This Time, It’s Different

My house is drenched in Lysol and the scent of every possible Scentsy bar I could find in my drawer. The stomach bug is being passed around in my house like good weed at Woodstock. (Probably bad weed, too). Either way it’s not pretty, or fun. We are just making bets on who is getting it next, who will have it the worse, and who will sleep the longest. Thank goodness we are past the age of, “Mommy, I didn’t make it to the bathroom!”

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I will not let this horrible little prick of a virus stop me from writing. Even if I only get a paragraph or two out of myself between picking up sick kids from school, buying ginger ale, and spraying down every light switch. I am receiving so many stories: heartbreaking, cries from the soul, triumphs of strength. I’ve cried reading every one…EVERY. SINGLE. ONE.

I am writing this book…and I’ve started writing books before, but not like this. This time, I swear it’s different. I’m certain you’ve heard that before…I know I’ve told myself that. Oh this job will be different…this boyfriend will be different. But for real this time. It’s like when I married Michael, it was just different–and right. For some reason, this time when I sit to type it just all flows out…and no only does it just flow out of me, it actually might make sense when I’m all done.

If you have “daddy issue” stories, please keep sending them. If you need some questions to help you get started, I have a few. Or if you just want to tell me your story, how you tell stories, I’m listening (and I will then proceed to cry). And if not, pray for me. I believe God will use this thing I’m doing in some small way, to make some huge difference in some jagged corner of this round world.

And just keep doing your thing, loving God and his peeps!

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I NEED YOUR STORY

No reason for me being MIA on my blog, except for my laziness, and internal battles, and pizza eating. I’m working on something very cool, something God put on my heart to write years ago, but for some reason now is when it makes sense.

It’s Big.

So Big.

And so important.

And it is so much of not just my story, but of me.

But it wouldn’t be really me if it didn’t include YOU. People make me who I am. Your lives and struggles challenge me, encourage me and change me.

I want you to be a part of this project.

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Here is the deal:

If you

1. Grew up a majority of your life without your biological father,

2. would be willing to answer a few questions about your life

3. would be willing to possibly have part or all of your story published as told by me, but would remain completely anonymous –

then send me an email at tiffany@tiffanycrawford.org.

You will be contacted BEFORE using your story in anyway to give full permission.  If at anytime you wish to back out, then I will honor you completely. And any information will be kept completely confidential until we agree that your info can be used (anonymously).

I want to know your story.  I want your voice to be heard. I want the world to be impacted by YOU.

EMAIL ME TODAY. tiffanycrawford.org

and SHARE THIS SO THE WORD CAN GET OUT!

I’m so excited at what God is going to do!

Love God and His Peeps,

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The Harvest IS Plentiful… You Got This!

 

Move God’s love.  You don’t need to fly across the world to make a difference. People right here, in your country, your state, your city, your hood need love and prayer and someone to really see them.

 

Looking forward to to hearing your stories on MONDAY about how God used YOU –yes YOU– to love someone this weekend!

 

Read this fantastic post by a fellow blogger…be inspired! Do something with your life!!!

The Harvest IS Plentiful

 

LG | LP

Tiff

That One Time We Sold EVERYTHING

“I think we should just get rid of it all.”

He looked at me and said, “I was thinking the same thing but was afraid to tell you.”

We were moving back to Texas, and had a house full of “stuff”. A 2800 square foot house full of “stuff”. Toys, clothes, shoes, things to dust. Boxes and boxes of stuff.

And we hauled it all into our front yard, posted the signs and sold it. Well actually, we gave most of it away…and the rest, we might as well have.

It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Not just because it was me, but because I had to stand along side my kids while they learned the difficult lesson of materialism.

We loved our stuff. We attached ourselves to our stuff. Those are “my” dishes I bought in Mexico. Those are “my” legos. That’s “my” bag. Mine. Mine. Mine.

We kept a few things. I had a few pieces of furniture that have been in the family. I kept our memories, and school stuff from the kids. Those are still piled in my best friend’s garage in Florida. ( and I can’t wait to go back and dig through my boxes and get rid of more).

We came to Texas, all five of us, with just some clothes and shoes(and deodorant).

We call it “being in transition” but really we were technically homeless. So we shacked up with my bro and his fam for a few months until we could figure things out. Michael was waiting for his job transfer to come through from Florida to Texas, and I was figuring out how to organize the four of us in a few rooms, while feeling guilty for kicking my nephews out of their rooms.

We finally moved into our own space with still nothing but our clothes. We didn’t have a huge hunk of cash, so we financed mattresses, a fridge and a couch and dining room table (which we are still paying on a year later…smack me in the face).

My room has a bed. Yes just a mattress on metal slates. I have a broken tower fan in the corner by my side of the bed, just for the noise–it doesn’t stand on it’s own, it just leans in the corner.

