Trusting in Tomorrow’s Manna

April 14, 2014 ~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ 10 Comments

I’ve always been fascinated by the story of God’s provision of manna and quail for the Israelites in the desert. Learning about it as a child, I wondered what it would be like to live on “honey wafers” for forty years. And was the quail ready to eat? Or did they have to kill the poor birds first?

But the message behind it was clear: God provides. Listen to his instructions. Don’t deviate, or you’ll end up with maggots in your jar.

If you’re not familiar with this Bible story, God instructs his people to trust that he will provide daily food for them while they are wandering in the desert. They should only take what they need for the day (and double the day before the Sabbath so they can rest). Each morning was manna (carbs!), and every evening was quail (protein!) For those who took too much, they saw their stash turn rotten.

Take what you need and no more. You will have plenty, and there will be more tomorrow.

As a control freak with an anxiety disorder, I’m pretty sure I would have found out about the maggot deal first hand.

I so would have wanted to gather up extra manna and quail so that I could rest assured that tomorrow was taken care of. It makes total sense to someone with control issues. Why would I leave extra manna on the ground when it’s right there to collect? It’ll go to waste…who wants waste? What if I’m unable to get out there tomorrow and get my share? I better gather up some more…

For me, this is a continual life struggle:

Trusting in tomorrow’s manna.

Today’s manna is right before me, but…what about tomorrow?

As my family is in the early stages of a new life chapter with my husband starting his own business, boy do I wish I could see tomorrow’s manna.

But that’s just it. I don’t get to see it—I have to trust in that which I cannot see.

Let’s just say I’m not always a natural at this.

I’ve had this lesson played out for me so many times it’s ridiculous. I am so grateful God is patient with me. I picture him just shaking his head with a wry smile that I am again trying to scoop up extra manna. “There she goes again…That girl is a knucklehead. I love her, but…man, she’s a knucklehead.”

It’s hard for me not to worry about tomorrow when I am me—and especially as a mom and wife. But that is exactly what we are continually reminded to do. Period.

And while there is the physical provision of life, there is also the spiritual provision that is promised, too. I find that when I am caught up in the worry of the “physical manna” that my “spiritual manna” suffers more, and the irony is that whenever I make it a point to gather the spiritual, the physical feels bolstered, too. You’d think I would remember the order of priority, right? Knucklehead alert.

It often feels like a battle of multiple personalities. On the one hand, I know to trust. And on the other, I trust that I need to know. One day will feel calm and secure in the belief that the manna will be there every day until we reach the Promised Land. The next day I might be awash with anxiety for what tomorrow may—or may not—bring.

Thankfully, one thing I have absolutely unwavering faith about is that God loves knuckleheads. This bodes very well for me. On the days where I find myself scrambling for more manna than I should, I know I am forgiven.

And as a continual work in progress, I am grateful to see that through this past chapter of life challenges I have found myself growing in trust of tomorrow’s manna. Maybe it’s just exhaustion that is helping me say “enough” or maybe I’m finally catching on. Whatever the reason, I have a weathered sense that tomorrow when I wake there will be plenty to fill my jar.

Plenty and just enough—the way God intended.

Lessons from a Failed Tube Top Experiment – My Messy Beautiful

April 7, 2014April 7, 2014 ~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ 23 Comments

If you have found your way here through Momastery’s Messy, Beautiful Warrior Project, WELCOME! I hope you enjoy this warrior’s messy, beautiful story today!

I’m not a tube top woman. Trust me. Few things in life—scratch that—one thing in life would ever get me to wear one. And let’s just say that experience offered quite the surprise insight.

As a half-Italian kid growing up in the 70s and 80s, I didn’t give much thought to whether or not I had a tan. When it was summer I was outside, and therefore, tan. Period. (Sunscreen wasn’t even around, so don’t give me a hard time.) It wasn’t until the summer of my wedding that I ever thought twice about tanning or tan lines.

My wedding was in late July, but early that summer I spent a long afternoon in the sun in my typical careless manner…wearing a tank top. I came home to distinct tan lines across my shoulders, and then it dawned on me: my wedding gown was strapless. Uh-oh.

What to do? Suddenly this girl who never paid attention to sun exposure was in overdrive to get the white from underneath the straps caught up to the new darker tone. This is not so easy to do. I took every moment I could to lay out (ack!) and try to have the color even out.

