Tornado Bridezilla.

It's taken me four days shy of four years, but I decided to finally share a more detailed, rather comical version of our wedding story to revive my blog. When I say, "You wouldn't believe me if I told you." I mean it. I really do, but every word you're about to read is true. 

Fair warning--this is the lengthiest blog post I've ever written. Prepare for a few belly laughs along the way.

Mid-April 2013. I sat in an early childhood conference with one of my dear friends when I got an email from Carnival informing me the cruise I had booked for our honeymoon would no longer be embarking. With about 6 weeks until the big day, I panicked. I called Ryan, who instructed me to check other cities and purchase plane tickets. So, to New Orleans we would go. I should've known then. 

Two weeks before the day, I had almost managed to kindly kick Ryan's BFFs out of the house so I could move all of our stuff in. For this night, though, I cooked dinner and we sat altogether for one of the last times to watch TV. We couldn't find a thing to watch on Friday night. Kelly was running the remote and landed on a show called "Bridezilla." On this particular episode of a show none of us had ever watched, a woman in Oklahoma was preparing for her wedding day and she was every bit of a Bridezilla. (Note: for the record, I wouldn't consider myself such a thing. I was super chill before, during, and after, even considering the circumstances). The poor woman had a tornado ruin her May wedding. We joked and laughed about how terrible that would be. I should've known then. 

May 20, 2013 was a heartbreaking day for my home state. A terrible tornado hit Moore, OK, and reminded every citizen of the dangers that are possible with those wicked twisters. It put everyone in their place. When the newscasters were talking about MY wedding day a week out, everybody was on the edge of their seats. I was already in denial. I should've known then. 

May 31, 2013--THE BIG DAY! I woke up to many Facebook notifications and text messages wishing me "the best day ever" along with alerts from every weather app known to man about what was expected that evening. "Meh. Another May Day," I told myself. Then the messages of, "I'm so sorry, Madison, we're not going to make it to your wedding because of the weather" began at 10am. Nine hours before! Come on, Okies! You've got to be kidding me. They say this EVERY day in May. Plus, we've never really had multiple, horrible, national news type of storms within two weeks of each other. I should've known then. 

My bridesmaids and family tried to keep my mind off of it. I don't think they realized I had my phone which was constantly reminding me of two things: "it's my wedding day" and "you are in a tornado warning all day long." Thanks, technology. 

Two hours out and about 50 people are in the building. We've asked the maintenance crew about where to take shelter in case such storm arrives. They call the first floor a "basement" (basement implies underground--this was NOT underground) and show us two of the safer places to be. I should've known then. 

Pictures were taken. First look was complete. Guests began to arrive. Some of those guests were from the west and started to share about what the building storms looked like. In my bridal room, right in front of me--the one who has successfully been in denial for months until now. I escaped to the bathroom texting both my dad and Ryan to meet me there. 

Ryan was super chill and left quickly. My dad came in and asked if it would be okay if we just started later than expected, because the timeline showed the storm arriving in our area at the same time I should be walking the aisle. "We'll just let it blow over," he said. I confidently agreed and returned to my room. 

All too quickly he returned to escort me and my bridesmaids down to the first floor. I saw the many people who had braved their way to the venue on my way down, offering them smiles of thanks while meeting their fearful eyes. Sheesh. Why today?!

They took Ryan and I to the bathroom and offered us two metal chairs. I hadn't realized just how many people were in attendance or already come and gone to seek safety. 125 people signed my guest book that night. Nothing compared to the 550 people who RSVP'd, but I guarantee it was 125 more than my parents and I wished to be responsible for that evening. 

I looked around at the familiar faces sharing my space. I heard someone outside the bathroom say something about the children and elderly. I immediately demanded the chairs be removed from the bathroom to make more room for those people as I got down in the bathroom floor in my wedding gown I'd dreamed of wearing my entire life. No one listened to me, but the chairs were quickly taken by others. (I found out later the children and elderly were allowed into the "safest part of the building.") My sister and best friend from college sat holding my hands while Ryan left to comfort all his out of state friends who had never experienced a spring night in Oklahoma. 

At the beginning of our shelter seeking time, everyone was pretty calm--quietly sharing their disbelief in what was happening and walking by the bathroom to wave at me, the bride, who was casually sitting in a bathroom floor. Only one person struck a chord with me during the high stress time. They asked me to reschedule the wedding or just sign the license where I was sitting. Don't worry--I held my tongue, pretended they were joking, and let out a nervous laugh. The possible Bridezilla stayed in her place.

Then--all phones that were playing Gary England and other meteorologists started to drown out the chatter. 

"It's over a mile wide."
"It has produced multiple vortices."
"It's headed straight for downtown." 

