Standing in my demolished kitchen peering down in defeat at curdled milk glued to cups and sour smelling pots, I wondered where Jesus was in my beautiful hot mess. Carrying around a wounded heart that was spilling into my home, I did not want to wallow in pain and defeat any longer. My duties as mom were seeming like the meager dishes of a minimum wage job and my job satisfaction was rating a one star. The Daughter in me felt I needed to humble myself… but I was not feeling that “the last shall be first” joy. I wanted to see what it felt like to shout the victory cry of that more than a conquerer Girl. What was going to be my new strategy? I wanted it to be a chic new organic soap, shopping at Central Market stealthy plan that would set me free but every time I started striving to attain a peace in my home I just felt worn and defeated. But there was one constant… one word He kept whispering in my ear…God kept whispering “worship Me… in every area of your life, worship Me.”
I wrestled with thoughts of my past and being “happy” in my glamorous suit and sexy heels working in the modeling industry in Houston. I missed my cushy office and my status as a talent scout and of course missed the salon downstairs where I could go get an unruly eyebrow waxed on my break. The false power I loved as I sat in my big black leather and silver chair. Shallow. And I felt shallow and bad for thinking it… I now know I should have felt no shame. Nothing wrong with missing a little glamour in your life when you smell like breastmilk and haven't had a shower since last Tuesday.
I reached into the Word for tales of redeemed, free women… I thought about Rahab and her salvation and value in the Kingdom. She was saved by her faith and I decided I would be too; after all she was in Jesus’ bloodline and worthy. I think at the time I felt like I had sold part of my soul to the fashion industry. Renewing my mind is what was needed I thought, but how??? Everything in my spirit said “Worship”. But this battlecry was one I did’t know how to cry. I stepped outside my ego and my comfort zone and thought of the Mom that the Almighty created. Little me… I birthed life and only because He spoke it… I knew this much… nothing I did could ever produce those precious walking and sleeping miracles in my house and I felt that I stared at a lost piece of art… me… like the Mona Lisa lost for so long after war, only to be discovered in secret and wrapped so carefully… kept pristine despite all the death and dirt surrounding it. In obscurity, not on a wall at a beautiful architecturally formed feat of engineering but right in front of my reflection in an 1800 square foot starter home in the suburbs. I thought how could I not worship the creator of it all… and glimpsed feeling worthy.
When my first 2 boys were babies in the blue double stroller I now miss, I often got asked if I was their Nanny. I had the opposite features of the blonde, blue eyes of my 2 oldest. Once again God showing me that if I continued to make an idol of what people thought of me and listen to that over Him I would stay unsatisfied and wounded. I threw God my best prayer body slam. Nanny? Over and over… how could He do this to me? Nanny? I told the story to any of my friends who would hear it and probably twice if you really loved me. How could He make the world see me as my own children's servant at 30 years old, college educated and home by choice?… how come people were not singing my praises?… I took it personally and I let Him know it. I threw a weak punch and my opponent did not fight back. In my rebellion I thought “worship a God I felt unseen by??” Why? I heard him whisper again that my value was in Him and that the opinions of man held no worth. I learned to look at these once hurtful encounters to sing His praises with how diverse He makes His children and smile in a genuine love for whatever way that person seemed broken or just insensitive. Instead of focusing on my wounds, He began to heal them and to show me others wounds so I could speak His love over their lives.
I felt tiny in those years, not at all recognized or even acknowledged, not like the princess I see in the mirror wearing armor over a couture gown with a crown and a sword seen by the only one who matters~ Jesus, my King… I heard him whisper that worship was more than a sweet Hillsong melody that I was singing in my kitchen but it was in the action of loving Him through loving and serving my family… all of those “jobs” that I thought were the worst jobs ever. Worshiping Him also meant loving Him through taking care of what He had given me.
Hey Buds! My name is Alicia and I’m thrilled to share a little of my heart with you... so scary and so fun at the same time! I’m a lover of all things coffee, some cute shoes and sunnies... Married for 14 years to my Huckleberry who still takes my breath away, I work at home raising my 4 beautiful boys~ I homeschool 2 of them part time and love learning with them... the smell of pages of an old book and my camera make me smile... I’m a grateful Daughter of the King... his grace and healing in my life absolutely amazes me every day... check out my Insta account @mrsalicialee and request~ I’m a pretty private person but all Buds are welcome there!