Never one to like just lying in the sun and baking, I decided to take drastic measures. I bought a tube top (aka bandeau) that I could wear and “be active” in—but only hidden in the backyard. These things are not what I would term “secure” attire. I found myself frequently hiking the slippery devil back into place and gingerly getting my work done.

As the handyman for my mom’s house since my dad died, I had a pretty wide range of abilities in getting tasks done, and one afternoon I needed to put new flashing on the roof of the shed. Not a problem, just climb up there and get to it. Let me tell, you, though—if you’ve never been up on an asphalt shingled roof, it’s not only hot, but the shingles have a rough, almost Velcro-like texture to them. So…there I was, splayed up on the roof, putting on some new flashing in my “tan-catch-up” wardrobe…

All was fine until the screwdriver decided to roll away from me and head toward the edge of the roof. I sprung up to grab for it, and…can you picture it?

As I shot up, my top didn’t. Gripped by the asphalt shingles, it stayed in place long enough for my left breast—let’s be real here—my left boob to pop out and peer over into the neighbor’s yard and all God’s creation.

Oh, the thoughts that passed through my mind in that brief moment. Thankfully, the neighbors were not in that part of the yard to see Lefty’s wide-eyed hello, but I was mortified.

And here comes the life lesson…are you ready? When your boob pops out, you just need to tuck it back in and get on with your business.

In that moment of mortification, I realized that that was all I could do. That and have a good laugh. I must have been one ridiculous site—the Tube Top Roofer.

But I didn’t give up and climb down—I finished the job, tube top and all (though I made sure there would be no more rolling tools to chase).

After that, I assessed how crazy I was in my attempts to solve my tan line problem and lightened up (pun so intended). By then the distinctness of the lines had lessened and it wasn’t quite as noticeable, but I was also done caring so much about it. The Tube Top Roofer retired.

My wedding day came, and even though the faded tan lines were there, I don’t think too many people noticed. At least no one came up to me and said, “You look beautiful—too bad about the tan lines, though.”

Sometimes it takes a boob popping out to put things in perspective. And sometimes it takes tucking a boob back in to remind me that I am one resilient woman, and it would take so much more to get me off of that metaphorical roof.

My life is a continual reminder that my plan does not equal reality—that my schedule is not THE schedule…and that real strength comes from adapting and making the best of what is indeed reality, rather than lamenting how things didn’t go “my” way.

Errant tan lines happen. Boobs pop out. But weddings happen, and even honeymoons do, too.

And then it is back to making a life and rolling with the changes—and tucking boobs back in and getting on with the business of living.

This essay and I are part of the Messy, Beautiful Warrior Project — To learn more and join us, CLICK HERE! And to learn about the New York Times Bestselling Memoir Carry On Warrior: The Power of Embracing Your Messy, Beautiful Life, just released in paperback, CLICK HERE!

PS—I hope you enjoyed this post. If you did, you may also like where I write about my Beautifully Broken self. It was inspired by Glennon Doyle Melton’s series on Sacred Scared.

Perpetual Reinvention

March 24, 2014 ~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ 6 Comments

I came to understand somewhat early in my life that it was meant to be lived in chapters. After all, the first couple decades of our lives are structured that way—elementary school, high school, hopefully college…and then we are able to launch into “real” life, right?

I remember my freshman year of college was the first time that I had to face “disrupting” a chapter and understand that…it was okay. I was attending a university that, while an incredibly crazy ball of fun, wasn’t really meeting my academic needs. I recall lying on my day bed in my dorm room thinking, “But you can’t change schools…you have too many sweatshirts from THIS college…” Thankfully, I heard my own pathetic reasoning and knew it was time to move on.

As life would have it, my moving back to Chicago and living in the city meant that a couple years later, when my dad would become terminally ill, I would be a short drive away from home. Funny how life plays out, isn’t it?

But even though I knew early on about my “life chapters,” I still thought that someday I would get “there”…wherever the hell that meant.

As I grow older, though, I see that there is no “there.” There is only “here for now” and wondering what my next right step should be. The wiser me smiles at the naïve me who thought that once things fell into place, I would then have some stability.

But there is no stability. At least not in worldly things.

