The Open Mic Post

Reading this post made me brave. I'm going to read it again here on the blog on Friday, but I wanted to share it for you in print along with the intro from that fateful night at Allume. I wish I could have wrapped all of you who were listening in a long tight hug that night. To everyone who walked into that room and encountered a voiceless, scared young woman reading her wall scrawlings...thanks for listening.

I've got a lot more to say. I'd be honored if you'd keep listening.

  












I lost my voice. 

Ironic, I know {Please bare with me}

My name is Jessica Hoover and I blog at Hand Me Down Grace. Where I'm learning to leave a legacy better than the one that was left for me while generallyfailing miserably and always falling on grace. 

You know how they say, never pray for patience? Well, I made the mistake of praying for God to make me fearless. I also dared to write 31 days to Fearless this month. At the time it seemed like a good idea to read  (or at last submit ) a post for tonight.  You see, I'm not afraid of public speaking, but I am terrified of my own writing, my own voice. It seems only appropriate that my voice would sound so raw and real. 

Those words I spill on the screen are often raw and real. We are here in real life and the reality is that my voice on the other side of the screen is often war worn and ragged. I guess my voice, or lack thereof, is just a metaphor. A test in fearlessness over letting you see me in the here and now. I contemplated for a moment backing out. I thought about running to Lisa-Jo to say that this open mic dare was all just a bit too much for me. but I want to be heard. 

I want to be fearless for you my friends. I want to be fearless for my baby daughter who needs more than a mama who says "I'm sorry, but it's just to hard" when fear knocks at the door. I want to be fearless because words originate from THE WORD and He has given me a voice and is perfecting me in love with every grace. 

This post is about those women who know my real life voice all too well and despite it all still heap grace upon grace...

She winged her way down South deep below the Mason-Dixon. She rented a car and drove a treacherous stretch of I-85 just to see my little family. I think she must have read these words and taken heed because she loved well and this new mama's heart was filled full. She showers us with love. Sweet kisses for Millie, a cup of coffee for Millie's mama, a homemade pot of deliciousness for the whole family. A sister (in spirit if not by blood- and who's to say what ties are deeper?) who can rest assured that she always has a place in my family.

It is a rainy Thursday as I lug a car seat into an almost empty coffee shop. The wee one is asleep- can it be? We sit across from each other and cup hot beverages and share four layers of cream cheese frosting. We talk family, we talk life's unexpectedness, we speak truth. The truth aches and it heals and the scars remind us that in Christ all things are being made new. I share about the sleepless nights, the sweet midnight moments, and the hard grace that I'm learning to live- choose joy and find the sweetness in life I say. She listens wide-eyed and heart open and I find my shoulders relaxing and my eyes seeing a bit clearer.

I've juggled car seats, screaming babe slung tightly, and shopping basket for 2+ hours of sweat, tears and an aching neck. I look battle weary to say the least when she arrives- hair falling down, mascara smeared, weary eyed. She arrives with no expectations and simply says, "I just wanted to hang out with you." Hang out with me? Yes, please. Carry my baby for a few minutes? Yes, please. 

She calls me every few days just to check in. How are you doing? How is little Miss?
We laugh.
I cry.
She listens.
I treasure these phone calls from a sister and friend. I treasure that fact that she has been there, done that, and knows that this too shall pass- but reminds me to soak up all the sweetness while I can. 

We walk in the mire and muck together, but when the budget is stretched tight, the baby won’t sleep and I catch a glimpse of ancient dust bunnies under the cabinets, I can feel incredibly alone.  We could all use a cheerleader along the sidelines of this journey. There are days when I could use an entire stadium full of cheerleaders. These sisters, they cheer, loud and they remind me of a sure hope.

They are the Gospel come to life. 

The Gospel, come to my life.                                                                                                                                                    

All these sisters have gathered close to bless and dispel that voice that whispers in my midnights,

"You are alone."  

They send emails and quiet mid-day texts. They slip packages in the mail with hand written notes. They slide change across the counter for my cup of coffee. They cook dinners, cradle my sweet wee one, call on the hard days and tell me that those circles under my eyes aren't nearly as dark as I think they are. They never tire of blessing this tired mama and their love amounts to a summons to joy in my life. These women, walking in the mire and muck of this life right beside me, choose to bless and oh, how they bless and they are radiant in the blessing.