth dropped open - inside was a gift that could not have been more thoughtful - a bouquet of 10 tree bark crayons, each practically the size of a track baton, each one its own work of art. 

"I want to live in the color."

I know my life holds many unfulfilled longings, a plethora of responsibilities and desires that try to draw me away from the heart of God, away from whom He made me to be.  And often, those things succeed. 

There are so many things I wish I could be - less impatient.  Slower to become frustrated.  Logical, at least sometimes.  Slower to let others' moods affect my joy.  More prone to "glass half full" than "glass half empty."

But as Lauren and I sat together on her couch sipping red wine, dipping our toes back into the deep waters of what our friendship was when we lived a few streets - rather than hundreds of miles - away, I could feel myself exhale.  I could feel the color flushing back into my face, my life.  Those colors spilled a simple truth across the sky:

You are not alone.  Someone understands.

That's right, "It's not about 'being' or 'doing' anything more or differently." 

Life is full of tension, but I don't want to stay in the grey place of in-between.  I want to live close to the heart of God, full and whole everyday.  He says, "You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart."  (Jeremiah 29:13)  So I go out looking, and suddenly there is a burst of golden Black-Eyed Susan in the midst of browns and tans and grays. 

Or, a sunset that lights up the kitchen with an orange glow, urging me to leave dinner sizzling on the stove and grab my camera and run outside for fear of missing a literal rainbow being painted across the sky.

Yes, I think "living in the color" means choosing joy, choosing to be engaged with this life, this one I'm living now. Maybe it means approaching each day with hope and possibility, not permitting darkness to have its way with me.  It means that the light, and the color, always shines brighter.  Because it is there.  Always.

Friends, what does this phrase mean to you?  Really, I would love to know...

Love letter in the trees.

Two days ago, I took this photo of the beautiful, towering old trees in my parents' backyard in New Jersey, with the caption, "My trees."  I posted it to Instagram and then a friend pointed out the perfect heart image that seems to be cut out of the trees.  I couldn't believe it!  God's little love letter to me.  It's the small things.  I needed that little reminder of his love for me.