People began to sing, pray, and cry, understandably. 

"THREE MINUTES UNTIL IMPACT!" some Rent-A-Cop who liked to pretend he was in charge yelled. "TAKE COVER!" 

Silence. Other than the ONE phone still picking up the live stream of Gary. I could hear it right outside the bathroom door. It seemed like forever. I'm not joking. Three minutes lasted forever in such conditions. Heavy breathing and crying could be heard, with some very quiet, very real prayers for protection. I opened my eyes to see Taylor staring back, I said probably the worst thing I could at the time, "Wow. I never expected to meet Jesus wearing my wedding dress." She gave me this shocked look and squeezed her eyes shut. I think she was strongly praying against that because she was worried about her panty line. 

"The tornado has turned south. It's now headed for the airport."

Sighs of relief. Thanks, Gary! I would remember the airport part later on after the wedding. We sat for a few minutes to digest what we had heard and unwind from our experience (and because the Rent-A-Cop realized all his power was soon to be forgotten. He couldn't have that). 

Then the race upstairs began. On the way back up, I was informed the building was running on a generator and that I was limited to 15 minutes. A 45 minute ceremony forced into a third of the time? Sure. I can do that. NOT. 

Wait a minute. Where's my bouquet? What bride walks an aisle without her bouquet? Bless, Joe Terrell. He bravely faced the flooding, winds, and hail to retrieve the bouquet his wife Jeannie had fashioned for me from my Grampy's vintage car. We'd taken pictures in the car that afternoon, when the day was still fairly normal. All normal was now lost. 

My bridal party RAN down the aisle to random songs on my playlist playing completely out of order. My sweet ring bearer, who nailed his part in the rehearsal, held back tears as he walked the aisle alone. It was my turn. The usher, who was a college friend of Ryan's, opened the door. "NOPE. I'M NOT GOING. NOT UNTIL MY SONG PLAYS."

I don't remember what Jacob said, but that was the split second my bridezilla popped out. (Sorry, Jacob!) My dad cracked the door so I could listen to the random music as the DJ was trying to find THE ONE. One thing was going to go right tonight. Mandi Mapes WOULD be played as I sprinted up the aisle. 

"No.. Nope... That's not it... Nuh-uh... OH! That's it! Okay! We can go!" 

I wasted so much time to have MY song play that my dad was rushed to give me away. He hugged Ryan, said the sweetest thing ever, and turned away, leaving my arms wide open for a hug. Oh well. The show must go on. Steve, my youth pastor growing up, shouted a quickened message because there was no mic, my mom ran to retrieve the unity sand we forgot in the mess, and the Rent-A-Cop asked us to scrap the Family Prayer. Uh. Sir, after the last 2 hours, we need all the prayer we can get. Go sit down. I've got 5 solid minutes left. 

Finally, it's vow time. Oh. Fireworks in the rain?! No! That's just a transformer blowing up right outside the window and catching fire. Tornado sirens, again?! Bonnie almost jumped off the stage. I glanced down to see my mom telling her it was to the south and east of us while she looked down at her PHONE that was still streaming Gary on low volume. Yes, that's totally normal for the mother of the bride, right?

I vowed my ever love to my groom. He vowed his love to me. We ran back down the aisle.

"HURRY! Cut the cake! We all need to leave!"

The few reception pictures were taken in 30 seconds to make our wedding look somewhat normal. I noticed the floor was wet and the bottom of my gown was gross from traipsing through it! Ew! Mom encouraged me to change back into the clothes I'd gotten ready in since land was no where to be seen outside already. Sure. (Men, you can skip the rest of this paragraph. No, really.) I couldn't find my bra. I had to BORROW one that was THREE cup sizes too big. Yup. What a let down that would be!

All guests had been thrown out into the rain at this point, minus our families. I looked out the door to see a car already flooded out in the street. How are we supposed to get out of here?! Thankfully, we were staying downtown for the evening to catch a morning flight to New Orleans. We didn't have far to go. That couldn't be said about the other 125 guests that were forcefully evacuated moments before. 

Todd offered to lead us to the hotel. We hopped in the little Jetta. The screen flashed--0 miles to empty. Well, the first argument of the marriage ensued. People had used my car to run errands all day. I didn't know it was on empty, but "not the time to be empty in this emergency" I was told. Ryan called his dad, who was leading us around even more flooded cars to higher ground. "Find us a gas station first, please." We made it to the pump. Todd waved and there we were alone in the car. 