I see this all around me. So many people I know are going through major transitions. Loss of jobs…divorces…health crises…family issues…home foreclosures…loss of loved ones…

And while there is great fear and anxiety over all of these changes and challenges, there is also grace, courage, and faith to be found, too.

For we can see our past and let it inform our present and future. We can strive to choose better, even though our hard fought wisdom reminds us we are not in control.

For me and my family, this current chapter is stretching us in ways that we never planned. Since my husband’s job loss last year, we are slapping fear in the face and working to chart our own course by launching his firm. Most days the fear slaps right back (and she has one helluva backhand), but we truly believe this is the next right thing for us.

It is anything but easy…yet the beauty comes from the rays of light that find their way to us through the darkness.

Working together with my husband to start this new chapter has helped us grow together in ways that were not there before he lost his job. From trusting one another and God that this is what we should do to cultivating a new rhythm to our days, we are stronger than we were before.

(Don’t get me wrong—there are days we want to kill each other. Thankfully the sharp tools are too hard to quickly get to on those days.)

Yes, in the struggles of so many, there is grace, courage, and faith…

…for those who are going through change and realizing that they have strength that they didn’t know they had, or those who are working hard to heal old wounds and grow past them, or those who are striving to create new lives in new places with all new faces…

I see the grit and grace, the courageous heart, the surrender to faith.

Our life chapters can often resemble the blacksmith working his iron…putting us in the fire until we are so white-hot we can then be shaped into our next chapter of purpose. And if we cool down and need a new purpose? Stick us in the fire again.

The hammering hurts like hell, but when we come through it, we are renewed (right?) and ready for our next task.

Yet even though I try hard to understand and find the meaning of life’s trials, I am really just a girl who is ready for a break from the hammering.

But I know better. I know there is more to come, and all I can do is use that understanding to do my best to prepare for whatever unknown chapter is on the horizon.

Here for now, wondering what’s next…bracing and hoping all the same.

Recalculating the Best Laid Plans

March 10, 2014 ~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ 2 Comments

“You know what the three most exciting sounds in the world are? Anchor chains, plane motors, and train whistles.” Now, before you go rolling your eyes at another post of mine that incorporates It’s a Wonderful Life in it, just give me a chance.

As my regular readers may know, I feel strongly about this film for many reasons— in fact, I’m pretty sure I could write a book on all that this movie speaks to me about life, and maybe someday I will.

But today I want to talk about how life plays out so differently from what we may plan.

I don’t know about you, but when I was young, I had a pretty good idea of what I wanted my life to look like. So did George Bailey. In fact, his plan was similar to mine…

“I know what I’m gonna do tomorrow and the next day and the next year and the year after that,” he told his then unbeknownst-to-him future wife, Mary. “I’m shaking the dust of this crummy little town off my feet and I’m gonna see the world!”

When I was a year or two younger than the age George was when he uttered those lines, I was in college thinking about what market I would start my career in. My plan was to work in television or film production and go anywhere the work would take me. I distinctly remember driving through Nashville on a trip and thinking, “this seems like it could be a good place to start…”

But within months, the turn my life was about to take would make that thought unimaginable.

In a little over a year from thinking Nashville might be the place for me, my dad would be diagnosed with cancer and pass into life eternal.

While George’s world became holding down the fort of the Bailey Bros Building and Loan after his dad died, I had other, less tangible forts of my own to hold down.

And neither George nor I shook the dust and saw the world the way we planned.

So what did we do?

Truth is, depending on the day, the answer varies.

As life plays itself out, there is meaning to be made of the twists and turns of our best laid plans. But there is also frustration and even resentment that God is not following the directions on my turn-by-turn navigation.

I mean, come on—I had some great ideas! And, truthfully, the fact that God has better ideas is not always easily identifiable.

Where my itinerary had travel and adventure, God’s had responsibility and sacrifice. Mine still sounds way more fun, doesn’t it?

And there are many, many other twists and turns that continue to come my way, as there are for most of us. It seems like right when I get my new route together, I can hear God say “recalculating…”

And his path is not necessarily a smooth one. Bumps, potholes, hairpin turns…where am I headed?

