Recognized by Gratitude

Recognized by


For fear of sounding like I have my seasons mixed up, I want to share part of Luke 24, the account of Jesus walking with two of his disciples after his resurrection. Trust me, I’ll bring it back to Thanksgiving at the end.

 Now that same day two of them were going to a village called Emmaus, about seven miles from Jerusalem. They were talking with each other about everything that had happened. As they talked and discussed these things with each other, Jesus himself came up and walked along with them; but they were kept from recognizing him.

He asked them, “What are you discussing together as you walk along?”

They stood still, their faces downcast. One of them, named Cleopas, asked him, “Are you the only one visiting Jerusalem who does not know the things that have happened there in these days?”

“What things?” he asked.

“About Jesus of Nazareth,” they replied. “He was a prophet, powerful in word and deed before God and all the people. The chief priests and our rulers handed him over to be sentenced to death, and they crucified him; but we had hoped that he was the one who was going to redeem Israel. And what is more, it is the third day since all this took place.In addition, some of our women amazed us. They went to the tomb early this morning but didn’t find his body. They came and told us that they had seen a vision of angels, who said he was alive.  Then some of our companions went to the tomb and found it just as the women had said, but they did not see Jesus.”

He said to them, “How foolish you are, and how slow to believe all that the prophets have spoken! Did not the Messiah have to suffer these things and then enter his glory?” And beginning with Moses and all the Prophets, he explained to them what was said in all the Scriptures concerning himself.

As they approached the village to which they were going, Jesus continued on as if he were going farther. But they urged him strongly, “Stay with us, for it is nearly evening; the day is almost over.” So he went in to stay with them.

When he was at the table with them, he took bread, gave thanks, broke it and began to give it to them. Then their eyes were opened and they recognized him, and he disappeared from their sight.

Luke 24: 13-13

I can’t stop shaking my head at this in complete amazement. Yes, I know Jesus purposefully kept them from recognizing Him and He only permitted them to do so at a specific time, yet this one thought keeps running through my mind:

If Jesus’ gratitude was the thing that made him most recognizable to those who most pursued him, then what does our gratitude do to those who try to hide from the Christ? Does it somehow make the divine recognizable in this land of hurry, self and despair?


I can’t say for sure, but if that’s the case, then let’s get this gratitude party started.

Oh, Lord, help us see more of you around us everyday. Help us remember your role and your presence in everything we do. And help us learn to offer praise and thanksgiving more than we ever knew possible. Thank you, Lord. Amen.


I’m Okay

“Jane gets so annoying,” a teenage girl recently told me. “All she does is talk about who she thinks likes her. She says that John must like her because he talked to her in French, which really doesn’t make any sense because they were in a group together and he had to talk to her. Then she tells me about the guy in gym who she knows likes her because he said hi. And then there’s this guy in . . . ”

As she went on and on, her frustration growing, I made one of those comments that doesn’t happen very often: you know, the ones you state and then think, “huh. Wow. That was pretty good!”

“Sometimes we try convincing ourselves that other people like us because we figure if they do, then we must be okay.”

“Yah, but it’s like she’s trying to tell me about every person who she thinks likes her, even the ones I know for sure don’t,” the girl replied.

“I can’t say for sure, but what if without her knowing it, she’s trying to convince others to like her by saying someone else does. You know, a kind of ‘hey, if John thinks I’m okay, then you should, too.”

“Ya, maybe. But it’s so annoying,” she replied.

So whether you think my answer was brilliant or not, I share it for one simple reason: it made me crazy happy. As I went on to tell this girl about the times in my life when I thought I could only be okay if someone placed a stamp of approval on me, I realized that at some point I hit a major milestone.

I’m okay.

You might read that without giving it much thought, but to me, it’s a dance in the street kind of a statement (which, by the way, I did a few days ago over this very topic).

It took me a while, but now when I think about God’s love for me, it doesn’t come as a generic one-size-fits all thing, a love that spreads so wide that it never has any depth. No, sir. It’s a rich, lavish love that honestly my mind will never comprehend, a love that cares enough to keep refining me and walking with me through the crazy hard things. A love that provides those little glimpses of encouragement in the most random places on the days when I cry out, “God, help me remember why I keep writing, even when discouragement looms.” A love that no longer is a yeah, but (you know, the yeah, He loves me, because He has to, but He couldn’t really just love me for me).