Ryan got out, but the pumps were off thanks to all the electrical problems. He ran into the station in the pouring down rain, while still wearing his suit. The pumps were reset and he returned...with a scary looking man following him. He got to my car and started pumping the gas. Then, the scary man started yelling incoherent things at him. And then began chasing him around my car. (Oh my cow. Yes, that happened). Ryan quickly opened my door at one point and threw his wallet in and yelled at me to lock the door. Oh. So, leave my husband outside hurdling the gas hose every few seconds with a scary man screaming crazy things at him? Don't have to tell me twice! So much for better or for worse! I locked him out in seconds, scared out of my mind. Ryan told the scary man he didn't have money on him--which was the truth. It was locked inside with me now. The scary man stopped chasing him, grunted, and waved goodbye. SERIOUSLY. (I told you at the beginning you wouldn't believe me).

Ryan got back in the car and we took off to the Colcord. The valet was working in the horrible conditions, so we grabbed our bags for him that way he could go ahead and take the car. The drenched rats entered the super nice hotel. Thankfully, Ryan had already checked in. I still needed to check on that airport. I leaned over the counter with the most serious face I could and asked the hostess if the airport was clear. I had heard Gary say it was headed to the airport. "Oh, yes, ma'am, it's perfectly okay," she said as she stared at the tornado coverage on national news already. "Well, if that changes, would you please let us know? We have a flight out in the morning." "Of course!" she said. SHE SAID. 

Before we could make it to the elevator, our valet ran up asking for the keys to the car. I'd finally hit the point of overwhelmed where you just are there, completely glazed over and I barely heard Ryan respond, "they're in the cup holder."

We got up to the room and someone knocked on the door. It was the hostess asking where the keys were. The valet still couldn't find them. Ryan lost his cool momentarily and informed her that the keys ARE, in fact, in the car. He looked at me, who sat in the floor staring at the nice carpet, and mumbled disgust of the valet not finding the keys. Before he could get too worked up, the phone rang. It was a different hostess telling Ryan there's a problem and they REALLY can't find the keys. He started to yell, which quickly shook me out of the funk and I looked at my purse. Oh. Shoot. I had the keys. I frantically grabbed them so he'd chill out and he apologized to the hostess, and ran out the door. He said the valet was SOAKED, with EVERY door wide open on the Jetta in the POURING rain. "I'm sorry, my wife...," he started, but the valet didn't care. 

I'd gotten in the shower. I just wanted to go to bed to sleep off this nightmare. And I did. No tears, I'd like to point out. Not yet. Those came weeks later. (See, totally not a Bridezilla!)

I woke to Ryan's voice hollering, "Lacey!!" in the hallway. I groggily reached for my phone to see it was 1am and wondered why on earth my sister-in-law was in my hotel room on my wedding night. She wasn't. She was on the phone, but falling asleep repeatedly on Ryan who had been awakened by his phone 30 minutes prior. 

Ryan had thought for the first 2 hours of his phone buzzing that it was his friends messing with him on his wedding night. And part of it was. Another person was trying to get a hold of Ryan...our pastor. Why?! On our wedding night?! He had kindly checked our flight status once he finally got home to Weatherford in the wee hours of the morning. Our flight was cancelled out of OKC. Thanks, hostess, who DIDN'T call. Ryan was trying to get a hold of his dad to figure out what to do. We had 11 hours to make a 12 hour drive to catch the boat. He woke me up so sweetly and informed me to get ready. We had to leave NOW. 

About 3 hours after checking in, we were checking out. The initial valet's shift was over; we didn't have to face him. While Ryan was helping the new one load our car at 2:00am, I remembered the tip. (Oops. The first one that definitely deserved one didn't get a tip. I had been in a daze). I checked my purse. No cash. (That was another lesson my new husband would teach me in time). Two well-dressed men exited the hotel. Did I mention it was STILL raining? They lit their cigarettes next to me and asked where we were getting in from. I tell them we were actually leaving and gave them the extremely shortened version of our last 7 hours. They apologized profusely for what I'd had to endure and paid the valet $40 for us. I lovingly refer to these two strangers as my "smoking angels." 

We hopped back in the fully gassed car and took off to find every route to the interstate closed. At the last attempt, Ryan asked if he could take my car AROUND the road closed sign. (Poor Jetta--I should've liked her more just for what she put up with on this one drive). I allowed him to since it was our ONLY shot. By God's grace, we didn't float away or hit anything. We were the only ones on the road for a LONG time. And it was STILL raining. 

At Purcell, we pulled off to get energy drinks because I was in and out of that daze and Ryan had only gotten a few hours of sleep in the last 2 days. Just south of Pauls Valley, the rain quit. At the SAME exact time, a bird pooped on our windshield. It was the biggest pile of bird poo that I'd seen in my entire life. The wipers were still on. Ryan turned those off as fast as he could. However, the damage was done. Jetta was out of windshield wiper fluid, too. (No, you can't make this stuff up). He had to peer out of a thin line at the bottom of the windshield for the remainder of the drive. 