This certainly does not mean that I am merely on a path with none of my own choices. No—we are not God’s robots—but it does mean that I need to acknowledge that I am not in actual control. I can only be responsible for me and not my circumstances.

I must simply do my best and trust that the ultimate Navigator is leading me to the Destination I was meant for. Something I could not see with just my own vision.

George learned that his little town was far from “crummy,” and that the impact he had was deeper than he ever knew or could have planned for.

And here I am, at a place in my life that I never would have planned for myself—juggling a myriad of life changes and challenging circumstances—needing to remember that my GPS is divine, and that I simply need to trust and take the next best turn laid out for me.

I Should Have Asked for a Horse

March 3, 2014 ~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ 7 Comments

Though I don’t get sick a whole lot these days, I definitely did as a kid. The kind of sick where I would have to miss a week or two of school. It wasn’t very fun at all.

Thankfully, with the help of immunity boosters, I eventually grew out of it, and by my sophomore year of high school was ecstatic that I received my first perfect attendance certificate. My friends thought I was nuts to be happy about that, but I knew how wonderful it was to have that many days of health in a row.

But let’s get to the hamsters.

During one of my bouts of illness when I was about seven or eight, I needed to go to the emergency room because I wasn’t doing very well. While lying on the hospital bed, I watched my mom and dad talking to the doctor, and when my dad looked over at me, my little arm went up and a weak little finger wagged him over.

“What is it, Honey?” he asked. And in what must have been an awfully endearing yet pathetic moment, I mustered the energy to whisper, “Dad…can I please have a hamster?”

“Baby, you can have anything you want…” and he kissed my forehead and went back to the doctor. Though I was happy to have gotten the “yes” I wanted, I thought to myself, “Anything? Shoot, I should have asked for a horse!”

But it was the hamster I had asked for, and my dad kept his word.

Once well, we went to the pet store and picked out two hamsters—one for me, and one for my older sister.

They were just adorable—and so cute in their little Habitrail home and bubble ball to roam in.

But then the bloodshed came.

My sister’s hamster killed mine one day while I was at school. My mom took the remaining one back to the pet store and announced “I have a murderer in my car.” The clerk said he would take that one home and care for it while he replaced both hamsters for us.

We were back in business.

(Let me just make a side note and say that this wasn’t the first time my sister’s pet kicked the crap out of my pet. Before our hamster days, we had two dogs that “went to the farm” because her dog wouldn’t stop attacking mine. Hmmm. But that’s for another day.)

Back to the hamsters.

Our two new ones were off to a great start—until the male ate the brand new babies one morning. That was absolutely awful to find their chewed up little pink carcasses in the corner.

Who knew there was so much to learn about these little furballs?

After that episode, we read up on what to do when the female gives birth and then they had a successful litter. It was hard finding good homes for all of the hamsters when the time came, but it was a good lesson, too.

I guess you could call this the blissful period of our hamster days.

As time went on, the male died, and we only had Tinker, the mama, remaining with us. All was well, until one day when she just wasn’t moving. She appeared to be dead.

My dad felt awful as he realized that he had used an oil-based paint nearby where her Habitrail was, and that the fumes had probably killed her.

With great solemnity, he wrapped her in newspaper, placed her in the garbage, and told me about it. (Had I been the one to discover her, I would have fought for a proper burial!)

Late that night, my mom was reading the hamster book when she read that hamsters sometimes go into hibernation.

Though it was the middle of July, my mother and father dug the hamster out of the garbage, started a fire in the fireplace and placed her stiff little body near it to warm her and bring her back to life.

And they waited.

And waited.

Let’s just say little Tinker was in permanent hibernation.

This concluded the hamster chapter of our lives.

Yep, I should have asked for the horse.

Though the housing would have required much more than a Habitrail, I’m pretty sure that these other horrific occurrences would have been avoided, and I would have been riding free through the meadows of life.

Well…a girl can dream, can’t she?

Beautifully Broken

February 24, 2014April 29, 2016 ~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ 18 Comments

There is a movement afoot, and it is a vital one. It seems to me that we are finally accepting that the world is full of broken people, and it’s time we stopped pretending like we aren’t.

The reality that most (if not all) of us are stumbling along the path of life is nothing new, for sure, but I feel like the acknowledgement and embracing of it is new. Continue reading “Beautifully Broken” →

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this: