Edie Wadsworth

Life is Weird & Also Wonderful

July 14, 2015 by Edie Wadsworth 32 Comments

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It’s been the weirdest stretch of months in my whole entire life, unless you count the year or so I spent going to the Armory with Brother Todd getting autographs of all my favorite pro wrestlers. I’m not sure if mama made him take me or if I just begged enough to appeal to his softer side. I could feel the electricity before we ever entered the building, almost like we were part of the crowd where Rocky Balboa would take on Mr. T, the aisles barely passable for all the riffraff donning their favorite wrestling t-shirts with their cut off (likely acid washed?) blue jeans.

The crowds and the sticky gym floor was no deterrent for my eye of the tiger determination at getting what I had come for and nothing warmed my 10 year old heart more than taking my red autograph book right up to the likes of Crusher Blackwell, Andre the Giant, and Ric Flair. (If you love me at ALL you will open a new browser and google the previous 3 wrestlers and pause for a moment of silence and imagine my ten year old self studying those autographs with all the passion a ten year old could muster. God Bless pro wrestling. And God Bless America.)

It’s a crying shame that by the time Hulk Hogan took on the Iron Sheik, I had moved on to bigger and better things, like watching George Strait take the Southern world by storm on CMTV. Nobody has time for wrestling when there are country music videos streaming 24/7 that must be memorized and reenacted. Using a brandy sniffer for a microphone. Because obviously.

All that to say, life is weird.

For starters, I just celebrated my 7th year of writing on the internets.

How did this happen? The internet has become a teenager while I’ve become middle aged, which makes me old enough to be its mama. Meanwhile, I have in fact become the mama of adorable 20 somethings who are doing amazing things and charming teenage girls who are about to break my heart and start high school. Why does the universe think I can handle these things without an all out break down?!?

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Then there’s my own roller coaster life.

I was the poor appalachian girl who by all accounts should never have made it through high school who grew up to become a doctor who then gave up medical practice to homeschool her girls who gave up homeschooling and then somehow got a book deal and wrote a book TWICE that took her to some very hard emotional places (although the book still isn’t ready for the world), who found her passion for healing again and can’t stop thinking about (and talking about) how these little drops of love (and the business opportunity they’ve created) are totally changing everything about her life. Whew.

And did I mention that we also started renting out our little mountain cottage, which has added a whole new dimension (and workload) to my life? Did I mention the weirdness of it all?

Side note: We also rented out our actual house that we live in during the week we’ll be on vacation, which is also kinda strange and fascinating at the same time. We are considering trading it out in the future for other fun places we want to visit. Brilliant? Weird? Sign me up.

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Not to even mention other things that I can’t talk about but that are keeping my heart twisted up and full. That’s another story for another year that’s needs to be covered in bathed in much prayer.

I don’t know what to say except that life is quirky but also wonderful.

It may not be Andre the Giant whose name makes my heart beat faster these days but this life keeps me in awe none the less and I still want to somehow find a way to hold all the things and people that come in and out of my days with the same child like wonder that I held that little red book with Ronnie Garvin’s signature on the front page. Coke stains and all.

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We’re barely surviving some days and then some days managing to squeeze every ounce of life out of the hours, hoping that the one thing that remains the same is gratitude.

A blessed thankfulness that by God’s grace, we are here to live another day with our whole hearts and our whole attention, with hands and eyes wide open for whatever he chooses to give or take away, and with whomever’s hand He uses to bring His blessedness to us—whether it looks like a gift or not at the time and whether the gift comes as a man who stands 7 feet tall dressed in a unsightly tights or an adorable 20 something with a barrel o’monkeys mustache or even a letter from an editor that feels for all the world like it’s not a gift at all even when deep down I know it is.