It’s the month of tuning up those gratitude muscles. I’ll be doing that on this little piece of internet real estate by writing about something different each week that I’m incredibly grateful for. So here’s the first thing I’ll say I’m grateful for this November:

I’m okay.

I’m not handing out opportunities for someone else to determine this fact for me. My “okayness” isn’t dependent upon someone else, at least not anyone walking this earth. It just is.

I’m okay.

I hope you know you are, too.


Stacy Voss

What about you? Do you find it hard to believe that you are loved, or more specifically, that God loves you? Are you okay?

The Other Side of a Crisis of Faith

First ever crisis of faith. Lived through it enough to tell about it, although the colors of life are still a bit tainted. It wasn’t a “I hope the weather will be nice tomorrow” or “is there a God?” type of thing, for me, it was a wrestling of God’s goodness.

He is good. All the time, He is good.

We’ve heard this, over and over. If I’m honest, the majority of the time I believe it, but it’s those instances when I don’t that it sets my head reeling.

Here’s a bit of the backstory of my personal crisis of faith: finances. Yes, finances. That’s what sent me into this big spin, or more appropriately, the lack of finances did. I had worked hard to be self-employed so I could work from home and be here more consistently for my kids, but the instability of it all was getting to be more than my stress levels could handle. Some clients dropped off for reasons completely beyond anyone’s control. My budget just couldn’t stretch any thinner, nor could my ability to tolerate the uncertainties.

As I prayed, I’d find myself wrestling with God, or perhaps really more of wrestling with myself about my perceptions of God.

“God loves me and therefore won’t let something bad happen,” was one myth I was tempted to grasp onto. Yes, He loves me. Undoubtedly so, but not let anything bad happen? The scars on my heart tell a different story, but more importantly, the scars on His hands do, too. The love of God doesn’t provide pain-immunity.

“Okay, so God loves me and He’s let bad things happen, but He wouldn’t let us get to the point where things got really bad.” A quick jog back to the scarred hands deflated that one. But really, my inner battle really wasn’t about pain or good or bad things.

“If God loves me, He’ll take care of me.”

There. I said it, that false notion that I desperately long to hold on to. It sounds blissful, doesn’t it, a kind and loving God that always pours down joy, happiness and every emotional and material thing we could ever want, er, I mean need?

My summers in Juarez, Mexico remind me of a different reality, as do some of the images that have come out of Africa that are permanently seared into my memory banks. Can I presume for a second that God loves me more than those precious little ones who will die this very second because they have nothing to nourish them? I am loved, wholly, fully, but so are they.

So this battle of “God, but if you love me” brought me to a place I don’t find myself very often: flat on my face. Stretched across my floor, I prayed God would make sense of these questions that refused to be answered with pretty little bows.

Truth be told, I still don’t have those nicely wrapped answers. I doubt I ever will, for I would hope there isn’t a pat response as to why some have so much food that we toss it in the trash, while others have so little that they’d gladly rummage through what we consider to be rubbish.

I won’t begin to answer the question other to say that God is love. It was true. Is true. Always will be. And God is good. Always and forever. It’s just that His goodness oftentimes looks different than I’d expect or hope, at least from my current vantage point.

So while I have more questions today than a month ago, there is one thing I know without a doubt: it’s okay to lay it before God. My words and even accusations aren’t going to rattle God into a “gee, I never thought of that before” or even a “Stacy, how dare you ask me that?” My questions were one of trying to understand God more, of begging to comprehend Him for more of who He is rather than what I want to imagine Him as. And you know what? God longs for us to know Him and He welcomes it, even when it comes when we’re at the end of our rope, flat on our face, or in the middle of a crisis of faith.

What about you? When you find yourself doubting, do you feel like you can bring them to God, or are you scared of letting Him see your deepest hurts, fears and questions? Please share any wisdom for the rest of us on what you’ve learned or how you’ve come to deal with crises of faith.

Stacy Voss

Let me put a quick disclaimer that financially things are much better. I’ll share more on that later, but before any of you oh-so-sweet loved ones reach out and offer to help, please know the roof over our heads is solid, as is the food on our table each and every day.

Replacing Fear with Belief

I recently went through a situation that tried at my faith in ways like never before. I might share more of the circumstances that led me to that place down the road, but for now, I want to hold off on the reason because I think many of us have these crises of belief for a wide array of reasons. The following is something I wrote in the notebook I have for when I read my Bible and jot down the things it teaches me. I’m not changing my words, neither to make them more eloquent than they were that early morning a few weeks ago, nor to make them sound like they came from someone whose faith never wavers, for neither would be true. Instead, I merely offer a few pre-coffee ramblings for those of you who have been asked to believe and can do nothing more than quietly whisper, “I can’t.”

Replacing Fear with Belief

Don’t be afraid, just believe.” Mark 5:36b

These are the words Jesus said after hearing Jairus’ daughter died.

These are the words that came from someone who offered to help, but seemingly got distracted by helping someone who was bad off, but not moments from death.

I’ve read Jairus’ account before, primarily from the emotional stance of the hemorrhaging woman and her great faith, while never feeling the ache Jairus had to have carried.

But today, as I feel the stress rise like never before, sanity ready to hemorrhage, I read Jesus’ words while hearing them directed to me.

Don’t be afraid. Just believe.”

“I can’t,” is all I can mutter. “I can’t, but I wish I could.”

I have money in the bank but don’t know how long it will be there as next month’s income remains a mystery–as do all of the following months.

I know He’s provided time and time again. I can tell the stories of His goodness, or look around my house and see the visual reminders everywhere.

And yet.

Despite His faithfulness, I know my answer.

I can’t.

Death is not on the line, especially of a child, the one to bury a parent and not vice versa. And yet, although my circumstances pale, I can’t begin to fathom doing the very thing Jesus asked of a father whose daughter just died: trust.


Jesus, if all of this is for nothing more than to get me to truly trust, then teach me–and thank you for drawing me closer.

You, my God, are good. Always and forever. Forgive me for the many, many times I lose sight of that. Amen.

How are you doing at this trusting thing? Do you find it easy? Insanely hard? Somewhere in between or changing every few hours?


Learning to Trust

The other night, my Girlie asked me to help her get ready for her Spanish quiz.

Learning to Trust“Okay. Como te llamas?” I asked with a slow drawl so she could understand my words.

“No, Mom! I’m not supposed to be able to speak it. I have to learn to write the words and spell them properly.”

“Spanish is a phonetic language. If you can first pronounce the words, it’ll make it easier to spell them.”

“But you’re doing it wrong,” she protested. I chose to dismiss the irony that she complained about not being able to learn based on the way her teacher taught it, but then got upset that I wasn’t teaching it the same way.

“I need you to trust me, okay?”

Before I could complete another sentence, “yes, but you don’t understand . . .”

“I’m asking you to trust me,” I repeated with enough gusto that she knew to stop and hear me out. “I need you to believe that I know you well enough to understand how you learn. I also need you to remember that I’m bilingual and I need you to trust that I tutor other kids, including in Spanish. This  might not feel like you’re learning what you need to at first, but I need you to trust that you are. Can you do that for me?”

“Okay,” she quietly responded.

For thirty minutes, I asked her questions or had her repeat sentences while I pulled weeds. Most of the time she obliged me, although a few times she stopped me to remind me that she needed to memorize the sentences and know how to spell everything. Regardless of her comments, we kept trekking along.


“Mom, can you just quiz me and see if I can write it?” she asked.

“Okay. How about you go inside and write it out.”

A few minutes later, she handed me the paragraph. In Spanish. With 1 letter off on a word and another missing an accent. Coming from the girl who normally makes spelling mistakes in English all the time.

I wanted to say, “See. I told you so,” but before such wisdom could pour out of my mouth, a question penetrated to the marrow.

“Will you trust me?”


“Stacy, do you believe I know you well enough to understand how you learn? Do you believe I’m capable of teaching you? Will you let me teach you in the way I know is best for you?”



As I recounted this to a friend, I cried out, “and here I was thinking we were just learning about verbs.”

“You were,” she replied. “The verb is trust.”

Stacy Voss

3 Things to do When you Lose Your Way

“Stacy, what are you doing?” my boss asked over the walkie-talkie. “You’re taking the group the wrong way.”

1I was helping lead mission trips in Juarez, Mexico over the summer. The group would spend half the week building homes and the other half helping with Vacation Bible School, and would take a hike to a huge statue of Jesus hanging on the cross in between.

When I say huge, I mean it. We’re talking at least 60 feet high. It was so large, in fact, that there wasn’t a trail to it. There were rolling hills every which way, and as you climbed one, you simply looked at that cross to help orient yourself.

Coming back down, however, was a different story, which led to that question from my boss.

“Wait while I catch up to you. I’m going to lead everyone to the bus and I’ll have you hang back with the stragglers.”

“Um, okay,” I replied, beyond confused because my internal GPS was 100% certain I had been leading the group the right way. After Brad caught up and guided the group, I followed obediently, all the while questioning and wondering. I felt lost and disoriented.

Ever been there?

Maybe not in the hills of the Mexican/American border, but life tends to throw things our way that make us wonder if we’re heading the right direction or tip us so off kilter we’re not even sure what to do. When you’re there again and you’ve lost your way, here are a few pointers:

1. Admit you’re lost

I just lost all of the dudes that were reading. This isn’t about being macho or even the opposite end of the spectrum of beating ourselves up. Let’s just call it like it is.

“I’m lost.”

“I don’t know for sure which way to go.”

Those statements appear simple, yet they hold great power, for it is only once we recognize where we are (or in this sense, admit we don’t have a clue where we are) that we are able to receive the guidance and direction to take us to where we need to be. Sometimes this is a humble prayer of “God, I don’t have a clue what to do right now.”

2. Reset your GPS

Hebrews 11:1 tells us to “fix your eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of your faith.” Whenever we trekked through those hills to the statue, we knew exactly which way to go since Jesus was so easy to see. We just kept our eyes on that cross and kept moving towards it.

Unfortunately, the Jesus that lives in you and me (as opposed to the one cast in plaster on that cross) doesn’t seem as easy to find. When that’s the case, let’s reset our navigation by stating what we feel: “Jesus, I know you are here, but I can’t see you right now. Please direct my steps.”

3. Don’t rely solely on others

This one is a hard one for me, for I’m a huge proponent to community. However, there are times when God will take us places that others will criticize. Perhaps they’ll even make fun of us because they can’t understand (many times we can’t, either). People are wonderfully amazing, but at the end of they day, they’re just that: people. We’ll never have the full depth of understanding that God alone possesses.

There are times many trusted and wise people will give incredible counsel, and sometimes that might go against what you believe what you’re supposed to do. If that’s the case, go back to step 2. “God, I think you’re saying _____, but a lot of people are saying ______. I don’t want to convince myself that you’re saying something if you aren’t, but I also don’t want to talk myself out of doing what you ask of me just because others encourage me not to go that way.”

You see, from the time my boss first called me on the walkie-talkie to the time he caught up with us, I asked others what they thought. Some agreed that I had been going the right way, while others said he was right. A 50/50 split (95% of whom were high-schoolers, by the way), led to us following Brad.

And following.

And following.

What should have taken 30 minutes turned into 2 1/2 hours in the hot, Mexican sun.

But this isn’t about if I was right or Brad was, it really goes back to number 2. You see, we could clearly look at the cross while climbing to it, but we also could see it while walking away from it, it just took a little more effort as we stopped and turned around. “Jesus’ right hand points back to the bus,” was the mantra we created later that day after guiding 30 tired, thirsty teens through the desert.

I’ll be the first to admit these steps don’t come quickly. I’ve admitted I was lost more times than I could begin to count, sprawled myself across the floor begging God to lead and direct while listening to the sound of crickets. It can be maddening, that not-hearing-thing, and yet when I finally see, I see more than the just the path ahead of me: I see God. Leading me a step at a time.

Stacy Voss


The Effects of Infidelity 13 Years Later

I don’t normally make a big deal out of being on the radio, but this one took so much out of me that I want to share in case it helps give something to someone else. This is the podcast I mentioned the other day where I shared about the pains of being cheated on. And cried, fortunately just the ugly tears and not the whole snot-dripping thing that almost happened. Yes, 13 years later and apparently it still has that effect on me.

The first part of the show is an amazing story about adoption. You’ll quickly see why the box of Kleenex made it my way in the studio before I even said a word about infidelity.

And to the many of you I begged to pray for me as I recorded this, thank you tremendously! I felt God’s peace and knew I was exactly where I was supposed to be (although definitely NOT doing what I would have hoped).

Here’s to tears, and hope, and the friendship and prayers of many who helped me through something so difficult.

Stacy Voss

The effects of infidelity podcast

Wearing Ashley Madison’s Shirt

I never wanted it.

Actually, never thought it’d even be an option, and for that I was grateful.

Yet I got it nonetheless. The shirt, that is. The one that said Cheated On in big letters across the chest. It was so riddled with guilt and shame that holes exposed areas it shouldn’t, and nearly eradicated the “on” so all that was left to see was “Cheated.”

Yes, I felt incredibly embarrassed after learning of my spouse’s infidelity. Okay, maybe not really embarrassed.


It came from everywhere, those quiet murmurings of those around me, the little “if only you had” (I’ll let you fill in the blank, but it doesn’t take much to imagine the rest of that sentence). Having my then mother-in-law buy me lingerie didn’t help the cause much, either.

I was going to write more to my fellow “Ashleys”, those other men and women who, whether through a website hack, a trusted friend who respects you enough to tell you the truth, or uncovering that which was never meant to happen nor be covered. I wanted to tell you there is hope. There is.

I wanted to tell you to forgive yourself. Be good to yourself. Don’t let others place that dirty rag of shame upon you.

I wanted to tell you of new life that can happen, either within your marriage or even just in your own self.

I wanted to, but honestly, right now I can’t.

You see, I offered to be on a radio show to speak out on what it’s like to have an unfaithful spouse. I knew I was half-mad to offer such a thing, yet also felt like it was exactly what God wanted me to do. Can’t really fight that, now can I?

So I did. With tears.

Yes, tears.

This girl doesn’t cry publicly often, especially on something that is recorded and will forever have a home on the internet. But cry, I did.

Angie, the host of The Good News with Angie Austin, mentioned, “it’s amazing that after 13 years it still brings you to tears. I know you’ve forgiven and moved on and your tears speak to the amount of pain infidelity brings.”

13 years. Actually, 13 years and 3 days to be exact. I stopped counting a long time ago, but as the Ashley Madison stuff broke (if you aren’t familiar with it, its a website designed for married people who want to cheat. It was hacked recently and the names of everyone involved with the site are becoming public), a friend slipped back to the day she found out about her husband’s other life. As she cried and shared the date of her D-Day, I realized that our twin towers crumbled on the same exact day. August 22nd.

One doesn’t forget that kind of thing, I guess. After all, infidelity is a soul-betrayal, a slice to the core that nothing else can touch. Incomprehensible pain.

So, fellow Ashleys, I’m sorry. My heart aches for you in a way you couldn’t know, for no one should have to walk through this.

I’ll post a link to the podcast of the radio show once it’s available in the next day or so. Until then, I offer a prayer for all of you who know this pain:

Now to Him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we can ask, think or imagine.

God, I pray for each man and woman who has learned that their spouse was cheating on them. Bring peace, even when it seems foreign and out of place. Give them your hope and your love. Direct their steps and bring wise friends their way to support and encourage. And God, do more. No, so, so very much more than we can imagine. We don’t ask for them to get through, to survive as one who walks through the flames and comes out scarred and unrecognizable. Do more, God. Teach. Transform. Hold them close and let them feel your breath and your sweet mercy fall upon them.



Here’s a link to the podcast. I share after the first story on adoption.


Destroyed by another

DESTROYED BY OTHER'S ACTIONSThis house is personal to me, although I’ve never met the owners and haven’t been inside its walls.

There isn’t a need, for what I’ve seen on the outside is enough. This picture doesn’t do it justice, mainly because it took me nearly a year to capture it on pixels, a span of time that erased most of the damage.

Most, but not all.

Yes, this house shares my story in many ways.

From what I’ve heard, there was a car parked in its driveway that caught on fire. The flames quickly spread and before long, the house was burning, too. Fire trucks came. Water doused. Lives saved. And probably a lot of belongings lost.

Boards soon covered the windows, or should I say, the places windows once were. Dark lines painted the area where the smoke pushed off the roof and escaped. A roll-off sat parked in the driveway for many months. As I went past it on my runs, it looked like it’d been left to remain in its sad, unusable condition.

But then.

It took a long time, but I began to see it. The change, that is. The house hadn’t been abandoned, although it was uninhabitable. The things that were supposed to provide support weren’t as strong as they once were, but rather than destroying the entire house, they were reinforced.

This house is personal because a problem in something else tore it down. The homeowners couldn’t have known that having a friend park in their driveway would destroy what had once been their sanctuary. Without saying too much about my marriage that once was, I’ll simply say there was a diagnosis left untreated, and by refusing to care for it, flames erupted that spread to people beyond the one diagnosed. No, I’m not shirking my role in the demise or attempting to paint a black-and-white, all good or bad picture. I’m simply saying God used that house to set me free, releasing me from the guilt, the shame and the doubt that started to burn the foundation of my being.

He used it to remind me that sometimes we find ourselves in unfortunate positions and get caught in the crossfire, like those unfortunate victims that simply wanted to watch a movie, and yet never made it out of the theater because James Holmes opened fire.

But this house does more than just remind me: it encourages me. Perhaps that is why I couldn’t bring myself to snap a pic when it was in its sad state and only could once it looked more like, well, like a house, the thing it was designed to be.

This fire that spread into my life from someone else’s actions threatened to destroy everything, collapsing the foundation until all that remained was rubble. I haven’t been around this piece of internet real-estate because what I once held true was so scorched that I couldn’t believe it had a place anymore.

I didn’t lose faith in God, but I stopped believing that God could use me. I let myself believe that the smoke-streaked facade proved I was too inept, too broken to live what I was called to do.

As I write those words, I realize that believing God couldn’t use this mess is just the same as saying I lost faith in God, for how does one truly believe God can do anything, while simultaneously believing He can’t do anything? In fact, the irony is too much to ignore, for Jesus himself said,

This is my body, which is broken for you: this do in remembrance of me.” 1 Corinthians 11:24, emphasis mine

Broken isn’t a foreign place to God; it’s the very place He can do some of His most powerful work.

What about you? Are you broken? If so, do you think that disqualifies you? Are you willing to risk the faith with me to believe that belief in Him somehow also means belief in you, that He who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask, think or imagine could actually do some of that immeasurably more stuff in these shattered messes?


Linking in with:

Ember Grey
Missional Women


Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine.”

Ephesians 3:20

I bet you’ve heard this verse before, but it grabs me. I just love the ordering:

Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more


1) all we ask

I usually ask for 1/1oth of what I imagine.

Maybe less.

“You don’t have because you don’t ask.” James 4:2-3

I’m scared to ask because I think my ask is too far-fetched, or more like so far-fetched that God will laugh hilariously at me. In my face.

Um, those words glare at me, highlighting how little of God’s character I really understand. It’s like when my kids say they’re scared to ask me something because they think I’ll get mad and I ask them to think about what they know of me and if their fears line up with what they know about me.

I just struck myself out on that one.

2) Immeasurably more than you imagine.

We’re not talking a smidge more, a granule of sand larger than what we dare ask.

Nope! This is a straight-up, over-the-top, blow your mind away kind of thing. It’s a dare of sorts. Imagine it big. Bigger yet. Now quadruple it. Okay. Now you’re getting close.

Close to 1% of what God could do, that is!

God, I want to remember daily that you and you alone are capable of so much more than my mind could ever comprehend.

3) According to his power that is at work within us.

Oh, my. This immeasurably more isn’t measured by the stars in the heaven lies or in the sum of creation.

It is here.

In me.

And you.

Because of God.

Unworthiness magnified.

Grace personified.

Glory identified.

I wrote all of the above in my journal after reading Ephesians 3:20 a few weeks ago. I’d love to end this post here, but honestly, that isn’t where my I ended my journaling that morning. Here’s the rest (written to God, hence the reluctance to write it here):

“Here’s my ask, the big scary put-it-out-there that seems large to me, yet puny to you.

I want to work in my strengths,

~in an environment where it is predominantly healthy, positive and encouraging,

~where mistakes are allowed

~improvements encouraged, and accomplishments acknowledged.

That might seem minor and simplistic to some, but for me, it is no small thing. So I’m putting it out there, not as a way to expect God to do it, but because it scares the tar out of me to state what I’m asking for. I’m hoping that by doing so, you’ll join me in praying for that, but more importantly, by joining me in thinking through specifically what immeasurably more might look like in your life.

What does more look like in your life?

Stacy Voss