We have the minimal of everything. And have now for a year.

And it’s absolutely freeing and amazing, and I love it!

Well, sometimes….

Sometimes I get caught up in the materialism of the city I live in, because believe it or not San Antonio, Texas is a town that likes stuff, likes to buy stuff, and wear new stuff, and spend a lot of money on stuff.

But most of the time I stay pretty grounded, because none of the “stuff” matters.

That one time we sold all of our stuff changed me forever. Not just on what I should own, or what I buy for my kids. No just about living minimally (Because ladies if you have to clean all the time, you need to get rid of it!) But about so many other things in the world.

I find myself sometimes sickened by the materialism in America. Not just because other countries are in poverty or need. Not because I’m on some high-horse, filled with pride about being able to simplify.

The reason I get sickened is this — people don’t even see what materialism, and wanting stuff, and taking things for granted is doing to them. People don’t see how it completely blocks a flow of the Holy Spirit into their lives. People fight for the wrong things, and work for stuff that doesn’t matter. People ROB THEMSELVES of joy and peace and love because of their Americanized perspectives.

I know, I know. Not you.

It’s just me.

This has been my soapbox lately. This idea of wastefulness and taking things for granted. This soapbox standings is probably why I got in a few heated discussions over the Ice Bucket Challenge for ALS awareness and fundraising.

Maybe it will pass, this feeling of being disgusted by our world’s selfishness and willingness to just accept things as they are.

But I hope it doesn’t.

I FOUND YOUR LIFE’S PURPOSE

At the beginning of the year I signed up for a Women's Bible Study at a local mega church located smack in the middle of the upper class of town. I wanted to go with a friend, I wanted to make more friends. It was the only thing I knew to do to make myself get off my growing-larger-butt at least once week. I deserved to wear clean clothes on Tuesdays.

I entered into the estrogen pep rally with as much postive-i-ty as I could squeeze out of my soul to find the kind smiles of women, garbed in Lilly Pulitzer carrying their Michael Kors bags. I found it comical when the leader announced that last sessions complaints were about worship and that there wasn't enough protein options on the snack table. I wasn't sure how I felt about either, honestly.

Then we were asked to do this exercise where we picked a word to focus on during the year. I actually had already been thinking of this, because it's big in the blogosphere of the Christian-girl. Some picked obedience (good luck), one lady picked humility (ha-ha!) and another patience (to which internally I screamed NOOOOO, trying to save her from the mistake she was making. All Christians KNOW to never ask God for patience)! Then it was my turn.

Mine was simply Love.

I am certain all the women were wondering what type of evil person I was that I had to focus on love. But I knew I had to learn to love again because, frankly, for the last few months, since we moved, I pretty much hated everything.

I hated church. (Yah, I said it!)

I hated this city.

I hated our circumstances.

All in all, I hated life.

True story. I hated it.

And my life wasn't all that bad. I lived in a nice house (still do). I have a husband who adores me (who in the world knows why, I'm not easy to love). I have kids who spend time with the family, don't use drugs, make good grades and love Jesus. (Seriously, though, I'm waiting to see how I've screwed them up).

But still, my heart was filled with this black, dark regret and unbelief. I figured if I learned to love God with a new passion and His people with a clear heart, then I would be okay once again. So I decorated my cute little heart stamped bookmark with the word — L.O.V.E. And with every intention to love once again.

Since then, I am simplifying my life, and God is flushing out my idea of purpose. And in the meantime, I still find it hard to get off the couch somedays, and I still cry to my husband, because I am, after all, a crybaby (Seriously, I am).

“Wah, Wah, I have no purpose.”

“Wah, Wah, I have no friends.”

“Wah, Wah, God has forgotten me.”

Wah.

Wah.

Wah.

My husband told me in so many words, to suck it up, put on my cape and get to saving people.

When my girlfriend asked me what I did all week, I told her, “Ohhh, just fighting the devil.”

Cuz sister, that is so what it is! When we want to love, the devil wants us to hate. When we want to be patient, the devil wants us to demand things. When we want to be humble, we have all the reason in the world to be boastful. And when we want more of Jesus, the devil tells us that it's the things of the world we need that really satisfy.

Lies. Lies and more lies. And I think I washed them away with all these tears I've cried over this last year.

So currently, I am ironing my cape, because there are people in this world, in my world, that need some Jesus-saving-love. This is my job (to love, not save) and the simplified version of yours:

Move God's Love into the lives of anyone and everyone within your reach.

The God's-Love Movement

#theglovemovement

 

Let's do this! Just look around you, and notice. God will do the rest. Comment and share your thoughts— you think you can be a way that God moves His love this week??