Simultaneously, Ryan was calling Carnival, who didn't care about our problems, and Dallas Love to make sure we could catch our connecting flight there instead of driving the entire way to Louisiana. I love Love. They said yes. We parked our dirty, bird poo car in the garage and made our way into the airport. Maybe this nightmare was over. Maybe. 

We walked up to the ticket counter and explained our predicament. A Southwest employee named Benjamin helped us, and made SURE we would board first so we could sit together. In his words, "After all that, you two don't need to be separated." Thank you, Benjamin!

We grabbed a bite for breakfast at 5:30am and sat down at our gate to catch our breath. We sat for a long while intercepting messages and calls from our family, filling them in on all the changes to our itinerary. At last, normalcy had been reached. 

"Would Ryan Russ please report to the desk?" 

NOW WHAT?!

I watched my husband's facial expressions to try to get a clue. Are we not going to be able to get on the flight?! How far is New Orleans from Dallas?! We're going to miss our honeymoon! What a mess!

He looked pensive, but still serene. He was carrying something, but I couldn't see what because of the height of the airport chairs. He rounded the corner with two large bottles of champagne. Ryan and I don't drink, so I blurted--"how'd we get those?!?!" Will Rogers had sent them to us for all our troubles. How kind and thoughtful! Now--what to do with two bottles of alcohol in an airport? I had a backpack stuffed to the zippers because Ryan refused to take his own carry-on. It was almost time to board. Ryan shoved our gifts into the side pockets of my backpack. Classy! I begged him to carry it, but he wouldn't. Thanks, babe!

I hid the backpack underneath my seat and slept the whole flight. The Carnival transport met us at baggage claim and (ARE YOU THE RUSSES?!) knew who we were!!! They cared more than they let on! We got on the bus and made our journey to the boat. 

Did you know you have to check in alcohol to get on a cruise ship? I didn't because this was my first cruise; I also didn't realize how popular alcoholic beverages were until I entered into that line to check in my two comparatively small bottles, hoping to go unnoticed. After all, there were packs of beer with numbers I didn't know existed. Nevertheless, the man who handled my measly bottles chose me to make a scene. He picked up my bottles off the belt and turned to his friends, and shouted, "Here's where the party's at tonight, boys!" I kid you not. Every person in the vicinity stared at me. I turned shades of red I didn't know existed. 

We got to our room, threw the bottles in the closet (our host kept pulling them out and icing them ALL week long!), and fell back asleep. Trauma like the last 24 hours I'd survived deserved sleep. Ryan didn't want to go to the safety meeting and got it cleared by the blessed soul at one of the check-in sites that took pity on us. I strongly disagreed. Our luck, a hurricane was sure to hit. Or an iceberg in the middle of the Caribbean. I easily won that argument. We went to the safety meeting. 

At dinner that night, we met two guests. Naturally, the first question was where we were from. 

(Eye roll) "Oklahoma." 

"OH NO! Were you affected by the tornado?! Did you know that was the widest tornado on record?" 

"Uh. It was?! Wow. Yes, but...well, here's a quick version..."

After the very first time to share the never ending nightmare of a wedding day, the man looked at me straight in the eye and said, "If a storm pops up out here, we're throwing you overboard." Joy. I knew who to steer clear from all week. Just in case!

The rest of the week went well. We won the Love and Marriage show as they newlywed couple and basically were famous everywhere we went. We won ANOTHER bottle of champagne. We swam with dolphins, ate crazy food, and enjoyed an overall NORMAL honeymoon. 

No icebergs, no hurricanes, no more tornados.

It's a story that will be shared for years to come by all who were involved. I've been told our day is memorable--that the guests will never forget it. (Probably in part due to the hail damage to their vehicles! They could get a new car, but those insurance rates will never be the same!) I won't be able to forget it, even though sometimes I try. After all, tornadoes that ruin weddings actually don't happen EVERY day in Oklahoma--only on my wedding day and a random episode of Bridezilla. 

Foster Care.

For numerous reasons, I have grown up afraid of it, afraid of them. They were in it. 

They were kids at school, siblings in church, and the people who lived down the street from my best friend in elementary. They were always around, but sadly, I never found myself entering their world. It was unknown. And unknown is scary. Since I am one to cry when fish or turtles die, I am NOT one for unexpected goodbyes. They could just leave; they could disappear with absolutely no explanation.

There has been a day or two during work when I can hear my dad’s voice repeating what he said to me when I told him and mom I planned to major in early childhood education...

“Madison, you can’t take them all home with you.” 

A small part of my heart said, “Why not?” 

The other part of my heart said, “Dad, do not worry. I’m too scared to enter into THAT world. I always have been.”

Nearly two years in the classroom, I can say I have only experienced one moment where my heart broke into a million pieces over one of them. The fear of the unknown and the goodbye kept me from investing in, caring for, and loving on them before. Until an unexpected goodbye happened…a goodbye I did not even know about until it had already taken place. I had told them I would see them tomorrow, but I would not. I did not know my goodbye would be forever. Tears flowed for weeks on end. I cried for months at the mention of their name. I cried myself to sleep for a week straight because I could not figure out what I could do for them. Then, the Lord told me to be still. I finally made myself still and He gently whispered, “You introduced My kind of love. You did your part. Continue on.” What I feared the most was over. Though it deeply hurt, it was the first time I allowed myself to not ignore their situation as a whole, but enter right into their mess and distress.

“We can’t let the fear of loving a child that might leave us deter us; we must let the fear of a child never knowing our love drive us.” ~Jason Johnson

Adoption is not always the answer for them. No, it is usually always more difficult of a process than that. If it was a simple process, I can assure you my husband and I would already have a house full. Unfortunately, foster care is much more complicated. After several months or years, sometimes one party says reunify; another says terminate rights. What the system sees as a success can quickly become a failure that begins the entire process all over. These poor children are stuck in a limbo for a large portion of their lives. They move from home to home. They did not ask for it. They find themselves in the system because of others' poor choices. Situations are nasty. Stories are heartbreaking.

Children in the system, though, should not be what I had made them out to be. A little girl who calls me “My Nadi” is opening my eyes to all things foster care and has been for roughly four months now (I am by no means close to an expert). Ryan and I are not her foster parents. We are just two people that bounce in and out of her foster parents’ home because they happen to be my sweet family that live 8.2 miles up the road. If there is one thing I have learned by knowing this precious princess and her brother, it is that a person does not have to become a foster parent to be involved in foster care. You just have to care; you wholeheartedly care for the children in the system. (If you feel at all interested or led to foster care, though, please check into Oklahoma Fosters or the child protective services in your state).

Why enter into their mess and distress? Why not run for the hills out of fear? Why not remain indifferent? The main reason—Someone entered directly into our distress 2,000 years ago to offer hope. Except our messy situation was our own fault. We had been living in an open rebellion against God for thousands of years. Jesus came as the Redeemer. Jesus rescued us. The cost? Giving up His life on the cross as the ultimate sacrifice for all of humanity’s sin. Jesus came to heal what was broken—the relationship between man and Almighty God. He invests in, cares for, loves on, and enters into the world of all those who repent.

Foster care brings hope.

Foster care exists to mend relationships. 

Foster care helps rescue children from danger. 

Foster care begins the healing of what is broken. 

Foster care reflects Christ's love.
Foster care is a sacrifice. 

The sacrifice can be great or small.

The sacrifice can be giving up your comfortable life to foster.
The sacrifice can be saying goodbye unexpectedly.

The sacrifice can be offering babysitting or grocery shopping to foster parents. 

The sacrifice can be granting extra patience to the foster child in your classroom.

The sacrifice can be laying down all pride to ride a motorized cow around the entire mall with a 3 year old. 

Whatever the sacrifice, it is indeed worth it. Jesus thought we were worth entering into the world for. I know He thinks foster children are worth entering into their world, also. 

He showed me by introducing a princess named “Z.”

"Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after widows and orphans in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world." James 1:27. (emphasis added)

Relentless Pursuit.

Knock, knock, knock.

I looked around the room at all of the invited guests in my apartment playing a board game that evening.

“Who could that possibly be? It must be a neighbor,” I said as I got up to answer my door.

Opened door.

Shock. Anger. Frustration. Confusion.

Why does he keep doing this? Doesn’t he get it?

“What part of GET out and STAY out of my life do you not understand?” I yelled quite forcefully and slammed the door shut. I fought back hot tears and sat back down in the floor. All eyes were set on me.

“WHOSE TURN IS IT?!”

Two weeks later I was on his porch, holding an unwanted Christmas present to return. It was unwanted because of the sender. I wanted to keep my absolutely adorable houndstooth pair of rain boots. But I could not. He HAD to learn. Surely he would become tired of my persistent rejections.

Door opened. No words. Just shoved rain boots in his arms and left.

Letters, donuts, Sonic, and flowers that greeted me at the door for weeks on end would be tossed immediately in the trash can. (Except the donuts and Sonic. This college girl had to eat).

My dad called and asked, “Why are you being so hard on him, Madison?”

I thought for several minutes: Why am I doing this to him? His pursuit is unlike anything I had ever seen. 

“Dad, he’s ruining my plans, my future, my life as I know and love it.”

“I like him. He brings you donuts. You need to eat a little more. You’re looking rough.” 
(Gee, thanks, Dad!)

“If I say yes to something just one time, Dad, I’ll never be able to tell him no again.”

Roughly ten months after that conversation, I found myself staring at the most beautiful ring from the most amazing guy, who was wrapping up the relentless pursuit by asking me to change all my plans, my future, and my life for him. Instead of saying no for the 5,743^rd time, I smiled with tears running down my face and screamed, “YES!”

Now that you know that happened you might think a lot less of me. And you should think a whole lot more of Ryan. We have been married for nearly 3 years now and I still apologize at least once a week for my cruelty towards him during that time all because I was not yielding to the pursuit. Ryan could have given up and stopped at any point, but he chose not to.

Ryan's pursuit of me then (and now) reflects the Lord's pursuit of my heart and soul for my whole life. The Lord graciously, faithfully, and lovingly pursues me day in and day out, regardless of me.

I grew up in church with godly parents at home teaching me about Jesus. I remember exactly where I was when I realized I was a sinner, repented, and trusted in Christ for my salvation. God’s pursuit up to that point was glorious. All the blessings He gave me through my family, Sunday school teachers, and the drama he used on a specific Sunday evening to put it all together shows His sovereignty. God’s first pursuit stirred my heart to see the need of a Savior. 

But the gospel did not stop there in my life. It does not just stop at the time of repentance. The Holy Spirit came in that moment to dwell in a 6 year old’s soul for the rest of eternity. And the journey began.

Elementary. Junior high. High School. College. Work. Friends. Family. Change. Growth. Life. It happens. Life happens.

Ugly. Dark. Worldly. Temptations. Rebellion. Hypocrisy. Pride. Sin. It creeps in. 

But God.

Just like He orchestrated the moments perfectly for me to become apart of the Redeemed, He continues throughout the journey. He watches. He listens. He sees. He knows. He reaches in. He woos. He pursues. He loves. He does not stop. He does not give up. He never lets go. He never tires.

So often I get in the way. Just like I did with Ryan. 

No, no. That is not my plan. That is not what I had pictured. That is not what I had in mind. That is not the way it should go. 

Yet, God continues to pursue my heart. Sometimes He whispers. Sometimes He shouts. Sometimes He uses His Word. Sometimes He uses my shortcomings. Sometimes He uses children's books. Sometimes He uses sunrises. Sometimes He uses flowers. Sometimes He uses experiences. Sometimes He uses memories. Sometimes He uses people. He always uses something to captivate my attention with Himself.

God is relentless in His pursuit of my soul. He is relentless in showing His glory. He is relentless in reminding me who I am in Him, where I should be, and what I am to do. Even when I say no again and again, when I do not understand, when I do not want to listen, when I run in the opposite direction, when I am afraid to say yes, He does not leave me there. In spite of myself, He continues. Praise the Lord!

His graciousness is exceeding. His love is unconditional. His faithfulness is unfathomable. His pursuit is relentlessly beautiful. 

"There is none like you among the gods, O Lord, nor are there any works like yours. All the nations you have made shall come and worship before you, O Lord, and shall glorify your name. For you are great and do wondrous things; you alone are God. Teach me your way, O LORD, that I may walk in your truth; unite my heart to fear your name. I give thanks to you, O Lord my God, with my whole heart, and I will glorify your name forever. For great is your steadfast love toward me; you have delivered my soul from the depths of Sheol. 

You, O Lord, are a God merciful and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness."

(Psalm 86:8-13,15)

Happy 50th Birthday, Daddy!

The Super Bowl is not the only thing turning 50 this week. My amazing father turns 50 today! I wanted to celebrate the monumental day with a few words about my daddy. 

My mom would say it was love at first sight. And she is probably right. I have thought my dad hung the moon as early as I can remember. I was “Daddy’s girl” from the very beginning. Even though he has only known me for 26 years, I have known him my entire life. He was the first man to hold me in his arms, he was the first man to tell me he loved me, and he was the first man I ever loved. 

Dad made me chocolate milk every single morning until I was about 8 years old. He left for a men’s retreat once, which was probably the first time I remember him not being at home with Mom, Mack, and me. Truth is, Mom could have made it better than Dad, but I was not drinking it. That was our thing. I have not had a glass of milk since. I am telling you, our bond is tight. One non-Dad-made cup of milk and I have never looked at milk the same again. With our strong bond, he shared his passions for sports, the farm, and Jesus with me. 