I hope you’re watching for it, too—for the way He weaves a beautiful story on the weirdest days out of the strangest little bits of mismatched yarn using mostly our fears and frailty. He knows what He’s doing and He loves us so much in spite of ourselves. In spite of our sin. In spite of our grumbling. In spite of our failure to see the gifts most days. We are loved for the sake of Christ, who has given us His name and made us His own.

That may be the weirdest and most wonderful thing of all.

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p.s. my newest fascination besides Instagram is Periscope. It’s a free live streaming app that seems like it’s gonna be a whole lotta fun! My handle on both is “lifeingrace”

3 Ways Essential Oils Changed My Life (And a special until July 15th!)

July 7, 2015 by Edie Wadsworth Leave a Comment

As a family physician, I never thought I’d end up such a natural health enthusiast until essential oils changed my life in such dramatic ways. This video explains it and don’t miss the free pdf below on how I use the oils everyday for mood and sleep and hormones and EVERYTHING! I also link to a video below where I teach a class about hormones and mood.

1. They dramatically improved my sleep.

It ain’t no lie to say that I didn’t sleep through the night in years (at least hardly ever) before using oils. And listen, if you can fix sleep, EVERYTHING in your life gets better. Everything. We are the most sleep-deprived people on the planet and we need to sleep well in order to perform well at anything.

2. They’ve balanced my crazy hormones. FINALLY.

Okay, let’s just be honest. As we age, things get a little crazy. I’ve been trying to get my hormones balanced or two or three years. I went the traditional medicine route. I tried bioidentical hormones. And I’m telling you nothing, I mean NOTHING has balanced my hormones like our oils and supplements. We have a hormone oil that when you open the bottle, THE ANGELS SING. Just ask anyone who’s tried it. It’s amazing. And I tell you all about how I use it in the pdf below.

3. They’ve SO improved my mood and given me joy!

That whole joy-of-gladness thing in the Scriptures is FOR REAL. Every single person that I personally know who uses oils regularly has seen a shift in their mood for the better. And many have been able to ditch more harmful mood altering things for oils with great results. I’ll tell you what works best for me in the pdf below but suffice it to say, all oils improve mood because God is awesome and that’s how he does things. The first place the oils work when you inhale them is on the mood regulating part of your brain. The God of the universe knows a thing or two about how to heal us and I’ve never seen emotional healing like this before.

Click Here to Get the free PDF!

I know it’s overwhelming, but the oils are the best teacher and they work, even if you don’t understand how. BUT. That’s only true if you get the highest grade therapeutic oils like the ones from Young Living. Otherwise, you’re just getting perfume. I wrote a post about why I chose Young Living here, in case you’re interested.

Ready to get started with these awesome oils? Click here and I walk you through it!

Also, if you’re not quite ready to start but want to learn more, join my free 14 day e-course that covers every oil in our starter kit with gobs of ways to use them!

It’s Not the Critic Who Counts?

June 9, 2015 by Edie Wadsworth 40 Comments

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I sat at my desk for nearly 70 hours straight last weekend to finish the rewrite for my book.

I got up a few times for bathroom breaks and to eat, once to shower, and then to sleep. All total, I’m stunned how many hours of blood, sweat, and tears has gone into the writing of that book over the last year but I can tell you this— the most poorly written book in the world has my respect because what it takes to even begin, much less finish, is more than I ever imagined.

I was ashamed of myself for the times I’ve flippantly criticized someone else’s book or work or life, without really knowing the situation or the person at all.

Being a critic doesn’t require anything from us, we have no skin in the game.

But being in the ring, being the doer, the maker, requires that we face our humanity, that we own our sins and failures, that we get ourselves dirty in the vulnerable art of being a flesh and blood human who offers our work to the world. It’s easy to be a critic of someone’s parenting style but it’s not very easy being an actual parent. And so it goes with everything else in life.

The difference is love.

Like our Father who made us, the maker is marked by love—he loves his work and he loves those for whom the work is done. It’s love that keeps him fighting and making and working so that he can spend himself in service of his neighbor.

What the critic often lacks is love.

And love changes everything.

Most often, it leads to a cross—a place where suffering meets healing, where death meets life, where the whole of our humanity meets the depth of His love, where the one who mocks meets the One whose face is marred with blood.

A place where even we critics can be transformed.

We Mother On

May 11, 2015 by Edie Wadsworth 19 Comments

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My whole life has been filled with the best women. Sisters, friends, mothers, daughters, aunts, cousins, and random women I’ve only known for a few minutes—women who have loved me, inspired me, mothered me, taught me, rebuked me, and handled my heart in the kindest, most beautiful ways. I’ve always had friends who could be gone from my life for days or months or years but then when we found ourselves back together, nothing had changed.

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That’s the way I feel about you too. I know I’ve been scarce around these parts but I hold you in my heart just the same. I’ve missed you and I pray for you and think of you everyday and hope you’re well. Happy Mother’s Day friends. xoxo

(Enjoy this repost from Mother’s Day last year.)

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My oldest mother gave birth to me eons ago. She lived in a luscious garden by day and surely twirled under leafy moonlit palms by night.

She was the most beautiful creature in all the world, the consummate woman—made for glorious communion, devoted and adored.

She gave herself freely in love and affection. Her name was Eve, the mother of all the living.

But like us all, her story bleeds. She was wrecked by heartache. Her paradise was laid waste. So she hid and felt ashamed, she doubted His love and provision.

Her story is the story of us all—the fall that wrecked us and shut us out of Eden.

I see myself in her. I am my mother’s daughter. We both cling to the world’s only hope and her story sustains me.

She mothers on.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

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My flesh and blood mother gave birth to me in the January cold and bundled me up on a Friday night for my first homecoming.

The handsome man in the fedora was no where to be found. That is, until he brought the honky tonk band home from the bar to finish out their set in the kitchen at 3am. Because surely homecomings need music.

(I’ll tell you the whole story someday but it may well be the best birth story in all the land.)

(Think Doyle Hargrave’s band in Slingblade)

This woman carried me through hell and back. She gave me the gift of life. She worked all the jobs. She sacrificed everything a woman can. She NEVER complained. She loved me, she believed in me, she never, ever stopped giving, she worked harder than anyone I’ve ever known. She laid her life down with quiet courage so that I might someday stand tall and find my voice. This is how I learned to be a woman. This is how I learned what it means to empty yourself. She was first light for me. She has made my every homecoming possible.

She is my momma. And her love plays a melody in my heart.

She mothers on.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

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My spirit and blood mother gave birth to me on a Sunday morning, in the clear cool waters of Baptism. Her name is called Church— the arc of safety, where Christ our Father has placed us and befits us with everything we need.

He left her with His manifesto and she faithfully labors on to give birth to God’s children; to teach of His love and to serve His blessed body and blood for life and forgiveness. She is weary from the war, bruised and battle-worn. But, she knows what’s at stake so she soldiers on, bending and stooping to hold on to us at all cost.

Mother Church will bear us to heaven, where we will finally know what price Love has paid to get us home.

Until then, she mothers on.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

We labor and love and sacrifice—as our mothers have so faithfully done before us—for the sake of seeing the miracle of grace born and nurtured in another human heart.

Mother on, dear sisters.

You are the beautiful life-givers, body and soul.

Nobody’s Cuter Than You

April 7, 2015 by Edie Wadsworth 25 Comments

I’ve known the power and beauty of female friendship my whole life.

From the time I can remember being in this world, Miss Judy was part of it—a big smiling, layer wearing bright ray of sunshine that has always been part of the landscape of my life. She has been my mother’s best friend for more than fifty years. We went to her house for Thanksgiving, she came to ours for Christmas, my sister and I both worked at her day school when we were young, and she’s been with us through graduations and weddings and child births and divorces and deaths. Mostly, she’s been my mother’s anchor, a sure and certain protector and confidant of all our family’s joys and struggles—the truest friend, in every sense of the word. I’m sure she knows more about me than I do and she has always held us with tender care. Having her has been like having a second mom.

By watching the way they loved and cared for each other through thick and thin, I learned to be a good friend, too. First and foremost to my baby sister. We’ve been best friends for more than forty years. We watched our Daddy die, our babies grow, and we’ve had the pleasure of witnessing each other become better women because of the unconditional love we’ve given and received from each other. She is the first person I call with both the worst and the best news. She knows my deepest vulnerabilities and yet would never use them to hurt me—but instead helps me see how strength comes from weakness. She can read me like a book but somehow rewrites a better version of me than I have written for myself. She’s the kind of friend we all need—someone who will come when your world burns down around you and will stay when you seem to be setting fire to it yourself.

She has been a wonderful kind of friend and sister to me and to so many others—the kind who gives the benefit of the doubt, who includes and welcomes and forgives and loves, the kind of friend who challenges and inspires and yet protects her people with fierceness. May we thank our Father for gifting us with true friends.

My friend Melanie has written a beautiful memoir about that kind of friendship and all the way through it, I thought of the wonderful women who have graced my life with such love and care. It’s a book that will make you laugh but more importantly, make you remember the women who’ve loved you through thick and thin.

I interviewed her about the book, which launches today! I’m honored to call her friend and blessed to share this work of her heart with you.

Click below to get your copy!

(When I was running this morning—otherwise known as slow jogging and pretty much about to die— I listened to this song, which reminded me how much we need each other.)

Face down in the desert now there’s a cage locked around my heart
I found a way to drop the keys where my failures were
Now my hands can’t reach that far
I ain’t made for a rivalry I could never take the world alone
I know that in my weakness I am strong, but
It’s your love that brings me home

Brother let me be your shelter
I’ll never leave you all alone
I can be the one you call
When you’re low
Brother let me be your fortress
When the night winds are driving on
Be the one to light the way
Bring you home

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The Cost of the Feast {Lenten Devotional Day 30}

March 25, 2015 by Edie Wadsworth Leave a Comment

Day 30 of the Lenten devotional series

Texts: Psalm 18, Ex. 4: 1-18, Mark 15: 1-15, Luke 15: 23

“Bring the fatted calf and kill it..”

When one or all of our older sons is coming home for a visit, there’s one thing you can be sure of—there will be a plethora of smoked meats prepared at our house. Stevie loves nothing more than a weekend with the kids home and his Big Green Egg grill full of ribs, brats, salmon, chicken, and any other meat you can think of. He even does the shopping for the meat smoking extravaganzas because he wants to make sure everything is just right. He makes his own tangy-vinegary-spicy barbeque sauce and he fiddles around outside with the grill FOR HOURS. It’s like man-nirvana. I don’t dare interfere except to make a few side dishes which themselves are totally irrelevant to the man cubs. There’s something about those boys coming home that inspires a feast—even for a man who couldn’t find the apple cider vinegar in our house to save his life.

When I read the Gospel lesson for today about Pilate handing over Jesus to be crucified, it all made sense. Our father has done everything to restore us to the table, where his only son will be the very food—the sacrifice and sustenance. The suffering of Jesus makes it all possible. The death of Christ is the price God paid in order to bring us home, to make merry and feast with us. And every Sunday when the Lord’s Supper is served, we partake of this life, this sacrifice. There Christ joins Himself to us in body and soul— his suffering redeeming our suffering, his life overcoming our death. The Old Testament is full of God feeding his people, of him finding a way to save them with food and same is true for us today.

Feasting is not an afterthought with God.

It is the point of his coming—to bring us back to the table and feed us with the life-giving food of the crucified Christ.

You cannot earn your spot at the table. It was paid for you by Jesus, the paschal victim and the paschal feast.*

Welcome to the table, dear one.

*From the hymn At the Lamb’s High Feast We Sing.