My love of sports came directly from Kerry. Well, not all sports are created equal. There is football, basketball, and track, but mostly football. NASCAR and golf are used strictly on Sundays to create a better environment for a nap. Saturday afternoons were spent watching college football and playing basketball on our gravel driveway. He was my biggest encourager all through school with sports—spending extra hours in the gym to teach me how to shoot in the trees (tall girls—I sometimes played post at 5’3”), taking me to run and jump at the track on the weekends, and always making sure I remembered sports were not the most important thing in life.

Despite what some may think upon meeting me, I take the title “farm girl” seriously thanks to Ol’ Kerry. We checked cows together nearly every morning that I did not have to go to school. Dad let me steer the truck in neutral while he kicked hay off the back, and he never made me open a fence. Given the opportunity, I would gladly choose to sit on the arm of a tractor chair just to hear him hum as he worked the ground or baled hay. My most cherished memories come from riding in the farm truck with him from Grandma and Grandpa’s house back to ours, listening to him sing songs from his Promise Keepers soundtrack that was always in the cassette player: “If the Lord had not been on our side, all our enemies would’ve swallowed us alive. They would have swept over us. If the Lord, if the Lord, if the Lord had not been on our side.”

That leads me to my most favorite part about Kerry Gillham—he is not just my dad. He is my brother in Christ. He is the one who told me who Jesus is. He is the one who showed me how to live life as a follower of Christ. Dad is so gracious—even in the difficult times of growing up, he showed me Jesus's love, grace, and mercy. He seriously is the most humble person I know. He showed me what it looks like for a man to love his wife as Christ loves the Church. He set the standard high as a tangible example of a man after God. As I grow older (and he does, too, like 50 years old), I see the blessing of him being my earthly father become sweeter and sweeter. I thank my Heavenly Father for such a blessing.

Dad, thank you for everything you have done for me. You are seriously one of my most favorite people on the planet! Thanks for being your goofy self. Most importantly, thank you for sharing the Gospel with me at a young age and living it out as an example for all to see. Your influence on my life and others’ lives for the last 50 years is incredible. I am thrilled to watch how the Lord will use you in the next 50 to come. I am SUPER grateful to call YOU mine! 

Happy 50^th birthday, Daddy! I love you forever!

Outside Lane.

With the lifestyle I have had since meeting Ryan, it is hard for him to believe I really was (kind of) an athlete in high school. Being back home, a few people have mentioned moments from my (not-so) glory days and he just stares at me in complete disbelief. The same cliché comment rolls off his tongue in such a sweet tone: “Madison used to run? I haven’t even seen her run to the fridge!” 

Either way, one day I will be running my child around a track like my dad did with me, and I will be telling them all about how their mom was a (self-proclaimed) track star. (People always get more confident the further in the past it becomes, right?)

My race was the 200 meter dash, the “candy cane”, “half a lap”, whatever you want to call it. I did not have the legs to run the 400 or the 800, even though many coaches thought they could turn me into a middle distance runner. I was not a decent sprinter either. I would get completely throttled in the 100. I could run the 200, and that is how it became my race.

In long distance races, most athletes want in the very inside lane to cut down on the distance they will have to run. In sprints, athletes tend to want to race in the middle lanes to be able to see their competitors in their peripheral view. I never was much for the normal way of doing things. 

Sitting back on the heating benches before my race, I would hope and pray for the most outside lane. If I got lane 1, I would secretly wish to pull something coming out of the starting blocks because I knew I could not win. I would become distracted with my competitors, the crowd, or the field events inside the track. The closer I got to the last lane, the happier and more confident I became. If my dream did come true and I was placed in the last lane, I am sure I walked with my nose in the air, knowing I had won my heat already. Why? It was all about the focus.

The way I looked at it, the further out I was, the easier I could see the finish line. If I was in my beloved last lane, once the gun went off, there was nothing (and would not be on great days) anything in my peripheral view. My focus was set on the finish line. I would run without any distractions toward my goal.

While studying Matthew 14 this last weekend, I was graciously reminded to not shake my prideful head at Peter in the story in verses 22 through 33.

Immediately he made the disciples get into the boat and go before him to the other side, while he dismissed the crowds. And after he had dismissed the crowds, he went up on the mountain by himself to pray. When evening came, he was there alone, but the boat by this time was a long way from the land, beaten by the waves, for the wind was against them. And in the fourth watch of the night he came to them, walking on the sea. But when the disciples saw him walking on the sea, they were terrified, and said, “It is a ghost!” and they cried out in fear. But immediately Jesus spoke to them, saying, “Take heart; it is I. Do not be afraid.”

And Peter answered him, “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.” He said, “Come.” So Peter got out of the boat and walked on the water and came to Jesus. But when he saw the wind, he was afraid, and beginning to sink he cried out, “Lord, save me.” Jesus immediately reached out his hand and took hold of him, saying to him, “O you of little faith, why did you doubt?” And when they got into the boat, the wind ceased. And those in the boat worshiped him, saying, “Truly you are the Son of God.” (Matthew 14:22-33)


Ol’ Peter. His impulsiveness was his weakness and also his strength. Peter sees Jesus. He gets out of the boat. His focus is Jesus. He is walking on the water towards Jesus. Suddenly, Scripture says Peter saw the wind. Wait a minute! Only a few verses before it says that the boat was beaten by the waves because of the wind. Had Peter forgetten about the wind? No, of course not. His focus had changed. He became afraid and began to sink.

I am similar to Peter, especially here in this story. So often I do the exact thing. I see Jesus at work in a place. He stirs a passion in my heart. He calls me out of the boat to join Him. I jump out. I start running toward the finish line, towards Him. My focus is set on Jesus. All is well. Until, just as when I found myself racing in an inside lane of the track, I take my eyes off my focus point. I start to see things in my peripheral view. I take my eyes off of Jesus and look around at all the circumstances, dwell on the what-ifs, or entertain the thought that I could do better on my own. I quickly begin to sink. I become afraid.

Peter cries out, “Lord, save me!” And Jesus immediately catches him. Grace. Jesus asks Peter why he doubted. For Peter had a front row seat witnessing the power and authority Jesus holds. Moments later, they would get back in the boat together and the winds would cease. The disciples would worship and praise Jesus as the Son of God.

Why do I doubt? I have seen Jesus’s work in my life and others’ lives around me. He has used me in ways I never imagined and could never have dreamed on my own. Oh, me of little faith! However, when I cry out, Jesus reaches out His hand; He takes a hold of mine. He shows me His amazing grace. He reminds me what He has accomplished, what He is doing, and what He is going to do.

No matter what lane I find myself in, no matter the waves around me, my prayer is that the next time Jesus says, “Come,” when He calls me to a certain place, a certain person, or a certain project, I will jump out of the boat and place my sole focus and eyes upon Him. I will trust in who He is, remember what He has done, and look forward to what He will do. Knowing, no matter what, His grace is within my reach. I pray to run wholeheartedly towards Him, never giving the distractions a glance. After all, trusting in Jesus is infinitely better than the outside lane.

Trinity.

Dearest Trinity,

I walked into the doors of your gathering place for the first time nearly five years ago on August 8, 2010. I came to you as a little, typical church girl, only missing church a handful of times throughout my life. With that type of background comes a certain number of usual experiences. I had seen the worst kinds of hurt within the walls of a church building affect those near and dear to my heart, and I had lived the lifestyle that comes with a ritualistic routine of attending church every Wednesday and twice on Sundays, being whoever I wanted to be the rest of the time. 

Before jumping to any sort of conclusions, I was still a “good kid.” Looking back, I know there is so much more to the daily walk of a Christian than how I lived from age 6 to 17.  At age 17, God shook my idea of church and a Christian life up by moving us to another church about 20 miles away from home. Bless my parents’ hearts; I fought them to a nasty end. I realize now that I was only fighting the discomfort of the needed growth that I knew should take place. Really, God was using that country church to prepare me for my five years with you. He shook up my life, just a little bit, to break me out of the same ol’, same ol’ and desire more.

Then, I met y’all. Instantly, Trinity became the place I would call home for the rest of my adult life. You became my family. The church was real, open, loving, and most of all, gospel-centered. You created an environment that this little church girl was unfamiliar with—whether that was at the worship gathering, prayer meeting, Sunday lunch, Christmas parties, or in the middle of Downtown Diner. For the first time, I was truly experiencing the church being the people, not the building where they meet.

Words are not adequate in explaining how God has used you to shape me into who I am today and who I will be until He calls me home. Trinity has definitely had an eternal impact on my soul. You have shown me the lasting importance of the gospel and preaching it to myself each and every minute of each and every day. You have cultivated a love for the Word that I had not enjoyed before. You created a place for me to use my gifts by teaching Sunday School for three and a half years. You fueled my passions of caring for the orphans around the world. You walked with me through the worst and best times of life, maybe not even knowing. Your love and grace allowed me to be open and honest. You always pointed me to Jesus.

Having had the amazing opportunity of worshipping, living in community, and being apart of the faith family for the last five years, I know Trinity is familiar with transitions. People come, and people go. As Ryan and I prepare to go in a couple of weeks, I felt led to try to put into words my abundant thanks for all you have been to me. God has used Trinity in mighty, glorious ways, and He will continue doing so, even with little church girls, like me.

“I thank my God in all my remembrance of you, always in every prayer of mine for you all making my prayer with joy, because of your partnership in the gospel from the first day until now. And I am sure of this, that he who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ.” Philippians 1:3-6.

Love always,

Madison Russ